#this is Very Personal and i would be perfectly fine for it to just slide under the radar entirely yknow

[tiktaaliker]

so i got like really sick over the weekend and am still feeling kinda nasty but have FINALLY finished whipping this up in the meantime.

hi hello this is just generally a basic run down of how i picture myself in my own head. i have tried for literal YEARS to figure out something that is properly me but ive finally figured out how to do it. my sense of self is so vague and disjointed and disconnected from anything that its just SO much easier to define it by certain motifs rather than anything more specific

the one labeled as a common archetype is the specific vibe im feeling atm. also like any of those categories i listed are subject to change tbh. the only one im fairly confident im attached enough to be long-term aspects of my sense of self is the "always" category, but even then some are iffy (specifically the non-furred tail- it fits NOW but idk if it ALWAYS will. 99.9 percent sure the rest of the always traits are here to stay tho)

under the cut has the blurbs in text for accessibility (+ the image quality got fucked when uploaded + my handwriting is shit)

ALWAYS- -sharp teeth -wings -aquatic aspects -chimerical -tail (NOT FURRED) -blue + orange

COMMON- -bipedal (raptor-like) -abnormal pupils -horns/spikes -maned

POSSIBLE- -inorganic or plant aspects -atypical number of limbs/eyes/etc -floating limbs/aspects -atypical body configuration and limb orientation

#howling #art tag #i guess this would count as a fursona but its also just literally me #i have like. an identity superposition where if i try to depict myself as One Thing i am not that anymore #this is my solution to that problem #also fun fact i dont think of the ticker as a name. its more of a title??? its like the iron bull from DA:I #quality got borked when uploaded so you might need to click to read #also yes i did actually post this super late at night on purpose #this is Very Personal and i would be perfectly fine for it to just slide under the radar entirely yknow #like. i dont mind showing yall some ticker lore but im also so so scareds. #anyways. hi

[makoodles]

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

[bedsyandco]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

🫧 — {fem!bsf!reader x dad!brock boeser}

🫧 — my first time writing for brock!! I hope you like it, as always feedback is appreciated !!

🫧 — in which your Brock’s best friend and the lines are blurry because you act like more both to him and his son.

🫧 — content: sfw, a little person, fluff

🫧 — wc: 2.35K

You were staring out the window, watching the raindrops slide down the glass of your coffee shop. The place was buzzing with people only minutes earlier, everyone wanting a hot drink to shield them from the stretch of bad weather that impacted the city these last few days, although that’s quite normal this time of the year. The buzz had died down and you were grateful since you just cleaned the floor, and didn’t look forward to having to do it again if someone else entered through the door with their wet shoes, the welcome mat at the entrance seeming to not do its job very effectively.

Your attention quickly shifted when you heard your phone ring and grabbed it out of your back pocket, heart beating a little faster when you saw who was calling.

“Vancouver Academy Preschool”

You had spent hours teasing Brock about how uptight this school sounded. It was preschool for crying out loud, and both you and Brock went to public school and turned out just fine, but he wasn’t budging. Only the very best for his boy. You didn’t feel a single trace of amusement seeing the name now though, only anxious as to why they could be calling.

“Good Afternoon, is this Brooks’ mom, YN speaking?” a woman's voice echoes over the speaker.

“Uh- that’s me but I’m not-”

“Oh thank goodness, we weren’t able to get in contact with his father, I’m glad I could at least reach one of his parents.” she continues, interrupting you before you could correct her that you weren’t Brooks’ mom. Brock was still at the rink, that’s probably why he wasn’t answering. “I’m Brooks’ teacher and I’m calling because there was an accident at school today and we were wondering if you would be able to come pick Brooks up from school?”

Your throat constricts a little at what she's saying, not being able to comprehend the words Brooks and accident in one sentence. “An accident? What accident? Is he hurt?” you ask frantically, questions flying one after the other.

“He’s perfectly fine ma’am. He had a little fall and bumped his head. There was a little scratch but we had our school nurse clean it up and check him out, but we thought since there were only a few hours left of school anyway and he seemed a bit upset, it may be better if he just went home for the day.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, seeing that it was only noon. You had another four hours to work at most, but you also knew that Brock probably wasn’t going to see the school’s messages before then and you couldn’t leave Brooks at school until then. The thought of him hurt and upset was enough to make you remove the apron from your waist and say, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Sounds serious,” you hear from your left seeing Lydia, one of your waitresses standing there.

“It was Brooks’ school. I need to go pick him up. I know it was your day to leave early but do you think you can stay until closing time? If you really can’t we’ll just close up early today,” you ramble, moving to grab your coat and searching for your keys.

“Of course, don’t even worry about it, I’ll close up.” she says

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t even try to apologise. You do what you need to for your kids, I get that.” and she did. Having two kids of her own.

“I know but he’s not even really mine. Not biologically at least. It’s not the same and I know this was your Friday to leave early,” you say remorsefully.

“Stop that. He’s yours in every way that matters. If I’ve ever seen anyone be a mom to that little boy, it’s you.” she says and your eyes sting a little and you have to blink up at the ceiling for a minute to stop them from falling.

“Thank you. I owe you one, I’ll see you Monday?” you ask and make your way out the door when she nods.

How you ended up in this situation, you honestly had no idea. It hadn’t been your intention to end up having your name registered as a parental contact. But you did feel an immense sense of warmth that Brock trusted you enough to do it.

Brock had been your friend for many years, and when Brooks came into the world, he only brought you closer. You would have never wished for Brooks’ mom to abandon him and Brock, and you would forever hold resentment in your heart for her because of that, but it did create a hole in their lives that you had somehow filled.

When you pull into the parking lot at Brooks’ school, you clench the steering wheel tightly and let out a big breath, releasing all the confusing thoughts about your role in Brooks’ life and the confusing relationship you had with his father. One day maybe you’d address those thoughts, but today isn’t that day.

You step out of the car, pulling your coat tighter around you to shield from the cold and take a little jog up to the front entrance. The receptionist immediately glanced up when you entered and sent you a quick smile.

“Hi I’m here to pick up Brooks Boeser,” you say and her eyes widened significantly, looking a lot more interested when she heard that last name and called through to the classroom. That almost would have been amusing had you not been preoccupied by your nerves about Brooks. You knew Brock paid a lot of big donations and checks that ensured him and Brooks were treated well here, and it looked like that treatment extended to you.

A door buzzes open and through comes Brooks, his hands tightly clasped on the straps of his backpack, his feet shuffling against the ground.

His eyes were red, cheeks flushed, a little bandaid on his forehead where you assumed the little scratch was. As he neared you his eyes teared up and the bottom lip started to wobble.

“Yn!” he yells, picking up his pace when he sees you and tripping into your legs, wrapping his arms around them.

“Oh my little love, did you get hurt?” You ask bending down and pushing his hair away from his forehead and gently running your fingers over the bandaid, as he nods.

“What exactly happened?” you ask his teacher who was only standing a few feet away observing the interaction.

“Brooks was playing outside with a friend and when he came back inside his shoes were wet and he ran, slipped and fell. He hit his head against a table and there’s a little scrape but as I said on the phone our nurse checked him out and he seems to be just fine. I can contact the nurse to talk with you if you’d like” the teacher says 

“That won’t be necessary, I trust that everything was handled as it should be,” you say in a tone suggesting that anything else would be ridiculous since Brock spends so much money on this school.

“Brooks was so excited when he found out his mom was coming to get him,” his teacher redirects the conversation and you smile tightly at her, that word causing your throat to squeeze tightly.

You squeeze Brooks tightly, the little boy still clinging to you as if his life depended on it. You pick him up, throwing his bag over your shoulder and making your way to the door when the teacher holds it open for you.

“Thank you,” you say politely and she smiles back at you.

“Have a good weekend. I’ll see you on Monday Brooks,” she says as you make your way to your car.

When Brooks is tightly secured in his car seat and you’ve let the car warm up a bit, you make your way to the arena.

“Wanna go visit daddy at work?” you ask Brooks, reaching back and squeezing his foot when you reach a red light.

“Yes!” he yells and you smile at his excitement.

“He’ll be happy to see you,” you say, focusing your attention back on the road.

“Happy to see you too,” Brooks replies and you glance at him in the mirror seeing a teasing little smile on that face.

“You think so?” you ask and he nods

“Uncle Petey told dad he’s happiest when he sees you,” Brooks says matter of factly

“Have you been listening to your dad’s conversations again?” you ask and he smiles guiltily

“No. They thought I was sleeping,” he admits softly and you smile, shaking your head at him. He’s sneaky. 

“Do you love my daddy?” Brooks asks and you swallow thickly thinking about it for a second. You knew Brooks was going to be asking about your friendship with his dad sooner or later, you’d just hoped it was later and that Brock was the one being asked.

You didn’t know how to say it without giving Brooks the wrong idea, and you definitely didn’t need him running back to his dad and telling him about your feelings for him. You weren’t entirely sure Brock was over what happened with Brooks’ mom. You didn’t think he was in love with her, but the way she just left and abandoned both of them still had an effect on Brock. He still hadn’t gone back to dating even after all these years. 

“Of course I love your dad. He’s my best friend in the whole world.” you tell him and he smiles happily.

“Do you think my dad is pretty?” Brooks asks curiously 

“He’s very pretty, just like you,” you say to Brock’s mini-me.

“My dad thinks you’re pretty too. He told uncle Quinny while you were making noodles,” Brooks says, referring to a few days ago when you cooked pasta for Brock and a few guys at his place.

“Are you two going to get married?” Brooks asks and you nearly swerve off the road.

“What made you have that idea?” you ask more calmly than you feel

“A girl in my class said that if two people love each other and think they’re pretty, they get married,” Brooks explains

“It’s a bit more complicated than that bud,” you say gently, relieved as you finally pull up to the arena.

You walk into the arena, Brooks’ hand clasped tightly in yours and wait in a little room you were directed to while someone called for Brock. You were sitting on a couch, Brooks cuddled up in your lap when Brock finally entered the room, closing the door behind him. Brock observed the two of you for a second, a strange emotion clouding his face. 

“Dad! Look, I have a scratch on my head!” he says as you stand up and walk towards Brock, Brooks still on your hip. 

Brock’s panicked eyes find yours before brushing Brooks’ hair away so he could inspect the little scratch more carefully, his other hand falls to your waist, pulling both of you close.

“He had a little fall, scraped his head, he’s okay. I took care of it,” you reassure him, and Brock’s shoulders relax a little bit.

Brock nods, pressing a kiss to Brooks’ forehead before moving to kiss your cheek, and your breath hitches at the intimate gesture. Brock had always been affectionate but lately he’s been doing a lot more often and openly. 

“I’m gonna go grab my stuff, I’ll be back in a sec. Do you need anything?” Brock asks, his hand caressing the skin at your waist lightly.

“No, we’re fine. Go finish up,” you say and he smiles, giving you both a peck again before leaving the room again. 

Later that day when you’ve got Brooks passed out in his bed, Brock joins you in the living room taking a seat on the couch, sitting as close to you as he can without actually touching you.

Brock leans his head back, letting out a trembling breath. 

“He’s okay Brock. It’s just a little scratch. You know that if I suspected he wasn’t okay I would’ve taken him to-”

“I know. It’s just that you shouldn’t have to. It’s my job to take care of him and I wasn’t there.” Brock says and you sigh, moving even close to him.

“Look at me,” you insist softly, and he does, his gaze so incredibly soft and fond it makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst.

“You’re a great dad Brock. You love that little boy so much, and he knows it. You’re doing the best that you can and it’s okay to ask for help sometimes.” you say and his hand falls to your upper thigh, caressing it softly.

“It’s not fair to you,” he argues

“I love that little guy and there’s nothing I love more than taking care of him. Of both of you.” you say and Brock looks at you for a moment.

“I love you,” he confesses and you can feel a ball forming in your throat.

“I love you too,” you reply and Brock shakes his head.

“No, I love you. I’m in love with you. I always have been” 

“Brock-”

“I can never bring myself to regret being with Brooks’ mom. You weren’t available back then and I was convinced you never would be, but somehow your ex managed to mess it up and you were single and I was so happy because I was finally gonna get my shot. And then Brooks happened and I love that kid to death, so I could never ever regret it, but it’s always been you.” he says softly, framing your face with both hands and kissing you softly. 

“This family isn’t complete without you. I hope you know that.” Brock says, gently caressing your face when he pulls away. 

“Will you stay the night?” he asks and you smile.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you answer, and a few weeks later all your things were in that house, knowing you were never leaving again. 

