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wheneclipsefalls · 4 months ago

Note

heyy i love ur works sm, could u possibly write a fic like the one you wrote about Lo’ak in Unmoveable, but with Neteyam as the alpha and the reader as the bratty/dominant omega. (Preferably fem reader) Tysm!!

Pairing: Adult Alpha Neteyam x Olangi Princess Omega Reader

Summary: Princess or not, a spoiled brat like you needs to be put in her place. And since you have been given over to him now, Neteyam is more than ready to put that attitude in check.

Warnings: dubcon/noncon, explicit MDNI, aged up Neteyam, omegaverse, dom/sub dynamics. power imbalance, very talkative Neteyam, breast play, nipple clamps, anal, punishment, kidnapping/arranged marriage, swearing, etc.

A/N: Hi anon...you probably thought I was never going to fufill this request😆😅 Hopefully you are still online to see this

Adult Neteyam pic by Cinetrix

Unmovable for reference

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting.” You reply simply, folding your legs upon where you are perched on a nearby boulder.

“Is that so?” One of Neteyam’s hairless brows curves upwards into an unusual expression as he places his hands on his hips. You shrug it off as morphed social skills he has picked up, a consequence of living with Sky People. You don’t let it ruffle your feathers.

“Yes. Soon you will have left and I will finally have some peace before my clan comes to get me.” You supply the information with a tilted chin and confidence oozing from every pore even as the towering alpha closes in on your space.

“Your clan has given you to me, princess.”

You refuse to meet the gaze that somehow manages to penetrate your defenses with a heated fire, contrary to his poised posture that emanates a relaxed grace.

“An oversight on their part.” Your fingers interlock together and place on your lap. If he wants to put on a tough bravado why shouldn’t you? “Once they come to realize their mistake they will come to retrieve me. Until then, I wait.”

However, waiting here may take more patience than you care to admit. The Olangi clan are known for their expertise as pa’li [direhorse] riders but even they may require a day or so to catch up to the point where Toruk Makto’s son has dragged you to. It's the furthest you have ever been from home. Consequently the first time you have seen the beautiful rolling grounds of the plains slowly transform into congested forest.

You can only see a portion of the sky with these interlocking trees in the way. It pushes in on you like the bars of your enclosure, yet another representation of how trapped you have become in Neteyam’s grip.

“I’m waiting too, paskalin [honey].” You shuffle slightly when he comes to sit beside you. The rich essence of his scent wraps around you in a vice-like grip. It has your inner omega running restless but you maintain a serene exterior. It wouldn’t be the first time an alpha has tried to rope you into submission with drifting pheromones. “In fact, we all are waiting.’ He gestures to the handful of Omatikaya warriors that have made the journey with him. They pretend to busy themselves with loading up pa’li that are already prepared. “Waiting for you to stop this tantrum of yours.”

“Tantrum?” The word feels foreign on your tongue.

“It means a child throwing a fit when they do not get their way.”

“I am not a child!” You seethe, lips peeling back to reveal your pointed fangs. “I am a princess and-”

“And I am a prince.” Neteyam shrugs, cutting you off. “Yet neither of those titles mean anything out here.”

You scoff, allowing your hair to act as a protective curtain from his searing attention. A prince. What a laughable thought. A true prince does not drag a female away from her home with bound wrists and promises of mating. He has no right to call himself such a thing.

Then again, your father calls himself Olo’eyktan yet he was the one that handed you over to the alpha. All for the promise of protection against the RDA. The Omatikaya could have asked for anything to seal the alliance between your two clans in battle but all that Neteyam had come to collect was you.

Your father’s decision, however, could be forgiven in your eyes. He was doing what he thought was best for the people. His greatest error was believing Neteyam would be a suitable mate for you, for thinking that any alpha would be a good match for you after all that you’ve expressed against such a union. You are a free spirit. Despite your presentation as an omega you were never meant to live in an alpha’s shadows.

“Look at me.” His voice is soft but firm. Another scoff of refusal is traveling up your throat but this time Neteyam doesn’t wait for you to follow his command. He captures your chin and forces you to turn and feel the weight of presence. It feels as if his alpha pheromones not only bleed into the space between you but also cinch around your throat like a claws. “I am your alpha now, your mate. That is the only title you should be focused on.”

Neteyam is a strange alpha, that you have come to quickly realize. Where other alphas often raise their voices in demand for respect and submission he delivers his commands in the form of smooth purrs traveling down your spine. He uses force when necessary but never done rashly or out of anger, simply a tool to get you back to where he deems you should be. Among the other males there is no passive aggressive commentary or puffing of chests to remind them of rank.

Instead he converses with them as old friends do. He leads the group in every sense of the word but it’s done with almost a playful hand as they laugh and make jokes with one another. And yet, after all of this backwards messaging, there is an air of dominance that laces his every move. He walks and talks with a relaxed expression as if he knows there is no need to prove himself. His supremacy is something that would not dare to be questioned.

And somehow that comes off as higher snobbery than any other foolish alpha you’ve seen wrestle for your hand.

“I don’t have an alpha. Nor will I ever.” With a tug your face is whipped from his hold. You manage to conceal the rush of heat to your cheeks by smoothly shifting your hair and facing away from him once more. “I suggest you accept that fact and stop wasting both of our time.”

Not a single bat of your eyes in his direction as you stare confidently ahead at the strange tree in front of you and wait to hear the party’s retreat. Instead your ears only catch the sound of a small sigh and shuffle before Neteyam is standing before you.

“Come now, princess. It’s been fun but we still have ground to cover.” He reaches his hand out to help you up but you only gamble casting a glance at it from your peripheral vision. As far as you are concerned, Neteyam does not exist in your world. And so you treat him as such.

“Neteyam!” A voice bellows across the distance. “We are losing daylight, brother. Are we set to travel?”

Neteyam doesn’t hesitate to send the other male a small smile before saying, “She is coming along now.”

“No I am not.” Your instant response is tainted with a gasp of offense. How dare he speak for you! “I am not moving from this rock until my clan comes to get me.” You insist, slapping his hand away.

Neteyam remains unperturbed, simply giving a shrug before murmuring, “Have it your way then.”

You aren’t afforded a second for a sense of victory to settle in before the prince is tossing you over his shoulder. Strongs arms wrap around the back of your thighs to keep you pinned there and decrease the range of motion for kicking. It doesn’t stop the gasp of outrage and pure spite that emanates from you. Limbs swinging in every which direction to deliver damage, you quickly resent the way his strength greatly overpowers your own.

“I am not some fresh kill for you to carry home. Set me down right this instant!”

“I gave you the chance to walk over with dignity, princess. What else am I supposed to do?” He tries to retort but you can detect the grin in his voice. Even more humiliating, from your upside down position you are still able to spot the other males squirming to not laugh at your compromising position.

“You are a mongrel of a man!”

The scratchy venom of your tone is morphed into a surprised squeak when you are let back onto your feet. Regardless, you remain trapped in Neteyam’s arms as you are wedged between him and a pa’li.

“Don’t waste your energy, tiyawn [love]. It will be at least a few more days before we reach Omatikaya soil.”

They are surrounding you from every side. The five other males may wear amused expressions and appear to be enraptured in conversations with one another but you are no fool. These men are under Neteyam’s jurisdiction. At the first sign of trouble they will be snapping into action. Running now will only get you dragged back and fighting against Neteyam’s hold may get you flung into a humiliating position again.

“At least let me have my own pa’li. I know how to ride.”

Neteyam's chest heaves with the responding laugh that awakens within him. White pearly teeth on display, his amusement rises higher. Several of the others try and fail to not join in. It heightens your blood pressure until your face is hot to the touch.

“That’s a very good try, princess.” He beams, patting your hip.

Neteyam unfortunately is not the fool you hope for him to be. Nor the arrogant alpha that would make the mistake of believing himself capable of catching you once you’ve set off on a pa’li. You’ve been riding since you were barely able to walk. The Omatikaya may understand the concept, but they hold not near the same precision and skill that your years of training have granted you.

It’s a fact he seems acutely aware of because he doesn’t let you saddle up first. All it would take is a few seconds for you to make the bond and leave them in the dust. Instead, he hands you off to another male as he settles himself upon the creature and only after he has made the bond himself does he have you lifted to sit in front of him.

By the time you settle around a fire for dinner and begin setting up camp, you can feel your eye on the verge of twitching. This journey has been nothing but painful and slow. So exceedingly slow. Although every step is one step further from your home that doesn’t erase the annoyance you feel at their painstaking pace. The only thing that stops you from snapping at them to hurry up is the hope that this extra time will help you come up with some sort of escape plan.

It’s clear that your father’s remorse is far too sluggish for you to solely rely on at this rate, so it seems it is once again up to you to meet them halfway.

However hatching up plans is exceedingly difficult when you have an alpha sculpted against your back, his essence clouding your mind and his eyes constantly peeking down at you as if he knows every thought swirling in your head. Try as you might, there is no reasonable way to veer away from his touch while riding the pa’li, at least not one that keeps you from developing excruciating back pain.

Trying to set your inner turmoil aside, you focus on using this time away from the Omatikaya prince to properly set your head right. However, it seems Neteyam has different plans as he settles to lounge by the fire. He thanks one of the other males for a drink he is handed before his attention lands on you.

“Come sit, princess.” He pats the spot beside him. There may be a warm smile to accompany his words but you know that it is nothing short of a command. The steely undertone of an alpha’s call reverberates in his tone.

It locks your spine into a ramrod straight position and your tail already tries to tuck itself the longer you wait to obey. It’s irrelevant, however. You’ve become quite adept at pushing down your omega instincts in favor of following your own logic instead.

With a smooth stroll and a feigned innocence to your smile, you maintain eye contact while making a show of sitting next to a different male across the fire. He’s a beta and your proximity immediately has him twitching.

Neteyam’s golden eyes take on a darker hue, but he remains where he is. You’ve challenged his authority, in front of his men no less, but somehow you escape the night unscathed from his rath. Or so you think.

It’s hard to say whether these sleeping arrangements are usual for the Omatikaya or rather just a setup meant for traveling. Either way, it is the most bizarre thing to sleep in a roll of fabric high up in the trees. Netyam claims it’s safer to stay off the ground during eclipse in the forest. A silly point truly when it’s just as dangerous, if not more likely, to turn over in your sleep and fall to your death.

Climbing up to the hammock is all the more painful and terrifying than riding with Neteyam. He patiently trails behind, waiting and giving unwanted direction for your climb until you have finally cocooned yourself in the fabric. Still trembling but refusing to voice any complaints that could be mocked, you take a moment to catch your breath.

That moment is exceedingly short.

The hammock suddenly swings and you look up to find the prince lowering himself down carefully from a branch above.

“No no, absolutely not. This is my bed. Get out.” He chuckles as you try to push and swat at his muscular thighs but it’s no use when he is settled in the fabric a few seconds later.

“Technically it is our bed.”

“Then I will take my chances on the ground.” Your stomach somersaults at the thought of enduring the climb down.

Comment ignored, Neteyam coaxes you to lay down before slipping himself behind you. You’re tempted to kick when he wraps an arm around your waist but the hammock is still swinging to a point of nausea. Best not to make it any worse.

“You’re trembling, omega.” It’s murmured against the shell of your ear. There is no need to look down in order to confirm his assertion. How do the Omatikaya sleep peacefully up in the trees like this? You’ve never considered yourself to have a fear of heights but today has you questioning that assurance all together.

“You look like you need someone to calm you down.” The palm of his right hand runs up and down the length of your arm, as if the transferring heat there would diminish your shivering.

“What I need is a break from your pestering.”

“I already gave you one.” His tale tickles at the back of your knee just as his accented voice deepens. “A break that I have still not received a thank you for.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting, my prince.” You sneer. It wasn’t his decision to have you sit away from him during dinner. It was entirely your own and he is not about to receive acknowledgment as if he had any control over what you do.

“I hope you know what you’re playing at, princess.”

Those are the last words he speaks of the night and consequently the same ones that leave you restless and twitching. Sleeping like this is impossible. When you’re not worried about falling to your death you become acutely aware of every point of contact between you and Neteyam. His toned chest is like a bustling fire against your back. His tail at some point wraps around knee as if it belongs there. Even his silky ebony braids tickle at your neck, almost as bad as where his face tucks itself behind your ear.

There is no forgetting who lays behind you. Sleep seems to never come because you are constantly trying to calm your raging heart and control the pheromones that threaten to slip into the air. That would wake him up far too easily.

His breath is heavy, heartbeat consistent and strong from where it pounds against your back. You’ve been sure for a while now that he is fast asleep. Now is the time to make your move, but frozen you remain. Eventually you look down to find that your fingers have begun tracing the veins of his forearm as an anxious tick.

Thank Eywa he seems to not wake up from the touch. Or perhaps it is the smooth caress that has coaxed him further into sleep. Either way, you hold very little hope of not only climbing down the trees without splitting your pretty head open but also doing so unnoticed.

Sleep comes and goes along with the hours until waiting has wound you taunt. It is only a matter of time before the sun rises again and you’ve lost the window of opportunity. So with sweaty hands and a heart threatening to come up your throat, you cautiously slide yourself out from his hold.

By some miracle it turns out that Neteyam is the deepest sleeper you have ever met, because even as the hammock sways from your climbing out, he simply lets out a sigh and turns his head further into the fabric.

Scaling down the tree is a test in vigilance and patience. Every smooth breath you force yourself to take is a practice in these arts. Stubbornly you refuse to look down, knowing it will only bring forth nerve ridden mistakes. So with the pace of a snail you inch further and further down the trunk.

You just need to make it to a pa’li.

That’s it.

So close. So very close, you tell yourself, even as you know it’s a lie.

“What are you doing?”

Your breath catches in your throat, thighs tensing as you remember to still keep hold. Your muscles relax slightly, however, when you notice that the voice holds an Omatikaya accent but it is not Neteyam’s. The beta from dinner sits up in his hammock, eyes squinting at you through the darkness. Say the wrong thing and he is bound to sound the alarm.

“You should not be out of bed.” He sighs.

“I must relieve myself.” Biting your bottom lip you steer your features into confident defiance. “Or am I not allowed to do that too?”

The beta lets out a sigh and a curse you do not recognize. It must be part of the Sky People’s weird language.

“Alright, I will assist you just wait for a moment.”

“I don’t require an audience.”

“But you do require supervision.”

It’s difficult to argue when you remain clinging to a tree for dear life. So when the beta helps you make it down the tree foothold by foothold, there is nothing left in you to protest. Instead, you simply shift gears.

“Be quick.” The male says, gesturing to a secluded spot behind thick bushes.

“It takes as long as it takes.” Head held high, you walk past him and into the bushes. Luckily the sounds of nocturnal creatures are loud enough to excuse why you are so silent in the bushes. Furthermore, it’s clear that male has at least some respect for your privacy as a woman when he doesn’t question again what takes you so long.

Those advantages aside, running now would still do you no good. He has steered the two of you further away from the pa’li and running on foot will only get you lost in this entanglement of greenery. And with a beta, one native to the area nonetheless, there is no chance of getting far.

Lucky for you, there is always one sure fire way to disable a man without violence.

“What did you say your name is again?”

The beta straightens when you walk past him.

“Um, I didn’t.” He picks up into a jog to catch up with your sudden retreat. Not a foot of space is granted between you two. He has grown suspicious.

Shifting your long glossy hair over one shoulder, you look over at him with a subtle pout. “Well I don’t see how that’s fair. You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

The beta doesn’t immediately melt at your softened composure like most males at home do. Rather he seems to clear his throat in discomfort before muttering out, “Ke’ve”

“Hm, Ke’ve.” You repeat back, as if savoring the taste of his name on your tongue. He’s nervous. No doubt, devoted to keeping his distance from the prince’s intended. There are ways to relax him, however. “Well Ke’ve, not every male is noble enough to lend his help in the middle of the night. You must know your presence has brought me great comfort out here.”

His eyes scrunch but he doesn’t respond, perhaps unsure of what response would be safe.

“You see,” With a sigh, you come to a halt. “I’m not very accustomed to feeling vulnerable. We are so far from home in a place I have never been but I still do not enjoy being seen as weak. So I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else but I feel as if I can trust you when I say,” You pause for dramatic effect and will tears to your eyes. “I’m scared.”

Were it an alpha, the essence of your fear would be enough to swoop you into their arms and make an oath of protection. Ke’ve on the other hand is a beta, so his response is more subtle. Yet just as promising when his expression falters and he looks on the verge of sighing again.

“You are safe with us.” And as sure as the sun rises in the morning, so does that inevitable flash of concern spring forth.

“I do feel safer with you.” Just a gentle brush of your fingers against his elbow. So subtle in wake of your shining vulnerability that he doesn’t shrug it off. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

A few stray pieces of hair fall over your cheek to frame your depiction of soft spoken innocence. You are perfectly poised like a flower ready to be picked, a delicate beauty that deserves to be protected at all costs. The same disposition that has had beta men falling at your feet time and time again.

They are always enchanted by your demeanor. So much so that when the Olo’ekytan’s daughter suddenly spins the table so she is straddling their waist and taking control, they can’t help but hand the reins over.

“Yes well you…you don’t need to worry.” Ke’ve’s eyes don’t hold the same snare that Neteyam’s do but you can already imagine how pretty they will look rolling to the back of his head when you have his cock in your mouth. Pleasure has a way of rendering a man defenseless, therefore giving you the perfect opportunity to carry out your plans.

With the stealth and precision of a predator stalking its prey you snake your hand up his bicep and over one broad shoulder. Consequently it has your own face inching closer to his wrist where you sensually let his pulse point rub over your throat. It will leave the trace of his scent there, igniting a primal side of him that can be molded perfectly into your designs. “How can I repay you?” You ask, batting your lashes up at him as you begin the slow descent to your knees.

But they never hit the ground.

Sharp pain erupts along your scalp as a hand abruptly grabs a chunk of your hair at the roots. That hold is used to veer you back onto your feet and fall back against a warm chest. “I can think of a few ways.”

Your carefully crafted composure shatters into a hiss as you try to recover from both the shock of being caught and the unforgiving grip Neteyam has in your hair. Even more so, the tingling sensation that brutal hold sends down your spine.

“Ow! Let go!”

“Tell the others I will be having a little talk with my omega.” Neteyam commands, ignoring your useless struggling. “You are dismissed, Ke’ve.” The beta doesn’t need to be told twice, already scurrying to get away.

“Now let’s get you sorted out.” Still keeping his hand tangled where you try to dislodge it, Neteyam drags you further into the mysterious forest. You note that the distance, however, is not quite far enough to completely conceal your whining from the others.

Feet stumbling once that hold is released, you find yourself unceremoniously deposited onto a large boulder. You can spot the cliff’s edge where it drops down into a waterfall and beyond is the rolling landscape of Pandora’s forest. The glimmer of eclipse is slowly shifting into the first ray of sunshine to cast over the horizon.

“You just had to prove me right, tiyawn.” Neteyam tutts, squatting onto his haunches so that he is at your level.

It takes considerable effort to get your brain back online and position yourself into a pose more flattering and fit for a princess. No male has ever handled you so roughly. They wouldn’t dare. But the sting of Neteyam’s tug on your scalp leaves a strange ache behind that has your mind reeling. Trying to put your confident mask back on, you fuss with your hair to get every strand back into place.

“And you just had to act like a barbarian.”

“Did you really believe it was that easy to sneak away from me?”

Your throat runs dry when you meet his eyes. This wasn’t a near successful escape, it was planned. One look at his face and it’s clear that he knew exactly when you left and exactly who was assigned to deter you.

“Can’t a woman pee in peace?” You fumble out, making your last attempt at defending your story.

“I suppose not when it ends in you practically nuzzling at another man's tewng [loincloth] like a little slut.”

Your jaw drops before you can stop it. Eyes ablaze and tail pointed on alert, you are tempted to throw caution to the wind and slap the alpha’s pretty face. No male, in fact no Na’vi, has ever used such a vulgar term to depict you. You’ve had your share of fun among the betas in your clan, but that makes you no less glittering of a gem. And certainly not a slut.

“No man of honor would even think of using such a term, let alone directing it at me.” When you rise up to your full height, Neteyam stands in suit. “Is this why you asked for my hand? Any normal prince, especially the son of Toruk Makto, should have half the women in the clan begging to mate with him. But maybe even they could not see past your arrogant disrespectful bravado, so you had to travel to another clan entirely to find an unknowing prospect.”

“Is that your theory?” Tone deceptively calm, the deep drag of his voice washes over you like silk.

“You may think that you’ve conquered and can now return home with a pep in your step but no matter what you do, there will always be one truth that will haunt you.”

You gulp down the lump in your throat when one of his long strides closes the distance between you. Regardless, you refuse to retreat.

“And what truth is that, princess?”

Your wild eyes shoot to pierce through him.

“That you chose wrong.” You let that statement hang in the air for a beat, hoping it will press down on him in the silence. However it is disappointment that lays a hold on you when his unreadable expression remains in place.

“Is that so?”

He’s close enough to nearly feel the beat of his heart.

“It may be your experience that omegas in your presence bow in submission and shudder beneath that charming grin, but I am not one of them. I am not subject to swooning for or baring my neck to any alpha. I am too independent for your tastes.”

His chest vibrates with a deep chuckle, one that ironically holds no jovial warmth to it. Instead, paired with the sinful curve of his lips, it wraps thick tendrils around you that act as the calm before the storm.

“You’re not independent, princess. You’re a spoiled brat.”

He’s undeterred by your scoff or bat of your hands when he forcefully grasps your chin between two fingers.

“When my father finds out what kind of man you-”

“Your father has done you a great disservice.” Two steps forward and Neteyam has successfully backed you up against the cool stone. “He has given you everything you’ve asked for, let you go entirely unchecked. We can place part of the blame on him for turning you into a spoiled little thing that thinks it only takes a bat of her lashes to get what she wants.”

When your lips part to sneer a nasty comment at him, Neteyam swiftly presses his thumb over them.

“It’s because of this spoiled attitude that you have not properly learned the pleasure of submitting to your nature.” He’s not trying to hide the shadow of his scent over you now, it circles you into a clouded dome. Leaning his head down, his lips just barely whisper against your own that are still trapped beneath his thumb. “You don’t understand the ecstasy of being tamed.”

A warmth pools at the pit of your stomach. You recognize that feeling and what it means. Putting your desire to win this argument aside, it’s clear that now is the time to bow out before this escalates too far.

“Get off.” At first it’s just a whisper. Then when Neteyam’s body remains curled over yours, rock hard and unmoving, your voice rises. “I said get off! You egotistical pervert!” Your cries don’t stop and neither does the useless rain of your fists against his chest.

But then he is snatching your wrists and hooking a hand beneath your thigh to slide you up onto the rock. The stone is cold against your exposed back and ass, your tail becoming trapped beneath your own weight. Neteyam crushes all hope of sitting back up when he cages your smaller form with his own bulking frame.

“Always have to make it difficult, don’t you, tiyawn?”

You fight the urge to squeeze the muscles beneath your captured hands when they land on his chest to push him away.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult if you just got off of my ass for once.”

“Oh but princess that is exactly where I want to be.” That devilish grin is accented by a ray of sunlight painting his features.

Without an inch of personal space it becomes aggravatingly obvious how gorgeous the man above you is. Neteyam is the perfect contrast of broad shoulders and a slim waist shown off by his beautiful woven battle band. His immaculate braids swing down across his cheeks and collarbones to frame his intense eyes, sharp jawline, and lips that were simply made to do sinful things.

Your reflection is cut short when a band begins to wrap around your wrists. Squirm as you might, Neteyam holds no sympathy for your protests as he expertly ties the appendages together. Empty threats. Cries for help. None of them make an ounce of difference.

“Scream as much as you want if you’re that eager to give the others a show.”

That shuts you up in an instant. It confirms your earlier observation of proximity and immediately has you playing back the conversation to guess how much of it that other males have already heard.

“You’re a monster.”

“Hm, and all yours, princess.” A wicked grin across his lips, Neteyam secures your bound wrists to a low branch over the rock. You’re left stretched out and trapped laying across the boulder beneath him.

That cocky expression blanches its color once he draws his nose along your neck. The exact spot you had tricked Ke’ve to scent you. Your heart hammers on its own accord when Neteyam’s wicked smile drops. Mere seconds ago nothing had seemed more appealing than ripping apart the alpha with the lash of your tongue, but now something in you warns to stay still. To stay quiet.

“I was going to wait until we reached Vitraya Ramunong [tree of souls], in light of tradition.” His breath is hot against your neck, a heat that travels like lava down to your very core. “But it seems my little brat can’t wait that long.”

His teeth sink in without warning. It takes a moment for the shock to fizzle out and allow you to feel the pain. Neteyam’s teeth bite and capture the soft flesh there without mercy before his lips suck a dark spot directly over where Ke’ve’s scent used to be.

Your spine arches, hips already bucking without your consent. The only response to your screams and squirming is Neteyam’s own hips pressing you back against the stone. He is ravenous. Biting, sucking, and licking at that one spot until the area has become desensitized to his ministrations.

Your body has spiked from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds. Your head reels with the whiplash of having the male reprimand you one moment and the next sinking his teeth into a mark terrifyingly close to your mating gland.

“Better.” Neteyam finally murmurs against your neck. He seals the mark with a deceptively tender kiss as you are left short circuiting. Your instincts flare, that primal part of your nature climbing out from under the rock you’ve kept it trapped beneath.

“Are…are you insane? Biting that close-”

“I won’t mark you there tonight, tiyawn. Want to be able to feel you through the bond when that happens.” A curved knuckle runs down your kuru, making your toes curl. “Once we are under the spirit tree together. There are still some traditions I’d like to keep.” He says with a grin that you could almost associate with a charming gentleman, not the same male that just savagely ravaged your throat like a predator of the night.

“But we will need to find a way to get you to behave until then.” You can’t mirror the ease he feels as he speaks. It becomes clear now how dire your circumstances are. You had thought Neteyam wouldn’t dare to put a hand on you without permission but now he has proven to be more than willing to not only touch but leave marks behind. There is no telling where he draws the line.

And you’re scared, just as you should be, but there is something else far more terrifying that plumps into your bloodstream. A dangerous intrigue that borders excitement.

“How do you suggest we do that, princess?”

No matter how hard you try, no humble response willingly bubbles to your lips. Neteyam is still an asshole, gorgeous or not. Alluring or not. No matter how tempting he may be, that doesn’t mean it’s worth exploring the mysterious punishment he has up his sleeve. And you…well you’re still pissed.

“My behavior is nothing in comparison to yours. You-”

A hand comes down on the side of your ass hard enough to have you choking on those words.

“You hit me!” Neteyam simply tilts his head at your accusation.

“Good observation, tiyawn.” Not a hint of apology present. This man is not remorseful, he is proud. “If you keep running your mouth like that I will be forced to do it again. Knowing you, it won’t take long for me to tan that ass red.”

Your father never spanked you as a child. It would break his heart to see his little girl cry the tears it would inevitably provoke. And with your dating experience exclusively being betas, no man has ever tried to right that wrong. Thinking of riding on a pa’li with a red ass now has fear jumbling threats past your lips haphazardly.

“I swear on my-”

His right hand clamps over your mouth. The pressure is hard enough to have you whining beneath his skin.

“That’s enough from you for now.”

There is nothing left for you to do but watch. Body rendered immobile and now your last weapon at your disposal silenced, you are at the utter mercy of the prince. A mercy that does not appear to be afforded any time soon as his other hand trails down to start undoing the knots of your top.

It shouldn’t be as scary as it is, watching string be string get unlooped as your crystal top begins to fall slack. However, this particular intimacy is one you are not accustomed to.

It had started out as just a silly game you had played when you first started dating. Men were often foaming at the mouth to get a proper glimpse of your subtle breasts. It had been an immediate source of amusement as you’d seen how far they were willing to go for only a chance. And even more rewarding when you noticed how easy it was to never follow through with satisfying this desire.

So it continued. It became somewhat common knowledge among your lovers, and any future interested prospects that you keep that part of yourself private. However, you hadn’t meant for it to go on as long as it did. Eventually you would cave to a worthy beta and watch him go feral, but that was before you discovered simply how sensitive your nipples are. It only took a few times of playing with yourself, brought on by your interest in nipple piercings, for you to see how vulnerable that area of you is.

And now it is ironically Neteyam that uncovers that part of you.

He can sense the shift of your scent the moment it happens. With every tug on the feeble strings your essence takes on a darker hue. Pleasure and pain. Arousal and fear. These combinations are ones you have not been properly exposed to. Perhaps were it not for him, you would never have been humble enough to try them.

The last undone tie allows the strung crystals to slide over the curve of your chest before dropping to the floor. What pretty little things you adorn yourself with, yet they do very little to protect you. Because it’s clear to him that in your eyes, protection is never needed. You can not fathom how much you have truly gotten away with.

