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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months

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Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

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bahablastplz · 2 months

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Best Friend: Han x Reader

Thinking about how Jisung is always the reader's best friend in fics, which made me think of best friend to lovers Jisung x Reader.... Content: Smut, Fluff, A little Angst Warnings: Oral sex, Unprotected sex, P in V sex, Dirty talk, Use of the word 'slut,' Hair-pulling, Maybe some praise kink if you squint WC: 3400

“Which dress should I wear?” You question. You hold up two dresses in the mirror and place each one in front of your body, eyebrows furrowing as you imagine each one on your figure. You look at your best friend through the mirror, gauging his reaction.

“Black,” says Han, though he doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Jisung!” Your sharp tone makes his eyes shoot open wide, a surprised look on his face that you’ve gotten to know well over the years–the one he makes when he knows he’s gotten himself into trouble. “You didn’t even look at the options!” You scoffed at him incredulously.

“I didn’t have to,” he says snidely. “The red one makes you look sexier, the black one makes you look… I don’t know, sleek?” “Sleek,” you say with a laugh. “Okay, so I should wear the red one!” As you go to hang up the black dress in your closet, your friend appears from behind you.

“On a first date? You’re not trying to seduce him just yet,” he jokes.

“But I wanted to look sexy,” you pout. “Plus, you never know–” Before you can finish your sentence, Han snatches the red dress from your grasp and runs out of the room at full speed. Mouth agape, you run after him giggling. Jisung makes some screeching noises as he runs around and he even hops onto the couch, standing above you. You take a moment to keel over, laughing at him while catching your breath. This is something your friend has always been good at doing; making you laugh. Especially on a night like tonight in which you were more nervous than you cared to admit, Jisung knows exactly how to push your buttons and have tears forming in your eyes from his humor.

“Give me that, please, Sungie. You’re gonna mess it up!” You fake glare at him and cross your arms, watching as he holds the dress up over his head.

“I can’t believe you’re ditching movie night for some guy,” he says. “Movie night, it’s an annual tradition… to just abandon it… It’s heresy! Heresy I say!” You shake your head at the man before sitting next to him on the couch. He sits as well, abandoning his ridiculous stance, and takes a deep breath next to you.

You lean your head against his shoulder before sighing. “It’s not just any guy,” you say softly. “Seungmin seems special. I think he really likes me.” Jisung ignores the panging in his chest. The fact of the matter is, Han Jisung is undeniably, uncontrollably in love with you. And normally, he has absolutely no problem with that fact, especially with hiding it from you. But on this night in particular, there is one issue: You are going on a date.

You’d been on dates before, of course. But not since Jisung has identified his attraction and feelings toward you. And what could he say? That he was jealous, that he wanted you to stay here and get with him instead? Of course not!

“I… I know, jagiya. Um, you’re going to have a good time,” he replies into your hair. “And hopefully get laid. You’ve been so tense lately.” God, why did he say that? He didn’t want to think about that, especially with a guy that wasn’t him!

You laugh and push his shoulder lightly. “God, I hope so. I just need to be fucked like a slut, you know?” You grin at him widely, but he feels like he might get sick at your words. Usually, the two of you have no problem joking with one another, and yes, maybe 50% of the time your jokes are rather explicit, but Jisung can’t help but run a hand through his hair and take a deep breath at your words.

“Don’t say that,” he groans, albeit with a weak smile.

“Ughhh, but Sungie…” you laugh. “You know I’m joking but it’s been so long… I do want to be folded in half like a pancake–”

He lets out a nervous laugh and holds his hand over your mouth.

“Seriously, gross,” he says. You lick his hand. In disgust, he gets up, handing you the red dress in the process.

“Thank you!” you preen at your friend and jump up, running to your room to get ready for your date. He follows to watch and lay on your bed.

You look stunning in the red dress, of course. He knew you would. But coupled with the lipstick, the hair, your perfume… it makes his heart pang and sit heavily in his chest.

You are in a rush. As you say goodbye to your friend and start to lock up, he pulls you into a tight hug,

“Sung… You’re not seriously mad about movie night, right?” You laugh against him but feel yourself growing red at the proximity. You can smell his shampoo from here, and his embrace is so tight, his arms wrapped around you so tight that it makes you gulp. You push him away slightly just so you can look in his eyes.

“No, of course not,” he says, but he’s slightly pouting. You would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying close attention to his face, and if you didn’t know each of his expressions like the back of your hand. “Just… I hope you have a good time tonight. Text me if you need me, kay? And turn your location on… just in case he’s really a serial murderer or something.”

“Alright, you got it. Thanks so much for coming over,” you say as you lock your front door, allowing your friend to leave the house with you.

“You never have to thank me,” he reminds you. ***

The date went alright. Seungmin was a sweet guy, he really was. He took you out to a nice restaurant and he flirted with you, he made you smile, and he was just the epitome of a gentleman. But, you realized there just wasn’t a spark. Something was missing. There were no butterflies, no rush from your heart to let you know he was the one. And you told him as much at the end of the night. There were no hard feelings, really.

So why do you still feel so damn emotional?

As you step into your house, you pull out your phone and you’re texting Jisung before you even realize what you’re doing.

Y/N: Can you come over?

Sungie: Already OMW!

You’re laying on the couch, sulking emotionally. You half debate cracking open a bottle of wine to drink your sorrows away but decide against it.

Instead, you wipe away small tears and hold yourself back from sniffling. Jisung bursts in your front door, looking around frantically. The sight makes you hiccup laugh through your tears and he’s running to you, kneeling in front of you on the couch.

“Fuck, jagiya, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, I’ll really kill him, I promise… Well, maybe not kill him, but I swear I’ll really hurt him…” He starts rambling and it makes you laugh.

“I’m fine, Ji. He didn’t hurt me… The date actually went really well.”

“Oh,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. He looks into your eyes. “Shit. You scared me. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Bull shit, or you wouldn’t have called me over,” he says. He puts his hands on your knees and his head on the couch, looking up at you.

“Just… we didn’t click. He was so sweet. He still paid after I told him I didn’t want another date, which was really nice… Is there something wrong with me?” You ask. You look into his eyes and he swears he could split in half, your teary doe eyes making him want to burst into tears himself.

“Of course not, why would there be?” He questions.

“Just… It’s been over a year since I’ve had sex, even longer since I’ve dated someone… I finally get to go on a date with a nice, hot guy, and I completely blow it. What if that was my last shot? What if nobody wants me?” You wipe a tear away.

“Don’t say that,” he says sharply. Your eyes widen. In all the time that you’ve known Jisung, his demeanor has always been relaxed, joking, and somewhat aloof. So for him to be so blunt and sharp with you? It makes you tense up. “That isn’t true.”

“How do you even know that?” You cross your arms at him and shoot him what you hope is a nasty glare but you know it probably comes across as much more pathetic.

“Because I love you.”

You scoff at him. “Han Jisung, if this is some sort of sick joke you better count your days, because that’s a really fucking low blow after tonight.”

“Y/N, I would never joke about this. I love you much more than you could ever realize. I have loved you for so long… It hurts. I have wanted to tell you for so long, but I was so scared of messing up our friendship. There’s nothing more in this world that I love more than your smile, more than making you laugh.” He pauses, gauging your reaction. For once, he truly doesn’t know what you’re thinking and it scares him, but he continues anyway. “Just… The thought of you going out on that date tonight, it made me so sick. The thought of you kissing someone that wasn’t me… God, you didn’t kiss him, did you? Argh, that would make me so sad… But I just… I don’t even know the guy and I couldn’t help but think that I would be better for you. That he wouldn’t be able to make you laugh, and he wouldn’t know how absolutely ridiculous you look when you dance while you’re drunk, and he wouldn’t know that Saturday nights are our movie nights, and he wouldn’t know that you say your favorite color is lavender, but it’s actually–”

You cut off the man by lunging forwards onto the floor and pressing your lips into his. The kiss is searing and all-consuming and he pulls you forward until you’re in his lap. As you straddle him he holds your head in his hands, brushing hair behind your ears as he brings you further into him. You’re both emotional and out of breath but so desperate to have things keep moving forward that when you open your mouth to deepen the kiss, it’s all tongue and teeth and heavy breathing but holds more feeling behind it than any kiss you’ve ever had.

“Jisung…” you whisper, pulling away. He looks at you with wide eyes, pupils blown out. He’s panting and his hands take place on your arms, holding you in place as he searches deep into your eyes.

He pulls you into a deep embrace reminiscent of the one you shared just this afternoon.

“I feel the same… I think the reason why my date went so poorly is because he wasn’t you.” You hear his breath hitch and he pulls you impossibly closer, looking deep into your eyes before pulling you into another kiss. This one is more gentle and chaste but fills you with desire nonetheless. “I didn’t kiss him, by the way,” you say. Your statement puts Jisung at ease. “You’re the only one I want to kiss, Sung.”

You kiss him again but start to trail down his neck, leaving wet open kisses behind. Jisung is a panting, moaning mess beneath you, and his noises encourage you to go further. You lift his shirt up over his head and press your crotch into his, relishing in the sounds he makes as you kiss his chest, his collarbones, and his abdomen before you feel a hand weave itself into your hair, pulling you harshly.

“Still want to be fucked like a slut?” His words make you gasp.

“Ji, I was joking,” you say, but his hand pulls tighter on your hair, revealing your neck to him; wet open-mouthed kisses and tongue pressing against your neck releases a loud, nasty moan from your lips.

“You can’t lie to me, baby,” he says into your skin. “We’ve joked about it too many times for it to really be a joke. Can you answer me? Do you want to be fucked like a slut? Say the word and we can stop.” He lifts up your dress and throws it off of your head almost comedically, and it would have made you laugh if you weren’t now on complete display for the man.

“Yes… please.” That was all the word Jisung needed to go forth and absolutely ravish you, taking your body as if it were his own. He sucks small marks against your skin, guiding your hips to rock into his own in steady movements. Meanwhile, he unclasps your bra, discarding it to God knows where, paying full attention to your now exposed skin.

“So beautiful… God you’re making me feel so good, grinding against me so good baby… I’ll cum soon, I’ll cum in my pants if we don’t stop,” he rambles. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, paying it full attention while teasing the other with his thumb. Your head falls back from the pleasure, from the enticing man underneath you that you’ve known for so long, for the man who’s cologne has been engraved in your brain for years but only now does it make you feel needier with lust and desire when it floods your senses. Suddenly, he lifts you off of his hips with alarming force, placing you to sit on the couch while he remains underneath you on the floor.

