âizuku x reader. nsfw. izuku has a slapping kink
"slap me."
you vaguely comprehend the words from under you, as your hips grinds onto his in slow and deep circles. you almost think you misheard it, mind unable to focus on anything other than his thick cock that you're sitting on, the tip hitting a spot so deep inside, your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head.
until one of his hands releases your hips, grabbing your own that was braced on his bare chest and dragging it up to palm his cheek.
"slap me," izuku repeats himself, voice tight but encouraging. looking up at you with heated green eyes, flushed cheeks, and sweat dripping down the side of his temples.
your hips slow down as you sputter out a "w-what?" but his hand only grips onto yours harder, a plead spoken with the very scars on his skin. with a roughness that contrasts the sweet smile he throws your away.
"do it," izuku says, eyes gleaming. "it's okay. i want you to."
you don't give yourself time to think before your hand pulls back and smacks him across the face, a sharp crack in the air. and you can feel his cock jolting inside your pussy at the sudden contact, pulsing in the aftermath.
you try your best to ignore the heat crawling in your belly as you observe him closely, unable to see his eyes covered by his tousled hair that flung at the impact.
"no way," you hear him whisper, and your stomach drops.
it wasn't the hardest you could've slapped him, maybe at a 60%? but you can still feel your hand tingling and his face is so red and shit, was he just messing around with youâ
izuku laughs. and your eyes widen at the sound, watching as he slowly rolls his head back, peering up at you with glassy, heavy-lidded eyes. you whimper when he suddenly rolls his hips up and god, you don't know how but you can feel him growing. bigger and harder.
"is that all you got, baby?" he says lightly, almost cooing. chuckling through it all. grabbing your hand again and kissing the center of your stinging palm, before raising it to his cheek again.
you gulp when you see the color of his irises. so dark with need and desire, that the color practically borders on obsidian.
"again," izuku urges you sweetly. dare you say it, gently.
and your stomach flips when a smile stretches across his face. a sugary sweet smile paired with hearts practically dancing in his eyes as he says,
Plss i love your navi storiesss especially with Neteyam ,your writing surface is so delicate, mysterious and beautiful you always write some thoughts that have absolut new perspective o everythiny like it is DA ART. I haven seen anybody elese writing like this like pleasee i neeed moree love uuuu
ty ty!!! and there is more to come <3
highly considering posting the some things never change prequel! i always intended that if i ever did post it, it would take place like a year before the original and be a lot more of a lighthearted piece (as well as a steamier piece lol).
the reason iâve kind of been holding it close to my chest is bc iâm not entirely sure that iâve figured out its thematic/emotional core. but i guess the theme of the entire canon, with this story of neteyam and this particular reader MC, is uncertainty and restraint and rebellion.
i might actually finalize and post this week (no promises bc the hardest semester of my life starts this week đ) but i feel like it will not live up to the original lol
First of all some things never change is a gorgeous piece of art! 10/10.
Secondly can we get a part 2 of it please????đ¤˛đžđ¤˛đžđ¤˛đžđ¤˛đž
tysm!!
and hmmmm i feel like the mild uncertainty of the ending is kind of integral to its strength as a narrative. like just the entire process of coming of age is so uncertain and so unexpected. you ask yourself at the end of reading âare they going to make it?â and you know the answer is yes but you still have to worry a bit.
as prep for writing some things never change i created very rudimentary drafts of other core life events that neteyam and our reader went through both before and after the events of some things never change. that is to say, i know what happens to them and what theyâve been through, but i only came up with that as a means for me to write some things never change as best as i can, as a very critical snippet of their lives that the audience gets to see.
i think you can infer a lot about our main characters from the 6 thousand-something words you know them from.
if i ever post a pt 2 it would be a prequel probably đđđđ
years after the sully family first arrive at the reef, celebration gathers like tide. on the eve of a rite meant to bind you to one another, a recent fight over an unplanned pregnancy still hangs between you and neteyam. he is learning how to choose you without turning duty into armor. you are learning how to stay without forgiving too quickly. becoming is not clean. love is not subtle. some things never change.
