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fullscoreshenanigans · 2 years

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I wonder what conditions Isabella gave Ray for using these items because we never actually see him use anything besides the last reward she gives him, the camera.

I default to him asking for them under the pretense of dissembling them and him explicitly telling Isabella as much because these were probably some of the machines he’d disassemble with Norman as mentioned in the Mystic Code Book (translated by @1000sunnygo here).

but it’s fun to think about what games HQ would think were appropriate for this premium meat in some AU where they knew he knew the secret of the house and were chill with it.

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sherlock-is-ace · 11 months

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5/🎨

and

7/📖

if you haven't answered those already ☺️

Hi thanks!! Sorry it took me a sec to answer ahfnjs

🎨 - what's your favourite form of self-expression?

I will like to say clothes, but I don't have enough money to dress like I actually would like to dress so I'm going to say art. I live vicariously through my OCs lol

📖 - are there any pronouns you really like but don't use?

Not really, there are some neo pronouns that spund cool but I don't really like to use them (for me) cause english isn't my first language and I would like to have the same pronouns in any language. I used they/them for a little while but didn't seem to fit me. I just know that i hate she/her (for me).

Pride Asks

#gotta add for me because some people will hate a thing and be dickish to anyone who doesn't hate said thing #just being clear that i don't care about other people's pronouns i'm just talking for myself ;)#ask #ask game #demongrocer #angel talks #personal

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goldsbitch · 11 days

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can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.

Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻

omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!

This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.

Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.

You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.

It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.

Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.

"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.

"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.

"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.

"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.

"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."

You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.

The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.

"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.

Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.

It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.

In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.

"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.

"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.

"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.

"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.

You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.

"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.

It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.

"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.

Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.

Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."

You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.

Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.

You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.

You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.

"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.

"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."

Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.

"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.

"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.

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akoyaxs · 6 months

Text

˚༄ Tìwäsul

✮ Meaning: competition ✮ Requested by: ⛄️ and 🪐 ✮ Pairing: Aonung x fem!metkayina!warrior reader ✮ Warnings: rivals, smutty smut, fluff, p in v, Aonung is a munch, pining ✮ Word Count: 10.3k

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It first happened when you were kids. The first time that stupid skxawng beat you, and it never seemed to end. You knew you were just as talented, just as ferocious, just as determined, but he was always just larger and stronger. It probably also helped that he would be Olo'eyktan.

So year after year, after every fight, every hunt, every trial, you would always be second. Silver. Sure, you could smash down every other warrior. Sure, you could outrun and outswim and even outrank any other person in the clan, but there would always be him. Aonung.

He was, in fact, a complete and utter idiot. He was all big and perfect and beloved by the clan, despite all his flaws. Because those flaws seemed perfectly obvious to you, his competition, but everyone else just fawned over his big muscles and pretty blue eyes and you were determined to never do so.

He was cocky. He was a player. He had more muscles in his arms than braincells in his head. He was condescending and entitled and just somehow managed to get away with everything.

So you were determined to be the person to call him out. If everyone was going to baby him and feed his practically obese ego, you would try to keep him in check.

You wouldn't fawn and fall at his feet. Every word you spoke to him was twice as harsh as to others. Every blow you delivered in training was harder than the last, and certainly harder than anyone else would dare to hit the precious little prince. Every look you sent him clearly showed your distaste that he, somehow, always was above you.

And he seemed to get it. As you got older, he became less dickish towards you. By the time you finished your iknimaya, he had congratulated you. By the time the Sully's came to the reef, if you called him out on his taunting, he'd pull his head back in.

You, of course, had no idea why. Everyone else did though. The way Aonung would only do as you say was perfectly obvious to everyone else. Ronal and Tonowari had figured it out early, that their son hardly listened to them, so they managed to sneak you into it when they wanted him to do something.

And Aonung tried to get over it. That's why he spent his days training hard, trying to beat away and sweat out all his ceaseless thoughts of you. Thoughts that mortify him, thoughts that you would murder him over.

That's why he spends his nights with a new girl every time, on the beach, in the water, on the woven floor of marui's, trying to fuck his desires for you out into another girl.

He can't help it- the way he imagines it's always you. You squirming as he lays with his head nestled between your shaking thighs, holding you down and drawing desperate moans out of your mouth so usually full of quips and snarls.

You on your knees in front of him, the same eyes that glare when you look at him now filled with tears as you take him far into your throat, your soft lips brushing over his hard length.

Imagining you're the one under him, riding him, bent over in front of him, the curve of your ass and the softness of your tits on complete display for him.

Fuck.

It was bad. It was really fucking bad.

You were his second in command, you were his biggest competition. What used to be a childish crush was rapidly growing into a mature, dangerous obsession.

What he wouldn't give to have you as his, to be yours...

You, of course, on the other hand, are completely oblivious to his infatuation with you. For years, you've written off the way he treats you differently as simply part of the game, part of the competition the two of you have entertained for so long.

You have no idea of the blunt lust and deep affection he harbours for you, and you're certainly oblivious to his efforts to get closer to you. The first could have been anything, and it never would have occurred to you that it was courting.

In the years since your iknimaya, the rivalry between the two of you had fizzled slightly. You could accept his outranking you- he, at least, was worth the top position.

So you followed his orders with 60% obedience and managed to build a courteous, polite relationship with him. You were not quite friends, yet you both respected the other, and managed to share a good conversation every now and then.

Which is why it seemed so shocking that he was suddenly starting to compete with you again. He, of course, isn't doing anything of the sort, but you think he's falling back into the old rivalry.

It all started with the summer hunt.

Really, it was your fault. You let yourself get overconfident, sure that the huge fish you had speared through the heart would be the largest catch of the clan, and you had been pleased with yourself and returned to the village.

There was much admiration and praise for your amazing catch, everyone congratulating you until suddenly it all stopped. You weren't an attention seeker at all, but you couldn't help feeling irritated that something was suddenly so important.

Which, of course, has to be Aonung.

He's striding towards you, his large, muscular arms straining under the weight of the fish he's holding. It's fucking massive, completely putting your batch to shame, with shimmery scales and terrifying spikes all along it's back and fins and mouth and tail.

Almost instantly, everyone that had been congratulating you practically pounces onto him, gushing over their precious little prince and his unimaginable talents, his incredible strength, his impossible bravery yadayadayada.

You, on the other hand, just stay back, arms folded and a scowl fixed onto your face. You aren't bitter he did better than you (well maybe a little but that wasn't the point). After thinking you both got over this competition on at least surface level, here he was, bringing his haul over to you to completely undermine your efforts. To show, once again, he beat you.

But as everyone fawned all over him, he just continues to walk to you, returning a smile every now and then but staying in silence as he approaches. His bright blue eyes are fixed into yours the whole time.

He doesn't look cocky; there's a strange glint in those ocean eyes that you can't interpret. He's doing something, you can obviously tell at least that, trying to prove himself in some way.

And of course, your competitive, fierce mind jumps straight into the past. You can't believe he's doing this now, making you look ridiculous and small and undermining you with his amazing catch.

He finally reaches your woven basket, in which your now seemingly tiny fish lies. You fold your arms and stare blankly up at him, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

"Hey," he smiles, shifting the fish in his arms so he can see you better.

"Hey," you reply slightly coldly, raising your brows slightly and watching him.

He was attractive, you can admit that. Not just in a pretty way, he was so pretty it had every girl falling at his feet, and he was always happy to offer his time to them. It was something in that white shiny smile and bright blue eyes, maybe something to do with that air of slight mischief and danger that lingered around him.

It also could be his body. That was good too. All muscular and giant and taller than anyone else in the clan, even Tonowari. He moved with confidence and slight cockiness, the curve of his broad shoulders rolling gracefully when he moved. It was something to do with the sharpness of his collarbones and jawline, or the way his lashes curled so gently. Or just his body, the slight X shape to his ribcage, his stomach toned and muscly just like the rest of him, tapering into a slim waist.

“Good catch,” Aonung says, nodding down at your basket that looks ridiculous beside his.

You squint at him, is he making fun of you? But he looks genuinely sincere, and also nervous. Aonung, the prince of the clan, the most confident even cocky person you know, is standing slightly awkwardly in front of you, looking nervous.

You aren’t sure if it’s your face- your glare does tend to have a terrifying effect on people, but you decide you’ve glared at him and he’s never looked this nervous around you before. In fact, you’ve never even seen him be nervous ever. Not at any fight or hunt or even at his iknimaya.

That only makes you more annoyed.

“Yours is better,” you reply bluntly. It’s an obvious fact, and Aonung smiles slightly.

“Thank you,” he grins. “I went outside the reef to three brothers rock-”

“Isn’t that a bit far,” you ask sceptically. “And a little dangerous?”

You go to hunt at three brothers rock every few days, but what was this skxawng playing at, going to such extreme lengths to beat you.

“I wanted to bring something good back,” he shrugs.

You scowl a little deeper. The other clan members that had been offering their congratulations were now dispersing. Sure, your arguments with Aonung were known to be a great source of entertainment for the clan, almost as much as the actual warrior fights, but they also knew better than to overstay their welcome when it came to the two highest ranking warriors in the clan. And this is where this is heading, an argument

Really, you had slackened in your insults and keeping Aonung in line over the last few years, the competition between the two of you dying out slowly let you let him off the hook. He had used his new freedom to fuck around with his friends and girls and you had put your efforts into training and proving yourself.

“What are you trying to do Aonung,” you sigh, sharpening your knife to carve the fish.

“What do you mean?” He asks, sounding confused.

“You’ve never gone hunting beyond the reef except when you’re trying to prove a point,” you say bluntly, not looking up from sharpening your knife. “Like when you nearly got Lo’ak killed when we were kids. So what point are you trying to prove?”

When he doesn’t say anything, just staring down at you, you put your knife down with a small snarl and glare up at him.

But before you can say anything, the next wave of villagers walks past, and they bustle around Aonung to marvel at his incredible hunting skills and unbelievable daring and oh my god you’re just strong! And Aonung just doesn’t seem to care. He usually is aloof and cocky, but he enjoys praise and ass kissing. The new crowd blocks you from his view, and you shift slightly to keep it that way, while you can take another look at him. He looks like he’s trying to find you, craning his neck and ignoring all the praises and flirtings thrown at his fucking feet. His brows are furrowed, and he looks torn between confusion and slight upset that you’ve suddenly disappeared.

Stupid skxawng.

You sigh, gaze flicking to the basket of your smaller fish lying ignored and abandoned beside the group clamouring over Aonung’s massive, incredible one, and sigh.

You leave it there and slip back through the crowd and into your marui.

Tsireya’s waiting there for you, your best friend lying in your bed, admiring something. Her ears flick up when you enter, quickly noticing your annoyance in your huffy silence and agitatedly flicking tail.

“Hey beautiful,” Tsireya grins. “What’s got your tail in a knot?"

“I’ll tell you who,” you say hotly, stripping off your gear from hunting and tossing it angrily into the corner. “Some stupid, infuriating, competitive-”

“Right,” Tsireya rolls her eyes. “What has Aonung done now? I thought you guys were fine now.”

“I thought so too,” you growl, setting your knife down aggressively. “But noooo, apparently now he has to one up me and hunt the biggest fish in my fishing territory. You know, I don’t know why he’s being so competitive.”

“It’s a bit hypocritical of you to be calling anyone competitive,” your best friend comments, raising her brows at you. When you glare at her, she holds her hands up. “I was just saying, don’t get mad at me.”

You just huff a sigh and flop down onto your woven bed, laying your head in her lap.

“You really don’t know what’s going on, do you?” Tsireya says, sounding amused.

“What do you mean, what’s going on?” you snap. “I just know that your brother is trying to beat me, or prove something-”

Tsireya laughs incredulously, and when you lift your head to frown at her, she stifles her giggle and puts on a straight face.

“This is beautiful,” she gestures to what she’d been studying before.

You have half a mind to object to her subject change. But then again, Tsireya had heard you rant about her brother so many times, she’d probably memorised it by now. And you weren’t bothered to spend any more time thinking about him, otherwise you’d get pissed and unproductive.

“Yes,” you smile fondly, taking the top from her. It was beautifully woven, a piece that you had been working on for a while for the hunt festival, beading intricately with gems and shells and seaglass you had collected yourself. It was something you adored, something beautiful and yours, that you could admire as your hard work.

“Well, come and see what I have prepared,” Tsireya grins.

“I don’t want to run into Aonung at your marui,” you sigh.

“Oh, you won’t,” Tsireya rolls her eyes. “My brother’s out preparing for you- um, for something?”

“Probably the festival,” you grumble under your breath. “Where he’ll steal my last respect and status.”

But you follow your best friend out along the village to her marui. The sun was nearly set now, a deep, rich periwinkle colour over the sparkling, still ocean. You wished you could go for a swim, maybe even a hunt right now, but you need to help prepare for the festival tomorrow night. That was who you were, reliable and determined to do anything to prove yourself, helping wherever you can.

Tonowari, Ronal, Tsireya and Aonung lived in the largest marui in the village, obviously. They had the one in the centre, a huge, beautifully woven marui with partings for rooms. You had your own marui now, with a single room, a sleeping mat, a small kitchen, and a shelf for your memories and keepsakes. It wasn’t exactly tiny, given your high status, but as you lived alone you weren’t assigned a larger, nicer marui, and you had no need for one either.

But sometimes you felt a little bitter as you looked across the village to your favourite marui. It had just been recently woven, in the perfect spot at the edge of the beach and over the shallows of the water, the perfect place to fish right off the walkway. It had plenty of room for weapons and collectibles, and a curtain for privacy woven of palm leaves and strung with beautiful shells hung in the entrance, shielding the interior for you.

Oh, how you longed to have that marui. Problem was, there was a reason why it was so beautiful. It was for the next clan leader- Aonung and his future mate.