#brock boeser fic #brock boeser x reader #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser x yn

[rachalixie]

a/n: eid mubarak! i hope this reaches the people that i want it to :) i tried my very best as i don't celebrate personally, but i think that eid is an absolutely beautiful holiday and deserves to be appreciated by all. special thank you to @astraystayyh and @lino-nyangi i love you two so much i hope your celebrations are magnificent and that your tummies are full of good food and you eat lots and lots of sweets <3

chan arrives in a flurry of excitement, giggling as your younger cousins and siblings flock to him and hang off of his legs. he ruffles their hair, telling them how much they’ve grown since he last saw them, and finishes it off with folded bills that he presses into their hands along with a gentle kiss to the crowns of their heads. one by one, he gains their favor and they squeal about how he’s their favorite uncle - a thought that makes him blush and intertwine his fingers with yours. 

minho helps you cook dish after dish, porcelain and ceramic serving plates stacking up as you cook together. the air in your kitchen smells absolutely divine, spices and saffron and nutty rice steaming away as the two of you flirt around each other and exchange kisses over the sink. he always enjoys learning how to make new recipes, but learning the foods you used to make with your mom as a child is something dear to him.

changbin takes the time to learn things - asks your father what he’s supposed to do because he wants to make sure he’s doing things perfectly. he cares less about the formalities and more of the hidden things he can do, wanting to surprise you just to see that pleased look on your face. you’re making that look now, as he approaches you after having coffee with your father and uncles, and he hands you his empty cup. it’s full of gold chocolate coins, and he sheepishly admits that he didn’t have real gold but he thought it would do. the way you lean up to kiss him, keeping his body between yours and the door so no one can see, tells him that he did just fine.

hyunjin revels in your beauty; though he thinks you’re gorgeous all of the time, something about seeing you in traditional clothes with threads of gold woven into colorful fabrics makes you glow in a way he can’t get enough of. he puts on the finishing touch, sliding intricate jhumkas into your ears, the weight of them a comforting reminder of his fingers brushing against your lobes. he tells you how beautiful you are countless times, whispering it to you so only you can hear, but everyone knows from the blood that rushes to your cheeks in turn.

jisung spends weeks after weeks in secret learning arabic, or rather trying. he stumbles upon his letters, syllables that make no sense to his tongue, but he practices over and over until he can say one thing that he whispers to you just as the clock strikes midnight. eid mubarak, he mumbles as he brushes his fingers across your brow, his eyes shiny in the moonlight as he keeps his gaze fixed on you. he’ll repeat the phrase to your family and friends later, but his clumsy pronunciation and small smile make this first one so special to you.

felix revels in the act of charity always, but sharing it with you brings a lightness to his heart that he can’t get enough of. he’s more motivated than you are, dragging you to homeless shelters and daycares and wherever he can find to volunteer and give back. on the last day, he shyly shows you a list of charities he’s donated to all month, in your name, and you tackle him into a hug with tears in your eyes.

seungmin fits in like he’s been celebrating with you for years. he stuffs his belly full with delicious food, chats with your parents with a wide grin on his face, plays with the children like he raised them himself. he does everything perfectly, knowing when to greet people and when to participate in prayer and where to go. it surprises you in a delightful way, in the same way that he always does when he knows something about you that you don’t even know yourself. you discover later, when you unlock his phone to take photos of him laughing across the room, the extensive research on eid traditions that he has open in his browser.

jeongin is so nervous to meet your extended family for the first time. he fiddles with his hair for an hour, making sure that not a single strand is out of place. he smooths down his clothes when he gets out of the car, and stares at the front door of your parents’ house with wide eyes and an open mouth, and you have to press his jaw up with gentle fingers as your mother opens the door. you watch the nervousness fizzle out as he’s greeted with warm welcomes from everyone, treating like he’s part of the family already. 

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #bang chan imagines #skz fluff #lee know imagines #changbin imagines #hyunjin imagines #jisung imagines #seungmin imagines #felix imagines #jeongin imagines

[spdrvyn]

hii i love your fics! may i request miguel being jealous because reader gives meows morales too much attention? (cmon man the lil guy is so cute)

the right to be jealous — MIGUEL O'HARA

☆ miguel loathes the fact that he's jealous of a cat, therefore he tries to do something about it.

fluff. jealous miguel. this ask is literally so cute... i wish whoever sent me this a very good day because wow it's so?!!!?! anyway, hi! i'm alive, school has been kicking me in the ass so this is a bit overdue, enjoy anyway ^_^

Your relationship with Miguel started off strong, everything went perfectly. Date nights, missions, and all. He felt so elated, that for once, something in his life went in the right direction, and he didn't feel like it was an error or glitch in the matrix.

He thought that you were absolutely flawless too, you had good looks, a personality that aligns with his so well, not to mention that you were endlessly patient with him. It was a quality that he'd forever be grateful, this relationship was something that he'd forever be grateful for.

... So why was he getting jealous over a cat?

"Look at you, aren't you the cutest, most handsome thing ever?" you cooed at the feline, grazing your fingers over the cat's belly, and it purrs in your grasp which causes you to squeal. "I can't believe that grumpy over there hasn't told me about you!"

I had a good reason, he wanted to say, but whatever. It was fine, everything was fine, and he could handle it. However, the scowl that permanently rested on his features deepened, you pick up on it and chuckle. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he grumbles, turning so that his back faces you. It's not that he had an issue with the cat, it's just that all of those kisses, those compliments, and more could be going to him instead. Did he feel selfish for it? Absolutely. Would he stop feeling this way? Absolutely not.

"Miguel..." Oh no. He knew what that tone meant, bringing the palm of his hand to his face, he groans lowly before you're slinging Meows over his shoulder. "Come on, what did Meows Morales do to you, huh?"

He doesn't respond, doesn't even bother to look at you. His fingers pad along his screens and bringing files that haven't been opened up in years, he just wants to look like he's doing something but in truth, he's trying to escape your ruthless teasing.

"You're very cute when you pout, you know?" It sends a shudder up his spine, normally Miguel was very resistant with praise and let's not forget the tiny animal that's rubbing up his cheek and purring.

But when it came to you, the way that the words rolled off of your tongue, the way you looked at him, he could feel it to his very core and his heart was just so full. You could kill him with praise alone and he would die a happy man.

"And your hair," He's about to question the loss of Meows on his shoulder until you suddenly tangle your fingers at the top of his head and fix any fallen strands, pushing back his hair a little. "I think it suits you very well, you always look handsome. Even when you don't try."

Miguel's heart isn't beating as loud as a drum anymore, at this point it's the whole band. Melodious tunes that sing from the deep parts of his soul and they sing for you, his breath hitches when you slide your hand down to cup his cheek and make him properly face you.

"Hey," is all you say, yet it drives him mad.

He grabs your wrist, pushing your body up against his desk as he pins you down. Your faces are merely inches away from each other, but he leans in even closer, and you can feel his breath against your ear. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He pulls back from the crevice of your neck but still keeps that closeness, his eyes dart to your lips then back up to, and he's just about to absolutely devour you until you push your palms flat up against his chest and he stops.

"Wait," You exhale with shaky breaths, "The cat's still here."

From the corner of his eyes, he catches sight of Meows on his desk in some sort of tucked in position. He sighs before scooping him up in his arms, muttering some Spanish phrases under his breath but you can't even tell if they're meant in offense or not.

He carefully tosses him off of the platform with a huff, standing back up to full height and finally being able to direct his full attention to you. "Now,"

"Where were we?"

#spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x gn!reader #miguel o'hara fluff #fluff #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #gave reader some rizz

[gurugirl]

what if priestrry has ppl over for prayer and yn is there too (bc she can be now since no one knows her really) and he accidentally slips and says something to her like “pet” or “good girl”

how would they play it off? they can’t be perfectly on their game all the time 😬

priest!harry x reader

Summary: Harry slips up and calls Y/n a good girl in front of people in their prayer group.

A/n: Sorry for the delay in updating! Enjoy my two favorite characters! 1.5k words

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious themes, mentions of come, eludes to smut and other sexual acts, masturbation

priestrry masterlist | Forgive Me, Father

Y/n was running around helping Harry set up for the prayer meeting. A small group of people were coming over as a last-minute sort of thing. In fact, it was so last minute that Harry was in the middle of coming on Y/n’s tits as she was kneeling in front of him with her tongue out, hoping to catch some of him in her mouth, when he got a phone call as a reminder. He’d forgotten. So it wasn’t really a last-minute thing, as much as he’d lost track of the day and hadn’t told Y/n.

Harry freshened himself up quickly and pulled out his study materials as Y/n rushed into the bathroom to wipe his come from her body before starting a pot of coffee. She placed the chairs in the living area and put her leash away back into their bedroom before scampering into the kitchen to pull out mugs with the cream and sugar bowls. Harry looked up from his notebook to see his little pet fluffing the pillows in a hurry, still nude, goosebumps on her thighs and bottom.

He came up behind her and gently pulled her to stand upright and face him. She turned to look up at him as he silently unbuckled her red leather collar, keeping the dainty gold chain with the ‘H’ charm on her neck. Putting her collar into her hand he smirked at her, “Go get some clothes on, my love. You look cold.”

“Yes, Father.”

She smiled to herself as she walked into their bedroom. He was so dominant but in the way that always made her heart race. She couldn’t wait until everyone left after because he promised her something very special before she watched him pump his cock until he was coming over her chest. She loved watching his hand stroke his thick shaft as he released on her because it was just the beginning of what was to come for the night. She loved being his good girl, being patient for him, being edged until it was her turn to come. Until he allowed it. She loved him.

Slipping on a dress over her head and slipping a pair of panties over her hips she fluffed out her hair, slid on her sneakers, and got back to setting up the living room for the guests. Though they wouldn’t know she was the one who’d set everything up but she loved the secret. Loved the surreptitiousness of their relationship.

She kissed his cheek and picked up her Bible, “Love you, Father. I’ll wait outside.”

This was the routine. If there was a prayer meeting she couldn’t always be the first person to arrive. That could become suspicious. Once in a while, it could slide, but every time? So she’d wait around the back of the house until a couple of people had arrived first.

This time it was Mr. & Mrs. Jeralds who arrived first. They were a nice young couple. Always eager. Mrs. Jeralds seemed to really take a liking to Y/n.

Harry greeted his guests with a warm smile and a hug, offering coffee and tea. Y/n walked through the door moments later with her Bible held up over her chest and a big smile.

“Hi, Father. Thank you so much for inviting me,” she said as he gave her a side hug and she sat down next to Mrs. Jeralds.

“Would you like tea? Or coffee?” Harry asked her and then licked his lips.

She tried not to watch his pretty mouth as he spoke but she really had to concentrate hard, “Oh, a tea is fine. Thank you!”

Harry poured hot water into a mug and gave her a tea bag.

As the deacon walked in, Mrs. Jeralds nudged at Y/n, “So, I’ve been thinking… my cousin Austin will be coming to service this week. I would love for you to meet him. He’s an accounting manager at Debrille downtown. Good head on his shoulders. I think you two would really get along.”

Y/n raised her brows and smiled. She wasn’t interested, obviously, but she played along, “Oh that’s lovely. I’d like to meet him. How thoughtful of you.”

Harry sat down next to Mr. Jeralds, “Meet who?”

“Oh, Judy’s trying to get her cousin set up with a nice girl. He’s been single too long for her liking-”

“Jim! That’s not true!” She sputtered and looked from Y/n to Harry and then her husband, “I just think that they’d get along nicely…” She looked back to Y/n, “… and Y/n’s single! Maybe it’ll be a good match.”

Harry’s severe gaze met Y/n’s and she saw him clench his jaw. Of course, she knew that he knew there wasn’t a thing to worry about. But the way he was looking at her told her he wasn’t a fan of the conversation.

After the rest of the guests arrived and were given mugs of warm beverages they went around the circle and spoke about things that had burdened them that week and what they’d like to pray about or have the group pray for over them.

The hour always went by quickly but on this night, Y/n was especially excited for what was to come as they’d been interrupted before Harry could make good on his promise. She was almost shaky in anticipation. Slowly growing wet as she listened to him pray. She knew she should behave and pay attention but his voice alone she could get off to.

She had gotten off to it too. Like when he’d make her masturbate for him. He’d tell her what to do and where to touch herself and then praise her the wetter she got. He’d have her blindfolded so she couldn’t see him as he guided her to orgasm with his dark baritone.

When the last ‘Amen’ was spoken the deacon stood up and shook Harry’s hand, “I have to run, Father. Thank you so much!”

The last of the guests stayed and chatted for a bit as Y/n helped put the mugs away into the kitchen and Mrs. Jeralds washed them. She brought up Austin again but Y/n just smiled and nodded. She didn’t want to be rude but there was no way in hell Y/n would be going to lunch with them after service to get to know her cousin. Sometimes she wished she could just tell everyone that she was already taken. That the man of her dreams, the love of her life was gorgeous and tall and funny, and smart and he loved her with everything in him and she would never find that kind of love anywhere else.

