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arachine · 1 year

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— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…”

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her.

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight.

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort.

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from.

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you.

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?”

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again.

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent.

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him.

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end.

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only.

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it.

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them.

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little.

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat).

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do.

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest.

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed.

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away.

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied.

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!”

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him.

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs.

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him.

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son.

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment.

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel.

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig.

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident.

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time.

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering.

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually).

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it.

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is.

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body.

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot).

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.”

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings.

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack.

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber.

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out.

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother.

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.”

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?”

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together.

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes.

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you!

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully.

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd.

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him?

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him.

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family.

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success.

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him.

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf.

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks.

“Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion.

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence.

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode.

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would.

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time.

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden.

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack.

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot.

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?”

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway.

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack.

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk.

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches.

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting.

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs.

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.”

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now?

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him?

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again.

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart.

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible.

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each.

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.”

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream.

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly.

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.”

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations.

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones.

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin.

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds.

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty.

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?”

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to.

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve.

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think.

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face.

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb.

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring.

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you.

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you.

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is.

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours?

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity.

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force.

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching.

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you.

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers.

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to.

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles.

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man.

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty.

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you.

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack.

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides.

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls.

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy.

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically.

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile.

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?”

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him.

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground.

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness.

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side.

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess.

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length.

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable.

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired.

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you.

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement.

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds.

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement.

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons.

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace.

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks.

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart.

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains.

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.”

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #awow #avatar smut #avatar the way of water smut

16K notes · View notes

leclercsainzz · 4 months

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS PART 4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x ex!gf / tom blyth x reader

TYPE: social media au

WARNING: // cheating implied

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, hunterschafer, and 678,889 others

yourusername: more photo dumps of my favorite ppl (ft. me)

tagged: @tomblyth @hunterschafer @joshandresrivera

view 6,021 comments

user: MY FAVORITE CAST!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

user: bye, bc how did lucy gray leave a man like him???

↳ user: the way i would’ve believed EVERY word that came out his mouth and stayed with him, frrrr

↳ user: she’s a better woman than me 😭😭

user: the green jackets, hello?????

user: @landonorris

hunterschafer: love you, girlfriend 😘

user: hottest cast ever, idc

user: did tom and yn share the same jacket on set???

↳ user: literally my parents

joshandresrivera: ❤️❤️

user: soo are you and lando still together or???

user: yntom shipper >>>>

user: she looks so adorable in that second slide

tomblyth: ❤️❤️❤️❤️

tomblyth: you’re my favorite person ever

↳ user: my heart 😭😭😭😭😭

↳ user: this is too cute, wtf????

↳ user: if they don’t date, i’m gonna be so upset

user: sOMEONE GEt ME A TOM BLYTH, RIGh nOw!!!!!!!

user: babe, are you and dad (lando) still together???

↳ user: girllll, i’m pretty sure they’re done

user: tom’s the reason why my standard in man are high

songbirdandsnakes: our favs! ❤️

user: please, date!! 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

user: all i can think about is lando 🥺

user: you know damn well lando didn’t cheat on you

↳ user: how you gonna say that when there’s proof??

user: my favorites <3

user: where’s lando??

user: my comfort cast, i swear ❤️

user: yntom nation please rise

user: i wanna cry so bad bc i feel bad for lando 😭😭😭

↳ user: feel bad??? wdym?? he cheated???

↳ user: the only reason he might’ve cheated was because yn literally cheated on him first??????? hello???

user: if only coryo had been honest with her 😩

user: idc what anyone says, tom and yn are soulmates

user: this cast >>

user: her smile 🥺 she’s too cute

user: my babies

user: i can (not) accept the fact that lucy gray and coriolanus didn’t end together but i will NOT accept if yn and tom don’t end up together irl

user: who needs eminem when you’ve got paneminem

↳ yourusername: STEALING THIS, OMG!

luisinhaoliveira99

liked by kellypiquet, maxfewell and 431,028 others

luisinhaoliveira: weekend getaway 😙

view 2,846 comments

user: not her trying to soft launch 😭😭😭😭

user: more like weekend cheat-away

user: pretty girl 😍

user: wait- so she’s actually with lando????

user: girl, he ain’t interested in you let’s bffr

user: he didn’t even like or comment 🤣

user: luuuuuuu 😍😍😍

user: how does it feel to have yn’s left overs??

user: is she aware that he’s just using her???

user: @landonorris @landonorris @yourusername @yourusername

user: lando couldn’t even handle yn and ya’ll believe he can handle this beautiful woman?? 😭😭😭

user: acting like that’s her man 💀

user: hate to break it to you but once a cheater always a cheater 🫢 so you best watch out, babes

user: YOU’RE the other woman, don’t get it twisted

user: ynlando >>

user: why are you soft launching as if no one knows?

↳ user: she really thought she ate 😂😂😂

user: you’re beautiful!!! 😩😩

user: is that lando or??

user: CRYING 😭😭😭 home girl thought she did something by “soft-launching” LMAOOOOOOOOO

user: ya’ll are so mean, omg 😭 it’s not her fault lando cheated

↳ user: she knew he was in a relationship and still got with him?????? hello??????

user: he ain’t even comment 💀💀💀💀

↳ user: let alone like 😭

user: @landonorris this your new girl???

user: this means i finally have a chance with THE yn ln!! 🥳

↳ user: hate to break it to you, but that’s tom’s girl now

user: ya’ll calling lando a cheater when it’s yn 😂😂😂

user: anyways

user: this drama’s sooo goood

user: u and lando are so cute 🥰🥰🥰

↳ user: they both belong in the street

oscarpiastri: lmao

comment has been deleted

user: where’s lando?? waiting for a comment or like

user: ya’ll are so mean 😭😭😭

user: yntom >>>

user: yn’s better than me bc i would be DRAGGING both their asses on the internet right about now, idccc

↳ user: girl, frrrr

↳ user: it just shows how she’s being the bigger person in this whole bs, tbh

post has been deleted

yourusername

liked by tomblyth, landonorris and 695,899 others

yourusername: thank you, next 💋

view 5,725 comments

user: not lando still being in her likes 😭

↳ user: mans is DESPERATE for her attention

isahernaez: eres realmente una belleza 😍

see translation: you’re truly a beauty

hunterschafer: WOW

hunterschafer: YOURE A GODDESS

hunterschafer: MY GODDDD 😍😍😍

oliviarodrigo: gorgeous gorgeous girl! 😩

↳ yourusername: right back at youuu, ml 💗

user: can’t believe lando let this gorgeous woman go

user: lando fucks shit up but yn comes and serves each time

↳ user: all she does is post and comes up with a caption and yet she remains unbothered and iconic!

↳ user: she shuts la*do up by posting, i swear

user: MOTHER ASF 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

user: babes in her reputation era

lilymhe: absolute beauty right here! 😮‍💨

user: teach me your ways

tomblyth: okay, we get it, you’re incredibly gorgeous

↳ yourusername: oh stop, you’re making me blush

↳ user: ooohhh????

tomblyth: can i be your next?

↳ yourusername: you’d like wouldn’t you? 🤔

↳ tomblyth: i just want to show you off

↳ user: QUICK: someone check on lando

↳ user: ARE THEY FLIRTING OR?????

↳ user: i find it hard to believe they’re not a thing

user: tom and yn flirting??!???? 👀

user: “i just want to show you off” SIR????

↳ user: if your man ain’t show you off, he ain’t the one

user: i just know lando is crying right now

↳ user: as he should!

user: mother is serving, ohhh myyy 😍😍😍

user: TOM’s COMmENT????

user: if her and tom don’t get together ima have a mental breakdown, i swear

user: serving as always!!!

user: unbothered queen

user: YNTOM NATION RISE!!!!!!!!!!

carlossainz55: that’s my best friend!

user: lando liked 😭😭

↳ user: he’s craving yn’s attention, but then again i would too

user: screw tom … let ME be your next

user: i WANNA BE UR NEXT, BABE

user: 😍😍😍😍😍 WOW WOW WOW

user: mother is mothering

user: @landonorris apologies to mom so we can move on

↳ user: i NEED them together 😭😭😭

user: SLAYYYY

oscarpiastri: 🤩🤩🤩

imessage

tomblyth

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 674,037 others

tomblyth: here’s to another epic outing w/ my favorite people!

tagged: @yourusername @joshandresrivera @hunterschafer

view 5,601 comments

user: yntom being each other’s favorite person >>> 🥰

user: hunter & yn singing “you belong with me” is a slayyyyy

user: josh’s message 🤣

user: the 5th pic OMGGG ❤️❤️❤️

joshandresrivera: i feel exposed 😔

joshandresrivera: art admiring art 😍

↳ yourusername: aw thank you! (he was looking at me btw)

↳ joshandresrivera: can you not?? 🙄

↳ tomblyth: can you blame me?

↳ user: IMA GO SHOWER WITH MY TOASTER BRB

user: i love them omg

user: yn better have dedicated “you belong with me” to tom

user: my parents, frrrr

user: 5th slide 😭😭😭

user: are they dating?? officially??

hunterschafer: same time next week?

hunterschafer: i love you alllll 😘

user: my yntom heart is giggling at the 5th slide

user: this cast has my heart, i swear!! ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername: my favorite boy everrrr <33

yourusername: 😘😘😘 ilyyyy

↳ user: @landonorris

↳ user: nahhhhh 😭😭

user: IF THEY DONT DATE WITHIN THE NEXT WEEK OR WHATEVER IM GONNA GO APESHIT, OMG

user: yn should’ve sang “london boy”

user: my yntom heart 😩😩😩

user: the 5th slide has me grinning ear to ear

user: THE HEAD LEAN 😭😭😭😭

user: she’s living her best life with him, i swear 🥰

↳ user: she’s definitely glowing!!

user: she deserves a guy like him … who will treat her right

user: i love this friendship 😩

user: them >>>>>

user: they’re in love, your honor

user: i hope they’re together ❤️

↳ user: i feel like they’re keeping it private

user: lando’s currently going apeshit

user: @landonorris

user: singing “you belong with me” SLAYYYYYYYYY

user: i love them 😭😭😭 together or not

user: soulmates frrr

user: mom and dad ❤️❤️

yourusername

liked by oliviarodrigo, tomblyth and 624,510 others

yourusername: 🍃

view 4,028 comments

user: IS THAT LANDO??????

↳ user: you really think that’s lando?? 🤣

↳ user: YES!

user: whatever tom’s doing is working bc she’s glowing

user: that’s definitely tom, OMG!!!!

user: her smile 😩😩

lilymhe: you’re unreal, i swear

↳ yourusername: says YOU 😩

user: yn post whatever la*do sent you, please!!!

user: is she soft launching or??

user: lando?

charlottesiine: you >>> 😍😍

user: she’s glowing 😍✨

↳ user: tom’s the one making her ✨ GLOW ✨ like this!!

user: wait is that lando??? or tom???

user: i find it funny how ppl think that’s lando 😭😭

hunterschafer: you’re sooo prettyyyyy

user: she’s literally glowing 😍😍😍😍

user: the last pic 😩 i LOVE THEM, OMGG

user: such a natural beauty, i swear

user: @tomblyth KEEP MAKING HER GLOW LIKE THIS!!!

user: yk damn well the relationship between her and lando was falling apart the moment she stopped glowing like this

user: she’s radiating so much energy ✨✨✨

user: it’s clear to see that she's in love, her face is radiating with joy and happiness …. you can see it in her beaming smile

↳ user: she’s glowing with love, and it’s a beautiful sight

user: your face is mesmerizing 😩😩😩

tomblyth: i’m enthralled by your beauty

↳ user: SOMEONE GET ME A MAN LIKE THIS, I SWEAR

↳ user: he’s sooo in love 😩

tomblyth: stunning views

↳ yourusername: don’t boost my ego like that 🙄 or else …

↳ tomblyth: can you just accept my compliment for once?

↳ user: you cannot tell me these two aren’t together bc they certainly are!!

zendaya: are you even real? 😍

↳ yourusername: coming from youu??? 😩😩

danielricciardo: who’s got you smiling like that??

↳ carlossainz55: ^^

↳ yourusername: wouldn’t ya’ll like to know

user: i can’t imagine being as beautiful as you

↳ yourusername: you’re a beautyyy <333

↳ user: i lOve you omg!!! ❤️❤️❤️

user: 😍😍😍😩😩😩😩😩

user: she’s smiling brighter than ever 🥰🥰🥰

user: gorggg

landonorris: 😍

comment has been deleted

user: MOTHER’S GLOWING!! AS SHE SHOULD!!

user: tHe last slide 😭😭😭😭

taglist:

@tomblyth-tsunoda @love4josh @dudde-44 @coconut-dreamz @newlifeforus @loxbbg @dakotali @f1footballluvverr @mountmaason19 @poppyflower-22 @magical-spit @nazm145 @nikolaros22 @sincerlymatakorama @36babyg @bucket-of-fanfiction @gyunheat @millyswife @onlyrealjoy @ocyeanicc @sarah-thatstings-ann @ushygushybaby @shrimpybbq @reyfolks @earth-to-lottie @smugrogerina @jenniferrvsesi @aleidag1rly @charlesswife @sheluvsf1 @omgsuperstarg @krispy-r @lwritesstuff @eutrizbea @psychiceaglepeach @theseerbetweenus

1K notes · View notes

makoodles · 1 year

Text

ミdaddy issues

part one | part two

🍓pairing: recom!miles quaritch x human fem reader

🍓tags: nsfw, interspecies relationship, temporarily one-sided attraction, second-hand embarrassment, vaginal sex, oral sex, (v brief) anal fingering, dirty talk (it's quaritch, come on)

🍓word count: 14k (there's literally nothing i could say to excuse this)

masterlist

Miles Quaritch is the kind of man whose reputation precedes him.

Everyone has heard of him. His ruthlessness and his skill are legendary, his authority absolute. The army guys talk about him like he’s the stuff of myth, the scientists talk about him like he’s the biggest bastard to ever walk the earth. Even before he had returned to life as a recombinant, he was positively infamous. Now though, his return has raised his reputation to near mythological status.

But it’s not just his name and reputation that is known around Bridgehead City. Recently, your crush on him has become equally as infamous.

It’s not your fault. It's not like you’re trying to make it obvious. The man is just so damn fine, blue or not. In the beginning, all you do is appreciate his form from a distance. It’s not like you see him all that often, anyway, so your admiration is mostly contained to quick glances in corridors and across the mess hall, whenever you spot him talking with his squad or walking with any of the higher ups.

It’s perfectly innocent! There’s nothing wrong with having a little crush on someone that will never notice you, after all.

The problem is that your crush, while innocuous, isn’t exactly subtle.

“Quaritch, huh?” It’s Anjali that asks, an older, pretty microbiologist with a sometimes off-puttingly blunt manner.

You pause, but don’t look up from the microscope you’ve been peering into. For a moment, you consider denying it. But what’s the point? If she’s asking, that means that she’s already noticed your shy, flustered glances in the colonel’s direction.

“Yeah,” You sigh, a little defeated. “I guess.”

Because you’re so focused on the plant specimen you’re studying, you don’t notice the way all the others in the lab start looking over, clearly eavesdropping. If you had, you might have backtracked – maybe you would have downplayed your embarrassing little crush.

“He’s just...” You fiddle with the glass slide beneath the lens, still fighting not to make eye-contact with Anjali. “He’s very handsome, isn’t he?”

Anjali snorts. She’s an older lady, with her grey-streaked hair scraped back into a severe bun, accentuating her harsh appearance. She’s working on her own report one desk over from you, but you can still see the way that she’s peering over her glasses at you.

“Is he?” She asks archly. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t see around his enormous sense of entitlement.”

You laugh a little awkwardly, and duck your head back down. God, you don’t know how else you expected that conversation to go. Everyone knows that Quaritch’s overzealous attempts to exert control over Pandora was what caused the whole war and resulted in the human population being forced off-planet all those years ago. Damn, you know that too!

But it’s not as though you like him as a person or anything! He’s not even really the same man as the one that did all that. Your fascination with him is really just… aesthetic appreciation.

“I just think he’s attractive, you know?” You mumble, embarrassed. “I don’t know what he was like as a human, but… I don’t know. There’s something about the- the height, and the muscles-”

“Oh, spare me.” Anjali mumbles sourly.

“You asked!” You snap, mortified. “I’m just saying-!”

That’s when another voice cuts in.

“He could break you in half with his pinkie finger.” Dr. Geiszler points out from a desk behind you. He’s not even trying to pretend that he’s not listening in, leaning right over his workspace as he eavesdrops.

Your eyes widen a little, and for the first time you realise that nearly everyone else in the laboratory has been listening in the whole time. Your face grows hot with humiliation, and you shrink a little in your stool. Oh fuck, why did they all look so interested?

Geiszler watches your reaction, and then his face slackens in an expression of realisation. “Oh shit, you’re into that.”

You genuinely can’t think of anything more humiliating right now. They’re all looking at you as though you’ve just grown an additional head.

“Oh, fuck off!” You say reflexively, scowling at them all. “You can’t pretend like you haven’t ever thought that the Na’vi are sexy!”

Anjali looks as though she’s just sucked on a lemon, but several other scientists start shiftily avoiding eye contact.

Geiszler just snorts. “That’s different. We’re not talking about just any Na’vi here, we’re talking about Quaritch!”

“He’s old enough to be your father.” Anjali points out, clearly disapproving. “Maybe even your grandfather.”

“So?” You say without thinking, before realising that this isn’t really an argument that you want to get into. “I mean- Not in his current body! No, fuck, I don’t mean- fuck. Look, can we just forget about this? Pretend I never said anything!”

Mercifully, they go silent at that, though you can still hear the faint sound of someone snickering in the back of the lab. They may not say anything more, but you’re all too aware that they’re still looking at each other and smirking. Laughing at you.

You hunch your shoulders and keep doing your work. You wouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty over something as stupid as a harmless little crush that you can’t control. You wouldn’t.

Bridgehead really isn’t all that big, so you see the colonel semi-regularly. It’s always from a distance, but it’s still enough to give you a good look at those long legs, those big muscles, and that lithe, narrow waist. If you’re truthful with yourself, you go out of your way to organise your paths crossing.

You’re not even a fully-qualified scientist just yet. You don’t actually have an official title – you’re more like an intern. You work under the highly decorated scholars in xenobotany, running tasks and projects for them as part of your doctorate degree. You had been allowed out here to Pandora as part of your degree, in order to get the experience you needed to qualify, and it has treated you well so far. The whole internship position means that you have a little bit more freedom with regards your schedule, which works just perfectly for you.

So, yeah. What started out as innocent admiration has turned a little… stalkery. You’re willing to admit that. But it’s harmless!

So what if you know Colonel Quaritch’s schedule off by heart? So what if you linger around the areas that you know he frequents at opportune moments, like just after his workouts or drills? It doesn’t really matter if your eyes linger around his big biceps and his sculpted chest, especially when his deep blue skin is all heat-flushed and sweaty, right? And it surely doesn’t matter if you wander past the Recombinant areas of the base far more frequently than you need to, right? It’s not as if anyone is going to notice.

It doesn’t really matter how much you stare, because the colonel is utterly oblivious to your attention. He never notices you, not even once. And that’s fine too, you tell yourself. It makes it easier, in fact! You can admire him all you want if he never looks at you, after all.

It gets a little bit more challenging to hide where your attention is straying when other people start to figure it out.

It’s like your little crush is an inside joke in the science department. The scientists on base tend to be pretty good at minding their own business (mostly because they’re usually so damn focused on their own work and little projects), but in this case you’ve become an endless source of amusement for them.