You sneak a glance at it before you follow Tsireya into her family’s marui. You greet Ronal and Tonowari who greet you happily, exchanging some conversation about the festival and the hunt. As you finish your chat and go towards Tsireya’s room, something catches your eye from another doorway.

You aren’t a snooper. You aren’t a lurker or someone who wallows in other people’s business. You certainly never cared about Aonung’s business. But you can’t help your curiosity, and after noticing Aonung isn’t in his room and hearing Tsireya rustle about in her room to get her top, you quickly slip your head in to see.

Eywa. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Sitting neatly on his bed, amidst several loose beads and string, is the more intricate, gorgeous top you’ve ever seen. Just like the hunt, it puts your top to complete shame.

Each bead sparkles in the light, colourful and happy and beautiful just like the stars shining bright above you. You can’t help feeling impressed, though you’re still frowning. Tentatively, you reach out and lightly trace the top.

It’s so smooth and cool beneath your fingers, and you can already see that it would settle perfectly when worn, showing the perfect amount of skin and delicately covering you at the same time.

Everyone weaves new tops for the festivals, and men often do too to gift to others. Aonung was going to beat you, once again. There was no doubt about it, this top was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

And then you’re suddenly upset, and it’s hitting you that once fucking again he’s won and you’ve lost and it’s all just shit and you’re backing out of Aonung’s room. You’re backing out of the marui, and you’re headed straight for your own home. Flopping into your bed, you just lie in still silence, staring blankly up and scowling.

That night is filled with annoying restlessness. You don’t attend the preparations for the festival held the night after the hunt, resigning yourself that you’ll just figure it all out at the festivities tomorrow. You had, once again, been proved completely inferior to Aonung, and when you woke up the next day and prepared for training, you were determined to not let it happen again.

You made your way over to the training grounds early, figuring maybe you could get in some practise before everyone else arrived and you were once again Aonung’s second in command, but as you gathered some spears and walked over, there was a familiar figure standing there.

“Hey,” Aonung calls when he sees you arriving. “Where did you go yesterday; I didn’t see you after the hunt?”

“I was tired,” you say coolly, tying your hair back.

“Right,” Aonung says, brow furrowing slightly. “And you weren’t helping to prepare last night, either.”

At that, you straighten up and frown at him.

“Since when did you go to the preparations?” you ask sceptically. “I thought you were too cool to help out.”

“I was looking for you,” Aonung says unexpectedly. “You disappeared before.”

“Well,” you huff, lifting a spear, “I wasn’t in the mood for worshipping you like everyone else.”

Aonung chuckles slightly, shaking his head and leaning back to stare at you.

“You’ve never worshipped me.”

“You need someone to keep you humble,” you sigh, bringing your arm back and tossing the spear as hard as you can. It flies far and lands sticking straight up into the sand. You turn back to see Aonung looking impressed. “Unfortunately, being humble isn’t your strong suit.”

“Hey,” he protests. “I’m great at being humble. I’m practically the best at humbleness.”

“Right,” you roll your eyes, picking up another spear. “Be a dear and grab my spear, will you?”

You half expect Aonung to argue, to point out he is your superior, but to your surprise he obediently walks out and picks it from the sand. So he’s still doing as you ask, so what was that sudden resurgence of competition?

“Are you going to try and kill me?” Aonung asks amusedly, watching as you level another spear and throw it again whilst he’s still picking up your first.

“No,” you say stiffly. “I wouldn’t need to try- if I wanted you dead, this spear would already be through your head.”

“You really are strange,” he says, making his way back. There’s a strange fondness in his voice that you don’t understand.

Unbeknownst to you of course, Aonung was not so sneaky at hiding his feelings from everyone else. Or maybe the rest of the clan just wasn’t as oblivious as you. Either way, neither of you noticed your warriors gathering around, watching you and Aonung.

You had always been careful to maintain a courteous, respectful relationship with Aonung in the eyes of your warriors since you passed your iknimaya, but really, you weren’t fooling anyone.

Everyone remembers the two of you when you were younger, in constant competition, your distaste and need to keep him in line balancing his cockiness. And just as infamous (except to you) is just how much Aonung likes his second in command.

Really, it’s obvious to all your warriors- they’re the ones that have to watch Aonung watch you, watch your movements and instructions and teachings and scolding. It’s not secret to them that he likes you, yet their knowledge is a secret to Aonung, and everything is a secret to you.

You start the usual training, instructing all your warriors into warmups and then positions, preparing for them to practise sparring. But, unbeknownst to you, your warriors had a plan, sick of all the pretences and rivalry and oblivious and secrets.

The next stage of training was something of a tournament, all the warriors pairing up and fighting. Winner moves on, loser’s out. You should have known it would end up like this.

You were the best warriors after all, and too soon you found yourself facing Aonung, your warriors watching with interest from the sidelines after being absolutely annihilated by the pair of you. Really, your showdowns with Aonung were almost legendary, but there hadn’t been one since you both completed your iknimaya. But now here you are, about to fight him.

You and Aonung stand at opposite ends, studying each other and moving into battle positions.

You start to circle, before Aonung moves first. He stabs his spear towards you, which you parry easily and we whirl. It's a dance really, charged with tension as you slash and spiral, ducking and stabbing. But after a few moments, Aonung manages to twist the spear from your grip, and it clatters to the ground, rolling out of the circle. You hear groans from the crowd, and the thought that they think you might lose is infuriating.

Not this fucking time. You haven’t come second at every turn for years, your rivalry to die and and then suddenly just return for you to lose again.

You leap at Aonung, leaping over his spear jab and twisting in the air to grab his queue and use your momentum to fling him across the circle. His spear, too, goes rolling away, and he gets slowly to his feet, exhaling and narrowing his eyes slightly.

You exchange a few punches and attacks, enough for you to realise that he must be holding back. There is no way that someone that muscular throws a punch that weak.

"Why are you holding back?" you hiss.

"I'm not," Aonung says, yet the next punch he delivers to your side hardly winds you at all.

"Stop holding back," you growl, and leaping at him, knocking him to the floor and straddling him easily.

And finally, you see his eyes narrow and his breath catch with annoyance, and he moves with his full power. It was an anticipatable offence, and you step quickly aside, ducking under his swing. You move around behind him and kick his leg, bending it and sending him to his knees. You quickly toss him aside onto the ground while he is still confused, and he slides along the sand, digging his fingers in at the last moment.

He clambers to his feet and you crouch a little lower. You trail the circle, eyes fixed on one another. You wait, unhurried and unworried, so he gives in and makes the first move again. This time he goes for your legs, and you leap over him, pushing his shoulders down so he stumbles and you roll to the ground and spring up again.

You exchange punches and kicks, and he doesn't hold back. He tackles to the ground and you groan as his elbow jabs at your gut. Aonung is admittedly stronger, so it takes you some time to wiggle free from his hold, but you move your knee up to smack him in the groin. Then he rolls you over easily and pins me down, his other hand closing around your throat.

You jab your elbow into his side and roll you over again, pinning his hands up and straddling his chest.

“Go on,” you breathe, faces inches from Aonung, pressing your arm up against his throat, ready to cut off his breath if needed.

But he doesn’t say anything. His large, muscular body is warm and still beneath you, his eyes just roving over your face with wide pupils, breath heaving. In fact, his breathing is so strong you’re practically getting lifted up and down on his chest.

Everyone’s watching expectantly, and you press your arm down harder on his throat. You raise your brows expectantly at him.

“I give up,” he breathes, inches away from your face, eyes boring brightly into your own.

“Louder,” you snap, lightly slamming him against the ground.

“I give up!” he shouts.

You let him go, arm moving off his throat, and just resting, breathing heavily. He gave up. You won. You beat him, finally, after years of coming second, and everyone saw you do it.

And the staring eyes suddenly make you realise you’re still straddling Aonung, legs tight on either side and whole body resting on his infuriatingly very prominent abs.

You aren’t one to blush, but you’d be lying if you didn’t scramble quickly off him, readjusting your top and tewng as you look at your warriors. They look satisfied. Not in the way you feel, not like they’re happy you finally beat him. No, they look like something was just confirmed, something you just have no idea about.

“Dismissed,” Aonung calls, waving off his warriors.

You frown, but at the end of the day, it isn’t your call. So you greet your warriors goodbye, exchanging words and waving them off. You don’t miss their knowing smiles, and the way none of them wait for you to follow too. As though they know exactly what’s about to happen, as you pick up your spears and make to follow-

“Wait.”

The word hangs lazily in the air. And, since it was spoken out of his mouth, you had to obey. So, trying to fight off the scowl fixed on your face, you slowly turn to stare at him.

“Yes, Aonung?”

“You are mad with me,” Aonung says, a slight frown on his face. You squint slightly. Eywa, this skxawng really is thick, that it’s taken him so long to realise, and for him to not even be sure about it.

“Is that all you had to ask me?” you reply, with raised brows. “Can I go now-”

“No,” Aonung says bluntly. It’s the first time he’s ever flat out refused you, and you have to take a moment to realise that you actually have to stay and have this conversation now, instead of hiding your annoyance with him behind rolled eyes like usual.

“Fine.” You cross your arms and stand impatiently. It couldn’t be clearer that you wanted to leave, and Aonung shifts a little.

This isn’t at all how he pictured you to be acting. He had tried so hard- hunting the largest fish, trying his best to impress you at every turn with fighting and spear throwing. And you finally beat him. You won, so why are you so upset with him?

Maybe you noticed him staring, maybe you noticed how flustered he got when you had him pinned down and were straddling him?

In no way was Aonung someone that submitted easily. He listened to no one, except you. Really, you’re the only person that could ever get away with having him like that. If only you knew what more you could get away with, that he’d let you do anything, that he’d do anything you let him.

“Why do you dislike me so much?” Aonung asks. Your eyes narrow further.

“I don’t dislike you,” you say delicately, and he scoffs.

“We’ve been stuck in this competition since we were kids,” Aonung points out. “Why did it start.”

“You’re asking me?” you say with raised brows. “Aren’t you the one that’s been determined to beat me at every turn?”

“That’s what you think I’ve been doing?” Aonung asks incredulously. “You think all these years, I just wanted to win?”

“Don’t you?” you ask. “I mean, what have you been beating me and belittling me for years for then, if not to win?”

Aonung blinks rapidly. Oh eywa, this is fucked. He never would have guessed this; that you genuinely thought he dislikes you, that all he wanted was to triumph over you this whole time.

“You just won,” Aonung points out instead.

“Once,” you snap. “I won once, after busting my ass off my whole life. I can handle being second in command. I can handle you being a better hunter and a better fighter and a better leader and beader and whatever, but why are you suddenly rubbing all your victories in my face again?”

“I’m not,” Aonung says, flushing furiously. “I wasn’t trying to gloat or anything, I wanted you to see me do well… because…”

Your eyes narrow further, and your brows raise higher. It couldn’t be plainer you weren’t believing a word he said, and he could guess you’d take some convincing even if he did decide to confess everything right here and now. When he stands in awkward silence, trying to think of what to say, you scoff.

“What about the hunt. What about the spears. What about the top, and the marui and-”

“The top? The marui?”

“Yes,” you hiss. “I spent so long weaving the most beautiful top and you had to make an even prettier one. I mean- how did your massive fumbly fingers even manage to make it? And the marui- building the most beautiful home right in front of mine, blocking my view of the ocean-“

“Stop!” Aonung finally cuts you off, as your tone grows louder and more impatient. “It was for you.”

You scowl. Then you frown. Then you raise your brows, and part your lips in confusion. Then you scowl again.

“What?”

“It’s all for you,” Aonung explodes, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “I tried hard to impress you all those years. I hunted that fish to impress you. I wove that top to impress you. Everything I’ve ever done has been for you.”

And now he’s done it. Spoken the words that break everything, the ones that make fucking sure that nothing’s ever going to be the same. He risks a peek between his fingers at you.

You look like you’ve been broken. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed, mouth parted in confusion, brows raised and head cocked slightly. You’re trying to tell what the fuck is going on. This is a joke, this has to be a joke. He’s taking the fucking piss.

There’s no way Aonung is telling the truth right now- no way anything has been for you. Not the fish, not the hunt, not the fights or the spears or the tops or any thing.

“And the marui?” you whisper. Aonung sighs, covering his face with a large hand. He looks absolutely mortified, as though he wasn’t meant to say any of this.

“Well, I was hoping this would go differently- better. That maybe you would see I liked you without needing me to shout it at you- that maybe you might think that perhaps I never disliked you and that I just wanted you to see me?”

You just continue to stare blankly at him, so he continues in a rush.

“It was perfect,” he mumbles. “Perfect for fishing. You could see the perfect sunsets. The prettiest shells wash up on the beaches underneath the walkway, and I know you love the little ones with the dark spirals. Early morning huts, places to store your weapons, a little cove for the ilu right underneath.”

You blink even more rapidly. Is this skxawng actually making sense? Is he telling the truth?

“So…” you say slowly, swallowing hotly. “You aren’t like… my rival or something.”

“I hope not,” Aonung mutters. “I mean, am I?”

The silence you keep is going to kill him. He just knows it; his heart is thumping so hard he knows it’s about to explode and he’s going to die. His hands and fidgeting sightly. Eywa, he’s never been this nervous in his life. Really, you’re the only person who’s ever managed to make him feel nervous.

And fuck. You had never thought of Aonung like this- never let yourself think of him like this. Because he was always Aonung, prince of the clan, your best friend’s brother, your commander, your rival. But now apparently not. When you think about it, you never hated Aonung. Your distaste for him was purely on a physical level, for his cockiness and taunting, yet noe it was never actually true.

Plus, there were good things about him- that he was a good hunter and fisher and fighter and weaver. And he was sort of sweet, even though you always mistook his crush for dislike.

Plus Eywa, he’s hot.

And maybe it has something to do with the terrified, guilty, nervous, heart-broken, hopeful look in those bright blue eyes, but you find your heart pounding slightly faster. No. Fuck.