word count ⯠6.8k
content + warnings ⯠aged-up characters ; canon-divergent postâthe way of water (neteyam lives duh) ; metkayina!reader ; mentions of pregnancy ; intimacy & making out (non-explicit) ; heavy petting ; emotional reconciliation ; hurt/comfort ; family dynamics ; coming of age ; tsireya x lo'ak cameo (crumbs...) ; tldr perfect goody-two-shoes neteyam knocks you up like right before you're about to mate... oh the scandal of it all...
notes ⯠no i am not dead. this is so funny bc wdym the first fic i actually have the balls to post publicly is randomly fucking james cameron's avatar đđ anyways this fic comes straight from the heart; it's about timing, becoming, and young love growing up without ever growing apart. i listened to another life by sza a lot while writing (dw there is a happy ending i promise). thank you for being gentle with this one <3
Awaâatlu learned celebration the way it learned tideâby degrees, by light, by the slow insistence of bodies moving toward one another. As dusk folded itself into the reef, the village began to bloom: lanterns kindled along the woven walkways, soft as jellyfish drifting on a current; shell-chimes tuned by wind; the first low drumbeats traveling through the planks and into bone. Even the water seemed to gather its glow earlier, as if eager to be noticed.
Inside your familyâs marui, the air was warm with hands and silkweed and the faint, clean bite of sea salt dried into cloth. Ronal moved around you in practiced silence. Her fingers were sure, fastening you into ceremonial woven bands and beadwork that caught the lamplight in brief, bright flashes. She didnât speak of your hips. She didnât look twice at the way the sash sat a fraction looser there, as though it had always belonged that way. She simply tightened a knot, smoothed a line, and let the adjustment exist without naming it.
A necklace lay against your throatâsea stone and pale bone, the centerpiece a small shard that didnât belong to your reef. It was older than the last year of open courtship, older than the last time Neteyam had made a game of confusing you with demon words. You had worn it for so long now that it had become part of you, as natural as the curl of your fingers or the flick of your tail when you were irritated. Ronalâs hands brushed it once, just once, as she checked the lay of the beads, and then moved away without comment. That, too, was a kind of understanding.
Tsireya hovered at the edge of the marui with her own adornments already set, eyes bright, mouth full of questions she wisely didnât ask. When your mother finished, she stepped back and regarded you as if measuring the line between what you had been and what you were becoming.
âGo,â Ronal said simply. âBe seen.â
It wasnât an order, and it wasnât a blessing, but it felt like both.
The moment you stepped outside, the sea met youâcool air, salt, the distant crackle of firepits beginning their work. The walkways underfoot thrummed faintly with movement. Somewhere, a group of children laughed too loudly and then hushed as an elder passed. The night had already decided it would be watched.
Your sister slipped her hand into yours as you walked, light and familiar. âYou should be seen,â she murmured, mimicking your motherâs tone with a fondness she couldnât hide.
You rolled your eyes. âI am being seen.â
âNot by who you should be seen by,â she teased, and then, softer, âHe has not slept.â
You didnât let your step falter. You didnât let your throat tighten, either, though something in you tried.
âHow do you know?â you asked, too casually.
Tsireyaâs gaze flicked to your face. âLoâak said so.â
As if his name had been a hook thrown into the water, Loâak appeared from behind a stack of woven baskets, half-hidden and entirely incapable of staying so. He looked like heâd been assigned a task and then abandoned it the moment something more interesting occurred. He grinned when he saw you, as though heâd caught you thinking too loudly.
âYou are out,â he said, then squinted in exaggerated appraisal. âWow. Big night. Big everything.â
âSpeak carefully,â you warned, not unkindly.