You can see the way the entire xenobiology department giggle together when you perk up at dinnertime as soon as the Recombinant soldiers enter the mess hall, and you know that they’re nudging each other when your attention strays to the Colonel as he eats. He’s got such sharp teeth, and your eyes fixate on him as he licks the sorry excuse for food he’s been served off his canines.

When you start dressing up a little bit more, the science guys start sharing smirks. It’s a little bit humiliating, but honestly you think you’re starting to lose your sense of shame. You start wearing tight little pencil skirts and thin blouses, under the guise of professionalism, and you start to do your makeup a little bit heavier too. Quaritch never so much as bats an eyelid in your direction.

“Not that I’m complaining, per se,” Geiszler drawls one afternoon, leaning lazily against the worktop as you painstakingly organise tissue samples. “But aren’t you trying a little too hard?”

“Shut up.” You grumble, chewing on your stick lip-glossed lower lip. “It’s just a skirt.”

“Right.” He drawls, eyes trailing down over the length of your body as you shift on your uncomfortable little stool. “And the makeup?”

“It’s not breaking any uniform protocols.” You say simply, scratching just under your eye.

Geiszler sniffs, amused. “Is it true you’ve been following around the xenobiologists when they go to check on the recoms?”

You peer very closely at the tissue sample in your hands, a little more closely than entirely necessary. “Maybe.”

“Jesus.” He lets out a short, disbelieving sort of laugh. “Fuck. Why? D’you get off on being ignored or something?”

That’s a little crass, and you raise your head to scowl at him. He really doesn’t need to rub it in like that – it’s pretty damn obvious that your crush is unrequited. It’s cruel to point it out like that.

“It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t notice,” You mutter, aggravated. “I’m just- I just like looking, that’s all.”

Geiszler snorts again, but he appears to be somewhat sympathetic now. “Right. Just looking.”

Finally, you tear your attention away from the samples so you can scowl at him. “What do you want, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I want to put you out of your misery.” He replies simply, leaving his elbows against the worktop and smirking at you. “Recoms are being sent out tomorrow. Just a small run – Ardmore wants to put those new bodies to the test before she sends them out after Sully.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask as though you’re not hanging onto every damn word.

“They’re heading to the lowlands, at the base of the mountains,” Geiszler levels you with a significant look. “You know what that means, right?”

You perk up instantly at that, your eyes growing wide.

“Panopyra.” You breathe.

Your entire damn doctoral dissertation is centred around the unusual, jellyfish-like plants that grow on other Pandoran plants. It hovers somewhere between plant, animal, and fungi, having evolved a primitive sort of nervous system. It grows a cuplike body that collects water from dew and fog and condenses it down into a thick, syrupy sort of liquid. That liquid is then collected by the native Na’vi for use in their healing drinks. It is that medicinal property that fascinates you so much.

“Yeah, I thought that might get your attention.” Geiszler grins. “You’ve run out of the samples you’ve been using, right? You’re not gonna be able to write any more of your thesis without more specimens.”

“Yes,” You breathe, your brain already scrambling to think of all the things you need to do. “I need- oh, I need some cuttings of the sensory tissue, and I need a lot more samples of the internal liquid. The stems, too-”

“Right, right,” Geiszler interrupts, nodding. “The problem is, it’s just the Recoms being sent out. They’re not bringing any of the science team.”

Your shoulders sag a little at that. How are you meant to get a proper sample if there’s no one qualified to take samples going on their reconnaissance trip?

As if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, Geiszler’s smile turns a little sly. “If you want those samples, you’re gonna have to ask the big man in charge of the mission to bring some back for you. And you’re gonna have to ask real nicely.”

Colonel Quaritch’s office is empty when you call at it, and so you’re forced to go searching for him.

You find the recoms in the little recreation room just off the hangar designated for soldier use – Na’vi-sized beanbags had been thrown into it as an afterthought for the recom soldiers, and it’s almost comical to walk in and find so many of them sprawled across the squishy chairs. Some of them have instead decided to squeeze them into the regular armchairs, with one Na’vi-sized body occupying an entire sofa. They’re playing poker of all things; they’ve been provided with a set of over-sized playing cards and everything.

They’re a rowdy bunch, shouting and roaring with laughter, and so they don’t immediately spot you when you edge your way into the room. For a moment, you think that the colonel isn’t here. But then you take another look, and you spot him.

Quaritch is standing to the side, his spine taut and his shoulders back and straight. It’s a very formal position just for watching his squad relax, but there’s a certain softness to his expression as he watches them that you’ve never seen from him before. Your heart skips a beat; this is the most unguarded that you’ve ever seen him, and your eyes fixate on his face eagerly as you try to drink in all the details.

It’s Fike that notices you first.

“Aw, man,” He groans, tilting his head back dramatically before gesturing at you with his cards. “Not another checkup. We told the other doc, if something feels wrong we’ll tell you-”

“Ah, no.” You’re beginning to get flustered. Fike’s exclamation has drawn the attention of the other recoms, and all of a sudden you feel as though you’ve been placed under a spotlight. “I’m- I’m not actually a doctor!”

There’s a very brief pause, and then one of the female soldiers sits up from her beanbag to squint at you. You think this one is Walker.

“Why are you here all the time, then?” She asks. “Weren’t you here for our checkup yesterday?”

Oh. They had noticed. Embarrassed heat is beginning to build in your cheeks, and you can’t help but dart a quick look over at where Quaritch is still leaning against the wall. For the first time ever, he’s looking right at you. The realisation sends little jolts of electricity racing up your spine. His expression is entirely neutral, almost bored, but that doesn’t matter. He’s seeing you.

“I was just, um, shadowing the xenobiologists,” You say quickly, “For my internship.”

One of the other recoms turns to another and mouths 'internship’, and they both start to snicker. You pretend not to notice.

“And what does the intern want with us?” Fike asks, already having turned back to his cards.

It’s terribly embarrassing having to stand here and have these 9-foot-tall soldiers basically look you up and down before disregarding your entire existence. But you’re here now, and you have to push through.

“I’d..” You begin, before your throat goes dry and you have to clear your throat before trying again. “Could I please speak to the colonel?”

All the snickering and whispering dies down for a moment as the recoms look at you before swinging their heads around to look at their superior officer. There’s a moment of silence, but then the subtle sniggers start right back up again.

“So polite,” one of them whispers, and you feel yourself burn with embarrassment. But it doesn’t matter how many of them are sharing smirks or whispers, because Colonel Quaritch has pushed himself off the wall and is beginning to step towards you.

Oh god, he’s so big. You have to actually tilt your head back just to look at his face as he comes to a stop in front of you, and you begin to fidget nervously with your fingers. Up close, he seems so much bigger. Every movement has the skin around his muscles flexing, and you have to work hard not to stare like an absolute moron.

He doesn’t crouch or bend down to make it easier for you to talk to him. Instead he just raises a brow, clearly waiting for you to speak.

“I, um- hello,” You start off clumsily, growing flustered under the weight of his intense, golden gaze. God, does he even realise how intimidating that is? “I was wondering if- I mean, I heard that you’re being sent out into the Pandoran lowlands tomorrow, and I was wondering if you might be able to bring me back something-”

God, you sound like such an idiot. There’s no way he doesn’t notice the way your voice trembles, or how you can’t quite meet his eyes, or how you keep stumbling over your words, but he just watches you evenly with no expression on his handsome face.

You fumble for the datapad that you brought with you, tapping clumsily at the screen before holding it up for him. His eyes dart to the photograph that’s being displayed, but he still doesn’t speak.

“This is panopyra.” You say, and your voice grows a little stronger. This, at least, is something you feel comfortable talking about. “It’s a plant that’s displaying characteristics of a new line of evolution toward a primitive nervous system. My entire dissertation is focused around my research into this plant, and I really need some samples. The body of it is hollow, and it collects a liquid inside-”

Finally, Quaritch speaks.

“We ain’t bein’ sent out to do gardening.” His voice is deep and rumbly, edged with that Southern drawl. It has a hint of danger, even when he’s not actually threatening anything.

“I know!” You say hastily. “I know that. I just thought- I thought that maybe if you happened to see one, you might be able to take a sample of the liquid inside of it and, um… and bring it back.”

You end up trailing off a little pathetically, feeling overpowered by his intense stare. God, he looks so unimpressed with you right now. You bite your glossy lip and try not to shrink into yourself entirely.

At last, Quaritch sighs and holds out his hand. “Give me that thing.”

You hand over the datapad at once, your eyes growing wide at the possibility of him actually accepting. Asking for this favour had served the dual purpose of fulfilling your work needs and getting to talk to him, but you hadn’t actually expected him to agree.

He squints at the photograph on the screen, and swipes lazily through the mass amounts of text accompanying. “I ain’t reading all that shit. Give me the run-down on it.”

You had actually written ‘all that shit’, but no matter.

“It grows similar to a fungus, so you’ll likely find it attached to trees or other plants,” You rush to explain, excitement beginning to bubble up into your chest. “You won’t be able to take an actual sample of the tissue without damaging it, so forget about that. What I really would like is a sample of the fluid that collects inside the cup on top, see?”

His eyes follow you as you reach up on your toes to point out what you’re referring to in the photograph, and his ears flick back in acknowledgement.

“It poisonous?”

You hesitate a moment. “...No.”

Quaritch shoots you a look of obvious disbelief. “You wanna try that again?”

“It’s not poisonous.” You say, a little bit more convincingly this time. “But it does have a sort of defence system. Just… don’t touch the little tendrils.”

Quaritch’s face is set in stern disapproval, but he isn’t saying no.

“I’ll provide you with the instruments you need,” You continue, starting to bounce a little on your toes at the prospect of him agreeing. You really need these samples. “Oh, I’d be so grateful!”

There’s a muffled sound from somewhere over your shoulder, where the rest of the recoms are no doubt watching and listening with great interest, but you don’t turn. Quaritch’s gaze flickers only momentarily towards them, and they silence instantly. God, he’s so effortlessly commanding.

When he looks back to you, he just sighs through his nose and hands you back the datapad. “Fine. Send me the details.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. It takes a beat to register that he’s just agreed, and then a wide, beaming grin begins to grow across your face.

“Thank you-!” You start to squeal, but he cuts you off with a quick wave of his hand.

“Cut that out,” He grumbles, already beginning to scowl as he steps back. “Never let it be said by Ardmore that I was unco-operative with the goddamned science department, yeah?”

You’re not willing to press your luck any further than you already have. You just nod, a little frantic, before sending him one last smile and scurrying your way out of the room. The laughter from the rec room follows you all the way up the corridor, but you don’t care – you’re getting your samples and you just had your first conversation with Quaritch. He looked at you, he spoke to you. He knows you exist!

You’re smiling to yourself the entire way back to the lab, flushed with the pleasure of your success.

For the next couple of days, you’re waiting on tenterhooks for the recoms return.

You still work away on your projects and your research, but you’re hyper-attuned to everyone that comes and goes from the lab. It’s not as though you’re really expecting the recoms to come into the lab, but you’re listening desperately for any news of their return.

The day before they’re due to arrive back to base, Geiszler comes to irritate you at your desk.

“Go away.” You grumble before he can say a word.

“Oh, come on!” He laughs. “I come bearing gifts!”

That catches your attention, and you raise your head from your work to squint at him. He’s standing there with a stupid sort of grin on his face, the kind that makes you uneasy, and his hands are tucked behind his back.

“What?” You ask suspiciously.

With a flourish, Geiszler pulls his arms out from behind his back. When you see what’s in his hands, you nearly scream.

“Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with you-!” You hiss, whirling around to look frantically over your shoulders.

Mercifully, there’s no one around to witness the enormous blue dildo in his hands as he offers it up to you.

Geiszler is laughing, as though this is just the funniest shit he could have imagined. “Oh, the look on your face-!”

“Get that away from me!” You hiss, scandalised. “Oh my god, you do realise that I could report you for workplace sexual harassment-”

“But you won’t, because we made this specially for you-”

“We?” You hiss in disbelief. “Who the fuck is we?”

Geiszler waves that away as though it’s unimportant. “Me and some of the other guys in xeno. Look, it gets boring in the lab. We thought this was funny. It’s a Na’vi dildo, to scale. You’re welcome.”

“You are such an asshole.” You snap, mortified. “God, what is wrong with you!”

Geiszler just snorts, and places the big dildo on your desk, right in the middle of your papers. It’s almost comically large, made with bright blue silicone and featuring a prominent, squishy head. It’s even ribbed down the underside, with bumps that admittedly look rather attractive. Your face burns at the sight of it.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that 3D-printed-”

“Take it back!” You pick it up and try to push it at him, but he’s already backing away with his hands up in the air. The stupid prick is laughing at you.

“Nu-uh! It’s all yours!” He’s already backing away, all sniggers. “You can imagine the colonel-”

“Oh, you freak! That is so invasive-!” You nearly drop the dildo entirely, both horrified and mortified.

Oh my god, it was to scale. This was the size of what the colonel was packing? It feels as though the silicone is burning in your hand, and you feel horribly hot and prickly. Oh, this was such an invasion of the colonel’s privacy. Whether it was the standard size of a Na’vi cock or not, the idea of using it while imagining Quaritch over you has you flushed and embarrassed.

Geiszler is still laughing when he ducks out of the lab, leaving you alone and absolutely humiliated.

After that, you avoid the lab. You know that the scientists all think that your crush on Quaritch is just one big joke, and you really don’t want to see them all smirking and sniggering when they see you, and you really don’t want to have to field any sly comments about the stupid dildo.

You’ve been too mortified to even look at it too closely, so you take it and hide it away under a load of papers in a separate work area that’s usually used as storage. You’ve been hiding away in this separate little work room for days now; you can’t do any important experiments here, but it’s as good a place as any to work on your dissertation and at least you can be alone here.

You’re in this little work area, typing furiously, when the door slides open behind you with a hiss.

“Geiszler, if you’re here just to harass me again, I will fuck you up.” You bite out without turning, your shoulders turning tense as you glare at your monitor.

There’s a moment of silence, and you hope that he’s taken the hint to go away and leave you alone.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that tone, girl.”

You turn so quickly that you nearly overbalance right off your chair, eyes wide and horrified. The workroom that you’ve practically claimed for yourself is small, with low ceilings designed for human use – that means that Quaritch has had to duck down to fit through the door, and remains standing hunched and visibly irritated, with one hand lifted against the ceiling so he doesn’t hit his head.

“Oh-!” You scramble to get off your chair and fix your skirt, tugging it down straight as you hope and pray that your hair looks alright. “Sir, I- I didn’t realise that you were back!”

Quaritch just grunts. He does not look particularly happy, but he sets a large sample container on one of the empty desk spaces. Inside, it’s filled with a clear liquid that could easily be mistaken for water, but you know better.

“Oh!” You gasp, jolting forward to take a better look. “Oh, such a big sample! This is amazing, thank you!”

Quaritch says nothing, his big alien face impossible to read.

“It better be worth it.” Another voice cuts in, and you jolt in surprise at the realisation that there’s another big blue figure ducking in through the door after Quaritch.

You pause, uncertain in the face of this newcomer and already nervous from Quaritch’s overbearing presence. Oh, god. He’s brought company. Why has he brought company? Another blue head appears over the shoulder of the first soldier, and your eyes dart between them. You’ve spent enough time watching the Colonel to recognise them as Corporal Wainfleet and Private Fike, though you don’t have so much as a passing acquaintance with them.

“I thought you said they were harmless.” Fike grumbles, before raising his hands up to show you rather brutal looking purple bruises along the backs of his hands. “Fucking look at this.”

“Oh.” You breathe, wincing. “No, I said they weren’t poisonous. I did tell you to watch out for the tendrils. The defence system is really quite amazing-”

“Oh yeah, it felt fucking amazing when it was stinging the ever-loving shit out of me.” Fike interrupts, though he appears to have lost interest in speaking to you in favour of peering curiously around the work room.

You can imagine that the place looks fairly dismal; you hadn’t been expecting visitors, so your research is scattered everywhere. Coloured sketches and photographs of cross-sections of the panopyra plant are stuck up on the walls all over, not just around your own desk. You’ve taken advantage of the desks that are never in use, piling your notes and research high all over the place. Writing your dissertation is exhausting work, after all – there is just so much to learn from these plants, so much potential.

“Well, I think that it is worth it.” You say, stepping towards the counter that Quaritch had placed your sample on and reaching eagerly for the beaker. “It’s difficult to get samples like this – there are so few excursions into the jungle these days. But one this size might actually be enough to fuel my research for the next two months at least! I might actually be able to finish my dissertation at last-”

No one is listening to you, you’re quite certain, but you don’t let that deter you as you babble away, raising the beaker to your eye level so that you can examine it. The liquid inside is pure and uncontaminated – the perfect specimen.

“Whoa,” Wainfleet is peering at the sketches on the wall. “You’re really into these weird little plants, huh?”

“They’re the whole reason I’m here on Pandora.” You say matter-of-factly, placing the beaker back down on the desk. “Everything I’m doing here, all my research, is all centred around them.”

It’s the most you’ve ever said in the presence of the recoms, and you find yourself mentally patting yourself on the back. You really are intelligent and driven, though you’re sure that the recoms would never have guessed it based on how moronically you act around Colonel Quaritch. They seem quite surprised to discover that you have actual interests other than their beefy commanding officer.

Fike and Wainfleet both poke around the work room curiously, snickering with each other as they peer blindly into microscopes and push around enormous reference books like big kids.

“Hey, careful with that!” You say reproachfully, though they pay you no mind.

Quaritch himself is still standing silently, taking in the room with alert but judgemental eyes. He doesn’t seem all that impressed by your work, but then again it’s almost impossible to read him. He makes no effort to chide his underlings at all, and they continue messing about unchecked.

“Took us a while to find you.” Quaritch speaks suddenly, and your attention is drawn to him immediately, a swoop of excitement juddering through you at the fact that he’s speaking to you. “You’re not in the lab with the rest of the science pukes.”

Your silly excitement at being on the receiving end of his attention dims a little at that. Science pukes? Seriously? You’ve worked damn hard for this degree!

“That’s not nice.” You say, then mentally curse yourself. It’s not quite the scathing reproach you had intended – it comes out a little wobbly and uncertain. God, why do you have to come across as such a sad little wet blanket whenever you’re in front of him?

“Not nice?” Quaritch repeats, sounding partially amused and partially disbelieving. “And when have I ever been known for bein’ nice, sweetheart?”

Good lord, he’s terrifying. You don’t normally have a difficult time standing up for yourself, but something about being on the receiving end of that bright yellow stare makes your stomach twist. You don’t know if it's fear or arousal, and you also don't know which would be worse.

“I just mean-” You start, trying hard to keep your voice strong and confident. “That calling people names isn’t nice.”

Calling people names isn’t nice. Fucking hell, you sound like a goddamn five-year-old. What is even happening to you? You swear you’re not normally like this. Has your brain just rotted thanks to all the stupid ogling of his big biceps you’ve been doing? You’re mortified.

“Jesus Christ.” Wainfleet’s voice calls out from somewhere behind you. “What the fuck is this?”

For a moment, you’re desperately relieved that they’ve called attention away from you. Quaritch is looking at you with scathing disbelief for that calling people names comment, and you’re quite sure that whatever he was going to say in response to that would be so biting that you’d wish you were dead.

But then you turn to look at Wainfleet, and you actually do wish that you were dead.

Because in his hand, looking almost regular sized against his much larger body, is that stupid, evil giant blue Na’vi dildo that Geiszler had given you last week. You had stuffed it behind a whole load of old papers on an unused desk and forgotten about it – it was just your fucking luck that these gormless blue bastards would unearth it accidentally as they poked around.

Mortification erupts through your body, so overwhelming that it roots you to the spot. No way. No way. No way.

“Holy fuck!” Fike bursts out laughing, and holds his hands up. “Give that here!”

Nothing can describe the sheer humiliation that sears through you when Wainfleet tosses the dildo to Fike. You just stand there frozen, watching the two enormous Na’vi soldiers throw a huge silicone dick between them in the middle of your workspace.