The silence is growing longer, and you’re feeling… something. Something in the air between you. Something that had always been there, a tension that makes everything all sharp and strong and dangerous, but you’d always written it off as the stupid rivalry.

Aonung’s just staring, looking large and muscly and nervous in front of you, but also expectant. He expects you to say no. He thinks he’s messed up, pushed things too far, changed everything, fucked it all up. And, as ever, you prove him wrong.

“Aonung,” you say quietly. “What are you saying?”

“I- fuck- I like you,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I like everything about you, even when you hate me. I like that you speak your mind, and you treat me like anyone and not like some king or something. I like that you aren’t ever afraid or nervous, and that everything you do is just… it’s just always right.”

You scrunch your face. A small flush is creeping across your cheeks. Who would have ever thought that Aonung would be the one to be giving you these stupid fucking butterflies, just by speaking and staring at you with those bright blue eyes. And that when it strikes you. All the usual customs of courting. Bringing gifts. Hunting for them. Beading them clothing. And the marui. Everything he thought you’d like- that you do like, and it was for you.

“So, you’re trying to court me?” you ask incredulously, heart thumping loudly in your chest.

“Is it not obvious already?” Aonung asks with a smile. “Do you need me to get down and propose, tawtute style?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you grin wickedly. “I didn’t spend years being second to you to let you off too easily now, did I?”

“Fine,” Aonung sighs. To your surprise, he kneels down instantly and rolls his eyes up at you. “Do you have an answer now?”

“So impatient,” you squint at him.

“Still your commander,” he points out. “But you don’t need to respond right now. I’m happy for you to take your time. I’ve already waited-”

Surprising even yourself, you reach out and pull him up. It’s not something you consciously do- you have no idea what you meant to do- but then all of a sudden you’re inches apart, eyes meeting dangerously, and you’re reaching up and he’s leaning down and your lips meet.

Fuck. It’s all warm and gentle and comfortable, his arms instantly reaching to encircle you, hold you, hands resting in your hair and carefully on your hips. He smells gently of amber and sea-breeze, but you’re most focused on his lips. They’re impossibly soft against yours, gentle, then exploratory, then hungry.

And then all of a sudden, you can see. It’s almost like your eyes aren’t closed; they’re open and you can see everything Aonung said in truth. You can feel the years he spent liking you in secret, the passion with which he wanted to hold you, to kiss you for so long. Too long. You can feel it in the heat of the kiss, the heaviness of his breath, the closeness of his body against yours, as though he wants to hold you as near as possible and never let you go.

But he does, hands sliding off your waist, withdrawing from your hair, stepping back and gazing down at you. And for the first time- you feel nervous. You feel bare, and messy, and scared. Not of Aonung, god no, but of what just happened. Of what you just felt.

And when he opens his mouth, no doubt to tell you there’s no pressure, he isn’t expecting anything from you, you’re free to do blah blah blah, you find there’s already an answer on your lips. It’s that you want his again.

“You’re to be Olo’eyktan,” you whisper. You immediately see his ears lower and face fall, and you quickly shake your head. "Aonung, look at me."

He does, ashamedly and heartbroken, and you swallow before thinking. You try to think what you need to say, bury what you want to say, biting your lip to stop yourself from hurting him. Or yourself. But his hand slides up to gently caress your face. With his fingers so gently touching your cheeks and under his intoxicating gaze, it's so hard to say it, but you know you must.

"Aonung, you have your people and your future to think-"

“I am thinking,” Aonung says firmly. “I’ve thought about this every day since we were kids. My parents knew I thought about this- the whole clan knew. And think about it- you are literally the best fighter, best hunter, best weaver in the whole clan.”

“You are,” you correct, but he just shakes his head.

“Don’t think about any duties or anything,” Aonung says firmly. “This is what I’ve wanted forever, more than being a warrior, more than being Olo’eyktan. Because what is important is you- and I won’t want to do any of those things without you by my side. Not some village girl, not some other shy healer, you.”

You can’t think of anything to say. You stand there for a moment, blinking at him, heart beating fast in your chest, head spinning nervously. So instead of saying anything, because you have no idea what to say, you step forward to close the gap he just made, lean onto your tip toes and crash your lips onto his.

And he catches you in a way no one else could. Really, only Aonung could be like this. He certainly hadn’t been wasting all that time staring at you in training- he knew exactly what to do- where to slide his hands over your waist, how to tilt your head, to graze his fangs lightly over your lips. This obviously isn’t his first rodeo (you know that, you’d heard enough stories about him with other girls), but Eywa, you feel like it’s your first time with the way each of his careful, smooth movements have your heart twisting.

You’re growing closer, his hand traveling lower, your own moving over the muscles in his arms and back and shoulder and holy shit this man is just seemingly impossibly fit. The kisses are growing hungrier, messier, closer, all pressing of tongues and heavy breaths and grazing fangs.

Your insides are twisting nervously, tiny flutters of surprised delight flaring inside you, and also something else. You’re growing hungrier for his touches, greedy for him, and you can tell that he, too, is also growing needier. His hand brushes over the string of your tewng and you shiver in his touch.

But then he’s pulling away again. You frown at him, eyes narrowed, legs slightly rubbing together, lips feeling cold without the press of his against them. Aonung’s breathing heavily, pupils blown wide to ebony moons ringed in clear blue, chest heaving slightly and gaze roving over your face.

When you return to your marui, your heart is thumping fast, and you notice something gleaming on your bed. The top. Aonnug’s top- the one he made. For you. You instantly run a finger along the intricate beading, just as you had when you first saw it, but still just as nervous, as gentle, as tentative. It can’t be yours- it doesn’t feel real- that he likes you, that he made this, that he did everything. For you.

“Where have you been?” an amused voice asks from the entrance. You turn to see Tsireya walking in towards you, a small knowing smile of her sweet face.

“I was training,” you say quietly. “And- um- Aonung…”

“You found out,” Tsireya says plainly, looking delighted. She walks over and leans a head on your shoulder, admiring the top with you. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? You should wear it tonight.”

You frown slightly. In all the haze of the fighting and annoyance and finally the truth, you’d forgotten about the festival. But as you gaze down at the beautiful top, you smile slightly. You nod at your best friend, who grins back and leans closer into you.

Aonung’s sitting at the side of the party. You’ve yet to arrive, and he’s determinedly avoiding the gazes sent his way from other girls. That’s how these sort of festivals always ended, how most of his nights ended, with a new girl. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel the slightest bit of interest, not when he remembered you.

The furious gleam in your eyes as you kissed him, the softness of your skin rubbing against his own, your slim waist held in his hand. The sweet, coconut smell of your soft dark curls, the warmth of your lips against his, the feeling of your teeth lightly grazing his lips. And the sounds you made- all breathy and almost as hungry as he was, eywa, he can’t wait to hear it again.

It was better than he’d ever imagined, and he’d imagined kissing you a million times over the years. Soft and gentle and rough and hungry and desperate and sweet and everything you’d ever want. Because he’d do it. He’d do whatever you wanted.

“Hey,” Rotxo says, nudging Aonung. “Isn’t that the love of your life?”

Aonung turns, faster than he’s ever turned before, and sees you walking besides Tsireya and standing with the Sullys. A small shiver goes through him at the sight of you in that top. He had never pictured it would look like that, but he wasn’t about to complain.

The beadings shone against your teal skin in the pale moonlight and flickering firelight, the intricate strands of the top threading over your chest and leaving little to imagination. He’s barely aware he’s moved over and left an amused Rotxo behind, all he knows is suddenly you’ve stopped looking around the party to find him, and he’s right there in front of you.

Everything seems to fall silent- not only in Aonung’s mind. Girls all over the party are glaring, guys are frowning, your warriors are grinning in a fucking finally sort of way, and Tsireya, Rotxo, and the Sullys are just watching with delighted amusement. Across the fire, you can feel Ronal and Tonowari watching. But when you look over, Tonowari is smiling, and Ronal gives you an appreciative nod and a swift grin.

The festival seems to last a lifetime. It seems completely pointless to Aonung, just a bunch of congratulations to the hunters and a few songs and dances around the fire. Until you get out on the sand. The sway of your hips is hypnotising, as is the way your curls move in unison with your slim body. And of course, he doesn’t miss the way the top shifts as you dance, caressing over your skin like ripples in still water. He’s never been more jealous of an inanimate object in his life.

And then it’s over, and you’re right beside him. He’s not sure what exactly was going through his mind, what either of you were thinking, but suddenly you’re leaving the party together, hurried and hungry and it couldn’t be more fucking obvious what’s going to happen.

You’re alone now once you leave the beaches and walk along the woven pathways of the village; the whole clan is out at the festival. You look up at him, and he pauses to look down at you. Neither of you say anything, but then it’s happening and you’re kissing him again.

Really, none of it feels real. It all stopped being real when he told you he liked you- but now the way he’s leaning down so far to kiss you, to hold you closer just sends you over the edge of unreality. Then he’s getting impatient, and he’s simply picking you up like you weight nothing, hands automatically holding you in place by your back and one steadily holding your thigh.

You’re expecting to go to your marui, or maybe his, but instead, you don’t. You go into the perfect marui, the one you’ve stared at every day, as casually as though it’s your own home. You open your mouth to say something, but the privacy curtain of woven shells closes behind you, and it strikes you that you’re alone with Aonung.

The marui’s dimly lit in the silvery moonlight filtering through the weavings, and really, your attention is going straight to the very comfortable bed. His kisses are getting hungrier as he walks you backwards towards the bed, hands holding tight to your hips until both of you fall back onto the bed, his large, muscular body warm over yours. His hand reaches up to the beading of your top, and in his haste to get closer, he just rips it right off. You gasp, watching the beautiful beads scatter everywhere, but he pays no mind.

“I’ll make you more,” he promises. And who are you to complain- particularly with the way he’s staring at you.

Held in his warm lap, one of his hands big enough to hold both your breasts, both large enough to wrap around your whole neck. The thought of that makes you moan unconsciously, and Aonung blinks at you in surprise. You don't bother to play anything cool; with his hands where they are, he can feel how hot and nervous and hungry you are.

And when he meets your eyes again, you can see he feels the same. He’s trailing kisses down your jaw now, hands reaching up to lightly brush over your skin before he licking over your tit gently, grinning a little at your whine, the stark contrast of your smooth supple skin against his rough tongue just driving you fucking crazy.

He wraps his lips around your nipple and suckles at it, before he nips lightly at the underside of your tit. You gasp, hands gripping his arms tighter, unexpectant and surprised. Each of his moves is calculated, clever, as though he’s planned this a million times in his head.

You blame all the years of training together- he’s the only one that would have such an intimate knowledge of your body without having done anything like this with you before. He knows to be gentle and rough and where to kiss and lick and nip. His hands are trailing down, and they’re sliding along the string of your tewng.

“Is this alright?” he asks gently, pausing to look up at you.

“Yes,” you breathe hastily, desperate for anything. How the tables have fucking turned; now all you want is his touch, his words, him, when just a day ago you were grumbling to Tsireya about what a competitive, infuriating skxawng he is.

“Shit,” he breathes, as his finger slides through your slit. “You’re so wet.”

But despite wanting this so bad, your face is flushing and you can’t help your legs closing slightly when he slides your tewng away, and you’re left bare in front of him. Aonung frowns with impatience, easily pushing them apart and muscling his face between your thighs with such obvious enthusiasm you practically squeal.

When his nose nudges again your clit and he licks a long stripe up your cunt, you jerk away in surprise and he grips your thighs to keep you still. You’ve never gotten eaten out before, and you weren’t at all expecting the sudden twist in you, or the way you clenched around nothing in arousal. You had forgotten to process the roughness of a na’vi tongue, and it feels all large and hot and wet and so unbelievably perfect.

You're squirming from the moment he gets onto you, sucking lightly at your clit, a delighted, puppy-playful glint in his large blue eyes, tossing your legs over his shoulders so his face is pressed even closer to you. He suckles at you so eagerly, tongue stroking over your hole, over and over and over. You can't help it, the way you're simultaneously squirming away from the overwhelming pleasure of it all and the way you're rutting your hips into his face.

It's all messy, you're so wet, his face is shining with your slick and his spit, and he slides a finger back and dips it in. Instantly you gasp, jolting upwards and arching your back high to the ceiling. Aonung's about to grumble at your squirming when you tug at his hair and he groans.

“Go on,” he says carelessly, before he’s dove back down.

The man’s determined, you’ve got to give at least that to him. As you start to relax more and more, your grip on his hair gets tighter, and he’s moaning along with you. You aren’t entirely sure why, but he seems to be enjoying this as much as you do by the way his tail is thumping happily behind him, or how you can tell he’s very obviously grinning.

Aonung continues to lave his tongue against you, the warm roughness creating a perfect friction that has you arching up despite your hips being caged down by his large hands. He’s listening, watching everything you do, his ears pricking at every sound you make, his movements calculated to what you react to.

When he lightly sinks his fangs into your leg, you cry out and accidentally grind against his face, and he does it several more times.

“Fuck,” you groan, fingers threading deeper through his hair. And then he buries his tongue deep into you, nose nudging against your clit, and your orgasm is washing over you with fierce purpose. It takes you by complete surprise, and you writhe and moan and buck against his face until it’s all too much. Even then he doesn’t stop, and you have to tug his head away.

He looks disgruntled you’re making him stop, but his pride and dopey smile is bright on his face face shining like the fucking ocean, but he just wipes it carelessly and moves back up your body to shower your chest and neck with more kisses and light nips.

“That was fast,” he comments, grinning at you.

“Yeah, well,” you huff. “I- it’s never happened before.”

Aonung frowns, shifting closer.

“You’ve never been eaten out?”

“I- um... I’ve never come.”

“But…” Aonung says, frown deepening further. “You’ve been with a guy before. Right?”