But she had to pretend she was single and not interested. Which, the result of her secret was that she had Harry. Very much worth it.

Mrs. Jeralds went back into the living to get her things to leave when Harry walked into the kitchen just as Y/n was putting the last mug into the cupboard.

Harry looked behind him to make sure no one was in earshot and getting behind Y/n he spoke quietly, “Once they’re gone I need this off of you,” he plucked at the material near her waist.

Y/n looked at him over her shoulder and smiled, “Of course, Father. Anything you want.”

Harry looked down over her pretty face and to her neck. He loved seeing the small bruises there. Usually from his mouth. And in an action totally out of character when he was in the presence of others, he brought his hand up to her neck and brushed his fingers over the small bruise as she kept her eyes on him.

“Good girl.”

A throat cleared behind the pair causing them both to turn abruptly.

“We were just going to say our goodbyes. It was a wonderful meeting as always, Father,” Mr. Jeralds spoke as he looked at Harry. Mrs. Jeralds was looking at Y/n.

And neither could quite tell if they’d been caught or not. Had they heard him call her a good girl? Had they seen him touch her neck?

“Oh yeah! I should go as well!” Y/n moved away from Harry toward the living room to grab her purse. Her heart was pounding and she hoped they didn’t notice anything but the expression on Mrs. Jeralds face was concerning. Or perhaps it was just Y/n being paranoid (for good reason).

She waved goodbye, rushing out before the Jeralds could exit, and ran to the side of the house. She knew she should calm down but her nerves were getting the best of her. As her mind went over every possible outcome she heard the Jeralds leaving the house and Harry saying goodbye. She waited until their car drove off and down the street before peeking around the front and looked up at the porch to see Harry standing there with his hands on his hips looking right at her.

“Come on. Coast is clear.”

When Harry locked the front door behind them Y/n spoke finally, “Do you think that-“

Harry put his hand on hers, “I hope not. But they didn’t say anything. Nothing we can do about that now.”

“But what does that mean? What if-“

“Pet,” Harry spoke softly bringing his hand up to her face, his thumb at her cheekbone, “I said there’s nothing we can do about it. Now be a good girl for me and take your clothes off.”

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Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

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#harry styles smut #priestrry #priest!harry #priest!harry x reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #firstpost #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry x reader #harry x yn #harry x y/n #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #harry #harry styles fiction #dom!harry #sub!reader #dom!harry x sub!reader #dom!harry styles #dom!harry styles x sub!reader #forgive me father #priest!harry styles

[comicaurora]

If you still have Sailor Moon on the brain, did watching it at all give you any options you wish to share about other magical girl esk media you wish existed or your own take on how you would create a story in that media space?

If not, then maybe, if you're inclined to, recount some interesting findings about the connections that exist between shojo and shonen media?

(If neither then please disregard, sorry for imposing)

It was interesting! I was surprised at how much it had in common with shonen action anime. Half the boss battles get resolved with a beam clash and the only difference between Super Saiyan and Neo Queen Serenity is whether the hair or the outfit changes.

The one part I found myself sliding off of - due to personal writing preference - is how Usagi is the defacto center of the universe and everyone else is very explicitly playing support. That's part of why I liked the Outer Senshi so much - because they've all got their own ludicrously OP stuff going on, they feel more like equals to Usagi than glorified bodyguards. The inner planet senshi get their own character arcs, which is excellent, but after a while it's pretty clear that none of them can ever finish a fight without Sailor Moon. And that's fine, that's the pretense of the story - their jobs are very explicitly to protect the turbopowerful demigoddess moon princess while she gets her act together enough to remember she can win - but I prefer writing an ensemble cast where everyone feels like the hero of their own story, not the support in someone else's, and that's pretty much antithetical to the core premise of the show.

It also has a lot of the hallmarks of a soft magic system that I personally struggle with - the old "you win by believing in yourself" thing basically means "you win when the plot demands it would be most interesting for you to win" - but again, they can get away with a lot by letting the actual core premise of the universe's power system be stuff like "a pure heart gives you strength" and "the power of love will legitimately make you more powerful." And I respect that the show doesn't just give people powerups whenever - one of the parts I found most emotionally impactful was in the finale of season 3, when Sailor Saturn is going to fight the big bad all by herself and will 100% definitely die in the process, and because Sailor Moon has sacrificed the season's macguffin, she can no longer transform into her powered-up form to help - which doesn't stop her from screaming the transformation phrase over and over, because she is desperate to save Sailor Saturn even if she's been told it can't possibly work. When she gets her The Most Purest Heart Ever powerup at the last possible second, that feels excellent because it's a profoundly impactful character moment that's being supported by the plot with a tangible powerup. It's pretty telling that we don't even see the final bossfight; it's not about the spectacle or the beam clash, it's about the character arcs that surround them. I think that's a really interesting way to handle it and to add depth to an otherwise basic "whose number is bigger" style struggle.

I'm also deeply fond of paragons, and as the seasons go on I really like how Usagi's ultimately kind personality drives her to constantly help, no matter the personal cost or how aggressively people try to dissuade her - and I like that she gets angry and frustrated and even says or does harsh things sometimes, but will ultimately always do what she thinks is right. It makes her feel like a real human being, and the "weaknesses" and flaws in her character - aka the parts that make her something more complicated than a perfectly stoic problem-solving machine - are a lot of fun to watch.

Personal preference, I'd like to see more magical girl stuff where the central pillar of the plot is not a constant will-they-won't-they het romance - but I also like how Sailor Moon as a series is legitimately aware that this is not actually the de facto most important relationship for everyone. Surprising multitude of gay characters aside, I recently caught a season 2 episode where Makoto donates blood to save a close friend, and explains to Usagi that she isn't in love with him, but they have an incredibly profound friendship that's more important to her than any boyfriend, a concept with startles and confuses Usagi. It seems to be a case where the heroine has a Foundational Romantic Subplot that defines the course of her life and the plot, but the rest of the characters get to have more complicated dynamics where their life goals aren't "omg boys", and I liked that a lot!

When comparing and contrasting it to shonen action anime, I think the magical girl genre manages to integrate the lower-stakes slice of life elements significantly more smoothly, and to great effect - the 90% of the show that's silly and ridiculous makes the 10% of it that's extremely serious and gutwrenching much more impactful. That's something that a lot of shonen series struggle with, where the tone goes from "moderately serious with the occasional goof" to "extremely serious with major character deaths." The magical girl genre going from "the dumbest episode premise you've ever heard" to "extremely serious with major character deaths" is a much more precipitous plunge into icy water, as it were.

When I think about how I would write a magical girl story, I basically just smack into the premise of Exalted. Its worldbuilding has exactly what I want - an interesting system of powerset-reincarnation into worthy hosts that allows for complex interpersonal dynamics through varying levels of memory preservation, several different flavors of magical transforming person including Evil Versions, and the one thing I prioritize in my own writing - a world that feels like it can have a lot of main characters and heroes of their own story. Everyone in Exalted has their own shit going on and their own past-life drama, including former friend groups/adventuring parties, soulmates (both regular and evil versions), and anyone who might've previously killed them. Most importantly for my preferences, there's no default main character of the universe. If I were to make an urban fantasy magical girl setting, I'd probably use an extremely similar premise because I find the ramifications of it unbelievably interesting in a way the system itself is not designed to explore.

#asks #not aurora #media recs #writing stuff

[blue-slxt]

Romancing Pandora 7

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Somehow, this turned into a fluff piece instead of smut??? Sorry if that's disappointing, I truly don't know how we got here, but here it is lol. I still hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Tsireya x Fem!Metkayina!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Pining, Best Friend/Wingman Neteyam, AoNete ship

“You are staring again”, Neteyam singsongs next to you breaking you out of your trance. 

“Shut up, I was not!” The blush on your face is evident even though you try your best to hide your face behind your hair. He chuckles and lightly nudges your shoulder with his own. “You should just go talk to her.” 

“It’s not that simple!” your hands slide down your face in frustration. 

“Sure it is. Just walk up and start a conversation. I do it all the time”, he says matter of factly.

“Well, yea. You’re you! You look like that! And you’re charming and funny and a strong warrior and–” “Please, go on”

You laugh and lightly slap his arm making him raise his hands in mock surrender. 

“My point is, she’s the daughter of the chief. She’s not just anybody. It’s different talking to her.” 

“Oh, yea because I wouldn’t know a thing about that. I’m just dating the future chief. No big deal.” He drips sarcasm and you roll your eyes. 

“Fair.”

Neteyam’s eyes shift from your face to looking right behind you and a smirk crosses his lips. “Don’t freak out, but she’s coming this way”, he half-whispers. 

It feels like your heart rate doubles in a matter of seconds. You hurriedly run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to seem more presentable while still looking casual. Your eyes widen in slight panic looking at Neteyam and he simply raises his brows at you in a way that says ‘just talk like a person’. Thankfully, he starts the conversation to hopefully make the transition easier for you. 

“Tsireya, how are you today?” 

You finally turn around and she’s closer than you had realized. Great Mother, she’s beautiful. Her wavy hair perfectly frames her round face and her eyes somehow seem to always glitter. And her smile makes your heart jump to your throat. 

“I am fine, thank you. I wanted to ask if the two of you will be joining us for the celebration tonight.” Her eyes bounce between the two of you, but her gaze ultimately settles on you waiting for an answer. 

It’s as if your mind has completely melted and took all sense of speaking with it. It’s only when Neteyam lightly nudges you that the lump in your throat allows itself to be swallowed down. 

“Y-yes. Yes, we will. Can’t wait.”

Her smile widens and she beams at you, “Great! I can’t wait to see you there!” She walks past you both to carry on her way and the sway of her hips as she walks leaves you stunned. 

“Well, would you look at that” Neteyam says side-eyeing you playfully.

…

Is it possible to die of nerves? Because if it is, you’re pretty sure that you’re due to drop any second now. The music is loud and there are so many people. Your tail hasn’t stopped thumping against your thigh since you got here. Standing at the edge of the crowd nervously clutching your drink is already overwhelming enough without getting into the mix. 

Neteyam suddenly appears from between the crowd of people and comes over to you very out of breath from dancing. You silently offer him your drink which he happily takes a swig of. 

“Not joining the festivities?” he asks. 

“Look at her, Teyam! She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. How am I possibly supposed to focus long enough to hold an actual conversation with her?” Your tail tapping seems to start tapping double time. 

“Oh, Great Mother, this is ridiculous. Watch. You’ll thank me later. Tsireya!” he calls out to her over the swarm of people. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head from how you’re looking at him. “Tey, what are you doing?” you whisper shout to him, but he ignores you and continues to wave Tsireya over. He catches her attention and she makes her way over to the two of you. Your eyes dart around anxiously as she approaches. 

“She’s nervous about dancing by herself, care to give her a hand?” Neteyam says to her over the music. Tsireya’s smile almost splits her face in half when she grabs you by the wrist and starts to drag you into the crowd. Your head swivels back and forth between Tsireya and Neteyam in a panic. You silently mouth to him ‘asshole’ and he offers you a simple thumbs up in return. 

When Tsireya has you fully immersed in the crowd, she holds both of your hands in hers and starts to help you move to the music. 

“Come on, dance with me!” Her hips sway and her arms flow around her and you can’t help but think how bewitching she looks right now. Slowly, and somewhat clumsily, you start to move to the music and follow her moves. She giggles and does a little clap for you showing how happy she is. She lets go of your hands and just dances on her own. She turns and presses her back against your chest while moving her hips on yours. Your ears stand straight up and you look back at Neteyam wide eyed. He gives you two thumbs up and mouths ‘hold her’ to you. It feels like your hands are trembling as you move them, but you tentatively rest them on her hips and she places her hands over yours. 

Tsireya rests her head back onto your shoulder and she turns her face to you. You know that she has to notice the purple color starting to stain your face with her being so close right now. A gentle smirk spreads on her face and she presses a single kiss to your cheek. The light purple coloring your face deepens to a dark violet and you go stiff as a board. Tsireya giggles at you and turns in your hold to face you. She leans in and whispers in your ear, “Would you like to go somewhere with me?” 

You mindlessly nod your head at her and she giddily takes your hand again to lead you off somewhere. As you’re leaving the crowd, you give one last look to Neteyam who was now joined by Ao’nung. You can see the two of them talking and Neteyam points in your direction which Ao’nung follows with his eyes. They share a laugh and Ao’nung throws his arm over Neteyam’s shoulders before the two of them wave you off. 

Your heart feels like it’s in your stomach, but if it means getting alone time with Tsireya, then you would gladly go wherever she led you.