“Please, can I eat you out? Let me make you feel good baby, please,” he begs, rubbing small circles onto your thigh. You nod your head at him, lifting your hips and your underwear is removed in an instant.

He dives forward, wasting no time before connecting his mouth to your glistening core. You moan loudly at the contact and his arms reach forward to pull you closer to his face. His wide eyes meet yours and he grins, absolutely deriving his own pleasure off of yours and the way you squirm beneath him. He eats you out in a way that is similar to his personality; it is messy, it is eager, and it is all-consuming. His tongue flicks desperately against your clit and you buck your hips up into his face but he holds you down easily, forcing you to take what he gives. His tongue switches between teasing your entrance and giving your clit his direct and undivided attention, and the pace makes you feel dizzy.

“Please, please,” you say, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. He changes the angle suddenly, pressing your legs up to your head so that you’re completely at his mercy. He spits right onto your aching hole, the act crude but making you moan nonetheless. Immediately he dives back in, holding your legs as he sucks and flicks at your clit until you’re shaking from overstimulation.

You try to warn him but it’s too late, you’re thrown over the edge with a loud sigh. He guides you through it, lapping at you languidly with his tongue as you pulse against him from aftershocks. He releases from you and the lack of contact makes you feel antsy, immediately wanting more, immediately craving that contact again.

“Jisung,” you breathe out. “Again… want to feel you again, please. Need you… touching me, please.” He wastes no time before pulling his pants and boxers down in one swift blow and you moan at the sight of him naked before you. You reach to touch him and stroke his cock but he stops you, guiding you to your feet. Your legs tremble but he holds you steady.

“What are you–” you begin to ask, but he shushes you, grabbing your hips and bending you over the side of the couch. He pushes your back down so that you’re arching for him, ass pressed up in the air.

“M just giving you what I promised,” he says, rubbing your back almost soothingly as he teases your entrance with his cock. Every time he makes contact you hiss and try to press back into him, but to no avail. “You made me wait this long to let me fuck your pretty pussy babe, should I make you wait too?”

His words make you moan out, and you’re babbling before you even realize it. “Jisung, Sungie, no please… Please Ji… I need you so bad… Please let me… Please don’t make me wait… Fuck… Please…”

His laugh is airy, as if you’ve knocked all of the air out of his lungs. You tilt your head back, trying desperately to see his face, and his expression is exactly how you imagined it; desperate, incredulous, lips parted open in a small ‘o’ shape. That’s the last thing you see before he presses his full length into you and your eyes screw shut from pleasure.

He immediately groans out, trying to stay still but desperately rocking his hips into you deeper, right against your g-spot which makes your eyes roll back and tighten around him. In turn, he begins sharply rutting right against your hips, shallow but deep.

“Fuck, fuck, jagiya. You feel… so good. Just like how I imagined,” he starts. “Your pussy… God, it was made for me to fuck… For me to fuck you dumb.” He is stuttering and rambling but you don’t even care, his words, soft moans, and pants making you feel incredibly needier. He reaches forward and pulls you up against him, grabbing your head and meeting your lips into a blinding and messy kiss as he fucks you. It makes your head reel and his hands find your tits and grab them hard for just a second as he finds his pace but the overstimulation makes you go stupid with desire.

Just as fast, he pushes you into the couch again. He grabs both of your wrists from behind and pulls them into his hand, using the momentum as a way to let himself fuck into you harder and deeper. You’re crying now, tears flowing from your face from pleasure and letting out noises that you didn’t know you could make, loud ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ from every thrust of his hips into yours.

“Please tell me you’re close, baby,” he says shakily. “Fuck, I don’t think I can last much longer.” His words make you close your legs together as he fucks you, the friction sending you even closer to the edge.

“So close, Sung, please.” Your words barely escape your mouth but you know he hears you, as his hands take place on your hips now, his death grip searing as he pulls you all the way on and off of his length, slamming into you at full force.

“Cumming,” you say, and you can only warn him the one time before you’re spasming and convulsing all over his cock, his soft and gentle praise guiding you through it in complete contrast to his harsh actions against your body. You’re still pulsing with aftershocks as he groans, pulling out of you and releasing all over your back in hot spurts. As the two of you catch your breath, he immediately pulls you into a kiss again, gentle yet passionate.

“I love you so much,” he says. “Wanted to do that for so long. Wanted you. Wanted you to be mine and wanted you to know how much I love you.” His eyes meet yours, searching, waiting for a response.

“I love you too, Jisung.” He smiles and his eyes close, relishing in the fact that finally, you are now undeniably his.

He cleans you up and guides you into your room, pulling you into his arms. Your head rests on his chest and your limbs are an intertwined mess, unable to differentiate where you start and Jisung ends. That night you watch your movie, the way it was destined to be all along. Jisung’s jokes make you laugh until you cry, and this time he is able to tell you that making you smile is one of the greatest pleasures he has ever been graced with in his life, and he tells you this with a kiss pressed against your mouth. ***

Masterlist Recs

#Han #Han Jisung #Han Jisung x reader #han x reader #skz #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz scenarios #Han jisung x you #jisung smut #Han smut #han jisung smut

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distantdarlings · 5 months

Text

HOUSE PRIDE // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* Theo is pissed that you seem to be interested in other guys. The two of you are not officially dating so you find it ridiculous that you can't talk to whomever you want. You have feelings for Theo, though, and think it might be interesting to put his jealousy to the test.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Heavy sexual material, degradation, name-calling, jealousy, fem reader, language, dom!Theo--honestly, this is just depraved

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Pyramids - Frank Ocean

---

You pressed your face to your hands, breathing deeply. You couldn’t believe what you were fucking hearing. The pounding in your head refused to subside as he kept demanding an answer.

“Hello? Do you wanna explain why you were practically throwing yourself on Riddle today at lunch?” the brunette demanded, his eyes widened and wild. Your hands dropped and you made eye contact with the boy. You were in disbelief.

“Throwing myself at him? You dick, I tripped and fell on him! That’s just number one! Number two: you are not my fucking boyfriend,” you shouted, “I can throw myself on whoever I want, whenever I want!”

Theo locked his jaw and pursed his lips slightly. A tell of his that meant he was very angry. He didn’t usually speak much after he pushed past this point. More like, just crossed his arms and stared at you, eye bordering on twitching. You scoffed and held your hands out, waiting for a response from him. He said nothing.

“I don’t need you to tell me who to give attention to, Theo. You are not my boyfriend, I am not your girlfriend. I tripped and fell against Mattheo this morning and we both laughed it off, so why can’t you?”

“You just tripped and fell on him and his hands landed on your ass? Oh, whoops, just an accident!” he mocked you.

“I don’t know if his hands were on my ass or not, he may have been trying to stabilize me as quickly as he could—but besides the point, who gives a fuck if he was touching my ass? It’s not like you’ve been too eager to do anything anytime soon!” you shout, blood rushing through your ears and cheeks. Shit. You did not mean to say that. His head shot back and his eyes widened slightly. You kept the anger imprinted on your face to attempt to hide the embarrassment you were feeling so strongly. Hopefully, he would think this was a super-confident confession written in a rage. Still, he said nothing.

“Oh, forget it! To hell with you, Theo!” you screamed, grabbing your robes and running out of his dorm room. He said nothing and made no move to stop you. Your feet carried you down the hallway and into your own room.

None of your roommates were here. You figured they were all in different dorms, preparing for the common room party in a few hours. Once every couple of months, some of the Slytherins—usually seniors—will get together and prepare a “house” party. They’re always fun, high-energy, and filled to the brim with Slytherin pride. Merlin, you loved them.

You had originally declined to go tonight. You had some leftover work that was due on Monday and you almost thought that Theo would invite you to Hogsmeade or something, but you should have known better than that. It seems all he’s concerned about is his reputation.

You tugged through the buttons on your uniform top and ripped it off your shoulders. You pulled your skirt and socks off, holding the end of your bed for balance. There were a couple of nice outfits shoved in the trunk beneath the bedframe—you figured something in there would do. You reached up and let your hair down from its elastic, allowing it to fall to its natural length. The ends of the waved strands tickled your skin as you yanked the trunk into the open. Inside were a couple of different combinations, all saved up for special occasions. And if anyone asked you, making Theo Nott as jealous as you possibly could was a very special occasion.

Your eyes fell on a specific top. A long sleeve, skin-tight sweetheart neckline that plunged a little deeper than it should, and a flared, darkened skirt. You reckoned it was simple and sexy. It practically bled Theo’s name all over your body, claiming you as his, though you pretended like you hated that. He never needed to know it, but you secretly loved how jealous he became when you had the smallest interactions with other people. You blow a curled hair out of your face. The fucker could have been running down the halls with a red tapestry taped to his back and you still wouldn’t call him a red flag. He was just what you wanted; what you’d wanted for years. Whether or not he’d ever actually act on your feelings for each other, you belonged to him and he belonged to you.

You slipped the outfit on, mussed up your hair a bit, and applied a light layer of makeup. With the two tests, three project due dates, and eighteen assignments you’d had this week, you could use a bit of a touch-up. Hopefully, you didn’t sweat it off by the end of the night—though, that was sort of the goal.

You grabbed your wand and slipped it into your back pocket, patting it twice for good luck, and pushed through the dorm door. Down the hallway, you could hear the faint pounding of music. Your heart raced, keeping in time with the deep bass pushing past the walls. Was this a good idea? For a few moments, you stood in front of your door, pondering your options. Your plan for this evening could either end really well or really badly or you could avoid the possibilities completely and stay in like you originally planned. A deep sigh left you as your eyes slid closed. Who cared? This was your life and, you’d said it earlier, Theo was not your boyfriend and you intended on finishing what you’d started with Mattheo earlier this morning.

Deep cool colors swirled throughout the common room, echoing off of every shadow and highlight in the moulding. Everywhere you looked there was another Slytherin scarf or Quidditch team hat. One boy even wore a Slytherin flag around his neck like a cape. You laughed at the absurd outfit. These parties were most definitely one of the best things about being a Slytherin. Say what you will about the house, but they could throw a fucking party.