He looks uncertainly at you, and you shift nervously. This is humiliating to admit, especially to the guy who’s known to be the most pleasurable man ever- the one who spends every second night with a new girl.

“Just one,” you mutter. “Once.”

“Who?” Aonung demands, and you smile, leaning forward to kiss him again, but he pulls back. “We don’t have to do anything. Just-”

“No!” you say quickly, reaching towards him. “I want to do this, Aonung.”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to speak more comfort, to tell you there’s no pressure yada yada yada, you reach out and cup the bulge of his tewng. He hisses softly, words dying in his throat and his gaze leaping to rake over your face. He waits patiently, but you can see his jaw clenched in the effort it’s taking him not to rock against your hand.

He feels big. To be fair, you’ve only seen one cock in your life, and if you’re being honest, you’d hope most people were bigger than that, but just the clothed bulge under your hand is enough to have your head spinning. You just hope to Eywa you can take it- but you’ve never been a quitter.

When you press your hand against him, his hips rock and you reach to untie his loincloth. He doesn’t rush you, he doesn’t stop you. Aonung just watches with eyes blown to black moons ringed in turquoise, face following your movements, as though he wants to stay as close to you as possible.

When you finally pull away his loincloth, you have to bite back a gasp. You aren’t intimidated, per se, but the sheer size of him is slightly breathtaking. Never once, in all your filthy imaginations, had you truly dared to factor in the sheer size of him. Just by looking at his massive muscular body, one could guess, but they'd still have their fucking minds blown. He's big. So fucking big it has your eyes bulging and heart thumping and mouth almost watering. His cock is just as beautiful as him, just as smooth pale blue with the delicate darker stripes and glowing tahnì.

When you reach out and touch it, his hips jerk slightly and his pupils widen as your smaller hand closes gently around it. Aonung’s looking at you with worship in those beautiful eyes, lips parted and breath heavy as you shift your hand slowly up and down. All the while, you can imagine the size of it pressing into you, stretching you, ruining you. Aonung seems to be thinking the same thing, because all too soon he’s lifting you up and tugging you closer as though you weigh nothing. He places you over his lap.

“Here,” he says gently, guiding your hips to rock lightly against him. The length of his cock slides along the seam of your cunt, both of you breathing heavily at the warm smear of slick you leave across him, grinding against his lap. He props himself up so he can capture you in a deep kiss, swallowing each others lewd moans at the friction. Heat is growing fast, too fast, everywhere in your body- in your face and heart and thighs and you tremble slightly at the drag of your hips over his.

Impatience for the teasing growing in both of you, Aonung gently flips you over so you’re lying beneath him, back carefully resting against the bed, and lining himself up at his entrance. At the slightest movement, your legs stretching further around his body as he presses slightly onto his cock, you know it's going to be a stretch.

“Fuck yawne,” he groans, as he pushes past the first ring of resistance and slowly starts to slide in. “You’re tighter than I ever imagined. Are you okay?”

You nod breathlessly, clutching hard to his shoulders as he slides even deeper, biting your lip. You don’t care that it turns out you weren’t rivals, you weren’t about to let Aonung see how tense you are. But he can probably feel it, given that you’re clenching around him already, and he hasn’t even bottomed out yet.

He just goes in and in and in. When you think he’s all in, he rocks another inch into you and whispers how well you’re doing. He’s careful to be gentle, stroking your hair and muttering praise to you- but you’re still impatient.

You hardly care how much you get hurt, just wanting him inside you, stretching you, marking you, ruining you, and you drop further down so the head of his cock starts to press into you. You try to lift, to fuck yourself further onto his cock, and he holds you down to adjust.

It’s not like you want the pause when he finally bottoms out, but you sit and breathe and whimper, trying to get used to the burning stretch of it all. Aonung’s breathing heavily too, trembling with the effort it’s obviously taking him not to just move and rut and demolish you. When he shakily looks up, his eyes meet yours, all dark with lust and wide with ecstacy, and he finally pulls out just an inch before snapping it back into you.

You gasp, and Aonung hisses. When he’s sure you’re alright, he pulls out, pushes back in, and you annihilate the last pretences of rivalry. It seems impossible now, that you once disliked him. Hated those blue eyes raking over you, despised the large hands holding you so gently while he thrusts into you, detested that smile with those lips that now make you melt.

You’re gasping and moaning and cursing with every thrust, breath getting knocked the fuck out of you again and again and again until you’re living off the tiny moments in which he’s pulled out, where you feel cold and empty and longing to be stuffed and stretched around him again.

It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to grow again, and by the way Aonung is hissing and groaning and burying his face in your neck, you can tell he’s close too. His hands are gripping the bed so tightly you wouldn’t be surprised if it broke. When you arch up, tits pressing against his chest in a way that makes him moan shamelessly, you can see every muscle in his back rippling, each muscle in his arm taut as he thrusts into you. It has you clenching tight around him.

“Fuck,” he’s muttering, again and again, large and muscular and heavy above you.

You aren’t sure what makes you do it, maybe your natural, primal urge to beat him like you’ve always longed to is taking over, but you’re suddenly rolling over and pushing him back against the bed. His eyes are wide and worshipful as you steady yourself with hands on his chest, hands jumping to your hips pressed against his own, him sheathed deep inside you.

You rock on him, thighs burning as you lift yourself up and down in a welcome pain, that familiar coil building up and up and up. Aonung stares up at you, eyes wide and dark and curious and worshipful and hungry. And then it suddenly crests, in a welcome, overwhelming flood of pleasure.

You aren’t even aware of it- too busy ascending into fucking heaven, stuck in a place where you cant see or hear or do anything- you just know wave upon wave of overwhelming pleasure crashing into and over you. When you slowly come down, vision returning in bright bursts, you have a split second to note the awe and reverence in Aonung’s eyes before something seems to take over him, and his gaze is darkening and he’s lost control.

It never occurred to you, just how gentle he’d been, until he’s completely let go, allowed the crushing desire to overcome him. He's half thrusting up into you, half picking up and slamming down your body onto him, and you're unravelling into a moaning, trembling mess on top of him, teeth sunk into his shoulder to try and quiet your sounds, because you sure as fuck can't hold them in.

You yelp as he speeds up now, brutal and animalistic as the last tenterhooks of his final restraint snaps and he buries himself deep inside you. He's hissing a million unintelligible words against your skin as he spills himself inside you, rocking his hips the whole time until he finally comes to a shaky stop.

You can’t breathe. You don’t know if you want to- you’re perfectly content as you just collapse against Aonung, lying warmly against his solid chest, his muscular arms automatically reaching out to wrap around you and roll you over so he can cuddle you properly. He presses a gentle kiss to your collar, before speaking softly.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly.

You can’t think of anything to say, you just exhale shakily and give a small, trembly laugh, holding his hand in yours and leaning against him.

“Change your mind about me?” Aonung asks lightly. “Still think I’m a skxawng?”

“Absolutely,” you huff, grinning up at him. “I should get home-”

“Stay,” Aonung says, hugging you closer. “This will be your home, might as well get used to it.”

You smile against his chest. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this, not when a day ago, he was your rival. But you’re more than happy to try, so you lean your head into the crook of his shoulder, his arm trailing down to cloak the curve of your waist.

“We have training in the morning,” you point out. “The warriors will be-”

“Our warriors won’t be anything I say they shouldn’t be,” Aonung shrugs. “You’re forgetting who you’re lying with.”

You roll your eyes.

“Skxawng.”

#avatar fanfiction #avatar fandom #aonung x reader #aonung x female reader #avatar smut #aonung fanfiction #aonung fic #avatar the way of water #avatar #aonung

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midnightfictionlibrary · 10 months

Text

Tennessee Whiskey - Jamie TarttxFem!Reader

Tennessee Whiskey - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Content : tenderness, flirting, friends to lovers, love triangle, jealousy

Word Count : 1.7k

Plot Summary : Out at a quirky themed bar with the team, Jamie approaches the reader to apologize for what he deems as dickish behavior. Flirty words turn to a tender moment, but the reader doesn’t realize someone else is pining after her.

A/N : This was a fun piece to write! Still on my Jamie Tartt bs, bc I love him so much. As always, pls like and reblog if you enjoy it, and let me know if you would possibly want a part 2??

Music drifted through the speakers in the tiny, hokey, Southern American themed bar, and you sighed, eyeing Ted and Beard singing along jovially. You took a sip of your sickeningly sweet sweet tea, just the way you liked it. You had come along to London with Ted and Beard to continue your job as their personal assistant. Let’s face it, they needed help keeping up with everything that needed to be kept track of, and you were the one for the job. Sure, you were younger, but you had proven yourself a capable office manager back in Kansas.

Your view of the two men was obstructed by another, admittedly more handsome man. Jamie. Your breath hitches slightly, and you cover it with another sip of your drink. You had grown a friendship with the young player, and considered him someone you could go to for anything and everything. What Jamie didn’t know, however, is that you had deep feelings for him, and care about him more than anyone else.

“Hi Jamie!” You chirp, setting your empty drink glass on the bar. Jamie peers at you, looking at the drink you had sat down. You rarely drank alcohol, so this was a rare form for you. You follow his gaze, snorting slightly. “It’s sweet tea, no alcohol. What brings you to my dingy little corner of the bar?” You ask, stepping a bit closer to him, feigning needing to hear him better.

“I came to apologize.” He says, his lips close enough to brush your ear. You pull back, eyebrows knitting together out of concern.

“Apologize for what?” You ask, going through every interaction you had with him recently, coming up short. “You’re worrying me, Jamie.” You say, studying his face.

“I feel like I’ve been a prick lately, and I’m sorry. I’ve been stressed about the Man City game, and you know me dad-”

You hold up a hand to stop him. “Jamie, you haven’t been a dick to me at all, ok? I get that you’re stressed, and your dad sucks. But you haven’t been any less kind to me than you’ve always been.” The hand you held up moves to squeeze his hand.

“You’re too good for me, love.” He says back, lifting your hand to his and kissing your knuckles slightly. You try to pretend that your heart didn’t skip a beat, and you just roll your eyes at him.

“Please. You flatter me.” You wave your hand away, as if to say he needn’t mention it, that’s what friends are for.

But Jamie moves closer to you, your torsos almost pressing into each other. In this dingy bar, the low light accentuates Jamie’s handsome features, and you gaze up at him, an eyebrow raised.

“I really mean it. Even when I was bein’ a little prick all the time when you and Ted and Beard first got to Richmond, you were nothin’ but nice to me.” He shrugs. “And I never thanked you.”

“You really don’t have to thank me, I’m glad I forced you to be my friend.” You flash a grin at him, which makes him laugh, looking away from you slightly while he absorbs your presence. When his gaze finds yours again, it’s considerably softer.

“Darlin’, I was putty in your hands the first time you bossed me around.” You snort incredulously, and he laughs. “I was. You got on me arse about being on time and it kicked me into gear.”

“You were stressing Ted out, and a stressed out Ted is a stressed out assistant.” You confirm. “Jamie.” You say, looking at him. “Did you really come to seek me out just to tell me you’re glad I yelled at you the first week we met?”

“Of course not. I needed an excuse to come talk t’you.” He murmurs, absentmindedly tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You never need an excuse to be near me.” You breathe out, and you’re faintly aware of a slow, sweet country song playing in the background. You clear your throat, drawing back slightly from him, “I love this song,” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear and trying to change the subject at hand.

"You're as smooth, as Tennessee whiskey, you're as sweet as strawberry wine..." the old jukebox plays, and you close your eyes a moment.

Jamie doesn’t respond, he takes your hand delicately and leads you to the small dance floor. Your heart pounds, wondering what this change in Jamie is all about. Of course, the two of you were friends. But he had never been so tender with you. You were usually the one giving hugs, patting hands, brushing hair away…did he actually mean to be this sweet and touchy-feely with you? Or was he drunk? Jamie draws you close, holding one of your hands to his chest while the other wraps around your waist. He rests his head against yours and murmurs something you can’t quite hear.

“Hm?” You manage to squeak out, a little more high pitched than you meant to be.

“I said, I always want to be near you. I know you only think of me as a friend, and I get it, but I wanted you…”He clears his throat, “wanted you to know.” He finishes.

You pull your head back to look him in the eyes. “What makes you think I only think of you as a friend?” You say softly, raising an eyebrow. “Because I don’t.”

Jamie knits his brows together. “You don’t?”

You can’t help but let out a laugh. “No! Why would you think that?” You look into his eyes again, and the sight of you making eye contact seems to instantly soften his gaze again.

“Because you’re…well, you.” He says. “Always seemed too busy to get involved with an athlete, not to mention one that you’re friends with.”

“I must be good at hiding the fact that I am desperately drawn to you, then.” You say, causing Jamie to smile and press a kiss to your temple. “Jamie.” You say.

“Yea?” He responds, rocking the two of you gently to the music.

“Kiss me.”

Nothing else needed to be said. Keeping a hold of your hand pressed to his chest, Jamie draws his face back to look at you. When he sees that you’re being serious, he presses his lips to yours. Slow, sweet, longing. You bring your free hand up to rest lightly at the back of his neck, and when he breaks the kiss, you keep it there. It’s intimate, familiar.

Jamie pulls you close again, resting his head against yours. “I guess this makes us more’n friends, yea?” He whispers in your ear.

You laugh, nodding along. “I guess so.” You reply, blushing happily as the two of you danced in the low light.

“Good luck gettin’ rid of me, love.” He says playfully, peppering your face with kisses as you laugh.

A low growl escaped the burly man’s lips as he watched Tartt slowly spin you on the dancefloor.

You seemed to be deep in conversation, and he feels Ted and Beard both looking at him.

He sighs, setting the beer bottle in his hand down on the bar with a clink signalling the cowboy hat clad bartender to swap it out with a fresh, full one.