Taglist: @tallulah477 @eywaite @stickyexpertbailiffjudge @quicktosimp @tumblingdevils @teyamshuman @rivatar @frogletscribe @witchsprit @luvv4j4ybe11 @hope-di-angelo

@neteyams-wh0re @itchaboi-itchyboy @pandoraslxna @neteyamsyawntu @teyamsatan @sulieykte @xylianasblog @justcaptiannoodles

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fic #awow #avatar smut #tsireya x reader #aged up tsireya #tsireya fanfiction #tsireya #awow smut #romancingpandora2024

[flowersandbigteeth]

Can we have more about Hugo?! I think that was one of my favorites!

Yes! I am a bear girl and I am willing to write a lot of Hugo <3

Werebear (Hugo) x female reader

Word Count: 2k

🌶️ NSFW MASTERPOST 🌶️

W: attempted sa, xenophobia themes between fairyfolk and humans, implied violence, vaginal and oral sex, anal play, nsfw were bear smut, dubcon

"I'm sorry, Hugo, but Rod is making me go to this birthday thing,” you groaned into the phone as you pulled up to the bar where your boss was holding his non-optional birthday celebration after work. 

At the very least, everyone who attended got a free beer, so you’d pulled a clean sweater out of your locker after work and fluffed your hair. Now you were slapping on some lip gloss so you didn’t look like you’d literally just come off the factory line even though you had. 

“Come home, you worked two shifts. You are exhausted,” he growled, “you shouldn’t even be driving. I told you I would come pick you up!” 

“I can’t!” you snapped back, “I have to go and I’m perfectly fine to drive.”

“You are tired and going to drink!” he hissed back, “I’m coming to get you.” 

“Do not come get me!” you said.  

“Where is it?” he growled.

You glanced at the giant red plastic sign of a dancing crab out of your front window. 

“Timmy’s Crab Bucket,” you read the name of the joint off of the screen, “but don’t bother coming down here. I’m not staying long. I’m just going to get a beer, tell Rod happy birthday, and come home. I’m beat,” you sighed, “I probably won’t even drink it.” 

He snorted and the line went dead. 

You rolled your eyes at your grumpy mate, but were too tired to call him back. You just wanted to get this over with so you clutched your purse to your side and headed into the restaurant.

Greeted by a few of your also exhausted coworkers, you made your way to the bar to grab a beer and pretend to settle before you could make your excuses to leave. 

“You smell nice, (Y/N),” Rod said, standing a little too close as he eased a bottle in front of you, “I’m thrilled you made it!” 

You gave him a wan smile holding back the retort that it wasn’t optional. 

“Happy Birthday!” you said instead, holding up your beer. 

Rod was your average middle aged, middle management bloke. He wore tapered jeans with a brown belt and grey New Balances. His flat, brown hair was thinning and his blue polo had a stain on it, but he wasn’t a bad looking guy. If you hadn’t met him at work, he was the sort of person you’d run into at the hardware store giving women unsolicited advice on products. 

His eyes drifted all over you. You noted the moment they landed on the bite on your shoulder, your oversized sweater revealed and narrowed. It was only for a second and they quickly moved on to your chest.  

“Lemme get a kiss for my birthday!” he said, pulling you in for a hug and forcing your face to his cheek. 

You instinctively stumbled back out of his arms after smashing the corner of your mouth awkwardly against his. 

“S-so got anything planned for the next year in your life?” you asked, trying to slide away from him. 

He caged you in against the bar, with his arms. Rod wasn’t massive or built, but he was bigger than you. Taking a step in he leaned down to you, so you could smell the hard liquor on his breath. 

“Maybe start a new relationship,” he said, “there’s a pretty girl I’ve had my eye on.” 

Your eyebrows went up. 

“Need another drink, sweetheart?” the wolf bartender asked you, to your relief, glaring at Rod and seeming really eager to take the beer in your hand away from you. 

You took the opportunity to manoeuvre out from under him and took a few steps down the bar to talk to the bartender. 

“I think I’ll just have a glass of water,” you said, passing the beer to him. You suddenly felt too uncomfortable to drink. He gave you a worried look and took it, returning with a glass of water. 

You wandered away to try and talk to a few coworkers, feeling someone’s eyes on you. Warily you glanced up as Rod threw a few shots back at the bar with some of his buddies. They were gesturing and looking at you, seeming to be getting more and more upset about something. Feeling weird about the whole thing, you decided it was time to go and said your goodbyes to your coworkers. Abandoning the cup of water at the bar, you quickly made your way to your car through the empty parking lot. 

“Where you running off to doll?” Rod’s voice behind you made you freeze, just as you got to your car. You turned slowly, squeezing your eyes shut and wincing before schooling your features. 

“Just tired,” you said, your eyes darting to the two other guys standing by him, “figured I’d head home early. I work first shift tomorrow.” 

“You weren’t even gonna say goodbye to me?” he pouted and they all took a few steps towards you, backing you up against your car. A finger drifted over the bite on your neck. 

“You animal fucking whores are so stuck up,” he slurred with a growl, “what’s wrong with human men? Sick girls like you only wanna fuck pigs and dogs. There’s got to be something wrong with your brain. Daddy touch your princess parts when you were a little girl or something? That why you’re so fucked up?”  

You took a step back only to run into your car. 

“What?! Rod? What the fuck are you talking about?” you hissed. Rod had mentioned his anti-Fairyfolk sentiments in passing, but never like this. You’d just ignored it and kept your silence because he was your boss and you didn’t want to piss him off, but this was way over the line. You turned around and fumbled with your keys. 

“Look, you’re drunk and I’ve got to go home,” you said, trying to get your door open, “fuck off!”  

“Ahh!” you cried as he grabbed you roughly by your hair and pushed you against the car. 

“Let’s give ‘er some human cock,” one of his friends chuckled, jerking your wrist painfully and pressing your hand to his crotch, “That’ll fix er.” 

“Get off!” you howled, but no one heard that. 

What they all heard very clearly was the roar that rose up behind them. A roar you recognized. 

“Hugo!” you gasped, collapsing against your car as the pressure on your scalp released. 

You didn’t know where the men went or what Hugo did with their bodies, not bothering to turn around. Covering your ears you tried to block out the screams until there was silence. Flipping back around Hugo was stomping across the parking lot, blood splashed on his chest, his eyes flaring. 

You took a step back into your car, your heart fluttered. He looked utterly feral, his muzzle wrinkled and his teeth bared. His claws were out and his arms raised as all eight feet of him thundered towards you. 

“I told you to come home after work,” he growled, looming over you. 

“I- I- had-Rod…” the words died on your lips, your eyes were wide and you were shaking. 

The reason you had to show up to this thing was probably dead, your excuse was meaningless. 

“Then, I told you I would come and pick you up,” he hissed, “you didn’t listen to me either time because you are an insufferable stubborn ox.” 

He pulled you up to face him sniffling your cheek. 

“His scent is all over your lips,” he snarled, “did you kiss him?!”

Tears leaked down your cheeks. 

“I didn’t want to, he grabbed me!” you stammered. 

A deep rumble rose in his chest and he pushed your head down. With a quick flick of his wrist, his cock popped out of the sweatpants he was wearing and he shoved it past your lips without another word, his hand buried in your hair. He as so tall he didn't even need to push you onto your knees, just shove you against the car so you were hunched a bit.

Instinctively, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth watered at your mate’s familiar scent and taste. Groaning you sucked him to the back of your throat. 

Clutching the back of your head he fucked your face, his balls slapping wetly on your chin as you drooled on the massive cock you could barely fit in your mouth. He jerked you off of him, leaving a trail of spit and precum leaking down your chin. Flipping you around, he threw you over the hood of your car. 

You screeched as his claws shredded your leggings, leaving your ass bare to the blessedly empty parking lot. 

“I’m gonna fuck the sense into you, woman,” he snarled, slapping your ass with his massive hand. 

“No! Hugo! Stop! Not here!” you howled, but he was already shoving his tongue into your pussy to get you ready for him. 

“I’m not putting you in my truck smelling like that bastard,” he growled into your pussy, his voice ragged and hoarse, “his scent is all over you. Did you let him touch you anywhere else?” 

“No! No!” you whimpered. 

He wasn’t listening, his tongue roughly lapping at your clit, pushing the hood out of the way so that the pebbled flesh was torturing your tender nub. Your pussy leaked at the rough treatment and you cried into the cool metal of your car.

His hot breath made clouds of steam around your cunt as he devoured it until you were soaked, aware of the hot wet streaks making their way down your thighs. When you came a rush of hot fluid poured out of your pussy drenching the scraps of your leggings. 

Standing, he grabbed you by the back of your head with his thick hand and shoved you into the hood, mounting you. You screamed his name as his cock stretched you, mercilessly. 

“That’s it, honey cake,” he groaned, bottoming out inside of you, “I want them to hear you screaming my name inside.” 

He slammed his hips into you, more confident now that he’d taken you a few times. He knew how hard he could push you and how roughly he could batter your tight little cunt. It never got old to him. He could fuck you slowly, quickly, sleepily, it didn’t matter. Each time his cock got painfully hard and his balls heavy with the urge to pump his cum into you. 

He was manic with blood lust and needed to seed you, shoving your much smaller body over and over into the hood of your car as he used your pussy. You gasped as his thick finger found your asshole, something he’d never done before. He’d been waiting to explore this, but suddenly he needed to punish you a bit for disobeying him. The large digit speared you, making tears come to your eyes and you spat out incomprehensible curses. 

It didn’t feel bad, it was just an unexpected invasion and there was a slight pinch of pain at first. Soon he was pumping his one finger, then two inside of you at the same pace as his cock fucking your pussy and you could only drool and whine. 

His heavy body came down over you, not squishing you, but pressing you firmly into the hood. Your clit ground against what was left of your panties, driving conscious thoughts from your mind. 

“You’re my woman, (Y/N). I own every part of you. You’re gonna listen to me when I tell you to come home,” he snarled in your ear, “say yes, sir.”

You bit your lip, trying to resist his little power play, but he thrust into you extra hard, scissoring his fingers in your asshole and the words tumbled from your lips. 

“Y-yesssiiiiii….ahhh,” you groaned, your ass and pussy clamping down on him as you came in a breathless rush. 

He roared, emptying his hot load into you as he pulled you up to his soft chest. You went limp in his arms and he held you for a few minutes catching his breath. 

“Uh excuse me?” a familiar voice chimed in with a cough. 

Hugo pulled you to his chest, cradling your slack body for your dignity. You glanced up to see the wolf bartender standing there. 

“You two should probably get out of here so I can call the police about the bodies in the ditch over there,” he said, “I saw a wild brown bear attack them. It’s not safe to hang out around here with those sorts of animals creeping around in the dark.” 

He shot you and your werebear mate a smile before heading back inside. Hugo snuggled you to his chest and stroked your hair, carrying you to his truck. 

“And you’re not going back to that factory,” he grumbled as he arranged you in his lap and started it up. 

“Then what am I going to do,” you bickered softly, “sit around and eat bon bons all day? I’m not quitting the factory.” 

“Yes you are,” he grumbled, kissing your head, “you’re going to follow me around all day and look cute while I work.” 

You rolled your eyes even as you closed them, too tired to fight anymore. 

“Okay, Hugo,” you murmured, finally drifting off to sleep on his chest. 

#werebear #werebear x human #werebear x reader #x reader #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster smut #yandere smut #yandere male #yandere x reader #soft yandere #monster x reader #size difference

[rockingrobin69]

Disastrously

Not the orchids. Draco squinted his eyes, tilted his head: no, definitely not those. Maybe… tulips? Ugh, what was he even on about. Roses. It had to be roses. Or—this was a disaster. Elbows sliding down the counter, head in his hands: disaster, disaster, disaster.

“Darling…”

Disaster, disaster, di—

“Darling.”

The stern voice didn’t do it, but the pinch certainly did. Draco jumped with a cry, rubbing the reddened skin of his arm. “What! Can’t a man drown in his sorrows anymore?”

“Not in my flower shop,” Pansy smiled. The inconsiderate cow.

“Just because you’re happy,” he said, but didn’t finish. Didn’t need another lecture on how he could have been ‘thoroughly plowed’ and ‘ravingly adored’ all the way back last year. About how if he wasn’t such an idiot, and knew how to communicate like a regular human person, he could have been bloody engaged by now. Just like Pansy—then she’d show the outrageous ring the Weaselette got her, and, well. Nobody wanted that.

“Quit moping, you’re scaring the other shoppers. I won’t lose any more business on your sour face, darling.”

Draco huffed something very scathing and very quiet. “Help me, then. What flowers does one bring on a first proper date?”

“Define proper.”

“Well.” He wasn’t sure. Fairly certain they were going to a restaurant, and somewhat positive Potter knew it was a date. This time. Date-date, as in romantically speaking, strings-attached actually-doing-this kind of thing. It took a while to explain the concept to Potter’s open-mouthed, flushed face. Draco really wasn’t very regular-human-person when it came to… this.