“Damn, the little intern’s a freak!” Fike says in mock approval, his voice dripping in amusement.

He makes a show of holding the dildo up to the light and peering at it, faux-admiring the bumps and ridges along the shaft.

“No, that’s not-” You start, and your voice cracks. “That’s not mine-”

You go entirely ignored as the two soldiers roar boisterously.

“Damn, you think of the Colonel when you use this?” Wainfleet asks, cackling as Fike throws it back to him. “Is this why you follow him around everywhere? You want the real thing?”

The humiliation is so intense that it’s actually difficult to breathe around it, stifling and choking. You glance at Quaritch, hoping that by some miracle he’s gone temporarily blind and deaf and has missed this entire exchange so far. The idea of him knowing that you’ve been following him around is shocking, and you feel yourself shrinking.

Quaritch has just pressed his lips together. As you watch, he gives a deep sigh through his nose.

Your stomach quivers with mortification. Oh my god. He knew already – how long has he been aware of your crush?

“No,” You choke out, your skin burning hot. “No, I don’t- I don’t use that, it was given to me as a joke-”

Quaritch is still so difficult to read, but even still he looks as though he would rather be literally anywhere else right now. His gaze flickers briefly over your face, which is all contorted in mortification as you just barely bite back tears, and he rolls his eyes with a sigh.

“Alright, that’s enough-” Quaritch starts, but it’s too late.

Wainfleet has just reached out and smacked Fike around the head with the dildo, laughing as he did so, and Fike stumbles back with a playful roar as he tries to escape the silicone cock. He throws his arms out to catch his balance, but his big hands splay across one of the work tables and knock some of your reference books to the floor.

But it’s not just the books he knocks into. His hand smacks into that precious beaker full of panopyra liquid, and you let out a startled shout as the force of the blow of his hand breaks the glass container, the liquid inside showering all over the desk with all your papers.

Everyone goes silent, as though the sound of breaking glass signals some kind of change in the atmosphere.

You let out a sound that’s positively wounded, jerking forward to the destroyed sample. You needed this specimen so badly – it was supposed to inform the research that you needed to finish your dissertation. How long would you have to wait for another sample like this one? You’ve been working on this research for years, and you were so damn close to the end. So damn close to being qualified, to stepping up the ladder and being taken seriously by your peers rather than just being seen as an intern.

“Shit.” One of the recoms mutter; you don’t bother looking up to see if it’s Wainfleet or Fike. “Didn’t mean to-”

Your eyes trace over the mess of broken glass, but then you realise what the sample has broken on and you feel your stomach drop to your feet.

“No!” You shriek, launching yourself forward.

The recoms all jerk in surprise at your shout, but you pay them no mind. It’s like they’re invisible to you now. All you can see is the way that your papers, your precious research, is being soaked through and destroyed by the liquid that has spilled all over the desk.

“No, no, no, no.” You breathe to yourself, biting hard at the inside of your cheek to keep from crying as you struggle to pick up your research, shaking it out in an attempt to get the worst of the wetness off.

It’s too late. Your research, all your painstakingly-taken hand-written notes, tears like wet tissue-paper in your hands.

You raise your head to look at the three recoms in your workspace, still clutching your destroyed research to your chest. You must look crazed, breathing heavily with wide and wild eyes, because Wainfleet and Fike share a wincing look with each other.

Awkwardly, Wainfleet reaches out and places the large dildo on the counter next to the ruins of your work. Everyone in the room struggles not to look at it.

Quaritch’s jaw is clenched hard, his ears pinned back against the sides of his head. He appears to be holding himself back from shouting, though you’re not sure at who. Slowly, he turns his head to look at his two subordinates, who are now standing with their heads ducked as they try not to make eye contact.

With trembling hands, you drop your ruined research back down on the counter. Your mortification is swiftly being overtaken by pure rage.

How fucking dare they? It would be one thing for them to mock you about your crush (that apparently Quaritch was already fucking aware of) but it’s entirely another for them to humiliate you by parading around with that stupid fucking dildo that you’ve never even properly touched. And then to go and destroy your sample, the one that you’ve waited so long for and that you needed so desperately for your dissertation? And to destroy a chunk of your existing research too?

“Get out.” You whisper, your fingers shaking as you pluck at the ruins of your papers.

Quaritch sighs through his nose. “Look, we’ll get you another sample of the damn thing. There’s no need to-”

“Get out!” You raise your voice for real, whipping your head up to shout at them. “God, you assholes! Get out!”

Fike laughs nervously, glancing towards Quaritch. That only sets you off even more. They have the audacity to follow their commanding officer into your workspace and mess around, ruining things, and now they’re not going to listen to you after destroying your work? God, they look down on you so much it’s sickening. They’re not even listening to you after humiliating you so soundly, choosing instead to look towards Quaritch as if his opinion matters so much more than yours.

Your rage is only fuelled by your earlier embarrassment, your face flushed with heat as you glare at them. Oh, you’re furious. You can’t remember ever being so humiliated and livid in your life.

“I want you fucking out!” You roar, and when they don’t move you reach for a reference book on the table beside you and launch it at them. “You’ve fucking ruined it-”

Wainfleet ducks to avoid the book that soars over his head, but you’re already reaching for another one. He throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but you’re so blinded by rage that you barely even see it.

“Oi!” Quaritch lets out a shout and steps forward with his hands outstretched as if to physically stop you. “Enough! You’ll be written up for assault if you keep this up-”

You let out an inarticulate noise of fury as you throw a second book, this one bouncing harmlessly off Fike’s shoulder. “I’ll be written up for murder if you don’t get the fuck out of here-”

Wainfleet lets out a sound that sounds like a nervous giggle that’s been choked back. You can imagine that it’s a little bit of a shock for them to see you go from shy and mild-mannered to absolutely fucking insane, but your crush on Quaritch really had made you act like a total idiot around them. You feel so stupid about it now – you had become so enamoured with someone who totally ignored your existence, shrinking into yourself like a goddamn wallflower because you were so shy around him.

But Quaritch is looking at you, for possibly one of the first times ever. Not just looking at you, but seeing you.

When you grab at a microscope to throw, heavy and metal and definitely capable of doing some damage, Quaritch lets out a sharp hiss and steps forward with a single hand outstretched towards you as though to physically restrain you.

“Get out.” He says without looking at his soldiers.

Wainfleet and Fike share a look with each other before practically scrambling to leave. They can’t seem to leave fast enough, though you have no doubt that they’re snickering together as they go.

“You too.” You grit out, fists clenched around the microscope as though it’s a weapon. “I want you gone too.”

Despite your obvious anger, Quaritch makes no move to leave. His big honey-coloured eyes trace over the broken glass on your desk, your ruined research, your big teary eyes. You probably look like a mess; you’re practically sweating from all the embarrassment, your hair is in disarray, your eyes are all swollen from the angry tears that are threatening to spill over.

“You need to calm down, darlin’.” He says, his voice low and a little bit rumbly. Ordinarily that might make you melt, but as it is you just feel as though he’s being condescending. “It’s just some goddamn plant water. You’ll get more on the next run.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You snap without thinking, your chest still heaving with poorly stifled emotion. “It’s not just about the sample and you know it.”

Quaritch’s golden eyes cut towards the big dildo on the counter, and you feel your temper flare all over again.

“It’s not about that either!” You snap, embarrassed and defensive. “This research is my life! Without it, there’s no point to me even being here on Pandora. Your fucking knuckleheads have just destroyed months worth of work. Do you have any idea how much harder I have to work than the fucking men out there?”

You gesture towards the door to the main laboratory, where you’re sure they’ve walked past all the overwhelmingly male scientists working away. No doubt they can hear the shouting, but no one has been brave enough to come looking to see what’s wrong.

Quaritch’s expression doesn’t so much as twitch as he watches you rage, and he doesn’t interrupt.

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is just to claw my way up to equal standing with them? They laugh at me enough already, that’s why they gave me that stupid thing-” You wave at the dildo without looking at it. “Just because they knew that I liked you. They laugh at me for having a stupid crush on you, and I… I’m so sick of people looking at me like I’m just pathetic, because I work so hard! And now you’re here, and you’ve just ruined my work-”

Quaritch lets you rant until you run yourself dry. You’re breathing heavily, exhausted and furious and so fucking sick of the sight of him.

“Look, kid.” He says at last, when you pause for breath. “You’re sweet. Pretty. Smart, clearly. But I ain’t looking for anything like that. I need to focus on this mission-”

“Oh, what the fuck.” You breathe, staring at him in total disbelief. “Is that the only part you fucking heard? I have a crush on you, that’s it! All I wanted was for you to look my way, and it took a giant fucking dildo for you to actually acknowledge that you knew about how I felt? You’re such a dick-”

“Hey,” He barks, stepping forward. He’s so huge, his bulk alone throwing you into shadow as he looms over you. “Watch your mouth-”

“No!” You snap, although your voice is a little thin. He really is an intimidating bastard. “No, you don’t get to tell me what to do! God, I am so sick of men thinking they can tell me what to do-”

Quaritch’s chest erupts in a little rumbling snarl, and you have to fight not to flinch away from him. He’s like a beast, lip all curled up over his fangs as he growls at you for your attitude.

“So what, your solution is to hide away in this miserable little room?” He demands, stepping forward just so he can look down his nose at you. “Some of those dickless little science guys were mean to you, so you’re gonna lock yourself away like this?”

“It’s not-”

“What’s the point in dressing up all pretty in those little skirts with all that makeup if you’re hiding away in here, huh?” He continues, insistent as he keeps pushing forward until you start to back up. “Maybe that’s why they don’t take you seriously. You need to stand up for-”

“That’s for you!” You shout, temper flaring up all over again. “I do that for you, because I thought you might look at me!”

Quaritch pauses at that, blinking as though you’ve just taken him by surprise. It infuriates you; how could he be so stupid, especially when he has known about your crush all this time. It’s not like it was subtle.

Suddenly, you feel absolutely exhausted. It’s like every ounce of your energy has been leached out of you, and you turn your head and sigh. The amount of emotions that have washed through you in such a short space of time has left you feeling drained and drawn, and you just want to be left alone now.

“I don’t want to look at you anymore.” You say tiredly, turning away from him and burying your face in your hands. “Just get out. Go away.”

There’s a long pause, but mercifully Quaritch doesn’t try to argue any further. You’re still turned away and facing the wall, so you hardly hear his quiet footsteps as he turns on his heel and marches out of the room. The door whooshes closed behind him, leaving you alone and hunched in the middle of the room.

In hindsight, you may have overreacted with the recoms a little bit.

You had been careful to back up some of the most important points of your research to your hard drive, so you hadn’t truly lost as much information as you had initially feared. It’s more of an inconvenience than a tragedy, really. The loss of the sample does sting quite a bit, but you’ll get more. It just might take another couple of months – the wait is frustrating, but there’s nothing you can do about that.

All you can do is try to recoup some of the notes that you’ve lost, and struggle to write more based on the samples that you’ve already studied. It��s very difficult to come up with any new material when you don’t actually have anything to work with, but all you can do is your best, as usual.

Geiszler creeps into the small workroom a few days later.

For several days after the incident with the recoms, none of your colleagues have dared to say a word to you. You’re sure they had heard the shouting, the glass shattering, the sound of you throwing books. If they had somehow missed all that, then they surely would have noticed the recoms that had stalked from the workroom, all agitated and pent up from the argument. Yet none of them have even asked you if you were okay.

“Still avoiding us, huh?” Geiszler asks, his question accompanied with a nervous laugh.

“Fuck off.” You bite out without looking away from your computer screen.

“Ouch.” Geiszler mutters. “I suppose I might deserve that.”

You can hear him approaching, but you still refuse to turn around. You just keep stubbornly working away, acting as though you’re too busy to spare him any attention. Unfortunately, Geiszler doesn’t let your inattention sway him; he just settles in a stool nearby, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I, uh… heard about that little blow up you had with the Colonel.” He says, clearly a little awkward. “I wanted to apologise. Upon reflection, the, uh… the dildo thing might have been a little inappropriate.”

You fight the urge to sigh. God, what did you do to deserve being surrounded with morons like this?

“Yeah, no shit.” You mutter, finally looking up to glare at him. “Why are you here? All I want is to be left alone.”

Geiszler, to your gratification, looks positively shame-faced. He’s looking down at his hands as he twiddles his thumbs, sighing.

“Wanted to apologise, I guess.” He mutters, shrugging.

“Yeah, well, whatever.” You mutter, finally abandoning your attempts to appear busy as you turn to him. “Plenty more Na’vi on Pandora, right?”

A nervous giggle bubbles out of his chest, as though he’s not certain if he’s allowed to laugh or not.

“Yeah, yeah, right.” He says, starting to grin. “And, uh… are you.. Are you strictly Na’vi-sexual, or are you-”

You burst out laughing, turning to look at him in disbelief. “Na’vi-sexual? There’s no way you just fucking asked me that.”

There’s a bizarre sort of blush on his face, but he laughs along with you anyway. “Right, right. Well, you can’t blame me for wondering, right? With your crush, I mean.”

Your smile fades, and you look back down at your work scattered all over the desk.

“I don’t want to talk about that, actually.” You murmur, “I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself as is.”

Geiszler nods awkwardly, looking distinctly guilty.

“Yeah. You, um,” He breaks off, scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck. “You look nice.”

You just raise a sardonic eyebrow at him. You’ve gone without makeup today, and you know that going bare-faced makes you look younger, but who were you kidding with all that makeup, anyway? You’ve abandoned the sleek pencil skirts and pretty blouses, too. Under your lab coat you wear a simple sort of sundress, one that stops just below the knees. No heels, either, just sneakers.

“Yeah, well.” You shrug a shoulder lazily. “No one to impress.”

Geiszler’s smile twists as he nods again. “Sure, sure. Um… look, I was wondering-”

You never do get to know what it is that Geiszler is wondering. The sound of the door to the workroom hissing open cuts him off, and he falls silent as the two of you look to see who has just encroached into your space.

The sight of Quaritch’s big blue form ducking in and then straightening up has the two of you stiffening, staring at him in disbelief.

You’re absolutely rooted to the spot at the sight of him, but when he turns to look at you, you whirl around and immediately feign being busy. You grab blindly at papers and datapads, and peer unseeingly at your computer screen as you try to look preoccupied. What is he doing here?

Geiszler, meanwhile, doesn’t even try to pretend that he’s not gawking stupidly.

Quaritch glances his way, and his expression drops into a sneer. “What’re you looking at? Get outta here.”

Irritatingly, Geiszler scrambles to do just that. He sends one last glance towards you before practically fleeing from the room, nervously ducking around Quaritch’s imposingly large figure.

Your eyes bulge a little now that you’re left alone with him, and your eyes dart around frantically around the room in search of something to do. Why is he here? Why the fuck has he come back? It’s been days since your embarrassing breakdown in front of him, and you’ve been blissfully unaware of him since. You’ve basically just locked yourself up in this room, working on your research. You’ve even taken meals here – it’s a much more productive use of your time than wandering around the base after Quaritch in the hopes of catching a good glimpse of his ass in his camo.

Fighting to resist the urge to look his way, you tap urgently at the datapad in your hand.

“Do you need something, Colonel?” You ask icily, your attention focused down on your pad. “I’m very busy.”

There’s a momentary silence, but you’re not willing to look up to see his expression.

“Was that one of the cockless little deadbeats that’s been giving you a hard time?”

Giving you a hard time. God, it sounds as though you’re a bullied little kid. How embarrassing.

“He’s the one that gave me the dildo.” You say simply, tapping on the datapad screen. “But he’s not so bad, I guess. Just a bit of an idiot. That doesn’t answer my question.”

The next pause is much longer.

“Haven’t seen you around.” Quaritch drawls, his voice slow and even. “Couldn’t get away from you, before.”

Oh my god, this man is just determined to humiliate you.

Pursing your lips, you turn and march towards the specimen fridge in the corner of the room. It’s really just a mini fridge; a low, hip-high box that contains various biological specimens, and you kneel down and stick your head inside in an attempt to look busy.

“Not like there was any need to come see you.” You call out simply, your voice slightly muffled from inside the fridge. “You made yourself pretty clear, before.”

“Oh?” His voice is closer, though his steps are so light that you can’t hear him approach. “About what?”

“About me.” You snap, though you keep your head firmly buried in the fridge. It’s so much easier to talk to him when you can’t see his face. “Just go back to ignoring me, please.”

There’s another long pause, and you keep staring blankly at the bright white wall of the mini fridge. But then a touch comes to your hip, and you jolt in surprise.

Quaritch’s hand is big and hot, the heat of it searing through the fabric of your labcoat and your sundress. It engulfs your whole damn hip, curving around towards your lower stomach.

“What’s with the change in clothes, sweetheart?” His voice has dropped an octave, rumbling into you as you feel him shuffle closer. “I thought all those little skirts were for me.”

Your fingers clench around the door of the fridge. What the fuck is he doing? All that time you had spent dressed up, made up, simpering like a damn idiot at him, he had barely even given you a sideways glance. But now, after screaming and crying at him like a lunatic, he’s making a pass at you while you’re wearing a simple dress with no makeup. What the fuck?

“I’m not trying to impress you.” You say simply – you feel braver inside the fridge.

“No?” His thumb strokes over your thigh, and you feel the hem of your dress hitch higher. “Well, I like this little number. Better than the others, maybe.”

You swallow thickly, staring blankly at one of the little labeled test tubes beside your face. You don’t answer, but you don’t protest either. Quaritch seems to take your lack of response as encouragement, because his whole hand drifts from your hip to just under your dress. You jerk as you feel the skirt being flipped up over your ass – but you still don’t pull away.

“Hey, kid,” He murmurs, his voice soft and a little condescending. “I gotta question for you.”

His hands are moving slowly, as though waiting to see if you’re going to kick out or try to stop him any way. You know you probably should (where is your goddamn self-respect), but for some reason you allow the touch to travel all the way up your thighs.

Your belly tightens, heat flooding between your legs. Oh god, why aren’t you stopping this? You’re already embarrassed enough about the show of yourself you’ve made in front of him – this is surely going to make it worse by making you seem like a total slut. But then again, you’ve been desperate for him since you first locked eyes on him. Maybe you are a slut.

“What?” You breathe, your voice trembling a little as his big fingers leave red-hot trails over the bare skin on the back of your legs. A large palm strokes over the inside of your thigh, the soft calluses tickling your sensitive skin.

“That dildo. You ever use it?”

The question startles you enough that you jolt, the top of your head smacking into the top of the fridge.

“What?”

He chuckles, and then you feel those big fingers curl around your cotton panties. “You coming outta there?”

“No,” You blurt, grabbing at the sides of the mini fridge. “No, I’m very busy.”

There’s a sharp tug to your underwear, and you gasp as you feel him pull the back of your panties up so that they’re wedged right up between your ass cheeks, the fabric stretched taut and tight over your cunt. You’re admittedly wetter than you’d like to be, and you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of him noticing.

And yet, you still don’t pull away. If anything, you’re holding your breath, waiting to see what the fuck he’s going to do next.

When you feel warm breath on your exposed ass cheek, you nearly choke. Oh my god, how closely is he looking at you right now? Is his face pressed right up between your legs? It sure fucking feels like it.

“Answer the question.”

You swallow thickly. “I, um.. I don’t-”

His hand twists, and you gasp as your panties are pulled up further. The message is clear – tell the truth.

“Once,” You choke out, mortified. “Just once! I just- I threw it out after, I didn’t-”

You don’t even have time to fully process the fact that you’ve just admitted that. It had been a moment of total weakness, your decision to smuggle that stupid dildo back to your room. Or maybe it had been morbid curiosity – you just wanted to know if you would be able to take it. You had binned it straight after, mortified by your own weakness.