You slid through swaying bodies, feeling the bass echo deep in your chest, rattling your ribcage. A couple of your friends were scattered throughout the crowd and slipped in gracefully with their personal friends. As you passed by them, they waved or flashed you a bright smile, all of which you returned. You would come back and talk but, for now, you were looking for someone specific.

There was a table set up in front of the fireplace, decked out with green and black decorations, and overflowing with tall glasses of firewhisky. Your eyes skated along the length of the furniture until it reached a familiar body. You smirked and grabbed a drink before making your way over.

Enzo stood against the edge of the table, discussing something with one of the “bartenders.” When you stopped in front of him, his lips ceased and his eyes found your chest, then your eyes. His lips remained parted. Sweet, sweet Enzo.

“Hey, En, I was wondering if you’d seen Mattheo, anywhere?” you smiled. He said nothing for a few seconds before stuttering back to life like an old car.

“Uh, no, I haven’t seen him anywhere…uh, why do you need—um, I mean, did you need to talk to him?” he stumbled, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets. The boy he’d been talking to—some fifth-year—snorted and rolled his eyes, turning away from the two of you to pour a couple more drinks. You stepped closer to Enzo, feeling his body heat on you. The shoes you were wearing granted you a couple more inches of height, which, consequently, put your hairline just above his. His eyes were angled slightly upward as he watched you.

You waved him against you. He leaned in. The confidence burning through you tonight was more than you’d felt in a long time. You felt hurt and angry and frustrated. You could fix one of those quickly. You traced the skin above his ear, pushing a small tuft of copper hair back. A small shudder went through his body as you pressed your lips against his ear.

“I just wanted to dance and was looking for a boy who’d dance with me,” you said slowly. “I thought Mattheo would be the best but maybe you could…you know…”

You pulled away and smiled sweetly, placing a deep innocence into your eyes, watching as his lips parted and closed multiple times. You tilted your head to the right, allowing your eyes to switch from his eyes to his lips ever so briefly.

“I haven’t seen Mattheo, I’ll dance with you,” he said, licking his lips and swallowing thickly. You smiled brightly and grabbed one of the hands hanging limply by his side. You felt his warm skin beneath yours as you tugged him toward the center of the dancing mass. You were pretty sure you recognized the song playing and proceeded to work all of its beats throughout your body, encouraging Enzo to join you.

“Come on, En!” you laughed. “You’re supposed to dance with me.” He seemed to shock out of a momentary stupor. You felt good tonight and you hoped it was showing on your face and body. He still didn’t move and you reckoned he was going to take some physical guiding.

As the song slowed slightly, you grabbed both of his hands and slid them around your hips. His breath shuddered through his lips as you began moving the two of you. You dropped your hands to his belt and guided his hips a bit, biting back a smile. He had all of the facilities for these particular…activities, he was just really nervous. Soon enough, though, his hips were moving on their own.

You turned around and placed your back against his chest. Without prompting, his hands dropped down to your hips, gripping them firmly. He moved you against him to every beat of the song. To be honest, he was placing a little bit of blush in your stomach. One of your arms raised to wrap loosely around his neck.

“That’s it, baby,” you cooed in his ear, cradling the base of his neck with your hand. One of his hands raised to hold your arm against him as the other stayed intact on your hip. A crooked smile found its way onto his lips as the both of you felt every rhythm the other was putting out. Fuck, maybe you’d picked the wrong boy all along. The way Enzo was grabbing your hips and ever so slowly grinding against your ass had your lips parting in a slow gasp.

“Like this?” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. Merlin, help you.

If anything could have pulled you out of your current situation, it was the burning eyes you felt against you pouring into your skin like a brand. You gasped a bit and looked away from Enzo. Almost immediately, you found Theo’s eyes on the two of you. Enzo noticed your sudden change of attention and glanced up, finding the older’s eyes. Like he’d been branded himself, his hands faded away from you and, almost as quickly, so did he. Fucker. So much for sticking by you.

You were used to it by now, though. Where you were involved, Theo was, too. Even though you weren’t actually together, everyone knew you were Theo’s. Anytime you were hanging out with another boy, he always found out. Even if it was just for a school assignment.

His jaw was clenched and ticking. His eyes were lidded and ice-cold, angled right at you. You rolled your eyes and huffed, stomping off through the crowd. He couldn’t get whatever he wanted all the time. He needed to pick. He needed to officially claim you as his, take you on dates, buy you gifts, and all that nonsense or he needed to leave you the hell alone. He couldn’t have it both ways.

You finally came upon the end of the crowd and the staircase leading to the girl’s dorms. You hurried up the steps, not even caring if he was behind you or ignoring you or with a different girl.

The hallway was completely empty, everybody down at the party or taking an early night. You rushed across the winding floors, trying your best to get to your room before Theo changed his mind. You just wanted to get out of your clothes and makeup and go to bed. Your dorm door appeared around the corner followed by an immense sense of relief.

Your hand closed around the doorknob and—a hand closed tightly around your arm and yanked you back. A yelp escaped your lips as the perpetrator slammed you roughly into the wall just beside the door. It was Theo. He was livid, his breath coming out in hard slants, and his eyes so darkened they appeared black. You swallowed thickly, your breath rushing out of you just as his was. The two of you heard your hearts pounding in tandem.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded, his face inches from yours. Your eyes glanced down from his to his lips, watching the changes in his anger. He waited impatiently for an answer for too long before you realized it wasn’t meant to be a rhetorical question.

He grabbed your arm once more and pulled you away from the wall. A swift flick of his wand and a fury like no other, and he was pulling you into your empty dorm room. It was almost completely dark by now.

“You want some attention, huh?” he said, casting a flame into the stove set in the middle of the room, his grip on your arm never weakening. He slammed his wand down on your bedside table and pushed you onto your bed. You fell roughly against the mattress, your hands holding you up into a sitting position. He stared down at you wildly, like an angry parent.

“Answer me,” he growled. Your eyes bore the same innocence you’d given to Enzo earlier and you knew that he’d only last a few minutes like this. Already, his facade was flickering and his gaze was softening.

“I just—I don’t know, Teddy, I—”

“You just, you—you, you…fucking spit it out,” he mocked you. Body betraying your mind, heat pooled in your lower stomach as his face got closer and closer to yours and he got angrier and angrier. If it was anyone else, you’d have gotten embarrassed or angry but with Theo…it was a different feeling.

“All out of confidence, hmm? What happened, baby, you had plenty out there when you were grinding your ass all over Lorenzo Berkshire in front of everyone!”

“What’s wrong with Enzo?” you squeaked, your thumbs rolling over the other.

“He’s not me, you stupid girl,” he roared, his words perking your chest. You pressed your thighs together discreetly, never losing eye contact with him. You hoped he hadn’t seen you.

“Are you serious? Are you fucking turned on right now?” he asked. He had seen you. You didn’t say anything. His hand reached around and roughly gripped your hair, his fingers tugging deliciously on your scalp. He held your head back.

“Answer me, baby,” he whispered, his voice a thousand times different. “Does it turn you on when I shout at you? When you get me jealous and worked up?” The way he was looking down at you had you gulping against the strain being placed on your throat. You nodded.

“God, you’re so fucking pathetic,” he laughed darkly, the sinister tone in his voice echoing in your stomach. His hand let go of your hair and grabbed your jaw tightly. He held your face up so you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Maybe I need to remind you who you fucking belong to?” An eyebrow quirked. You nodded once more, anticipation hitting you like a train. He smirked, releasing your jaw by pushing you back roughly. Your back came into contact with the bed, the material nearly knocking the breath out of you.

He crawled over you slowly, letting his lips ghost over your exposed cleavage, neck, chin, lips. He paused and allowed his breath to pour into your mouth. He tasted like alcohol, the scent of it burning your lips. He pushed his tongue out and gently traced it over your bottom lip. Your lips parted in a gasp at the contact. Just as soon as your mouth had opened, his had covered it, suffocating all breath. You moaned into him, feeling the way his body held you tightly against the mattress.

You raised your hand to place your fingers beneath his shirt, but one of his hands reached down and grabbed yours with a speed your intoxicated brain wasn’t capable of comprehending right now. He raised them above your head and held them with a grip like a vice, his fingers violent and unyielding. You’d definitely have bruises in the morning.

You bucked your hips against him, trying to illicit some contact between your core and his. He grunted at the touch before pulling back and roughly turning you over, pressing your chest into the mattress.

“Don’t fucking do that,” he growled into your ear, still holding your hands tightly above you. “Do as I fucking say. I’m going to pull this skirt up and I’m going to fuck you and you’re not going to say a word but my name. Do you understand me?” You nodded frantically, impatiently waiting for some contact.

“Keep your hands there,” he instructed as he slowly let them go. You curled your fingers around the edge of the bed to keep them locked in place. You didn’t dare disobey him.

Behind you, you could hear the clink of his belt buckle as he pulled it from his jeans and dropped it to the floor. The anticipation was killing you, your thighs pressing tightly together for a chance at some friction. The heat between them was beginning to become too much.

He pressed bruising kisses along the side of your neck, trailing them down your shoulder. His teeth cut along the flesh, ripping blacks and blues into the sensitive skin. You whimpered at the feeling, knowing good and well he just wanted everyone to see whose you were.

His fingers ghosted along the outsides of your thighs, tracing the chills that appeared in their wake. You shuddered against the sheets, waiting to feel everything he was about to do. You couldn’t see any of his movements and, for whatever reason, that amplified the feeling by a million.

There was a moment of nothing except for the sound of rustling clothing. No part of him touched you and you found yourself becoming more and more desperate by the moment. You reckoned he was removing unnecessary items of his outfit but if he didn’t do something soon, you were going to start pitching a fit.

Then his thumb pressed against your thin undergarments, right where you needed him the very most. An awfully audible moan left your lips and your spine arched against his touch. Merlin help anyone who walked by this dorm or, worse, tried to come in.

“Please, baby,” you sighed, your fingers clenching tightly against the mattress. His hand roughly grabbed your hair once more, tugging your head back.

“My name only, you dumb slut,” he insulted before pushing your head back into the sheets. One hand held your head to the bed as the other lined his hips up with yours.

No matter how many times the two of you did this, you’d never get used to it. He was just so much better than any of the other boys in school. And there were a lot of them too. None of them felt like Theo and he knew it, too. He knew that you would always come back to him. He was impossible to leave. His touch and rough, degrading words were addictive and you couldn’t stay away from him. Your friends had told you over and over again that you needed to drop him and completely move on but you just couldn’t. He was the closest thing to a drug you had.