Prancing around in your little outfits. Torturing men with what they want but can’t truly possess. Expecting the world to shift whatever way you desire with the wave of your hand. It’s laughable how you never imagined to face the consequences of such actions.

You’re a haughty little thing just waiting to be put in your place.

“My brat.” Neteyam smirks, leaning down to place a kiss at the slope between your breasts. Goosebumps ripple over your beautiful azure skin. It’s a visceral reaction to the smallest of his touches and it drives him near insanity. How perfect this pretty body of yours will be as a canvas for his marks. A vessel for his heir.

Fuck, you are beautiful.

Perhaps he can’t entirely blame you for being so arrogant. Your beauty is enough to hold a man captive with just a simple glance. And you’ve taken advantage of that far too many times.

He allows himself to fall captive to it now. Unlike the others, he won’t need to starve after you once you’ve decided you’re done playing with him like a toy. No, you will be bound to him. You will belong to him completely.

“So pretty.” He coos, his lips just barely painting over your right breast. When his bottom lip hover over your nipple he watches in awe as it hardens. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

You’ve gone silent, but he can feel the stutter of your breath beneath his hand. It would be unfair to neglect the other side, so Neteyam takes his time showing your left breast the same gentle attention that has your other nipple following in suit. He’s heard of your reluctance to reveal such pretty breasts to your lovers, but he never imagined it would be due to such sensitivity.

It’s like watching a flower bloom for him. The way you squirm and whine at even the drag of his eyes over your delectable form. Neteyam lets his hand slip from your mouth, no longer willing to explore only with his lips.

His fingertips start a trail down by your navel and ascend up over your stomach and towards your chest at a slow pace. When he finally reaches to gently palm at your right breasts he feels your heartbeat pounding like a drum under his fingers. So many nights he has dreamed of touching you like this, rendering you utterly speechless before he has even started. Now as your lips part and breath becomes labored from his simple touches, there is no sight more delightful.

You are perfect. You have an attitude that is in major need of fixing but even that is simply a beautiful challenge Eywa has created for him. The way you fit in his hands, gently massaging that supple flesh, it’s clear She crafted your body specifically for him too.

The sun has finally breached the line of the horizon and now it sparkles along your chest in a dazzling show. The white crystals woven in your hair remind him of the halos worn by the angels his father has described.

He applies more pressure with his right hand until the plump flesh is spilling between his fingers, giving him the perfect presentation for his salivating mouth. What starts out as an open mouthed kiss a few inches above your nipple quickly turns into sucking that flesh into his mouth until you are writhing. He groans at the sounds you make and when he pulls back to see the purple mark rising along your skin, the sight is enough to have him on the brink of purring in elation.

Neteyam bends forward and starts crafting his brand on the other side so they are a matching set. This time he takes care in placing it further below your left nipple, at the crease where your stomach meets your chest. It will be difficult for you to find a top able to cover up this claim wrought by his teeth, a purposeful decision on his part.

“Tey…mmm… teyam wait!”

He grins at the cute nickname you’ve already coined for him, but that only buys you a few seconds before he is finally puckering his lips around one of your stiff points. The reaction is instantaneous, spine curving and a screech barreling up your throat. He doesn’t start off sucking too hard, instead just enjoys the way you feel in his mouth. Eventually, though, the whines you make are too decadent for him to resist making them ring louder. So he sucks harder at the little point and groans around the sensitive area so that it has vibrations shooting through you.

“Finally being so good to me, tiyawn, aren’t you?” He says, taking a moment to release your nipple with an audible pop. “Laying yourself out for me to enjoy. I knew you could be a good girl.”

You haven’t come to earn this praise yet, but it’s important to leave an alluring snippet that exhibits what could come if you only behave. As much as you may want to fight it, your nature won’t let you escape how good such praise feels. You are a stubborn woman but your body wants to submit to him. There is a part of you, no matter how deep you’ve buried it, that yearns to please your alpha.

He snaps you back into the moment by softly closing his teeth around your left nipple. It takes a hand against your stomach to stop you from rolling onto your side and away from his soft torment.

“It’s too sensitive! Stop!” Your pouted lips beg but your strengthening perfume gives your arousal away. Just as he figured, you’ve yet to experience how beautifully pleasure and pain intertwine. He rolls that bud sensually between his teeth before carefully giving it a tug.

He alternates between tormenting your nipples and savoring the plush curve of your breasts with his hands and mouth. The skin is soft beneath his calloused palms. It has him wondering how it would feel to have that velvety skin squished around his cock and as he fucks your breasts. Neteyam swallows back the pooling saliva on his tongue, a string of it still connecting his lips to where he laid his last mark on your tits. It’s almost tempting enough to forgo his plans altogether and sate his lust driven curiosity, but Neteyam shakes it away.

The two of you will have plenty of time to experiment later.

“Teyam, please no more. It’s too much!” Your pleas have died down in volume. Now they are coated with your labored breath as you try to control the pounding of your heart.

“Too much, princess?” He questions and guides his hand down south to rest over your loincloth. “Or not enough?” When he cups your pussy through the fabric you roll up against him and chase whatever friction he is willing to give.

It’s not nearly enough, he can tell from your disappointed expression when he pulls away entirely. Pupils blown wide and chest heaving to catch your breath, you remain silent as he reaches for the pouch attached to his tewng.

Neteyam pulls out a line of woven crystals, much like the ones you wear in your hair but these were foraged from the caves near his home. There are fastens on either end of the chain that took far too much time for him to craft.

“Is that for me?” Naturally you ask, that pretty face already showing how quick you are to forget what he was doing to you mere seconds ago once a shiny gift is presented. Neteyam fights the curve of his lips and keeps his every from rolling. Always so predictable.

“Just for you, princess.”

He had crafted it after his last visit to your village. Far before the Olangi clan thought the threat of Sky People was great enough to require protection but him and his father had been there to spread the news regardless. He knew before you even spoke that you thought the world was at your feet. Even the way you walked, spoke of a spoiled elegance. And when he had tried to sate his curiosity towards you with a conversation you were nothing but rude and spiteful towards him.

He knew then that you were going to be his, one or another.

And so he started foraging for the crystals that first night back.

“So pretty,” you murmur, voice airy. Those golden eyes narrow as you squint to look at it. Despite your current position and already wrecked voice, a sneaky little smirk forms over your lips. “But you miscounted. My hair is much longer than that.”

He lets you have your moment, watches as you grin up at him as if you have finally landed a critical blow. All for that to sizzle out when he bends down to whisper in your ear.

“Who said anything about your hair?”

The confused scrunch of your features doesn’t last long when he begins running the cool metal of the clamps up and down your right nipple. Nipple clamps are not a traditional erotic tool for the Na’vi so he’s certain you don’t believe your first instinct as to where that is going until he starts to pinch the right one to prepare it.

“Neteyam, no! Get that away-” He clasps his other hand over your mouth again. Always the demands with you. Sooner than later you will learn that begging gets you a lot further with him. It’s a little trickier to prepare with only one hand available but Neteyam manages.

The alpha plants a knee across your pelvis to keep you place while his right hand tugs at your nipples to confirm they are pointed enough to clamp onto. When the first clamp goes on your right nipple, your screeching goes up an octave. You know what to expect better when the left one is attached but that doesn’t diminish your reaction.

Lovely little drama queen you are, the fit that follows is inevitable. He’s tested the clamps and consulted with several Sky People before deciding to use them on you so he knows there isn’t any real damage being done. Still, you are going to squirm and screech and, were it not for his hand, probably shout every insult you can think of at him, because you have never been punished like this. And your tantrums are what has worked for you in the past.

He lets you fight it out as he holds you down. Neteyam doesn’t mind as it gives him time to admire his handy work. The chain of crystal connecting the clamps hang exquisitely between your curves. Those stiff points have turned a new shade of purple as they peek out between the clamp’s teeth.

“Enough.” Neteyam finally quips back, tugging at the chain. A mix between a moan and groan rumbles from your throat. Once his hand has retreated he can hear the sound properly. Keeping his pointer finger curled around the crystal chain, the prince raises a warning brow at you. “Are you done throwing your fit?”

He watches your pupils dilate and lips curl into a pout.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like my gift?”

“It hurts.” You whimper with a quivering bottom lip. It’s difficult to say how genuine the reaction is considering what a good little actress you are.

He nods his head, mocking your pout with a feigned one upon his own lips. That only whips your stare into pointed daggers.

“It’s supposed to, tiyawn. That’s why it is called punishment.” He kisses right above your left clamped nipple. “A term you may become very familiar with if you don’t fix your attitude.”

Pulling back from where you glare, Neteyam settles himself beside you on his side. His left arm props against the rock to casually support his head while the right drags down your torso. The alpha’s ears perks at the little hiss you release when he just barely brushes the chain but he continues down south.

Another time when the moon is still out he will kiss every little tanhi that dots your precious body until you cry for more. For now, he is only focused on one location.

Neteyam can sense the heat of your core the second his fingertips slip beneath your loincloth’s waistband. You are soft and wet, just like he had imagined so many times. Flared nostrils greedily inhale your scent as he pauses to cup your entire pussy. Much like before, you can’t help but react to his touch. With a little more pressure in his firm hold, a trickle of wetness drops onto his palm.

Fuck, you are inescapable!

You may believe he is to blame for this arrangement but the truth is you are the one that has trapped him since the moment he caught a whiff of your essence. It is him that has been utterly destroyed by his constant thoughts of you.

“But I know that isn’t all there is to it, is there?” He continues, softly kissing your shoulder. “It’s not just pain you feel. There’s something else.”

Your poor bottom lip has been utterly abused by your sharp teeth. Whatever sacrifice it takes for you to keep from admitting the truth to him. He discards your tewng with one hand.

“A unique sense of-” He spreads your folds to suddenly massage your peeking clit with his pointer finger, stealing a gasp from you. “Pleasure.” Neteyam finishes with a grin.

You turn to putty in his hands. The tension riddled along your muscles unravel as he rubs circles along your clit with just the right amount of pressure. When he clasps the chain between his teeth and tugs your eyes fly open, taking in your surroundings as if the pleasure has made you forget where you are entirely.

“Can’t space out on me yet, princess. We still have more to discuss.”

Talking appears to be the last thing on your mind, hips already rolling to hump against his hand. So close to the edge already that it causes a burst of pride to warm in his chest. Warm thighs bracket his hand as if afraid it will pull away at any moment. Smiling softly at the display, Neteyam smoothly covers your upper body with his own, nose to nose in a matter of seconds.

There is nowhere for you to hide now, every microreaction bared for him. Those vibrant eyes remain locked on his own, but he catches the way they occasionally dart to his lips before returning.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Your lips against his are like decadent chocolate, the swirl of his tongue around your own is another burst of flavor he simply can not get enough of. And so the prince swirls the kiss into a languid roll of passion that leaves your lips ruby red and breaths coming out in puffs once he pulls away.

His hand is drenched in your juices. So much so that when he switches to his thumb rubbing your clit and pointer finger tapping at your entrance, those soaking walls capture him at the first sign of intrusion. Your tight heat sucks in the first digit, pulsing around him greedily as your eyes roll back.

Another tug to the chain and he has your attention again.

“Let’s start with an easy question, tiyawn.” He starts. “What were you going to do to Ke’ve?”

Smart little thing that you are, or perhaps manipulative is a more accurate term, you act as if the pleasure has completely swept you away from understanding him. Beautiful little whimpers rumble in your throat and a look of pure lust crosses over your deceivingly innocent features.

Neteyam isn’t willing to wait to see how you act your way out of this.

His finger stops curling and thumb halts before his other hand pushes your thigh upward so that he can land a crackling spank to your ass.

“Princess,” Neteyam drawls out in a mocking sing-song voice. “I’m running out of patience.”

The charade drops but your body trembles from the sudden lack of stimulation.

“I was going to distract him.” It’s spoken so softly that his ears twitch and strain to make sure he hears you correctly. The finger inside of you restarts, curling up against your g spot while his thumb torments that bundle of nerves from the other side.

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” He slots his face against the slope of your throat. The fragrance that is so uniquely you is especially strong here so there is no stopping the way his tongue naturally flicks out to draw a wet line from your collarbones to jaw. “Let me be more specific. How were you going to distract him?”

The context clues were clearly enough to put two and two together, but he still demands that you say it out loud. The first step to developing remorse is acknowledging what was done.

When you take your time thinking up a strategic answer he cruelly pulls his finger out and jams a second one back with it on the thrust. Your toes curl and your face is turned to bury in your hair.

“Princess.”

No response, just a small whine as he scissor his long digits to stretch those velvet walls.

“Were you going to suck his cock?”

Your silence is rewarded with his hand stilling. The disappointment has your lips parting to no doubt say something far outside of a good girl’s vocabulary, but one raised brow has you falter in that decision.

He twirls the middle of the chain around one finger so it is shortened and with each word he tugs it back sharply.

“Were. You. Going. To. Suck. His. Cock.”

“Ah mm Yes!” You gasp, eyes squeezed shut but pussy wildly pulsing around his fingers.

“That’s what I thought.” He revels in the naive relief you exhibit when he begins his ministrations between your thighs again. How cute of you to think that a little truth would forgive your earlier sins.

Neteyam prowls down your body, savoring the slide of your skin against his own until he is settled between your thighs that are now pushed over his shoulders and he has an unobstructed view of your greedy cunt. While diligently pushing you closer to an orgasm, the alpha takes special care to decide where his next visual claim will be laid. He decides on two spots.

The first one is atop your upper thigh where it will be in clear view of anyone you come across and the second is harshly sucked into the sensitive flesh of your left inner thigh.

“You will never walk upon Omatikay soil without my marks.”

You don’t appear to hear him.

“Oh mm Neteyam…feels so good.”

It might just be the first good thing you’ve said all day and his inner alpha purrs in deep satisfaction. Unfortunately for you, punishment comes before rewards.

Retracting his hand entirely, Neteyam swipes the remnants of your sticky arousal over your inner thighs, painting his beautiful canvas. There is no time to complain at the loss before he is running the flat of his tongue from your convulsing pussy up over your clit and even navel.

That wet muscle dances along and between your folds in practiced precision. Your essence tantalizes his very tastebuds until he is producing so much saliva that it is difficult to say how much of the wet mess at your apex is made from him versus you. He supposes in some ways he is responsible for both.

The prince’s lips shine with the evidence when he pulls back to speak.

“Do good girls do that?”

“Huh…what?”

“Do good girls try to suck cocks that are not their alpha’s?” He reiterates, weaving a firm steel into his voice.

“I…uh…no,” Comes your timid response.

Those thick lashes flutter when he returns to feasting on your delicious cunt. It only lasts for a second, however, before he is speaking against the soft skin of your thighs.

“That’s right, tiyawn. Good omegas know who they belong to.”

Your body jolts as if stung by lightning when his thumb rubs at your sensitive nub again. He can see it in your face now. His omega is just barely tipping on the edge of release.

“So what do you think you should do about it?”

Breath borderline erratic the muscles in your legs tense in anticipation of that wonderful release. The same one that he roughly rips away when you don’t respond, not daring to even breath across your cunt.

“No no please! I’m so close! Just a little longer. I wanna come!”

“What do you think you should do about it?” Neteyam repeats, tampering down the smirk that threatens to cross his lips when he sees the way you whine and tugs at your bonds.

“For…for what?” You’re so genuinely confused he has to hold back a coo at how adorable you look.

“What do you think you should do to make up for trying to suck his cock?”

That little head of yours is working overtime to craft an intelligent response. It becomes all that much harder when he starts playing with your clit again, keeping you tantalizingly close to the edge but never over.

“I…I could…I..”

“Yes?” Neteyam considers himself very patient but he is forced to halt his touch when you take too long to respond and get far too close to coming.

“No wait! Why did you stop?” Your foot stomps against the rock like the spoiled brat that you are, so utterly confused and crestfallen at being denied for the first time. Has any male ever even tried to edge you? If your response is anything to go off of, it’s clear that he will be the first to teach you the joys of orgasm denial too.

“Answer my question, oeyӓ tiyawn [my love].”

Frustrated tears run from the corner of your eyes and this time Neteyam is positive they are genuine. Your little pout is broken by sharp teeth torturing your bottom lip again while you try to get a hold of yourself to respond properly.

“I…I could suck your cock.” It comes out almost as a question but the prince is eager to take it.

��There you go.” He hoists himself up to deposit a kiss on your lips before shrinking back down and continuing a very special kiss between your legs. Your pretty thighs immediately clamp around his head, shaking so hard he can feel the vibrations. As much as he wants to taste your release properly he can’t pass up the opportunity to see your face for the first time as you come.

So the alpha escapes the cage of your thighs and replaces his tongue with skilled fingers the fuck up into your pussy and play with that precious bundle of nerves. He kisses his way up your body, this time being mindful of the crystal chain, until he is nuzzling against your cheek. The woodsy essence of his own scent will integrate there, letting everyone know that you have been claimed.

“Such a smart girl my omega is. So good for her alpha.”

That is your undoing. Like a woven tapestry he watches you unravel into an explosion of pure ecstasy. All of this time you’ve denied yourself the wondrous caress of an alpha’s praise. It’s left you with no defenses once finally showered with his sweet words. Neteyam groans deeply beneath your whiny scream, savoring the way his hand is now properly drenched as he rides you through the orgasm.

You don’t register when Neteyam pulls away. In fact your head is so high above the clouds that it’s only when your hands drop like a dead weight against the boulder that you realize Neteyam has cut your bonds.

It feels as if the world is a hazy blur of color, everything so vibrant and wondrous as you come down from that high. Even the simple kisses Neteyam gives to each of your wrists feels like drinking sunshine. In fact it is so incredible that you instantly crave more.

More of him.

More of this electric pleasure.

Anything and everything that has brought you into such a happy state.

However, when the prince comes to carefully help you off the boulder and back onto your feet, it’s suddenly clear what it will take to get another taste of cloud nine. And in this case, that means tasting him.

Neteyam hardly needs to prompt you onto your knees. Whatever is brewing inside of you is now your new addiction and somehow being at eye level with his crotch has never seemed more appealing. Your alpha wants you to atone for your sins, perhaps then he will grant you another orgasm. Well if taking him down your throat is redemption then you are going to be good at this game.

Past experience is the foundation of your confidence.

Hands still shaking with aftershock, they fumble to get a hold of his tewng. You’re about to catch hold of the waistband and simply rip the fabric down when strong hands catch your wrists. You look up at him in bewilderment. What type of man stops a woman on her knees second before he is about to get his dick sucked?

“We’re not going to do this your way, princess. If you want to make it up to me then you will learn to follow my instructions.”

In some ways it’s borderline insulting. What is wrong with the way you suck a male off? No man has ever complained. And if they did, how would Neteyam even know? He’s never experienced nor witnessed what you do. But of course as an alpha he must believe he knows best.

Typical.

Those thoughts don’t bubble into words, however, because as much as you would like to prove how fucking fantastic you are all on your own, you don’t want it more than another orgasm. Preferably by the means of his skilled tongue.

When he drops your wrists you shift uncomfortably, both impatience and the tight press of the clamps around your nipples creates the undeniable need to squirm. All while Neteyam simply watches you from above, perfectly calm and entertained by your position.

That is until you go to shift the clamps and your wrists are immediately snagged again.

“Did I say you could touch that?” He asks, that smooth voice taking on a smoky edge. Just when you are about to pout, however, Neteyam pulls your hands to place them along his upper thighs. You don’t need to be told twice. Running your hands along the smooth skin and squeezing the corded muscle there is a nice enough distraction to silence your objections.

That is, until a new distraction presents itself.

His long fingers carefully start to undo the ties of his tewng. Done at such a leisured pace it’s obvious he is determined to torture you, even pausing at one point to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before finally lets the cloth fall away.

Excitement quickly mingles with apprehension when you see what you are faced with.

Beta males have always satisfied you with their size, just enough to make you choke a little and hit that special spot inside of you. However, you’ve forgotten entirely what it means to be with an alpha. Neteyam’s cock curves up against his lower abs, fully hard and already sporting a drop of precum. But even the thought of fitting your mouth around that bulbous head, let alone trying to get the massive length down your throat makes your ears begin to twitch.

All confidence quickly drains from your face.

“Are you ready to listen now?”

Finally peeling your gaze away from his twitching cock, you look up at him to see him staring down at you with the same intensity.

“Yes.” You whisper, suddenly grateful for promised instruction now that you’ve been properly thrown for a loop. Perhaps you should have branched out to fucking with alphas at least once, just to know the difference properly. Because now you feel like a proper virgin waiting for their first lesson on giving a blow job.

Surprisingly there is one feeling that rises higher than your trepidation.

Curiosity.

Somehow the challenge before you sparks a further interest. A need to map out every part of his body until it has become less mysterious. Until it feels familiar beneath your hands.

And as if Neteyam can read your thoughts, he says, “You can explore now, tiyawn. Take your time.”

Take your time. Not the direction you would expect from a male whose cock is fully hard and jerking against his lower stomach. You had thought all alphas to be forceful, wanting to claim and fuck in a quick and dirty fashion. But Neteyam stays true to his word when your hands slowly travel up his thighs.

You are given more than enough time to familiarize yourself with the area. You start small, running the pads of your fingers down his muscular abdomen to feel each and every muscle there. Then once a little bit of confidence has been regained they come to rest around his base.

The dark blue shade of his skin elegantly bleeds into a beautiful purple the closer to the tip it goes. All to then end on a subdued shade of pink along his head and balls. Even without the moonlight you can make out the small tanhi that dot along his skin. They lead along the side, creating a trail beside the thick vein lacing the underside of this cock before fanning out around the tip. As if they were perfectly crafted to entice your eyes towards the prize.

Neteyam’s tail lashes the first time you run your fingers over him. His arousal is an essence that infiltrates the very air around you like a thick cloud. Surely he must be anxious for you to hurry up, but the prince keeps his body strictly in place for your exploration.

It is only when he catches your tongue swiping over your bottom lip that he speaks up.

“You can use your tongue, tiyawn.” With an inaudible gasp you pull back in surprise, practically forgetting he was there. An amused grin shows off his pearly white teeth, never faltering as you hesitate for a moment. “Are you feeling shy, princess?”

“No.” You bite back even as your stomach does a somersault.

“Remember, I will guide you. No need to stress.” His fingers run through your scalp and in spite of how good that feels you rear back and glare at him.

You don’t need help. And you sure as hell are not shy. So what if you are a little caught off guard? That does not give him the right to treat you like an omega virgin ripe for the picking.

So you draw forward and boldly draw the flat of your tongue slowly from the base to tip. Much like he had done between your own thighs. Because much like him, you are not afraid and you are not one to hand the reins over easily.

What you do not anticipate is how the taste of him blossoms over your tastebuds. It sends a thrill through you that is difficult to conceal as you go in for another taste. It gets sloppy very quickly. The moment you try to take the head into your mouth, your nerves get the better of you and that ends up making you draw back.

Just in time as Neteyam slots a hand in your dark locks and grabs hold of the roots. “Why are you rushing, omega?”

“I am not.”

“Follow my directions. No need to prove yourself.” He says, but he already wears a crooked smirk.

It continues like this back and forth until you are finally tired of having your head yanked back by your hair so you wait for his instructions. Neteyam is meticulous in the way he has you explore, the way he forces you to taste him before even giving you the chance to take him into your mouth.

But when you do finally take in the first few inches your inner omega springs forth without reserve. You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as they slip past your outstretched lips. And that stretch, that utterly deniable feeling of being stretched full, is what has you drawing in for more.

Before now being on your knees has always felt like a place of power. You’ve riddle men down to whimpering messes just by the skilled trace of your tongue. You’ve swallowed everything they’ve had to give while they’ve sung curses to the sky. It is them that is rendered entirely insatiable as you hold their pleasure in the palm of your hand.

It doesn’t feel that way now.

It’s hard to determine what he awakens within you but every time you are pulled off of his cock and told to take a moment to breathe, it is you that feels insatiable. You figured it would get better once Neteyam fell deep enough into his own ecstasy but somehow the evidence of his pleasure only escalates your own addiction. You can never get enough of him.

Never will you tire of seeing his magnificent neck on display when he throws his head back with a rumbled groan. Never will you suck down the taste of him enough to satisfy your carnal desires. And never will there be a more magnificent feeling than the wash of his praise over you as your throat contracts and you gags around him.

It is him that leaves you ravenous.

“All the way down now, princess. That’s it, you can take it.”

You’d take just about anything this man says at gospel at this point. A fact that is evident by the way you no longer hesitate to sheath him down your throat when commanded. And when those sinfully gorgeous hips start to move, you fight every need for breath and simply let him fuck your throat without complaint.

In fact it is you that complains when you are given a chance to breathe, tears streaking down your face and drool coating your chin.

“No whining.” Neteyam tsks, wagging a finger playfully. It would normally piss you off but now it only registers as the absence of praise. So when he continues to the pattern, moaning and bucking his hips only to pull off seconds later, you bite back the urge to cry and beg for his cum. “Just get me wet, princess. Tongue out. There you go.”

It makes no sense, but then again that seems to be the theme when it comes to Neteyam. He demands you suck him off only to deny you the pleasure of feeling him shoot down your throat. Your pretty face is nothing but a mess of tears and spit when he finally rears you back for the last time. For a moment it seems possible he will jerk himself off and finish across your face or pinched nipples but his next direction has your tail tucking.

“There’s my good girl. Now stand up for me.”

“Neteyam.” You whine but he is quick to grab hold of that crystal chain and force you to your feet as your nipples ache.

“Are you still wet for me, omega? Spread your legs.” He slides a hand between your thighs to inspect the evidence of just how aroused you truly are. “Very good girl.” He grins against your ear, as if he didn’t already know how desperate he has made you.

It’s only a second of attention to your clit before he is taking your hand and dragging you through the forest.

Neteyam has always been known for being meticulous. Or in Lo’ak’s words, obsessive. He has lived his life with a plan and great attention to detail. So when he has you following him, your hand in his own, he can’t help but look for the perfect spot to take you. The ideal place where he can admire you spread out for him and finally experience what it is to be inside of that sweet little body.

He’s pleased to find you put up no fuss when he coerces you onto your stomach with your face down and ass up. In fact, your spine curves as you look back at him, a seductive gleam in your eyes that says you are still not above playing games to get what you want.

“M’ready.” You sigh against the grass, tail curling upwards to give him access. It may as well be the equivalent of snapping your fingers in a fetching command. Regardless, Neteyam decides to let you off this time, especially when you are creating the most gorgeous display for him.

Your pussy clenches around open air, your cunt an absolute mess that has dripped down between your thighs. There is no mistaking what you want.

But that doesn’t mean that is what you’re going to get.

You don’t immediately react when he uses both hands to knead and spread your plump cheeks apart, but when he begins to push a finger at your tightest hole, you squeak and draw back. With a stern hand gripping your hip he pulls you back against him where he kneels. Tentatively you trust him once more only to squirm when he only sticks his fingers into your pussy in order to collect your slick arousal and spread it between your cheeks.

“Neteyam!”

“Mawey, princess. You’ll like it, I promise.” And you will, despite your better judgment.

“No, not there!” Were it not for the hazy glow he has you in now you surely would claw his eyes out for even suggesting such a thing but with his thumb reaching down to rub at your sensitive clit, your defenses are greatly weakened.

“And why not, tiyawn?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You drawl with a whine.

“And I am.” Neteyam slinks up so his chest is pressed against your back, pushing away your hair so he can whisper in your ear. “I am going to fuck my spoiled brat until the only words she can manage to utter are thank you and my name.”

You sputter at his sensual words, pussy trying to clamp around the finger that swirls through your juices.

“But that’s…t-that’s not what I mean.”

“Are you nervous, tiyawn?”

“N-no.”

“No male has ever tried to stretch this little hole before, have they?”

You simply attempt to tuck your face away from him as it turns a lovely shade of red. Neteyam grins and kisses your cheek.

“I am going to take every first you have left, princess. I will fuck all of your holes over and over again, including this naughty little hole.” A shudder ripples through your trapped frame. “Your greedy pussy too but the first time I do that we will bonded beneath Vitraya Ramunong so until then…” He grips your hip to keep you in place when his lubed finger finally starts pushing past that clenching rim.

“Breathe oeyӓ tiyawn.” He hushes your whines. It takes considerable effort to coax you into relaxing for him but Neteyam finds that the right amount of praise and gentle kisses seems to get the job done.

Fuck, you are so incredibly tight! It feels as if you are trying to cut off the circulation in his fingers as he adds another. His heart races at those pulsing walls around his cock. You do nothing to aid his patience as little pants filtering from your lips and soon your eyes are fluttering closed.

You won’t want to admit it, but this new pleasure has you entirely hooked. A strange sensation no doubt, and even uncomfortable at times he can tell as you struggle to take a third finger but so too do you eventually start pushing your hips back against the intrusion.

Holding you in place is no longer required, allowing his other hand to slip to the front of your body and resume strumming your clit. Grass becomes intertwined with the sparkling crystals in your hair due to the way you keep turning your head to whine and squirm.