“I heard a growl there, Roy.” Says Ted, who then looks over Roy to catch Beard’s attention. “What’s got this one more riled than a junkyard dog, Coach?” Beard jerks his head towards you and Jamie, swaying slightly to the music, and Ted breaks into a smile.

“Well hey, isn’t that nice?” Ted says, earning a glare from Roy. “By that look I’m collecting that you don’t think that’s nice.” He states.

Roy just grunts again in response, lifting his bottle to his lips, his eyes watching you.

Beard shrugs. “Seems like you might have a crush.”

Ted nods knowingly. “Well, I could have told you that, Beard. You seen the way Roy looks at her when she comes into our office? Like she’s the sun, I’m telling ya.”

“Oi, shut it, you two.” Roy interjects, “and don’t pretend I can’t see the sly look the two of you are about to give each other. I’m not in denial about it.”

Ted and Beard look at Roy, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. Rushing him would just get them a “fuck off!”. So they had learned to wait.

“The thing is- I know she’s special. And clearly Jamie does too. Clearly we have the same taste in women.” Roy grunts as he watches Jamie pull away to look you in the eyes. He clenches his jaw, trying not to appear more jealous than he already was. “She’s just…she’s great. And I like her, okay?”

Ted and Beard exchange another look and Ted clears his throat slightly. “Listen Roy, we know she’s great. Wouldn’t know which way was up without her, but maybe you should actually try talking to her if you want her to like you.”

“How do you mean? I talk to her!” Roy says indignantly.

“Grunting in response to questions she asks you isn’t considered talking to her.” Beard chimes in, Ted nodding along and pointing to his long time friend.

Roy isn’t listening though. He’s watching Jamie lean in and kiss you, your hand reaching to cradle the back of his neck. It felt like everything stopped. He didn’t realize just how much he liked you until he saw you happy with someone else. Thinking that should be him. And that made him feel like an utter prick.

“Fuuuuuccckkkkk.” He groaned. This was not good.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #roy kent x reader #friends to lovers #pining #longing

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willowser · 10 months

Text

touya + eggplant ; 3.2k ੈ‧₊˚ for our meet fruit collab ! ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚

touya's message comes across in the early afternoon, when you know he should be working.

the image that comes to mind is — hilariously sweet: him in ill-fitting trousers and freshly combed hair, leaning too far into some desk as he fiddles with his phone. biting his lip, most likely, running the very tip of his tongue across the hole his piercing left behind; amused.

it'd be even better, you think, if he wasn't sending you three eggplant emojis and nothing else.

it's bold, and startlingly so. enough that your heart rate skyrockets and sweat forms instantly on the back of your neck, in the creases of your palms, as you overanalyze three cartoon vegetables harder than you ever have in your life. you could easily believe he's sending this as a drunken joke, but he's been stone-cold sober since he was released, and if that had changed, even in the slightest, yumi would have told you.

you type out four different variations of the same question — asking what the hell that's supposed to mean — before sending none of them. are you...being a weirdo? eggplant emojis are inherently sexual, right? and maybe touya's been away for a while, but surely he would know that. right? in a single, wordless text, he's managed to make you sixteen again; too young to be crushing on your best friend's older brother.

— though you think of him now as he was only days ago: eyes clear and focused, razor sharp and set on you from across the todoroki living room. the very memory makes your stomach churn, violently; just a kid that should be worrying about their studies, and not about a boy that wouldn't give you the time of day.

before your thoughts can get themselves any more scrambled, another text follows suit:

yumi wants to know if u wanna come for dinner

eggplant, you tell yourself, as in the actual food that people eat. the actual vegetable, and not the dickish inquiry you thought it was. you do your best to ignore the little wave of disappointment that washes over you, and then the following crash once you realize that you wouldn't actually mind if he was asking after what you thought he was asking after; you, carnally.

you collect yourself enough to send him a normal, not weird text in response confirming that you'll be there, and his thumbs up comes across almost instantly. as if he'd been waiting for you.

touya was always in and out of their house when you and fuyumi were in school, but you caught him every now and then when things were good. safe at home, doing his best to hold down a job and stay out of trouble, soaking up a warmth from his family he never got as a kid, when their dad was around. how couldn't you have developed such a crush on him? to see him happy and whole, more dangerous than anyone expected, mysterious in a way that excited your teen heart — and kissing up to his mother at the dinner table?

you're not delusional enough to think he ever noticed you or your big goo-goo eyes, but sometimes he would stick his head into his sister's room, to grin and wiggle his eyebrows at you, before getting pelted in the head with a stuffed animal and chased away. it earned a high-pitched laugh from him, more of a game than anything sincere, but you still thought of him while staring at the ceiling in your own bedroom, wishing.

in all the time he was away — in rehab or jail or who-knows-where — you thought you'd outgrown your juvenile infatuation, but — here you are, still, with fevered cheeks at the very thought of him.

here you are, still, taking care to choose your clothes for dinner, as if it were only going to be you and him. fussing with your hair for far too long, as if he would notice. making little crescents with your nails into your palm outside the door to the todoroki house, as if you haven't been here thousands of times.

you've seen him since he's been home, of course, in the last few months, but there's been this weird aura surrounding you both, worse than it was when you were younger. you're tip-toeing around each other and you both know you're tip-toeing, and he's always wearing his little smug smile and looking too long. it's hard to be around him, really. a little easier to text, but every winky face he sends only winds you up even further.

when the front door swings open, you hold your breath unintentionally, neck straining until you realize —

it's only shouto.

"hi!" you say, trying not to sound as winded as you feel, though shouto — as usual — is unimpressed.

he blinks at you, two-toned, and almost rolls his eyes like the rotten teenager he's capable of being, attitude too much like touya's. there's a little doughy dumpling in his hand and he turns away from you while using it to wave further into the house. "she's in the kitchen."

fuyumi, even though you didn't ask. you follow him in and stick your tongue out at the back of his head, before going off to find your best friend — who is, indeed, in the kitchen, surrounded by bowls and utensils and too many real, actual eggplants.

"what did you do?" you ask upon seeing her treasure trove of purple veggies on the counter. "rob a farmer?"

there's really an absurd amount of them, though she doesn't look up from cutting one into little rangiri pieces. "no, actually, they were on sale at the farmer's market!"

you eye one closest to you before poking at it, oblong in shape and — kind of ugly. it feels odd in your hand when you pick it up, but that's probably because you're hyper-aware of every sound in the background of the house, of the burning embarrassment tucked away in your pocket in the form of touya's three emojis. shamefully, your thoughts take a dark turn, and when fuyumi finally glances up, you toss the vegetable back onto the counter too fast.

she snorts and shakes her head, pushing up her glasses with the back of her hand before pointing at the little steamer basket of dumplings near the stove. "try one! before shouto and natsuo eat them all."

you consider it for a moment before weighing just how much eggplant it seems you're going to consume tonight, and decide to wait until after dinner, if they're still there. along with her veggies, she's got a little tub of red miso out and also some pork frying in a pan, as well as too many bowls in the sink already. though you admire her passion for cooking, you know she'll wait to clean until everything is plated, and no one else will help her, so you take to starting on the dishes instead.

the frown she sends you can be felt, but you've been in this kitchen long enough that you think she should just give it up.

there's such comfort to being in here, with her, maybe because you really have done it so many times by now; the water is warm as it runs over your hands, sending little goosebumps up your arms, and you nod your head absentmindedly to the sound of her knife against the cutting board. you absorb the heat from everywhere quickly, and when you begin to smell the garlic and ginger cooking, you feel like a warm, doughy little dumping yourself.

you get lost in it with her and all the tension from the day melts, dissolves completely when you can lightly hear fuyumi humming over her sizzling pan. she tells you about some other things she bought at the market, gossip about a mutual friend you both have, she asks about the shirt you're wearing and why she's never seen it before, and you're rinsing your hands of dish soap when you hear her squeal—

"ah! get out!"

when you peek over your shoulder, you can see touya there, leaning too far over her own, smiling with full cheeks as he investigates what she's cooking. half of a little dumpling is in his hand and he looks down at it, makes a face before turning it over, and then he places it right back in the steamer.

"ew, gross!" fuyumi nudges him away with her elbow before plucking it right back out, trying to hand it back off to him. "nobody wants your half-eaten food."

and then, much to your horror, right in front of his sister — touya's eyes cut across the kitchen to you. one corner of his mouth quirks up in his little smirk and then you're whipping back around to look down in the sink, despite it being empty. his stare can be felt, too. you wonder if it's a todoroki thing.

"ew," fuyumi mumbles. you feel like you've been caught in some kind of way, though you don't doubt she clocked your affections for her older brother the minute they developed.

it's not something she's ever spoken directly to you about, however, which you're grateful for. you don't know how you would be able to handle that discussion, but she's always made sure to pass off the odd and unprompted little updates about touya over the years.

when he speaks again, it's clear his mouth is full. "shouto said he's not settin' the table."

"okay, then you go do it."

"no," touya snorts, "he's the youngest, that ain't fair."

"and you're the oldest, so you can ask him to do it."

"he doesn't listen to me and you know—"

"alright!" fuyumi sighs, and when you peek back at them, she's shoving her knife into his hands and shaking her head to herself, before stalking out of the kitchen.

you unravel out of your little dumpling warmth immediately, though your goosebumps return in full force. touya grins at you, happily, and tosses the kitchen knife in his hands in a way that looks too proficient, too dangerous for what it is. your teen heart thumps loudly in your ears, charmed and enamored by his tragic mystery.

— and then you take in his still-pristine work outfit, openly, now that he's watching you; slacks a little slouchy on his narrow hips, white shirt buttoned up to his neck. the tattoo there is covered up by bandages on purpose, and though he means to simply hide them from view, it only sharpens all his edges.

the small pink, hello-kitty band-aid on his cheek helps, too, in a cutesy way. makes you all too aware of how much has changed over the years. how much he's changed, all the work he's had to do, the dues he's had to pay. your heart swell stubbornly, seriously, and you try to shake it away.

your voice starts out small, embarrassingly enough. "you look nice in your fancy office clothes."

touya's hand slip into his pocket and he rocks back and forth on his heels once, pleased, before looking down at his loose tie. "think so? you like a white-collar man?"

you look back to the sink, shy. it pulls him in; a moth to the flame of your hesitance, and it's not a moment later that he's leaning up against the counter beside you, watching your heated face carefully. the knife at his side gleams in the kitchen light and — you're not afraid of him, couldn't be, but you wonder if anyone else has ever been.

the truth of what landed him in trouble with the law is unknown to you, the one thing fuyumi never shared, and you can't help but to be curious as to why. you're practically family at this point and it's not as if you could ever look down on them, ever, and while you couldn't possibly understand the horror they went through with their father — you can sympathize with the fact that it wasn't easy. that he left scars they'll always nurse.

touya's always been so out of your reach, despite being just down the hall. blame it on time or the slight age difference or your relationship with his sister; it's hard to hope that he could be here, at your side, truly. finally.

instead of answering, you simply turn so that you're facing him, hip leaned against the counter, and the bright eyes he has on your cheeks are almost impossible to be at the mercy of. even worse when his smile grows, boyish-ly cute.

"what, coming on too strong?" he asks, laughing quietly when you put on a brave face and roll your eyes. "figured the emojis would'a opened the door a little."

your cheeks flame, and you press your hands into them to tide back your smile at how — flirty he is. the step back you take doesn't go unnoticed. "i couldn't even believe what i was seeing when you sent those."

"oh, yeah?" the tone of his voice changes then, shifts a bit lower. if you weren't tracking his eyes as they shift down to your mouth, burning a little brighter, you might've though you'd upset him or said the wrong thing. "what'd you think i meant?"

you glance away from him, directly at the ugly eggplant you'd been fiddling with earlier, and the dark thoughts return. when you don't answer right away, he reaches over to flip on the tap, running the knife blade underneath the stream as you map the wide expanse of his hands, the length of his fingers. small, translucent scars litter his knuckles.

"i don't know," you lie, and then it seems like you have said the wrong thing, this time; touya turns a little, placing all his attention in the dish soap and the sponge you'd left out to dry.

you are sixteen, speechless, nervous by his proximity—

"you seein' anyone right now?"

—but this is not the same boy that left you behind.

you have to laugh in order to keep yourself rooted to your spot, here on earth in the todoroki kitchen, and it brings his attention right back to you. "uh," you say, lamely, "what?"

it makes him laugh, too, all your sputtering. "yeah, c'mon. i mean, i know i'm fucked in the head, but," and then he really laughs, open-mouthed, showing off the piercing still in his tongue. "i'm workin' on it, and stuff. renewed and reformed, or whatever."

"hang on," you shake your head quickly, frowning at him as you replay the words over and over; his self-deprecation is so genuine that you almost missed it. "i don't think you're...fucked in the head."

"well, that makes one of us—"

"no, touya, i'm serious," the step closer you take has him looking away, down into the empty sink; hilariously, a mirror of yourself that you never could have imagined seeing. it does strange things to your heart, your stomach, and your nerves. makes you bolder than you really are. "i've never thought that."

he doesn't say anything for long time, choosing to watch droplets of water as they fall from the faucet. his jaw works in the silence, like he's chewing the inside skin of his cheek, like he's thinking too hard.

and then he says, quietly, "i know." he continues without looking at you, sensing the confusion on your face. "i know you never did, 's'why i couldn't..."

you blink, lost suddenly in the meaning of his words and their whirlwind. you think back to all the times he grinned at you from fuyumi's doorway, how uninterested he seemed in you from across the dinner table, his silence on the rare occasions you were alone together.

you've known touya since you were fourteen and he was fifteen. you remember when their parent's got divorced and when touya got his license and when he got locked up, the first time. you've known him through so many of his bad moments and it never dimmed the little stars you had in your eyes for him, and you once thought that was a bad thing, that it would only lead to heartbreak time and time again from him. you once thought it was something only you and fuyumi knew about.