Loâakâs grin only sharpened. âI am always careful.â He leaned in and looped an arm around Tsireyaâs neck, dropping his voice as if the village itself might eavesdrop, which it absolutely would. âNeteyam has been pacing around the marui every night like an ilu trapped in shallow water.â
Tsireya covered her mouth to hide her laugh. You didnât. You made your face blank, the way you had learned to do when you were younger and adults spoke in riddles.
Loâakâs eyes slid to you, mischief faltering for half a heartbeat. Then he recovered, because he was Loâak. âHe looks like shit,â he added, too brightly. âDonât tell him I said that.â
You didnât respond. You didnât give him the satisfaction. You only let your gaze travel past him, beyond the busy weave of bodies and lanternlight, toward the center of the festivities, where the fires were taller, and the speeches would happen, and everyone would pretend they werenât watching who stood beside whom.
And then you saw him.
Neteyam stood near the firepit with his parents and yours, the lines of his posture perfectâshoulders squared, chin lifted, smile set exactly where it should be. He spoke when spoken to. He nodded at the right moments. He looked, from a distance, like the eldest son everyone expected him to be: steady, polite, precise. The reefâs light painted soft silver along his cheekbones; firelight warmed the planes of his face. Beads threaded through his hair caught and released the glow with each tilt of his head.
Loâak had said he looked like shit. Lie.
Neteyam looked tiredâshadows under his eyes, a tightness at the corners of his mouthâbut the tiredness only made him like someone who had been awake with a problem he could not solve by sharpening a blade. It made him look raw in the way men rarely allowed themselves to be seen.
Loâak followed your gaze and made a slight sound of triumph. âYeah,â he said, as if heâd found his own confirmation. âLook? I see you doing that thing where you pretend not to care, but your eyesââ
âGo be useful,â you cut in.
He lifted both hands in surrender, a laugh already on his tongue as he backed away. âI am useful. I delivered critical information.â Then his grin tilted toward Tsireya, softened in a way it never bothered to be when it aimed at you. âCome on, Tsireya.â
Tsireyaâs cheeks warmed faintly. She didnât pull away when he hooked his arm around her shoulders. She squeezed your hand once moreâquick, supportiveâand let herself be tugged.
Loâak glanced back over his shoulder with a final, gleeful cruelty. âWell,â he called, voice sing-song, âgood luck with that trapped ilu of yours.â
The village swallowed them, as if drawn away by some new tide.
You kept walking.
The village opened wider around the main firepits, the lanterns brighter here, the air thick with smoke and roasted fish and sweet fruit. Voices overlapped like wavesâgreetings, laughter, the low cadence of elders speaking with purpose. You moved through it as you had your whole life, familiar with the weight of being looked at, familiar with the way people made room without being asked. And then the crowd shifted, subtly, like a changing current, and your gaze found him again as if it had been pulled there.
He had become tall without anyoneâs permission. Taller than he used to be, taller than he had any right to be when you remembered the boy whoâd first stepped onto your reef, all sharp limbs and stiff respect. His body had filled out in the way of men who carried labor and purpose in their muscles, the broadness of his shoulders unmistakable beneath ceremonial adornment. His chest rose and fell, slow and controlled, but you could see the strain at the edgesâan effort to appear untroubled when he was not.
His braidsâlonger now, thickerâfell over his shoulders and down his back, moving when he moved, a quiet kind of violence in how much you noticed. They brushed his collarbones when he turned his head, shifted like water when he laughedâsoft, restrained, perfectly timed laughter at something Tonowari said.
Around his collar hung a necklaceâshell and bone, a piece that did not match his clanâs old style nor yours entirely.
It was yours. Not because you had given it to him in any official wayânothing in your lives had ever been allowed to be official too earlyâbut because you had carved it, once upon a time, and placed it into his hand in the shadow of night like it meant nothing. You had shrugged and told him it took an afternoon. He had pretended to believe you. You had scraped your fingers raw to smooth the edge of the bone. You had waited for a specific fish to shed a tooth you could take without harm. You had spent days walking the shore with an innocent patience, hunting pieces of the reefâs generosity until you could make something worthy of his throat.