“I wish you could see how perfect you look like this. Sweet little ass sucking in my fingers like it was made for this. I knew I’d see you like this someday, my pretty brat learning to behave.”

“F-fuck you.” You sputter.

Neteyam can’t even find it within himself to be mad when you are clenching around him like this. He’ll take care of that naughty mouth soon, but for now he is content to focus on making your body fully submit to him.

“As you wish, omega.”

The prince pulls his fingers out and makes sure to spread more of your natural lube over his cock. He feels like he could bust any moment just looking at your hole clenching at the loss. The gleam in your eyes when he lines the head of his cock up to your tightest hole gives him all the information he needs to know.

“Teyam!” You gasp just before his head makes it past the entrance.

“Doing so good for me, omega. Stay nice and relaxed.”

“It’s not going to fit.” The protest is greatly undermined by the way your pussy leaks juices down your thigh.

“Don’t worry, princess. I’ll make it fit.”

And true to his word, Neteyam patiently rears forward and rubs sinful circles over your clit until his pelvis is cushioned by your plush ass.

“Oh my Eywa!” You quiver, thighs no longer doing the work to keep you up.

“What was it you said about getting off your ass?”

“You fucking…Oh…asshole.” Your insults are barely tangible as he begins with shallow thrusts. “Oh my…oh…aahh.”

“Different than you thought, isn’t it?” He smirks, but even he has to close his eyes and take a moment to breathe. Your walls cinch around him so tightly it feels as if you're trying to strangle his cock. Even his shallow thrusts take considerable effort, even more difficult not to prematurely fill you with his seed every time those gummy walls pulse. “Deep breathes. Let yourself enjoy it.”

“M-more.”

His ears perk, wondering if he has misheard you.

“What was-”

“More! Move now! Move fucking now I swear-” The air is punched from your lungs when he harshly rears back to the tip before plunging himself all the way inside again. The noise that escapes you is one he has never heard before and he knows for a fact that it rings loud enough through the trees for the others to detect.

Grasping a handful of hair he pulls you up onto your knees so that your back is flush against his chest. From this vantage point he can see the crystal chain sparkling in the sunlight.

“Is that any way to ask for what you want?” He rumbles against your ear.

The sound of clapping skin echoes through the forest as you eagerly push yourself back against his now brutal pace.

“Teyamteyamteyam,” Comes your endless spew, head thrown back against his shoulder. He’s too lost in his own ecstasy to chew you out for not answering his question. Instead he roughly manhandles you off of his cock and pushes you to lay down on your back.

“But-”

Legs thrown around his waist he sinks back inside to the hilt. “You need to learn some fucking patience, princess.”

“I’m sorryyyyy!” You drawl but those little hands are already grasp at his biceps, demanding that he slots himself closer. Looking down he swears he can practically see his cock moving in your stomach.

“How are these pretty tits doing, hm?” Swooping down, he leaves sloppy kisses around your secured nipples, groaning when your fingers claws at his hair to pull him closer. “Tell me the truth now, princess. Tell me how much you love me my cock in your ass.”

He knows you're far gone when a response comes back without any fight. “I love..ngh..ah…I love your cock in my ass. Don’t stop, alpha. Pleasepleaseplease.”

“Take a breath for me.” He commands softly and the second you comply he undoes both claps in tandem. In some ways he has heard that taking them off is more painful than putting them on. If that is true, you must have a secret love for such pain because you bare down on him so hard that it takes everything within him not to bust inside of you.

“Fuck!” You curse, yanking him down impossibly closer. “Neteyam!”

“Good girl, princess. My good girl.” He murmurs between sloppy kisses laid on your chest. He licks gently over your pointed nipples in efforts to soothe them.

Neteyam’s own patience is quickly unraveling but he wants to come in time with you. He wants you to squirt across him as he paints your walls white. So with his own breaths coming out in pants and hips ricketing at a desperate speed, he reaches between you and assaults that little bundle of nerves.

“Come on, brat. Do as you're told for once and come for me.”

You steal the very air from his lungs. Your silky walls milk him dry as you come around him. Stars dot his vision and his abdomen flexes at the pure pressure of his own release. He spills himself inside of you as your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

When he finally does come down from that high, your grip won’t release. His name is a whispered mantra on your lips as you pull his heavy body atop of yours. He falls without resistance, crushing you beneath him.

You’re overwhelmed. It makes him both proud and spiteful that no other male has truly managed to get you into this floaty state before. From the way you claw at him as if he is the very oxygen you rely on, it’s clear you don’t know how to handle such new intense emotions. To think you’ve gone so many years without truly satisfying your omega.

“I’ve got you, omega. Your alpha’s here.” He tries to prop himself up on an elbow to relieve some of his body weight from you, but that has your panic rising. With an endless draw of sweet nothings he presses himself back down just in time for your lips to demand his.

That anxiety gradually smoothes away the longer he indulges the impromptu makeout session. When his tongue swirls around yours, your movements become more leisurely. Even the very nature of the kiss becomes lazy while you softly play with his neat braids.

“Teyam…”

“Yes princess?” He checks to make sure your breathing has finally turned back to normal after pulling away.

“I’m ready to sleep.” You say as a matter of fact.

“No tiyawn we still-” It’s too late. Chest somehow managing to rise and fall beneath his weight and eyes fluttered closed, you are dead to the world. Very typical fashion for you to simply state your wants as reality without waiting for any protests.

He rolls his eyes fondly before carefully situating both of you onto your sides. His legs feel like thin vines walloping in the wind. Neteyam has to hold back a groan when he finally manages to slip out of you. Bathing in the sunlight with you tucked against his side, he allows himself one moment to recover and bask in the feeling.

And when that moment is gone, he does everything in his power to dress and clean up both of you without disturbing your slumber. Your hair is still tangled and the echoing screams are sure to be enough evidence of what has happened between you two but when he walks out carrying you bridal style, he playfully glares at the other males who are anxious to make their teasing comments. They will beat him up about it later, for now it is important that you sleep.

With narrowed eyes and a hiss he demands their silence before he situates you in front of him on the pa’li. Facing sideways on the horse you snuggle closer in your sleep, body shivering. You only wake for a second so that he can slip his thick poncho over the both of you. This way you are kept warm and eyes are shielded from the sun as you sleep.

“Well?” Tak’nal, his second in command, asks with a raised brow.

“Problem solved.” Neteyam says simply. “Let’s go home.”

Writing this felt like a fever dream😂🫠 Please don't be shy, let me know what you think😚💗

Unofficial Taglist: @pandoraslxna @ikeyniofthetayrangi @plantgirliewholovespandora @nakedinthetrees

1K notes · View notes

buldakcorn · 30 days ago

Note

Do you have anything for Choerry while I patiently await Taboo? 🥺

Morning Glory

LOONA/ARTMS Choerry x Male Reader

Genre : Girlfriend, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink

6466 words

As the soft light of dawn spilled into the room, you tiptoed out of the enveloping warmth of the shower, gently dabbing your skin with a plush towel. You couldn't help but steal a glance at Choerry, her peaceful features framed by a halo of disheveled hair, as she slept on soundly in your bed. Her gentle breathing and the faint scent of her perfume lingered in the air, a reminder of the love that had grown between you both over the past few months.

You felt a swell of affection as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to her forehead. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly against your lips, but she didn't wake. With a quiet smile, you retreated to the sanctuary of your home office, fully dressed up, ready to face the day that stretched out before you.

Settling into your ergonomic chair, you took a moment to appreciate the orderly chaos of your home office, where piles of paperwork and screens of data danced in harmony. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen, a comforting scent that signaled the start of a new day.

You glanced at the digital clock on the wall, noticing that your online meeting was just minutes away. The anticipation grew as you clicked open your laptop, the screen flickering to life to reveal a series of notifications and emails awaiting your attention. You logged into the virtual conference platform, checking your appearance in the small thumbnail before you allowed yourself to be seen by your colleagues and investors.

With a deep breath, you clicked the 'join meeting' button, ready to navigate the intricate dance of numbers, strategy, and ambition that lay ahead. The video feeds popped up, displaying familiar faces along with a few new ones, and the room filled with the buzz of greetings and early morning banter. You straightened your tie, took a sip of your coffee, and plunged into the day's challenges.

The meeting unfolded with surprising ease as you navigated through the agenda, your voice confident and clear despite the occasional interruption from the hum of the early morning outside. You presented your latest financial reports with a flair that seemed to captivate even the most stoic of investors. Their nods and approving murmurs filled the virtual space, a symphony of affirmation that resonated deep within your chest. As the discussion grew more intense, your eyes flickered over to the time, noticing that it had flown by without a trace of sluggishness.

Suddenly, your professional focus was shattered by an unexpected sensation. You felt a strange force against your crotch, and your eyes shot down to find Choerry kneeling beneath your desk, her fingers deftly tracing the outline of your growing arousal through your trousers.

She looked up at you with a mischievous smile, her eyes sparkling with a mix of love and playfulness. Blowing you a kiss, she continued her ministrations, her touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. The meeting participants, oblivious to the intimate scene playing out beneath the conference table, carried on with their discussions.

Your heart raced as you struggled to maintain your composure, trying to keep your voice steady and your mind on the figures and graphs displayed on your screen. The tension grew, not only from the business matters at hand but also from the unspoken erotic dance happening right beneath your professional veneer.

The moment the conversation shifted to a colleague's presentation, you seized the opportunity to mute your microphone.

"Choerry, w-what are you doing?" you whispered, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and arousal. She giggled softly, her hand still moving rhythmically against your growing hardness.

"Just giving daddy some little motivation," she murmured, her voice a seductive purr with the pet name that sent a shiver down your spine. Despite the tension in the room, her playfulness was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile back at her. You reached down to gently tug at her ear, the silent communication between you a secret shared only by the two of you in this professional setting.

The thrill of potentially being caught only served to amplify the desire pulsing through your veins, and you felt your resolve to remain unflappable slipping away. Choerry, ever the tease, took this as a challenge, her touch growing bolder, her eyes locked onto yours with a fiery determination that dared you to ignore the passion smoldering between you.

As the conversation flowed back to you, your mind racing with the dual tasks of dissecting financial jargon and resisting the exquisite pleasure, you took a deep, calming breath and unmuted your microphone.

"As for the Q3 projections," you began, your voice a tad shakier than usual. Choerry, undeterred by the professional facade you were trying to maintain, took this as her cue.

She leaned closer, her warm breath ghosting over your skin as she took out your cock and placed it in her soft, wet mouth, her tongue flicking tantalizingly against the sensitive tip. You bit back a groan, focusing on the numbers and graphs on the screen as your body screamed for more.

"We're looking at a... a significant increase in revenue," you managed to say, your eyes darting between your presentation and the erotic show unfolding just out of camera range. The taste of your precum mixed with the bitter tang of coffee on her lips, and she moaned around you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. You clenched your fists, trying to keep from bucking your hips up into her mouth.

Choerry's pace increased, her cheeks hollowing as she took you deeper into her mouth, the wet sounds of her suctioning echoing in the quiet room. The sudden urgency of her actions sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, and you couldn't hold back a moan that slipped out, only to be hastily disguised as a cough.

You felt your face flush with heat, hoping your colleagues had attributed the unexpected sound to a mere throat tickle rather than the illicit act happening right under their virtual gazes.

In the midst of your impromptu performance, you caught the knowing glint in her eye, the way her hand slipped into her own panties, her fingers moving in time with her mouth. The realization that she was getting herself off while you tried to keep your cool was almost too much to bear, and you felt yourself approaching the precipice of climax. The tension between keeping your business persona intact and succumbing to the rapture of her touch grew tauter with each passing moment.

As your voice grew hoarse with restrained passion, the sudden sensation of Choerry's throat contracting around your cock made you stumble over your words. One of the investors raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her gaze piercing through the screen.

"Are you feeling alright?" she inquired with a hint of concern, noticing the tremor in your hand as it clutched the mouse. You managed a strained nod, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

"Yes, I'm... I'm just... a bit of a... dry throat," you croaked, trying to cover your discomfort with a hasty sip of coffee that nearly scalded your tongue. Choerry's eyes danced with mirth at your plight, her own hand now a blur in her lap, matching the rhythm of her mouth on you.

Her eyes never leaving yours, Choerry's mischievous smile grew wider as she shifted her attention to your balls, taking one into her mouth and rolling it around with her tongue while her hand kept a firm, teasing grip on your shaft.

The sight of her, kneeling before you, so attentive to your needs, was almost too erotic to handle. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter, your hips instinctively pushing forward despite the professional decorum you were desperately trying to uphold. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched your reactions, clearly enjoying the power she had over you in this moment.

As your colleagues droned on about market trends and profit margins, you fought to keep your voice steady, your mind racing with the sensations of her warm, wet mouth and the gentle tug of her hand. The sound of her soft, eager slurps filled the silence in your mind, a stark contrast to the cold, calculated words you were forced to speak.

With each stroke of her tongue, you felt your control slipping further, the pressure building to a crescendo that you were dangerously close to losing hold of.

The room outside your screen was a blur of graphs and faces, their voices a distant murmur as Choerry's mouth and hand worked in perfect harmony. You clenched your fists so hard that your knuckles turned white, trying to hold back the inevitable. But the way she looked up at you, her eyes shining with love and lust, made it impossible to deny the primal need that surged through you.

With one final, masterful tug, Choerry brought you to the brink, her eyes locked onto yours in a silent challenge. You could feel the heat of her breath against your thigh as she sucked harder, her cheeks hollowed with effort. The dam broke, and you couldn't contain the deep, guttural groan that tore from your throat.

You came, your release spilling into her waiting mouth, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile never faltering.

You managed to muffle the sound with your hand, hoping that the cacophony of voices in the virtual meeting would cover it up. As your orgasm subsided, you saw the triumph in her gaze, the satisfaction of a challenge well met.

With a final kiss to the tip of your cock, she withdrew her mouth and sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She winked at you, the picture of innocence, before slipping away from beneath the desk and leaving you secretly to face the aftermath of your secret rendesvouz.

As the final words of the meeting faded from the speakers, the screen on your computer went dark, leaving you alone in the suddenly quiet room with the echoes of your passionate encounter. You let out a deep, shaky sigh and leaned back in your chair, the leather cool against your dampened skin. Your heart pounded in your chest as the reality of what had just transpired began to settle over you.

The thrill had left you both physically and mentally drained, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure now giving way to a warm, contented lassitude. You took a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your rumpled clothes and straightening your tie. The smell of sex lingered faintly in the air, a tantalizing reminder of Choerry's impromptu visit.

With a final, wistful glance at the now-empty space beneath the desk, you stood and stretched, feeling the delicious ache in your muscles. The sun had fully risen outside, casting a warm glow through the office windows, and the scent of breakfast wafted in from the kitchen.

You made your way to the kitchen, the scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon guiding you to the welcoming embrace of a well-deserved breakfast. As you sat at the table, the plate of steaming food already set before you, Choerry emerged behind you from the kitchen, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and an apron draped over her nightgown. She wrapped her arms around your chest, her cheek resting against your back as she leaned into your shoulder.

"Why are you starting your day with an empty stomach?!" she scolded playfully, her breath warm against your neck.

"You know you can't perform at your best without a proper breakfast." Her voice held a teasing lilt, the mischief of her earlier actions still dancing in her tone.

You couldn't help but chuckle, the warmth of her touch seeping into your bones as you took in the sight of your perfectly prepared meal, and your perfect girl.

"You're right, as always," you conceded, turning to kiss her cheek.

"I guess I had other... priorities this morning," you added with a smirk, your eyes sparkling with the memory of the meeting.

Choerry giggled, her hands slipping around to squeeze your abs gently.

"Well, now that you're all fed and energized," she whispered, her voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "I expect nothing but the best from my man today."

Her words, a siren's call, sent a thrill through your body, igniting a fire that hadn't yet had time to die down from your earlier encounter. You felt your cock begin to harden once more at the thought of her sweet, willing submission. You turned in your chair, taking her by the waist and lifting her onto your lap, her nightgown riding up to expose her bare thighs.

"Choerry," you murmured, your voice thick with desire, "you know I can't refuse you."

With a grin that was both adorable and predatory, she straddled you, her wetness pressing against your now-throbbing erection. "Then don't," she purred, rocking her hips slightly. "Punish this naughty slut, daddy."

You stood, her legs wrapped around your waist, and carried her towards the bedroom, the warmth of her body against yours setting your skin alight. The weight of her was heavenly, and you felt your resolve to keep the day professional dissolve away like sugar in hot tea.

Her loving smile never wavered as you carried her back to the bedroom, the playful lightness of the moment a stark contrast to the intense passion that had just transpired.

You couldn't resist showering her face with gentle kisses, your love for her spilling over into every touch. Choerry's giggles filled the air as she squirmed in your arms, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

"It tickles, daddy s-stop!" she murmured, trying to swat you away with a feigned look of annoyance. But the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her, revealing the thrill she found in your affectionate assault. You chuckled, feeling the warmth of her body against yours as she melted into your embrace.

With a playful growl, you set Choerry down on the bed, her body bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. She watched you with wide, hungry eyes, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as you began to undo the buttons of your shirt. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a silent symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with each piece of clothing that fell to the floor.

Her gaze roved over your bare chest, her pupils dilating as your abs rippled in the soft morning light. She bit her finger, a silent plea for you to hasten your movements, her own need evident in the way her chest heaved with each shallow breath. The air was charged with sexual tension, the echoes of your earlier encounter still resonating in the space between you.

Your cock, now fully hard again, pointed towards her like a compass needle drawn to true north, a silent declaration of your intention to claim her once more. As the last of your shirt fell away, you stepped out of your trousers, revealing your nakedness to her eager eyes.

The sight of you, raw and aroused, sent a thrill through her, making her squirm with impatience. She reached for you, her hand tracing the length of your cock, her touch featherlight but filled with a promise of what was to come.

"I need you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that you were powerless to resist.

With a growl of need, you pushed Choerry back onto the bed, the softness of the mattress giving way beneath her. Your mouth claimed hers in a deep, hungry kiss, your tongue delving into the warm cavern of her mouth as you explored the sweetness of her taste.

Your hand wrapped around her right wrist, pinning it to the bed, while your other hand began to roam her body, your fingertips tracing the soft curves of her waist, the swell of her breasts, and the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

She moaned into your mouth, her body arching towards you, eager for the touch she knew would come. Your thumb grazed the sensitive peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her nightgown, making her gasp and her eyes flutter shut, her body responding to your every command.

"No underwear? Such a naughty girl."

Her eyes snapped open at your words, and she giggled, her cheeks flushing even deeper.

"I wanted to surprise you, daddy." she admitted shyly, her voice barely a whisper. Your cock twitched at her admission, and you couldn't help but lean down to kiss her again, your teeth grazing her lower lip before you pulled back.

"And surprise me you did, baby." you murmured against her mouth, your hand sliding beneath the hem of her nightgown to find her wet and ready. Choerry's breath hitched as you parted her folds with your thumb, her hips rising to meet your touch. The soft, slick sound of her arousal was music to your ears, and you felt your own desire swell in response.

"So fucking wet. Do you want it so badly?"

Choerry's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, her breath coming in quick gasps.

"Yes, make me cum so hard daddy," she whimpered, her hips bucking against your hand. You took mercy on her, sliding two fingers inside her, her warmth enveloping you as she moaned with pleasure. Her walls clenched around your digits, her body begging for more as you pumped into her steadily.

Her free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered some encouragement full of love and need. Her freed right hand found its way to your cock, her grip firm as she stroked you in time with your movements inside her. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of passion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the house.

"F-faster daddy, I'm so close."

"Bad girls don't get to cum easily."

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your teasing words, a playful pout gracing her lips.

"But daddy!" she protested, her voice a delicious blend of need and wantonness, "I've been such a good girl for you."

Her hips rolled against your hand, her internal muscles tightening around your fingers, as if to prove her point. You smirked, enjoying the way she writhed beneath you, her body a canvas of desire painted by your touch.

Leaning in, you whispered against her ear, "But the best rewards come to those who can wait," before withdrawing your hand and moving to kiss a trail down her neck. Her protests turned to whimpers of anticipation, her body quivering with the unfulfilled need you had so expertly woken within her.

You felt a thrill at the power you held over her, the way she submitted so beautifully to your will.

Your kisses grew more insistent, moving lower still, until you reached her pert nipples through her gown, teasing them with your teeth as your hand found its way to the apex of her thighs once more. This time, instead of sliding inside her, you gently pinched her clit, watching with dark delight as she arched off the bed with a silent scream, her eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and frustration.

Her hand tightened around your cock, her strokes becoming erratic as she attempted to coax you back to where she wanted you most. But you had other plans, your mouth moving lower, the fabric of her nightgown damp with her arousal. As you reached the juncture of her thighs, you pushed the gown aside, exposing her glistening folds to the cool morning air. With a grin, you dipped your head and took a long, lingering lick, savoring the taste of her sweetness. Choerry's eyes flew open, her pupils dilated with desire as she watched you, her breath hitching in her chest.

"Daddy..." she breathed, the single word a plea and a prayer, her legs spreading wider in an unspoken invitation.

"Oh God... Daddy eat me so well."

Taking her words to heart, you lowered your head to feast on her pussy, your tongue swirling around her clit before delving into her wetness. Choerry's legs trembled as you devoured her, her whimpers and gasps filling the room. You felt her body tighten around your fingers as you curled them inside her, hitting that magical spot that made her toes curl. Her hand on the back of your head held you in place, guiding your movements, her hips bucking against your face in a silent demand for more. The taste of her, the scent of her, the sounds of her pleasure – it was all too much, and you knew she was close.

"Fuckkk, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cu-"

Choerry's body spasmed as she reached her climax, her sweet nectar spurting forth like a fountain, soaking your face and chest. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out an ear-piercing scream that seemed to shake the very walls of the room. Her legs tightened around your neck, her heels digging into your back as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air. You didn't relent, continuing to lick and suck at her clit, drawing out every last drop of ecstasy until she collapsed against the mattress, her body slick with sweat and satisfaction.

"We're far from being done."

"Strip."

Choerry complied eagerly, her trembling hands pulling the nightgown over her head and tossing it aside, revealing her flushed body and hardened nipples. You took in the sight of her, a goddess laid bare before you, and felt your cock throb with anticipation. You climbed onto the bed, knees straddling her thighs, and took her face in your hands, kissing her deeply, sharing the taste of her pleasure. Her legs wrapped around your waist, urging you closer, and you felt her warmth against your shaft, beckoning you to claim her once more.

Without wasting a moment, you claimed her nipples with your eager mouth, sucking and teasing each peak until they stood at attention, pebbled with desire. Choerry's breath hitched, and she arched her back, offering herself to you fully as your tongue swirled and flicked against the sensitive flesh, eliciting soft moans from her parted lips.

Her hands roamed over your back, her nails digging into your flesh as you continued to worship her breasts, your passion for her a living, breathing entity that consumed the space between you. Each pull of your mouth on her nipples sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own.

"The milk won't c-come out until you p-put a baby in me daddy."

"Is that so? Is that what my sweetheart wants? To be filled with my cum?

Her words were like gasoline on a fire, stoking the inferno of your desire even higher. You pulled back, your eyes locked onto hers, a silent question in your gaze. Choerry's expression was a mix of longing and need, her body quivering with the aftershocks of her recent orgasm.

"Yes! Fill me up daddy! Make me carry your child!"

With a nod, she confirmed her wish, and you couldn't resist the urge to claim her fully. You lined up the head of your cock with her slick entrance, pausing for just a moment to appreciate the view. Her pussy glistened with desire, the perfect sheath for your throbbing member.

With a growl, you plunged into her, filling her up in one smooth, powerful stroke. She gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head again, as you began to fuck her with a rhythm that was both punishing and loving.

"Oh my gosh.... So b-big..... Don't s-stop!"

Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through her body, and she met you with an equal fervor, her hips rising to meet you, her legs tightening around your waist. The room was filled with the slap of skin against skin and the sweet symphony of your mingled moans.

You leaned in to capture her mouth once more, your kiss deep and possessive, as you claimed her body in the most primal of ways. Your hands roamed over her curves, gripping her hips to pull her closer, to drive into her deeper still. Choerry's nails dug into your back, leaving a trail of fire as she held on tight, her breath coming in ragged pants.

"Daddy, I love you," she whispered, her voice a hoarse whisper lost in the crescendo of pleasure.

"I love you too, baby," you murmured, your own voice thick with emotion, "now cum for me again, show me how much you want it."

Her eyes cross each other in ecstasy as you pounded into her, the force of your thrusts shaking the bed with each powerful stroke. Her nails dug deeper into your back, leaving little half-moons of pain that only served to heighten your pleasure. You could feel her walls tightening around you, the muscles in her stomach tensing as she approached the edge of another orgasm. Her breaths grew more ragged, and her cries grew louder, each one a testament to the unbridled passion you shared.

Choerry's legs tightened around your waist, her heels pressing into your lower back as she met your every thrust with equal fervor. Her hips rolled in a desperate bid to take you even deeper, her need for release becoming more urgent with each passing second.

"Yes, baby, just like that," you grunted, feeling the beginnings of your own climax coil in your lower belly. You leaned down to nip at her neck, eliciting a scream that was music to your ears. "You're going to take all of me," you growled, your voice thick with desire.

With a groan of pure lust, you released her legs, pushing them up and back until they were bent at her shoulders, her pussy exposed and open to you like a flower in bloom. Choerry's grip tightened around her own legs, holding them in place as you took full advantage of her newfound vulnerability. The angle changed, allowing you to drive even deeper into her, and she moaned in pleasure as you did so. Your eyes never left hers, the connection between you burning hotter than the sun outside the window, as you claimed her completely. Each stroke was a declaration of your love, each thrust a silent promise to give her everything she desired.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest heaving as she fought to maintain her grip on her legs. You knew she was close, could feel her tightening around you with every movement.

"Cum for me, baby," you whispered, your voice a dark caress, "let me feel your pussy milk me dry."

Choerry's eyes went wide, the heady mix of pleasure and pain in your words pushing her closer to the edge. She nodded, her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she braced herself for the deluge.

"I'm cumming now, daddy please," she begged, her voice a breathy whimper, "I'm cumming!"

And with that, you felt her walls clench around you, her body shuddering with the force of her climax. Her juices spilled over your cock, coating your abdomen as she rode the wave of pleasure. You watched, enraptured, as she lost herself to the sensation, her eyes glazed over and her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy.

As her orgasm subsided, you felt your own building, the pressure at the base of your spine growing unbearable. You knew you couldn't last much longer, and with one final, powerful thrust, you released your own flood of cum deep within her, filling her up and marking her as yours in the most primal of ways. The room seemed to spin around you as pleasure coursed through your veins, leaving you gasping for breath and trembling with the aftershocks of your release.

Choerry's legs slowly relaxed, and she let out a contented sigh, a smile playing at the corners of her lips as she looked up at you. You collapsed beside her, your chests heaving in unison, your bodies slick with sweat and love.

As the final pulses of your orgasm subsided, you couldn't help but revel in the feeling of her body, still quivering with the aftershocks of her own. Your hand moved to her belly, pressing gently to feel the warmth of your cum inside her. With a knowing smile, you pushed against her stomach, watching as the excess fluid began to flow out of her, painting her inner thighs with sticky white streaks. The sight was incredibly erotic, a tangible proof of your union, and it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. Choerry giggled, a sweet sound that seemed to resonate through your very soul, her eyes fluttering shut as she enjoyed the sensation.

"Look at you," you murmured, your voice filled with awe and love, "so beautiful, so fertile."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink at your words, a soft smile playing on her lips as she opened her eyes to meet your gaze. "All for you, daddy," she whispered, her voice a sultry purr that sent your pulse racing once more.

With a groan, you pulled her closer, your cock still semi-hard against her thigh. Your hand trailed up to her breasts, playing with the sensitive flesh as you kissed her again, unable to get enough of her taste, her touch, her scent. The room was filled with the sweet musk of your love making, a scent that seemed to envelop you both in a warm, comforting embrace.

Choerry's body was still quaking from the intensity of her climax when you felt your own hand acting of its own accord. Without warning, your fingers found their way back to her soaked pussy, gently sliding through the mess of cum and her juices. The sensation of being so completely filled and then touched again was almost too much for her to bear. Her eyes shot open in surprise, meeting yours with a mix of shock and overwhelming arousal.

"Daddy, no more, I'm still sensitive!" she breathed, though the plea was weak and her hips betrayed her, moving against your hand despite the protest. You couldn't resist the urge to test her limits, to see just how much pleasure she could handle. Your touch grew bolder, your fingers moving in small, teasing circles around her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her already oversensitive body.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out as the overstimulation built once more. You watched her intently, the way her body reacted to every touch, every stroke, and you felt your cock twitch back to life, eager to plunge into her once again.