"i am tryin' now," he continues with a sigh, a little winded. "seriously. got this shitty job and am goin' to my meetings. not as big of a piece of shit." when you start to object, he shakes his head and holds up a hand to stop you from arguing. "i know, i just mean...you wanna white-collar guy, i'm a white-collar guy."

you feel shy again, especially as the high points of his cheek flush pink. boyish-ly cute. "so that's why you sent me three eggplant emojis instead of just asking me to come eat dinner?"

touya snorts. "yeah, like i said, i'm workin' on it."

"no, i..." it feels wrong to admit anything to him like this, so close as his grin grows on his handsome face, dimples showing. you've been thinking about moments like this for years, but now that it's here, you feel a little dizzy, looking into his bright eyes. "i like the eggplant emoji." you step away from him for just a moment, to grab his half-eaten dumpling, and his expression grows serious — a little dark — as you nibble on it. "i like the way you...do things."

his smile grows knife-sharp, something he's too good at wielding. "well, in that case—"

"can i come in yet? our dinner is about to burn."

you both whip around to take in fuyumi, hovering at the edges of the kitchen with her arms crossed. watching on, her cheeks tinged pink, too. you try to step away, embarrassed and caught, but touya only leans in, knocking his hip to yours.

fuyumi rolls her eyes at him, but the small smile she sends you has you wanting to be swallowed up by the floor; this isn't a discussion you've ever had to have with her, but now — it's inevitable.

you suppose you can't complain too much.

"okay, you had your moment, now get out," she sticks her tongue out at touya before shooing him away, making a small noise when he pinches your elbow teasingly. it makes him laugh when she swats at him, and he only holds up his hands and tries to drop all his weight back on her as she steers him out of the kitchen.

you fish the knife out of the sink and return to cutting another eggplant once she's back and stirring in her leeks and little miso mixture. the moment is tense between you to begin with — but then she's humming quietly under her breath and knocking her hip into yours, too, tucking you back into the comfort of this house you've always been in. this family you've always loved.

"you know," she murmurs eventually, rolling her eyes with another smile when you glance up at her face. one of the eggplants is weighed in her hands, and even she frowns down at it, before shaking it at you in a way that makes you both laugh. "he made me buy these, by the way."

—tucking you back into the comfort of this family that has, maybe, always loved you, too.

#it's only 6pm in hawaii rn :)#ONE DOWN ONE TO GO BABEY !!!!!#listen. maybe this is trash garbage. maybe. more likely than you think. but i DID IT !!!!#idk best friend's older brother touya 🥺 he's always thought you were too good for him 🥺#wanted to be the man you deserved 🥺#ahgkahgkah sorry about this SORRY #edit to add: COULD NOT think of a title for this so its title is literally actually just '🍆'#[ ☆ one shot: dabi/touya ]#✿ willow writes

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troublesomesnitch · 6 months

Text

Abraham (Grantchester) x Reader

Inspired by Ewanmitchellcrumb's amazing Abraham fics, in particular this one.

Contents: smut. first kiss, making out, dry humping, handjob. Porn without plot (and porn without penetration).

Warnings: arranged marriage, oldfashioned gender roles and attitudes towards sex and marriage. Abraham being dickish (but he's trying to be nicer)

Words: 3600

Purity culture and dry humping, name a more iconic duo, i'll wait.

The rain is beating hard against the tin roof.

You are huddled up against the wall, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs to keep warm. You had gone out for an afternoon walk to find some peace and quiet, and maybe pick some of the first little spring flowers, when you were suddenly caught in a torrential downpour. Not too keen on the idea of sprinting all the way home, you scrambled to take shelter in the first place you could think of: a dilapidated shed at the edge of a muddy field. The old farmer used to store tools and machinery there, but now it stands abandoned and in disrepair, full of cobwebs and mouse droppings.

If one was alone it might be quite an unnerving place, located as it is right on the border of the woods.

But you are not alone.

Abraham is sitting right across from you, dressed in his usual plaid jacket and red neckerchief, his long legs stretched out on the floor. When you stumbled inside he was already there, having sought shelter from the rain himself.

You only narrowly managed to convince him to stay.

As a young, unmarried girl, you are not supposed to be alone with men. Not even with Abraham - especially not with Abraham. The two of you will be getting married in just over a month, but the rules of courtship are strict, and every minute you spend with him must be chaperoned. Something that he has, surprisingly, taken very seriously. Maybe because his first attempt at an engagement didn't exactly work out as planned.

Still, your parents are satisfied with the match, and for the most part, you are too. Abraham is quite handsome, you think, with those splendid blue eyes, and he's just a few years older than you. A little rough around the edges, but he doesn't mind hard work, and he is good with children and animals, and those are fine qualities in a man.

Sometimes, he lets you sit and watch while he cares for his horses; cleans their stalls and their hooves, brushes their coats, takes them out to the pasture for excercise. He speaks so calmly to them, firm voice when they disobey him and soft when they are skittish or scared, and there is something so endearing about it. You wonder if he will speak to you in the same way once you're married. Harsh when you disappoint him, but gentle when he lies on top of you at night. You'd like that, you think.

Right now, Abraham doesn't speak to you at all. It is not too out the ordinary, as he isn't particularly talkative in the first place, but you had hoped that being alone with you might loosen him up a little. Instead, it seems to have had the opposite effect, and for the past twenty minutes or so, he has occupied himself with throwing pebbles and broken bits of plaster at a glass jar on the floor.

Not the most riveting pastime - but it does give you an idea.

"How about we make a game of it" you suggest, when the silence has become so deafening you can hardly bear it. "Best of five. If you win, I'll bring you lunch tomorrow - anything you want."

"Yea?" Abraham hums, looking up and right at you, clearly intrigued.

"And If I win - " you pause, a deep scarlet blush creeping up your neck. "If I win, I want a kiss".

"No" he says, right away and with a stern expression, his mouth forming a thin line.

"Just one -"

"No" he repeats, but it's a little softer this time, and he gives you a cocky half-smile. "You'll get one soon enough, don't you worry about that".

"But I won't win" you try. "You know I won't. Or" - you eye him teasingly- "do you really think you might loose to a girl?"

It's the same argument you would use against your little brother, and when Abraham's face settles into something very offended, you can hardly believe it actually worked. But all boys are the same apparently, even when they're grown men. Always have something to prove to the world and themselves and each other.

"I win - " he grumbles, "you bring lunch every day, rest of the week. And your mum's cider."

It's Wednesday today. Four days isn't a lot, you can manage that. There's not much cider left, but Mum will understand, she'll be happy to know that you're taking good care of your soon-to-be husband.

"Alright then" you nod. "You go first."

The odds are against you, because Abraham has had plenty of time to practice already, something you forgot to consider when you issued the challenge. But you are determined put up a good fight, not only because you ache to know what kissing is like, but also because you want to know what Abraham is like. If he's rough or gentle. If he's a passionate lover, or someone who just wants you to lie still and be quiet when he performs his marital duties.

As expected, his first stone goes straight into the glass; yours unfortunately bounces off the side of it. But then Abraham narrowly misses his second one, while yours actually hits the intended target. It gives you at least a glimmer of hope.

And then, something happens. Something very strange.

Abraham picks a rather large stone, but he overshoots by just a little and it lands on the dusty floor.

And the next one does too. And the one after that.

It must be on purpose, it must be. But his face betrays nothing at all, only the same disgruntled expression he always wears, and soon there's only one pebble left. Your very last one, and it lands in the glass with a loud plink.

"I won" you state, in complete disbelief, and the corners of Abraham's mouth twitch up a little.

"Looks like it, yea"

You eye him with suspicion. "But you hit - you got four in a row just before we started -".

"Beginner's luck" he shrugs, rising to his feet and brushing his hands on his trousers. When you hesitate, he cocks his head. "C'mere".

You do not need to be told twice, instantly flitting to his side and tilting up your face like you've seen ladies do in the movies. Abraham breathes deeply, and he places his hands on your waist to pull you closer. He smells nice, like fresh rain and firewood and a little bit like damp wool. You close your eyes.

"You ever kissed a man before?" he murmurs, so close that you can feel his warm breath fanning over your face.

You shake your head - of course you haven't.

There's no response to that, only calloused hands touching your face, Abraham's nose brushing your temple. He bends his head, and when he presses his lips to yours, you are not prepared for how soft they are, and how warm, and how gentle. His mouth opens slightly, his tongue slipping just past your lips, and then he releases your face and pulls back.

"There" he mutters, but you are not ready to part from him yet. Your hands cling to his jacket and your eyes are heavy and hooded when they flutter open.

"Again" you breathe.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, you are absolutely not allowed to do such things before the wedding. But Abraham is a young man, and since your engagement was officially agreed upon, he has surprisingly managed to stay out of trouble - mostly, at least - and away from neglected young housewives and the reverend's shapely daughters. It has been... a while since he last touched a girl, and you are the prettiest little thing, with your wet, parted lips and your hair frizzed from the rain. How could he possibly resist when you're looking up at him like that, begging for more?

Your first kiss was sweet and demure, but this time, Abraham wraps both arms around your waist and runs his hands up your back. He nibbles at your lower lip before he slides his tongue into your mouth, deeper this time, so he can brush it against your own. When you mewl it goes straight to his crotch, and he deepens the kiss, tilting your head to the side with a finger under your chin.

You mustn't, you shouldn't, you can't, but your body is burning with want, and you think Abraham's must be too. He's holding you closer, letting his hands wander over your body, your hips, your waist, the small of your back. They move to squeeze your bottom, and when he pushes his hips forward, there's something hard poking at your stomach.

It sends a jolt of excitement down your spine.

In theory, you know what a man looks like under his clothes. The men work outside in the summer, and many take off their shirts and roll up the legs of their trousers in the heat. But you have never seen a man fully naked, and you have never felt a man's body pressed up against you like this. Abraham's chest is hard, and his shoulders are broad, and his arms feel so strong when they're wrapped around you. He moves to kiss just below your ear, and you take the opportunity to let your hands roam tentatively over his chest and his stomach, even reaching under his jacket to feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

It's nice, but it isn't enough to satisfy your curiosity. You want to touch him there.

Abraham breaks the kiss when he feels your hand inching towards his crotch, but he doesn't stop you. Just looks at you stunned, with darkened eyes and a slight flush across his handsome nose. His... his - cock is straining in his pants, and you brush your fingers over the bulge, feeling how he hardens even more at your touch. It is clumsy and inexperienced, but Abraham still closes his eyes, and his hand comes down to cover yours and press it harder against him.

It feels good for him, despite your lack of practice; you can tell. You cup his crotch, and he lets out a sharp breath and bucks right into your palm. You tilt your face up again to kiss along his jaw as you rub him through his trousers, feeling how he swells and throbs from your touch, until he suddenly swats your hand away.

You worry that you have overstepped, or done something that hurt him, but he leans over you, and tugs at your hips - to pull you down with him, you realise. Right down to the floor, although he is at least gallant enough to shrug of his jacket and lay you on that, rather than directly on the ground.

Immediately, he starts on the buttons of your coat, almost ripping the garment open to part it from your chest. His hands greedily palm your breasts, covered only by your dress and the brassiere underneath, and he squeezes your flesh; pinches your nipples through the fabric and rolls them under his thumbs. They stiffen from his touch and he leans over you and brushes his mouth against your chest, even latching onto one pert nipple, sucking and biting until your dress is wet from his spit.

It makes you whine with both pleasure and pain, and surprise too. You have never been touched like this before, never felt wanted like this before. Abraham's eyes are dark with lust, and it is almost frightening how determined he looks when he hooks a hand under each of your knees to push them apart.

You gasp when he lays over you. His body is warm, and heavy, and it feels so right to lie like this underneath him, caged in by his arms and with your thighs spread wide around his hips. His cock is big and hard and he presses the thick bulge between your legs, and grunts softly at the feeling. You can't help but wonder how many girls have been underneath him before, because he's so unabashed in the way he pushes his hips against yours, so eager when he starts rocking back and forth, clearly mimicking... other things.

Your hands cling to his shirt and you arch up to kiss him again, sighing when catches your lip between his teeth. They don't kiss like this in the movies. At least not in the ones you have seen. Your mouth is wide open, and Abraham is absolutely devouring it, licking your lips, shoving his tongue all the way to the back of your throat. It is rough and needy, and there's a trail of spit between you when he pulls back to catch his breath.

If someone found out, you'd be in so much trouble. Abraham is on you, and his cock is stiff, and he is moving so intimately against you, but you can't bring yourself to stop him. It feels wonderful, having his weight on top of you, having his hard cock pressed against your center. His bulge is big and hard and heavy between your thighs, and he's groaning as he rubs it against you, rolling his hips steadily, rhythmically. As though he was really inside you, and you are not sure if it's on purpose or pure instinct, or maybe a bit of both.

It has you swooning, just thinking about it. How badly he must want you, how needy he must feel, his cock all hard and swollen and his balls so full of his - his come. The thought of it makes you sigh, makes you feel soaking wet, makes that tingling warmth spread even faster in your loins. There are so many things are happening in your body; the kissing, the rubbing, the pressure between your legs - God you've never felt anything like it. You squirm underneath him and spread your thighs wider.

it makes Abraham groan, your hands on his chest and the way your hips are bucking and circling against his cock, and fuck he'll go crazy if you keep making those noises, those soft little whimpers. His cock is pulsing and his balls are pulled tight, and seeing your face all twisted with pleasure has him leaking already.

Truthfully, it was Pal's idea that he should pursue you, just like it was Pal who first spoke to your father on his behalf - but as you are a sweet and pretty girl, Abraham could see no reason why he shouldn't go along with it. He is a grown man, and a grown man needs a wife, and he likes looking at your legs when you help your mother with the laundry. Especially when you wear that grey dress that is a little too tight around your hips. Once you're married he will buy you a brand new one, and a nice pair of shoes with a little heel, and you'll be such a pretty little wife, cooking his meals and washing his clothes and giving him kisses when he comes home.