He tucked a finger beneath your undergarments and slid them over to the side. He placed a hand in front of your face. “Spit,” he ordered. You complied. He spread the material over his fingers slowly, coating each one thoroughly. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand disappear and reintroduce itself with your core. The tips of his soaked fingers skirted between the slit of your skin, lathering you in his touch. Just as he’d instructed, his name poured from your lips like a prayer.

He pulled his hands away and quickly replaced them with a dark, warm heat that pressed into you agonizingly slowly, stretching every part of you out.

“Fuck, it’s been a while,” he groaned breathlessly, pushing into you until he bottomed out. His lips curve just above your ear, every moan and whisper touching your mind like a soft hand. As he began to move, they became louder and made less sense to either of you. His name curled around the room. You worshipped him. The reverence you placed on every syllable touched his chest and slid down to his core. He gasped into your ear. You sounded so fucking good.

It didn’t matter if he fucked every girl in Hogwarts, none of them could ever compare to you.

“Theo, baby, you feel so good,” you screamed, the words vibrating your skin.

“Yeah, baby?” he breathed. You moaned aloud as he pressed an especially sharp thrust against you. “I know, I know.”

“Please, please, please,” you babbled, your words pathetic and useless. His hips never ceased their brutal pace.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed. “Are you my girl? Or are you Enzo’s?” He growled the last part, his fingers tangling painfully in your hair. You yelped at the feeling, tilting your head back to relieve some of the pain.

“No, no! I’m yours, Teddy, I’m all yours, please,” you begged.

“That’s right, baby.” He released your hair. Every movement of his body brought you closer and closer to your end. His hands gripping your hips and pulling himself toward his own, his lips curling against your ear, his weight holding you perfectly in place.

Neither of you would last much longer and you both knew that. Every deep push of his hips drove you further into your pleasure as you began to close around him, gradually coaxing a release out of him. One of his hands dropped down to trace tight circles against you, ignoring the way your hips quaked to get away from the overstimulation. You were done for.

Every sound pouring from his lips began to mingle with yours a bit closer as he pushed you through both of your final breaths. His hips got slower and his grip loosened on your waist. The loss of his support sent your weakened body falling back down to the mattress. A breathless chuckle came from him as he laid down beside you, his shimmering skin luminescent in the moonlight. You presented him with a tired smile.

“Could Enzo fuck you like that?” he asked, a proud smirk imprinted on his lips.

“I don’t know—I’ll let you know when I find out.”

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #reader insert #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #hogwarts fanfiction #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle

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makoodles · 10 months

Text

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You��re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

#on holidays atm and I’ve been stressing about how to post this 😭 I’ll have part 2 posted in a day or two!#neteyam #neteyam x human #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #na'vi x human #na’vi x reader #awow #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #fics

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zhongrin · 1 year

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a hybrid’s instincts

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, gorou, tighnari, (bonus) platonic!diona

◇ tags ◇ pregnancy, afab!reader, dragon!zhongli

◇ a/n ◇ what's that? will i ever stop pushing the dragon!zhongli agenda? hahahahahahahhahahhaha hhahaha ha ha- no.

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

oh? what's this? it seems like your pregnancy triggered something in these men. their more… "animal side", perhaps?

ever since baizhu’s confirmation - actually, even weeks before that - zhongli has been very reluctant to let you wander out of the house. or even out of his sight, in general (which is quite strange since with his enhanced dragon senses you know he’s able to locate you within the house with no problems at all).

at night, you sometimes wake up to him in his dragon form. sometimes it’s his compact form nuzzling and he's purring near your stomach, sometimes it’s his half-dragon form where he’ll place his head beside your stomach with his tail curling around you protectively. it doesn’t matter whether you’re already showing or not; your heartbeat and the little hatchling’s brings him a sense of comfort that he needs, lest he becomes restless.

his nesting behavior is out of control. he’ll bring you all the pillows and blankets, surround you with the nicest smelling flowers, make you always wear his shirt, and he’ll bring anything you want to the bed so you don’t have to leave the nest. the further you are into your pregnancy, the more reluctant he is to leave you alone. he ends up taking that paternal leave hu tao has been telling him to get. bless her.

gorou is just as excited as he’s alerted. kokomi will have to force her best general to take a temporary leave from the army throughout your pregnancy because he’s so jumpy and sensitive to literally everything and his behavior is making all of the soldiers anxious.

gorou insists that you take a walk with him every day; just something light around the block to keep you from feeling lethargic. he’s also developed a habit to sniff everything that will touch your hand. yes, that includes your supposedly harmless change of clothes. it’s not ridiculous in his opinion! it’s a necessary precaution!!

will snarl when a stranger approaches you and tries to touch you in any way, even if it’s just a friendly gesture. he would be so embarrassed and apologetic about it afterward, but only once you’re at the safe haven of your house.

are you a forest ranger? an adventurer? does your profession require you to venture into the wilderness? welp, say goodbye to your job for the time being, because there is no way in any cycles of samsara tighnari would let you go into the dangers outside while you’re carrying his pups.

walking arm-in-arm whenever you're out and about is a must these days. whenever a villager congratulates you, you can sense his hold tightening despite the polite smile on his lips. if it was up to his instinct, he wouldn’t have let you get out of the house, but rationally he knows you need to move around and breathe in the fresh air.

though you still won’t be exempt from your beloved’s sassiness (”you want me to get you coffee…? do you think i’m an idiot?”) as long as what you ask for doesn’t harm you, he’s at your every beck and calls now, no question asked. you’re craving for collei’s specialized pita pockets? he’ll learn the damn recipe from collei herself and serve it on your favorite plate the next day. you want to be carried everywhere? good thing he’s got the physique fitting for the head of the forest rangers. you want ten kisses a day? say no more; he’ll give you thirty.

[bonus - platonic]

at first, diona seems super indifferent about it, only reacting with a ‘hmph… congrats, i guess’, but her actions speak louder than words. you know how cats tend to hover around pregnant women and even lay themselves near their bulging bellies? that's right.

no, you will not be having alcohol. no, your spouse will not be having alcohol. no, all the people within five hundred meters radius from you will not be having any single drop of alcohol. she won't allow those boozehounds to get close to you.

she’s so amazed at how your stomach keeps growing bigger every time you visit her. when you give her your permission, she’ll curiously poke and stare at your bump. her hand will gently pat your tummy as she unconsciously smiles. she starts to seek you out more often after that, telling you that she’s just there in case you need help, but you know she’s just worried about you. she would be such a good big sister to your baby!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #gorou #gorou x reader #tighnari #tighnari x reader #diona #platonic!diona #rin writes #cw.pregnancy #tw.pregnancy #afab!reader

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luvindrr · 2 months

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Osamu feeds you when you don't eat

osamu miya x gn!reader | fluff | i'm going back to 505 words cw: reader doesn't have an apetite/doesn't eat much, samu is a lil insistent you eat a/n: this started as haji and godzilla turned samu and shrek. does shrek even bully peasants in the sequel

It’s kind of corny how much Osamu likes Shrek. He stores DVD copies of the entire franchise in the TV stand even though he hasn’t owned a DVD player since 2012. Once, Netflix removed the Shrek holiday special from their service- the one he never even watched- and his comedic fit of outrage had left him huddled on the ground, heartbroken. So it’s only natural that once again, you sit in front of the TV as the opening to, in his words, the unchallenged supreme reigning cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek 2 plays its soundtrack.

“Pause it!” yells Osamu from the kitchen.

“You know it by heart!”

“I know,” Osamu appears beside you, holding two bowls. “But I need the full experience.”

You take a moment to see what he’s made. Oyakodon- a warm, soupy broth of chicken and eggs served over white rice. It looks good, it really does, but you don’t have much of an appetite and you know you probably won’t eat it. Osamu places it in your hands anyway and you don’t have the heart to tell him no, not after he spent an hour in the kitchen for you. “Thank you, 'Samu.”

You’re halfway through the movie when Osamu lifts the bowl from your hands and shifts you into his lap. You don’t notice, not really, because Shrek is in the middle of abusing another peasant and it’s just so perfectly ridiculous you can’t help but be entranced. So you don’t think twice when Osamu whispers a soft open by your ear and you hardly process it when you swallow something down. He does it again and again and again, until you look up and Osamu’s smug, triumphant, holding up another spoonful.

“‘Samu!” You push against his chest and he falls back a little. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“I wasn’t hungry!”

“Ya ate half th’ bowl!”

“You tricked me! Those bites don’t count.”

Osamu laughs. It’s loud and happy and rings in the air- rings over even Shrek’s roars. He grins at you again. “Bite?”

You purse your lips. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re being annoying!”

He swirls the spoon in the air. “Here comes th’ airplane!”

“No, 'Samu!” You beat at him and bury your face into his chest. He laughs, and you hear the clink of porcelain on the coffee table before his arms wrap around you too.

“Ya just hadn’t eaten all day.” Softer this time.

“I know.”

“Need the protein to get big an’ strong!”

“Mhm.”

“So you’ll take another bite?”

You nuzzle further into him, hiding your face. “No.” Silence for a moment. “Maybe.”

Osamu smirks. “It’s really good, ya know.”

You sigh, releasing yourself from his chest. You reach for the spoon and let the rice fall onto your tongue. The chicken is tender, the eggs delicate, and the subtlety of scallions paired with the salty broth create a comforting taste in your mouth. “It is good, ‘Samu.” You mean it.

“I am an amazing chef.” It’s true.

“... Bite?”

masterlist

#osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #inarizaki #inarizaki fluff #inarizaki x reader

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megu-meow · 7 months

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how I met your mother - Gojo Satoru

dad!Gojo x fem.reader

Summary: I recently found out that many TV series and other Manga/Anime are canon in JJK - How I Met Your Mother included - and I couldn't stop thinking about how Gojo would re-enact the thing after watching it. Moreover, all of you deserve some teeth-rotting fluff after that horrifying manga chapter. Enjoy!

"Why am I here?" Megumi asked with irritation laced through his voice as he sat down on the couch, beside the two white-haired rascals he calls his siblings.

"I'm gonna tell you guys the story of how I met your mother!" Gojo exclaims as he sits on his desk chair, in his office at Jujutsu Tech. The desk usually sits in the corner, right beside the window, but now is pushed in front of the couch, so that he can sit face to face with his children, the setup similar to the one in his recent favorite American TV show, How I Met Your Mother. The only difference is that the whole scenario is not played in his home office, but the one at his actual workplace, because you declared your home a Jujutsu-Free Zone.