"Be a good girl and cum for me again."

"I love to see your face when you cum. Give it to me baby."

Choerry's eyes widened with a mix of shock and excitement at your command, her body already responding despite her earlier protest. You watched as she bit her lip harder, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh as she fought against the waves of pleasure that your relentless fingers brought forth. Her breaths grew shallower, her chest heaving with the effort to remain silent. But it was clear that she was enjoying the torment, her eyes shining with a mischievous light that told you she was ready to push her boundaries even further.

With a smirk, you leaned down to capture her nipple once more, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as you continued to tease her clit with featherlight strokes. Her body arched off the bed, and she let out a muffled moan that was music to your ears. You knew she was close, the tension in her body building with every passing second.

"Daddyyyy!"

Her squirt was more intense than before, her juices arcing high into the air like a celebratory fountain. The force of her release soaked your hand, the bed, and even splattered against the wall. Choerry's eyes squeezed shut tightly as her body contorted with the overwhelming pleasure. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, and her breath was a series of sharp gasps as she rode the crest of her climax.

When the spasms finally subsided, she opened her mouth to speak, but only a strangled sound came out, her voice lost to the power of her orgasm. She panted heavily, her chest heaving, as she struggled to find the words to express what she felt.

"Is my baby okay? Did I went too hard?"

Choerry managed a weak nod, her cheeks still flushed and her chest rising and falling with the aftermath of her intense release.

"I'm okay," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're just so... amazing." She reached out to cup your cheek, her eyes shining with adoration. The room was still filled with the sweet scent of your love, and the sticky evidence of your shared passion was a testament to the depth of your connection.

You kissed her forehead tenderly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the exertion. As your hand pulled away from her still-throbbing pussy, you brought your fingers to your mouth, tasting her on your skin, the salty sweetness of her arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of your cum.

"Fuck me more, daddy. Treat me like I'm nothing but a slut. Make me your cumdump."

Her sexual drive suprised you. But who are you to ignore an angel's request.

And so you did. The day unfolded into a tapestry of carnality, each room in your home becoming a stage for your unbridled passion. From the soft caress of the living room rug to the cool embrace of the kitchen countertop, you claimed her in every way imaginable. Her moans of pleasure and the slap of your flesh against hers became the soundtrack of the day, echoing through the house like a siren's call that drew you back to each other time and time again.

You took her from behind as both of you work your way to the bathroom to take a shower, her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and as you whispered dirty words into her ear. You had her ride you reverse cowgirl on the couch while watching your favorite shows, her ass bouncing with every eager plunge she took onto your cock. You bent her over the dining table midway through eating lunch, her legs shaking with the effort to hold herself up, as you fucked her so hard the chandelier above you swung with the force of your love. You fucked her against the windows of your office, her bare ass thumping on the glass surface, free for anyone to see. Each position brought new sensations, each touch a declaration of your insatiable hunger for one another.

As the shadows grew long and the day's warmth began to fade into the embrace of nightfall, the scent of your love lingered in the air like a potent aphrodisiac. In the dimly lit bedroom, you found yourself behind Choerry, her glistening skin bared to you like an open book. She was on her hands and knees, her back arched beautifully as she presented her soaked pussy to you. Each slap of your hand against her ass sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, her muffled cries of "more" urging you on. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, punctuated by the wet smack of your cock disappearing into her depths. Her eyes were screwed shut in ecstasy, her teeth digging into the fabric of the bed sheet as she tried to contain the moans that threatened to spill out. You watched the pink slapmarks bloom across her ass, each one a brand of your ownership, a map of your passion.

"What are you Choerry?"

Choerry's eyes snapped open at your question, a fiery determination blazing within them. "I'm your slut, daddy, a nasty whore that needs to be punished and filled," she moaned, pushing back against you, her movements frantic and desperate for more.

You grabbed her hips tightly, your grip leaving marks on her skin, and slammed into her even harder, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing through the room. "That's right, baby," you growled, feeling the head of your cock hit her cervix with each forceful thrust. "You're mine to fuck whenever I want."

Her pussy tightened around you, her walls fluttering with the beginnings of another orgasm. You felt your own climax building, your balls drawing up tight, your cock swelling.

"Take it all!"

With one final, powerful drive, you buried yourself to the hilt and released, filling her up once more with your hot seed.

"YESSSS push your cum deep in me, daddy. I'm cumming on that big fucking cock!"

Choerry's body convulsed around you, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave. Her screams were muffled by the pillow she'd bitten into, but the intensity of her pleasure was written all over her face.

As your climax waned, you leaned over her, kissing the nape of her neck, feeling her body quiver beneath you. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

"Good girl," you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction, "you take it so well."

Choerry collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving with the effort to catch her breath. "I love you, daddy," she whispered, turning to look at you with a soft, adoring smile.

You pulled out of her with a wet pop and moved to lay beside her, pulling her into your embrace. "And I love you, baby girl," you said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The two of you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your love, the room still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. Your arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away if you loosened your grip. Choerry snuggled into you, her head resting on your chest, listening to the steady thump of your heart.

As the night descended, you knew that the next day would bring more challenges, more responsibilities, more of the mundane. But in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body against yours and the promise of more passionate encounters to come.

And as you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you heard was her sweet voice whispering, "Thank you, daddy," a soft reminder of the power and love that flowed between you, unspoken but ever present.

#loona smut #artms smut #choerry smut #kpop smut

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fixyourwritinghabits · 1 month ago

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I just gotta throw this out there, Tumblr is the one social media website left that isn't completely miserable to use in large part because it is janky as hell, there is no algorithm, and you have no idea if you'll open up your Dash to a lovely picture of some cats or an incredibly clever fucked up joke about [insert current political thing] that would get you banned anywhere else.

That's what makes it great, but it's also what makes it unprofitable, and the mass firing of staff causing a rush on blog back-ups that seems to have crashed is Yet Another Sign that these online spaces are temporary constructs that we become reliant on when we shouldn't. And that sucks majorly, but the only way we're going to get through this is by learning to unplug from even the most well-meaning online platforms (looking at you, Bluesky) and maintaining our connections in other ways.

Make sure you know how to reach your online friends in other ways. Discord ain't good enough, frankly. Get their emails. Arrange ways to check in. Text them if you need to. With every platform shift, I've lost touch with folks I've really cared about, and finding ways to head that off is going to be important. Build those bridges while you still have the space to do so.

#this is just a tangent DO NOT PANIC about Tumblr shutting down #but it is important to think about #rumors flying around about Tumblr going down have been happening for years #but one of these days that is going to happen #and you don't want it to wreck your connections when it does

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threadbearsweater · 3 months ago

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i think a crucial part of any online friendship or connection is understanding that we all have lives outside of this space, and it isn't possible to always be present, to always be at the disposal of your online connections. that doesn't mean these people are any less important in your life. they're simply a piece of a much larger picture. a snapshot from your daily experiences. sometimes all we have time for is a hello, how are you, I love you.

sometimes, we can chat at length and type paragraph upon paragraph. sometimes, we talk on the phone, or we send letters or gifts through the mail.

sometimes, we don't talk at all for a few days. or a few weeks. and I think this ought to be the norm, you know? you still mean something to me. I still enjoy your friendship, as little as we speak. we are busy people. we are human. we have hardship. we are busy. we need to eat and rest and go for walks and laugh with our mothers and mow the lawn and see good shows. we cannot possibly do that when there's an unspoken expectation of always being available. it's not healthy for anyone involved, and it will almost always certainly lead to feelings of resentment when one or both parties doesn't feel as if they're being heard or understood.

(i say all of this for no reason in particular, aside from the fact that I was thinking this morning about a couple of previous online friendships where I felt as if I had a responsibility to be there for another person even more than I was present for my family or myself. I think i was as much to blame as the other person when it came to lack of boundaries and unspoken expectations, but I'm so thankful that I've been able to see those situations for what they were and move ahead and finally learn something from some life experiences. I always learn lessons the hard way- multiple times in multiple iterations- but I always feel as if I come away with a profound, renewed sense of self and an understanding of the human condition, deeper than i ever have before.)

tl;dr I am grateful for whatever capacity you can maintain our friendship in. thank you. I love you.

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deadpoetsandlivinglegends · 3 months ago

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Y’all respectfully don’t mind what this person is saying, please keep posting all your interpretations even if this one person isn’t having fun cause I for one quite enjoy them. I like reading them even if people might see them as ‘mundane’ or ‘basic’ takes because they encourage us to use critical thinking and look deeper at the characters within the media we consume. Seeing tons of interpretations can help me personally think deeper about the media and forces me to determine what my own opinions are, whether from agreeing or disagreeing. Also people trying to say their interpretations is them trying to demonstrate in their own lives the whole point of this movie, like even if people do happen to wrongly label it ‘unpopular opinion’, like literally who cares, people may be running in different sides of the fandom which may have differing opinions on things so to this person they may be under the impression that this is unpopular, which is exactly why we should encourage them to speak up when they have a different opinion because speaking your mind when people hate on you for doing so or for having thoughts on things that may differ from the people around you is an important thing, so like everyone, especially the young adults, please keep giving your interpretations and don’t feel discouraged bout it 🫶

And just so homie can maybe have a little more fun in this fandom and stop *checks notes* ‘gatekeeping interpreting media one consumes from teenagers’ because they *checks notes again* ‘haven’t had enough experience interpreting media so they therefore “don’t understand” how to properly interpret media they consume and therefore should stop trying instead of practicing to get better at it’, I’ll give them one of the ‘character x is misunderstood’ posts based on what they in the tags outlined and determined to be ‘unpopular’ enough for an interpretation.

Despite what the fandom things, Neil’s father was a relatively good father, the best parent out of all the poet’s parents, but he had flaws that caused his downfall. Neil’s father actually cared about his son, but he had faulty ideas because he was failed by the same systems that oppress Neil so he didn’t realize in trying to protect Neil from those systems, he was suppressing and in a way killing his son. Mr. Perry’s own traumas affect his relationship with his son and his decisions he makes in the movie, even if Neil never could see it in that light because he was being taught different than his father.

His father grew up in an environment where he was made to believe that the only way to protect his son and make sure he lived life to the fullest was by trying to help him succeed in the world they were in rather than try to change the world to fit Neil’s needs. His way of showing he loved his son, although we know it was misguided, was by trying to help his son succeed so he doesn’t have to face difficult hardships in life. Mr. Perry likely would have had to live during the Great Depression, watching people struggle to get by, knowing firsthand what it was like and not wanting that life for Neil. He tells Neil that he had opportunities his father didn’t, as we know his father likely lived through this difficult economic time in America followed by likely being affected by World War 2, whether through enlisting or through the draft. Mr. Perry, through pushing Neil into medicine, was trying to open up opportunities for Neil so he wouldn’t feel stuck like those people Mr. Perry had to watch live through these difficult times in history, and the dramatic irony is that through trying to make Neil not feel stuck in the future, he only made Neil feel more stuck now because Neil constantly felt micromanaged and that his desires were plowed over in favor of what his father thinks is best for a future Neil that we know will never exist. Everyone thinks Mr. Perry is too strict for the sake of being strict or is trying to live through Neil, but it’s clear he is a man driven by fear and beliefs stemming from his own trauma of growing up in these flawed systems, trying to make sure his son has a good life. The tragedy comes in when in trying to make sure his son has a good life, he is unknowingly killing his own son.

That is also why he tells keating in that deleted scene that he blames him, because he truly believed he was giving his son the best life his son could get in the world they were in, but then his son had this teacher who encouraged him to pursue a risky career that would cause him to live a tricky life barely getting by if getting by at all, which his son threw away the whole ‘safe’ future Mr. Perry had laid out for him in order to follow this risky barely thought out plan, and when Mr. Perry tries to push his son away from this unsafe and unsuccessful life, his son is so overdriven by emotions that he kills himself.

He didn’t believe the world could be changed and he believed his son trying would only result in him being crushed so he was trying to protect him, but unknowingly was only shutting his son out and causing his son to feel unloved and unheard. This doesn’t make him a bad person or a bad father, but merely a caring father who was a victim of the world he lived in misguidedly trying to force his son to adhere to the system against what his son needed, forcing his son to feel the only way out to be death as his father couldn’t listen due to his own fears. He was a loving father with a fatal flaw that caused not only his downfall but the downfall of those around him too. This does not make Mr. Perry inherently bad as we know he is just as much a victim as those who were hurt by his actions, but that does not mean he was right in his actions.

This story shows us despite our initial beliefs, perhaps adults don’t always know better than children, and it is through listening and open dialogue between the two that these systems work best. Maybe we should sit and think deeply about this before we tell children online to shut up because them having opinions on a topic only results in ‘mundane takes’, just some food for thought, ya know

sometimes i have fun, sometimes i see a post of someone claiming to have an unpopular opinion and then saying the most mundane shit about people "not understanding x character" and i remember this fandom is full of Literal Children

#has anyone considered that none of you understand anything because you're teenagers and you know nothing about anything #an unpopular opinion is saying mr perry is a good dad #an unpopular opinion is not just another socially acceptable interpretation #and i know someone is gonna say “the characters are teenagers so the fans should also be teenagers!” and. that's not what i mean.#what i mean is teenagers don't understand what goes into storytelling or filmmaking or character studies or analysis and it's really obviou #anyway i'm looking to start fights lowkey #< prev tags #ok homie so here is you Mr. Perry isn’t a bad dad ‘good character take’#and I don’t believe the fans should be teenagers because the characters are teenagers #I believe the fans should include teenagers because the messages can relate to their lives just as well as adults; if not more so #and the lessons they learn from analysizing this movie can help them become better adults who are not bitter cynics angry at the world #so they feel the need to go online and make safe spaces unwelcoming for the sake of ‘wanting to start fights’#because they can learn that mature adults don’t pick fights but they know how to fight them should the need arise #because the only way to maintain safe spaces is making sure people who are coming genuinely and wanting to participate can even if they #aren’t ‘good at it’ because it’s the trying that matter not the result cause that’s how community works #and as for your ‘teenagers can’t do character analyses well’ like you do know there is no good or bad; it’s a skill honed like any other #through practice; hence why we spent English classes learning how and honing these skills; so it’s not about age it’s about doing it enough #that you can learn to be better at it so telling them not to do it is hindering them from ever being able to dissect things in nuanced ways #like I would have half a million basic takes of people learning how to look at their media critically than have only a handful of people #brave enough to give an opinion because they learned how to ‘truly give takes’ cause that notion is honestly bullshit #don’t figure you will actually read everything I say but hey I said it and maybe someone will read it and feel better about giving their #takes even if they don’t have a PhD in English or a film degree or whatever #lowkey elitists have no place in this fandom cause what do you mean; we must ALL seize the day and that is done through consuming poetry #and living life and pursuing the arts even if that just means getting together with your friends and reading poetry in a circle like silly #the whole point of this movie is that art is for everyone so trying to gatekeep it in this specific fandom is absolutely wild #dead poets society #dps #dps fandom #dead poets fandom

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awordsmith · 2 months ago

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paint a picture 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you and Spencer go separate ways after university until a deadly case forces you to find your way back to each other.

katvalentine

who? spencer reid x known!reader when? s8 genre: angst (thriller) content warnings: mentions of attempted murder and the loss of a friend, second chance romance, read with scary care!! word count: 9k a/n: not how i planned to write this out–but i couldn't be happier–also i know i'm super late with the valentines themes–studying for midterms has taken toll–but i think i'm going to ace every exam with soaring colors, so plus(?)–okay let me stop rambling... enjoy!!

Your Converse hit the pavement as you ignored the bustling of the other students that sounded around you. In contrast to everyone else, you were running toward the rain rather than hiding from it. You didn’t have a choice–it was either that or failing your psychology class.

It wasn’t as if you were completely behind, you’d attended every class–and you’d taken notes…mostly. Okay, barely–but with all your other courses, trying to maintain your part-time job on weekends, and constantly visiting the UNEP for Aspiring Young Center, Psychology had been the least of your worries. You had barely had any time to sleep–let alone to yourself.

The class was only once a week and though it was online–it’d been the class you’d seemed to forget most about. You’d gotten your hands on some of the notes from other students, but they all seemed useless when the midterm exam was next week. You had no time to study–that was what had you so freaked.

It had slipped your mind–somehow–that it was going to be half your grade. In the sight of other courses: sociology, criminology, comm, English, and history, you’d completely forgotten about one of the most important classes you were taking this semester. Gosh, why couldn’t it just be summer already? More than that, why did you have to take on so many classes? Sure you wanted to graduate early, but you were in your sophomore year, you should have been enjoying it.

Instead, you were getting soaked in rainwater in an attempt to leave a good impression on your new tutor. You were running late, as per usual. It had been a bad habit you’d picked up your freshman year when you realized parking wasn’t as easy as you’d thought it would be. You were normally late to classes, always running down one hall or the next. The university’s library was like a second home to you. You could generally be found in one of the desks near the elevator most nights. You preferred the tables behind the elevators the best. Preferably one closest to the corner.

Each table had two desks connected and two seats for each desk. You kept your backpack in the seat next to you and did well for warding off creeps mindlessly sitting down. The tables in the corners also proved well for when your headphones died. They were just far enough away that you couldn’t hear the elevator's constant dinging. The limited space also kept a multitude of people walking back and forth between the tables; yeah, sure you probably just got annoyed quickly, but you couldn’t help how you were. You were how you were and you liked it.

“Excuse me,” you squeaked, nearly colliding with a girl coming through the double doors with an umbrella. You huffed and removed the hood of your jacket, trying to smooth down your hair. It was pulled back into a ponytail, but hairs were now sticking up–you could feel it. You removed the hair tie and slipped it onto your hand, running your hands through your semi-wet locks.

You wanted to use the bathroom first, but you didn’t want to leave the poor guy hanging, it was Valentines' Day, after all, he probably took on this job in pity and had some hot girlfriend angry at him because of it. You felt bad–genuinely, it had your heart aching. Though you had no interest in dating yourself, you could wager the benefits it brought many others.

You ignored the elevator and headed up the stairs, when you reached the top you were out of breath. You hated staircases in high school and you hated them now. Picking back up some of your dignity, you glanced around the area, trying to scope out the tutor you were meeting.

He had great reviews, and apparently, he already had 1 PhD and was working on his second. He was young, around your age, and you wondered if he was a genius, that was the only likely explanation. Or maybe he really was just that good Well, you’d see for yourself in a few minutes. You caught sight of wild brown curls and a large brown and orange sweater vest.

He was sitting at the very end of the row, you recognized the large window panes that sat to the side of each table. You smiled slightly, it was just how you preferred it a quiet study night. You hadn’t mentioned anything about liking the ends, it was entirely possible he liked it that way too, where most of the noise disappeared, and the world along with it.

As you approached the kid, you thought this surely couldn’t be him. He looked…well…smaller. The photo online was just his face, but as you rounded the table, your nose scrunched up.

Sure, people took off their glasses for a multitude of reasons, including taking a photo, but you never thought it could make such a difference to a person's appearance. “...Dr. Ried?” You stuttered out, setting your tote bag in the seat next to you.

When Spencer looked up, he had to fix his glasses. He wasn’t good at keeping eye contact, so he focussed on the necklace around your neck, “uh, yeah, —?”

You smiled and nodded, sighing out as you sat in the seat across from him, “It is you–sorry I’m late, I was–” you were in the middle of your living room in your underwear having a mini concert with the tv and your hairbrush, but you said, “working on a few theories, you know how you can get lost in your head sometimes.”

Spencer brightened slightly, his mind racing with the different things he wanted to say, theories were one of his favorite topics, he could go on and on, talking about his favorite and his least favorite, ones that had a high chance of being debunked in the future and ones that have already been debunked, but he forced his mouth closed before he said any of that. “Yeah, theories are fun,” it hurt him–physically–not to say more. But, Spencer was trying out his professionalism, and a professional would not geek out over the mention of theories.

You nodded and started pulling your notebook out of your bag, Spencer had a psycho-analysis textbook out in front of him as he had said he would in his text. “Let’s start with chapter 45, that’s the first one that’s going to pop up on the test.” Spencer stated, watching your hands flip through page after page, “That’s a lot of notes.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, trying to subtly fan yourself, dim lighting from lamps under every table gave the small area a glow, “sorry,” you began pulling out a few writing utensils, “I know this is so last minute and you probably had plans tonight, but I really appreciate you doing this for me.” You tried meeting his eyes, but he seemed to want to keep his distance from you, which struck you as odd seeing as how there wasn’t much of an age gap.

“No, don’t worry–” he waved his hands in front of him, his eyes having an almost paranoid feeling to them, “I,” he looked away, “I didn’t have any plans tonight. You’re fine, so don’t worry,” he let his hands fall into his lap.

Your eyes widened slightly and a subtle realization came over you that this guy wasn’t small–he was slumping in his seat, which is why he looked to be small at first glance. His posture was all wrong and it ticked you a little. One of your eyes twitched, but you hummed to calm yourself down. It didn’t really bother you, but the way he was acting–you just couldn’t help it.

“Alright,” you smoothed out the page and flipped it around to show Dr. Reid.

Spencer ran his eyes along the page, there sure were a lot of dashes and marks, he admired your penmanship for a moment before turning and meeting your gaze for the first time, “a lot of notes, yes, but most of them are useless.” He winced. He didn’t mean to say it like that, he probably should have used another word–useless just felt so…gray. “I mean, that’s not what I mean, I just meant that–” he huffed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair taking his glasses off momentarily to rub his eyes.

His features weren’t lost on you. His jaw was sharp, his neck thick, he could be a male model if he wanted to, he had the build for it. He was skinny and he was awkward in his skin, but with the right training, his self-confidence could be raised immensely. Spencer blinked, noting your stare and suddenly he felt nervous again. It wasn’t that you intimidated him–though with the way he was acting, it probably didn’t seem that way.

You were more than pretty, you stood out. Maybe not to everyone, but Spencer had learned long ago that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and to Spencer, you were. You looked like you belonged in a Renaissance painting or behind the glass at a thrift store, something not for sale; something priceless. Something you see once in a museum and go home thinking about, never to see it again, but can’t help remembering years later.

Spencer cleared his throat, understanding, he too was now staring. “Right, so–chapter forty-five, what, what do you remember most about it?”

You glanced at your notes, running a finger along a highlighted part, “Proximity, the mere exposure effect, basically anything to do with how we feel about another person.”

Spencer nodded and ran his eyes over your notes. It wasn’t highlighted, but he thought it should be. “See here,” he flipped the notebook back around, “this isn’t highlighted, but this is,” he pointed to another point, “can you tell me why?”

You looked over the two bullet points, an embarrassed smile washing over you. You everted your eyes toward the floor and scratched one of your cheeks with a finger, “I liked how it read.”

Spencer felt his heart flutter and his cheeks flush red at the admission, it was cute. It was more than cute it was adorable. But that was completely unprofessional, even if this was just a side job he’d taken on because he needed some quick cash. “Well, I suggest making another set of notes, I can do it for you if you’d like.”

You nodded and Spencer felt the need to ask another–rather important–question, “Do you normally read over your notes once you write them?”

You made a face, your lips pressed together to suppress a smile. The truth was you did but with psychology…. “I normally do during study sessions, it helps because I’m really bad at remembering things,” you played with a tiny lock of wet hair, murmuring, “and I’m always late.”

Spencer snorted but tried covering it up with a cough. Your lips quirked upward and your eyes narrowed slightly. He, in turn, did his best to avoid your gaze. “Wow,” you nodded, “so that’s how it is.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, “I didn’t,” he didn’t mean to be rude, this wasn’t how he normally acted, especially around girls. If anything, he’d always had a mutual understanding with the opposite sex, he would not reach for something he could not see, but you–you seemed… vivid…

“I’m just messing with you, Spencer–” you gasped internally and paused externally. You didn’t mean to address him by that name. Not only was it probably rude, but now he probably thought you did it on purpose or something–ughhh, this blows! And I was starting to like him, if he goes all Mr. Superior on me I should get permission to smack some sense into him. After all, he isn’t that much older–is he?

Spencer was confused as to why you were giving him the death glare. He had thought you and himself were getting along just fine–up until you used his first name at least. He wasn’t one of your professors and even if he were, some professors were alright with first name basis–Spencer had never taught a class before, sure he’d sat in on a few, but he was never a guest speaker, of course, that was definitely something he sought to change that after publishing a few more of his essays and articles, he was ambitious, as one with his skill was.

In any case, Spencer didn’t find it weird, but perhaps you did, and because he had laughed at something you’d said earlier, you were expecting him to laugh at you now. Spencer could explain the typical functions of why the corners of his mouth quirked upward. He could give a basic rundown of how muscles worked, it was settled in the back of his mind, ready to be spouted–but what he couldn’t tell you was why he couldn’t control it.

For normal people, he would bring in the psychology of the matter, chapter forty-five–ironically. Something one person said made the other person laugh, but that idea wouldn’t work in this situation. No, because you hadn’t said anything particularly funny. Then why else did people smile? In simpler terms, because they were happy, but why was Spencer happy? He didn’t know, he just didn’t know. He was staring at you and your childish glare and he could not figure out for the life of him why in the hell he was so damn happy.

“I see that,” your eyes holding a mischievous glint, leaning forward and jabbing a finger in his face. He looked shocked like he had no idea what was going on, “fine,” you deflated back into your chair, “if you want to laugh, get it over with,” a few seconds later, a few coughs came from Spencer, you stuck your tongue out at him, it was quick and unexpected, but it made you smile. What would you consider this then? You thought, reward theory of attraction? But I haven’t been rewarded with anything…

Spencer scoffed at the idiotic notion, that he shouldn’t be sitting here analyzing you simply because you made him smile–simply because he made you smile. He was your tutor and that was it. That should’ve been it, but as the night went on, the further your personalities complimented each other. You both knew it–it was the psychology of it all; ironic how it was the exact chapter you’d gone over first.

And as the evening faded into midnight, you both found your souls intertwining with the other. Unable to control it; unwilling to want to.

Cold wind blew through the loose fragments of your hair as you leaned on your arms against the open window on the trolley, the sun hitting your face just right. It made you sleepy, you wanted to sleep, but you couldn’t. In a few moments, you’d be pulling the line and getting off. You yawned are rubbed your eyes, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. It was midday, you were meeting your friend for lunch, and your tote bag sat in the seat next to you.

“It’s so cute, thank you!” You gushed.

“Yeah, I–I saw you eyeing it that day we went to the mall,” Spencer ran a nervous hand through his hair.

Your face didn’t have enough room for the grin spreading across your face, “thank you, Spencer, this really is the best birthday ever.”

He shrugged all nonchalantly, but you could see it in his eyes, it warmed your heart to know how special you were to him, “it was nothing.”

“To you,” you reached for his hand across the table, “but it’s everything to me,” you paused, unable to decide which eye to focus on, you kept flitting back and forth between both of them and eventually the silence grew. You snatched your hands back, feeling nervousness flutter throughout your body. You averted your eyes and smiled at the ground, “Thank you…I love it.”

A smile now overtook your face, you wondered where he was now. You hoped he was doing alright, you’d seen him on television before, on the news. He was living the dream he’d told you about when you were still in university. He’d become exactly what he’d wanted, he’d done it. You were proud of him. You always had been.

The trolley slowed down, you recognized this turn. With a sigh, you sat upward and pulled your bag over your shoulder, waiting for the drop-off to appear. When it came into view, you tugged at the tight string above you, getting ready to stand. The trolley wasn’t packed, which was normal for after lunch hours. The next rush would be around five, so as long as you left before or after–you wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.

A few others stood with you when the trolley came to a complete stop. The group filed off the cart in a line and when your sneakers met concrete, you took off down the sidewalk, heading for the café you typically met your friend at. You pulled your phone out and checked the time when a new message came through. You smiled as you came to the same crosswalk you always did. Behind you, couple turned on the right corner with their dog and a mother and daughter stood at the other end of the crosswalk. The February breeze blew calmly around you, and the daylight seemed to dim slightly as you waited near the pole.

Eventually, the lights switched and the sign across from you brightened. You held onto your bag as you moved, you weren’t wearing a sweater–before leaving the house, you’d decided your white long sleeve would do just fine–you were severely regretting that decision as the wind picked up. You don’t know why it was so cold, Spring was nearly here–at least it should have been.

The little girl skipped past you, her pigtails swaying to and fro. You admired the scene, wishing you could photograph it. Your job typically had you photographing crime scenes, it would have been a nice addition to the mini gallery you’d started in your home. It was one just for you, warmer than your day to day work. You’d majored in film and photography and minored in criminology, of course, your passion for both came from starkly different backgrounds, but they complimented eachother when it came to your job–your real job.

You didn’t talk much about your work, but you took to writing a few papers, only two had been published so far, and you’d received a letter last week, asking you to speak in a criminology-based class because of them–you weren’t doing too bad in the money department, but–you came up to the café–you still could not drive.