There’s a sharp pain on the soft pudge of your ass, as though he’s just nipped at you there. Your thighs twitch together, horrified by the little electric zap of arousal that jolts between your legs.

“Could you take it?” He wonders, and you can hear a grin in his voice.

Holy shit, is this happening? Are you dead? Hallucinating? Have you just lost your goddamn mind?

Emboldened by the fact that he can’t see your face where you’ve stuffed your head and shoulders into the fridge, you mumble, “Pervert.”

Two hands grip at your hips, and you let out a wheezing, startled gasp when you feel a wide, rough tongue lick a stripe across your pussy through your panties. His spit soaks through the delicate fabric, making it cling to your already sticky cunt.

“Whatcha say?” He mumbles, his muffled words vibrating against your clit. He sounds smug, the bastard.

Your thighs clench around his face, but he just reaches up and pushes them back open again with no effort.

“What are you doing?” You gasp out, dropping your forehead down onto the tray of the fridge and making the sample test tubes clink together dangerously.

He huffs a short laugh and pulls his head back to nip right at the juncture of your ass and thigh, making you jolt away from his mouth. “What, you don’t like it? Want me to stop?”

“No!” You blurt, reaching back to try and grab at his head to keep him in place.

He knocks your hand aside, but you can feel him laughing. “Get your head out of that goddamn fridge then, before I drag you out.”

You feel like staying inside the mini-fridge just on principle, but you can’t bear the thought of him pulling his mouth away from you. Not when he’s finally started to touch you, after so long of you yearning for it.

Slowly, you pull your head out. No sooner have you started to move then Quaritch uses his grip on your hips to pull you out. You let out a startled sound as his big hands grab at you and flip you, throwing you on your back in front of him. The display of casual strength is unexpected and very, very attractive, and your legs spread eagerly before he even moves to open them himself.

When you actually get a look at him, it nearly bowls you right over. His pupils are so blown that they’re swallowing his irises, leaving just a thin ring of gold around the edge. His ears are held high and alert, and his mouth is quirked in that infuriatingly cocky little grin right now.

Fuck, he’s just as horny as you are. The realisation is shocking.

“Fuck, all this for me, baby?” He asks, hooking his fingers into your panties and tugging them right off with no effort.

You don’t put up a single ounce of fight, arching your back with an excited gasp as you’re left exposed in front of him with your dress all hiked up around your waist.

He lets out a soft groan as he reaches a finger out and drags it through the folds of your cunt, clearly marvelling at the wetness that has collected there. That same finger slips inside of you and you moan, wanting more, wanting to roll up into it, wanting the ache inside of you filled to the brim.

“Look at you, kid, all sexed up like this.” He says, pulling that finger out and admiring the glistening slick on his hand.

“You’re just a-” You gasp, heaving for breath as you struggle to regain yourself. “A dirty old man!”

That makes him laugh, a low groan of a sound that makes your eye twitch. Holy fuck, does he like being called names?

“Oh yeah?” He rumbles, sounding delighted. He doesn’t wait for you to answer before he’s licking at you again.

He flattens his tongue and guides it up, sliding across your slit before enveloping your clit in his mouth and sucking. You’re arching into his mouth, breathlessly stuttering his name as your hips twitch. His hands on your hips are so big and so strong, holding you so firmly in place as his mouth devours you.

The flat of his tongue is rough and textured like a cat’s, and you let out a low gasping sound as it catches against your clit. Two of his fingers push into you as his tongue works over your clit, as thick and meaty as a well-hung cock. He must feel the flutter of your cunt around his fingers, because he growls low, his powerful form all but vibrating with tension.

Oh god, he’s so big. You had known that, of course, but it’s so different having him all up in your space like this, your legs thrown over the bulge of his biceps as his big head worms its way between your legs, licking insistently at you. The bulk of him is enormous, simmering sexuality about to boil over - it’s insanely arousing to you, the sheer energy of him sending your head spinning.

The onslaught of sensation from the wet heat of his mouth has your head dropping back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling as your eyes go wide. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and as much as you don’t want to give Quaritch the satisfaction of knowing that he affects you like this, you can't help the way your back bows as he licks and sucks at you.

He grins against you when he feels you shiver against his mouth. When your thighs clench closed around his head he groans softly against you. Embarrassed, your legs spring back apart, but Quaritch reaches up and grabs at your thighs to prevent them from spreading too wide.

“Squeeze if you want to.” He grunts, before devoting all his attention to licking and sucking at you once more. He tugs encouragingly at your thighs, and when you wrap them tentatively around his head he gives an appreciative little hum.

You shiver, chest heaving. When he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, his textured tongue rasping over the bead of nerves, a strong white current washes over you and you arch into his mouth as you come.

You can’t speak, can’t think. The feeling is too overwhelming, too all-consuming before the come down eventually starts and words are coming out, your body shaking.

“Oh fuck, god – oh my god,” you sob, slapping your hand over your mouth, biting down at your palm. “Quaritch– please, shit.”

You jerk your hips up, partially in an attempt to escape from the relentless stroking of his rough tongue over your oversensitive clit, but Quaritch moves with them. He’s basically on his knees following your cunt like a dog as you try to twitch away, using his huge hands on your ass to keep you pulled tight against his mouth.

He goes on licking at your clit and the swollen puffiness of your cunt, and when the rough texture catching against your most sensitive spot gets too much for you, you have to push at his head. He pulls back just slightly, but then continues to lick at the insides of your thighs, as if to lap up every last glimmer of your slickness.

Your head rolls on your neck, all boneless and loose as you wheeze for breath. Jesus Christ, you’ve just come so hard you can’t feel your toes. Colonel Quaritch has just eaten your pussy so goddamn good that you nearly blacked out. What the fuck?

Your cunt is still pulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm when you feel Quaritch’s big fingers pressing inside of you, testing the stretch and slickness.

“You never answered me,” He murmurs, his tone almost conversational despite the huskiness of his voice. “And I hate repeating myself. So tell me; could you take that dildo?”

“Yes,” You sob, twisting your body around as his thumb rolls over your too-sensitive clit. “Yes, I could take it.”

“Yeah?” He says and it comes out on a purr, the vibrations rumbling in between your legs. “Think you could take me?”

You hardly have any idea how you’ve gotten into this position, but you’ve been imagining this for months now. You’re not stupid enough to throw away this chance.

“Why don’t you come and see?” You breathe, leaning back and arching your back boldly. You can hardly believe your own bravery, but maybe your own horniness is just making you stupid.

But Quaritch laughs, as though he finds you stupidly amusing, and his hands drop to his belt. You watch with wide, eager eyes as he flicks open his cargos and pushes them down and oh! There it is.

You push yourself up to get a better look, mouth falling open a little bit as you get a look at his cock. It’s big and blue and ridged, just like the dildo, but you hardly think it’s fair to compare the two. Quaritch’s cock is real, and looks velvety soft to the touch with a prominent, purplish head. Opalescent precum is beading at the tip, tinged slightly blue and glowing a little bit, what the fuck? He’s so hard that it looks a little painful as it strains against his stomach, though he’s still grinning so slyly that you would never guess.

You want to touch, but you don’t get the chance. His big paws for hands close around your hips and flip you again so that you’re on your hands and knees once more – he seems to like you in this position, because his hands grope insistently at the soft flesh of your ass as he grinds his hips into yours, the thick hardness of his cock rutting against the inside of your thighs.

He’s rough with you by human standards, but never enough to hurt. Just enough to send a little thrill up your spine when he pulls your hips into his, the thick ridge of his cockhead beginning to prod at the entrance of your cunt. It’s hot and large, but your mind feels like liquid, too drunk on all the pleasure he’s given you so far to deny more.

You choke weakly, but you don’t try to wriggle away. You can do this, you can take him. He’s prepared you well, you’re relaxed and so wet, and you had managed to take that dildo inside you, if only for a brief time. You try to stop tensing and relax yourself as you take shaky breaths.

Quaritch pushes his cock in a little further, almost unbearably slow. You feel yourself being stretched open, small stings of pain shooting through you as you drop your forehead to the ground and grunt. One of his big thumbs strokes over the small of your back, the motion soothing and unexpectedly sweet as he slips another inch inside.

“Oh, fuck.” You squeak, eyes wide.

You can feel little bumps and ridges squeezing their way inside as he penetrates you, your lungs seizing up. Quiet cries and gasps fall out of your mouth as you adjust to the feeling of his cock filling you up. No human had ever given you this overwhelming sensation before, the feeling of being impossibly stretched open beyond belief. Not even that stupid goddamn dildo had come close to this.

Every time you think the length of his textured cock has finally ended, he’ll push a little more of himself in. You keep your eyes tightly closed as you continue panting heavily. He’s going incredibly slow too, careful and deliberate in his movements. You had stupidly thought that you would adjust quickly, but it feels as though you’re just barely hanging in there.

Then, finally, Quaritch pauses. It’s a mercy, because your breaths are coming in wheezing pants now as you clench up around his cock, tightening up around the intrusion in flutters. You must be tight to the point of causing pain, but he just lets out a rumbly sort of groan against your back. His hands tense around your middle, impossibly long fingers holding you in place.

Right as you begin to accept the size of him, he uses that grip on your waist to pull you away from his cock and then back down onto him again. It knocks the wind right out of you. You gulp wildly for air, soundlessly. You can’t even cry out, you’re so stunned.

“Fuck,” Quaritch moans. “Like wet velvet, honey. Well done.”

Before you can process or even think, Quaritch pulls out and then pushes back into you, again and again. Every bump drags against your walls and snags on every sensitive part of you. It feels like you had never been fucked before this, the sweet, dull pain and overwhelming sensations of Quaritch looming over your body ruining you.

He huffs and growls as he begins to thrust up into you, no longer slow and careful. Each time he pistons his hips, it’s powerful and keeps you from taking deep breaths. The way his body presses into yours, the way every part of you touches his burning skin, is intoxicating.

His need, his hunger borders on bestial. His wet breath condenses against your skin as he ruts into you fervently, destroying your thoughts. You’re totally at his mercy, whimpering pathetically and whining.

It’s all too much, his size, his pace, his sharp teeth nipping the back of your neck and shoulders. He’s like a wild animal, his hard cock burying itself inside you over and over again. It’s the first time that you really begin to appreciate that Quaritch isn’t human anymore – it extends far beyond his looks and into his behaviour and instincts as well. There’s no reprieve; you can only accept his intense pace.

Unbelievably, your abdomen is tensing again, reeling up tighter and tighter. You’re on the brink of coming again, but it feels like it’s impossible. You’ve never been so pleased by a partner before, hardly ever able to come at the hands of someone else, and you’ve never come so quickly twice in succession before. You feel like you’ll die if you come again, it was too much. Everything was too much.

“Come on, mama, let me see that back arch.” Quaritch mutters to you, his voice thick and growling as his big hand settles across your shoulderblades and pushes you down.

All you can do is obey, shivering as his big hand keeps your upper body pinned to the floor, his other hand using its grip on your waist to pull your ass up higher so that he can pound into you at a better angle.

“I’m going to-” You gasp, your thighs trembling as you sob against the floor. “Oh, god, oh fuck, oh shit, I’m going to-”

“Gonna cream on me?” Quaritch grunts, his pace taking the air out of you. “Go ahead, kid. Go on. This is what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?”

His hips slam into your ass with every thrust, every drag of his cock working those ridges against the sensitive nerves inside of you. You can feel him twitch inside of you, a sure sign that he’s approaching his own release. The thought makes you moan as the strength behind his hips sends you skidding forward on every thrust before getting yanked back by his hands.

Your lashes are all clumped together from tears, your mouth hanging open stupidly – not only are his thrusts knocking the air from you, it feels as though they’re knocking the thoughts from you too. It feels as though he’s giving fucked stupid an entirely new meaning. Your entire world has narrowed down to the sensation of his cock rutting between your legs, his balls grinding against your clit. Your release is winding up in your belly, and you feel your eyes roll and toes curl as it approaches.

“You been watching me, wanting this. If I’d known what a little spitfire you were, maybe I would have given it to you sooner-”

He rocks into you, his pace now rough and deliberate as he claims you in short, fast strokes. Your little workroom is filled with the unmistakable sound of slapping flesh, his hips snapping against your ass with every feral grunt. He has you pinned so firmly beneath him, every thrust feeling as though it’s punching right up into your chest. It aches, and that ache spreads throughout your pelvis, your belly. It’s warm and sweet as syrup. It feels like he's going to break you in half. You think you might want him to break you in half.

“Look at you go.” Quaritch mumbles, seemingly to himself, and then you feel the broad expanse of his hand slap against the soft flesh of your ass. It seems like he just wants to watch it jiggle as he ruts you like an animal.

He leans forward, his sharp teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he murmurs to you.“This is what that limp-dicked bitch from earlier wanted with you, you know. Bet he imagined you just like this, all stretched out and wanting on that dildo he gave you. Little pervert. He wouldn’t know what to do with you. Think he’s outside listening? I bet all those cockless motherfuckers are listening right now, trying to imagine what you look like. Let them hear you, honey. Go on.”

It’s too much for you. Your elbows give out, your face smushing against the floor as Quaritch uses his grip on your hips to pull your ass back against him, his huge torso plastering itself against your back. His cock is spearing into you so deep that you feel as though you’re going to feel him inside you like this forever, feel the ghost of his cock plowing into you long after he’s gone. You feel every ridge, every vein, every throb.

“Oh god, oh fuck, shit, please!” You wheeze, shuddering as he fucks you into the floor. “I need to come, I need to come-”

You’re cut off from your babbling when one of Quaritch’s big, thick thumbs hooks into your mouth and presses down on your tongue. You moan, closing your eyes and sucking desperately at his stupid blue finger.

“Fuck, you’re hungry for it, ain’tcha.” Quaritch snickers, but he sounds breathless and a little disbelieving. “And here I was thinkin’ you were such a shy little thing.”

Just as suddenly as his finger had pushed its way into your mouth it’s removed, and you almost whine at the loss of it. But then, to your shock, you feel the spit-slick pad of his thumb stroking over the exposed rim of your asshole. He presses inside, the blunt thickness of his fat thumb wiggling inside as your whole body clenches around the intrusion hard.

With an overwhelmed scream, your entire body pulses like a heartbeat and your vision goes white. Your orgasm rocks through you like fire, as relentless and merciless as Quaritch’s rocking hips as he continues to fuck you through the quivers of your release.

“There you go,” He coos at you like you’re a goddamn animal. “Oh fuck, you needed this, didn’t you?”

Choked moans and hitched breaths bubble out of your mouth uncontrollably. It’s like he’s just been waiting for you to come, because now he loses that edge of controlled restraint that he’d managed to maintain. His thrusting is sloppy, uneven – he’s unmistakably nearing his own finish.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, darlin’.” He snarls. “Look at you gushin’ all over my cock.”

You yelp as he buries himself deep inside of you one last time, a rumbling snarl tearing its way out of his throat. You can feel the ridge of his pubic bone against your ass, his muscular thighs bracketing your own. He is rooted to the hilt, burrowing as far as possible, and you choke at the sensation of impossible fullness.

Quaritch hisses like an animal when he comes, and you squeal at the feeling of his hot come splashing inside of you then overflowing. It’s so hot that it feels as though it’s burning, but Quaritch just keeps going, the squelching shamefully loud in the quiet of the room.

Soon you’re forced to reach back and slap at his hip, gasping for breath and whimpering under the onslaught of his spent cock rubbing so insistently at your hypersensitive sex.

“Enough, fuck! Enough!” You wheeze, your forehead dropping down against the floor in surrender.

There’s a pause, and then Quaritch stops moving, his slowly softening cock buried deep inside and staying there. The heavy weight of him feels good, and you go lax on the floor as his big hands hold you up so lazily. Your chest is still heaving as you try to regulate your breathing, and Quaritch makes a couple of condescending cooing sounds to keep you quiet as he rolls you over beneath him.

“Ow, fuck.” You breathe when he pulls out of you, leaving you awfully empty and clenching around nothing as you feel the wet dribble of his come spill out of you.

He pauses, glances down at your cunt. You can imagine you look nothing short of ruined right now, but Quaritch seems to be immensely satisfied at whatever he sees. He chortles a soft laugh, and reaches down to stroke his fingers through the sticky mess he’s left between your legs.

Your head lolls on your shoulders as you swat at him, grumbling at the electric shiver that the oversensitivity sends through you. He just snickers at your weak attempt to smack his hands away, unphased, and closes his hands around your waist before bodily picking you up to hold you against his chest.

You groan, unhappy to be moved. “Jesus Christ, gimme a minute.”

He ignores you, snorting another quiet laugh before standing with you, unbothered by the way you hang limp in his arms as he carries you towards one of the desks. His breathing is slightly laboured, and he practically drops you on the surface of the desk as he reaches for the respirator that he seemed to have abandoned when he first came in. His determination to fuck you through atmosphere that he struggles to breathe in is admirable; the Na’vi may be able to breathe oxygenated air for up to an hour, but it can be a challenge and that’s without strenuous physical activity.

Still, you can’t help but snicker yourself.

“What's wrong, old man?” You crow at him, grinning as you lay splayed out and exhausted on the desk below him. “Out of breath?”

Quaritch takes deep breaths from the respirator, clearly trying to regulate his body again after so long without proper air, but he still manages to choke a faintly disbelieving laugh.

“You used to be so sweet.” He mutters, slapping lightly at your thigh. It’s not a harsh smack, just enough to have you jolting a little under him. “What the hell happened, huh?”

“You didn’t look twice at me when I was sweet.” You grumble, reaching down to push the skirt of your dress back down self-consciously. “So don’t go acting like you’re disappointed.”

Quaritch snorts. Respirator abandoned, he leans down and nips at your shoulder, grinning against your bared skin as you jerk and cry out ow, fuck.

“Mm, I like a bit of fire.” He mutters, allowing the respirator to hang down around his neck as he licks over the little bite mark he’s left. “But you’re wrong about me looking. I can’t say I didn’t like those little skirts.”

“Oh.” You breathe, starting to smile. “Okay.” A little flustered now, you start to push yourself up into a sitting position, embarrassed about your spread legs. “Um… where’s my underwear?”

Quaritch grunts as though he doesn’t care for the question in the least. “D’you need them?”

“Yes!”

That big, stupid smug grin again. You’d dearly love to smack it off his face, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still send butterflies fluttering in your stomach. He doesn’t make any effort to seek out your lost panties, but you can’t be too irritated with him when he keeps nipping so insistently at the base of your neck, leaving hot twinges of pain-pleasure in the wake of his mouth.

“Asshole.” You say, though without any heat. Your eyes slide closed, enjoying his rough tongue against your collarbones. “Hey. You never told me why you came looking for me, anyway. Was it just to laugh at me?”

Finally, Quaritch raises his head. This close, you allow your eyes to trace over his face; his features are so alien, big and bold and more expressive than he intends. His ears twitch, and you fight back a smile at the sight. Sweet.

“Brought you more of that damned plant water.” He grunts. “It’s on your desk.”

Your eyes widen, and you immediately try to sit up, pushing roughly at his chest. “What?”

Quaritch allows you to push him away, though it’s not without an irritated sort of groan. Still though, he doesn’t look annoyed as he steps back to allow you to scramble off the counter he’s had you propped up on. If anything, his swishing tail reveals his sense of satisfaction.

Your knees nearly buckle when you hop down on the floor, but Quaritch’s enormous hand wraps around your elbow and keeps you upright. You don’t pause to try and regain your balance – you’re too busy trying to stagger over to your own messy workspace, your eyes wide and fixated on the sight of a sample beaker perched atop your desk.

“No way. No fucking way-!” You crow, your face splitting into an irrepressible grin. “Holy fuck!”

If possible, this sample is even bigger than the one that Wainfleet and Fike had smashed all over your notes. You take it in with disbelief, your hands reaching for it eagerly.