He moves faster, pressing his hard bulge even tighter against you, and you can feel something building in your body, though you are only barely aware of what it is. Your muscles are tightening and tensing up, desperate for a release that you instinctively know how to find, and you arch your hips up and rub frantically against Abraham's cock. You need more, more friction, more pressure just there, and you hook a leg over his back so you can push up better. Abraham lets you chase your peak, even helps you along by sliding his hand underneath your bottom to press you tighter against him. He is utterly mesmerised by the sight, your blissful expression as you shamelessly use his body for your own pleasure, sighing and whimpering and grinding your little cunt so desperately against him.

When he kisses you again, all the tension breaks.

You gasp, and Abraham watches you intently as a series of tiny little shivers run through your body. A very gentle climax - your first, by the looks of it. You writhe and moan beneath him, and when the waves of your orgasm settle, you are all blushed and looking up at him with glazed, love-struck eyes.

He could probably coax you into sleeping with him right now if he wanted to, but in a - frankly rare - moment of chivalry, he decides against it. You're a sweet girl, saving yourself for marriage and all. Your first time should be somewhere nicer than in this cold, filthy shed.

One way or another though, he will make you finish him off properly, and he sits back on his heels and quickly unbuckles his belt. Abraham's cock is impressive in size, and he is very proud of it; always enjoys the look of amazement on a girl's face when he frees it from his trousers.

You look equal parts intrigued and horrified. It is much bigger than you had anticipated, long, pink and bulbous at the tip, and he boldly gives it a few quick tugs as you watch. Even in his hand it looks massive, and you wonder how on earth it'll ever fit inside you, but that is an issue for another day, because Abraham mutters here and reaches for your hand. Your fingers wrap cautiously around his shaft, and it is hard, stiff, and yet so soft at the same time. You have no idea what to do, but Abraham's hand closes over yours, guiding the strength of your grip and the pace of your strokes.

It turns out that pleasing a man is not difficult at all. All you have to do is move your hand up and down, dragging the skin over the tip of his cock and back down again in a quick and firm rhythm. Abraham dips his head into the crook of your neck, and his hands come up to fondle your breasts, his teeth gritted and his eyes squeezed shut. You quickly grow more comfortable with the motion, and you slip your other hand between his legs to fondle his balls too - carefully, as you know that is a very delicate area for a man. They feel big, and hairy, and heavy in your hand, and he moans when you squeeze them lightly, trying your best to massage them in a way that gives him pleasure.

It would seem that you succeed, because it isn't long before Abraham's body tenses and his balls tighten right in your grip.

" - gonna come" he grunts, and you can't help but hold your breath in anticipation.

Abraham groans, and his cock pulses in your hand, and then his semen starts spurting from the tip. There's so much of it, spilling all over your fingers in thick, sticky ropes, and you keep stroking him through his peak, taking in his ragged breaths, the shallow jerks of his hips, the deep furrow of his brow. It is the loveliest thing you've ever laid eyes on, and when he stills your hand and collapses next to you on the floor, your chest swells with pride. You made him do that.

"Fuck" he pants. There's a lock of hair sticking to his forehead, and you are dying to reach over and gently brush it back, but you are too shy to be so familiar.

"Was it good?" you ask instead, hoping for praise or maybe a nice compliment, but Abraham just gives a hoarse laugh as he tucks his cock back into his trousers. You look away. Despite what you did just a moment ago, looking at it now feels terribly indecent.

Outside, the rain has stopped, the wind has died down, and it is high time for you to return home. You wipe your hand clean with a handkerchief - you can rinse it in the stream on the way back - and turn away from him as you smooth out your skirt and button your coat.

"What do you want" Abraham asks suddenly. "For your wedding gift. What do you want?"

Immediately, you start going through all the lists in your head - there are a hundred things to consider when setting up a new household, clothes and dishware and furnishing, and the little hope chest under your bed is already filled to the brim.

"Well-" you begin, "I'll get linens from my mother, and you already have the stove sorted, and Cora said we could have her old cast iron skillet, but we should probably start saving for a -"

"No" he interrupts, impatiently. "Forget all that, what do you want from me"

He looks sheepish and uncomfortable and it takes you a moment to realise that he is trying to be attentive - maybe even romantic.

It makes you want to throw your arms around his neck.

"I don't know" you mutter, blushing all over again. "I haven't thought about it - you don't have to give me anything"

"I'll get you something. Something pretty, yea?" he grins, wide enough that his cheeks crease and dimple - God, he's awfully charming sometimes, when he wants to be.

You blush even deeper, picking at your nails and responding with an awkward yes, yeah alright.

Abraham doesn't say anything after that, already back to his usual sullen demeanor - but right before the door closes behind you, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you back to kiss you right on the mouth.

You make your way back home, warm all over from the kiss and the excitement and the lingering heat in your core. And maybe a little bit just from the very thought of Abraham himself.

I have never posted fics to tumblr before, please let me know if there's anything wrong with it!

#abraham is criminally underrated in the ewanverse #abraham grantchester #abraham x reader #ewan mitchell #abraham grantchester x reader

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too-deviant · 2 months

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idk if you’d be comfortable writing this but I was wondering if you could whip up an Aphrodite!reader who’s fed up with her beauty. She stops attending school and stays the full term at camp which makes Luke confused. So she tells him about how random dudes would hit on her and be creepy at her school or something. She’d prolly join him with Kronos bc she wants to feel respected for once. Would be such an angsty but filled with femme rage although totally cool if you choose not to write this~ Just wanted to share it with someone 💛

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Aphrodite!Reader

Summary: Maybe you didn't want to be beautiful anymore.

Content: pretty angsty, brief mentions of male harassment but nothing explicit or triggering, again sorry for the wait i had w block pls forgive me. also not proofread sorry yall its been a rough week.

You were only faintly aware of the noise around you.

The chatter of the city was a mere buzz in the back of your head as you marched down the street. It amazed you, really, just how unbelievably dickish mortal boys could be. This one in particular; Mike Schwartz, a five foot something jock who sat on the bench at every game. He’d been a bother in your life since you started high school. Back then, you took the endless prospects as a compliment – you truly were your mother’s daughter. It was a boost to your weak teenage confidence.

But as the years went by, the constant asking for your hand became an irritant. Especially when they couldn’t get the hint – at fourteen, turning down guys felt amazing, but when those same guys kept coming back for more, it made your eye twitch. Couldn’t they take the first no, tuck their tail between their legs and fuck off?

Apparently not.

After four years of putting up with it, you were done. Storming out of the cafeteria, grabbing all your things, hailing a cab and getting the hell outta dodge. Maybe you should’ve stopped to think — called your dad, taken a few deep breaths. But the harder you thought about it, after trying not to for so many years, you came to the conclusion that you would’ve ended up here anyway.

Here being the peak of HalfBlood Hill in the middle of September. It was only slightly unusual, because when you usually arrive at the start of summer you get to watch the crowds of arrivals setting up shop at camp. Now, however, it was fairly desolate. Less people, you knew.

It was also a split second shock when you stepped across the border and felt the drastic change in weather. From the cool breeze of the autumn air to the warm summery spring that camp was in year-round. A shift that made you pause, but you kept on down the hill anyway.

Chiron was waiting for you on the porch of the Big House, and without so much as a word, gestured for you to follow him inside. He was fairly understanding of your situation, but made you Iris Message your dad and tell him of your decision. He, too, was more glad you were safe than angry you ran off.

“We can talk about this when you feel like talking.” He’d said.

So you’d done it. Finally, you’d gotten yourself away from the hey hot stuffs and the you seeing anyone baby?s. You were back at camp, you were where you were most happy.

But you weren’t happy.

Being a year-rounder, you’d discovered, was a lot less busy than being a summer camper. You got more days off, longer breaks between activities. You found yourself spending more time in your own company; something you never really got to do before. Most of the time you were with your siblings, or your mortal friends, or you were being hounded by some frat boy and their friends.

It took a minute to get used to the loneliness, but you did. You explored camp, found places you hadn’t seen before. A cute clearing near a stream on the east side of the forest, or a Satyr sanctuary on the far end of the beach. You read more books, you trained a little harder, you perfected six new hairstyles on your little sister Elena and Annabeth from the Athena Cabin.

And yet, you were still pissed off.

“Why?”

Luke Castellan was a name everyone knew in this little corner of Long Island. One of the oldest campers, head counsellor of the rowdiest cabin, token tour guide for the new kids. Oh, and the best swordsman camp had seen in, like, three centuries. He was cute, that much you’d heard all around your cabin. But you’d never really held a solid conversation with him until you became a year-rounder. The fewer people around, the more you run into him.

You’d been practising a few neat tricks with a dagger when he spotted you. Said he was there to train himself for once and that you wouldn’t even notice he was there. You did, though. Especially when he took his shirt off twenty minutes in.

You shared a water break, he asked you why you’d transferred to being a year rounder, and you indulge him in the story. He was super nice about it too, which made you angry. Was Luke the only nice guy on the planet?

“But at least you’re happier now, right?” He’d said. You weren’t, you told him that much. He gave you this knowing look you’d never seen on him before, and asked Why?

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I love it here, I do. But I shouldn’t have to uproot my entire life and bring it here just to get some semblance of peace. I shouldn’t have to give up my education, my friends, my dad, just so I don’t have to get harassed every day. It’s not even like my mom gave me anything to help combat it, either. She just made me beautiful and told me to deal with the consequences! I mean,” You let out a weak chuckle, holding up the dagger you’d been toying with, “This was a birthday present from a friend in Cabin Six. Not even my mother, who is a warrior herself, could bother sending me a weapon. They really don’t give two shits about us, do they?”

He’d parted his lips, eyes shining with something, and looked at you through his bottom lashes, “No. They don’t.”

You and Luke grew closer after that. A lot closer. By the time summer rolled around and the rest of the campers returned, you were inseparable. Many rumours spread but you two ignored them in favour of sneaking into that clearing you’d found and talking in whispers about your hatred for the gods. Who cared if they could hear you? Let them.

It was Luke who had come up with the idea to steal the bolt. A quick job, in and out, and maybe then they’d listen to what you’d have to say. But they didn’t — they did exactly what they always did and risked the lives of two young demigods and a satyr just because they couldn’t be bothered doing it themselves. Selfish — that’s what they were. They didn’t care about anyone —

“ — but themselves!” You glared at Thalia, who stood before you atop Mount Tamalpais with her spear in your direction. “I mean, look at your dad. He didn’t care enough to stop the monsters from killing you, oh, but it’s okay because he turned you into a damn tree!”

“This isn’t the way!” Annabeth yelled from afar. Her hair was twisted in a style you’d taught her how to do that first year as a year-rounder. It broke your heart that she couldn’t see how right you and Luke were.

“Curse them, Thalia.” You said plainly, holding up your dagger. Half mortal metal, half celestial bronze. A gift from Luke. “Curse your father and his children. His brothers. Curse them all like they deserve to be cursed! They deserve to be toppled.”

You tilted your head, looking at them all. Luke and your army were heading steadily up the mountain. If you could convince them now, there wouldn’t need to be a battle.

“Where are they now, huh?” You raised both your arms, “You’re fighting for your life against a titan on a mountain and the only god who came to help out was Artemis? And that’s just because she was here already.” You scoffed out a laugh, “You should thank us, really, for taking her. Had we not, you’d be dead already.”

Annabeth watched. You were unrecognisable in that moment — your face streaked with dirt and blood, curled into a dark sneer that any of your siblings would berate you for because of the wrinkles you’d get. You didn’t seem to care all that much, though. Not when Thalia was lunging for you and attempting to pull you out of the rage you were in. Not when her spear and shield were no match for your measly dagger and you went toppling down the mountain.

The next time any of them saw you was in Manhattan — after believing you to be dead for a year and a half, it came as a shock when you emerged from the crowd of monsters. Your hair was hacked short, and one of your legs had been replaced with a bronze prosthetic. You fought with a ruthlessness none of them had seen in you before, whether it be because you were on the losing side or because Luke had given his body to the Lord of Time before you had the chance to tell him you loved him. You were still angry, and even if you hated Kronos, you didn’t hate him nearly as much as you hated the gods.

When Luke died, you were kneeled beside him. Your face was dirty, your hair was knotty, and there was a dent in your bronze leg. He lifted a hand to your face, “I’m sorry to have to say this, but…you’re sorta beautiful.”

“Sorta?”

He grinned, and then he died, and you were filled with such unbridled rage that you pushed yourself down to the ground of Manhattan and tore through Kronos’ army with fire in your eyes, not stopping until Apollo got rid of your sight and forced you to calm down. You didn’t know if you’d ever be calm, since the only person who ever understood you just died in your arms, but you dropped your dagger and stomped your way back up to Olympus like a bratty child anyway.

Zeus didn’t punish you for what you did, but he did say he’d be keeping a firm eye on you. You joined the hunters, much to your mothers disdain, and didn’t ever allow yourself to look back.

#@lia’s works #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians

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humanityinahandbag · 1 year

Text

Why do I feel as if Wayne Munson would be supremely disappointed with Eddie if he found out that Eddie refused to go see Lucas play.

The move was a dickish one. Hugely dickish. To not postpone Hellfire. To not support a friend. Then again, Steve had to go through his own transformation, from vapid and cruel to supportive and kind. His own growth didn't come without aches and pains though.

So it stands to reason that Eddie's should be just as achey as Steve's.

Steve would be over for dinner one night, he and Wayne talking about game stats that Eddie barely understood, when Steve suddenly straightens and says, "it's a shame you didn't go to see Lucas play. He really showed up the rest of the team!"

Wayne turns. "Lucas? One of your friends?"

Steve stabbed at a noodle. "Oh yeah. Sweet kid."