It was a minor thing, but it held you back instrumentally. You narrowed your eyes at the thoughts plaguing your mind, how idiotic–your friend would tease you in her own way, you shook your head and smiled, whatever, you thought. You held out a hand to push one of the doors open, but paused. You swear someone had called your name–you’e head swivled and–was that–a crash sounded throughout your head and some external force sent you flying backward.

As soon as Spencer walked through the doors of the BAU, he was snatched away by Hotch, everyone was on the jet already. Of course, it had to be the one time he’d thought he could let himself be a little late.

“Do we know what it is?’ Spencer asked, taking the file Emily held out into his palms.

“We don’t want to jump the gun and say a terrorist attack–”

“But that’s what it looks like,” Dereck nodded as Spencer’s eyes roved over the report, “what’s this?” He questioned, taking a closer look at the singular photo in the back.

“It’s a photo from the CCTV camera of the café that was hit–”

“The woman in the photo looks to be around early to mid 20’s” Emily stated, “we don’t know how badly she was injured or much of anything else.”

Spencer ran a finger along the woman's frame. “The first responding officers will tell us everything they remember when we land; JJ, Rossi head to the hospital and check on our possibly only survivor, see if you can get her statement, Morgan, Reid, you go to the crime scene, see what you can figure out, Prentis, you’re with me at the station–and Penelope?”

“Yes, Sir?” Garcia’s meek voice rang through the speakers of the large flatscreen plante on the wall in front of them, her face could be seen: she was huddled up in a blanket, but her makeup was as fresh as always.

“See if you can access the CCTV inside the café before the blast and others around the shop.”

She nodded, “I will call you as soon as I come up with something.” She clicked a button and the line went dead. Spencer’s heart was racing. Terrorist attacks were not common–if they occurred they would typicically mean something–terrroriste were likely to attack bigger buildings with a lot of power, the white house, for instance, and the Twin Towers were a good example of this, not just because of the towers. bin Laden weaponized Flight 11 because it was an American Airlines plane–it was a message, a symbol.

But this…this was a small family-owned café in a small shopping center, there was a bank just a few buildings over, why not target that? It just didn’t make any sense in Spencer’s mind. The woman in the photo–he hoped she was doing better than he thought she was–he couldn’t place it, but something about her felt…familiar.

He sighed and set the photo down, shutting the yellow folder.

You sat forward, pain slicing through your head like a blade. You groaned and raised a hand to your temple, only to find IVs connected to your skin. “What the hell happened?” They were freaky and they sent a shiver up your spine. You pulled each IV out steadily, there were three.

You watched them, waiting for one to begin bleeding, but none of them did, and a sigh of relief escaped your throat. You glanced around the room after rubbing your eyes, trying to figure out where you were.

“The hell…” You murmured, pushing yourself off the bed, okay, you were in a hospital? What else? There was a silver tray beside your bed, and a glass of water next to it. It looked like it had been sitting there for a while, though and you made a face.

You hated hospital food, it made you gag. You steadied yourself with the bed railing, You balanced your weight and walked to the door, taking one last look around the room before pulling the it open and stumbling forward.

Nurses noticed you immediately and rushed to your side. As they attempted to coax you back into the room, you couldn’t help but look up, the awkward fluorescent lights had you heaving, you felt sick in all the wrong ways. A nurse held up a medical-grade puke bag just in time.

“Ugh,” you wiped your mouth, reaching for the wall, that’s disgusting. Suddenly, your lips felt too big for you face–you tasted metal–you didn’t dare touch it. You turned to walk back into the room–that’s when you noticed the two guys in all black standing at each end of the hall. They looked like guards. You were weary, but you’d notice that earpiece anywhere. They were CIA officers. What were was your job doing here?

More importantly, what the hell happened? The last thing you remembered– “AH–” another sharp pain shot through your head and you sat back down, “someone,” you breathed, allowing the nurses to help you back into bed, “someone tell me–”

“–you need to rest now,” one of the nurses–the one with the most authority, you assumed–voiced.

“No, someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on–” you sat back up and pushed her away, feeling blood rush to your head, “why is the CIA here–”

“Case Officer — —?” You glanced up, a blonde woman stepped through the door, her hair pulled into a neat, slick-back ponytail.

“Who are you?” You narrowed your eyes.

“My name is Jennifer Jareau, I’m with the Federal Beuro of Investigation–this is my partner SSA David Rossi–”

“FBI?” You raised a brow, “God,” you held your head, grimacing, “what happened?” You tried processing what you could remember, but you couldn’t. It was in your brain somewhere, you felt it–it just wasn’t popping up in any of the search engines you typically used. You huffed, giving up for the time being.

“Can you tell me…what you remember–”

“Nothing,” you shook your head, almost angry, “I can’t remember anything,” you scoffed and held your head in your both hands, covering your eyes. You wanted to sob, but were too embarrassed to do so.

“Alright, that’s alright,” Jennifer nodded.

But it wasn’t alright and you wanted to tell her so, but her partner, Rossi or whatever, cut in, “—... do you remember anything from before the blast?”

“Before the?” Your eyebrows scrunched together, but you paused. “That’s right,” you nodded, feeling a faint memory ghost over you, “there was a–there was a dog–” you said, though you weren’t sure why. “It was a little girl. A dog with a little girl–you were so sure of it, but something still felt off, you bit your cheek and shook your head, letting out an exasperated groan, “No–I don’t know.”

“It’s alright, I understand this can be frustrating. You were in a bad accident, there was a bomb, and you were caught in it. You hit your head pretty bad–”

“Pretty bad?” You scoffed, “You call this ‘pretty bad’? I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast or what song I listened to in the shower this morning–and this is ‘pretty bad’?” Jennifer turned her head, a frown taking up residence on her face. This was crazy–you needed to call your friend. She’d make you feel ten times better, “I need a phone, I need to call —.”

You tried standing, but Jennifer stopped you, “Here, use mine.” She slipped it out of her pocket and toward you.

You watched it for a second before taking it, still asking, “Where’s my phone?”

As you dialed —’s number, Jennifer said, “It should be with your things, I’ll check with the nursing staff.”

You held the phone up to your ear as she left the room, catching her partner's eye. You frowned when the line went to voicemail and called again, maybe her phone was dead? Maybe she had it on ‘do not disturb’? “No answer?”

You shook your head, and sighed, “voicemail.”

“What’s —’s last name, I’ll try to find her for you.”

“—,” you shook your head, calling back again, “it just doesn’t make any sense why she wouldn’t be answering, she was–” you paused, you don’t know why you said that.

Rossi raised a brow, “She was what?’

You frowned, “I don’t know,” a scowl replaced your frown, “what’s new?”

“Hey, don’t get discouraged.” Is what he said, but Rossi had a bad feeling about this whole thing. He typically kept his hard opinions to himself, especially ones that began with, “This is going to suck, but…”, and yet that’s what he was feeling now. That this was going to really suck.

“So we’ve ruled out a terrorist attack, there’ve been no phone calls, no letters, no demands. What else could this be?”

“A one-off?”

Spencer glanced around the room as Hotch and Morgan listed off ideas. JJ and Rossi had come back from seeing the survivor, they’d said it was strange, that almost the entirety of her memory concerning the blast was gone. As if it’d never happened in the first place, but that was to be expected considering the blow she’d taken to the head.

She was just lucky people saw her in the street before she was run over. The bomb had been so strong, that she’d ended up in the middle of the street, Spencer couldn’t watch the video after the first time, it had just looked so painful, and that was the eery part. She was missing parts of her memory, but she had no broken bones, the most damage she’d taken was psychological.

Her blood was fine, she had a few scratches on her arms and forehead, and her lip was pretty busted, but other than that, she was–again–perfectly fine. Which kept tugging at something in Spencer. “Was she able to remember anything? Anything at all?” Spencer heard himself asking, his arms uncrossing.

JJ shook her head, “No, nothing. She said she couldn’t even remember what she’d eaten for breakfast this morning.”

“No, but…” Rossi paused, folding his arms, Hotch and the rest of the team glanced in his direction, “She did…she did ask about a friend.”

“Yeah, she didn’t pick up any of the calls, though,” JJ waved her phone in the air and set it on the table in front of her.

“Yeah, but she also said something about her that seemed,” he shook head and waved an arm sound, “recent…”

“I don’t remember that.” JJ frowned.

“You were gone, talking to the nurses.”

“What did she say?” Hotch raised a brow, his voice growing colder by the hour.

“She said, ‘It doesn’t make any sense why she wouldn’t answer the phone, she was…’” The team waited for him to finish, but he huffed instead, “That’s it, she couldn’t remember the rest.” Spencer blew our air, rolling his neck back and forth as he thought of what the woman, — might have wanted to say.

“—...” Spencer mumbled. He recalled a time when he knew someone with that same name, he wondered where she was now. Probably married to some handsome bodybuilder who could crush Spencer with two fingers.

He puffed out his cheeks, he didn’t know why he always seemed to think about her in times like this; he looked out the window, allowing the moon to mesmerize his mind. He wanted to run far, far away. Always on midnights like this.

Spencer leaned back against the wall behind him and closed his eyes, trying to picture himself in her point of view. He was walking toward the shop–she wasn’t on her phone and she didn't have a map, nor was she looking around, so she probably knew the area well. Okay, so he knew he was going to this café, he was…he was…meeting someone.

Spencer peddled back to when JJ had mentioned the little girl and the dog. He tried to place them together somewhere in the picture he’d created for himself. Was she distracted by it? She did turn her head as if someone had called out for her.

“What do you go for us Garcia?”

Spencer’s eyes popped open and he glanced at the laptop in front of Hotch, “oh, not much,” she shook her head, “but I was able to get footage of the surrounding area, and check this out,” she clicked some button and CCTV footage came up on the screen. The quality wasn’t great–it probably hand’t been replaced in a quite a while.

The team gathered around Hotch, watching and analyzing the film. There. Spencer recognized her immediately, but not as a victim on this case. His stomach dropped and he thought he might throw up.

“There’s our victim, but look, look at the relaxed way she’s acting.” Hotch analyzed.

“So…what?”

“It’s normal to her, she’s not worried, she’s not being pressured, I think she meeting someone at that café,” Spencer stated, rubbing the nape of his neck, “other than the footage, Rossi’s quote– “it doesn’t make any sense because she was–” end quote, could she have been about to say, ‘waiting for me?’ or ‘inside?’.

Rossi closed his eyes as Hotch gave the order to speed up the process of figuring out the identities of all the casualties caught in the blast and cross-check them with your friend's name. “Wait Sir, there’s one more thing I think you should know.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Okay, you know how we debunked the theory that this was a terrorist attack?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

Spencer held his breath, wondering what idea Garcia was about to plant into their heads. “Well, if we go back to the original footage we recovered in the beginning, we can say for sure —’s attention was pulled away from opening those doors. It was the millisecond that saved her life. Why did she look away, what caught her attention? Sir, I’m not an agent and I haven’t taken the classes you all have, but if that was me, I would say someone called her name.”

“Someone purposefully kept her from walking in?” Hotch rubbed his temple, eyes narrowing.

“This wasn’t an attack on the government,” Hotch shook his head, glancing at his team.

And it clicked for Spencer, “someone targeted —, but not because she works for the CIA–it was personal.”

“We need to figure out who it was — saw in that video.”

Spencer grimaced, he didn’t want to go to the hospital. Not yet. He had a job to do and he knew going to that hospital would just complicate things for him. He kept the fact that he knew the victim to himself. But she wasn’t just a victim–he detested thinking of her that manner–but if he wanted to catch the son of a bitch who did this to her, he’d have to stay away for just a bit longer.

“Thank you,” you smiled at the flowers, “it was really sweet of you to come all the way down here.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” —’s lisp sounded throughout the room, but you ignored it. He was sweet–you’d only met him a few times when working cases together, but he was the nicest person you’d ever met. Everyone loved him and no one made fun of his speech impediment. You were glad because you’d probably bite their heads off for it.

“Have you heard anything?” — frowned and shook his head, “No, I haven’t. I’m really sorry. I mean, this is just crazy.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, folding your hands in your lap, “tell me about it.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have…” he shook his head.

“No, no, you’re fine.” You smiled again, “I just…I just hope she’s alright. There must be some news?” You looked over — as if that blonde woman, Jennifer, might pop up. She didn’t.

“I promise, as soon as I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.” He smiled, fixing his glasses that didn’t quite sit right on his face.

Your heart swelled, you were so grateful. You weren’t on speaking terms with your parents, you hadn’t seen your cousins since your grandmother’s funeral, and — was the only friend you had unless you counted your team, but you weren’t really close with them either. You preferred to keep to yourself. It was hard for you to get close to anyone after him because in the back of your mind was always that question, that what if?

“Do you want some coffee? Some water? I can go ask the nurse…”

“Yes, please,” you nodded, “that, that would be nice.”

— left the room and you were once again left in the comfort of your silence. Your mind drifted to Spencer. It hadn’t clicked when Jennifer had first introduced herself. She’d been back only once more to see if you’d remembered anything, you hadn’t, of course. No more than the little girl and the dog. — had just arrived this morning, so Jennifer missed him, but he wouldn’t have been able to provide much information anyway, he maybe could’ve helped with figuring out the bomb equipment and things like that, he worked in the EOD, but all of that slipped your mind as you called up almost every memory you had with Spencer.

When you were alone earlier today after Jennifer had left and before — had arrived, you’d pulled out your phone and went through the screenshots you’d taken of some of the cases Spencer had been on, and sure enough–there he was standing next to Ms. Jennifer Jareau. They worked together, which meant Spencer was likely also working on this case–your case.

You shivered–hating the thought that you now had a case, that you were now considered a victim in some people’s eyes. You were the one photographing other victims–how could you have become one yourself? You closed your eyes and leaned back into the hospital bed, for what it was worth–they had comfortable beds–they could upgrade their blankets though. You smiled, thinking about the time Spencer had hurt his leg ans had to stay in this dreaded place for a few nights. The two of you shared your weariness of hospitals, he’d probably complain about the food and the lack of warmthness the blankets provided.

Though he was no doubt working , you hadn’t seen him, and Jennifer hadn’t said anything about it. You wondered if she even knew–if he’d told any of his team members about you. It stung you knowing the likelihood of it was low.

There was no way he didn’t recognize you. At least, that’s what you hoped, but he had to, right? After all, you’d been through, granted that all happened years ago–but still–he was everything. You had to mean something….right? You couldn’t just have been an experience, you had to be more than a memory. You just had to.

But he hadn’t been to visit you. And that hurt you the most. It floated around in you mind even as — walked back into the room and flashed you a tooth-gapped smile.

“You okay?” He asked, standing near your bed–near this morning’s silver tray that still hadn’t been touched.

“Yeah,” you reached for the cup of water, “just fine, thanks.”

“Reid,” Spencer bounced his right leg up and down and tapped the fingers of his left hand on the table in front of him, “Reid,” he wondered how you were doing, he’d just sifted through your text messages. He felt dirty. He didn’t have any right to read your private thoughts or those of the people you shared them with. He scolded himself, it wasn’t like he’d read your diary or anything. “Dammit, Reid!” Hotch huffed. Spencer glanced upward, stopping his tapping and leg shaking, “I need you to focus, what–what’s on your mind. Do you need to talk, it is your mom?”

Spencer tried acting unbothered and shook his head, sighing, “No, I’m fine.” He covered his mouth with a hand, feeling his throat run dry. You didn’t like hospitals, you never had, he remembered it starkly, and yet you still visited him every day when he’d injured his leg. That was years ago, but man–he chuckled–it felt like yesterday. Anytime he thought about you he felt young again. He didn’t know what it was–perhaps that was just what you represented, Spencer’s youth.

No, he shook his head, it was more than that. He sighed and ran another hand along the documents, and I threw it all away. An eyebrow shot up and Spencer’s eyes darted over a text message in particular. He picked it up and stood. “What?” Hotch met him at the board as he tacked it on and stood back, “what do you see?”

Spencer held back a scoff, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before,” probably because he wasn’t in the right headspace, “look at this, she says, ‘it was nice meeting you today, thank you again for your help.’ He sends an entire paragraph. This was only a few months ago.”

“So,” Hotch shrugged and shook his head, waiting for an explanation, though a few ideas popped into his own head. Spencer waved his hand and walked back over to the pile of text messages blown up on printer paper, “Look at these, ‘it was nice working with you again, you’re really close with —,’ she says, ‘yeah, it was, and yeah! she’s my best friend,’ he tacked it on the board, this one says, ‘Sorry for your loss, I heard about your grandmother.’

“Get to the point Reid,” Hotch frowned, grouchy as always, Spencer thought.

“These are all by the same person, and I’m pretty sure there are multiple like these–but the thing is, all of his messages are long, like paragraph-length, and all of hers are single-sentence responses.” He shook his head, “after her initial message, she only responds, and they’re always short. And the way they sound–it’s so…I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t notice it because that’s just how she is,” Spencer bit his lip–ignoring the painful squeeze in his heart– “It’s not her fault, but I think he’s reading into everything. I mean, Hotch–just look at some of the things he’s saying in these messages–” Spencer went back to the table and pulled out more from the same contact.

He looked back at Hotch, waiting for his nod of approval, and finally, Hotch gave it to him, along with a, “Have Garcia run a background check on this person. Whoever he is, he’s worth questioning. I’ll call Morgan when we have an ID.” Spencer nodded and got to dialing Garcia’s number right as he grabbed his jacket. It was time. He needed to see you.

It was getting later, afternoon turned into evening in the blink of an eye. But you supposed that was to be expected, February had become March, and you were only here for a few days, yes–but it felt like an eternity. Some of the memories were coming back to you, you recalled being in front of the crosswalk, the little girl was with her mother on the other side, not with a puppy. The dog you’d mentioned to Agent Jereau had been behind you, a couple were the ones walking it.

There was still no news, about —, the waiting had slowly begun to agitate you. Jennifer hadn’t come back, but — was still here, you frowned as you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, “You know, you don’t have to stay here all night, you must have work tomorrow. They're not gonna let you off easy if you’re late, you know.”

— shook his head, throwing you a smile, “I’ll be fine, have any of your memories from The Incident come back?” — called it “The Incident” rather than the bombing or the blast, which you found odd at first, excused it as him being considerate. “That…” he lowered his gaze, “I’m sorry,” he shook his head.

You snorted a bit, “why, it’s not your fault.”

He frowned, looking dead serious for a second. It unnerved you, but then he looked away and an innocent smile took over his features again, “I know, I just feel bad.”

“Well, don’t,” you shook your head, thinking to reach out and touch his arm, but shivers flew up your spine and suddenly you were wondering if there were nurses near your room, and if so, how many? It had been silent for a while, no more bustling back and forth. You frowned at your thoughts, this was crazy. — wasn’t hurting you, if anything, he was trying to be nice. He was the only one to come to the hospital when there was still so much work to be done. — must’ve been busy because you hadn’t worked with him in a while, yet he was still taking time out of his busy schedule to see if you were alright. That was more than you could say for someone. Spencer hadn’t even come to see if you were alright, you knew a few years had passed since the last time you had spoken, but still–couldn’t he just check up on you once? Wasn’t he at all worried or curious as to how you were doing?

The rest of his team had been to see you at some point within the week, though none of them mentioned him. You hadn’t wanted to ask because you’d thought it would be awkward and it was his private life, what right did you have? So, you had left it alone. Now, though you blew out air and asked, “Hey, —?”

“Yeah?” He looked at you expectantly, it scared you. You couldn’t place the reason as to why–but his eyes, there was something…less about them. You wanted to jump out of your own skin and run away–your mouth dropped. You remembered. You remembered why you didn’t walk into the café. But it couldn’t be. You must have your thoughts confused and–no you didn’t You knew exactly what you heard and saw.

You avoided his eyes and faked a cough, “could you… could you get the nurse, I think I need some more water.”

— didn’t move for a second and in that moment, you thought, he knows. You were so sure he knew that you knew that you had remembered. “Sure,” his tone wasn’t cold, but it didn’t have any of the warmness it had mere moments ago. He breezed out of the room, leaving the door cracked.

You breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone, feeling like you were going to die of stress, you stood and stretched. You weren’t in the worst shape, but you had been sitting around for the past three days, you picked up your phone and scrolled threw your messages with —, your best friend. You thought to call her if only to keep your hopes up. They died when you heard the ring of a cell phone nearby.

There was no way, you thought, believing it must be a coincidence, but then what did Spencer say that one time? That there were never any happy accidents or coincidences? That everything always had a reason, whether it was likely or not.

You turned toward the area where — had been sitting, his brown jacket was tossed over the back of the chair. Hesitantly, you pulled it open and rummaged through the pockets, eventually pulling out what you were terrified of finding: —’s phone.

“I couldn’t find any of the nurses,” your blood ran cold as you heard the sound of a door clicking shut, his tone deafening as you felt his presence grow closer, “but you seem all better now.”

Spencer didn’t know whether he should stop by the hospital cafeteria or at a fast food place. Of course, since Garcia seemed to have developed a 6th sense, she could tell something was up–that or Hotch had let something slide, it would be just like him to do something like that.

So, he finally admitted to knowing you and consulted Garcia on his dilemma. She–without hesitation–of course, scolded him for being so narrowminded. If she hated hospitals, she probably hated the food as well, and so, Spencer made a pitstop–but then he thought about it being your first reunion in years and he couldn’t very well just bring you anything.

So, perhaps he had been overthinking everything on the way to the hospital and made more than one stop to gather up the things he remembered you liking back in university. Only when he was stepping out of the car–trying not to trip over mere air as he grabbed the plastic bags–did he realize that maybe he didn’t know everything about you anymore…

He glanced over the items in his hands, sure you may have liked this once upon a time–back when you were together, back when you were something more. But then again–you’d never labeled your relationship. You just were. You were more…to him.

More than soulmates. He shook his head, standing here hesitating would get him nowhere. The car door shut with a thud and Spencer winced slightly before coming to his senses and grabbing at any sort of courage he could reach.

He ignored the staff, he knew he looked silly. With his black puffer jacket on, his satchel crossed over his body, his hair messy, and his arms full, one holding a bear with a get well soon-card–something he’d found at one of the shops near the place he bought your favorite fast food–he hoped it was still your favorite. He’d even bought a blanket, now that they knew the bombing was a personal attack on you–Spencer planned on spending every second keeping you safe–plus the blankets the hospital provided never kept anyone warm.

Though, he did have to admit he was pretty freaked out. When he hung up the phone with Garcia, she had said she would get back to him after she called Hotch and he was right–who knew? He internally patted himself on the back. That guy on your phone looked pretty good for it. More than good–he’d been fired from his job, where all of your interactions had occurred, which, he and Hotch discussed over the phone, must have been the trigger.

Spencer only knew two things about this guy, his name and that he was obsessed with you. Spencer felt his blood boil at the thought that someone you had been so nice to–was the one who had done these horrible things to you in his sick, fucked up ‘name of love’. Sure, Spencer hadn’t spoken to you–hadn’t seen you in ages–but that didn’t mean he didn’t care. Spencer would always care, and right now, he was feeling the brunt of his conviction. He’d make sure that guy didn’t get past the first-floor elevator, he would never let him see you again.

Spencer realized his grip on the bags had tightened, he took a breath and slightly released them. He both wanted to be with you during this time and out hunting down that guy. You were on the second floor and each second that ticked by was killing him. He didn’t know if you’d be happy to see him. JJ had said you remembered most things about yourself, and you remembered your friends, so there was no way you didn’t remember Spencer.

He knew you two didn’t leave things off on a good note, but he hoped that this was fate. He hated thinking someone close to you had to die for you to meet again, but here you were just five feet away. He paused in front of your hospital door, running through the first words he would say–it was quiet, though–extremely quiet, and there were no nurses around–he tilted his head as he spun around, just now noticing the missing presence.

Spencer shivered, feeling the yellow-dimmed fluorescent lights heighten his paranoia. He didn’t too much like hospitals either. He startled and his head swiveled back to your room when he heard a scream, followed by a crash. He froze, but then his adrenaline kicked in and he dropped everything, to throw open the door.

He had you on the floor, hands around your throat, and you were struggling to breathe. It felt like the room was closing in on you, you saw a flash of white and then you closed your eyes, coming to only seconds later as relief pulled you upward. Someone had tackled him–as you sat forward, hunched over, struggling to find your breath again. The room was spinning, it was both dark blue and gray–you could make out the door that was now ajar.

It felt like hours had gone by, you blinked, but could only hold one eye open at a time. A giant red button took over your view and all you could think was that you needed to get to that damned button. You began crawling toward it while the others were distracted.

You didn’t know who that person was, you hadn’t gotten a good look, but to be fair, you could barely see anything in that moment. You reached out an arm, still on your hands and knees. It took everything in you not to collapse right there. When the pads of your fingertips glazed over the button you felt a sigh of relief escape your lungs. You pressed it–an alarm sounded right after. Mission accomplished, but you couldn’t rest just yet. You had to get out of here, the room was too stuffy, where was your breath going? Why couldn’t you feel it anymore?

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you felt your movements slowing. Your chest shuddered with the weight of everything and you slumped against something hard.

You were breathing as best as you could, but every breath felt like a sword to your lungs. Someone said something or …something–you didn’t know and you didn’t care to.

Your vision was blurry, there were tears in your eyes, and someone moved toward you. You couldn’t tell who it was–you tried speaking, but only wheezing came. You felt something soft and cold press against your lips and all at once, you felt your spirit lifting. Your eyes shot open and you weren’t sure if you were dreaming or recalling a memory from a past life.

No, you had to be dreaming, because you knew this person. Years ago you knew everything about him and he knew everything about you, but you’d never been with him like this–though you had imagined it on some nights when he'd fall asleep across from you and you couldn’t help the urge to study his facial features. Tracing up every curve, trying to encode it into your brain as if you’d be tested on how long his neck was or what shape his mouth formed when he wasn’t speaking.

His shyness brought something out of you, a side to yourself you would have never known existed if you hadn’t met him. If you’d never met Spencer…that’s what it felt like now, because the Spencer you once knew never looked so heartbroken. You smiled as best you could, his face was so close to yours, his breath breathing air into your mouth.

You reached out and wiped one of the tears that escaped his eyes. Thank you, your gaze seemed to try conveying. You hoped he understood how thankful you were to see his face one last time, right before everything went black.

She had found him.

And he had given her up.

Once more, she found him.

And he would never let her go again.

a/n: again sorry for the super late valentines day post!!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody @kennedy-brooke

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occamstfs · 1 year ago

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Spanish Shortcuts

Heyo, Here’s a Latino cultural/racial change, also my first foray into a possession transformation! Lessons to be learned about clicking dodgy links and letting spirits walk all over you!

¡Espero que lo disfrutes Atajos en Espanol! -Occam

The foreign language requirements of any American high school are guaranteed to be lackluster. It is no wonder that a nation so fixed on instilling American and English supremacy was so wont to neglect the study of foreign languages and culture. For his part Claude had just about forgotten all the Spanish that he learned not too many years ago. At the present moment he is browsing the web looking for some way to reclaim and improve on his meager knowledge. Despite his desire however, he is shockingly unwilling to do much at all to pursue this end.

Rather than the tried and true method of studying each day Claude is instead looking for not only the easy way, but an instantaneous way to regain his lost knowledge. This is obviously a beyond foolish endeavor, though having long heard tales of people waking up speaking in languages they hadn’t learned he was deep in rabbit holes online scouring for a ticket to bilingualism. Unwilling to admit that they were just old wives’ tales or shitposts he clicks link after link sure the next one will lead to some fruition.

Deep in websites he certainly should not be visiting without a firewall he actually stumbles on a thread in Spanish. Hastily translating the page through Google it promises the fluency of a native speaker through a single click. Claude scratches his cheek wondering whether or not to go through with it, could be malware, probably just a link to a meme or the like. He looks at the link in blue text, it’s just a name: Carlos Herrero. With little further ado Claude decides fuck it what’s the worst that could happen and clicks the name in blue.

The lights in his room flicker as his hand holding his mouse is promptly shocked. He pushes away from his desk shaking his hand in pain as suddenly there is a chill in the air. He shivers as he hears a voice, deep and unknown, whispering in his ear. “Hola hola hola mi perrito.” Claude shakes his head feeling the tickle of a beard on his cheek and swats at the air. “Ay! Lo siento, ah- ¿cuál es su nombre? Claude ¿Verdad? ¿Me entiendes?” (Ah! Sorry, uh- What is your name? Claude, is it? Can you understand me?)

Claude looks around his room in shock at this mysterious voice, immediately assuming he’s lost his mind. He shakes his head trying to wake up or come to his senses, after a few shakes he feels a cold powerful hand grasp his jaw. He hears the voice continue to speak in words he couldn’t understand and did his best not to process lest it worsen the state of his mind. His eyes widen in shock as he stares into the space, feeling the skin on his face contort in response to a hand that is not there. He feels the grip tighten and his breathing accelerates as he starts to hyperventilate.