“A sample this size will let me do all the tests I need for my dissertation and more,” You breathe, awed. “I can- oh, wow. I’m going to finish my whole thesis. I’m going to get my motherfucking PhD.”

Quaritch’s mouth quirks, clearly amused by your foul mouth. He leans back against one of the spare desks just so he can watch you fuss over the sample he’s brought.

“Do I get something in return?” He asks, and you can feel his big golden eyes dropping down over the length of your legs. His gaze feels even more heated now, as though knowing exactly what’s under your dress has lit some sort of fire in him.

You snort, stepping over to the sample fridge with the beaker clasped very carefully in your hands.

“You certainly do not.” You say archly, hoping to maintain an aura of aloofness as you tug the fridge door open and place your precious sample carefully inside. “As far as I’m concerned, this sample can be considered reparations. If you bring me a sample of panopyra sensory tissue, however… then we can talk about rewards.”

You half wonder if maybe that was too bold, but Quaritch’s next chuckle holds an edge of heated delight. It seems like he wasn’t lying about liking a little fire. You’re so distracted by the careful tucking away of your sample that you jolt when you feel huge blue hands coming to land at your waist, tightening over your hipbones.

When he leans in to murmur in your ear, you shudder helplessly at the rumble of his chest.

“Sounds good to me, sweetheart,” He mumbles, a hand reaching to stroke boldly over the curve of your ass. “And maybe next time we can get going without you wearing this damn fridge as a hat.”

#no one look at me i'm so serious #miles quaritch #na'vi quaritch #quaritch x reader #recom quaritch #recom quaritch x reader #quaritch x human reader #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #awow #avatar 2 #na'vi x human #terato

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pupcuck · 3 months

Text

NYMPHOMANIA !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. daddy-daughter incest, femcel reader :3, reader wants to get raped so she talks about that, dub-con for like a paragraph, suicidal thoughts, awful thoughts in general, tiny bit of somno, threats, spanking, slapping

note. HAII :3 back on my femcel shit… god i rewrote this like 15 times and restarted over and over so i hate this 😭 it’s clunky so ignore any mistakes!!! feedback n rbs always so appreciated <3 was thinking of og4 leon but.. honestly idk atp !! anyway sorry again for the slow decrease in quality in this .. title has nothing to do w the fic ack ok bye :3

tumblr removes fics that use, for example, tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

There are two things you want to get off your chest.

You are not, under any circumstances, ugly. Your face just takes getting used to. (This is a cope.)

You have a crush on your dad. No excuse for this one. Cupid is a conniving bastard. That’s that.

These might not seem like related issues, but they most certainly are because being ugly is hard, and having a crush on your dad is equally as hard.

You’re a sweet girl, you didn’t choose to come out ugly, it’s not your fault you turned out this way. It’s unfair, but ultimately no one meant for it to happen

(Well, you hope no one meant for it to happen unless someone had a vendetta against your mother and cursed her firstborn. She’s an irritating lady, you can see why someone would do so.)

You won’t even be the kind of below-average woman who marries a mediocre man to have mediocre sex to make mediocre kids to live in caustic mediocrity. You have one friend, she’s an online friend, and she might be a lonely old man. To be entirely honest you would prefer that. ‘Cause that would mean someone out there wants to creep on you.

If you weren’t ugly, having a crush on your dad would be socially acceptable. That’s why daddy-daughter porn spans pages and pages and pages of Pornhub. Everyone loves to watch a busty, blonde slut on her dad’s dick. If you didn’t have a crush on your dad, being ugly would be perfectly fine— No, that’s wrong.

Being ugly is never fine. Being ugly is on the same level as being a rapist. Being ugly in the presence of people who are objectively not ugly is, like, worse than being a rapist. ‘Cause all the dudes in high school were rapists in the making. Ted Bundy-style shit.

Grope an ugly bitch in the bathrooms and she wouldn’t speak up, and if she did— She just wouldn’t actually. Would be burnt at the stake Salem style. Hung. Crucifixion perhaps. Ugly girls aren’t good enough to die like martyrs did, however. Especially not ugly girls who cry wolf.

Why on God’s green earth would a hot guy go out of his way to slap a freaky-looking girl’s ass, right? Got girls lined up down the halls waiting for him to sign their perky tits, he doesn’t need to rape. It must be wishful thinking on her part, right? A wet dream she took as reality.

Why would you say that? Do you want to throw what he’s worked for down the drain? Accusations like this, they’re not jokes, y’know that? He’s got a scholarship, college wouldn’t take something like this so lightly.

Aw, you miss her. This goth chick in senior year. Your sorta friend. When it all went down and she had nowhere else to go, you invited her over because you’re a nice girl with no nefarious intentions. None at all. When she lay beside you at night, and she opened up, and she thanked you for believing her, you totally did not have your hand in your panties. And you totally did not rub yourself raw while she spoke about it in excruciating detail. You did not treat her rape case as erotica.

The dude got away with it of course. He was on TV the other day in fact. NFL. Baltimore Ravens. Still stupid hot. God, you wish it was you he picked - wouldn’t have told a single soul. Would’ve sucked the sweat from his jockstrap without complaint.

You’re too repulsive to be touched or raped, and you’ve learnt to live with that. Passing out in alleyways would result in rapists who frequent the area to avoid those very alleyways. Only your hand knows the cushiony softness of your tits, the wetness between your legs, how great your mouth feels— Only your dildo knows that, but you can imagine it’s good. You’re a total catch. A nympho. Men love nymphos when they’re pretty, which you are not. So you’re a nympho without the sex appeal. So in other words you are a pervert. A degenerate. A fucking freak.

It’s time to start sticking your fingers down your throat. ‘Cause that’s what gorgeous girls do to achieve that grave-robbed look. Heroin chic. Modelesque. It’s all the same type of beautiful. Emaciated and sickly. Dead girls are the sexiest ‘cause they can’t say yes or no and if there’s no no then it’s a yes. A nymphetic loophole of sorts. Men love dead girls that double as nymphos. Unfortunately, you are well and alive. Walking into traffic seems like fun, but you would be classed as roadkill, and it wouldn’t be tragically beautiful, just embarrassing to get scraped off the concrete like that. Even in death, you would be ugly because you are ugly to your very core. Your bone marrow is so ugly no scientist would want to make stem cells out of it, polynucleotides so deformed— You’re ugly. No need to wax poetic about it. Nothing poetic about being ugly.

Dad is the closest a human being can get to perfection. A divine image. Michelangelo is, like, dead and gone. David should've died alongside him. Dad deserves to take his place in the Accademia Gallery. With the way people gawk at him, he might as well be art. You’re surprised he doesn’t sell tickets to merely exist in his presence. He’s hot like a Calvin Klein model, and mom is hot like a regular model. Due to how you’ve turned out, you have a few qualms with your mother.

Like, what the fuck happened to you in her womb? Did someone take a mallet to one side of her belly to ensure her child came out as asymmetrical as one can be? A lack of nutrients maybe? Was she dieting during the pregnancy? Did dad fuck her too hard? Busted her womb up or some shit.

It simply might be that two rights make a wrong.

Or you were a tester before she popped your siblings out. Little ichor-filled putto. They were child models, scouted in their diapers, and you would stand behind your mother and the cameraman so hurt you couldn’t even feel jealous. Now they’re all grown up, fully-fledged erotes, and they’re working and doing all this shit you still haven’t managed to get a grasp on. Navigating the world as an ugly bitch is terribly hard.

Rape kinks are developed, dads get crushed on - awful, terrible things happen when girls are ugly and alone and unable to leave the comfort of their bedrooms.

Pretty girls have daddy issues that are dealt with in standard pretty girl fashion - finding emotionally unavailable, salt-and-pepper-haired men to fill every hole, including the one in their doll hearts. The thing is pretty girls don’t go for their dads. ‘Cause a lot of the time dads are gross. Dads do not look like your dad does. And to be fair you don’t exactly have daddy issues. Your dad is present and he doesn’t hit or shout or do anything out of the norm. Maybe this is a you issue.

It is a you issue, not even an ugly girl issue or an any type of girl issue. It’s your issue and yours alone.

It is your issue that when Leon asks what you want for dinner you almost ask for his hand around your throat or his hand in marriage. Either would be fine. Both would be preferred.

Severing your relationship would be even better. Goddamn, girls with absent fathers are lucky. You wish he was anything but your dad— It’s just that if you weren’t his daughter, dad wouldn’t ever look your way, he would pass by you like every man does.

Dad is a busy guy, and he’s a strange guy in the sense that he’s never really bothered with you. He loves your sister, and he loves your brother. But everyone loves those two. You don’t think he likes you very much, you can deal with that. Doesn’t mean you have daddy issues ‘cause no one likes you very much. So it’s a you issue and you should try harder.

Leon’s home early today. He’s collapsed on the couch, withered into himself like he always is after business trips. Mom said not to disturb him. You don’t. Then you do. This is like crack to you. Dad.

More specifically, dad without mom hovering over him. Dad’s sleeping so your brain is not stewed by his intense gaze. It only ever lingers on you for merely a second, but your stomach flips like you’ve got appendicitis and your legs spread involuntarily.

He’s a light sleeper, you’re well aware. He’s also a living, breathing Ken doll so you don’t put much thought into it when you reach out to ghost your fingers along the bridge of his nose. So pointy it could pierce your clit. Your clit. His nose. Oh, it could work so well, you want to grind yourself to mush against it.

Until dad shifts, he’s so beautiful up close you almost forget he’s real, not a wax figure. You trace the straight edge of his jaw, then thumb his petal lips, dragging your pointer finger over the fuller bottom one to push the tip into his wet mouth. Your dad is a slut. ‘Cause he sucks for a good second or two. Heat licks at your insides. You might vomit. His spit glistens like cobwebs when you take it back. That hand is shoved down your pants. That finger finds your clit, uses what spit is left to get it nice and wet. Which is totally unneeded, you’ve been soaked since god knows when, your pussy doesn’t know when to quit.

Feels good knowing that a part of dad is in you, his spit pushed into your hole. You’ll give him something back, it’s only fair, you smear your slick on the spot you traced. His tongue pokes out, likely to combat dry mouth, it swipes along his bottom lip— He tastes you. Heat engulfs you, chars your body from the inside out, the scent of rotting meat is in your nostrils.

Dad tasted you.

Holy fuck. You sit there with a trembling smile, staring down at him and he does not rouse. Shit, you’re creepy and you know it, but you’re not stupid. What other chance do you have? You unzip his old shearling jacket, underneath is that compression shirt that fits him too well. You map out the ridges of his abs, the slight dip between his pecs, every hard line that makes up his body. He smells so sexy, lavender and leather, must be some sorta pheromone ‘cause all you want to do is drop your face into his tits to bathe in that scent, to have it stick to your skin. Shit. Holy fucking shit. You’ve got a sex doll instead of a dad. That explains the distantness. He’s made of silicone.

The door clicks the moment you find it in yourself to click open his belt.

“What're you doing?” Mom ruins everything. She’s had it out for you the moment you formed in her womb. “He’s sleeping, don’t disturb him.” She says tersely, placing her Coach Tabby on the coffee table.

“He was cold.” That’s why his nipples are peaking, piercing the fabric of that shirt. Should be illegal to wear that in public. He’s asking for it.

“Yeah?” She asks, unconvinced, bending down to unclasp her heels.

“Yeah.” You stand up, dad’s indirect kiss on your cunt, shoot her a nasty sneer before you scuttle away to your bedroom for the rest of the day.

There are stairs that creak and stairs that don’t. You hang around down here at midnight often so you know the right path to take as to not alert your parents of your presence. They’re speaking about you.

“—be careful around her.” Truly, you hate your mother.

“What is there to be careful about?” Right? You tell her dad.

“Just, just be careful. She doesn’t y’know.”

“She doesn’t what?”

“She doesn’t get off her ass, she doesn’t talk to anyone but, well, I don’t know actually, she doesn’t talk to anyone at all.” You could pretend and say it hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s nothing insulting about the truth.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re a guy, she doesn't talk to guys.”

“We don’t talk much either.” Dad is too stiff to make conversation, and you collapse anytime he breathes in your general direction.

“Yeah, but, Leon.” Mom sounds exasperated, but she’s not getting her point across well. She should know better, dad’s skull is thicker than cement. “I’m worried.”

“What, for me or her?”

“Her, obviously, I don’t want her to… I want her to get out, like, I want her to do stuff,” mom sniffles, she is so putting this on to make dad feel guilty. “It’s so hard to watch your adult daughter just sit in a room and do nothing all day, Leon, she’s like a big fucking baby, why is she like that?”

“Babe,” he coos, and your knees buckle.

“Go talk to her.”

“What?”

“Go talk to her about it,” Mom repeats, voice shaking. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

They go back and forth for a few minutes, and then dad sighs and says fine. You make haste back to your hovel that doubles as a bedroom, crawl into bed and try to look natural.

Leon clears his throat before he knocks, when you don’t answer he pokes his head in. He says your name and you stir, sheets taut to your body as you peek up at him.

“You should open a window in here.”

When you don’t respond, he sits at the foot of your bed, looks around and nods. His gaze is scathing. Not purposefully. You just take it that way.

“Dinner’s ready,” he lies, then he leaves. His perfume lingers, and you touch the space he was sitting in, his warmth remains.

The day after that, you’re in the living room, tuckered out after mom forced you to help her with the groceries. You’re not cut out for this sort of life. The living sort of life. You were made to rot.

“Door wasn’t locked,” Leon says when he steps in, he puts his keys down, shucks his jacket off, tracks mud halfway down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Your shoes, Leon,” Mom groans, “she came in last.”

“Oh, sorry,” you say absentmindedly. If it doesn’t include tits or dicks or pussy it is none of your business. You have enough energy to keep up with one thing and that is your porn addiction. Groceries really took it out of you.

“You should be careful, rapists might come in, murderers or some shit.” Leon is speaking to your mother. Not you because he has seen your face and he knows very well that an ugly girl like you would survive out of sheer ugliness.

Mom snorts, “I think you’re the scariest thing that could walk through that door, honey.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

You’d like to know what that means too. Well, you get the gist, ‘cause you’ve heard all those stories. Dad and his wandering hands.

“You know what that means.” The sound of lips smacking is enough to have you feeling sick, dizzy as you cling to the walls and make your escape. “Did she leave— Quit it, Leon— Hands off, can you go talk to her, please? Properly this time.”

He forgets to knock this time, or he can’t bother to knock. Dad sits in that same spot, he opens his mouth and closes it about five times.

“Mom’s worried about you,” Leon says robotically. “You good?”

“I’m great.” Your tone is unconvincing, but he clearly doesn’t care enough because you're his dirty little secret. Not in a sex way. You would do anything for it to be in the sex way. Dirty little secret as in the ugly kid he chooses to ignore purely because you’re ugly. Dad doesn’t like ugly girls, you know that. He doesn’t think they’re worth a second glance, even a first glance is too much. Dad is superficial and his love is plastic.

These are all things you’re making up in your head based on assumptions. This is how all attractive men think. Ugly girls aren’t worth rape, dirtying your dick in ugly pussy sounds like a hassle. If you were pretty, you wouldn’t fuck an ugly guy. Even as a self-proclaimed ugly girl, you still wouldn’t fuck an ugly guy ‘cause they’re gross, and it’s not like they want you. Ugly guys shoot high and aim for pretty girls. Duh.

So you get it. Honestly. Whatever. Dad doesn’t like you. That’s okay, you don’t like him as a dad anyway. You love him like an obsessive lover. A hallway crush that stars in your late-night rape fantasies. And you’re fine like this. You’re so fine.

“Can I… Can I actually have a hug, dad?” You muster up what is left in your hollow heart to ask him that. It’s a big deal.

Leon blinks at you, levels you with his blank stare. He’s so handsome you want to blow your brains out, it’s an easy feat because you’re always looking for reasons to blow your brains out. Every straw is your last and yet you’re still here.

“Sure, sweetheart.” Dad opens his arms, and you crawl towards him, head on his shoulder as his arms loop around your waist. Oh, god, you will your heart into giving out. Dying right here in dad’s arms is ideal.

He holds you so gently it’s brutal. He crushes you with the weight of his loveless love. Dad’s so good at pretending you almost think he cares.

“Can you… I want to stay like this.”

“Uh, sure, sweetheart,” Leon calls everyone sweetheart. Sweetheart is his default. Sweetheart ranges from Auntie Ashley to babysitters to lifeguards and retail workers who aren’t getting paid enough to deal with some old man making eyes at them. Not that anyone minds dad’s attention. It’s fucking unfair. Mom is babe, and your sister is baby, and your brother is buddy or sport or tiger or whatever shit he pulls out of his ass. And you’re sweetheart because you’re not important to him. His firstborn daughter is not important to him ‘cause she’s ugly. More of a specimen than a human.

You would do anything to keep him here.

“Dad?” You whisper into his neck.

“…Yeah?”

“I want you to…” Your lack of life flashes in front of your eyes. Bedroom. Bedroom. Porn. Bedroom. Porn. Porn. Dad. Not much. What have you got to lose? “I want to— I want to fuck you.”

Dad is silent. Then: “Oh.” He never makes the move to pull away, so you sit snugly in his grip for a few seconds longer.

“I— Dad, I touch myself thinkin’ about you.” Your stomach ties itself into a Gordian knot.

“Yeah, okay, why don’t we— Yeah, fuck, I see what she meant, okay. Wow, that’s a lot. Sweetheart, why… Listen.” Dad says a whole lot of nothing as he takes your hands off him.

“Please… I love you, dad. I really like you— I know it’s weird, dad, I do, seriously, I know, but please I just… I just like you.” There is no explanation for it. “Dad… Daddy.”

He full-on winces. It’s like you’re being flayed. Something inside of you just— Just shatters. Not your heart ‘cause it’s pumping more blood than it ever has. Fragments of your sanity splinter into even smaller segments until there is nothing left but nauseating levels of mental disturbance.

“If you don’t…”

“You seriously trying that right now?” Leon scoffs, and he’s so cocky you get hot under the collar.

(Between your thighs too, but that’s a different story.)

“Yeah, I’m serious— If you don’t… If you don’t do it- do it with me, I’ll tell mom you… I’ll tell her you raped me.” In actuality, you would never tell mom if daddy raped you. You would treasure it, keep it in a heart-shaped locket and think about it when you get off twelve times a day. Getting your pussy reamed by dad’s cock would fix you right up.

“Don’t— Are you okay?” Leon smacks your hand away, his tone is even.

“You do it too— I know you’ve done it, I know how you and mom met.”

His face drains, pallor yellowish. “That don’t… That’s different.”

“How is that any different?” Different ‘cause he’s hot and mom is hot. Leon passed it off as a drunken mistake and they end up getting together. It’s not rape if the perpetrator is a hottie. You agree, but still— It’s not fucking fair.

“‘Cause I didn’t do this.” Leon gestures abstractly.

You kiss him, hands braced on each of his tits, digging your fingers into the meat to feel him tense and harden like he’s wearing a chest plate. “You’re so hot dad,” you whine into his mouth, and Leon is quick to push you off, your wrists in his hands. Makeshift handcuffs.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Dad is using his dad voice. It’s like porn to you, only makes you wetter. “I don’t like hitting girls, but you’re givin’ me a damn good reason.”

“You can hit me, daddy.” You offer your face to him, stretching your neck forward, closing your eyes as you wait for the impact. It lands firm on your cheek, his fingertips catching the tip of your nose. Fuck that felt good. Shit. You think you’ve creamed your panties. “Again, dad, hit me again—“ He does. Harder than the last time. Your head knocks backwards, and your brain must have a dent in it.

Dad puts you over his lap and you’re so sure you’ve entered the pearly gates. Or the innermost circle of hell. Probably that ‘cause Jesus Christ are you steaming.

“I hate stupid little sluts that try it out on me,” Leon drags your sweats over the swell of your ass, “Do you have a dick?”