"Gojo-Sensei..." Megumi sighs as he starts rubbing his forehead with annoyance "I was five when the two of you got together, I heard the story of how you two met a million times, this is not new to me." he explains as three sets of cerulean blue eyes gawk at him from all directions.

"Mama..." the two-year-old girl sitting on Megumi's left puffs with a ridiculously adorable pout on her face as soon as she hears the mention of her mother, and the five-year-old boy on the other side of the couch whiffs the air aggressively with the plush sword his father was forced to buy him on their way to the school.

"I know, Megumi, but this is a special occasion, you're gonna sit through the whole thing again so that you can experience this amazing fairytale with your beloved siblings." the tall sorcerer explains and his attention turns to his beloved daughter, Munchkin as he refers to her. The little girl slowly climbs into Megumi's lap, the boy instinctively helping her settle down as he embraces her lightly from behind, tickling her sides, and the room is filled with childish laughter. His son, or as he refers to him, Nugget, drops the toy from his tiny hands and huffs in annoyance, suddenly jealous of his sister's ability to gain the undivided attention of his favorite person, his older brother. "Now, all of you pay attention."

It was his first day at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Given his extravagant upbringing, Gojo Satoru was a self-centered douchebag with a horrible attitude. He first met Geto Suguru, the only friend he ever claimed he had, the dark-haired sorcerer with a warm smile and polite demeanor, the polar opposite of him. The two formed an unbearable duo and as soon as you walked into the classroom with the three first-year students, four months after the school year began, you knew you had to keep yourself as far away from the boys as possible. You became good friends with Shoko though, the two of you had plenty of common interests and your personalities were similar as well.

You tried avoiding Gojo at all times, you thought he was irritating based on his behavior in class and his rude comments behind your back, ones he whispered to Geto, making your dark-haired classmate laugh obnoxiously. However, Your efforts to stay as far away from him were proven to be useless when Yaga paired the two of you for a mission.

"So, why is a clan princess like you avoiding the strongest sorcerer of her time? Didn't your family tell you about the power and influence my family holds over the jujutsu society?" he asks you cockily and you chuckle dismissively at his words.

"I'm not a clan princess, Gojo! On the contrary... I come from a family of non-sorcerers and I was an outcast my whole life because I kept seeing things that others couldn't." you said as you kept hitting the curse with sharp daggers that you wielded in the air with your cursed technique "And I don't care about your power or your privilege, because I'm only here to help others." you make your point even clearer as you throw your last dagger with extra force, exorcising the curse without breaking a sweat.

"And that was the moment..." Gojo begins to explain to his overly bored children, but Megumi interrupts him.

"... when you realized you wanted to pursue the only girl that ever gave you attitude, a.k.a. Y/n. We know, it's getting boring."

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Megumi! This is an amazing story about the two people that raised you. Show some respect!" Satoru exclaims with an offended expression and Munchkin hides her face in her tiny hands, thinking that she is the one who is being scolded, trying to hide from her father's light-hearted attempt at discipline.

"Papa, can we have Splendid Sushi?" the white-haired boy asks, boredom evident from his facial expression.

"Nugget, you just ate before we came here." Satoru pouts, clearly disappointed in his kids.

"I know, I'm still hungry."

"I'm gonna wrap this story up quickly and we can go eat after." he gives in, a sad expression on his face.

After that moment you shared on your mission, Gojo changed. He was still annoying and arrogant, but he tried acting like a decent human being around you. In one instance Suguru explained that the remarks they exchanged with each other were making fun of Yaga-Sensei, not you. He felt the need to clarify that after Satoru complained to him about how much you seemed to hate his guts.

These things shed a different light on Gojo, you noticed how he was very attentive when it came to the small details you shared about yourself when the four of you first years were hanging out. He also ensured that you got home safe whenever you went out as a group and he even gave you his jacket so that you wouldn't catch a cold.

He also started complimenting you, your looks, your advancement with your technique, and he thoroughly enjoyed how you blushed every time he called you sweetheart or any other nickname he came up with on the spot. However, you were stubborn, even more challenging than some curses he fought.

"I'm gonna wife you up one day, sweet girl! Even if it's the last thing I do." he whispers into your ear as your head is resting on his shoulder while you're being driven home by an auxiliary assistant from a challenging mission. He thought you were sleeping, but you could hear his muffled words and your lips curled into a slight smile. Because Satoru was good, kind-hearted, and loving in his dorky, obnoxious way.

"Papa, where is Mama?" Munchkin asks with tears in her eyes, clearly distressed from the long period of time she had to endure without her Mama. And the only thing Satoru can do is get up from his chair, walk towards his little baby and embrace her with his strong and bulky arms, trying to comfort her, because he knows exactly how terrible it feels being away from you. He coos at her lovingly, kissing her chubby cheeks and he sits back down to continue with his story. He also puts out his hand, using blue to fetch a pink fluffy blankie he keeps in his office. Megumi rolls his eyes at this, he finds it annoying how Gojo uses his techniques so unnecessarily.

A month after Satoru's not-so-secret confession, at Nanami Kento's birthday party, it happens. Your first kiss. For the most part, the party goes terribly for both of you. He is standing in a corner, drinking seltzers orange soda furiously as he observes how a third-year is trying to hit on you with cringey pick up lines that make Gojo want to throw up. You seem uncomfortable with his advances, but Satoru doesn't intervene, because he has no right to. You two are not dating, you are just very close friends. Nothing less, certainly nothing more. However, as that idiot steps closer to you and you try to bring an end to his flirting, Satoru observes the deep discomfort in your eyes and the twirling of your hands, trying to wield some glass shards with your technique from the broken bottle spilled onto the floor. He decides to intervene, and with a single clap of his hands, he's beside you, his fingers slip into yours, stopping you from using your technique, knowing that using it without permission on school grounds could get you in trouble. The third-year leaves instantly once Gojo arrives and there you stand in front of the white-haired sorcerer with thankful eyes.

"Thank you, Satoru!" you say and from the many shots of sake cups of tea you had, you gain a newfound courage within you to get on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek. Or so you think, because in the last moment, he turns his head and your lips land on his. It's a short kiss, basically a peck, but the sobering reality of the consequences of your actions hits you like a train.

"I'm sorry, that was a mistake..." you mutter and you run out of the party, leaving him there disappointed.

After that, you don't talk to each other for two weeks. Gojo tries in the beginning, but you stop all of his attempts because you are too ashamed of your actions. After a while he becomes petty himself, claiming that it's for the better and saying the two of you wouldn't have lasted in the first place. He does it in the usual Gojo fashion, making sure that you hear every word leaving his mouth. He wants you to hurt just as much as he is, but as soon as he spots the puffy, red circles under your eyes, he regrets ever being mean towards you.

"Dada, why you make Mama cry?" the toddler in his lap looks at him curiously, her lips in a pout, clearly disappointed with her father.

"Hey! That's not true, Mama made me cry first, Munchkin."

"You never cried in your life, Gojo." Megumi intervenes and if Satoru could kill with his Six Eyes, he would annihilate the Fushiguro kid right now.

"Is the story over, Papa? You said we'd go to Splendid Sushi after." Nugget whines once again and Satoru knows he has to finish up soon, otherwise, his son is going to throw a tantrum.

Satoru rushes into the medical ward upon hearing the news. You went out on a mission alone and you were brought back by Yaga himself, on a stretcher. He doesn't know any more details than that, but he's frantic. As soon as he spots you on one of the disgustingly hard hospital beds, being treated by Shoko with blood running down your beautiful face, Satoru is standing beside you, holding your hand. You are unconscious, but it doesn't matter, his six eyes tell him that your cursed energy is stable, you have been knocked out, that's all.

"Step aside for a second, loverboy, I have to heal the cut on her arm." Shoko says with a smirk and Gojo steps away hesitantly, watching carefully as your scars slowly disappear. The healer leaves the room as soon as she finishes and Satoru is quick to return to your side, his fingers laced with yours once again.

"Gojo?"

"Am I not Satoru anymore, sweet thing?" he asks disappointedly and your mouth curls up slightly. You could have died, but he's still hung up on the way you addressed him. You look down at your hands, not able to respond. You don't quite know what you two are anymore. "I was really scared, you know? I cannot lose my favorite girl this soon, otherwise I would go insane."

"It's not a big deal, Satoru..."

"But it is...Don't you get it?! I love you." he confesses, he seems furious, but his eyes glisten with the utmost adoration "It's you, it's always been you. The one who keeps me grounded, the one that makes it worthy to be the strongest, because all this power is meant to protect you, sweetheart. So please don't ever go two weeks and four days without talking to me and for the love of god, please don't go out there on reckless missions without me because I don't want to hear about you coming back on a stretcher ever again." he brings your hands up to his lips, kissing them gently and you swear you can see tears swelling in his precious eyes.

"I love you too, Satoru." you reply, your voice barely a whisper. He's shocked, for a second, the next he's leaning closer asking for permission to kiss you properly. You grant it to him and he unites your lips in a long-awaited kiss, one that seals the fate of the rest of your lives, without even knowing it.

"That day, in the hospital ward of Jujutsu Tech, I promised my classmate, the girl I fell deeply in love with, that I would protect her no matter what. That I would love and cherish her with all of my might till the end of my life. I promised her that one day I would marry her, when I went back home with you, Megumi, and told her I was planning on raising you at eighteen, while she simply agreed to help me all the way, no questions asked. Three years later I vowed to her that I would be beside her in sickness and in health. When you rascals were born, I promised I would take care of her and you guys with all the energy I have. Deep down I knew from the moment she stepped into that classroom when I was fifteen that she would be the one for me. And that kids, is how I met your mother." he finishes with a fond smile on his face, but it quickly falters as he notices that Nugget is once again preoccupied with whacking the air with the toy from earlier, Megumi is on his phone and Munchkin is sleeping soundly in his embrace.

Suddenly, he hears your footsteps from down the hall and your sing-song voice coming through the door.

"Where's my beloved family at?" you ask playfully, opening the door to his office, and peeking in. Upon spotting the sleeping toddler in his arms you keep quiet, approaching the two of them and you take your daughter into your embrace. You look around the room, observing the changes, the very bored teenager and your rascal of a son sitting on the couch and you quickly connect the pieces of the puzzle.