As if in response to his fear the hand disappears from his face and he feels a heavy arm around his shoulder. “¿No querías saber español?” (Do you not want to know Spanish?) Claude’s ears pick up as he hears Spanish he can just about recall. In doing so his brain immediately reprocessed the preceding events in order to maintain any semblance of sanity. The link must have worked! This is just a dream or something that will end with him knowing Spanish, just like a video game. He just needs to play along until he wakes up. Neglecting how real everything clearly is he addresses the voice, willing himself to believe whatever it is that it’s not malevolent. “Okay, uh I’m down for whatever, thanks for your help, uh, ghost?”

“De Nada, Claudio.” With this Claude’s visions flicker as the chill in the air fills him. He gasps and sees his breath condensate as every inch of his body is ice cold. Claude falls out of his chair and scratches at himself, instinctively trying to claw something out of his body. He rolls onto his hands and convulses, retching as if trying to throw something up. As the seconds pass he feels his body rapidly warm from the bitter freeze, unsure if this is a mirage of heat like the comfort one feels in the throes of hypothermia he paws at his chest.

Before finding confirmation in any way Claude hears the alluring whispers once more, though this time not tickling his ear. Rather it is now a voice within his own head. “Testing testing, ah would you look at that. Now I’m speaking a language you can understand huh? Hahah!” Claude’s brow furrows as he wipes spit from his mouth. This was not the easy nap and wake up anew process that he was promised. As if it had access to his thoughts the voice responds to this. “Ah sorry if I misled you little guy, this is going to be a bit of work. Trust though! It will certainly be easier and quicker than wasting your time studying!” Claude rolls his eyes before remembering since this is probably a dream that at the very least in reality this will be over briefly.

Claude then tilts his head and asks out loud to the voice in his head, “Why are you speaking in English now?” It sounds just like the one he heard earlier, if not a little more playful as it responds, “Ahh language processors, something or other- Don’t worry your little head about it, in time we both will be thinking in Espanol ya? In the meantime why not jumpstart it!” Claude purses his lips trying to find the inscrutable voice’s intentions as he does so the heat in his body begins to convert to energy.

He suddenly feels as if he’s had enough caffeine to power a body three times his size. He feels every muscle in his body demand attention and exercise as his hands start to shake. “Oh would you look at that! If it’s any help any time I used to get excited or stressed I’d always hit the gym, ya dig?” Already motioning to get changed for the gym to blow off some of this energy Claude pauses to once more try and understand the implications of the voice’s statement. “Sorry, what do you mean you used to?”

There is then a jarring silence in his mind. Claude stands, gym clothes in hand, without a thought in his mind before the voice replies trying its best to disarm him despite its deep gruff tone, “Ah well, you know how these things go, it’s just dream logic right? This is all lucid dream, the quicker you stop questioning the sooner you’ll be a pro.” He feels a vein of chill air dash through his mind once more and he nods in agreement. His eyes lose their sharpness as he decides to just listen, throwing on some clothes and heading out.

Heeding the voice he endeavors not to question his circumstances. He gets in his car and does not wonder why, if he is truly dreaming, that he did not just poof over. Feeling his heart start to beat quickly in his chest, in response to anxiety in his chest or to the energy only continuing to course through his veins he is not sure. He looks in his rearview mirror to calm himself and sees the same reflection he always has. Claude smiles at himself seeing at least his appearance is static in this dreadful dream and heads in to get this over with, the voice in his cheering him on as he makes his way in. Increasing in fervor and volume with each step towards the door.

Once inside he Claude is shocked as the voice suddenly drops out of his head leaving him once more with the harsh silence of but his own thoughts. After having such a loud visitor in his mind he is almost uncomfortable with the feeling. Stepping up to the counter to check in he greets the receptionist, “Heyo! It’s Claudio hermano!” The receptionist tilts his head as for a second it’s almost like two voices came from the man in front of him. Claude looks down at himself and clears his throat before trying again, “Lo, Urgh, Sorry about that, Um It’s Claude Smith.”

The receptionist checks him in and Claude goes off to stretch. He doesn’t usually spend much time at the gym, just enough to stay thin. But something inside him tells him that today will be different. Something inside him. His head twitches to the side as the idea washes across his mind. Looking around the room to ensure he’s alone he tries talking to the voice, doing so he does not notice that his pitch has lowered, “Hey uh, I know you told me not to ask questions. But did you make me call myself Claudio earlier?” Having paused his stretches he feels a burning in his arms and legs demanding they keep moving. Obeying the pain, his lips quiver as if he’s about to speak and the voice responds, “Ay ¿Crees? (You think so?)Es just a slip of the tongue ya?”

Claude continues stretching carefully, taking deep breaths to assuage the anxiety building in his chest. He is facing away from the wall of mirrors, unintentionally or through some subtle manipulation. Otherwise he may notice as his hair slowly begins to darken to a deep shade of brown. The blonde locks he has always been proud of maintain their length as they darken unnaturally. The thought pops into his head that he would look good with brown hair si? He shakes it away as soon as it appears though, biting his lip to avoid voicing his concern at how much power this “voice” has over him.

Trying to center himself he closes his eyes as he continues to stretch. The companion in his mind is thankfully quiet as he pushes away the discomfort at the silence and instead appreciates the freedom. Little does he know the presence is simply acting on him in other avenues as he stretches. Claude smiles as he feels the burning relief of his stretches, grunting quietly enough that he notices not how his voice has continued to deepen, inching closer to the voice that is not his own.

The pleasant burn of his legs as he stretches them becomes almost intoxicating as he leans against the mirrored wall. Were his eyes open he would see his calves begin to grow beyond those that he wakes up to every morning. They begin to bulge larger and longer as he extends them. Muscle the size of a baseball forces its way onto them as he stands smiling dumbly. His thighs then stain larger to match pace as they expand to hold the weight of someone a foot taller than he. The soothing burn of stretching hides the soreness that should be apparent and Claude begins to sweat as if he has been heartily working out for some time now.

Not to be outdone there is a whisper in his head that he should stretch his arms as well. Without a further thought, almost without his mind even sending the order to do so, his arms are out in front of him. Each second his arms lie extended they stretch further out from his torso. Claude motions to stretch his shoulders, wrapping one arm around the other, his biceps rub against each other as he squeezes his arm tight to his chest. His arms begin to show a bulge of muscle as he stands there biting his lip at the pleasure being wrought upon him through simple stretching.

Finally he raises his arms above his head to stretch his meager chest, struggling to do so as his larger muscles have begun to impede his dexterity. With his arms in the air and his pits exposed he notices that something has begun to stink up the locker room he’s been stretching in. Claude opens his eyes looking for the assailant, to no avail. He turns his head to the side thoughtlessly putting his nose in his pit, finding the scent closer he takes a deep breath before finding himself starting to chub at the scent. The voice in his head laughs, “¡Jajaja! ¡Nice brazos (arms) perrito! ¿A ti también te gusta mi olor, eh?” (You like my smell as well huh?)

Despite his best efforts at centering himself during his stretches, he is once more consumed with anxiety. He looks down at his body that he knows should be petite but instead finds one that does not go two days without hitting el gimnasio. He flinches as his mind automatically went for the word in Spanish. Wait, did the voice in his head just say his smell!? He sniffs the air and a thought forces itself to the front of his mind, Well this is what I wanted wasn’t it? His ears ring as he is not sure if those are his thoughts or ones implanted by whatever monster is doing this to him.

Claude feels an itch on his hand and he looks down to see the hand that clicked that link some time ago as it begins to darken. He sees a rich tan begin to spread up his suddenly muscular arm as veins throb down it aiming to increase the mass. “Q- What es, happening!?” Claude turns to look in the mirror and finds the tan racing across his body. He sees the patches of his unmistakably white skin tone become naturally sunkissed as his eyes widen in shock. He freezes up and the voice in his head takes advantage and tries to seize control outright, flexing his arm and revealing the thin patch of blonde hair in his pit as it grows dark as the hair on his head and thickens beyond the pale. The voice speaks in his mind deeper and stronger than ever as he begins to outright vie for control, “Tranquilo Claudio. (Chill out Claudio.) Let us see what I can do jaja!”

It takes a bit of concerted effort but the voice, who outs himself unsurprisingly as Carlos himself, step by step forces Claude’s body across the room in his catatonia. Claude feels a smirk on his face as Carlos positions him at the bench press. He clumsily lays back on the bench before checking the weights. Looks like some cabrón left his weights on the bar, though actually it's fortunate as Carlos doubts he has the ability to do such complex motor functions as he feels Claude start to wake from his stupor.

Carlos feels an itch on Claude’s face and he begins to smirk as he feels facial hair begin to grow, “Ay he might have cojones yet jaja!” Claude feels his mouth move of its own accord and finally notices that his voice has lowered considerably and he feels his body struggle as he tries to gasp as hears it develop a deep accent.

Before Claude can wrestle control back Carlos grabs for the bar and starts to do a rep. He grunts as he realizes this body is simply not strong enough at the moment to manage the weight that was left on the rack. As the pole is just about to pin him however Claude senses the peril and both minds in the body force the bar up. “¡Bien Claudio! Let’s see what we can do juntamente si?” (together yes?) Claude tries to grunt out a protestation but is suddenly racked with pain as his body must grow larger to force the bar up.

Both men feel as weight begins to pile onto the twink’s only recently muscled body. Claude feels as pecs develop on his chest, totally ripping the tank top that had grown tight while stretching. Carlos feels as his biceps surge larger than the thighs this weak body had not two hours ago. The expression on his face flickers between ecstasy and concern as he lies on the bench doing repetitions as his core strengthens and puts on mass.

After his chest and arms grow large enough to send existential fear into Claude’s mind and a hungry lust for more into Carlos’ balls, Claude stumbles off the bench and falls to the floor, letting the weights crash next to him. He feels pin pricks as tattoos begin to stain his tanned skin and he cries out in his changed voice, “No! Este es- This isn’t right!” with each word his voice cracks deeper and the English words become a tad more difficult to maneuver his mouth around. Without a beat, Carlos immediately takes control of his mouth and responds as his voice finishes changing to match the one in his head. “Ah, ahí estás equivocado amigo. Esto es perfección.” (Ah, there you are wrong friend. This is perfection)

Claude stands to stare in the mirror watching sweat trail down his body and ink rise in his skin. He looks at his chin as a beard begins to shadow his face. He sees his eyes as they flicker and begin to darken to a deep cacao brown. His lip quivers as if he is about to cry before without any input from him it turns to a sneer as he feels Carlos chastise him without words. Claude feels a pit in his chest as not only does he not need to hear them, he begins to feel the disdain himself. As if the will of Carlos was starting to become his own.

This causes a surge in his crotch as he feels in that regard Carlos has already wrestled full control. He feels his balls that are not his begin to grow and demand attention. They feel full and needy as pre begins to leak out of his growing erection. That happens anytime he goes to the gym si? As his eyes shift down to see his bulge make itself known his facial hair expands and his pubes begin to crest above his waistline. The small bush of pit hair begins to grow into a jungle as his balls work overtime to produce testosterone to power his poderoso body.

Feeling the hormones from Carlos’ balls pump through his veins Claude realizes what a losing battle he faces. He feels his thoughts begin to mingle with the man he foolishly allowed into his body as he begins to feel himself overwhelmed with the pressure and lust issuing forth from his crotch. He feels his fluency in English begin to wane as Carlos begins to overpower every aspect of his personality. Claude continues to stare at his reflection in the mirror and the anxiety and fear rapidly dissipate as he enjoys the power that he wields. “¡Dios estoy tan chacondo!” (God I’m so Horny) The two men voice as one, his voice reverberating through his chest as he feels power continue to surge through him.

Claude watches as his body flexes itself in the mirror without a single thought or any input from him. Not that he minds, it’s doing exactly what he would be doing anyway si? He smirks seeing his cock bob up and down as he struts across the gym floor. Every thought in his head is in fluent Spanish as he feels his identity fully mingle with Carlos’ as they truly become one. Despite this originally being Claude’s body he feels himself shrink and mold as he becomes an aspect of Carlos’ personality. Every action, every word, every movement will be crafted by the two of them. Though altogether Claude will just about always find himself thinking just as Carlos does, and both minds will more often than not be ruled by the powerful hormones coming from below.

“Debería haber preguntado sobre los términos y condiciones, Hermano.” (Should’ve asked for the terms and conditions bro.) He thinks to himself as he makes his way to the gym’s showers to pump one out. Over time even Carlos would forget that this has not always been his body. Each day he would continue to make it his own, increasing his mass and power. Outgrowing a wardrobe of clothes he would never be caught dead wearing. It did not take long at all to establish his supremacy as Carlos Herrero. Though there was some inherent difficulty navigating this land only knowing Spanish, Carlos managed well enough, confident that if needed he could perhaps let his passenger breathe enough to regain some English. At this point however it’s hard to say if any remnants of Claude remain, and moreover if he would even desire to emerge back into his own mind, it is of course much easier to simply indulge in the ceaseless pleasure he has found for himself within Carlos’ mind.

#male tf #cultural change #racial change #masculinization #hair growth #race change #mental change #possession #jockification #muscle tf

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thesunloveschips · 4 months ago

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Obsessed - Part 9 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: After Azriel's mother reprimands him, he orchestrates another coincidence that leads to a reconciliation.

Warnings: Y/n being a bit naive and delulu. Azriel being the hopeless billionaire still in love because we all deserve a man like this. Azriel saying fluffy and corny things because we deserve men who say such things to us.

Word count: 3.6k

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

“You insensitive little shit.” Such a pleasant woman, his mother. “How dare you violate someone’s privacy?”

“Mum, I-”

“And this is how you approached her?” Clearly, Azriel’s mother had no intention of letting him speak.

“I-”

“There are many ways to meet new people, Azriel. The most common one being that you could’ve gone up to her and politely introduced yourself.”

“She would’ve rejected me.”

“She should definitely reject you after the stunt you pulled.”

“How-”

“The audacity. . .” Needless to say, Azriel received a scolding for the next seventeen minutes. “Leave her alone, Azriel. You’ve hurt her immeasurably. Your devotion does not compensate for that.”

“I want her in my life.”

“Then start by giving her some space. Let her sort out her feelings.”

“She’s hurting.”

“You hurt her, in case you forgot.” Like his mother would ever let him forget. “And don’t creep around in your building’s common areas just to see her.”

“Yes.”

“If I hear anything otherwise, I will stop baking pineapple cake for Christmas.”

For those of you unfamiliar with Azriel, this was the most effective way to threaten him. With his favourite dessert. Or the lack thereof.

“Yes, mum.” But Azriel’s mind had already begun concocting ideas. He was the Chairman of Umbra for fuck’s sake. If he could run a billion-dollar empire, he could definitely get Y/n back.

“If you run a billion dollar empire then I gave birth to you. Mark my words, Azriel. If you loiter around her like an aimless fool, I will burn my recipe book.”

His mother was a pleasant woman. Her threats did not involve bodily harm. But whether he’d be able to have his mother’s homemade desserts was still debatable. “I’ll call you later. It’s my turn for the appointment.”

“Bye, mum.”

“Maintain your distance.” And she ended the call.

Azriel supposed Y/n would definitely like his mother as a mother-in-law. His mother would have a daughter to dote on and he could simply watch the two of them chatter while sipping coffee.

Y/n had an internship. At a university in another European country. As a research assistant to a professor. For three months. Then she’d return to her own university in the city where they first met and fell in love.

Well, he fell in love and she was unaware but not to worry, everything would be fine.

****

Azriel knew for certain that his events management abilities were applause worthy. Why wouldn’t they be?

Because the way he orchestrated his meeting with Y/n and ended up being her neighbour was something.

And now, he’d orchestrate a few more events.

Y/n’s internship had ended.

It was a good thing for her professor that he was a well mannered, decent human being. Else, Azriel would’ve definitely intervened in a manner that wouldn’t have ended well.

And now, she was back in the same city. She had just begun the second year of her master’s program.

Wonderful.

In three weeks, the reclusive chairman of Umbra would give his first guest lecture in a university.

Was it a coincidence that this was the same university Y/n attended? Absolutely not.

Because Azriel did not wait around for things to happen. He made things happen.

That’s how he reached where he was and he was definitely not going to be discouraged.

She’d begun to shine again during her internship. Friends, both new and old, helped her navigate life.

He hadn’t contacted her per his mother’s instructions.

Some days, he’d just randomly opened their chat. He’d see her online and sometimes, he’d type but he never sent a message. And he never received one either.

Azriel sighed.

He looked at his choice of clothes for his guest lecture. The topic was his latest collaboration with Rhysand’s Velaris Corp to acquire Hewn Inc.

He had to look so jaw droppingly handsome that Y/n would fly into his arms and they could run off into the sunset together.

Black was his colour.

He knew it.

And Y/n found him hot in black.

So it was decided. Black trousers, sweater, long trench coat.

That’s how he found himself on the stage of an auditorium, holding a mic, giving a lecture, and answering questions posed by eager and foolish students alike.

The lecture had ended. Some students and faculties stayed back for follow up questions. Azriel patiently answered all of them when he saw her.

Y/n.

And he was hers.

Immediately and undoubtedly hers.

What a sad time it was when he was not hers. A sad time spanning twenty-nine years of his life.

“Excuse me.” And Azriel made his way towards her. But then he stopped when her gaze found him.

Fuck.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

He thought he was but he wasn’t.

He hated it.

The sight of her entire body seized by the grief of his betrayal. Her emotions all over her face for him to read that Y/n had most definitely not moved on from him.

Someone covered her from his line of sight. A face turned back with the glare of a demon. Nesta Archeron.

He sighed. And Nesta seemed offended that her glare had resulted in a sigh. She turned back and took his Y/n away.

Azriel looked up at the sky as he pulled out his phone. He still didn’t look at the device.

The evening pinks and violets painted the sky. Clouds were scarce. The moon was readying for its appearance. And Azriel was brooding.

A call came. A different ringtone. The one he’d set for her.

“How many more lies?” A soft voice whispered. He knew she was referring to him not telling about his designation in Umbra. She’d thought him an ordinary employee.

“As many as it takes to ensure your safety.” He breathed.

“Why are you here?”

“Guest lecture.”

“And it happened to be right here?”

“Yeah.” It would happen anywhere she was. Guest lectures, conferences, and whatever the fuck that would give him a chance to see her and breathe the same air as her.

A pause. The wind whispered something to him and danced with his hair for a while. “You’re beautiful.”

Silence.

The call continued. And he felt oddly chaotic and calm.

“Go away, Azriel.”

“I cannot take impossible requests.”

“Then take impossible orders and make it possible.” Y/n was firm. “Leave me alone.”

“I cannot.” And he knew his voice was shaky.

“Why?”

“I need to know you’re safe, comfortable, and happy. It’s all that keeps me sane in your absence.”

“What if I meet someone else?”

His breath hitched. “Safe, comfortable, and happy, Y/n. That’s where my selfishness for you extends.”

“And you’re selfless in other areas?”

“You ended our relationship, Y/n, not my feelings. I will be jealous. I will be angry. But I will prioritise your safety, comfort, and happiness.”

He’d limit it to that. Let her think that his feelings were warm and fuzzy like that favourite blanket of hers and not a mad obsession luring him into an abysmal terrain.

She did not need to know that he’d dismember and torture and slowly kill anybody who thought they had a chance with her.

Azriel heard a sob. Some core part of him cracked. He looked in the direction where she had disappeared to with Nesta. She was not there.

He wanted to comfort her.

Hold her and tell her not to cry because he’d make it all better.

But he was the reason for her tears.

So he remained silent.

Her cries slowly stopped and he heard footsteps through the phone. “What are you really doing here?”

“I want to see you.” The footsteps paused. She was probably standing somewhere.

“You saw me.” She immediately threw the words as if they were an accusation.

“Didn’t see you enough.”

She remained silent. Azriel really couldn’t believe he’d said that. He was a master at controlling his emotions. At least, until Y/n.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Umbra?”

“I wanted to hog you for myself. Not for the man who owns Umbra.”

“You are that man.”

“I’ve always been Azriel. I did not own Umbra all my life.” The pain of being an illegitimate child suddenly came to the forefront of his mind.

“And now it’s an inseparable part of you.”

“Not as inseparable as you think.” Because he’d leave it all behind for her.

“I liked you, Azriel.” Everything paused. The pain in her voice made it all too evident that she still liked him. “I really did but this. . . This is just. .”

“I want another chance, Y/n.”

“How can you ask such a thing?”

“Another chance with you knowing the full extent of what I will do for you.”

“And what is this extent?”

“There’s no extent.”

“What?”

“There’s no extent, no line, no limit on what I will do for you.” And even if there was an extent he couldn’t recall right now, he knew Y/n was not unreasonable enough to demand for it. And if she was, then he’d simply comply.

“Does that extent also include violating my privacy? Disrespecting me? As long as you’ve secured my safety and happiness?”

“There’s no line I won’t-”

“The problem wasn’t the line. The problem wasn’t Umbra. The problem was you hiding it all from me. The problem was you not asking my permission, not considering my feelings, while digging up everything about me like a mole rat.”

Azriel remained stunned.

How had this slipped past him?

He’d thought he was careful with her feelings. And so, he’d resolved to only tell the good things. Things that wouldn’t be troublesome for her while wanting to know all about her and her problems so that he could eliminate them and make life easier for her.

But was this a true relationship where he carried the burdens and she carried the joy?

Weren’t they supposed to carry their lives together no matter the good or the bad?

“You hide things from me but you want to know everything about me so you just get someone to find it all.”

“I’m truly sorry, Y/n. I should’ve told you everything.” And since he hadn’t, he’d lost her. “I was desperate to have every bit of you.” But that desperation hadn’t entitled him to all those bits. “I’m sorry for violating your privacy.” He should’ve waited to know everything that comprised this wonderful woman. “I couldn’t wait. And I’ve now lost you.”

“What am I even supposed to say?”

“You don’t have any obligation to say anything.”

“I have no obligation to listen to you.” No, she didn’t. This call was just an act of mercy she granted owing to her own feelings for him that she couldn’t control.

“Thank you for listening.”

“I suppose you have more to say.”

“I do.” He really wanted to say these words at their wedding.

“Let’s meet.” She sniffled. “I want to know what exactly you know about me.” In the background, he could hear Nesta telling Y/n against it.

“When are you free?” She gave him a time and venue. And Azriel motioned to the assistant who’d accompanied him that they were leaving. “I’ll meet you there.”

Silence prevailed. The only sound was his own footsteps.

“Why are you not ending the call?”

“I’ve never ended any of our calls.” Because he’d always wanted to hear her voice. Even if she had anything to say at the last minute. They’d done that many times.

“Bye.” And he couldn’t help his sad sigh. Azriel walked over to the venue even though there was time.

****

Y/n was getting the lecture of her life. Nesta was incessantly rambling while she got ready.

She’d spotted Azriel outside the Department of Business Studies after her classes had ended and she was heading back to her flat shared with her friend.

“You have to be careful with him. Are you listening to me?” Nesta placed her hands on Y/n’s shoulders.

“Yeah.” She slumped against her best friend.

“And it does not matter if he’s devilishly handsome or sexy or you had the best sex of your life with him or if you like him or love him or he likes you or loves you or-”

“I’ll be fine.” Nesta really didn’t have to remind her about Azriel’s attractiveness.

“Really?” Nesta didn’t say it out loud but she knew her well enough. Her friend definitely thought that Y/n would reconcile with Azriel.

“Yeah.”

Nesta took her in a hug. “Got your pepper spray?”

“Mhm.”

“So the first thing you do is to spray it. Spray it all over his unnecessarily pretty face.” Y/n remembered the first time she’d talked to Nesta about Azriel and she’d used the words ‘unnecessarily pretty’ to describe him.

“I’m going there to talk.”

“Then spray it on his eyes and ears.”

“All right.” Y/n chuckled. She knew her friend was furious at this man she’d never even met.

It had taken her a while to revive herself. The depth of her feelings for Azriel revealed itself to her only upon his betrayal.

And she felt like she was heading to war. It probably was, in a sense.

Y/n reached the park ten minutes before but she loitered around, her nerves wracking and snapping against her, telling her to leave.

“Y/n.” She’d recognise that voice. She was weak for him like that.

Y/n turned and saw him dressed for a funeral. In black.

Any other day and she would’ve thought he looked hot but today when she was a miserable mess with no rein over her feelings, she worried for herself.

Was he going to kill her and chop her body and scatter the pieces in some sewer like he’d done with her heart?

“Azriel.” Yep. She sounded weak. Affected.

He took a step forward, the leaves crunching beneath his shoe. Y/n took a step back.

This conversation was definitely going to be difficult.

“Would you like me to remain at a distance?” He asked, gently. And she was reminded of the times when this man simply clung to her frame because he didn’t want to let go. In bed, the bath, all around their apartments.

“Yes.” She breathed. “What do you know about me?”

And he narrated her own story.

About her pathetic family, her horrifying mother, her counselling sessions from high school, all the people who hurt her, all the people she’d ever befriended.

He knew everything that had ever been documented about her.

At the end of his revelation, she simply closed her eyes and sighed.

“I won’t tell anyone.” He promised solemnly. Was his word worth anything now? Or wasn’t it?

“Am I supposed to trust that?” She dryly asked. And with those words, she’d hurt him. She saw the hurt painted on his face like a dark stain. And fury pumped through her veins.

“You’re not entitled to feel hurt.” How dare he pretend he was the victim here? “Not after this.�� She stood up and grabbed her sling bag and phone. Azriel immediately stood up. “I. .” But she really had nothing to say.

Y/n didn’t know what he was going to do with all that information. But maybe it didn’t matter since he had the resources to do that to anyone. He could keep tabs on her for the rest of her miserable life.

Even then, no matter how long and hard she thought about it, she didn’t mind.

She didn’t mind him keeping tabs on her.

She didn’t mind him knowing where she was and what she was doing. She’d told him enough of that herself while they were together and happy.

In a way, she understood it. Maybe she even liked it.

Y/n was honestly only bothered by him hiding this. By him digging her past out of a box she wasn’t ready to open in front of him.

Was this devotion?

Or simply madness?

“I won’t tell you that I wouldn’t do it if we went back in time because I would.” Oh, he was hell bent on making this difficult.

“You could’ve told me.” She whispered. “That you were having me followed.”

Y/n closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before she continued.

“And you should’ve waited for me to tell you everything.” All that fucked up part of her, a product of her mother’s parenting skills. “You have the nerve to dig into my past and yet, you kept yours hidden. You’ve kept your life hidden from me and I respected that.”

Y/n held up a hand when she saw Azriel open his mouth to speak. He had such a beautiful mouth. She wanted him to kiss her.

“I’m not interested in you knowing everything and that too without my knowledge and permission while I know nearly nothing about you. And before you ask, information on Google does not count.”

“I’m an illegitimate child.” What?

Y/n remained shocked as Azriel told her his story. Of how his father and brothers mistreated him and his mother, how he killed them before he took over Umbra.

“Why did you tell me? You had no obligation.” Gods, she really was weak for this man. And for him to be so emotionally vulnerable in front of her made her want to hug him.

“Because now I realise that a romance is also to be a partnership. It shouldn’t be me knowing everything while you live obliviously. You have as much right to know.”

Yep, she was doomed.

Her resolve was faltering. And she was feeling and falling.

The hot chocolate in front of her that she’d ordered as a formality was cooling down.

“One chance.” She whispered, praying silently that he wouldn’t break her heart again. “And that will be your last one.”

****

Azriel knew failure. Many different types of it. He’d known it when he failed his first test. When he lost his first fight. When his applications were rejected. When he had been rejected by friends, girlfriends, his father, his half-brothers, his stepmother.

So much had been taken from him. And he’d been pushed to the edge of the world before he found the resolve to stand up. It was the sight of his mother cringing in front of his father.

And then he concocted his wonderful five-year plan. At the end of it, Umbra was his. His mother, safe and comfortable. His father and half-brother, dead. And that wretch of a stepmother, practically exiled.

And then he’d lost Y/n, truly and completely.

Azriel wanted Y/n. He’d spent the best few months of his life with her.

She made him endlessly happy and he tried his best to do the same for her.

He knew her presence in his life was a privilege. But now it seemed like he’d never taken that privilege seriously and had never respected it in the manner he should have.

So when she gave him one last chance, he’d been revived. His posture changed, eyes widening. Every movement right then felt as though he was rising from the grave or a coffin and returning to the land of the living.

Honesty. That would now be an integral part of this relationship. There would be no excuses. And then he remembered something he’d caused.

Azriel debated telling her but since secrecy had never worked in his favour in this relationship, he made his decision. “So, remember your ex?”

Y/n frowned. “Which one?”

“The one from college.” He was unprecedentedly nervous.

“Yeah.”

“The one roped into a tax fraud.”

“Yeah?” Y/n blinked and leaned forward. “You did that?”

Azriel nodded quietly. She slumped back into her seat and sighed. “Well, he’s no longer my concern. Do I have to convince you to move on from him?”