“What, dad— No!” You tell him, more mortified at his question than you are by your bare ass under his palm. Fuck— You’re so wet it’s disgusting, dripping down your thighs and surely staining his lap. Thick like treacle.

“No? Were you gonna rape dad with this stupid cunt?” Oh, you hope he spanks your pussy. Porn makes it look delicious. “You look like you might have a dick with that face of yours.” He traces the seam of your cunt through your panties. “Or is your pussy just fat?”

Good fucking lord.

“Dad…” You arch into him, only to have a hand come down on your left ass cheek. One. Two. Three. They all hurt bad as each other. Four. “Ouch!” That one hurt real bad. Five. You feel like a naughty child. This is not as hot as you thought it would be. More dull and embarrassing. Not even the good kind of embarrassing.

Leon puts you on your knees, the hand wrapped around your jaw forces your lips into a pout, and you think he is going to kiss you— God, you close your eyes and wait for it, lean into him, shit you’d pop your leg if you were standing up. He spits in your face and it trickles down the bridge of your nose.

“Got me dirty with that filthy pussy.” Dad speaks offhandedly, he speaks to you like you’re dog shit. Not dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Just dog shit on the side of the road. Like the sort that bothers you enough to complain about it, but it doesn’t ignite any real anger.

His hand remains tight on your jaw, then he drops it to fish his fat cock from his pants to slap the drippy head on your cheek. The sound ricochets off the walls. Hits you like a bullet. Holy fuck. Dad really just did that. You giggle, batting your lashes up at him as pretty as an ugly girl can, and he grimaces so it can’t be pretty.

“Christ, you nasty fuck,” Leon snickers at the look on your face, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Daddy,” you whimper, nosing the tip of his dick, he smells so good you want him in your mouth, “I jus’ love you lots.”

“God, I hate ugly little freaks like you.” He said that already, no need to rub it in. Another slap of his cock on your face. Your heart beats for him and him alone. “You know what I think?” Dad guides his cock into your warm mouth. “Shit, that’s good— I think your mom is a liar.”

His dick is all you’ve ever wanted. It’s heavy on your tongue, though the longer you suckle on the tip, the weightier it gets, and he’s wet. Dripping all over the place. You must get that gene from your dad.

“‘Cause I don’t think,” he grunts, palm resting on your forehead to push you off his shaft, “I don’t think I could make a kid this ugly.”

“No,” you say breathlessly, “No, you’re my dad, my daddy.” Crouched down below him, you lave over his balls, putting more effort into this than you have done with anything else in your life. Gargling dad’s balls is your best work. Nothing else you have to be proud of.

Your pussy is pulsing, shit has its own heartbeat, you drop your hand down to soothe your poor cunt, rubbing figure eights into the bulge of your clit over your panties. It’s not enough, you push them to the side, your fingers slip a couple times, not enough, only dad’s fingers are enough, only his cock will plug up your leaking hole.

“Get off me,” dad instructs, and you might be glued to him, but you detach yourself immediately. “C’mon, stand up.” You use his thighs as leverage, standing on shaky legs that threaten to give out at any second. He takes your shirt off. “Cute tits gone to waste,” dad sighs like it’s heartbreaking. “We could've done something about it, y’know? Could fix your face right up, just had to ask daddy.”

“Really, dad? I want to be pretty, daddy, I want to be pretty for you, you never call me pretty— Daddy, I want to be pretty, please.” You clasp his shirt, and he brings you into his lap once more, raising your legs to slide your panties down so you’re free bleeding on his lap. Free bleeding without the blood. Just good old pussy.

“Messin’ with you, sweetheart, can’t fix that dog face,” dad coos to you tenderly, and the plain-as-day insult flies right over you. Dad could get you to sell both your kidneys if he keeps talking to you like that. “Just gotta live with it.”

You have. You have lived with it. That’s what you do. Live with your ugly face. You could die, that’s an option, but you choose to wait it out. ‘Cause dying is pretty scary no matter how much you want it. And Leon’s dick is hard beneath your pussy so there are things to live for. The world isn’t all cruel.

“Up,” he taps your lower back, you raise your hips and he presses his cock to your stretched hole. Toy after toy after toy. All to ready yourself for dad. When you sink down on him, your body convulses. It’s the sweet release of death. Or an orgasm. Fuck. Dying on dad’s cock is— You haven’t died on his dick, he fucks you through your high, feet planted firmly on the ground as he thrusts upwards, dick angled just right.

Heroin is meant to be good. You’ve seen Trainspotting. Better than any cock— You don’t believe that for a minute. Unless he’s leaking smack straight into your pussy, numbing your walls. Could be that ‘cause god— You’re not really thinking, not that you think much, when you decide to shove your fingers into his mouth.

“Daddy, can you taste me?” You ask him, giving a languid grind of your hips down onto his cock, you regret it immediately ‘cause it’s so good your cunt squelches loudly. “Do you taste me, dad? Dad—“

“Yeah,” Dad says, muffled, “Shoving your fingers down my fuckin’ throat, you little psycho, ‘course I taste it.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Daddy looks so pretty with his lips wrapped around your fingers, you fuck them in and out of his pink mouth, his tongue runs along the length of your fingers like he’s sucking a nice cock. Treating your fingers better than you did his dick.

Daddy’s splitting you in two. He fucks you without a care in the world. ‘Cause he doesn’t care about you. One-time-use pussy. You’re disposable like the gloves you get with box dye. Like a plastic spork. His cock is so deep he might as well tear open your middle and fuck your guts. Leon grabs your hips, forces you up and drops you down. The air in your lungs has no time to build up— You grasp at his shirt, bouncing in his lap like you’re a fleshlight, and you would be so happy with that title. Dad’s personal fleshlight. It makes you giddy.

Leon’s cock twitches inside of you, when he lifts you off of him, your pussy clings to the tip, holding on for dear life, insistent on milking daddy’s dick, taking every drop of his cum.

“Daddy…” Your head drops to his shoulder. “Please, daddy, am I pretty? Can you call me pretty?”

His hips stutter, and you don’t have to see his face to know he hesitates. It’s a struggle to call a girl like you pretty. “You’re so pretty, sweetheart.” Then he dumps his load so deep— So deep, you warm to the thought of having your daddy’s baby. You already fucked so why not go the extra mile?

Dad doesn’t kiss you, but he lays you down and tucks you in like he never has before. “Your mom’s worried.” He goes back to the topic at hand and you groan, covering your face with a pillow. “Hey, we can, uh…” Leon scratches his head. “We can y’know…” He shrugs, glances down at you. “Can do that if you try pulling your weight a little.”

The promise of your dad’s cock is enough to have you applying for every job in a thirty-mile radius. Dad’s cock is a fix for an ugly girl like you. You’ve got a pussy only your daddy could love, and you think you’re more than okay with that.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

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chasingwhitebunnies · 1 year

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I feel a bit silly writing this because I’m sure other people must have but I’ve not seen anything about it

(SPOILERS - I’ll also tag)

I really love how we see Coriolanus’s character descent into who he becomes through each of his kills

His first kill is Bobbin. It was self-defence, kill-or-be-killed. If he hadn’t done it, he probably would have been killed himself, but this sticks with him. Coriolanus is horrified when he realises he took someone’s life. He thinks about it for a long time.

His next kill is Mayfair Lipp, the mayor’s daughter. It’s not self-defence, but he sees it that way. In a way, he’s got a point. She would have reported him, and he would have been hanged. So would Lucy Gray, so he shot her. This time, however, he had a choice. Maybe not much choice, but it was there. He chose to shoot her, but it doesn’t affect him anywhere near as much as Bobbin’s death

The third is the hardest. He doesn’t pull the trigger or tie the noose, but he might as well have. He betrays Sejanus. Sejanus who loves him like a brother. Sejanus who he has known since they were children. He made the decision in a moment and he questions himself afterwards, but he still made that choice. He reasons to himself internally that it was necessary and Sejanus was bound to get himself in trouble, anyway, right? Right? So it’s okay. But it’s not okay. The blood is on his hands and he keeps thinking of the moments they spent together before the betrayal. He benefits from his death and is rewarded for his loyalty. How ironic

Next is Lucy Gray. Possibly. For argument’s sake, let’s say he did kill her. He calls out for her, his gun slung over his shoulder. He realises how she might be scared, the gun sending the wrong message… but he doesn’t put it back. He brings it with him, not to use it, he tells himself. He would never use it, definitely not. He just… wants to talk some sense into her. As soon as the snake bites him, he abandons all pretence. Even though he admitted moments ago he understood why she would be scared, now she’s the enemy. Now she has to pay. How dare she. Not even an hour ago, he had plans to run away with her. He claimed he loved her. They were going to be together. Now, he’s chasing her through the trees with a gun in his hands and he’s screaming for her to show herself. He shoots a lot. When he thinks he finally got her, he’s pleased. It was her own fault, he tells himself, for the snake trick. Even afterwards, when he finds out that the snake wasn’t venomous - which Lucy Gray definitely would have known and therefore was only intended to slow him down - he doesn’t have a single moment of regret. The only thing he regrets is falling for her in the first place and he swears he’ll never do it again. His heart is stone. Frozen like snow.

Finally, his last kill (before the ones that take place once this book ends) is Dean Highbottom. This is the first kill that is not made in a split-second. This is premeditated. He carefully adds just enough rat poison to the morphling, sure to wear gloves, and sets his plan in motion. He has every opportunity to change his mind, to not resort to violent means. Not only does he not regret it, he feels proud. Excited, even. He hopes Dean Highbottom will know it was him that killed him

By the epilogue, Snow has gotten over (or buried deep enough) what guilt he had over Sejanus enough to use the Plinths’ grief to his advantage without any conflicting feelings. He’s convinced himself Lucy Gray was the villain who played him, when she was just a sixteen-year-old girl who was forced into a terrible situation. As we know, he goes on to directly and indirectly kill thousands between TBOSAS and THG, too many. I doubt he remembers most of them, just nameless, faceless children. He doesn’t care anymore, not like he did the first time

The whole world is his Arena. Snow lands on top until it melts

#SPOILERS THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES #SPOILERS TBOSAS #THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES SPOILERS #tbosas spoilers #(melted by fire in case my on the nose metaphor was too subtle)#tbosas #sejanus plinth #lucy gray baird #Dean Highbottom #casca highbottom #Mayfair lipp #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #bobbin TBOSAS #500

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wholoveseggs · 2 months

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hello gorgeous! i got another idea! How about reader going through a divorce where the husband is really an arrogant asshole, permanently making fun of her etc. And then she meets Elijah, and they start getting close and he helps her gain her confidence back and shows her how she should be treated. And maybe a few months later, after the divorce, she meets the ex-husband somewhere again and he tries to humiliate her again but Elijah is there and he puts him in his place. Smut is very much welcomed. 🫶🏻

Change

I hate Antoinette, but they were hot together

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Your marriage causes you to feel trapped and worthless. Until you meet a handsome stranger at a café and he shows you how much more you can be.

♡♡ Thanks for the request lovely @msveronicag, I hope you enjoy it! ♡♡

5.8k words - Warnings: angsty, smutty, reader has low self-esteem, husband is verbally & financially abusive, cheating, car sex, Elijah being a bit of a rascal.

When you first got together with John, he was just so charming and you couldn't help but fall for him. It was hard to say no to him, and you were in a haze of love for a long time. He was such an extrovert, loud and funny, and you felt like you couldn't live without him.

But over the course of your marriage things started to change, his mask slipping and showing the real John underneath. At first it was just a comment here and there, you told yourself he was just having a bad day, but then it just kept getting worse.

The day you stopped loving him, was the day he had a bad day at work and decided to take it out on you. You cooked his favorite dinner, trying to make him feel better, and when he came home, he told you to order takeout instead. You were in the middle of making it, so you just told him it would be done soon, and tried to ignore him.

He took the food and threw it in the sink, and started yelling. You were so stunned, you just stood there and let him. He said the most terrible things, telling you how worthless and pathetic you were, that no one would ever want you if they knew you were like this.

A part of you started to believe him, because no matter how hard you tried to be a good wife, you just weren't. John was so kind and charming to everyone else, so it clearly had to be your fault.

You slowly stopped talking to your friends and family, you were probably annoying them anyways.

John eventually cheated on you, and then you found out he was cheating with multiple women. He would disappear for days at a time, off with someone else. You didn't even care, you didn't love him anymore.

Abuse is insidious like that, you become numb to it all, your brain normalizes it to help you cope, until you don't realize that you are being abused. Until you think it's your fault...

You woke to the sound of yelling, your usual alarm clock these days. John was a loud and obnoxious man, and he had no problem screaming at you whenever the mood struck him.

Today's argument was over you sleeping in. You wanted to stay in bed for a little longer, and John couldn't stand to wait another moment. So he went ahead and had to make his own breakfast, and then came upstairs to berate you.

"You really are a lazy slob! I bet you didn't do any of the laundry either. Get up and clean the house!"

You slowly got out of bed, lately your coping mechanism was ignoring him. If you didn't say anything perhaps he wouldn't yell at you. It wasn't a great coping mechanism, but it was the only thing keeping you sane.

"Are you fucking stupid? Answer me!" John yelled as you walked into the bathroom, closing the door in his face.

That didn't stop him, he yelled through the door, and you turned on the shower. Perhaps you would stand there for an hour, just to piss him off.

Just when you started to relax under the warm water he started banging on the door.

"You've been in there too long, wasting the water I pay for. Get out!"

You didn't have a job, because John told you he would take care of you. You were young and naive, you learned the hard way that being financially beholden to any man was a bad idea.

You finally turned off the shower and dried off. You put on a baggy shirt and sweats, and opened the door. He was gone, probably downstairs watching tv.

You got dressed and headed to your craft room, you spent a lot of time in there. You enjoyed painting intricate scenes on canvases, it was the only thing that gave you joy anymore.

When you painted, your mind would go completely blank, and you would lose yourself in the art. Sometimes you would paint for hours and not even notice.

You put on some music and started working on a landscape. You didn't realize how much time passed until the door opened.

John must of had a day off work because he was still home, he usually left by this time. He stood there and watched you for a moment.

"I'm bored and hungry. Make me lunch."

"I'm not your maid. Make it yourself," you mumbled, not taking your eyes off the canvas.

"Why the fuck do you even waste your time with that? Do you think anyone cares about your mediocre shit?" He snapped.

He's right, no one would care about your paintings, even if you shared them. You weren't that talented, it was purely a form of escape. But a small part of you dreamed of being able to sell your artwork and live off the income.

You set down your paintbrush and sighed.

"I don't do it to show off, I do it because I enjoy it. It calms my mind and makes me happy," you answered.

He laughed, a cruel and mocking sound. He had no appreciation for art or culture, he only cared about money and power. He stepped forward and ripped the canvas off the easel, and started tearing it to pieces.

"How's that for making you happy? Do you still want to paint? Be a famous artist? Real Picasso you are!" He sneered, laughing at his own joke.

You didn't want him to see you cry, so you just got up, grabbed your things and walked out of the house. You felt so weak, such a pushover, unable to defend yourself against his cruelty. A little voice in your head told you that you deserved it, no one knew you better than John, so if he said you were worthless and pathetic, then you must be.

There was a cafe near your house, you always went there when John was being too much for you to handle. It was a cute little spot that doubled as a vintage book store. Dark wooden bookshelves that went from floor to ceiling, plants in every corner and a cozy seating area with large comfortable couches and chairs. It also displayed paintings from local artists on its walls, you enjoyed the ambiance of the place, it made you feel at peace. You would buy a coffee and sit in there for hours reading.

You had seen the same man there a couple times, and his striking appearance caught your eye. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his brown eyes piercing, and his strong jawline was covered in stubble. There was something about him that drew you in, but you were far too shy to ever approach him. What would you even say to a man like that? Hey, I think you a stupidity beautiful? Is the book you're reading good? What do you do for fun? It all sounded so pathetic in your head, so you stayed away.

You noticed that he was always nice and polite to the waitresses and he tipped generously. You wondered if he was like John, that it was all just a facade and that he was secretly cruel underneath his mask of civility. But his face was always soft, his voice gentle, and the way he held the door open for other people gave you hope that he was a genuinely nice man.

You would never see him in anything other than a three piece suit, which was unusual for this neighborhood. His dark blue, or sometimes black suits, fit him so well and complemented his skin tone. He wore crisp white shirts and you could tell he was muscular underneath, not bulky, but lean.

You would sip on your coffee, reading, and stealing glances of him out of the corner of your eye. It was probably pathetic, but the way he looked and carried himself made you feel good, so you let yourself.

One day as you were reading your book, you noticed him reading the same book. Perhaps it was the extra espresso shot you added to your coffee or the fact that it was the first sunny day in weeks, but you found the courage to get up and introduce yourself.

"Hey, uh, I see you have excellent taste in books," you smiled at him, your heart fluttering when he made eye contact. You fought the urge to run away, his gaze was intense, but not harsh.

"It seems you do as well," he returned the smile, his voice was like velvet. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Please, join me."

You felt butterflies in your stomach as you sat down, trying your best to maintain eye contact and not blush.

"What made you choose this particular book?" He asked, gesturing at it.

"Honestly, the cover. The art style is really appealing," you told him, blushing a bit. The way he was looking at you made your breath catch in your throat.

"Interesting, I thought the same thing." He chuckled, closing his book and holding out his hand. "I'm Elijah, by the way."

"Y/N," you introduced yourself, taking his hand and shaking it.

"What do you think of it?" He asked, leaning back in his armchair, your gaze lingered on his arms as he crossed them.

"What?" You said, feeling your cheeks heating up. Why did you have to be so stupid all the time?

"The book, what do you think of the book?" He chuckled, tilting his head and smiling.

You talked about the book, the writing, the characters, and how you thought it was going to end. You ended up talking for hours, he was easy to talk to. You found yourself getting more and more relaxed around him.

Elijah had this aura about him, an air of confidence that was oddly comforting. He was polite and charming, with only a hint of a mysterious accent that intrigued you.

"I can't believe we've been sitting here for so long," you laughed. "I didn't mean to keep you, I'm sure you have other places to be."

"No, I have nowhere I need to be, I'm enjoying your company," he said softly. You noticed his gaze lingered on your lips.

You glanced down at your watch and saw that it was nearly 11pm. "Wow, I should go, my husband is probably wondering where I am." You got up and dug around in your purse to pay the bill.

"I would love to see you again," Elijah said as you pulled out your wallet. "Here, let me." He pulled out his own wallet and handed the waitress some cash.

A giddy, almost school girlish, smile spread across your face. "Oh, okay. Thank you, that would be great." You stuttered a bit, blushing and putting your wallet away.

"Have a lovely night," he said softly, getting up and kissing the back of your hand.

Your heart fluttered, and you couldn't wipe the silly grin off of your face as you left. You hadn't felt this feeling in so long, and the thought of seeing him again filled you with joy.

The next few weeks felt like a dream, every day you would go to the cafe and read. You would sit in Elijah's section, and after a while he would show up and sit across from you, drinking his coffee.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said the first time. "I just enjoy your company."

"You're not interrupting," you blushed, putting your book down. "I enjoy your company as well."

As time went on, the conversations got more and more personal. He asked about your job, your life, and your husband. You didn't want to talk about John, it was hard to admit you had been in a bad marriage for so long. You told him a little, about how you both fell out of love, and were basically roommates.

Elijah would listen intently, and would always ask the right questions. He was very good at drawing information out of you. But whenever he got too close to the truth you would change the subject.

It was obvious that he was a good listener and had a kind heart. You wondered why he bothered with you, a nobody, when he was clearly such a sophisticated man. He could have anyone, and yet he was sitting with you.

One day he brought you a gift, it was a tiny ornamental bird, painted a beautiful shade of green. It was just like the one in the first book you both read, and you had told him how much you liked it. You were speechless, it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you.