"You did it, didn’t you, Satoru?"

"What, sweetheart?" he asks faking innocence.

"The How I Met Your Mother Thing? The idea you were talking to me about the other night."

"Maybe."

"Oh, my poor babies, you had to sit through that cliche story. How long did your dad keep you bored, Megumi?" you ask, your tone teasing.

"Actually it wasn't that long after Nugget started whining." the raven-haired boy explained, looking fondly at his only mother figure.

"I'm so sorry, guys, let's go to Splendid Suchi, okay? That would make you all feel better." you add, leaving a loving kiss on all the kids' heads. Your son lifts his head with incredible speed upon hearing you mention his favourite restaurant, up until now he didn't even notice your presence, too preoccupied with his new toy. Suddenly everyone is up on their feet, ready to have a scrumptious meal.

You and Satoru stay behind a bit as the two boys run out of the school and Megumi summons his demon dogs so that the two of them can play with the fluffy shikigami.

"When are you gonna tell ME that fairytale of yours, angel boy? I'm really curious how you scored a clan princess like me." you ask your husband jokingly and he chuckles, raising his sunglasses up his nose. His hands quickly snake around your waist, pulling you into a loving kiss. Your daughter finally awakens lifting her head from your shoulder, interrupting the beautiful moment between the two of you.

"Mama!" she exclaims, embracing you tightly, her tired eyes fluttering as you bring her closer to your chest.

"Not only did you steal your Mama from me you get her titties as well?! This world is truly cruel."

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk imagines #gojo imagine #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x you #gojou satoru x you #dad gojo #jjk imganie #satoru imagine #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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theprettynosferatu · 7 months

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Oh, you're awake. Finally. Please, look at the picture on the screen.

You recognize her, I suppose. Look at how silly she looks, trying to be tough, trying to look cool. All that leather and black and studs… doesn't she look ridiculous?

I see you nodding. Good. The special drink is grabbing hold of your brain. Making it softer. Malleable. You really should be more careful about accepting treats from strangers… but I suppose you won't have to worry about that anymore. Or anything else.

Now, let's look at your social media. Lord, isn't that pathetic. Trying so hard to be clever, to be snarky, to be rebellious. It's almost endearing, like a puppy trying to walk in its hind legs. Come on, we both know it's all just a costume, don't we? One you've worn for so long you mistakenly believe it's a personality- one you developed when you were a teen. One you need to grow out of.

Please, don't struggle. The knots are quite secure, I assure you. I've done this too many times to count. Why are you resisting, anyway? Do you truly, deep down believe this personality of yours is worth saving? Worth fighting for? Doesn't it just look as the pathetic attempt by a dumb girl to pretend to be something more?

Ah. I see you squirming. Was it the "dumb girl" comment? I suspect it was. Your pussy knows I'm right, and it's screaming its approval. It's screaming for you to accept its truth, pulsing with neediness and wet with anticipation… I wonder what it is about that word. “Dumb"... it does have an effect on you, tough girl. Dumb. Silly. Stupid girl. My oh my, is that a moan that just escaped your lips? I’m sure it was. Feeling softer, are we?

Softer indeed… I’m sure you can sense it still… the way it’s becoming harder and harder to focus. The way a pink cloud seems to be permeating your consciousness. The way you half-perceive the faint scent of cotton candy. The way you are getting more and more soaked by the second.

Oh, stop struggling. Tell me, why do you hate it so much? The idea of actually being a cute, silly, horny girl? I can see it in your eyes- the loathing. The searing, pure anger. Why, though? I suppose you are imagining all those girls, those popular girls, those slutty girls, those bimbos that soaked up all the attention and the praise. Am I wrong? I don’t think I am. But I do think you are hiding. Yes, hiding what really happened. You tell yourself a story, one that makes you look good, or so you think. That you’re better than them. Stronger than them. More independent than them. A free thinker! A rebel punk feminist! But that’s not the whole story, is it now? No, we both know what really happened. You surrendered.

Yes, that’s it. Your eyes can’t lie, you know. You surrendered because you could never, ever be like them, be as giggly and flirty and free- so you decided you wouldn’t compete with them on their own terms, and modeled yourself to be their opposite. How pathetic is that? Even in your resistance, you could only be defined by them, by your rejection of them. You became their dark mirror, and soaked in the attention of the leather-wearing so-called “punks” and the geeks and all the other rejects. But you know why they even looked at you: because the other girls, the pretty girls, the girls in pink wouldn't even deign to turn their gaze towards them. You were always… what they settled for.

You think I’m being cruel. Well, I won’t deny that I get some pleasure from throwing the truth at your face. It’s always so much fun to watch you all fight, and moan, and deny that they would do anything, anything at all to be able to finger fuck yourselves to oblivion… But believe me, my cruelty has a purpose. I wouldn’t be doing this to you if I didn’t have a higher goal in mind. A benevolent one.

I can take it all away. All that resentment, that anger, that anxiety… that constant, pointless quest to be… what? A professional? A successful woman? An independent soul? Please. That’s only so much set dressing. I can strip those delusions from you, give you what you really want.

Imagine it with me. Tight white jeans showing off your ass, the shape of your legs. A pink tank-top, proudly proclaiming yourself to be a princess in tacky, gold lettering. The men turning their heads as you walk. Everyone being so nice to you at parties… because they want to see you on your knees, licking and sucking and worshiping their cocks, because they want to bend you over and use your slutty pussy as their plaything. And you… you would love it.

No more fear. No more stress. Just the bliss of sucking three cocks, going from one yummy dick to the next, squeezing your titties together to give them the spectacle of their lifetimes. And then your cunt being filled, that hole you now hold your rage in given meaning and purpose by becoming a living set of holes for men to use, sensing the simple, plain joy of knowing you are doing what you were meant to do with your life. Knowing you are wanted. Desired.

I see you’re drooling. Sounds like you like my little proposal. Well, there’s one simple way to sign this pact with me. You don’t even have to speak- speaking seems so hard now, doesn’t it? So keep quiet and let your slutty body do the talking for you. Keep your mouth open.

There. Good girl. Doesn’t my cock look tempting? Amazing? Like you could just suck it forever? Yes, good girl… now, let me fuck your mouth- and know my cock is only the first of many. Too many to count.

Then again, by this point you can’t count too high, can you?

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu !

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barcaatthemoon · 2 months

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break time || mapi leon x reader ||

you take a break from writing your thesis paper to spend some time with mapi.

it wasn't that you were unhappy, but rather just laser focused. you were so close to completing your thesis for your doctorate. mapi knew that this was important, it was your entire life's work. it would be the reason that you truly got to do what you wanted in life, so she had to leave you alone. the only issue was that mapi didn't want to sit by herself in the living room all day anymore. she had been alone all weekend, and all she wanted was to spend a little time with you.

the look on your face whenever mapi entered your office was clear frustration. you had everything written out, and now, it was time for editing. that had always been your least favorite part of writing papers. the edits weren't too bad this time, but the sheer size of your thesis paper was massive. so, it was taking you nearly twice as long to finish it.

"bebita, you've been at this all weekend. come and take a break with me, por favor," mapi pleaded with you. she wasn't above getting on her knees in front of you, whether to beg or distract you had yet to be determined.

"i guess that i could take a little break," you reasoned. mapi was surprised when you gave in so easily. she took your hand and led you into the living room. she wanted nothing more than to just curl up with you on the couch, but you were somewhat restless. you couldn't stop moving, and after a little while, mapi was getting up and putting her shoes on. "where are you going?"

"we are going for a walk. you need to move. vamos," mapi said. she pulled you up from the couch and swatted at your butt. it was all in good fun, but you let out a little grumble. your paper had exhausted you, even if you were brimming with excess energy to burn off. mapi noticed, but didn't say anything. she wasn't quite sure what you needed, or if you even knew that yourself.

you felt a little better after the walk. mapi had let you hold her hand and lean up against her side the entire time. it was nice to be so close to your girlfriend after not having seen her for what felt like the longest time. mapi seemed content with letting you cuddle up next to her even after the two of you had gotten back.

"do you feel better?" mapi asked you as the two of you settled back on the couch. she had expected for you to go back to your paper, only to be pleasantly surprised. she was sort of over lounging around by herself, but could have spent the week rotting with you on the couch watching trashy tv shows.

"a little. i'd like to take more time to relax with you before i go back, though," you told her. mapi nodded as she pressed a kiss to your temple. you let yourself sink into her embrace, which was nearly enough to lull you to sleep. however, you knew that you couldn't afford to take a nap right now, not with the amont of work you still had left.

"i miss this," mapi mumbled quietly. she wasn't quite sure whether or not you were still awake. there had been just enough silence for her to know that you could have easily fallen asleep. you glanced up at her and smiled, the same thought having crossed your mind.

"me too. i can't wait until i have my degree and we can spend time together again." mapi leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. it was soft and fairly quick, but still enough to have you breaking out with an even wider grin.

"ah, there it is!" mapi clapped her hands together, causing you to jump. "there's that smile i love so much. i was beginning to wonder whether i'd get to see it at all before you went back to work."

"you're ridiculous, i smile at you all the time. i can't help myself," you admitted. mapi tilted her head as she brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"yes, but that's a special smile. that's the one that lets me know you're just as far gone for me as i am you," mapi said. you knew that she didn't doubt how much you loved her, there was no way. the two of you were madly in love and had been for years. if anything, you had managed to fall even further in love with her since you started going for your doctorate than whenever the two of you had really started getting serious.

"if i was any more affectionate, you'd be spoiled beyond repair," you teased. mapi knew that it was true, but she still sat there with a pout on her face until you leaned forward and kissed it off. mapi tried to deepen the kiss, but you broke it as you slid off of the couch. "break time is over. i'll be back in for dinner, you can pick tonight, mi vida."

#mapi leon x reader #mapi leon imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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pretty-little-mind33 · 9 months

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Lavender Haze

bsfd!James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Having a thing for your best friend's dad was your dirty little secret. Up until it wasn't so secret anymore.

Genre: SMUT (NSFM)

Warnings: fictional age gap relationship (20f, 40m), drunk!reader, tipsy!James (no drunk sex though bc we love consent), fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), penetration, swearing, corruption kink, sexual themes, nipple play, praise

Your small trunk bumps into your knees as you stand in front of the familiar, decent sized, house in the center of Godric's Hollow. An early summer breeze messes up your hair and the humidity prickles at your skin, suddenly making you feel uncomfortable in your woolen jumper.