But Potter nodded, swallowed an obscene number of times. Said he’ll arrange something, meet him at seven. Tonight. Leading to this, a disaster, as always.

“All right, I’ll help, stop making that face. How about—lilies are always nice?”

“Not lilies.” Nothing symbolic. This was hard enough.

“Daisies?”

“I’ll kill you, Pans.”

She sighed. “You know what your problem is?”

Oh, boy, did he. Every single one of them, actually. Instead of the usual monologue, Draco grunted. “Self-absorbed, unimaginative friends?”

“Piece of…” Pansy pulled him up by the hair. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Potter’s going to go bonkers anyway. You’re overthinking, same as always.”

“I don’t overthink,” he thought, at least. “I just… The way he looked at me when I asked him. You can’t even imagine. Do you realise he didn’t have an inkling I was so bloody… and I was pathetic. Nearly ran out of there with my face on fire—no, this has to be perfectly clear. Romantic and perfect. Can’t bear to do it again.”

“Do what? Have an honest conversation?”

“Yes. They’re exhausting.”

She laughed, the cow, patted his arm in a half-consoling manner. “It’ll be fine. Potter’s obsessed with you too. Always coming here, ‘is Draco in’, ‘have you seen Draco’, ‘d’you think Draco would like’… the man’s an utter sap. Trust me, it won’t matter what flowers you bring, or how mumbly you get about the touchy-feely stuff. Oi—are you even listening?”

“Yes, yes, calm down.” He wasn’t, but sure wasn’t going to tell her that. Pansy’s stinging hex was notorious for a good reason. “Just give me something, won’t you? anything. I want Potter to know how much…” his head thunked down on the counter, breath whooshing out in a groan. “That he’s important to me, all right? Really important. Like that.”

“Erm, maybe—”

“No, I know, I know what you think, but… Pans, he’s driving me mad. I start rambling whenever he’s around. I don’t know how to tell him how deeply…”

“Draco—"

“Revolting! I know! I’ve been yearning like a fool for so long, that I’ve completely forgot how to act like a normal person—”

“Don’t think you’ve ever been normal, to be fair.”

His heart stopped. Physically. Dropped dead in his chest. “Wha… Potter?”

Yep. Standing right behind him, hands in his pockets, smiling like the most innocent little fiend. “Yearning? Really?”

Draco swallowed fifteen different swearwords in fast order. “What’re you doing here? We’re not meeting until seven.”

“I know.” Why did he have to smile like that? Draco couldn’t remember how to breathe. “Just came to get—I know you like your flowers.”

“Oh. That’s…” his mind went blank.

“Deeply, it would seem.” Potter’s smile widened, and he stepped closer. “And me. You like me. Deeply. Yearned like a fool, even.”

“Kill me now,” Draco whispered to Pansy, who wasn’t there, retreated to the backroom. The cow. “Potter, I’m—”

“Mad,” he laughed, crowding Draco against the counter. “Yeah. I knew that already.”

“Potter,” was all he managed, weakly. They were so close. If he leaned the tiniest of fractions, they would be touching. With their lips.

“I’m mad too. About you. I sort of hoped you knew.”

He could count the freckles on Potter’s cheeks, in the little crinkle of his nose. Potter opened his mouth—Draco’s chest clenched—then leaned back, away.

“Until tonight, then,” he winked. And left. Draco, who was prone to disasters, melted onto the counter like a pile of goo.

Potter was mad. In general, but also about him. Mad, he said. Draco could probably get him any flowers at all.

Maybe orchids? No… definitely not those. He pushed himself up, wiped the smile off his face. Pansy was right. Not that he was ever, ever, ever going to tell her that.

#drarry fic #900 words #somewhat flower shop au #pining #the kind that makes you blabber #my brain's not working so here's some fluff #drarry #rockingrobin69

[vagabond-umlaut]

i wish, i wish, i so fkn wish: the walls were deaf

Chapter 3 of functio laesa Gojo x Fem!Reader; Geto & Reader [platonic]; Canon Divergent AU; Isekai. Fluff & Angst & Drama & Humor; Reincarnation; Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies; Incredibly Self-Indulgent; Eventual Happy Ending; Eventual Friendships & Romance.

This was supposed to be the first part of a much longer chapter, but eh. Blame my exams and my impatience, but please not me, for the early post. ^_^

Chapter warnings: None!

Of the many things to call your new life, you never once thought you might call it boring.

Yet here you are. Three weeks since you were released from the hospital. Following a maid down an annoyingly long corridor. Trying, but not really, to stifle the noisy yawns leaving you at regular intervals. Terribly weary and sleepy like the one currently threatening to erupt from your mouth; except it never does, courtesy of the sudden stop the woman reaches outside a room, eyes darting from the closed fusuma doors to you before dropping to her feet. Appearing so very timid and uneasy.

You wonder if you must roll your eyes in exasperation or simply offer her a kind smile... You decide to do neither. Sliding the doors open, you walk in. Sighing only when they are shut quietly behind. Geto lifts a brow, evidently curious. "You're thirty minutes late. Everything's fine, I hope?"

Does he really hope so?

Maybe. Maybe not. But you choose not to comment on it.

The lavishly furnished living quarters, the banquet-esque meals and snacks, the freedom to move as you please within the mansion, the strained yet incredibly polite behaviour from everyone in his 'family'— you know the man cares for you enough to keep his word and ensure your well-being and dignity in this foreign place. Yet, yet, yet... you know this man to be no one but Geto Suguru, so... Yeah. You don't think you can ever be too sure about him.

"Miss?" Geto calls, pushing your speeding thoughts into a still, none too gently as he presses, "Did something happen?"

"No, not really," You reply quickly, hurried if not by the gravity in his words then certainly by that on his features, "It is just that one maid and her stupid fear of me is all. I wish I could somehow make myself look less scary to her, but more often than not, I just end up getting irritated and dismiss her before saying or doing anything."

Sighing once more, you move from near the door to sit on the zabuton. And frown at the smiling man across. Trying your best to shove a rapidly increasing annoyance behind a mask of confusion. "Did I unknowingly crack a joke, Geto-san?"

"Ah, no, you didn't," He answers, shaking his head. The smile on his face grows into a grin, though. "I was just wondering if the maid ever listened in on any of our little discussions... That might explain her strange fear of you, you never quite know."

This reply mustn't tick you off, no. It's possible, you never quite knowing. No one ever quite knows everything. And that's perfectly okay... Still, you find yourself narrowing your eyes slightly and letting go of the lightest hint of a scoff. "Yeah, sure, you might be right," You shoot back the next instant, resting an elbow on the chabudai and assuming a casual smile, "But I don't think anyone would be scared that stiff by overhearing those BORING ASS discussions– no, interviews you took of me," You correct, letting your smile grow a cheeky sting, "Regarding what not: my personal life, my family and friends, my school, my college, my hunt for part-time work–"

"Besides the fact of you being from a world where we're nothing more than fictional characters, yes?"

You fall silent. First by the way Geto interrupts you, yet again, with his smooth friendly smile. Then by the words he utters, taking a beat to register themselves in your brain— then two more to open the gates for panic to rush into that poor overworked organ of yours. You open and close your mouth once, then twice, before eventually sputtering, "But, but, I never meant to spill that fact! And that was the only thing I spoilt! Accidentally, that too!! It was an honest mistake, plus I was slightly tipsy from the sake, and, and–"

"I did not say that to blame you," The man says, no wonder in an effort to look kind, folding the newspaper neatly and placing it on the table. "I merely stated it as a possibility. One which might have been the reality, given the way you were declaring it for everyone in a ten-mile radius to hear," He finishes with a laugh, probably intended to cheer you up but producing the exact opposite results...

Something claws at the back of your eyes.

Rubbing them roughly, you mumble, "But it was an honest mistake, I swear. And, and–" You drag your eyes upwards from the floor to find his gaze trained on you, carrying a sliver of worry. The clawing sensation worsens behind your eyes, travelling to your throat now. You clench your fists to hide the waver in your voice.

"In case she did hear it, it would mean I'm in danger, right? 'Cause that's some pretty weird and sensitive info. And if people happen to get wind of it... Is my safety compromised here, Geto-san?" You finally give voice to the query tormenting your mind, squeezing every drop of solemnity you have into it and your expression. Totally refusing to reveal the shakiness you're feeling in every molecule of your body right now.

Geto watches you for some time, quiet and thinking... then suddenly stands up. And says, face set in a genial smile, "You wouldn't be too opposed to a bit of training, would you?"

For the first time in forever, you don't feel the need to analyse the words spoken to you. Nor the need to rehearse your words before speaking them out loud. Rising from the floor as well, you send the man a small, but genuine grin.

"Finally, you're talking business, Geto-san."

The maid never heard anything from their conversations. She is simply scared of the Reader's resting bitch face. [Reader doesn't know she has an RBF, though. To her, her resting face looks pretty cute (and sort of indifferent).]

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kit posts 📝

[keanureevesisbae]

Kylian Mbappe x Dutch!fem!reader (but who are we truly kidding, it's about me 😂😂)

Summary: You and your friend get stuck in an elevator with two guys who are the proud owners of the World Champion title of 2018. It's just that you don't know that yet.

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: I tried to fight it, I truly do, however I just couldn't help myself. So here it is: a stupid little one shot, based of a dream I had 😂 Also, the reader is Dutch, you have a friend named Jocelyn and it's June 2022

masterlist // misc. masterlist

Forget Emily in Paris. Who needs her, when you have me—Y/N Y/L/N—right here in the heart of Paris? I’ll just admit it straight away: I am that cliche. I eat croissants, am a whore for crepes and am looking into eating escargot. Finally I have an excuse to wear the beret. Try to impress the French with my mediocre accent and the three things I remember from my French lessons back in high school, though I don’t think I’m necessarily succeeding.

I’m wearing a black midi dress, paired with the platform boots and I push the sunglasses in my hair. I put on a thin white cardigan with daisies on it. After I zipped up my black boots, I grab the purse and ask my friend: ‘Ready?’

‘Is overdressing really your main purpose in life?’

I scoff. ‘Thought you knew me by now,’ I say, looking into the mirror to fix my hair. ‘It was I who showed up in a very cute dress and Mary Janes for orientation and that was back home. You bet you’re ass I’m gonna dress up in a different city.’

Jocelyn has been best friend since forever, therefore is familiar with my antics and she stands up from the bed after she put on her white sneakers and pulls up her baggy jeans. On top she’s wearing a cute blue crop top and grabs a simple sporty cardigan. ‘I’m ready,’ she says with a smile, before she uses the hairlip to twist her blonde locks in a messy, but stylish manner. 

The two of us lock our hotelroom behind us and make our way to the elevator. This entire place is beautiful, absolutely magnificent and normally, it would be totally out of our price range. However, Jocelyn is a queen when it comes to finding the best bargains, so we got this five night stay for a mere two hundred euros.

Per person that is, but still. A bargain is a bargain.  

And who am I to say no to a fun trip to Paris with my best friend for that price?

Jocelyn presses the button for the elevator, while I take in the extravagant hallway. Even the ceilings look like masterpieces. I wonder whether or not rich people who stay in luxurious hotel after another take a look at the ceiling and admiring its beauty.

The doors slide open and I can see two guys standing in the elevator already. Jocelyn and I—both masters in the European politeness—both smile identically. A tight lipped gesture with the mouth, that resembles a smile, but in reality looks like an awkward emoji.

They both nod into our direction and when I see the right button to go to the ground floor is already pressed, I relax as I lean against the wall. Usually I’d strike up a conversation with my friend, however the two of us stay silent now.

The elevator starts to descend some more, however it abruptly stops to a halt, which causes a high pitched yelp to leave from both my lips and Jocelyn’s. While one of the guys presses the emergency button, the other who is wearing a cap asks: ‘Ça va?’

I know what à droite is and a gauche and thanks to my high school French, I can ask for his name and I can introduce myself and tell him ‘un blond garçon’, because that was one of the first things I learned in school.

But in this case, that is obviously not gonna be helpful.

This however appears to be so simple, yet I have not a single clue what it means. I glance over to Jocelyn, who is just as confused as I am. 

I curse myself for dropping French after year three of high school. 

‘I’m sorry, what?’ I ask.

Cap guy clears his throat. ‘Are you two okay?’ His accent is thick, however I can still understand him perfectly fine. 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say with a smile. ‘I am.’ Realizing the question was a bit more specific, I quickly add: ‘We are.’

Goodness gracious, this guy is exactly the type of guy I would date. Deep down I know that Jocelyn knows. We’ve been through many phases together and while her ideal type has shifted over the years, mine has not.

And lo and behold, my ideal type is standing right in front of me.

The other one says something into the intercom, before he says something to his friend. Serving as the translator, Cap guy turns to us. ’There is a technical issue,’ he says. He almost dramatically leaves a few second silence between us. ’It might take an hour if not more to fix it.’