You decided to make him a gift, and spent all day working on it. It was a bookmark with an image of a forest painted on it. You used a mix of acrylic and watercolor, the greens and browns blending together.

John walked in on you finishing up, and sneered at your painting. "Are you trying to impress somebody with that? No one's gonna want that ugly thing." He said, scoffing.

Your heart sank and you felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He was right, who would want it? It was nothing special.

You were going to give it to Elijah anyways, but you kept second guessing yourself. He wouldn't want it, it was a stupid idea.

He came into the cafe a little later that day, and greeted you with his usual warm smile. Your stomach twisted into knots, and you felt your palms starting to sweat.

"Hey," you said, trying to sound normal. "How are you today?"

"I'm well, how are you?" He replied, sitting across from you.

"I'm good, thank you," you nodded. You decided it was now or never. "So, I made this for you," you blurted out, holding out the bookmark. Your face was hot, and you wished you could hide under the table.

Elijah's face lit up, and he gave a wide crooked smile. "This is wonderful, thank you," he said.

You watched as he picked it up, admiring the artwork. He traced the pattern of trees with his finger and he seemed completely enamored with it.

"You are very talented, do you sell these?," he asked. He looked up and saw the expression on your face.

“Oh god no, I don't know about that, I mean, I just do it for fun, and..."

You were interrupted by your phone ringing, it was John.

"Sorry, one moment," you said, answering the call.

"Where the hell are you? It's past 8pm, and I'm starving, come home and cook dinner," he growled.

You felt your cheeks heat up under Elijah's gaze, shame and embarrassment washed over you.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry, I'll be right home," you whispered, you felt so small.

"Hurry up, lazy ass," John snapped before hanging up.

You put your phone away, and forced a smile.

"I'm sorry, I have to go, I forgot my husband was cooking dinner," you lied.

Elijah nodded, his brow furrowing a bit. "Alright, have a lovely night," he said.

"You too," you mumbled as you quickly grabbed your things and left.

You cried all the way home, feeling like a such a loser, a complete failure. Why couldn't you have someone like Elijah in your life? Someone who listened, someone who cared, someone who didn't berate you every second of the day.

You wondered what Elijah thought of you, did he see you as pathetic and weak? A fool that let her husband walk all over her?

It didn't matter, he was so out of your league, you were just a stupid, fat nobody. He would never want you, no one would.

When you showed up to the cafe the next day you noticed a fancy sports car with tinted windows parked out front. It looked very out of place on your street, the only people around who had cars like that were old rich people, and the occasional drug dealer.

Before you reached the door you heard your name being called, and turned around. You saw Elijah waving at you from the driver's seat of the car.

You approached the passenger seat window, and he smiled, beckoning you to get in. You sat down and he handed you a cup of coffee, you smiled at the gesture, he knew your order.

"Thank you," you said, taking a sip.

"I want to show you something," he said, pulling on to the street.

"What is it?" You asked.

"It's a surprise," he said, smirking.

You had no idea where he was taking you, but you didn't mind. You were excited to spend some more time with him.

When he pulled up to the local community centre you were very confused. You couldn't imagine why Elijah wanted to bring you here, maybe it was part of the surprise.

You both got out of the car and entered the building. Inside there was a craft show going on, local artists had set up tables displaying their wares.

His thoughtfulness touched you deeply, he had taken the time to bring you here because he knew you loved art.

The next couple hours were spent perusing the aisles and admiring the paintings, sculptures and crafts. Elijah seemed to have an interest in all of it, asking lots of questions and complimenting the artists. He had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, it's something you admired about him.

"You could get a booth here, sell your art if you wanted," he suggested.

"Oh, I don't know about that, this is just a hobby," you said, brushing off his idea.

"Why not?" He pressed.

"I...well, no one would want my stuff, I mean, they're just little paintings," you sighed

"I would, I think you're very talented," he said softly.

Your heart swelled at his words.

"Thanks," you smiled.

After the craft show, he drove you home, you made him park at the end of the street. You knew how jealous John could get, and the last thing you wanted was for him to see you getting dropped off by a handsome stranger.

"Thank you, Elijah, this was fun," you said.

"The pleasure was all mine," he replied.

"You can't tell anyone about this, I mean, if John finds out, he'll..." You trailed off, feeling stupid.

"He will what?" Elijah's eyes were full of concern.

"Oh, he just, gets jealous easily," you said, fumbling over your words.

"Are you not allowed to have friends?" His brow furrowed, and his eyes hardened a bit.

"No, I mean, I can have friends, I'm just not, uh, supposed to have guy friends," you admitted.

"That doesn't sound like a healthy relationship," Elijah said, his voice sounding slightly deeper than usual. "How about business partners?"

"What?" You were confused.

"If I could help you with your art career, get you a booth at the craft fair, promote your work, would that be allowed?"

"Uh, I guess so," you said.

"Excellent, let's meet tomorrow, discuss what needs to be done," he smiled.

"Okay," you smiled, a warm feeling spreading through your body.

When you got home you decided not to tell John, the last thing you wanted was an argument. Maybe if you were successful and sold a lot, then he would be happy for you, but that was just wishful thinking.

You and Elijah had been meeting up once a week for two months, discussing your art, and ways to improve your sales. He was an expert at marketing, and had already gotten you some commissions.

It was nice to have something else to focus on, instead of constantly being reminded that you were a failure. And for the first time in your life you were making your own money, it felt good.

You started to feel more confident in yourself, Elijah was always saying how talented and special you were, and it was beginning to stick.

Today was the craft fair, and you were nervous, what if no one bought anything? What if they all hated it and thought it was ugly?

Elijah pulled up in his fancy car, and greeted you with his usual warm smile. You both had gotten so much closer in the last couple months, and he had become your best friend. He was the only person in your life that made you feel like you mattered.

Your feelings for him were beyond friendship, but you couldn't risk losing him. It was better to have him as a friend, than nothing at all.

The craft fair was going well, you had already sold two pieces, and were chatting with some customers.

"Oh my goodness, this is gorgeous," one of the customers, an older woman, exclaimed.

"Thank you," you beamed.

"How long have you and your husband been selling these?" She asked, gesturing to you and Elijah.

"Oh, uh, we're not married," you blushed.

"Sorry, I just assumed, your ring..." she trailed off.

You glanced down at your hand and saw your wedding band, the simple gold band John had given you so many years ago.

"I am married, just not to him, we are just business partners," you smiled awkwardly.

"Oh, my mistake," the woman said, returning your smile, her gaze lingering on Elijah.

"It's okay," you blushed, trying to busy yourself by wrapping the painting she had purchased.

"You'd make a lovely couple," the woman said, handing you her credit card.

Your face burned, and your palms began to sweat. You had tried your best to not think of him that way, it wasn't fair to him, or to John. But the thought was always in the back of your mind.

"Thank you, have a nice day," you managed, handing her the wrapped painting.

"You too dear," she said, winking.

You sold out quickly, and decided to celebrate with a drink at a nearby bar.

"I'm very proud of you," Elijah smiled. "You have a natural gift."

"Thanks," you said, feeling yourself blush.

He leaned in close and took your hand, tracing your wedding band. "This doesn't suit you," he said.

"Excuse me?" You squeaked, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering madly.

He ignored your reaction and just grinned, his fingers intertwining with yours. You stared at your hands, his thumb lightly caressing your knuckles. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" He said, his gaze fixed on your face.

"Sure," you whispered, unable to take your eyes off of him.

"Why didn't John show up to support you?" His voice was barely a whisper.

Your heart sank. You had purposefully not told John, not wanting to hear him complain about it, or belittle you.

"Well, um, I didn't really invite him," you confessed.

"Why not?"

"Because, I knew he wouldn't care," you sighed. "And I don't want him to know I'm earning my own money,"

"Because you plan on leaving him." It wasn't a question.

"Y-yeah, eventually," you stammered.

He leaned forward and kissed the back of your hand. "Good, you deserve better," he murmured, his lips still grazing your skin.

You didn't know what to say, your head was spinning and you felt hot all over.

"You never talk about him, but I can tell you are unhappy," he said, sitting back.

"It's complicated," you whispered.

"You can talk to me," he said.

You paused for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You had never talked to anyone about your feelings for John, it was too difficult.

"Well, we used to be happy, when we first got married, but now he's not the same," you said, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice.

"How so?"

"He's controlling and possessive, and he yells a lot. He doesn't love me anymore, and I'm not sure he ever did," you admitted, tears welling up in your eyes. "He cheats on me regularly and controls the finances. Selling my art is the first opportunity I've had to earn money of my own, and I'm terrified of what he'll do if he finds out."

You felt yourself begin to cry, and tried to wipe the tears away, ashamed that your life had turned out this way.

"You hold all of this pain inside, it's not healthy," Elijah said, his face was unreadable.

"I know," you sobbed. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm crying, it's so stupid."

"It's not stupid, you're not stupid," he said, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

You looked into his eyes, his face full of concern. He cared about you, and it was a relief to finally have someone to confide in. You feared that Elijah would reject you, see you as pathetic, but he didn't. He stayed by your side, listening and offering comfort.

"If you ever decide to leave him, you are more than welcome to stay with me," he said.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course, you're my friend," he smiled.

You threw your arms around him and buried your face in his neck. "Thank you," you mumbled.

He froze for a moment, before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. You inhaled his scent, a mixture of cologne and whiskey. He was solid and warm, and you felt safe in his embrace.

"Thank you, for everything," you repeated, beginning to pull away, but he held you in place.

You felt something stir deep inside, something primal and raw. The heat from his body, the way his strong arms felt around you, and the closeness of his face was overwhelming.

He kissed your cheek as you pulled back, and his lips lingered there for a moment. Your skin tingled where his lips had touched, and you could feel the warmth from his breath.

You sat back and looked at him, his eyes were dark and full of desire, your fingers intertwined with his. The air was thick with tension, and the electricity between the two of you was undeniable.

"I should get home," you said softly, not really wanting to leave.

"Of course," he said, his voice was deep and raspy, his grip on your hand tightening.

You paid the bill, and walked out to the parking lot. Elijah stood close beside you, and his hand brushed yours a few times as you walked to his car.

Before you could open the passenger side door you felt his hands on your hips. He spun you around and pressed you against the car, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. You gasped as his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring and tasting you.

Your arms snaked around his neck, and your fingers ran through his hair. His hands slid down your hips and grabbed your ass, pulling you flush against his body.

His kiss was passionate and needy, and he moaned softly into your mouth. The sound sent a wave of heat through your body, and you felt your panties getting wet.

After a few moments, he pulled back and rested his forehead on yours, both of you panting.

"Right, okay," he said, his breathing heavy.

"Yeah," you breathed, not really sure what to say.

He pulled away and went to open the passenger door for you, but you stopped him. You felt bold and daring, and the alcohol gave you a confidence boost. You motioned to the back door, and he smirked, pushing you up against the car and kissing you again before opening the door.

You climbed in and he followed, his hands grabbing your waist as his lips found yours again. You moaned into the kiss, the heat between your legs intensifying.

The windows fogged up as you undressed, you were grateful for the tinted windows. You moved onto his lap in just your bra and panties, running your fingers through his hair. He kissed your neck and whispered your name.

"We shouldn't do this," you murmured, closing your eyes and tilting your head back.

"I know," he replied, his lips brushing against your ear.

Elijah placed feather-light kisses down your throat, his hands running up and down your back.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice thick with desire

"No," you breathed, clutching him tightly.

He reached around your waist and unclasped your bra, gently removing it and tossing it into the front seat. He ran his tongue across your breasts, circling each nipple before taking them into his mouth, sucking gently.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands running up and down your back, cupping your ass and pulling you closer.

You blushed, your heated skin flush against his, feeling his hard cock between your legs.

"So are you," you breathed, kissing his neck and grinding against him.

Elijah groaned, his hand coming down to grip your hip and help guide your movements. You were so turned on, it had been so long since you had sex, and John was never a generous lover. You wanted Elijah so badly, you felt like you were going to combust.

His lips found yours, and you kissed him with everything you had. The heat between the two of you turning into a raging fire.

Suddenly the moment was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing. You both tried to ignore it, but it just rang again, and again, and again.

You broke the kiss and grabbed your phone, seeing it was your husband calling. "Fuck," you cursed, and you answered it.

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?!" He demanded.

"I've been busy," you replied. Elijah began kissing your neck again, a smirk on his lips as he listened. You suppressed a moan as he began to guide your hips, helping you grind against his hard cock.

"Busy doing what?! Who are you with?!" John shouted.

"I'm just with some friends, don't worry about it," you gasped.

"You don't have any friends," he spat.

"I do," you insisted, trying not to moan as Elijah's hand dipped into your panties.

"What are their names?" John questioned angrily.

"Elijah," you moaned as his thumb brushed your clit.

"The fuck!" John yelled, going completely into a rage. The kind that always frightened you, he always had a short temper.

Elijah could see the fear on your face and took the phone from you, tucking it under his neck as he continued to pleasure you.

"John, is it?" He asked, his voice cool and calm. "This is Elijah, I'm going to need you to calm down, you are scaring your wife," he said.

"Listen, whoever the fuck you are, don't think I won't track you down and fucking kill you," John spat, his anger reaching a boiling point.

Elijah chuckled, slipping a finger inside you and making you moan, you quickly covered your mouth, but Elijah moved your hand away and gave you a wicked grin, still speaking into the phone.

"That's a little violent, don't you think?" He murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "Besides, I'd love to see you try," he smirked.

John went silent, you could hear his ragged breathing.

"Why do you pretend like you care John? She told me you fuck other people, I mean, who would blame her for finding a real man?" Elijah goaded.

You were shocked by his words, but couldn't deny how hot it was, or how aroused they were making you.

"Listen here motherfucker," John snarled, "she's mine, and I will not allow her to be touched by anyone el-"

Elijah hung up the call and discarded your phone, his eyes dark with lust as he stared at you.

"Now, where were we?" He asked, pulling you closer and kissing you deeply.

"I can't believe that just happened," you said, panting as his lips trailed down your neck.

"You don't need to worry about him anymore," he growled. "You are mine now."

You giggled, rolling your eyes at his possessiveness. But a part of you liked it, it made you feel desired, wanted.

"And I am yours," he added, his lips finding yours again, a deep and passionate kiss.

It started to rain, you could hear the droplets hitting the roof of the car. Making everything seem more intimate, as if it were just the two of you in the entire world.

You reached down and fumbled with the zipper of his pants, he lifted his hips and helped you get them down, his cock springing free. You wrapped a hand around it and began stroking him, his moans sending a thrill through your body.

"You don't ever have to go back to him," he whispered.

"I won't," you promised, your lips finding his once more.

He guided your hips, his cock teasing your entrance, and then you slowly eased down into him. He felt so good, a rush of pleasure coursed through your body. You moaned into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck and rocking against him.

The fire between you grew, the windows completely fogged up now. Your skin slick with sweat as you rode him slowly. Foreheads pressed together, you moved in perfect unison, a steady rhythm of passion.

You knew this would change everything, and that things were about to get very complicated. But in that moment, none of that mattered. All you cared about was being with Elijah, the only man who had ever made you feel loved and worthy.

John had taken everything from you, and had made your life miserable for the last ten years. You were trapped and made to feel it was what you deserved. But not anymore.

Elijah had shown you that you were worth more, that you deserved to be loved and cherished. He gave you the tools you needed to leave John, and the strength to do it. You would have never left him without Elijah.

And as you looked into his eyes, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony, you knew this was right, what love was supposed to feel like. You could see the emotions reflected in his eyes, the intensity of his feelings for you, the same intensity you felt.

You felt his muscles tense and knew he was close, his cock swelling inside you. You moved faster, chasing your own orgasm, wanting to come together. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his, and when the waves of pleasure finally crashed over you, it was intense, and he came with you.

The sounds of your moans and heavy breathing filled the car, the rain pattering against the windows. You clung to each other, hearts racing, trying to catch your breath.

As the high slowly faded, you both started laughing, giddy and sated. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and he returned it, a smile playing at his mouth.

"I love you," he breathed.

"I love you too," you replied, kissing him again.

He held you tight, his lips finding yours in the darkness. You were finally free, and the world was yours for the taking.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

♡ @gorgeouslydangerous ♡ @starkleila ♡ @lydia1369sworld ♡ @notleylaaa ♡ @vampiresluv ♡ @vamprium ♡ @myanmy ♡ @xflowerbombxo ♡ @maryvibess ♡ @always-and-forever-daydreaming ♡ @criminallminds ♡ @theesexystallion ♡ @rosemarypotion ♡ @spnaquakindgdom ♡ @amournoir ♡ @loving-and-dreaming ♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana ♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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rinkkuma · 28 days

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୨୧ ATTENTION

you got me looking for attention!

ft. satoru gojo

tags. gn!reader, all fluff ! just satoru wanting your attention after you're giving your attention to a new cat the two of you adopted. / author's note. lyrics taken from the song, attention by newjeans. i chose the cat name bambi because there's this cat on instagram named bambi that i follow and she is the cutest cat ever omfg!!

satoru stares at the new cat that the two of you adopted, like it's the most evil cursed spirit he's encountered.

your cat bambi, has seemingly noticed his intense gaze and stares back at him with the same intent. satoru might be going crazy, but is bambi perhaps smirking? you, on the other hand have not noticed the two of them having a stare off and continue petting bambi while you mindlessly scroll on your phone on the couch.

after another 5 minutes of the two staring each other down, satoru finally breaks and sighs loudly. you, being used to his loud, dramatic sighs, mumble a “what?” before you finally look up at him.

satoru looks at you and then bambi, and stays silent before saying something incoherent. he even seems a little embarrassed and sulks afterwards.

“what? say that again, satoru. couldn't hear you.” you murmur as you continue to pet bambi.

“stop giving bambi all your attention and cuddle with me.” satoru mumbles, but it's not clear enough that you still can't hear him.

“still can't hear you, satoru.”

satoru thought steam was going to start coming out of his ears as bambi kept staring at him with a smug look. and how silly would you think he was for getting jealous of a cat?

he sighs before clearing his throat. “please stop giving all your attention to bambi and pay attention to me.” he quickly says it, but it's clear enough for you to finally understand what he's been trying to say.

you laugh for a second before quickly holding it in. “s-satoru. are you jealous that i've let bambi lay all over me since we've got her?” you chuckle, trying your best to not laugh.

satoru groans before walking over to you and grabbing bambi off your lap before plopping down next to you and pulling you onto him.

“no. ‘ts just.. you know. i'm your boyfriend, and some cat should not be taking your attention away from me.” he smirks victoriously as he looks at bambi, who is now on the ground, glaring at him. she lets out a meow that sounded like it had some sass hinted in it.

you let out the laughs you've been holding in as you lean into his touch. “as much as i love bambi, she will never take away my attention from you.”

“hey! don't laugh at me. and it's bambi's fault, not yours. she does not seem to like me at all. she scratched me on the first day we got her!” satoru shows off the microscopic scratch that bambi gave him on the first day that's almost healed, but you agree with him nonetheless.

“okay, true. but maybe it'll just take time for her to like you. good things take time, they say.” you laugh.

“i guess. but i feel like she's the dramatic type. you know, keeping first impressions in mind and keeping grudges. i didn't even do anything to her.” satoru mumbles the last part, but due to bambi's excellent hearing, she whipped her head to look at him as she hissed.

satoru gasps. “see! she understood what i said and hissed at me. we should've got that white cat instead.” the two of them seemingly having another stare down.

“she'll warm up to you in a few weeks. she just liked me from the start because ‘m cooler.” you chuckle as bambi jumps back onto your lap, not liking all the attention you're giving to satoru.

“she's even barging into our conversation. leave, buddy.” satoru sits up and grabs bambi off your lap before laughing triumphantly.