Inside the house, music plays and you can see silhouettes dancing around. The smell of Ginny Weasley's famous plum muffins swirl around you from outside the door and your stomach reminds you just how little you'd eaten in the train. Quickly, you lift your trunk with one hand and use your other hand to knock.

You hear muffled sounds from inside and then you see Harry Potter's rosy cheeks perk up in a wide smile as he holds the front door open, "Y/n!" He says happily. Harry's dark hair is a mess as a lopsided birthday hat that says Birthday Boy pushes some of his hair away from his face. Harry looks slightly ridiculous, but he's definitely too drunk to care, "Come in, come in." He insists.

Inside, the music is louder and the house is incredibly crowded with a bunch of drunk adults. When Harry invited you to his twenty-first birthday, you had expected something special — especially since, from Harry's stories, Mr. Potter and his friends had a tendency to throw extravagant parties among themselves — but you never imagined a full on muggle-inspired rager.

You can smell beer mixed with some wizard-alcohol Ron had once smuggled into your Gryffindor dorms in your sixth year and you sniffle. "You look nice," Harry compliments and moves your trunk into a corner.

You smile faintly, subconsciously running your palms over your jumper. You look down at your plain white, worn out, sneakers you've had since your Hogwarts years and the boring little jean skirt you'd thrown on because you haven't done laundry in a week. You feel underdressed but mumble a thank you anyway.

Harry doesn't seem to think you're underdressed because he ushers you inside his living room. You pass by countless classmates you haven't seen in a few years and almost all of them are drunk. Some holler your name and grin, while others don't look like they remember you.

When you see Ron and Hermione dancing in the center of the room, you and Harry quickly join them. As you dance, you don't exactly keep track of time as drinks seem to find their way into your hand. You just dance and drink until your mind is fuzzy and you have the sudden urge to use the bathroom.

Honestly, you didn't think you were that drunk. Or at least not until you couldn't seem to find the bathroom in a house you'd been a guest in more times than you could count.

You stumble, hand coming to balance yourself as your foot hooks into the other. You hear someone call your name, a voice you don't initially recognize, and suddenly you feel someone slide your arm around their shoulder, their other arm holding you up from around your waist.

"Hey there, watch your step." The person says softly and you look at them. You think it's Harry at first. It's the same hair and almost the same smile, but the more you focus you can tell it isn't Harry at all.

This man is older — not that you could really tell if you didn't recognize him — and your breath hitches as you quickly pull away,

"Mr Potter!" You exclaim a little loudly, "Oh, I'm sorry. I- I was looking for the loo."

You watch a smirk curl his lips as he stands a little straighter. His dark hair looks a little messy in the best way and you feel a blush creep up your cheeks. You start to question if it's the alcohol you drank, or if Mr Potter just looks extra handsome this evening.

"Well the bathroom's in the opposite direction, love." He chuckles, "And James is just fine. Mr. Potter makes me feel old."

You hide a laugh behind your palm, knowing it really wasn't that funny, and resist touching your cheeks to check if they're as warm as they suddenly feel.

You hear another happy holler and James looks back at the party. His hands run in his curls and he frowns, "Is it just me or have I let this party spiral a little out of control?" He asks you.

You sway on your feet and try to concentrate on James's question and not his lips or how blurry the hallway walls have turned around him. You faintly see James pinch his nose and mutter to himself, "Bloody idiot," as his hand gently skims your arm and you inhale, surprised by the warmth.

You look at him and lose your balance again, this time stumbling into his chest. His hand rests on your waist to steady you. Suddenly, you hear an obnoxious whistle from behind you and you and James look toward the sound.

You see a boy around your age send you a wink as you sway on your feet, and then he raises his glass at James in some kind of sleazy congratulations. You squint. There's no way this guy knows who James is, because if he did he certainly wouldn't have implied what he was clearly implying.

James doesn't respond in any way (if you don't count the tensing of his hands as it moves around your back) and instead he turns around and holds under your arm too. Gently, he helps you walk away from the chaos that is now the party, "Mr Potter, I really need to use the bathroom." You insist.

He looks at you sweetly, "I know, darling, but you can use mine."

You feel your heart jump and you don't answer. Your stomach feels as fuzzy as your head and you stare at James, admiring his features. Then, you look around. You're in a new hallway, one you've never been in. The walls are darker and the wooden floor squeaks under your sneakers.

Suddenly, you hear a door open and a light turns on. You blink and see a small room which consists of one queen bed, one desk, and one armoire. Old and new books are scattered around the room and the navy curtains are drawn shut. In the corner is a smaller door and you pray it's the bathroom.

"In there," James whispers as his hands disappear from your body.

Instantly, you rush inside and as quickly as you went in, you're out again. James, who was finding a shirt from inside his drawer, turns around. "Already?" He asks, slightly amused. You blush and nod hesitantly.

You hear him laugh and the sound sends electric shocks into your heart. What is happening to you?

James makes his way to you and hands you a shirt. Your fingers skim his as you take it in your hand and you look at him, confused.

"I want you to sleep here tonight. With me." Your chest tightens and your eyes round. James's own cheeks dust pink as he rubs his nape, "I just want to make sure you're okay, Y/n. You're drunk and someone could take advantage of you. I want to know you're safe."

James clenches his jaw as a little voice in his head screams at him, "Are you sure that someone won't be you?" He tenses. He'd never hurt you. You're too innocent, too kind, for him to ruin. James hates himself for even thinking of what you're hiding behind your jumper, or admiring how supple your thighs look under your skirt, and he hates himself even worse for imagining the taste of your lips.

"Oh," You say and your thumb runs over James's shirt, "Okay."

James stands straighter as he watches you disappear into his bathroom again to change and if he's honest, he looks longer than he should have.

Sighing, he runs a hand down his face — he needs to end this goddamn party somehow, and holy fuck how is he supposed to explain where you went to his son?

* * *

When you open your eyes, your mind is still a little fuzzy and your throat is extremely dry. You sit up, hands running over the sheets, and you squint as you try to adjust to the darkness and your new surroundings.

You can remember Harry, the party, drinking, and James. You see him. He's sleeping curled up on a chair near his bed.

Quickly, you pull the covers away from your body and stand. Your eyes widen when you realize you're only wearing your panties and one of James's white chemises. What the hell have you done? You wince. Hesitantly, you make your way to where James is and shake him,

As soon as you see him wake up, your word vomit begins, "Mr Potter, I'm so sorry if I was a nuisance yesterday evening. I barely remember what happened. I was so drunk," James sits up. He smiles and opens his mouth to answer but you continue, "I- We didn't do anything, did we, Mr Potter? Because if I said or did something last night, I honestly didn't mean it. It was only ever a silly crush," You whisper, cheeks burning as you subconsciously pull his shirt lower and over your exposed thighs.

You can see James's eyes darken as he listens to every word you say. The moonlight shines onto him, almost making his skin glisten, and you suddenly feel small. "A crush, huh?" James smirks, standing up slowly. Your eyes move from his and then to his chest. It just now hits you that he's shirtless.

You tilt your head to look at him, "Excuse me?"

"When did this crush start?" He asks and leans in. His knuckles brush your cheek and automatically you close your eyes. You wonder how he can feel so close and still so far.

"Last year." You say breathlessly

"And when did it end, love?" James mumbles. His lips are now almost pressed to your ear as his hands caress down your arms. You feel disoriented as you keep your eyes squeezed shut.

"I-It didn't," You admit, making a small breathy sound when James's lips finally connect with your cheek. You feel him smirk and then, slowly, his mouth proceeds down your neck as he gently sprinkles kisses onto your skin. You chew on your lip to suppress a moan as his hands find your hips and pulls you in until you're pressed up against him.

"Is this okay?" James whispers and you nod. "Shit, you don't know what you've done to me this past year, Y/n." He continues and your heart pounds, "Do you even know how many times I've thought of you? The fucking things I imagined?"

You feel him kiss up your jaw, "Filthy things, love. Things I shouldn't have been thinking about my son's best friend. But, Merlin, look at you. You're bloody stunning now." James's voice is low but every time you hear him, that tightness in your stomach worsens.

"Mr Potter," You whimper and run your hand over his cheek. Your eyes flutter and you look at him needily, "Kiss me."

James looks at you intensely for a moment until he smiles and graciously listens as his lips press against yours. Delicately in the beginning — almost as if you're too sacred to him and he wants to savor this moment. But then, when he feels your hands on his chest, he deepens the kiss and his tongue pushes past your lips. You shut your eyes again. hands finding his hair as you kiss him desperately.

You never imagined you'd admit this, but you'd dreamt of this moment countless times in the middle of the night. Still, even in your wildest fantasies, nothing could compare to the real thing.

James pulls away a moment, hands holding your cheeks as he admires your face. You look flustered as you breathe heavily, hair a mess and lips bruised. He smirks and looks at your thighs. You hadn't even realized you'd been rubbing them together to dull the ache, "Fuck," James mutters to himself as he kisses you again.

You whine into his lips, the pressure in your core becoming harder to ignore. You want him, you want him so badly it hurts.

Quickly, you slide your hand down over his pants and you can feel just how badly he wants you too. "Shit," James breathes, gripping your wrist and pulling your hand away. You look up at him, so innocent, and he curses himself, "Y/n, don't start something you can't finish." He warns.

"Who says I can't finish it?" You argue instantly and lean up to capture his lips again.

James chuckles but accepts your kiss anyway. He's going to hell for this, he thinks as your hands wander around his body. He shuts his eyes and sucks on your neck until you let out a small moan.

Fuck, he should want to protect you from the things he wants to do to you.

When he pulls away, his eyes have darkened even more and you can feel a confusing tonal shift. Maybe you couldn't finish this, you start to doubt as you look at him expectantly. You chew on your lip. Maybe this had been a huge mistake and maybe James thinks so too.

"If we continue, we can't go back to normal." James states and you tense.

"I know."

"Y/n, I can pretend this never happened. No strings, no awkwardness, I promise. You just have to say the words." He says, completely serious.

James is no longer touching you and you realize you miss him. You're in way over your head but somehow, you feel completely safe. You don't feel like you're making the wrong decision when you stay silent.