“He hasn’t gotten enough.”

“And he deserves no effort from anybody, the good or the bad. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“I’ve never had a proper relationship before.” Her eyes widened and she kept looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. Why would she do that?

“How come?”

Why was she asking such a question? Wasn’t it obvious why he’d never been in a proper, serious relationship. “Because I’d never met you before.”

Silence prevailed. Y/n looked away in that adorable manner of hers, clearly blushing. And Azriel couldn’t help his smile. “Does that surprise you?”

She glared at him and then stood up. The evening wind was cool and felt pleasant on her face. Y/n looked around, finally noticing the park around her.

People were in pairs, walking or simply sitting. Couples, most likely.

And then there was her. With him. On a bench. Sitting at a distance. Azriel really wanted that distance to vanish. So he called her name.

Y/n looked back at him and he was already looking back at her. “I swear to all the hot chocolate in the world, Azriel. If you ever pull a stunt like this, I’m leaving you.”

He took a step forward. And another. She did not move from her place. “May I?”

“Yes.” She breathed, eyes closing. Memories sprung forth like a fountain from all the times they'd kissed.

He pressed his lips on her forehead before promising. “I won’t pull a stunt like this. Ever. And if you do leave me, you will be leaving with my heart as you did three months ago.”

“And you’ll give guest lectures to see me even after that?” Y/n leaned into his touch and smiled. The first smile in months. He felt some semblance of peace settle in his heart.

“A Ted Talk, if needed.” Azriel smiled at her faintly. And behind his smile, he really hoped for their future.

****

Taglist:

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maskedbyghost · 9 months ago

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Simon Riley:

is surprisingly good at sewing. whether it’s patching up his gear or clothes, he learned to be self-sufficient over the years.

doesn’t sleep much and prefers staying up late. he’s always more focused during the night and feels more at ease in the dark. but ever since you moved in with him, he gets a few good hours of sleep with you on top of him as his favorite weighted blanket.

owns very few personal belongings. most of his space is neatly organized with just the essentials. he doesn't like clutter. still, he doesn't mind your obsession with coffee mugs, he's the one that gets them for you now anyway.

is great at chess and strategy games. when off duty, he occasionally plays with other soldiers but rarely loses. (he let you win once, but only bc you kept using your puppy eyes on him.)

avoids all forms of social media. he doesn’t understand why people want to post their lives online, and he values his privacy too much. he has an ig account, a fake one, just so he can look at your profile when he's away on a long mission.

sometimes sketches in his free time, mostly landscapes or tactical designs, using it as a quiet hobby. no one really knows about it, until you find a sketchbook filled with drawings of yourself. you never mention it to him, especially that one page with an engagement ring he sketched out with your exact measurements right next to it.

is surprisingly good in the kitchen, particularly when it comes to simple, hearty meals. he doesn’t cook often, but when he does, you are always impressed.

his guns and knives are always clean. it's part of his routine, and he finds the process of maintaining them therapeutic.

is awkward when it comes to casual conversations. he’s more comfortable giving orders or discussing tactical plans than engaging in chit-chat. that is why it took you so long to realize that he likes you. thankfully, you love talking and he likes to listen, so it all worked out.

is extremely protective of you, often worrying about your safety. if you’re in danger, his usually calm demeanor fades, and he becomes hyper-focused on ensuring you’re safe.

pays close attention to your habits and needs. he’ll notice when you're feeling down or when something is wrong, even if you don’t say it, and he’ll do whatever he can to fix it or offer comfort.

(if you have any requests pls do submit them, that's it byeee)

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost fluff #simon riley cod #ghost cod #call of duty ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2

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ohnoitstbskyen · 8 months ago

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PINNED POST, FAQ, INFORMATION

Hi, I'm TBSkyen. I make videos on YouTube sometimes. This is my main tumblr blog, the "brand" blog as it were. I also have a sideblog called @tbposting which is for shitposts and reblog spam and the occasional funny observation.

You can find me in most places online as TBSkyen.

Here's my Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/tbskyen.com

Here's my main YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/@tbskyen

Here is my short-form YouTube channel: https://youtube.com/@tbskyenshorts

Here's my rambly spam-and-reactions channel where I will spend an entire whole hour frame-by-frame gushing over cool animation and such: https://youtube.com/@3bskyen

And here's my Linktree where all of those links are collected and easily accessible: https://linktr.ee/tbskyen

About Me

I am a thirtysomething content creator whose primary expertise is character design.

I have a bachelor's degree in English, never finished my master's, did most of a bachelor's degree in history, and that's it. These are my academic qualifications, no more and no less.

My professional experience is primarily being a freelancer and self-employed creator. I spent the better part of a decade working as a commission artist, running webcomics, drawing fanart, and the occasional animation work and not safe for work commissions, and I have at this point a decade of experience and self-study in the subjects I cover. I have also done online community management for, god help me, almost twenty years, so that's a part of my skillset I'll never escape.

I do not have any particular professional creative industry experience, although given what I hear from my professional friends, sometimes that seems like a blessing.

Please maintain a critical distance when engaging with my work. I am a critic. My work is very rarely meant to be taken as authoritative or didactic, and when it is, I will make it clear in my writing. Just because I speak with confidence doesn't mean I am trying to assert objective truth.

---

TAGS (to follow, or filter)

#tbanswers is the tag for every single ask I answer on this blog

#tb reblog is the tag for reblogs

#tb essay is for the occasional longer essay or critical writing

#tbvideos is for my videos and Content™

#tb recommends is for the occasional recommendation of a video essay or other creator

Yes, I know the spaces are inconsistent. It's not on purpose, I just typed them in haphazardly when I started using them and it's stuck.

---

FAQ (before you ask)

Q: Will you ever do a video about ____ ? A: The answer to this question is almost universally "maybe someday, if I have time, and if I feel I have anything worthwhile to say." And the more realistic answer is "no, because I already have far too much on my plate and I have burned myself out too many times." In general, please don't ask me this question, I will most likely not answer it because I have given the same answer a thousand times, but I still feel guilty about not answering them.

Q: Will you continue your series of videos about ____ ? A: Yes! I will continue the let's plays I started, I will finish the Boss Designs series, I will do another What's the Deal With, I will do more shorts about the subjects I've got going on. The main obstacle is, again, my tendency to overload myself.

Q: Do you have a PO box? Can I send you something? A: Not yet, but I'm looking into it. It may be a while before I get it set up.

Q: Do you have merchandise? A: A little bit, yes, at crowdmade.com/collections/tbskyen

Q: What's your opinion on [game/movie/comic/book/etc]? A: I struggle to answer very open, broad questions like this. Most things I have opinions about, I have multiple opinions, and different ones depending on the perspective and specific element in question. I'm much more likely to answer specific, bounded questions.

Q: Can I send you fanart? A: PLEASE. Askbox, tag me on bluesky, send it to my email! I love seeing every piece of it!

Q: Why do you never appear on camera? A: A forest witch cursed me to look not quite but ALMOST like Paul Giamatti in all photos and videos ever taken of me, and his laywers sent me a cease-and-desist.

Q: Are you gay/straight/bi/other? A: The decision I've made for myself, at least for this period of my life, is that privacy is precious, and once given up can never be reclaimed on the internet. I am open about being aromantic (not asexual), because it's a sometimes invisible and underdiscussed identity, and I know it would have helped me a lot to see someone speak about it when I was younger.

The rest of it is for me to know, and for you to speculate about, although preferably somewhere I can't see it. I accept that this is a part of being a Personality, but it still feels weird, y'know?

Q: Is it weird if I find your voice kinda hot? A: I've put a lot of work into developing this voice and making it nice to listen to, so that's not weird at all and I find it quite complimentary, thank you.

I generally don't mind people doing flirty/thirsty posting about or at me, just so long as we all understand that 1) you should never give a stranger like me information which could be used to harm you. Nicer-seeming YouTubers than me have turned out to be monsters.

And 2) it will never go beyond playful online flirtiness. I like to fluster my live chat, I'll flirt back in an ask or a post maybe, but I am not flirting with you, or inviting any kind of closer intimacy with you, the person I responded to.

Think of me like a comedian doing crowd-work at a show - you can chat to me in the bar after the show, but when I asked you what you do for work I wasn't looking for a personal connection, I was doing my work as an entertainer. Please no sending me nudes, or propositions, or confession letters in my email inbox. We are strangers, and I am always performing a persona in public.

#tbskyen #tb skyen

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purplereina11 · 2 months ago

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You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines.

What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

Of course she'd be in VIP. You navigated through the crowd, feeling eyes on you as you moved. A few people recognised you, whispers following in your wake. You ignored them, focused on one thing only. When you reached the VIP area, a bouncer stepped aside after checking his list. Your name was already there. She'd been expecting you.

The section was quieter, more exclusive, with plush seating and low lighting. And there she was—lounging on a curved velvet couch, a drink in her hand, looking like she owned the place.

Alexia Putellas, somehow even more magnetic than you remembered from just hours ago. She wasn't alone. A few of her teammates were there, along with people you didn't recognise. But the moment she spotted you, her eyes locked onto yours, and everything else seemed to fade into background noise.

She didn't wave you over. Didn't call your name. Just watched you, one eyebrow slightly raised, waiting to see what you would do.

You approached slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact the entire time. The corner of her mouth twitched upward as you got closer, a hint of that smirk that drove you crazy.

"You came," she said when you reached her, her voice carrying just enough over the music.

"You didn't give me much choice," you replied, standing over her.

She laughed, the sound making your stomach flip. "I think we both know you had a choice." Her teammates were watching the exchange with obvious interest, exchanging glances that said they knew exactly what was happening. Alexia gestured to the space beside her. "Sit."

"Still so bossy," you murmured, but you sat anyway, close enough that your thigh pressed against hers.

She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. "You didn't seem to mind earlier."

Heat rushed to your face, memories of her hands on you, her body pressed against yours flooding back. "Careful," you warned, your voice lower than you intended. "You started something you might not be able to finish."

Alexia pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark, challenging. "Try me."

Your own words from earlier thrown back at you. Before you could respond, one of her teammates leaned across the table.

"So you're the one who's been driving our captain crazy," she said in accented English, a mischievous smile on her face.

Alexia shot her a look that could have melted steel. "Aitana."

Aitana just laughed, raising her glass. "What? Just telling the truth," Aitana continued, unaffected by Alexia's glare. "She's been checking her phone every five minutes since we got here."

You glanced at Alexia, catching the slight flush creeping up her neck. She didn't deny it, which sent a thrill through you. "Is that right?" you asked, leaning closer to Alexia, your confidence building.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," you murmured, close enough that only she could hear.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. Every brush of her arm against yours, every time her thigh pressed against your own sent sparks through your body. You were hyperaware of her, the scent of her perfume, something subtle and intoxicating, the way her fingers toyed with the rim of her glass, the slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

The music shifted, bass deepening, vibrating through the floor and up into your bones. Alexia's gaze dropped to your lips for just a second before returning to your eyes.

"Dance with me," she said suddenly, setting her glass down.

Not a question. Again. You raised an eyebrow. "You asking or telling?"

Her lips curved into that smirk that made your stomach flip. "Does it matter?"

"Maybe I like to be asked nicely," you countered, enjoying the way her eyes darkened at your challenge.

Alexia leaned in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "Please dance with me."

The way she said "please"—like it was both a request and a demand—sent heat spiraling through you.

Without waiting for your response, she stood, extending her hand. You took it, letting her lead you away from the VIP section and into the crowd. You caught Aitana's knowing grin as you left, but you couldn't bring yourself to care what anyone thought. Not when Alexia was pulling you through the sea of bodies, her hand warm in yours, her touch anchoring you in the chaos.

She found a spot on the dance floor, turning to face you as the lights pulsed around you, painting her skin in flashes of blue and purple. For a moment, you just stood there, taking her in, Alexia Putellas, under the club lights, looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

Then she moved closer, her hands finding your waist, drawing you in until your bodies were nearly touching. You let your own hands rest on her shoulders, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin material of her shirt.

"This what you had in mind when you texted me?" you asked, your mouth close to her ear to be heard over the music.

"Part of it," she admitted, her fingers flexing against your waist.

You moved together with the beat, bodies swaying, the way she moved against you, confident and fluid, made it hard to focus on anything else. The music pulsed around you, but all you could feel was her—the heat of her body, the pressure of her hands on your waist, the way her eyes never left yours.

As the crowd pressed closer, Alexia moved with it, turning you so your back was against her front, your body fitting perfectly against hers. Her hands found your hips instinctively, holding you close as she swayed to the rhythm. Your head tipped back slightly, resting against her shoulder, exposing the elegant line of your neck.

She couldn't resist. She leaned down, her lips barely grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. She felt your sharp intake of breath, the way you pressed back against her more firmly in response.

She turned you in her arms, her eyes dark with something that made your heart race. Without a word, she took your hand again, leading you away from the dance floor.

"Where are we going?" you asked, following her through the crowd.

She glanced back at you, that knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Somewhere we can hear ourselves think."

Alexia guided you through a section of the club you hadn't noticed before, nodding to a security guard who stepped aside without question. She led you up a short flight of stairs to a secluded balcony area overlooking the main floor. The music was still audible but muffled enough that you didn't have to shout to be heard.

The space was dimly lit, with plush seating arranged to offer privacy. A small bar stood unattended in the corner, bottles gleaming in the low light.

"Private VIP?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Alexia shrugged, her casual confidence never wavering. "Owner's a fan." She moved to the bar, selecting a bottle of what looked like expensive whiskey. "Drink?"

You nodded, watching as she poured two glasses, her movements precise and deliberate. When she handed you yours, your fingers brushed, lingering longer than necessary.

"To crossing lines," she said, raising her glass.

You clinked yours against hers. "To whatever comes next."

The whiskey burned pleasantly as it went down, warming you from the inside. Though you hardly needed it—you were already burning wherever she looked at you.

Alexia held your gaze over the rim of her glass, something shifting in her eyes as she took a slow sip. The amber liquid caught the light as she lowered the glass, drawing your attention to her lips—the same lips that had been pressed against yours just hours ago, hungry and demanding.

"You know," she said quietly, moving closer until she was leaning against the balcony railing beside you, "I didn't invite you here just to dance."

Your pulse quickened, but you maintained your composure, swirling the whiskey in your glass. "No? I'm shocked."

That earned you a soft laugh, the sound sliding over your skin like silk. "There's that mouth again."

"You seem pretty interested in my mouth," you countered, emboldened by the whiskey and the way her eyes kept dropping to your lips.

Alexia didn't deny it. Instead, she set her glass down on a nearby table and turned to face you fully, her body angled toward yours, one hand still resting on the railing. Below you, the club pulsed with energy, lights flashing across the crowd in waves of colour, but up here, in this secluded corner, time seemed to slow down.

"I've been thinking about what happened earlier," she said, her voice lower, more intimate.

You set your own glass down, not trusting your hands to remain steady. "And?"

"And I think we were interrupted at a very... inconvenient moment."

The way she said inconvenient—like it was the understatement of the century—made heat pool in your stomach. You moved closer, eliminating what little space remained between you. "Is that what you'd call it?" you asked, your voice barely audible above the muffled music. "Inconvenient?"

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head slightly. "What would you call it?"

You reached out, fingers grazing the bare skin of her arm, feeling the goosebumps that rose in their wake. "Unfinished."

Her eyes darkened, pupils dilating as she watched your hand trail up her arm to her shoulder, finally coming to rest at the curve of her neck. Her pulse jumped beneath your fingertips, betraying the composure she fought to maintain.

"So finish it," she challenged, the words hanging between you like a live wire.

You didn't need to be told twice. Your hand slid to the back of her neck, drawing her to you as you closed the final inches between you. This time, when your lips met hers, there was no surprise, no hesitation—just the electric certainty that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Alexia's hands found your waist immediately, fingers digging into your hips as she pulled you closer. The kiss deepened naturally, her tongue sliding against yours, tasting of whiskey and desire. She kissed like she was trying to claim you, to brand you as hers, and you responded.

You matched her intensity, giving as good as you got, your fingers tangling in her hair as the kiss deepened. Her hands slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer until there was no space left between you, just the heat of her body against yours.

The world narrowed to this moment—to Alexia's lips on yours, to her hands exploring, to the soft sound she made when you nipped at her bottom lip. You were vaguely aware of the music still pulsing below, but it felt distant, inconsequential compared to the symphony of sensations coursing through you.

Alexia walked you backward until your back met the wall, out of view of the packed club beneath you, her body pinning you there as her lips left yours to trail down your jaw, your neck. Each kiss sent sparks shooting through your nervous system, each gentle scrape of her teeth against your skin making your breath catch.

"I've been thinking about this," she murmured against your throat, "since the first time I saw you."

You let your head fall back against the wall, giving her better access as her mouth continued its exploration. "That right?"

Her teeth grazed your collarbone, making you shiver. "You know it is."

Your hands found the hem of her shirt, fingers slipping beneath to touch the warm skin of her lower back. She arched into your touch, a soft sound escaping her lips.

"We shouldn't be doing this here," you managed to say, even as your hands continued their upward journey along the smooth plane of her back.

Alexia pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark with desire, lips slightly swollen from your kisses. "Do you want to stop?"

The question hung between you, loaded with possibility. "No," you admitted, your voice rough with want. "I don't want to stop."

Her smile was slow, satisfied, like she'd just won something precious. "Good."

She kissed you again, deeper this time, her tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that made heat pool low in your abdomen. Your hands continued their exploration under her shirt, tracing the contours of her back, the curve of her waist, the edge of her ribs. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm beneath your fingertips.

Alexia's own hands weren't idle. They slid down your sides, gripping your hips before moving to the front of your jeans. She toyed with the button, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach, making your muscles tense in anticipation.

She undid the button with practiced ease, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your jeans, tracing the hem of your underwear. The teasing touch was maddening, making you press against her, seeking more.

Her touch was electric, confident fingers dancing along the sensitive skin just beneath your waistband, tracing patterns that made your breath hitch. The rational part of your brain—what little remained—registered that you were in a semi-public space, that anyone could notice, that below you were hundreds of people.

But when Alexia's eyes met yours, dark with want and challenge, those concerns evaporated like morning fog.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear.

You shook your head, hands gripping her waist tighter. "Don't you dare."

Her laugh was low, almost predatory, as she captured your mouth again. This kiss was different, like she was trying to devour you from the inside out. Her fingers grew bolder, slipping beneath the lace of your underwear, finding you already wet for her.

"Fuck," she breathed against your lips, the curse sounding like poetry in her accent. "You feel..."

She didn't finish the thought, instead letting her actions speak as she stroked you slowly, deliberately, learning what made your hips buck and your breath catch. Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through you.

Alexia's mouth found your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where your pulse hammered beneath your skin. The dual sensation—her lips on your throat, her fingers between your legs—was overwhelming, making you forget everything but the need building inside you.

"Look at me," she commanded softly, her fingers slowing to an agonising pace.

You forced your eyes open, meeting her gaze. The intensity there nearly undid you—desire mixed with something deeper, something that made your chest tighten.

"I want to watch you," she said, her voice rough. "When you come for me."

Her fingers moved faster then, more purposeful, finding a rhythm that had you biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your hands clutched at her shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of her shirt as she drove you higher.

The bass from the club thumped through the walls, vibrating beneath your feet, matching the erratic beat of your heart. Anyone could hear you—all it needed was a lull in the music—but the thought only added to the thrill, the danger of being caught making every touch more intense.

"You're close," Alexia observed, her eyes never leaving yours, tracking every change in your expression. "I can feel it."

You couldn't deny it. Your thighs trembled, your breath coming in short gasps as her fingers worked their magic. When she pressed her palm against you, adding pressure exactly where you needed it, her fingers gliding inside you with ease you had to bite back a moan.

"Don't hold back," she whispered, her free hand coming up to cradle your face. "I want to hear you." That was all it took. The permission, the command "God," she breathed against your lips, feeling how eager you were for her. "You have no idea how much I've wanted to do this."

You couldn't form coherent words, could only press your forehead against hers as her fingers began to move in slow, deliberate thrusts. Your hips jerked involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction, more.

Alexia's free hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so she could watch your face as she touched you. The vulnerability of it—being so exposed, so seen—should have made you self-conscious. Instead, it only intensified the pleasure coursing through you.

"Look at you," she murmured, her voice rough with desire. "So beautiful like this."

Your hands fumbled at her waist, desperate to touch her too, to make her feel even a fraction of what she was making you feel. You slipped your hand beneath her skirt, fingers tracing up her thigh until you reached the edge of her underwear.

She inhaled sharply when your fingers brushed against her through the thin fabric, her rhythm faltering for just a moment. "Don't tease," she warned, but there was no real threat in her voice—only a breathless anticipation that matched your own.

"Isn't that what we've been doing all along?" You managed to say as you took advantage of her momentary distraction, pushing her underwear aside to touch her directly.

"Fuck," she hissed, her forehead dropping to your shoulder as your fingers found her slick heat.

The power shift was intoxicating—the mighty Alexia Putellas, trembling against you as your fingers began to move. But she recovered quickly, her own hand resuming its rhythm, more insistent now, her fingers curling inside you in a way that made your vision blur at the edges.

You were both breathing heavily, bodies pressed together against the wall, hands working in tandem. The music below provided a baseline, a rhythm that you both instinctively followed, building together toward something explosive.

"Someone could hear us," you whispered against her ear, between moans and gasps even as her hips moved against your hand, seeking more.

"Let them," she replied, past caring about anything but the feeling of your fingers inside her, the way her fingers moved with the same precision she displayed on the pitch, finding their target with unerring accuracy. You gasped against her mouth, your body arching involuntarily as she withdrew her fingers at your peak denying your release. She traced slow, deliberate circles. The sensation was almost too much, too intense after weeks of tension and anticipation.

"Is this what you want?" she murmured, her voice a velvet rasp against your ear.

You couldn't form words, could only nod as her fingers dove back in with a sharp quickness. The balcony was too small, too public, too everything—and yet somehow perfect for this moment that had been building between you since the season began. You connected your eyes as you moaned her name, “I need you to make me cum”

She captured your mouth in another bruising kiss, her fingers increasing their pace in response to your challenge. The dual sensations—her mouth on yours, her fingers working magic between your thighs—made your head spin. The world narrowed to just this: the cool brick of the wall against your back, the heat of Alexia's body against your front, and the building pressure that threatened to consume you.

Her fingers working in and out of with satisfying accuracy, the noise of your pleasure heard in her movements, her thumb found your sensitive spot and began moving. The discovery drew a moan from your throat that she quickly silenced with her lips. She was as affected as you were, her composure fracturing with each passing second.

"God," she breathed against your mouth, her rhythm faltering momentarily as your fingers found their mark. "I've thought about this—about you—for so long."

The confession, raw and unfiltered, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You matched her movements, finding a rhythm together that felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like passing a ball back and forth on the training ground, but infinitely more intimate, infinitely more dangerous.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her breathing ragged. The muffled sounds of the club continued—music and laughter and life going on, oblivious to the storm building between you in this tiny space.

“’M gonna come,” you whispered

Her gaze locking with yours. The vulnerability there was staggering—Alexia Putellas, who never showed weakness on the pitch or in front of cameras, was letting you see her come undone. Her eyes were dark pools, pupils blown wide with desire, and in them you saw everything—the tension that had been building for months, the careful dance you'd both been performing, and now, the precipice you were both about to tumble over together.

"Don't stop," she breathed, the command softened by the tremor in her voice. “I am to.”

There was something intoxicating about seeing her like this—the woman who commanded respect everywhere she went now pleading, her usually perfect composure fracturing with each stroke of your fingers. Her hips moved against your hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of you.

You were no better off. The skilled movements of her fingers had you clinging to the edge of control, your free hand gripping her shoulder for support as your knees threatened to buckle. The club spun around you, the fluorescent lights creating halos in your peripheral vision as pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.

"Alexia," you moaned, your voice barely recognisable to your own ears. The sound of her name seemed to ignite something in her. Her movements became more focused, more deliberate, as if she'd made it her mission to unravel you completely.

"Let go," she murmured, her accent thicker than you'd ever heard it, raw emotion bleeding through every syllable. “Come for me."

Her words vibrated against your skin, and you realised you were both trembling—not from cold or fear, but from the effort of containing the storm building between you. Your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the scant space between your lips, eyes locked in a connection that felt more intimate than the physical touch.

The world contracted to this single point in time—the heat of her body against yours, the symphony of your ragged breathing and moaning, the slick slide of fingers against sensitive flesh. Everything else fell away—the club, her teammates, the complications that would surely follow. Nothing existed but this moment, this woman, this feeling.

"Together," you whispered, the word half-plea, half-promise. You curved your fingers inside her, finding that spot that made her moan your name, her rhythm falter.

Her response was immediate and electric. Her back arched, pressing her body more firmly against yours. "Yes," she hissed, the word stretching into a sigh as she mirrored your movements. "Together."

You moaned so loud you swore the security at the bottom of the steps would have heard, “I’m coming, aw fuck yes, Alexia.. come for me”

The release, when it came, was overwhelming. You felt her inner muscles clench around your fingers at the same moment your own body surrendered to the pleasure she was drawing from you. Your free hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as waves of sensation crashed over you both. Her moan vibrated against your lips as you swallowed the sound, your kiss desperate and messy and perfect.

The aftershocks ripple through you both, your bodies still pressed together, heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace. You feel her smile against your lips before she pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

You've both been circling this moment for so long, neither willing to acknowledge the gravity pulling you together. Your fingers trace the curve of her jaw, and you marvel at how familiar she feels despite this being entirely new territory.

Her kiss is softer now, less desperate but no less intoxicating. Your hand slides from her jaw to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as you savour the moment. Her lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. You taste salt and sweetness and something uniquely her. You remove your fingers first her little moan at the sensation her being so sensitive caused you to smile into the kiss.

She pumps her fingers painfully slowly a few times before completely removing them making you feel cold, when she finally pulls away, her expression is unguarded in a way you've never seen before—a mixture of satisfaction, wonder, and something that might be vulnerability.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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crushpunky · 2 months ago

Text

social media!reader and joe’s first “lesson”

masterlist

Joe hated social media. I mean, he liked posting about things he liked and seeing what his friends and people he followed posted, but that was about it. He didn’t like reading comments or answering dms or god forbid doing some stupid Tik-Tok trend. It all just felt so pointless.

Well, unfortunately, his team disagreed.

“You need to… really improve your social media.” Joe’s manager told him with a sigh as she scrolled through his latest Instagram posts and stories.

“What are you talking about? I am great at… social medias.” Joe scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. Joe’s manager stopped her scrolling before looking up at Joe with a quirked brow.

“Joe, this is an actual picture that you posted yesterday on your story,” Joe’s manager sighed as she turned her phone to show Joe his picture. It was a picture of him and one of his high school friends out at a bar, though based on the blurriness of the photo as well as the fact that half of Joe’s face was cropped out, it would be quite difficult to discern that.

“That’s a great photo.” Joe said simply.

“You misspelled your friend’s username and just tagged some random account.” Joe’s manager sighed. “And how did you add a .5 second snippet of a song from the Lion King? I didn’t even know that that was possible.”

“Alright, alright! Fine.” Joe groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, we have two options: either we can have someone take control of your accounts—” Joe’s manager started.

“No. Absolutely not.” Joe said. “That’s for like… famous people. I don’t want that shit. I can handle myself.”

“Joseph, whether you like it or not, you are famous. You are a famous figure. This stuff matters.” Joe’s manager said. Joe propped his elbows up onto the table before dropping his head into his hands with an exaggerated sigh.

“What’s the second option?” Joe mumbled into his hands.

“You can work with a social media assistant who can help you to curate your online presence.” Joe’s manager explained as she tapped through her phone. “She’ll show you how to use each of the platforms, how to keep an organized online space, and keep you up to date on the trends.”

“So, this is like a person’s job?” Joe asked, peeking up from his hands. “Helping clueless people figure out how to use the internet?”

“Yes,” Joe’s manager smirked, “and she’s quite good at it, see?”

Joe’s manager turned her phone around once more to show Joe an Instagram feed. Each of the columns and rows were well organized, fresh and authentic, yet classic and sophisticated. However, while Joe’s manager might have been expecting him to look at the well maintained account, Joe found his eyes locked squarely on the girl behind the page: y/n.

“So, uh, this is her?” Joe stammered, reaching out to scroll through his manager’s phone. As he scrolled and scrolled, more photos of her filled the screen. Pictures of her and her friends, her on vacation on a beach, her sitting in a bookstore, her lounging by the pool—

“We’re going with option two then?” Joe’s manager said with a small giggle as she pulled her phone back, Joe blinking harshly as he returned back to the present.

“Uh, yeah, option two is good.” Joe said, swallowing harshly as he nodded.

“Alrighty then,” Joe’s manager smirked, “we’ll get started on Friday.”