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

‘What are your names?’ Cap guy asks after a five minute silence where everyone seemed to gather their thoughts and feelings about the current situation. My conclusion was that a faulty elevator causes the temperature to rise, so within five minutes of us being here, I already stripped myself from my cardigan, just like Jocelyn undid herself from her own.

‘I’m Y/N,’ I say. ‘This is my friend Jocelyn.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘The Netherlands. We’re students.’

Jocelyn clears her throat and asks: ‘What are your names?’

‘Kylian,’ Cap guy says and the other introduces himself as Olivier. Olivier appears to be much more mature, a wedding band visible on his ring finger, but nonetheless, still very attractive. While age shouldn’t necessarily be an issue in friendships, Kylian seems to be closer to our age than Olivier. 

‘What do you guys do?’ I ask, an attempt to make sure this conversation doesn’t fall on the ground.

‘We’re football players,’ Kylian says. 

‘Oh neat,’ I say with a smile. ‘What club?’

‘PSG,’ he answers.

‘AC Milan,’ Olivier answers for himself.

Those are pretty solid teams, I think to myself. 

Olivier smiles and adds: ‘We also play for the French National Team. Les Blues.’

Wait a damn minute. I turn to Jocelyn, with who I share a brain cell. We realize the same thing. Oh no… ‘Did you win the World Cup 2018?’ I ask. 

Jocelyn found her voice too. ‘And are going to play in Qatar upcoming November?’

Kylian and Olivier both chuckle. ‘The one and only,’ Kylian says. 

He could’ve just slapped me in the face. Here I am, asking what these guys do for a living and it turns out I am talking to actual world champions. Coming to think of it, the name Kylian in combination with French National Team and World Champions does sound familiar now. 

Jocelyn gasps. ‘Oh my gosh, you are Kylian Mbappe. And you are Olivier Giroud.’

While Giroud does not sound familiar, Kylian Mbappe does. 

‘Y/N,’ she hisses, ‘we watched the games. We watched the finale together.’

This just goes from bad to worse. I am not an avid football fan, however I get awfully intrigued during the Euro and World Cup. The patriotism I never knew I possessed, all of the sudden is there in all its glory. Because the Netherlands didn’t participate in the World Cup 2018, I just watched it for fun.

And I remember saying that the French had a very attractive team.

‘Oh… I remember now,’ I say in a soft tone. Thankfully Jocelyn doesn’t repeat my infamous words I said during the finale of the World Cup 2018.

I would totally allow number 10 to do things to me.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

After Jocelyn and I gotten over the embarrassing fact we were talking to pro athletes (and kept to ourselves we said the most unhinged things during the finale—mind you, we were nineteen and very single), time went by with jokes, stupid games and me sharing some sweets I had in my purse. 

Besides, I think Kylian is into me. I know how that makes me sound, like I have the world’s biggest ego, but I have been on the side lines many times when guys were showing interests in my friends. Lingering eye contact, allowing me to sit on his jacket so my dress isn’t getting dirty and a very innocent touch every now and then.

It’s all there.

This is the most amazing time for me to practice my hard to get skills and not gonna lie, I am nailing it. Giving him enough to try again, but not too much so I appear way too eager. Maybe I’m this on fire, because I know deep down that I’ll never see these two again, if Kylian Mbappe himself is not gonna ask for my number, because no way in hell I was gonna ask for his.

Jocelyn send me a text saying: IF IT WEREN’T FOR ME AND GIROUD NEXT TO YOU, YA’LL BE SPENDING YOUR TIME KISSING AND MAKING OUT IN THE ELEVATOR. 

Thankfully she wrote it in Dutch, because if one of these guys read what she sent me, I might actually pry the doors open myself so I could drop myself to the ground and die.

‘No, no, no,’ I say, ‘the capital of Estonia is Tallinn. Look it up!’

Olivier does what I ask him to do and he sighs. ‘She’s right. She’s too good.’

Right before we can continue on with our country game (it’s not a very exciting one, I’m mile aheads of them), the doors slide open and we are freed. It’s colder in the hallway, but it’s nice to cool down.

Once we’re at the exit of the hotel, I look at the two famous players, who are all smiles and what not. ‘This was fun,’ I say. 

‘We had fun,’ Jocelyn adds. ‘You two are hopeless with countries, but you can run really fast, so it’s all forgiven.’

They both chuckle. 

And then, in the most awkward way, we part ways. A soft goodbye, a thank you and Jocelyn and I are on our merry way to get our croissants we’ve been craving for more than an hour now. 

‘You and I, missy, need to discuss your flirting highlights,’ Jocelyn says. ‘Because you are gifted.’

‘I am not gifted.’

‘You impressed a hot and single football player,’ she says in all serious. ‘You, my friend, are gifted. I saw it all: the doe eyes, the hard to get and then the flirtatious way you smiled and chuckled at his jokes.’

Before I can say something about it, I hear from behind me: ‘Y/N, wait up.’

‘Thank you,’ Jocelyn says, in no one in particular. ‘I refused to believe this was it.’

‘What?’

‘That goodbye couldn’t be the end of the ‘Y/N Y/L/N and Kylian Mbappe’-saga.’

I can’t even respond to it, because Kylian caught up with us. ‘Hi,’ I say. 

‘Hi.’ A smile so bright and almost innocently hopeful. ‘Can I have your number?’

‘What?’ I ask. ‘Why?’

‘Because… You’re fun and I had fun with you. I… I was hoping you and I could spend some more time together, before you go back to the Netherlands.’ He clears his throat. ‘If you want, of course.’

This is not the time to freak out, Y/N and do something stupid. ‘Of course.’

We exchanged numbers, before he looks at his watch and with an apology telling me he has to go. He holds out his hand and when I place mine in it, he presses a kiss on my knuckles.

Don’t faint. Please, hold yourself together. 

‘Bye,’ he says and then he walks away.

I think I have reached a catatonic state, because I can’t move.  

‘You are gonna be a WAG!’ Jocelyn says. ‘Once you are accustomed to a lifestyle of luxury, please remember your roots, therefore me.’

That drags me right back into reality. ‘He just asked for my number.’

Jocelyn scoffs. ‘You had a meet cute and a number exchange. This is gonna be the love story you’ve been waiting for. Come on, you’re twenty three, like yours truly and we both deserve a love story. Please, hook my up with one of his hot and single friends.’

‘You’re going way too fast,’ I say. ‘He just asked for my number.’

Almost on cue, my phone chimes. 

Jocelyn pulls it from my hand and lets out an excited squeal. Then she turns the screen to me and says: ‘You need to write a ‘how to-guide’ on how to get yourself a footballer in a few hours. It would be an absolute bestseller.’

Deciding to ignore her, I grab my phone from her hand and read the text.

Kylian Mbappe: If you don’t have plans for tonight, I’d like to take you out for a date

Kylian Mbappe: If you want, of course.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.*═╝

Taglist: @diegos-butt (because I am forcing you to read this 😂😂😂)

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe oneshot #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe x fem!reader #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe fluff #oh yeah and giroud is there too #when in paris

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Sky’s Selflessness is His Isolation

I’ve seen a number of people notice this too, but the overwhelming feeling I felt whilst watching episode 9 was Sky’s isolation. Sky’s friends don’t know what he is going through, and Sky doesn’t disclose the reality and severity of his struggles. It couldn’t be more apparent that Sky does not have anyone to lean on. Given the added fact that Rain is now often occupied with Payu, and that both his parents are also far away, Sky is by all intents and purposes - alone.

Despite this, he’s an incredibly considerate and selfless person. He puts everyone else before himself, and his responsibilities above himself. This inevitably leads to his exhaustion and collapse towards the end of the episode.

Due to how reliable of a person Sky is, everyone unconsciously leans on him for help, advice and support. Sometimes I think they do this without even thinking, because Sky always accommodates. The worst side effect of this is that you can easily be taken for granted - because the more reliable you are, the more people will rely on you, and the more difficult it becomes to say no.

When Sky is already starting to feel unwell, Sig admits that they do need his help with the orientation activities. This is the worst possible thing to say to someone who is always trying to be considerate of others, as they won’t want to let anyone down and will compromise their own wellbeing to help you. So in response Sky assures them he’ll get better, and has probably told himself that falling ill is not even an option because the others are relying on him.

Later, they all gather at Sky’s dorm to pull an all-nighter but fall asleep. Sky is the only one who continues working through the night alone. Though he has the option to wake them up, he chooses not to and allows them to rest.

The following morning, Sky is again the only one ready to head into university. Though Sig offers to go on first, he again admits that he won’t remember all the content by himself. So apart from Sig, Sky once again leaves Rain and Por to continue sleeping.

As soon as they get to campus, Som confronts Sky with a fairly harsh complaint. Sky doesn’t defend himself or make any attempt to correct him. He simply accepts the criticism wordlessly. At this point, Sky has probably been working solidly for almost a week (as this takes place whilst Prapai is on his business trip), has not slept all night and has gotten up early to continue his duties. All the while, Sky doesn’t ever complain and is quietly internalising all his stress.

When you then also factor in the fact that Sky is being frequently plagued by nightmares which must be affecting his sleep overall, and is still suffering from severe trauma - there is no wonder that Sky literally collapses from the strain.

Sky constantly downplays his troubles and his pain, so that he doesn’t cause anyone to worry. But this is also in an attempt to convince himself he’s doing fine. We see Sky frequently tell himself “It’s okay” which sounds like he’s desperately trying to believe it, despite all the signs indicating he’s clearly not.

Whenever Sky says “It’s okay”, it’s sounds to me like he’s actually saying, ‘It’s okay because I need to be okay (for x, y, z)’, ‘I can’t afford not to be okay because people need me’.

What is really unfortunate is that many will take him on face value and assume he is coping perfectly fine. And I don’t doubt that if Sky were honest and told people when he was struggling, I’m sure they would be there for him (Rain especially). However this is where Prapai is different. Prapai sees through him. Prapai knows Sky is not alright when he says he is. He’s not likely to fall for Sky’s assurances and attempts to brush off concern. Prapai is also very persistent, and isn’t the type to let things just slide.

Sky just isn’t someone who is going to think about himself first. His needs are often an afterthought. This is why Sky desperately needs a Prapai in his life. Someone who is going to consider his needs for him, and remind him to prioritise himself. With Prapai watching over him, Sky will no longer be completely isolated, because he’ll have someone he can finally lean and rely on. 

As Prapai says, “Remember that this wind’s watching over the sky.”

#LITA #love in the air #love in the air series #LITA analysis #LITA meta #prapaisky #love sky #prapai x sky #sky x prapai #how sky is able to still be so resilient and so selfless is honestly an absolute wonder #he's the best boy for so many reasons #love in the air episode 9

[biggestsimponhere]

Cuddling by the fire

https://pin.it/56N3CKT

about xavier pls

The weather outside is frightful but that fire is soooo delightful - Xavier Thorpe x reader, btw this is written after they graduate, they got a house together! Sorry this is kinda short but it’s late and I’m tired.

It was snowing out, it’s your favorite time of year. You sit by the window staring out at the snow. You’re just silently enjoying the snowfall when a warm blanket wraps around your shoulders. “Come on, sit with me please” He said kissing the top of your head. “I will sit with you in a minute baby” You said laughing. “That’s what you said five minutes ago” he said pouting. “I know, but I’m watching the snow” you said smiling up at him. “Honey, you can watch the snow perfectly fine from the couch near the warm fire” he said pulling your hands out from your chest. “If you get me hot chocolate, I’ll sit with you” you said pulling your hands back. “Done!” He said running into the kitchen.

He came back a few minutes later, sliding across the wood floors. “Careful! You don’t want to spill that” you said standing up to take it from him. He grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the couch. “I didn’t spill it, it’s completely fine, now lay with me” he said sitting on the couch. “Alright, alright” you said sitting next to him. “Not close enough, my love” he said reaching out to pull you into him. He didn’t pull you very hard but your hot chocolate almost spilled all over. “Xavier! Please be careful” you said putting the mug onto the coffee table. “I’m sorry, I just wanted you closer” he said pecking your forehead. You moved closer to him and snuggled into his side. “This close enough for you” you said raising an eyebrow at him.

“Nope” he said pulling you into his lap. You squealed as he attacked your neck with kisses. “It’s cold out” you said leaning into him. He tightened the blanket around you before tucking you into his chest. You could feel the fire slowly warming up your feet. Xavier pulled you as close as you could possibly get to him. The fire cracking and warming you both. “Look! The snow!” You said sounding a lot like a child on Christmas Day. The snow outside had started to flurry and spin around. He laughed and then looked out the window. “Are you warm enough yet?” Xavier asked tightening the blanket again. “Yes, I’m warm, this is perfect” you said leaning in to peck him on the lips.