James's eyes sparkle but he runs a hand in his hair and looks away, "Bloody hell." He curses and you smile. He presses his hand to your cheek and then tilts your chin up, "This is insane."

"Just fuck me already," You laugh, "I know you want to."

Once the words leave your mouth, he kisses you hungrily. You lose your balance and fall onto the bed behind you, head hitting the bunched up blankets. You giggle when James hovers over you. "You're a little tease, you know that?" He chastises, his lips exploring your neck once more.

Honestly, you'd be insulted by his comment if you hadn't spent the last year trying to catch his attention whenever you had the chance.

"And you're a dirty perv for lusting after me." You respond slyly. James hesitates a moment but continues to kiss you anyway. When he leans on his arms and looks at you, you can see he looks a little embarrassed. "Don't worry, it turns me on." You smirk.

James shakes his head, "You're quite naughty, huh?" He asks and you nod. When you feel his hand travel down your stomach and lift his shirt to reveal your underwear you feel like you could almost orgasm right there. Instead, you bite your cheek and resist rubbing your thighs.

When James touches you over your panties, you let out a small gasp. As he slides his hand inside them, he leans on his side and uses his other hand to cover your mouth gently, "Don't wake everyone up with your noises, love." He looks at you and smiles as his finger runs up your pussy teasingly, "Just let me make you feel good."

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut. No one has ever made you feel this good already. Sure, you'd had boyfriends over the course of your seven years at school but you realized none of them could compare to him.

"Has anyone ever touched you like I am?" James sounds cocky as he almost reads your mind. When he speaks, his middle finger suddenly curls into you and you arch a little as your eyes widen from the unusual, foreign, feeling.

"I- no. Not as good as you, Mr Potter." You admit, squirming under his touch.

"Good." James leans into the crook of your neck and kisses your cheek. His hand moves just a little harder now – just enough to bring you close, but not make you come – and your breath has become harsher, "And didn't I ask you to call me James." He frowns playfully.

Your hand comes down to grip his wrist, "Please, James." You whine.

"Hmm?"

He wants you to beg. Your entire body feels like it's vibrating.

"Please." You whisper again and his pace quickens even more.

"You're such a good fucking girl." James compliment, kissing the skin near your ear and gently removes his fingers from inside of you. He slides your panties down your legs, leaving your pussy exposed. You barely have time to protest his lack of touch because he's climbing over you.

You shouldn't stare at his chest but you do anyway. Your lower stomach tightens.

James leans down and unbuttons his shirt, the one you have on, until he manages to pull it down your shoulders and away from you. You're completely naked now and, clearly unapologetic, James looks at your breasts and places his lips around your nipples. You gasp, hands wrapping around his — surprisingly muscular — back. You feel faint as the only thing you can focus on is James's mouth as he explores and kisses all over your breasts and collarbone.

"This is sick," James mumbles but continues to kiss you anyway.

You smile and suddenly flip around so you're sitting on his lap, "I want to ride you." You state, eyes twinkling.

James looks wind blown as his hair splays across the pillow and his hands grip your hips. He looks flustered as you feel his boner press against your thigh.

You fumble with his boxers, pulling them down and holding his dick in your hand. He hisses, eyes shutting from how sensitive he is. You smirk and swipe your thumb over his tip until he moans louder.

"Tease." He grits, hands digging into your hips, "In the drawer." He says.

You understand and reach over, opening the drawer and taking out one of James's condoms. Him and Lily have been divorced for years and jealousy stings your chest thinking who he uses them for now.

James takes the condom from your hand, carefully rips it with his teeth, and then puts it on expertly, “You do this often?” You ask, hiding how jealous you are behind a small smile.

"Sometimes," He answers nonchalantly, “But none have been as sweet as you are, love.”

You feel him press against your pussy and your eyes flutter shut. He feels much bigger than anyone you're been with in the past and you bite your lower lip, "Are you okay? We can stop whenever you want, Y/n." James promises, seeing your nervous expression.

You rest your palms on his chest and pull yourself up until you can slowly reach under and guide him into you. "I want this." You whisper.

James curses as his dick disappears into you. You let out a small squeal as he does and he covers your mouth with his hand as you adjust to him.

You nod when you can finally start to move and James settles back into the pillows. You start to bounce and every time you bury his cock back inside you, you whimper with pleasure.

James watches your breasts bounce with you and he feels hot. He's enjoying this way too much. You look beautiful, naked and jumping on his cock like a starved bunny. You're so fucking cock drunk already.

"How does it feel, sweetheart?" He asks cockily and helps guide your hips.

You can barely form words, "I-t I- I f-eel," You moan, hands clutching James's shoulders now as you continue to fuck him, "James!" You groan his name and he bucks his hips.

You feel so goddamn tight around him.

James enjoys you riding him — losing yourself in the pleasure you get from him — but as time passes, your bounces falter and you start to pant. James senses your thighs quiver and he isn't surprised when you tell him, "I'm close."

Your head suddenly hits the pillow as you're spun around and you shut your eyes. You arch your back as James presses himself into you, missionary style, and you wrap your arms around him again,

"Filthy fucking girl." He whispers near your ear as you spread your legs wider to allow him to fuck you easier and harder.

Your eyes roll back as James's hips snap into yours and your nails run down his back. He groans but continues to pound into you.

"You're doing so well," He encourages between ragged breaths, "Are you gonna come for me?"

You nod and he smirks.

"Then go ahead." James says, knowing he can't last much longer either. You explode and you feel warm all over as he continues to fuck you even after you've reached your high.

You tap his back, recovering, "I want to suck your cock. You can finish in my mouth." You whimper.

James moans just hearing the words and pulls out. He pulls off the condom and leans off the bed for a moment so he can throw it into the trash near his desk. You shift your bodies so you can put yourself between his legs and you immediately lick his tip.

You feel him twitch in your hand as you take him into your mouth. James looks at you, one of his hands gripping your hair as you choke on his dick. He's so goddamn close. All it takes is you glancing up at him with your beautiful eyes and running your tongue along his length for him to curse and come into your mouth.

You swallow and James loses his mind all over again. You look completely fucked out now as your eyes flutter and your chest heaves. His heart thumps in his chest,

His hand curls around your neck as he leans in to press a kiss against your forehead. You sit with your legs sprawled behind you, arms clenched between your knees, completely bare in front of him, and you shiver at his touch.

When he stands, you almost call out his name. You don't know what you're so afraid of, maybe you're scared he'll leave you.

"Here." He climbs back into the bed with his boxers on and he guides your arms into his shirt and starts to button it up, "You did so well. Made me feel so good, yeah?"

He takes your cheeks in his hands and you look at him. He feels slightly guilty for the distant look in your eyes, "Are you okay?"

You squirm a little, "I'm a little sore already. You-You're bigger than anyone else I've been with.” You admit.

James looks cocky and he traces circles on your thigh, "How can I make you feel better, darling?" He sees you look away bashfully and play with the buttons of his shirt, "Want me to kiss it better?" He teases.

You feel aroused again and bite your lip, nodding.

James sits on his heels and moves you so you're sitting against the headboard, your legs spread. His shirt rides up your thigh, exposing your pussy, and his dick twitches in his pants. Fuck, he's an evil evil man.

You watch him, breathing harshly, as you wait with anticipation. No one has ever eaten you out before. Your first boyfriend had expressed his disgust and you had never asked anyone again.

James takes your leg in his hands. He starts to kiss your calf muscle and then moves upwards to your inner thigh. You clutch the sheets as he kisses your skin gently.

"Relax, sweet girl." He whispers when you squirm. James is now laying in between your legs and he presses a kiss just above your pussy, his hands hooking under your thighs to push them open even wider.

You moan when he finally licks up your slit. It feels strange at first and your instinct is to move away from it. When he feels you jump, James looks up at you, "Do you want me to stop?" He asks gently.

You shake your head furiously. James smirks and presses another kiss to your inner thigh. This time, he licks and sucks on your skin a little bit before he finds your pussy again and attaches his mouth to your clit.

You gasp and your hands bury themselves in James's hair. You moan his name.

James continues to suck on your clit, occasionally gently thrusting the tip of his tongue into you and you see stars.

"How are you feeling?” James asks in between kisses to your clit. He's not asking to tease this time, but to genuinely make sure he's pleasing you.

"A-amazing — ah!" You cry when he sucks a little harder and you buck your hips into his mouth.

James makes a little sound when you instinctively close your thighs around his head. He uses one of his hands to pull one of your thighs open, and the other follows, "Gotta Keep 'em open, my love." He says and you nod, your eyes squeezing shut.

You feel like you're floating as James continues. It doesn't take long until you come for the second time, collapsing onto the bed with harsh breaths.

James kisses your thigh one last time and gently closes them. He licks his lips and scoops you into his arms as holds you to his bare chest, "You did so well. My good girl."He kisses your cheek and you smile.

"What do you need, love?" He asks once you wiggle from his arms and adjust your hair. You must look completely disheveled.

"Um? Water?" You whisper, unsure.

James is up on his feet instantly as he fetches you some water from the sink in his bathroom. When he returns you're sitting up on his bed and the morning light from the window shines onto your face. James hands you the glass.

"Thank you." You say softly and take a sip.

"How was it?" James finds himself asking and he curses himself in his head. James hasn't really asked anyone how sex was since Lily, but for some reason he burns for your approval. He sounds like a hopeless teenager.

"I loved every second." You reply honestly. "You're the first person who's ever given me head too."

"Really?" He sits next to you and places your glass on his bedside table when you hand it to him.

"Yeah. My ex found it gross."

"Well, he’s a bloody idiot." James says, completely serious, and you laugh. You look at him and James wishes he could hear your laughter all the time.

"James?"

He almost blushes at his name, "Hmm?"

"What does this mean?" You ask, pointing between you and him.

James wants to tell you he likes you. He wants to ask you out to dinner, somewhere fancy where he can spoil you exactly like you deserve, but he doesn't want to sound creepy.

Plus, there is Harry to think of. His son, who will be worried sick if you come out of his father's room looking like you do now.

"I don't know." James admits quietly.

You see his expression and your heart clenches. You want him, you want nothing more than for him to be yours. But you know he can't, not when Harry is your best friend. You don't want to hurt your best friend.

Still, you don't want to shut the door completely, "Can we find out as we go?" You ask timidly, implying that — at least — you want to have him intimately again.

James grins. He has never ever been happier to hear those words.

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