"Shame," Wayne agreed. "What happened there? You sick or something?"

"Hm?" Eddie glanced up before casually dropping the bombshell. "No. We had a campaign." And that should have been that.

But no.

Instead, there was silence.

Eddie looked back up, suddenly very much pinned by his Uncle's stare.

Part of the ache of Eddie's growth is in the form of Wayne Munson's disappointed eyebrow as he stares down his flustered and shame faced nephew.

Wayne has never yelled. He's never raised a voice or a hand. But god if it doesn't hurt something terrible when he shakes his head and says, "I know I raised you to be a better friend than that."

And something in Eddie cries out softly, please let me try and do better.

The next day, Eddie is brought to Lucas' house, pink cheeked and regretful, basketball under his arm. Steve's car was in the driveway, its owner in question leaning against the hood, watching with a kid of understanding pride. "My, uh. My Uncle Wayne- my dad. He uh. Talked to me. And I think I might have been kind of a shitty friend? So I thought. Yunno. Since I didn't see you play?" And he raises the ball in his hands, extending it almost shyly out towards Lucas. "Steve says you're really talented. You want to show me some of your moves?"

Eddie's growth won't be easy. He's not perfect. He's not innocent. He's a kid who needs to learn that his actions have hurt people, even if those actions have been the creation of years of bullying and putting up walls.

Steve, who went through his own transformation and understands that it isn't easy to face past mistakes, couldn't be more honored to watch from the stands. Beaming when Lucas gets Eddie to follow along with a few simple drills. Looking just as happy as Eddie must feel when Lucas accepts the hug Eddie tentatively offers with a quiet murmur of, "Thanks. This means so much."

Later that night, Eddie will return home a little sweaty, hair tied high on his head. He'll stand before his Uncle as if he towered over Eddie and not the other way around. "I'm going to try and do better," he says.

And Wayne nods and pulls him in. "There's the Eddie I raised," he says. "Now show me what Sinclair taught you. Might come in handy when you watch the game with me and your boy."

#just saying #Eddie should apologize #he really should #because it was shitty #but he's also human #and I get why he did it #it's not right #but the walls he put up are strong #too strong sometimes #and he needs to learn to take those down and see that his actions also have consequences #and he's allowed to grow #they can all get better together #steddie #lucas sinclair #steve harrington #wayne munson

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its-time-to-write · 10 months

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Hiya! I would love to request a fic based on the scene in the last episode where the fans storm the field?? Like you’d be the first leading the crowd to get Jamie♥️

This one is a little short, but hopefully it’s what you’re looking for!

something to rely on

Honestly, you never cared about football more than when you started dating Jamie Tartt, and you don’t think you’ve ever cared as much as you do at the West Ham game.

You’re fucking sweating.

You’re sandwiched in between Rebecca and Keeley and you are so goddamn stressed, especially because Jamie had been acting so weird and barely talked about it, to the point where pretty much your only interaction had been sitting on the couch or laying in bed, while he clung to you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

It was so, so weird and it’s giving you whiplash from the Jamie you met, the one who’s confident and cocky, and just a little bit of a prick but in a sexy way you like, not in a dickish way. At least not to you.

You knew it’s because of the fact that he was headed back to Manchester and the atmosphere toward him was… less than friendly, but you also knew that he had to be looking for his dad. Jamie’s always on edge if there’s the possibility of his dad showing up.

He got it together though, with help from Ted, but you’re still nervous. West Ham is crushing Richmond at halftime, and you’re holding Rebecca’s arm like it’s a lifeline. It feels like everything they’ve worked for is slipping away until, from out of nowhere, the score is 2-2. You’re watching Jamie, completely surrounded, but Richmond gets a free kick and he grabs the ball to set it up.

Keeley has a death grip on your knee and you’re fairly certain none of you are breathing. Jamie’s signaling for the ball, but Sam- Sam is completely open. He receives the ball, makes the goal, and you’re on your feet, going hoarse from screaming as the game is signaled to be at its end.

Fans start to storm the pitch and you glance at Rebecca with a question on your face.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Oh go on, then,” she says and then you’re clambering over her to zip down the stairs as fast as you possibly can. You hear Keeley ask, “Where the fuck’s she going?” but you honestly don’t even care.

You’re on the field frantically searching for Jamie and calling his name, when a couple fans move and you see him across the way. You’re sprinting toward each other and you launch yourself into his arms, spinning around till he puts you on the ground and dips you for a kiss.

It’s the best kiss of your life.

You finally pull away, breathless and laughing. He presses his forehead to your and for a moment, you’re the only two on the pitch.

“Fucking knew you could do it,” you whisper. “Knew you were a great actor ever since Lust Conquers All.”

Jamie replies, “Oi, come off it,” but he’s staring at your lips with such a hungry look that you know he doesn’t mean it.

You’re about to kiss him again when you hear a voice say, “I fucking knew it.”

You both jump to see Isaac two feet away.

“How the fuck?” Jamie asks. “We did so good at hiding it.”

“Body language, bruv,” Isaac responds. “You two act weird every time you’re in the same room.”

You shrug. Jamie’s hands are on your waist and your arms are still around his neck, but neither of you care. Screw secrecy; if there were ever a time to let people know you’re together, this is it.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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meetmypointlessaddiction · 7 months

Text

Joel Miller x f!reader: Drunk

Summary: Your boyfriend is being a work obsessed dick so you send him out to get drunk with his brother. Warnings: Alcohol consumption, allusion to smut (i think?), soft!joel, drunk!joel, kind of asshole!joel at the beginning, Please let me know if there is anything that I've forgot to put a warning for. This has not been proof read so any mistakes are completely my fault. Enjoy and don't forget to reblog and like so that the algorithm can do its thing. Words: 1,3k

Joel Miller was an asshole to most people. To his employees, to people he saw on the street, he came across as an asshole but that was simply the charm of him. In reality, he was a polite Texan gentleman who loved his girlfriend and family but just so happened to have a resting bitch face and a natural dickish tone.

To you, Joel Miller was a teddy bear. You made each other breakfast and coffee on a morning, got ready for the day together and once you were both home from work, you relaxed together. But ever since Joel’s construction company had taken off, relaxing evenings turned into you begging Joel to stop looking a blueprints and just pay attention to the movie for once. Instead of both of you destressing, Joel never stopped and you got more worked up trying to get him to relax.

Eventually, you had to bring in reinforcements in the form of Tommy Miller. Tommy had planned a night out for the boys from work and Joel had been invited but had not so politely turned it down with the excuse of not wanting his boys to have to spend their night with him. Contrary to what Joel believed, many of his boys wanted him there. His quick wit and dry humour made him popular amongst his employees as well as the fact that he didn’t take anyone’s shit. If you aren’t doing your job, you faced the consequences but if you did your job well, you would roll in the rewards.

“I’m not going.” Joel grunted as he sat back down at the kitchen table, documents piling high and his reading glasses sat beside them.

“Joel Miller I will drag you into your brother’s truck kicking and screaming if I have to.” You threatened and Joel, like a goddamn child, fucking pouted.

“Why? I don’t want to spend my night with them and they don’t-.”

“You’re going. You’re going to get some alcohol into your system, socialise with somebody who isn’t me and I hope to god you come back drunk and without this new workaholic asshole that has sprouted.” You yelled and Joel fell silent, flicking through the pages of his paperwork. “And if you pick up that pen once more, I’ll fucking jam it up your asshole.”

Joel smirked and opened his mouth to come up with some snarky reply but you were quick to cut him off. “And it will be the only form of action you get for a helluva long time.” Your harsh words seemed to put his brain back into gear and he sighed.

“What time’s Tommy getting here?” He asked and you grinned, mood doing a complete 360.

“He’s on his way, you look great.” You smiled brightly, brushing a few of his stray locks back into place and pecking his lips. “Enjoy.” He walked to the door, scowl on his face and Tommy couldn’t hold back his laughter as he pulled up outside his brother’s home.

“I owe your girl $30. Get in, we’re headed straight to the bar.” Tommy cheered as Joel pulled himself into the passenger seat with a low growl, not ready for the night ahead.

Somehow, drunk Joel was so much worse than sober Joel. Instead of making quick remarks at everything anyone said to him, he stared wistfully at his phone screen, head resting on one hand as he stared at the photo of you from a few months ago, his favourite one of you to date. “C’mon big brother, lighten up a little. She’s set some kind of reverse curfew, doesn’t want you back any earlier than 11.” Joel hummed in agreement, now scrolling through his entire camera album dedicated to you.

Once Tommy had managed to get a few more beers in him, he offered him a game of pool and Joel seemed to brighten up a little bit, missing the days when he and Tommy would go to their local bar every night and shoot pool for hours at a time. “I’m pretty sure I beat your ass last time.” Joel teased and Tommy rolled his eyes.

“You got years on me old man.” Tommy snarked back and Joel barked a laugh, racking up the balls while Tommy chalked up the cues.

After a few games with varying opponents and a concoction of different drinks, Joel was ready to go home, Tommy more than happy being the designated driver. “She’ll be proud, it’s almost 12.” He chuckled and Joel shrugged, ready to go home and see his girl.

Climbing out of the truck, he stumbled to the front door, looking for his key before almost falling through the door when it opened. “Goddamn! There’s a fuckin’ angel in my house. Tommy there’s an angel in my house!” You nodded your thanks to Tommy before he drove off and then led your man into the kitchen. “Hi baby.” He drawled and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey handsome. You have fun?” She asked and he shook his head.

“Kicked all their asses.” He slurred, almost falling against the counter as you steadied him.

“Oh yeah?” Joel nodded and you handed him a glass of water watching his face sour.

“No more vodka. Have to go see my girlfriend.” You chuckled and pushed the pill into his hand and nodded.

“Well your girlfriend said this pill is gonna make you feel better and you need to drink water before we go to bed.” Joel thought about it and you knew just what to say to convince him.

“She even said you might get lucky tomorrow if you take the pill.” You hummed and he threw his head back, swallowing the pill and then downing the water, slamming the glass on the side for dramatic effect. “And now you need to brush your teeth because I’m not going to kiss you with the taste of whatever ‘Tommy special’ you’ve been drinking.

“Thought you like my kisses?” He frowned, eyes wide and you smiled.

“I do baby but I’ll probably get drunk from one kiss and we only need one drunk in this house.” You teased, taking his hand and dragging him towards the stairs, doing an awkward shuffle to drag and guide him up each step. Halfway to the bathroom Joel stopped moving and you looked at him with amusement sparkling in your eyes. “Everything ok?”

“No.” Joel grabbed your wrist and stomped over to the bed, flopping on it and pulling you on top of him, quickly flipping your position and resting his head on your chest, looking up at you. “Missed you.” He hummed, reaching up to press a kiss to your chin, leaning up on his elbows and pressing a multitude of extremely delicate kisses across your face. “I like you.”

You staved off a laugh and smiled. “I like you too. Can we go brush our teeth now?” He shook his head, his eyes holding some kind of childish innocence to them as he pecked each area of your face.

“I love you.” He muttered against your nose and you giggled.

“Joel, I can taste the vodka on your breath. Please can we go brush our teeth. We’ll come straight back to bed and we don’t have to leave until tomorrow afternoon.” You tried but he just shook his head.

“Sorry for being an asshole. Shouldn’t be working so much.” He murmured and you smiled.

“It’s been stressful for you but it’s ok. We’ll get through it. Thank you for apologising.” You whispered and he nodded, going back to pressing kissed along your hairline.

“You didn’t say you love me.” He mumbled shyly and you chuckled.

“I love you with every atom in my body, Joel Miller. I love your grumpy looking face and your scary voice and I can’t imagine my life with out you but for the love of us can we please go and brush your teeth. You smell like you brought the entire damn bar home.”

“Fine but only because you love me.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #tommy miller #f!reader #joel miller can be an asshole

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

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AITA for lying to my boyfriend?

sooo. okay. clickbaity title out of the way, my (20F) and my boyfriend (20M) have been together for 6 months, give or take. its been generally good, we broke up for a few days about a month ago, but once we got back together its been generally smooth sailing.

some further context, i used to be a HUGE player. to the point of right before i met my bf (who stopped this behavior in its tracks (unknowingly)), i was talking to over ten guys. at once. this is not the AITA part though, my bf knows this and i now know that was a bit dickish of me.

this means that when i met him, i knew how to play the game and i knew how to get what i wanted. again, i know this was assholish, not the point of the post. in this case it meant i needed to act like a ditzy girl who fell in love at first sight and just *needed* his number 🥺👉👈. so i made the first move with that because i was getting super impatient with him lmao and he gave me his number because he thought i was adorable (aka, my act). to be totally clear, i did not know this relationship was going to last, and i didnt think it would be brought up again due to what i assumed what would be a short relationship, so i saw zero issue with it.

heres the problem. my bf does not know this was a very calculated act, and its one of his absolute favorite memories. hes very very sentimental, especially about moments where im considered stereotypically sweet (he doesnt get that a lot from me, its just not how i express affection). but i feel awful about his favorite memory literally being a lie/an act i put on to make *him* fall in love with *me*.

so tumblr, AITA? should i tell him and break his heart or continue to act like i meant that genuinely and let him live in blissful ignorance?

thanks guys!!

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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splatoon-confession-box · 7 months

Text

i cannot stand how dickish this community for a children's game has gotten. like thinking that bullying new players away from the game for having a "skill issue" before they actually get the chance to develop their skills and sending people death threats bc of the splatfest team they chose is okay is wild as fuck. (i was silently on team frye and the amount of harassment towards innocent people on team shiver from fellow "hollier than thou" teammates is and forever will be the most buckwild shit ive seen from this community. BUT that's not to say everyone on team shiver were total saints either, especially after results came in.) like it's legit so hard to not just leave this community altogether with how toxic everyone has gotten over literal pixels on a screen. it's sad.

#splatoon confessions #fandom related #negative

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