“You’re perfect” he said smiling at you, before leaning in to kiss you again. Right before he could capture your lips with his the phone rang. You quickly stood up to answer it. “Hello?” You said into the phone. “Did you see the snow!” Enids voice came from the other end. “Who is it?” Xavier called from the couch. “Omg, yes I saw the snow!” You said back to Enid. “Nevermind, only one person would call you about the snow” Xavier said again. “Is Xavier there with you?” Enid asked laughing when she heard his voice. “Yes he is, is Wednesday with you?” You said. “Yes she is” Enid said, you could heard the smile in her voice as she spoke. “Come back to the couch please” you heard Xavier call.

“Okay Enid, Mr. Pouty pants is upset I’m not at the couch anymore,” you started to say before Xavier shouted again “Hey!”. “Anyways, I will call you tomorrow alright, I love you” you continued. “Oh that’s alright, Wednesday is starting to get annoyed too” She said laughing before continuing. “I love you too, talk to you tomorrow” she said before hanging up. “Can you come back now” Xavier said as you started walking back towards the living room. “Yes, I’m coming” you said sliding across the floor. As soon as he saw you he opened up his arms. You quickly crawled back into his lap and he put the blanket back around you. You sat snuggled into him, just watching the snow fall. Eventually you fell asleep snuggled into him.

He scooped you up, and carried you down the hall to your bedroom. He laid you down on your side of the bed and tucked you in. Then he moved to climb into his side. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest. You snuggled in further, while pulling the covers up. He leaned down and kissed you on the forehead before whispering “goodnight, I love you” he then leaned over and switched off the lamp. You both drifted off to sleep, not a care in the world, snow and hot chocolate long forgotten.

#xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe #wednesday #wednesday addams #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe fluff #Christmas time snuggles #fluff

[dairy-farmer]

Bruce’s cum rag is a Tim-Era Robin kid’s beach towel. He’s also got a Red Robin plush he’s cut open and shoved a fleshlight into

oh the consequences of bruce desperatly repressing his attraction for tim so it manifests in those ways as a method to taking the edge off from the deep attraction he feels!!!! i also love the idea of bruce, when he's just beyond desperatly horny, seeking out a very niche branch of escort. the kind who dress up as capes/villains and provide the speciality service of fantasy wish fulfillment. bruce has like a handful of them memorized along with their contact info and when his attraction just gets too...bad and threatens to boil over in his life (potentially jeopardizing his relationship with tim who bruce has tried so hard not ruin but his stupid cock just won't get the message that tim was an absolutely OFF LIMITS person)...he calls one up. sometimes he calls multiple up. one to dress up in tim's old robin uniform and another in a newer red robin suit.

bruce tries not to feel guilty but he provides the suits to the sex workers. they think he's just a very eccentric client who specially commissions high quality suits but the truth is that rather than send tim's damaged suits to the incinerator like is protocol bruce...stole a few of them. he repaired them in secret and now shamefully kept them hidden away only to be taken out when he found a sex worker with just the right measurements to fill it out. they're never as muscular as bruce would like, their voices are always wrong, and sometimes they have piercings or birthmarks that make keeping up the fantasy a little hard. but it's worth it. every moment that bruce spends sinking his bare cock in hot, twitching little pussies wearing tim's suit make every little detail that isn't right fade to the background. bruce can't do this often. he fucks them too hard and as much as they enjoy it bruce being pent up means he often fucks them for hours on end just pressing his cock in as deep as it'll go and moaning about how tight and sweet his little robin is.

jacking off onto a kid sized towel with tim's likeness printed on it only did so much. then there was the red robin plushie where bruce had used a seam ripper to open the crotch and slide in a flashlight so he could hunch over it in his bathroom and stare down at blue glass eyes staring up at him with a little stitched on smile. god it was pathetic. it was every manner of pitying especially with how desperate bruce will be with the young women he hires to pretend to be his son.

one will sit on his face moaning and whining as bruce desperatly eats them out while the other softly bounces on his cock, grinding and rutting their puffy pussy against bruce's cock. other times bruce will have them lay on top of each other and wetly make out while bruce watches and fucks into their pink cunts, going back and forth between both holes while his heart raced a mile minute. bruce pays extra to have the sex be unprotected and to be allowed to cum deep inside them and normally he would NEVER. the risk of infection, the risk of pregnancy just being too much for just a few moments of a good time but...with tim. if it gets to the point where bruce has sought the escorts out again...then nothing short of being able to cum in them while fantasizing about it being tim who is weakly clenching down on his cock will be enough.

bruce is fine with that. his towel and plushy are enough most of the time. bruce does not keep a particularly close ear on the escort scene of gotham but he's a frequent enough client that a few of them send him christmas and birthday cards and direct him toward other workers when they've retired, left the scene, or have a full client list and can't squeeze him in.

the thing is that most metas live perfectly normal and average lives. very very very few of them actually try to become villains or heroes. mostly because all they have to do is turn on the news and see wonderwoman pound an alien into the pavement to realize crime might not be worth it and other times they might see the big memorial service for a fallen hero and see their family and friends crying to think it might not be worth it. and with the outpouring of metas who came out with stories about various world governments and organizations paying their parents and skirting them off to research facilities coming out- a lot more metas learned to keep their heads down and keep quiet. maybe they even learned to use their powers to help them in subtle ways like cheating on tests or making vacuuming under heavy furniture easier. that's the case with most low key metas. a few of them however...learn to use their powers in more...blatant ways.

bruce knows about a polyglot meta who is an in-house translator for a big shipping company to smoothe over negotiations in various countries. a meta with superhuman strength who owns and operates a construction business in connecticut. and...most recently, a meta with a shifting ability working as a high class escort in las vegas.

bruce heard about them through the working women he typically saw. mostly he heard about how they had friends in nevada that were very excited and rolling in major cash because a bunch of wealthy cliente were flocking to the state for a chance to hire them and if they couldn't then the other working girls had a shot at them. truly an 'i eat, everybody eats' scenario.

bruce is...curious. both just in terms of the metas capabilities and what exactly the girls meant by 'shifting' powers.

he gets his answer pretty soon. turns out the meta only needs a dna sample and they can transform into practically any person. not only that, but they can control the rate at which cells mature and die. meaning they can control the age at which they present.

it's tempting. it's so tempting it scares bruce. he has access to all kind of samples of tims dna. hair. saliva, blood. fresh AND old.

he could do it. he could make the short trip and do it. get it out of his system, finally know what it felt like to sink into tim's tight little pussy.

finally getting what he always wanted while never ruining the relationship he held so dear.

it was perfect. it was just what he needed.

(it was a trap. this would ruin him. he'd never again be able to look at tim and NOT think of the sight of him planted on his cock. the way he panted, the sound of his moans, the perfect pink flush of his cheeks does to his cunt)

this would ruin him. this would ruin him. this would absolutely destroy him.

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Last Christmas (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Last Christmas (Rated T)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k+ (get yer cocoa, everyone!)

Warnings: Brief moderate language, Steve Harrington being an idiot (as usual, but we love him anyway), friends-to-lovers (if that's a warning)

Summary: Co-written with @mischief_and_mercy on AO3 for Day 8 of Stevemas. Takes place at the end of Stranger Things 2 and inspired by the infamous titular song. You and Steve have been friends for years. You've seen him change and go from relationship to relationship, wishing that one day he might feel the same as you do. When Steve tries to hatch a plan with you to get Nancy back, tensions run high. Will your friendship be over?

It was no secret Steve Harrington struggled with luck. It was even clearer that he had lost his heart to a very prominent figure who also went to Hawkins High: Nancy Wheeler. Despite being friend-zoned too many times to count, you still harbored feelings for the hazel-eyed King Steve. You knew it was stupid—you should know better than to fall for someone who already gave his heart to someone else. 

Everyone saw the way Steve looked at Nancy. Even now, as you both sat in his bedroom, you knew his only thought was of walking into the Snow Ball to see her. He wanted to try to speak with her, to reconcile the broken relationship between the two of them. 

“What would I even-” the boy started as he paced around his room. “I mean, what could I even say to her? She’s…different now, ya know?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod in agreement, “but so are you.”

Steve groaned, hands reaching up to cover and slide down his face. “Why does this have to be so damn complicated?”

“To quote the great Phil Collins-”

“NO!” He was quick to cut you off. “Don’t you start.”

In all the years he’s known you, Steve should have realized this was a losing battle. “You can’t hurry love,” you crooned in a terribly offkey melody. “No, you just have to wait. Love doesn’t come easy, it’s a game of give and take.”

“You’re such a nerd,” he groaned, head falling backwards in frustration. “Besides, wasn’t that song done by the Supremes like a million years ago?”

“And you have the audacity to call me a nerd.”

Steve scrunched his nose, causing a series of wrinkles to appear across his face. “Blame it on my dad,” he argued. “Used to blast that shit everywhere we went. We’re getting off topic here, though. How can I uncomplicate this?”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want Steve to be happy. In fact, it was quite the opposite; there was nothing you wanted more for him. The two of you had known each other for years and you knew the struggles he had going on at home. More than anything, Steve deserved to find someone who would love him unconditionally.

But…that person wasn’t Nancy. As much as they tried, you can’t force two puzzle pieces together that don’t fit. It only damages the structure of one or both puzzle pieces. And in this situation, the broken puzzle piece was Steve. Nancy had remained intact, perfectly fine to be without Steve. Steve, on the other hand, could barely function without her. As much as you hated it, he had convinced himself that Nancy was the one for him, and as his best friend, you had to do what you could to support him.

“What if you gave her a gift?” you suggested. “Something…nice, that’ll help her remember you. Maybe like a locket?”

Steve paused mid step and tilted his head side to side, as though he was pondering your suggestion. 

Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

“Maybe I should ditch,” he remarked, mostly to himself. “Maybe I’ll just leave Dustin, run back into the car, and come back here.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Steven Joseph Harrington, I swear to God if you have stressed me out for nothing, I am going to suffocate you with your own damn pillow.”

“Stressed you out?!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, it stressed me out! You are absolutely incapable of making a decision and not completely wimping out on that same decision! Grow some balls!”

The dark-haired boy before you wrinkled his nose. “You know,” he started, “we would be having a completely different conversation right now if this was your problem. If you wanted to get back with Frankie Wallace– God knows why you’d want to– you’d be stressing over every detail.” 

“Well, good thing for you I don’t want to go out with Frankie Wallace,” you said evenly as you rested your head on your hand. The unspoken words remained resting on your tongue, heavy and dark. I want to go out with you.

“Yeah, see, that’s your problem. You need to get back out there again,” Steve encouraged, entirely oblivious to your distant longing stares. “Show the little shitbag what he’s missing.”

“That’s gross, Steve. Last time you encouraged me to do that, he stuck his tongue down my throat and I had to sucker punch him in his. Would you like to try that again? Wanna relive another trip to the principal?” 

You watched as your best friend’s jaw clenched and un-clenched in a silent rhythm. He flexed his fingers into a fist. “He did that to you?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. Why would that matter to him? Was he jealous? As wrong as it was, you almost wished he had some feeling comparable to yours when he looked at Nancy. But you knew it would never happen. Try as hard as you might, you would never truly be Steve’s…person. He would never look at you the way he saw Nancy. To Steve, you would always be his little friend with a face full of freckles and braces, the one who was more interested in homework than the important social gatherings of the school year. 

After the Snow Ball came and went, with Steve’s plan hopefully going off without a hitch, life would go back to normal. You’d pass each other by in the halls, smile on occasion when he’d visit your locker. 

“Yeah, Steve. That’s what happens when you pick the wrong guy.” 

Once bitten and twice shy

I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye

Tell me baby, do you recognize me?

Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me

You knew that Steve remembered what it was like to attract the wrong girl. But… he didn’t know what it was like to look at your best friend, every day, knowing that there would be no one else that could measure up to who you wanted. Despite the absentee parents, Steve had always known how to treat his partners. He would tell you about his dates, how he’d always try to pull out all the stops. You knew his moves, his quirks…those sly tactics he thought were smooth that you had convinced him were borderline sketchy, even if he didn’t mean it to be. If anything, being alone most of his life made him gentle and caring. 

Steve told you about his dream once, when he and Nancy first started dating. He wanted this great big Hawkins family that would have all the love he never received growing up. It shattered your heart into a thousand pieces to hear, but it also made you all the more protective of him. Deep down, you knew this wasn’t the future Nancy would want. She was a girl with big ambitions, who wanted to do more than stay in a town as small as Hawkins. You knew that Steve would support her either way, even if it meant sacrificing what he wanted most, but it didn’t seem fair. Your best friend didn’t deserve to have his heart broken; not by Nancy Wheeler or anyone else. 

“You never…” Steve cleared his throat. “You never told me that.”

“That’s because you were a little…” Too preoccupied with sucking your girlfriend’s face off. “...busy.”