Joe sat in the cafe, anxiously drumming his fingers against the table. It was a lowkey spot about an hour outside of Cincinnati, far enough away to keep their meeting away from the prying eyes of the public but still close enough to give Joe some amount of comfort knowing he wasn’t too far from home. Surprisingly, Joe’s manager had been the one to suggest the two of them meet here. Something about y/n being a “chill girl” and “the two of them should get to know each other outside of the confines of an office”. He had a suspicion she had noticed his reaction to her profile and decided to stir the pot known as Joe’s romantic life… not that he was complaining, though, it had been a while.

Suddenly, the front door to the cafe swung open. The bell chimed throughout the space as a girl walked in, her eyes warm as she scanned around the cafe before finally landing on Joe. Joe smiled gently, standing from his seat as y/n approached the table.

“Hi, you must be Joe.” Y/n grinned, offering her hand out. Joe took it, his much larger hand enveloping hers as he shook her hand. His brain paused, continuing to shake her hand as he noticed the softness of her hands gentle against the calluses that marred his palms. Once he noticed, he quickly stopped, causing y/n to giggle, her laughter almost melodic.

“Sorry, yes I am Joe.” Joe chuckled, clearing his throat before he sunk back into his chair. “You must be y/n.”

“That I am.” Y/n said as she sat across from him, resting her forearms on the tabletop. She fiddled with the various rings adorning her fingers as she continued to look at him, a gentle smile on her lips. The light shined through the windows of the cafe, casting the girl in front of him in a beautiful, golden glow.

“So, uh, do you— would you like something to drink?” Joe asked, running a hand through his hair. As his fingers combed through his locks, a single curl fell perfectly on his forehead.

“Uh, sure. That would be great.” Y/n said sweetly.

“Whatever you want, it’s on me.” Joe said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“An iced matcha with oat milk would be nice. Thank you.” Y/n smiled, twisting one of her rings around her finger.

“Ok, yeah. I’ll be right back.” Joe cleared his throat before heading over to the counter. As he went up to order, y/n began preparing her “lesson” for Joe, opening up her Instagrams, the cute presentation she’d thrown together, even a little printout she specifically made for Joe. Y/n put together the final touches of her set up, setting out a bright orange pen for Joe (he probably liked orange, right?), just as Joe returned to the table.

“Is this supposed to be green?” Joe asked, peeking at y/n’s drink in the sunlight. In his other hand he held his own drink: a plain, black coffee. A boring but foolproof classic.

“Yes, it looks perfect!” Y/n smiled, taking the drink from him. “Thank you, Joe.”

“Yeah, n– no problem.” Joe stammered, his heart skipping a beat the moment his name left her lips so sweetly. Y/n took a sip, humming to herself as she savored it.

“This is really good, you killed it on the ordering.” Y/n teased. Joe chuckled a bit to himself, swirling his coffee cup on the tabletop.

“Dang, maybe I should’ve got that instead.” Joe said as he took a sip of coffee, the bitter liquid sliding down his throat.

“You can try some, if you’d like.” Y/n said, sliding the cup across the table towards Joe. His eyes flicked down to the green drink in front of him before looking back up at the smile on y/n’s face. Joe reached out hesitantly, lifting the cup to his lips. He took a small sip, the grassy drink causing his brow to furrow as he swallowed.

“Do you like it?” Y/n asked, blinking at Joe as he smacked his lips slightly. He sat the drink back down, mulling over the taste.

“It’s… interesting.” Joe shrugged simply. “Don’t think I’ve had anything like that before.”

“Wow, you’re already learning so much.” Y/n teased as she took a sip of her drink. Joe chuckled, leaning against the table as he scanned over the various materials y/n had spread out across the tabletop.

“Well, I did come here to learn.” Joe said, his fingers reaching for the orange pen. He spun the pen between his fingers as y/n spun her computer around to show him the presentation she’d made for today. It was a cutesy pink background with various photos and stickers, even a few football and tiger ones she’d added for Joe.

“And I came here to teach.” Y/n said, clearing her throat dramatically as she slid one of the printouts towards Joe. As she launched into her “lesson”, Joe tried his best to follow along, but he kept finding himself getting distracted by the excitement that arose on her face as she spoke enthusiastically about posts queues or story formats. His eyes lingered on the way she fiddled with the necklace that rested atop her collarbones, his stomach feeling the slight buzz of butterflies over the almost childlike wonder he found himself entrapped in.

Before he knew it, y/n was closing her laptop before turning to him with a warm smile on her face.

“So, do you have any questions?” She said sweetly, Joe blinking blankly back at her.

“Oh, uh, I don’t think so.” Joe stammered, fiddling with the orange pen between his fingers.

“Do you maybe want to practice?” Y/n said.

“Practice?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, show me how you’d… post an Instagram story.” Y/n smiled, gesturing to Joe’s phone that sat on the table between them. Joe’s eyebrows raised, nodding to himself as he picked up his phone. He opened the Instagram app, fumbling a bit through the screens until he got to the Story tab.

“Just… take a picture?” Joe asked, to which y/n nodded excitedly. With a deep breath, Joe lifted his phone. He focused the camera on y/n, the bright light filtering in through the windows and highlighting her face beautifully.

“Oh, you don’t have to take a picture of me—” y/n started, but Joe already pressed the “capture” button. His flash went off, nearly blinding y/n because of the already very bright room. Y/n blinked quickly, her eyes adjusting back to the light.

“Sorry, I didn’t— I don’t know what happened.” Joe swallowed as he looked down at his phone. The photo was entirely blurry, Joe’s shaky hands combined with the fact that y/n was in the middle of talking, making it almost entirely impossible to make out what was happening. It also didn’t help that his finger was blocking half the photo or that the flash made it way too bright.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” Y/n said, peering at Joe’s phone as he frowned down at the photo in his hands. Joe sighed, running a hand down his face with a groan.

“How about we try again and I’ll walk you through it.” Y/n said, nodding gently to Joe.

“Yeah, ok. That’s a good idea.” Joe nodded, closing out the photo and returning back to the camera.

“So, first let’s turn off your flash.” Y/n said, tapping a fingernail on the top of Joe’s phone. His fingers hovered over the top of the screen, searching for the flash, a confused look on his face.

“I… I don’t— where is that?” Joe asked, looking up at y/n hesitantly. Y/n stood from her seat, rounding the table to stand next to Joe. Her shoulder brushed against his, the soft floral scent of her perfume immediately filling Joe’s lungs in a way that made it difficult to focus as she tapped away on his phone.

“Got it?” She said, turning to him, Joe’s eyes already focused on the profile of her face.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.” Joe nodded, his eyes flicking to her lips before his attention returned to the camera in front of him. His fingers rested slightly above the phone screen in his hand.

“So… you wanna take a picture?” Y/n whispered with a slight giggle.

“Yeah, sorry.” Joe murmured as he focused his camera on the table in front of them. He zoomed in, pushing his coffee cup forward to sit next to y/n’s matcha, adjusting his posture once more before finally snapping the photo.

“Oh my god, you did it!” Y/n said, bumping her shoulder against Joe’s as she let out an excited squeal.

“I did it,” Joe said simply, grinning slightly to himself. “Now what do I do?”

“Well usually you would press the post button, but—” y/n said as she pointed to the button in the corner, but before she could finish Joe pressed the button. The photo closed, loading quickly as it was posted to his story.

“But we don’t need to do that…” y/n finished, blinking at Joe’s phone as he tapped onto the posted story. He swiped up, showing that already within seconds the story had garnered hundreds of views. Joe groaned, putting his phone face down on the table as he rested his face in his hands.

“It’s fine, it’s ok!” Y/n said earnestly, placing a hand on Joe’s back. “We can delete it… I mean people have already seen it, but it’s not that big of a deal. We just know for next time, right?”

“I’m helpless.” Joe sighed as he lifted his head from his hands. Y/n let out a small chuckle as she returned back to her seat opposite him.

“Hey,” y/n said, reaching a hand across the table to rest on Joe’s forearm gently, “you’re still learning. You’ll get there, I promise.”

Joe felt goosebumps spread across his skin under y/n’s touch as he moved to meet y/n’s comforting gaze.

“Thanks. Thanks for doing all this.” Joe said, gesturing to the materials spread across the tabletop.

“No problem, it’s seriously my pleasure.” Y/n grinned, retracting her hand to rest in front of her.

“So… same time next week?” Joe said, a small smirk spreading across his lips.

“Same time next week.” Y/n smiled, her sweet grin causing his heart to skip a beat once more.

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x social media!reader #social media!reader

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theambitiouswoman · 6 months ago

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Creating stronger emotional boundaries

1. Identify Your Emotional Triggers 🧠

• What to do: Reflect on past experiences and relationships to identify what makes you feel overwhelmed, drained, or anxious.

• How it helps: Understanding your triggers helps you anticipate situations where boundaries are needed, allowing you to protect your emotional well-being.

2. Acknowledge Your Right to Set Boundaries 💪

• What to do: Remind yourself that it’s okay to prioritize your emotional health. You have a right to say no and protect your mental space.

• How it helps: Embracing this mindset empowers you to establish boundaries without guilt or fear of rejection.

3. Define Your Personal Limits ✍️

• What to do: Determine what behaviors, conversations, or interactions make you uncomfortable. Write them down if necessary.

• Examples: “I don’t engage in gossip,” or “I need time alone after social gatherings.”

• How it helps: Knowing your limits makes it easier to communicate them to others and recognize when they’re being crossed.

4. Communicate Boundaries Clearly and Calmly 🗣️

• What to do: Use assertive yet respectful language when setting boundaries.

• Example: “I’m not comfortable discussing this topic right now. Let’s talk about something else.”

• How it helps: Clear communication prevents misunderstandings and shows others that you are serious about your limits.

5. Use “I” Statements 🗯️

• What to do: Frame your boundaries using “I” statements to express your feelings without sounding accusatory.

• Example: “I need some time alone to recharge,” instead of “You’re too demanding.”

• How it helps: This approach reduces defensiveness in others and focuses on your needs rather than their behavior.

6. Practice Saying No Without Explaining 🚫

• What to do: Learn to decline requests or invitations without feeling obligated to give a detailed explanation.

• Simple responses like, “No, I’m not available,” or “I’d rather not,” are sufficient.

• How it helps: Saying no without over-explaining reinforces your boundaries and reduces feelings of guilt.

7. Prioritize Self-Care 🛁

• What to do: Incorporate self-care routines that help you recharge emotionally, such as journaling, meditation, or spending time in nature.

• How it helps: Regular self-care strengthens your emotional resilience, making it easier to maintain boundaries.

8. Limit Exposure to Toxic People 🔴

• What to do: Distance yourself from individuals who consistently drain your energy, manipulate, or disrespect your boundaries.

• How it helps: Reducing time with toxic people preserves your emotional energy and protects your mental health.

9. Set Boundaries with Technology 📱

• What to do: Create rules around your use of technology, such as turning off notifications during meals, avoiding social media before bed, or not responding to texts immediately.

• How it helps: Digital boundaries help prevent burnout and reduce stress, allowing you to maintain a healthier balance between online and offline life.

10. Use Visualizations to Protect Your Energy 🛡️

• What to do: Imagine a protective bubble or shield around you that filters out negativity and keeps you grounded.

• How it helps: Visualization techniques can help you stay emotionally centered, especially in challenging environments.

11. Practice Emotional Detachment 🌊

• What to do: Focus on detaching from the emotional reactions of others. Practice observing rather than absorbing their feelings.

• How it helps: This allows you to remain empathetic without becoming emotionally drained or taking on their problems as your own.

12. Reinforce Boundaries with Consequences ⚖️

• What to do: If someone repeatedly crosses your boundaries, let them know the consequences (e.g., limiting contact, stepping away from the situation).

• Example: “If this topic comes up again, I will need to leave the conversation.”

• How it helps: Enforcing consequences shows others that you are serious about your limits and helps prevent future boundary violations.

13. Reflect and Adjust Boundaries as Needed 🔄

• What to do: Regularly assess how your boundaries are serving you. Adjust them if certain boundaries feel too rigid or too loose.

• How it helps: Life is dynamic, so being flexible with your boundaries ensures they continue to protect your well-being effectively.

14. Surround Yourself with Supportive People 👥

• What to do: Build a circle of friends and loved ones who respect your boundaries and encourage your growth.

• How it helps: Positive relationships reinforce your sense of self-worth and make it easier to uphold your boundaries.

15. Practice Mindfulness and Grounding Techniques 🌱

• What to do: Engage in mindfulness practices like deep breathing, yoga, or grounding exercises to stay connected to the present moment.

• How it helps: These techniques help you stay calm and centered, making it easier to recognize and enforce boundaries without being swayed by emotions.

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mothandpidgeon · 2 months ago

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keystrokes (dave york x hacker!f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

rating: E (18+!)

summary: You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

contents: Non con/dub con, mean!Dave, voyeurism, sex toys, masturbation, mutual masturbation, porn, breaking and entering, violence?, gun, gunplay, choking, morally grey reader, reader is Girl with the Dragon Tattoo coded but not physically described

wc: 3.4k

a/n: So I've been having some ✨writers block ✨ (hence the lack of updates last month) but for some reason, Dave York did a little breaking and entering in my brain and shook it loose. I've been writing a lot of heartfelt romance recently and I think I just needed a little depravity I guess.

Thank you @moonlitbirdie and @whocaresstillthelouvre for giving this a look and for anyone I shouted at about this idea (looking at you @schnarfer and @toomanytookas but I know there have been others). Dividers by @ saradika-graphics.

You squint in the light of the refrigerator. It’s empty save for some cartons of half-eaten Chinese food and cans of energy drinks. Check the time— half past one. Too late to order in. Guess cold lomein it is.

The apartment falls back into darkness once you swing the fridge door shut. You’re used to it, the soft glow of your computer monitors illuminating your little space. It’s easy to forget to turn the lights on when you’re focused on your work. Forget to eat. Forget to meet people that aren’t on the other side of a screen.

You sit down at your desk, legs crossed in your seat, and shovel some food into your mouth. Most nights are like this, lost in your work. It’s never felt like a job, not really. More like a way to do the shit you’ve always done except now you get paid to do it. You’re a subcontractor of a subcontractor, someone far enough away from the government that they can get information while still maintaining plausible deniability. You don’t know who you’re working for and most of the time your assignments are vague. All you have to do is gather intelligence and put it into a neat little report without mentioning the methods you used to get it.

You’ve always enjoyed uncovering people’s secrets, reading notes over your classmates shoulders, looking through the search history on friends’ computers. That insatiable curiosity is what led you to start hacking. The targets these days aren’t always exciting but at least tonight’s is.

David York.

Early 40s, divorced. Ex military. DIA. There’s much more to him than that, though. A little program hidden on his computer lets you track each keystroke he makes.

You’ve learned all about him. Dave he prefers. There’s a lot that won’t make it into your report— where he shops online (Brooks Brothers), the take out he orders (one large pepperoni from Frankie’s Pizzeria), the porn he watches (girl on girl). But there’s one thing your bosses will be interested in: Dave York is a contract killer.

You could’ve ended this project by now. You’ve got plenty in your notes to make your customers happy yet you’re still logging onto his computer. It fascinates you that a man so normal, almost on the borderline of boring, could be so dangerous.

You shovel some food into your mouth and go drag your mouse over your desk. You’ve been reviewing footage you recorded through his webcam today. A few lines of code and you were able to turn his laptop’s camera on without activating the tally light. He was smart enough to use unique, complicated passwords, two-factor authentication, and encrypted emails but he didn’t take the time to put a sticker over his webcam.

You’ve found some interesting information this way— listened in on conversations, heard the things he only says into his burner phone. Tonight most of it is just Dave at the keyboard, his tie loosening over time.

You scrub through the footage, Dave drinking coffee and typing in fast forward punctuated by stretches of his empty home office. Nothing exciting until—

You pause the video when you see it. Lomein hangs from your open mouth. He’s half naked, head thrown back, hand buried in his lap. His dick is engulfed in a big fist, a bead of precum frozen before it rolls over his fingers.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen a mark in a compromising position. In this line of work, you’ve seen all the dark corners of people’s hard drives. There’s worse than nudes and home made porn out there. Normally— if it’s not illegal, at least— you just scroll by. But Dave, it’s different when it comes to him. For some reason, seeing him in a compromising position has your blood rushing in your ears. He’s a killer. How many people have had the opportunity to see him in such a vulnerable state?

He’s bare to the waist, his chest so smooth you wonder if he shaves it or if he’s naturally like that. His broad shoulders look perfect to grab onto if you were on top of him. Riding him.

Of course you notice all of this after taking a good, long look at his cock. A clutch of dark curls trail down his soft belly to where it stands, drooling in his fist. You realize you’re salivating.

Guilt pokes at you as you move the playhead back. It’s a violation. Then again, you’ve all but eviscerated Dave's privacy. You know exactly how much money is in his bank account, that his daughter Molly has a sleepover this weekend, that he’ll kill innocents.

He’s not a good person. You’re not either.

You roll back the tape, finding the start of this, and hit play. Dave’s palm traces his bulge through his pajama pants. He’s watching porn, you can hear the over-exaggerated moans through the computer’s tinny speakers.

It’s not the first time you’ve noticed that Dave is hot. After all, you have access to all of the pictures on his laptop. Including the selfies he takes after his runs, muscles glistening with sweat. He’s a bit clean cut for your tastes but right now, he’s something else altogether– the lust in his brown eyes, the control as he teases himself. You swallow hard.

It’s a while before he actually takes his dick out of his pajama pants. You remind yourself repeatedly that you can stop, just click away and let him keep this moment to himself but you’re on the edge of your seat, already throbbing. He finally pulls down his waistband and you’re looking at his upright cock again. It’s thick, a flushed vein running up the underside. He squirts lube into his hand from a bottle that’s just out of frame and when he finally lets his fist move down his length, his eyes sink closed, savoring the sensation.

He touches himself with a practiced motion, gripping the shaft and pulling upwards, a twist of the wrist so that his palm caresses the tip before squeezing back down the length again. His strokes are agonizingly slow. He’s so methodical, patient, like in everything else you’ve discovered.

You’re holding your breath, the suspense aching in your core. There’s plenty of time to study him— those full lips parted, muscles in his arm flexing. Every once in a while he grunts and loosens his grip, keeping himself from going over the edge.

By now, your hand has found its way between your legs. Your fingers trace absentmindedly over the seam in your sleep shorts, already sticky and soaked through. You match Dave’s lazy pace, giving yourself the same pleasure he’s experiencing.

Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you lean over to the set of drawers beside your desk and pull out your favorite vibrator. You shimmy out of your shorts and panties and drag the toy over your needy clit.

You moan with him, watching Dave’s toned arm flex up and down. His bottom lip looks so thick, you want to rake your teeth across it. It’s almost grotesque the way his nostrils flare, the rhythmic grunts that leave him as his hand works faster. The muscles in his neck strain and you can tell he’s close.

You are, too. You swivel your hips against the vibrator, speeding up the thrusts and strengthening its power. Fuck. What would it feel like to have Dave’s mouth on you? His cock in you?

He can’t hold back any longer. Dave’s eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches and he makes a noise more animal than man. The eruption of cum is the last thing you see before you’re sent reeling, moaning out your own desperate cry as you pulse around your vibrator.

You take deep breaths as you return to earth, hitting the spacebar to pause the video and blinking back to reality. Your heart rate slows and you wipe your hand across your face. That’s enough work for one night. That might be enough Dave for good. Tomorrow you’ll finalize your report and put him out of your mind.

The vibrator is tossed carelessly onto the desk. You put your panties on but leave your shorts discarded on the floor amongst the rest of your laundry and then you put your computer to sleep. Without the light of the monitors, the room is cloaked in darkness and you drag yourself from your chair a few short paces to the bed.

It’s still dark when you wake, an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You strain your ears for noise, any sign of what woke you but there’s nothing. Then a creak. Your heart leaps into your throat. Someone’s here, in your apartment.

You fumble for your backpack in the dim. Somewhere in the bottom there’s a can of pepper spray that you bought for a situation just like this but your hands are trembling and you can’t see a fucking thing.

A figure appears behind the French door that separates your room from the kitchen and any drowsiness that was lingering evaporates immediately. It’s a man— broad body clothed entirely in black— and in his hand you make out the silhouette of a gun. The room’s too fucking tiny for there to be anywhere decent to hide. There’s no time to think. Your only choice is to brandish your bag as a weapon. He barges in and you swing for his face.

“Fuck,” he grunts but it merely slows him for a moment, knocking hm off balance and his beanie off of his head.

You scramble towards the front door but you’re tackled to the ground, wind knocked out of your lungs. As you gasp for air, you’re flipped onto your back and you find yourself face to face with your assailant. Even in the darkness, through your terror and disorientation, you recognize him.

Dave York glares down at you, his angular face cast in shadows, a menacing snarl on his lips. The muzzle of his silencer is far too close to your face but there’s no shrinking from it with your head against the floor and Dave’s heavy hand on your middle.

“You and I have a problem,” he growls. “You know why I’m here?”

You shake your head frantically, still barely able to fill your lungs.

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart. I know you’re not stupid,” he says.

He pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing and hauls you towards your room. You’re thrown into your desk chair, head still spinning. Dave stands over you and clamps your wrist to the arm rest.

“You know why you’re spying on me?” he asks, a cold threat in his words.

You nod.

“Then you know you don’t want me as your enemy.” You say nothing but a shiver runs down your spine. His eyes are nearly black, reflecting the dull light of the sleeping computer monitors.

“I want your hard drives. Back ups, too. Everything you’ve got on me,” he demands.

“Okay,” you manage. “Would you just get that gun out of my face?”

“Get to it,” he says, and spins your chair so you’re facing the keyboard.

The monitors come to life and, suddenly, you’re in deeper shit. You try to hit a shortcut on the keys to close the window that’s open but your fingers are trembling so hard, you miss. Dave sees it all.

Something changes in him— a tightening in his jaw, a flaring of his nostrils— as he sees the evidence of your surveillance. His spent form, blissed out and covered in his own release hovers on screen. Right where you left him.

Dave’s eyes narrow at the video then slide down to the toy sitting within arms reach and there’s no denying what he can see so plainly.

He rounds on you with a wild look, flinging the chair back so its wheels hit your bed.

“You get off on that?” he demands.

Your heart might have actually stopped for a minute.

“Answer me,” he demands.

“I– No,” you lie.

He appraises you with a deep scowl until a wicked grin spreads on his lips.

“You’re a pretty little thing, huh?” he muses.

He drags the gun across your breast, your nipple hardening beneath the muzzle’s brush. You let out a whimper— out of fear or arousal, you’re not sure. You swear he growls under his breath.

“You’re trouble though,” he says.

You swallow thickly, your entire body quivering.

”Show me,” he says, depositing the gun on the desk and thrusting the toy towards you.

”What?” You ask.

”Show me how you touched yourself,” he tells you.

That’s what you thought he was saying. You stare at him dumbly, too shocked to even protest.

“You watched me. Only seems fair,” he says as if this is some bargain you’re cutting with the man holding the gun. ”Do I have to make you?”

He leans over you, his hand braced on the back of your chair, and presses the vibrator into the gusset of your panties. Rough and clicked onto the highest setting, you squirm and cry out. You’re already so overstimulated, it’s torture and bliss all at once. Your hips buck against the toy but Dave holds your thigh open.

”Okay! Stop! Fuck!” you whine, wrenching at his wrist until he lets up.

You try to catch your breath.

“Take these off,” he instructs, snapping the elastic of your panties against your waist with a thick finger.

You hiss and glare at him but you have no choice but to obey, sliding them down your legs. Dave watches, his eyes darkening once you’re revealed to him. He swears under his breath.

”Look at that mess,” he says.

Your whole body burns but the hunger in his gaze makes your fear take a back seat. Defiantly, you put your hand out for the vibrator. You open your legs wider so he can get a good look at you. There’s a tick in his jaw that gives you some satisfaction.

The vibrator purrs dully in your palm and you take your time bringing it to your clit. A low, long moan leaves you. You’re swollen but slick and even gentle strokes feel electric in your veins.

There’s a tent already forming in Dave’s pants. He’s a killer, sure, but right now he’s horny.

Your head falls back as you continue. His gaze devours each part of you— where the toy glistens against you, your nipples rising and falling below your shirt, the crease in your brow as you keen.

“You’re a filthy girl, huh?” he asks.

You nod and a smile actually pulls at the corner of your lips. It shouldn’t turn you on so much to jerk off in front of a man that has seemingly no hesitations when it comes to killing you but somehow that fact has arousal mounting faster. Your eyes drift closed as you focus on the heady sensation of the friction on your overworked nerves.

The sound of a metallic clink and soft zip distracts you from your reverie. When you look at Dave, you find his hand down the front of his pants, knuckles straining against the fabric of his black boxer briefs as he tugs at himself.

“Keep going,” he breathes and you realize you’re staring slack-jawed, desire flooding out any remnants of fear left within you.

After a few blinks, you press the vibrator against your clit again. Your back arches and you give a luxurious sigh for his benefit. His fist tightens, muscles in his neck straining and, fuck, you have to grip the seat of your chair to keep yourself from falling out of it.

With a grunt, Dave’s pushing his jeans out of the way, freeing his cock so he can work himself in the angles he likes, the same ones you watched through his webcam. The sound of his shallow breaths and slick strokes mix with the rumble of your toy and the creak of your chair as you writhe. It’s absolutely maddening. And then he starts babbling. Saying things like, “You like this, huh?” and “Say my name sweetheart.” You do it, panting out the word to a hum of approval.

He crowds you and for a moment you prepare yourself for the chance he’s about to shove his dick down your throat. Instead he’s yanking up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cold air in the room. Dave fondles one and then the other, squeezing the tender flesh with a groan. His hand is much softer than you’d expect for a contract killer, his touch almost gentle as he teases your nipples with the pad of his thumb.

Dave’s expression nearly looks pained, a delicious frown over his plump bottom lip. It makes you mewl and your hips jump.

“You close?” he asks. His voice is ragged.

A breathless nod is all you can manage.

“Good girl,” he rasps.

His words are enough to send you over the edge, with a wanton moan. It crashes over you with so much more intensity than the one that came before it. Your spine locks up, thighs shake as you clench around nothing. Your heart hammers in your chest and between your legs and it’s as if the room is spinning. You twitch in aftershocks, completely spent.

The fog of pleasure has barely lifted when you glance up at Dave, fist still diligently pumping. There’s a fire in his eyes, that untamed excitement.

“Give me one more,” he commands.

“Can’t,” you plead. Need still bubbles at your core but your body is so exhausted from adrenaline and exertion, lust and release.

“You better,” he says.

Dave grinds the vibrator mercilessly against you and you swear aloud. He lets up only for his hand to close around your throat. It’s an unbearable mixture of pleasure and dull ache— the bruising pressure on your clit, the muscles in your thighs taught and burning— underlined by that euphoria. He squeezes around your jaw just hard enough to see stars again.

“That’s right,” he breathes against your cheek, his nose pressed into your temple.

Another orgasm comes almost immediately, pulsing at your core and squeezing through every fiber of your being. This time, you’re quiet, just a high pitched whine like a hurt animal though you’re anything but.

Dave groans. You can hear his teeth gritted though your eyes are shut. He swears and his hot release paints your bare chest, thick and sticky.

Everything stills as you both come down, all loosening muscles and shaky breaths. Dave remains close to you, stroking your cheek. His lips brush your hairline and you notice the smell of his cologne for the first time, something clean and masculine.

Dread should come now. He’s had his fun, now he can do away with you — yet it doesn’t surface.

Slowly Dave stands and tucks himself back into his pants. He almost looks ashamed of himself. You pull your shirt down, covering your stained breasts, and watch Dave smooth his hair.

“So are we good?” you ask.

“If you do what I said,” he answers. “You’re going to get rid of anything you have against me and you’re going to tell your bosses that all you found was a regular guy.”

“Alright, Dave,” you say.

He scowls at you like he doesn’t like your tone. “When I say delete everything, I mean everything,” he says, eyes flitting towards the monitor.

You steal a glance in that direction as well. Dave half naked, still frozen there looking absolutely ruined.

“Understand?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to know if you don’t because I’ll be watching you. And if you cross me, I’m going to come back here and I won’t be so nice to you next time,” Dave says.

You wish that threat didn’t make your body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s absolutely reckless. There’s no chance in hell you’re letting go of that piece of treasure and if the consequence is Dave knocking on your door– or letting himself in– that’s a risk you’re willing to take.

It’s as if he knows. Dave scoffs to himself, then fishes his hat off of the floor along with your panties.

“These are mine now,” he says.

And you’re almost sad to see him go.

comments and reblogs always appreciated! or scream at me in the ask box or dms!

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

#dave york #dave york fic #pedro pascal fic #dave york x f!reader #dave york x hacker!f!reader #equilizer 2 #cw: noncon/dubcon

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