“you two are literally beefing for no reason.” you sigh and shake your head as you lightly punch his shoulder.

“it's reasonable! we all know that i'll be the one to have your attention more anyway.” satoru chuckles.

“unfortunately, you do.”

the two of you end up falling asleep on the couch, and when you wake up, bambi is cuddled between the two of you, like she magically warmed up to satoru overnight.

#jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen fluff

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willalove75 · 4 months

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Alcina's New Maid Pt. 23 Lady Dimitrescu x Reader

Summary: You and Alcina spend a cozy morning in bed before going to pay the prisoner a visit.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI.

Tags: some smut, dash of sub!alci and a little soft!dom reader

Notes: Part 23!

I am SO sorry this has taken LITERALLY over a month for me to finish!! But I think I have a pretty valid excuse, for those of you who didn't see my latest update - I'm pregnant!! And it's a boy! The first trimester was ROUGH, I wasn't vomiting but I was so sick. I'm 17 weeks and am feeling much, much better! (Aside from hip/lower back pain, according to the old wives tales that's common when pregnant with boys lolz) anyway I'm hoping to update much more regularly now that I'm finally feeling better!

Click here for the rest of the series

The morning sunlight filters in through the window, gently waking you from your slumber. The feeling of a heavy arm draped across your stomach let you know that Alcina was still in bed with you. Turning over to face her, you come across a sight you don't see very often - if you've seen it at all. Alcina asleep on her stomach, one arm under her pillow under her head and the other keeping you close. Her usual pristine and perfect curls are sprawled out across the pillowcase with a few rogue strands hanging down into her face.

She looks so peaceful, if not for her size you would think she was human in this moment. Your eyes dance across her sleeping features. Her skin, riddled with scars and marks that she covers up with makeup, her over-plucked eyebrows that she also corrects with makeup are on full display. You notice how long and dark her natural eyelashes are as they rest on the tops of her cheeks. Her full pink lips, the laugh lines that rest at the corners of her mouth, everything about her is so beautiful.

You delicately tuck a strand of hair hanging in her face behind her ear, hoping you don't wake her up. But of course, Alcina is one of the lightest sleepers you've ever met - honestly you're surprised that turning in her arms didn't wake her.

Her eyes flutter open and beautiful gold irises look back at you.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Don't be, I am surprised I fell back asleep."

"Did you get up at all last night?"

"No," she says, shaking her head and pulling you in closer. "I laid here all night with you in my arms. I considered getting some work done but I couldn't bring myself to let you go."

Alcina nuzzles into your hair, taking a deep inhale and exhaling with a content sigh.

It wasn't until her hand rested against your bare back did you realize you were still naked from the events of the night before. You tuck yourself under her chin, trying to get as close as possible. Alcina kisses the top of your head and holds you against her chest. An audible purr rumbles through her as she buries her nose into your hair.

You can feel her purrs vibrate through your body and you can't help but lightly chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" She asks, nuzzling into you more.

"Nothing, it just seems like both you and the dragon are enjoying yourselves this morning."

Alcina huffs into your hair and shakes her head.

"I suppose we are. It does seem to enjoy your company." She mumbles.

"I have a feeling I am going to enjoy her company as well. As long as she doesn't try to kill me again." You joke.

Alcina pulls away and narrows her eyes at you. You can see the hurt in her eyes, the regret she stills holds onto from that day.

"That is not something to joke about." She says with a deadly serious edge to her voice.

"I'm sorry. I only joked about it because I've been able to move past it. I don't want you to keep blaming yourself for what happened."

"I will because it was my fault."

Bringing your hand to cup her face, you brush your thumb across her skin.

"It was Miranda's fault, not yours. And I am going to remind you of that every day for the rest of my life if I have to, Alcina. I love you. I forgive you. I want you to forgive yourself."

Alcina closes her eyes with a sigh. She places her hand over yours and presses it into her skin. When her eyes open again they're glassy with unshed tears. Alcina opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to find the words to respond with.

Instead of waiting for her response you lean in and press your lips into hers. Her golden eyes flutter shut and she kisses you back. The kiss turns from one of understanding to one of passion. Your tongue grazes her bottom lip and she parts them, allowing you in. The hand she had against yours on her cheek moves behind you before she rolls onto her back, pulling you on top.

As the kiss intensifies you bite down on Alcina's bottom lip and tug at it. A moan escapes from her and you bring your lips back to hers to swallow it. Your hands travel down her neck, past her shoulders to the tops of her breasts. She arches into your touch and you take as much of her massive breasts into your hands as you can - the only thing separating you from her skin is the thin fabric of her nightgown. Another moan slips past her lips into yours when you begin to massage her breasts. Taking her nipples between your fingers, she whimpers into your mouth causing to you moan in response when you roll them.

Last night she worshipped you, now you get to return the favor.

Releasing her breasts from your grip you grab the thin straps of her nightgown and pull them down. Alcina slides her arms out and you pull the silk down to her waist. She groans when your hands find her breasts once more and you start kissing down her jaw towards her neck.

She threads her fingers through your hair as she guides your kisses further down her body. As eager as the both of you are, you still want to take your time to try and kiss every inch of skin you can so you fight against Alcina's pushing a little. She groans at your silent protest and you respond by nipping at her collarbone, causing her to take a sharp inhale. Of course the mark immediately disappears but you're pretty sure you got your point across when you feel her grip loosen.

You kiss across her other collarbone before slowly making your way down towards her sternum and between her breasts. Her nipples harden in your hands and your own patience begins to wear thin. In one swift motion you pull away from between her breasts and take one of her hardened peaks into your mouth. Alcina's groan quickly turns into a moan as you circle your tongue around it and suck. Just before it becomes too sensitive you release her nipple with a pop and latch onto the other one, repeating your ministrations.

Moans pass through Alcina's lips as you suck on her. She certainly wasn't expecting this to happen this morning but now that you've started, she might go crazy if you stopped.

The silk of her nightgown is soft under your touch as you run your hands down her stomach. As you reach her hips you gather the fabric and begin to bunch it up before releasing her other nipple from between your lips.

Alcina's legs fall open and her hand rests on the top of your shoulder. Looking up at her you take in the sight before you. A true goddess, with her head thrown back into the pillow, her usual perfect and pristine curls splayed across the pillowcase. Her eyes are closed and her lips parted in anticipation for you to reach your next destination. She gently pushes down on your shoulder, giving you a not-subtle hint to where she wants you to go next.

Sliding between her legs, you leave open mouthed kisses on the exposed skin of her stomach as you make your way down. You place one last kiss above the band of her underwear before getting settled. Taking in the sight in front of you you see the large wet patch in the middle of her lacy underwear. Reaching out, you run your fingers up and down the wet spot, causing Alcina's breath to hitch with a groan.

Her hips begin to gently roll against your touch. Placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh, you rest your hand on top of her mound and let your thumb circle her already swollen clit. She lets out the softest whine that causes you to smile into the skin of her thigh as you continue to pepper it with light kisses.

It surprises you how sensitive she is until you realize how long it's probably been since her last release. Jealousy begins to set in when you realize the last person to touch her was that maid. The last person to unravel Alcina was that maid. Right then and there you make the decision to make sure no one will ever be able make her feel as good as you can. It becomes your mission to make sure no one else's touch but your own will ever be able to unravel her again.

Abruptly, you pull your hand away and she lets out a groan of frustration. Before she can protest any further you grab each side of her underwear and practically yank them down her long legs, throwing them aside.

You kiss your way back up the inside of her thighs before settling between her legs once more. Looking up at Alcina you see that her eyes are squeezed shut but you want her to see you pleasure her. You want her to see that it's you driving her into bliss.

"Alcina," you say as you plant kisses into her soft, muscular thighs. "look at me."

Alcina hears your request but can't bring herself to open her eyes. Last time she did it crushed her that it wasn't you between her legs. She's terrified that if she looks it won't be you there. So she shakes her head "no".

Nipping the inside of her thigh, she whimpers.

"Look at me." Again, she shakes her head no. "Alcina, my love, look at me."

The smell of her arousal is intoxicating, it's so tempting for you to say "fuck it" and feast on her as she's spread out before you, but you stay strong.

"My love," you say as you kiss the inside of her thigh again. "look at me, please."

Alcina rolls her hips towards your mouth but you do your best to push them back down, and much to your surprise you're able to - she doesn't put up much of a fight.

"I want you to look at me Alcina. Look at me."

The throbbing between her legs begins to surpass the fear she has. After taking a shaky inhale, she opens her eyes and looks down at you as she props herself up on her elbows. The air in her lungs stalls when she sees that it's you between her legs. Relief washes over her and she melts into the mattress as her body relaxes.

A smile pulls at the corner of your lips as your eyes meet her golden ones. You see the look of relief, of passion burning in them. There's almost a look of desperation, a silent plea for you to continue.

"Good job." You say. A wave of arousal courses through Alcina, she definitely wasn't expecting you to praise her and she definitely wasn't expecting the praise to turn her on even more. "Now keep your eyes on me. Can you do that?"

Alcina silently nods her head "yes" and you lower your mouth down to her. You lick a broad strip up her dripping slit, just barely brushing over her clit. Her moans fill your ears as you moan from her taste on your tongue.

Looking back up at her, you notice her eyes are closed and her head is thrown back. You nip at the inside of her thigh to get her attention and her head snaps back towards you.

"Eyes on me." You say.

Alcina goes to protest but before she can utter a word you dive back in and the words die on her tongue. Anything she was about to say was replaced by a string of soft curses and moans. Your eyes flick up to make sure she's still looking at you and you see her golden irises staring back. You smile into her and swipe your tongue over her clit before capturing it between your lips.

A large hand grips the back of your head and Alcina cries out as you lick and suck on her throbbing clit. Every time you check to make sure she's still looking at you, you see her eyes trained on you.

Doubling down on your efforts you flick your tongue over her clit faster as it throbs between your lips. Alcina's legs begin to shake and just as they start to tighten around your head, just before she's about to fall into bliss, you pull away.

Her fingers holding onto the hair on the back of your head tighten almost painfully as she cries out at the loss. Looking back up at her, her eyes are glowing with frustration and she growls at you.

"Shh," you say, kissing the inside of her thigh. "let me take care of you. Trust me my love." The grip on the back of your head loosens and her eyes soften. "Good, keep looking at me."

She nods her head and you lick up her slit once more before bringing three of your fingers to her entrance. After you coat them in her arousal, you part her lips and slowly push in. Alcina moans above you as you push your fingers in and pull them out before pushing them back in once more. You repeat this motion a few times before thrusting down to your knuckles. She lets out a moan when you start fall into a rhythm and curl your fingers into her velvety walls. Three fingers may feel good for her but you know it's not enough so after a few more thrusts and curls you add a fourth finger.

Alcina moans grow louder and you feel her clench down around you as you continue to thrust and curl your fingers. With her eyes still focused on you, she begins to rock her hips to the pace you've set.

"Oh, draga." She moans.

"Am I making you feel good my love?"

"Yes." She says with an exhale.

"Can you take more of me? Do you want me to fill you baby?" You ask as you thrust hard into her and curl your fingers.

"Yes!" She cries. "Please my love, give me more!"

Folding your thumb across your palm, you slide your whole hand into her and you feel her walls stretch around you. Alcina lets out a filthy moan yet her eyes never leave you.

"Good job, I know how much you love feeling me fill you. I know you missed this, didn't you?" You ask as you pick up the pace.

"Yes! I missed you inside of me, I missed you so much draga mea!"

Your thrusts become faster and harder as you feel her walls flutter around you. The tips of your fingers feel that spongy spot deep inside and you push further into it before your fingers curl. Alcina lets out a scream as you start to pound against that spot.

"Oh fuck, draga! Right there!" She cries as her hips rock harder against your hand.

"Right here?" You ask as you curl against that spot again and she cries out as she stares down at you. She couldn't pull her eyes away from you even if she wanted to in this moment. "No one knows you like I do, isn't that right? No one else knows exactly what spot to hit to make you see stars, do they?" You ask as you continue to fuck her.

Unable to form words, Alcina shakes her head "no" as more moans leave her lips.

"That little maid could never fuck you the way I do, could she?" Alcina's mouth hangs open and she shakes her head "no" again. "Answer me." You say before swiping your tongue over her clit.

Alcina's hips buck into you and she cries out.

"No! She could never fuck me the way you do! No one could ever fuck me the way you do!"

"Good girl." You say before latching onto her clit and sucking on it.

Alcina's moans and cries grow louder and you feel her walls beginning to clench around your hand. She's getting close but you want to drag it out as long as you possibly can.

"Not yet." You say before flicking your tongue over her clit again.

She lets out a frustrated groan and throws her head back.

"Uh-uh, look at me." She rolls her head forward and her half-lidded eyes lock onto yours. You can see in her eyes how close she is. "Not yet baby, not yet."

Alcina whimpers as she tries to hold off her orgasm. You push her further and further, her legs begin to shake around your head as she does her best to stop from falling over the edge.

"Almost, not yet." You mumble into her.

"Please." She whimpers. "Please my love."

Your eyes snap up to hers and you see the desperation in her eyes, a complete submission you've never seen before. The look in her eyes spurs you on as you thrust faster and suck harder on her clit.

"Draga, I - I can't -"

"Cum for me baby."

Alcina's body trembles and you can see the explosion behind her eyes before they roll into the back of her head as she lets out a scream. She clenches tightly around your hand as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. Her clit throbs wildly in your mouth and you flatten your tongue against it as she bucks against you, letting her use your mouth as she rides it out.

Her cries soften and her walls start to relax. You swipe over her clit once more with your tongue - causing her to whine - before pulling your soaked hand from her. Alcina's chest rapidly rises and falls as she continues to come down from her high, trying to catch her breath. Aftershocks cause her hips and legs to twitch around you.

Crawling up next to her, Alcina opens her eyes and looks deeply into yours. Before you can say anything she pulls you into her and kisses you with an explosive passion.

When your lips part she buries her face into the side of your neck as the last of the aftershocks course through her. You run your fingers through her hair and kiss her head as she holds you tight.

Alcina has never relented control like that before with you. Even when you were pleasuring her in the past she was always in control. You wonder if she's ever let someone else take control before. Maybe before she got the cadou, but you're almost certain that she's never let someone else have control after.

She pulls away and looks into your eyes. You notice how watery they are and you cup her cheek and smile at her.

"Thank you." She says softly, holding back her tears.

"Of course. I love you."

"I love you, draga mea."

When your lips meet you feel a warmth flood your body. There's no hunger or desperation in the kiss, just pure love. She kisses you slowly for some time before your lips finally part. Alcina rests her forehead against yours and holds you tight.

"I love you so much. I am never letting you go ever again." She whispers.

"Good. Because I never want to let you go." You say back.

The two of you bask in the afterglow for a while longer, just holding each other in your arms while exchanging soft, slow kisses. It's moments like these with her that are your absolute favorite. Moments where the rest of the world disappears and it's just the two of you cuddled under the duvet. Your fingers trace her larger ones, in awe of how much bigger her hands are than yours. How soft her skin is, how strong they are. For the first time you really get a good look at the tips of her fingers and her fingernails. It fascinates you that her near perfect manicure can become such dangerous, beautiful claws in an instant.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No. It was rather uncomfortable at first but I grew used to it over time."

"Was it hard to control?"

"I wouldn't say it was hard, but it did take some getting used to in the beginning. There were plenty of instances where a poor maid was in the wrong place at the wrong time and she was accidentally sliced to ribbons."

"What happened?"

"They were more difficult to control when I was in fits of anger - which happened often back then. They seemed to have a mind of their own."

"Like a defense mechanism?"

"In a way, yes. So if I wasn't careful about my movements or how close I was to someone when I was angry, well, lets just say it didn't often end well."

"How long did it take you to control them?"

"Not very long, a few years perhaps. Although still to this day I can feel them itching to come out when I'm upset or angry, but I have much better control now than I did then."

"Do you file them?"

"Every so often, yes. But the wear and tear of my everyday work naturally wears them down so they're not as sharp."

"Is this the shortest they go without you having to trim them?"

"You are so full of questions this morning." She says with a smile as a light blush dusts your cheeks. Alcina kisses the side of your head before answering. "This is their natural length, but when necessary I can retract them further. It can be uncomfortable but it's worth it so I don't injure my partner during certain... activities." She says with a smirk.

You thread your fingers through hers and cuddle into Alcina with a giggle. Alcina nuzzles into you and kisses you on the head before letting out a sigh.

"Nooo." You whine, knowing what her sigh meant.

"I know draga, but we've been in bed all morning. I have a long list of things that need to be done today, including speaking with our prisoner."

Grumbling into her shoulder, Alcina lets out a laugh before pulling you close and kissing you one more time before throwing the covers off of the two of you.

You try with all of your might to hold Alcina down but she quickly overpowers you and flips you onto your back. She clicks her tongue at you as she leans down.

"Valiant effort my darling, but unfortunately you do not have the strength to overpower me just yet." Your bottom lip pushes out into a pout and she clicks her tongue at you again. "Oh, what's the matter my love? There is no pouting after such a wonderful morning." She says before leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

Alcina sits up and gets out of bed, not before tapping you on the thigh, prompting you to get out of bed as well.

"Come now draga, we have many things to do today."

The two of you get dressed and make your way down to the dining room for breakfast. During your meal Alcina goes over what she has to do today with the girls and discusses what she wants to happen with the prisoner.

"After breakfast we will pay him a little visit. Draga, if you would like to join us you are more than welcome to, but you are under no obligation."

"I would like to come, but I can stay out of sight. I just want to see if he tells you everything."

"What do you mean by that?" Cassandra asks.

"Y/n here went and visited our prisoner yesterday."

"You went into the dungeon alone?!" Bela asks.

"And you didn't die??" Cassandra asks.

"Why would you do that?!" Daniela yells.

"Girls, that's enough. We already spoke about it last night. There is no need for you to interrogate her about it, but I appreciate your concern for her wellbeing." Alcina says before turning back towards you. "Draga you are more than welcome to stay within earshot if you would like and if you want to make an appearance you may do so."

"I just don't want to see him get hurt."

"We will make sure you are escorted out of the dungeon before any of that takes place."

"Thank you." You say with a smile.

"Of course, my love."

The rest of the meal flies by and as the time to go down to the dungeon gets closer, you slowly begin to lose your appetite.

The girls finish their meals and Alcina swirls the rest of her wine in her glass before downing it in one gulp.

"Alright girls, I believe it's time to go visit the prisoner."

"I can't wait to take a bite out of him." Cassandra says with hungry eyes.

"And you say I'm always hungry." Daniela mumbles.

"Because you are! You insatiable beast!" Cassandra snaps back.

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Girls. Enough. I need you to either take this seriously or you will not participate. Do you understand?" Alcina says with a stern look.

"Yes mother." They reply in unison.

"Ready, draga?" Alcina asks, reaching her hand out towards you.

You nod your head and take her hand in yours.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

"Then let us go."

Alcina leads you from the dining room towards the dungeon door. The closer you get the harder you feel your heart pounding in your chest. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela swarm down the stairs in a fit of excited giggles and Alcina stops at the top of the steps before kneeling down to your height.

"Are you sure you want to come, my love? I don't want you to feel pressured to be there."

"I know, but I want to. I have to. I just need to know-" you take a deep breath and Alcina nods at you, not needing you to finish your response. She knows why you feel like you need to come, that you need to see for yourself if he was as innocent as you thought he was - as you wanted him to be.

Alcina looks deeply into your eyes before pulling you in for a kiss. Immediately, your body relaxes into her touch and you smile into her. When your lips part Alcina stands back up and takes your hand in hers. She guides you through the dungeon door and you know there's no turning back now. You can only hope he tells them the truth - the whole truth. Not only does his fate hang in the balance, but so does the remainder of hope you've been clinging to.

"Well, here goes nothing." You say to yourself as you take the final steps towards the cell.

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