“You can still tell me things!” he exclaimed. The guilt swirled in his eyes, immediately hitting you right in the chest with your own pang of guilt. You probably should have told him when it happened. It would have saved you long nights of avoiding him to cry in your bedroom listening to Bowie and hating how stupid you were. Maybe it would have helped your pride to have him knock some sense into the creep. Although, you knew he would just be picking another fight he was destined to lose.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” I didn’t want to make you feel bad for me while you were happy with your own girlfriend.

Steve whispered your name quietly as he sat on the bed next to you. “No matter how busy I am with a girlfriend, with my friends, there will always be time for you.” He reached over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “You’re my best friend. It’s part of my responsibilities to protect you from douchebags like Wallace. Not to mention I’d be lost without you.”

You shifted uncomfortably on the comforter, fingers smoothing the material as you refused to meet your best friend’s gaze. How could he say that to you? Your heart thudded against your chest like a rubber ball against a brick exterior. 

“Then why won’t you notice me?” you blurted out, your face burning as your mind registered what had just slipped out of your mouth. “Why do you always go to Nancy when clearly, the both of you can’t work out?!”

Steve recoiled from his position, his expression mimicking that of someone who had been slapped. Burning rage filled your heart, but not at him—never by him. It was at yourself, for ruining the relationship and the gentle peace the both of you had together. Your feelings had always toed the line between friendship and something more with Steve, but you never truly dared to make the leap and cross it. Teasing remarks, gentle touches that lingered just a little too long…yet you didn’t want to take the ultimate risk of revealing your feelings and losing Steve in the process. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured as you gathered your belongings as quickly as possible with tears building up against your lash line. “I shouldn’t have said that, it was wrong of me and not my place at all.”

A hand encircled your wrist, one that most definitely was not your own. Your gaze flicked from the ground to Steve’s chest, unable to look him in the eyes directly. How could you? You had basically ruined your friendship in one fell swoop. Now you know what a fool you’ve been.

You cleared your throat, still staring at the floor. To hell with it all. You’ve said this much already, what more could happen from you pouring out your heart?

“I’ve liked you for a while, Steve.” you stated quietly, still staring at your sock-covered toes. “I… I think I realized last Christmas. But… When I asked if we were going to spend Christmas together like usual, you preferred to spend it with Nancy. I… I lost my heart that day, Steve. I lost it to you.”

“I-” Steve started as his hand tightened around your wrist. “I didn’t know-”

“How could you, Steve?” you asked bitterly. Considering the rhetorical question, you continued on your outpouring of feelings. ���You were too invested with Nancy to see what it was doing to me. You only have eyes for one girl at a time. So when Nancy entered the picture… I was lost from you, Steve.” Your voice broke on your last sentence, “I was lost from you, Steve, and I still am.”

“But you’re right here,” he argued. “I’m right here. Everything’s okay now. I mean, yeah, Hawkins went to shit again, but we’re still alive. We’re still-”

“Just because I am physically here, Steve, doesn’t mean that I don’t feel lost from you! When’s the last time you’ve asked about my day, or about one of my tests, or offered to help me study for one of those tests, or, hell, did you even bother to call me back when I broke up with Frankie?”

“I guess, I guess I, uh,” Steve ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. You could tell he was struggling to search through his memory, holding onto a glimmer of hope he could find a reason. But the truth was, he couldn’t and he never would.

“Forgot,” you huffed in frustration. “You forgot. Again. Because Nancy is the only thing that occupies your brain anymore.”

“That’s not true!!”

“Then what the hell is the truth, then, Steve?! Tell me the damn truth!”

A blank look overtook your best friend’s face as you grew silent after your outburst. You hadn’t meant to lash out at him like you did. It was a therapeutic feeling, though. After watching from the sidelines for so long, having that chance to really tell Steve how you really felt was…freeing. After a moment, you gave up on waiting for an answer. It didn’t really matter what he had to say. You said your piece and now you needed to move on before it was far too late, not only for your friendship – but for yourself. 

Heaving a heavy sigh, you bit your lower lip and grabbed your backpack back up from off the floor. Steve barely registered your movements, only coming back to the real world just before you started down the stairs. You heard his voice call out your name as you walked out the front door, but you had to ignore it. This Christmas, you needed to move on. You needed to let go of Steve Harrington, even if it hurt like hell.  

= = = = = = = = = = =

You hadn’t spoken to Steve for the rest of that day. When he called later that evening, you let it go to voicemail. At school, you ignored him outside of classes, being quick to spot some random “friend” of yours that you hardly knew. You spent most of the day after helping your younger sister get ready for the snow ball, no matter how much she argued that having her older sibling help was practically a dramatic attempt for social suicide.

Well, at least she wasn’t going to the Snow Ball in what she thought was the epitome of fashion (which it was most definitely not). Resisting the urge to ruffle her hair, you all but shoved her out the door to the car. Why put all of your hard work to waste and let her be late for the event?

The last thing on your mind was if you would cross paths with Steve in the parking lot. Given everything that had gone on since your last conversation, it wasn’t as if he was at the forefront of your thoughts. At this point, your main focus was on making sure your little sister had the best Snow Ball ever, even if it meant you needed to sit and monitor a punch bowl for three hours.

After placing the keys in the ignition, you drove to the biggest event your middle school sister could ever dream to have. As you entered the parking lot of Hawkins Middle School, you could already tell that no expense had been spared with the event planning committee’s strenuous budget. Balloons and streamers littered the walls in a variety of pale winter colors. You were almost glad that you had opted to dress you and your sister in darker tones, as it would help you stand out against the backdrops.

Once parked, your sister couldn’t wait to get out of the car. She made a beeline for the sign-in sheet and was quick to start catching up with her new friend, Max. After you signed yourself in, you couldn’t help but look around for Dustin. You had half expected him to be here by now, but there was no sign of the curly haired genius child.  

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes

I'm hiding from you and your soul of ice

Despite your vehement wishes for Steve not to show up, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest when you didn’t see him walk through the doors. You wanted him not to show up, it’s what you had hoped for all along… Right? But the heavy feeling in your chest and the spiraling thoughts inside of your head said otherwise. You tried to distract yourself with ever-so-important punch monitor duties, dragging the ladle through the liquid to create ripples within the bowl. 

About an hour into your self-made prison, you heard the sound of a throat clearing in front of you. Oh. Oh no. As you glanced up, you locked eyes with the boy you had spent the last few days trying to avoid. Steve wasn’t dressed up, not really. He had on his favorite red sweater and a pair of Levi’s. Even with the curious look of concern etched into his features, he still looked incredibly Steve-like. 

My God, I thought you were someone to rely on

Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on

Now that feeling in your chest blossomed into something incredibly unwanted that would make you forgive Steve in the span of a fraction of a second. This time, it was familiar. It was the same feeling that made you hold onto the thought of him finally dating you for oh so long.

“Hey,” he stuttered. “Can I, uh, have some punch, please?”

“Pretty sure it’s just for the kids,” you couldn’t help the sharpness to your tone.

“I could make sure it’s not spiked?” he offered weakly. The puppy eyes he gave you were enough to make you want to put your hands over your face, if not just to resist the temptation of forgiving him oh-so-quickly. You knew it would hurt even more if you let him back into your heart. So why were you longing to pour some punch in a glass in a peace-making gesture?

Deep down, you knew why. 

It was because it was Steve, the boy you had known since the two of you could crawl (albeit not very well on his part). This was the guy who spent every minute of summer break in your backyard, talking for hours about the things he wanted to do when he could finally get away from his home – to finally be free. This was Steve, your best friend, who knew your favorite ice cream flavor and your favorite movies. It wouldn’t matter how many times he broke your heart, because he would always be there, in the back of your mind and your most important memories.

“That’s, uh,” you cleared your throat, “that’s why people like me are on the payroll, I’m afraid. This punch has already passed inspection. Although, I’m sure Nance might need some help at table seven.”

“I don’t want to help Nancy,” Steve explained as a bite of frustration crept into his tone. “I want to focus on you.”

Your words rang back to you in what you had spit at him during your fight. Nancy is the only thing that occupies your brain anymore. You hated that he still held onto that. Despite the truth to those words you had said, regret slithered around your heart and crushed it in a vice-like grip. Was there truly any more hope towards a relationship between you and Steve?

“Then why do I find that so hard to believe?”

“Because I’ve messed up,” Steve said honestly. “I’ve messed up, but I really, really want to be able to make it up to you. Please, let me make this up to you.” 

A sigh escaped your lips and your gaze traveled back down to the punch bowl before you. It would be an internal battle, this decision. But really, what else did you have to lose? He had already shattered your heart before. What’s one more time? “And how do you expect to do that, Harrington?”

His hand dipped into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box, which was horribly wrapped. The edges of your lips twitched in an attempt to silence your laughter at how poor his wrapping job truly was.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“A present… for you. I just… I thought you should have it, y’know, in case you won’t let me do anything for Christmas. As awful as it sounds, I figured you’d actually take the present in public rather than in private… I know you hate me. I’ve been an awful friend.”

Hate. For some reason, that word just bothered you. Did you really hate Steve? After everything the two of you had been through as kids, would this really be the end of your friendship? 

Swallowing hard, you reached your hand out wordlessly for the gift. “For the record,” you mused as you picked at the paper, “I don’t hate you. I’m just…I guess I don’t know how to feel. I said some things and you…well, you didn’t. I don’t know where that leaves us now.” 

“I… I don’t really know where that leaves us either,” Steve said quietly. “But what I do know is I don’t want to lose you.”

Without another word, you started to rip at the wrapping paper. After removing its disguise, you discovered it was a small silver box. You frowned up at Steve in confusion as you lifted the lid off of the top. What you saw surprised you even more. Placed on a bed of crushed purple velvet sat a silver letter “S”.

“You decided to get me something with your initial?” you asked, unamused.

“It’s not- It’s not to mark you as mine or stupid shit like that!” Steve spit out. “I uh… I just uh…” He somehow managed to pull himself together enough to say, “I want to be yours. I want to gift you flowers and make you breakfast and point at random stars in the night sky and act like I know the story behind constellations I still can’t see. And most of all… I want to remind you that you are always going to take priority. I don’t want anyone else.”

“But- but what about Nancy?” you asked, wide eyes locked onto his own soft gaze.

“It’s not about Nancy anymore,” he replied. “To be honest with you, I don’t think it ever really was. See, when Nance…when she left me, I think I just– well, I think I felt pretty stupid. Like maybe, maybe there was something wrong with me. I was a jerk these last few years. No, no, I was more than a jerk. I was a real dick. And I guess…” He hesitated before he continued. “I guess I was afraid if I even tried to find someone else, I’d just screw it up like I normally do.”

You frowned. “You don’t screw things up, Steve.”

“No, I did,” he argued. “I really, really did.”

“You didn’t-” you started again.

“If I didn’t screw things up, then why didn’t I have the guts to tell you I loved you six years ago?”

“Because I didn’t have the guts to tell you that I loved you either.”

The two of you stood in silence for several minutes, eyes flickering around the room to find something– anything– to talk about and break the spell. Something had changed between the two of you now and there was definitely no going back. While part of you wanted to scream of happiness from Steve’s confession, another part of you was scared. What if you tried and it messed everything up even more? What if you lost Steve entirely?

As if he sensed your unease, Steve took a few steps around the side of the table. His hand found your own as he laced his fingers with yours. The other hand went to your cheek, cradling your face gently. His eyes searched yours as he leaned closer, his cologne sweeping through your senses and preventing smells other than him from making their way to you. Lips grazed yours as both your eyes shuttered closed, bodies leaning into one another. 

Finally, finally you were kissing Steve Harrington…and he was kissing you back.

Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be so bad after all.

------------ Authors' Note:

frostandflames- Well that's a wrap on day 8 of my Stevemas event. I just want to say thank you to mischief_and_mercy for helping me out and being willing to collaborate with me on today’s fic. This story was actually their idea, so make sure to give them some support and check out their stuff over on AO3! They write for a variety of characters, including the gang from Stranger Things and MCU.

If you liked this story and want to see more collabs like this on either of our profiles, make sure to comment, tag your friends, and reblog. Likes are appreciated, but it's the other types on interactions that help spread the word about our work and motivate our brain cells to keep working together.

AND if you want updates on the rest of Stevemas, maybe consider giving my blog a cheeky follow. I promise I won't spam your dash outside of sharing the works of other amazing writers and creators on this hellsite.

Until next time, my little sparks! <3

mischief_and_mercy: Hey guys! I hope y'all enjoy the fic! Give all the love to El for coming up with the idea and helping us along (no matter what she says about me…). She's put so much hard work into this, so give her all the love you can spare <3 please leave a comment or a reblog (or both ;D)! Happy Holidays lovelies!

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove

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