He wore it tonight as if it belonged there. As if it had always belonged there.
As if he had never taken it off.
You watched him for a moment too long, and he did not look at you. His eyes were on his father, on Tonowari, on the elders. He was playing his part perfectly. His smile shifted when it needed to. His head bowed in respect at the right times. He stood close enough to his father that their shoulders nearly touched, a line of family drawn in muscle and shadow.
Jakeâs gaze flicked across the crowd and caught on you like a net. His mouth twitchedâalmost a smile, almost not. He leaned slightly toward Neteyam and said something you couldnât hear.
Neteyamâs smile shiftedâtightened, thinned at the edges.
Jakeâs hand clapped his sonâs shoulder, friendly and firm. His voice carried just enough when he turned his head, as if speaking without intending to be overheard was a lie heâd never learned. âThatâs the woman youâre about to mate with,â he said, gaze traveling between you and his son with lazy amusement. âAnd youâre standing all the way over hereâat your own engagement party, mind youâlike youâre afraid sheâll bite you.â
Neteyamâs jaw flexed. He didnât look toward you. He didnât have to. âShe wonât speak to me,â he said, quietly.
Jake made a sound like laughter swallowed. âYeah,â he said, entirely unsurprised. âThat tracks.â
Neteyamâs fingers twitched at his side, then stilled, held in place by discipline so old it was almost instinct. Jake leaned closer, voice dropping, and whatever he said next made something change in Neteyamâs expressionânot the mask, not the posture, but something behind the eyes, something like resolve. Jakeâs hand left his shoulder.
Neteyam finally looked up.
His gaze found you across the firelight like it had been waiting. It landed, held, softened for a heartbeat, and then he turned it away, swallowing something down.
You felt the pull in your ribs like a tide. You hated it. You hated how easily your body still remembered him, how easy it was to want to thread itself through anger. You hated the way the new life under your skin seemed to make your emotions louder, closer to the surface. You hated the way it all made you feel less in control.
You turned before anyone could see the crack.
Tsireya was no longer at your side. You did not look for her. You slipped through the edges of the gathering, away from the firelight and the eyes, toward the darker walkways where lanterns thinned and the seaâs glow began again. The reef had always been where your thoughts became quieter, where the worldâs noise softened enough for you to hear yourself.
Behind you, you felt the shift before you heard itâthe faint change in the air when someone began following, careful, not wanting to draw attention.
Neteyam had learned your home too well.
You kept walking. He kept pace, staying far enough that it could be coincidence, close enough that it wasnât.
The walkways ended and sand began, pale under lanternlight, cool beneath your feet. The water lapped gently at the shore, and the bioluminescence bloomed with each step into the shallows, as if the reef were sowing light for you to carry.
You didnât turn until you were far enough that voices were only a wash behind you, muffled by distance and wind.
Neteyam stopped a few paces away. He stood like a man whoâd been taught his whole life to hold himself steady even when his hands shook.
His adornments were close now, visible in detail: the Metkayina beads woven through his braids, the shellwork at his wrists, the faint patterns of evening paint along his collarbones. Reef-ink marked his arm in patient lines: one softened by time, newer ink still sharp around the edges, both permanent, both earned, marking him as much a man of the clan as any born of the reef. Bone from his old life threaded in among reef materials, not as an intrusion but as a bridge. Becoming made visible, carried on his skin.
You looked at them and felt something ache, sharp and immediate.
âYou should be with your family,â you said, rough, embittered.
Neteyamâs gaze lifted to you, steady. âI am,â he said softly.
You scoffed. âI do not belong to you yet.â
Something flinched in his faceâpain, maybe, or the memory of the last time his words had been wrong.
âI know,â he said. âI am trying to act like it.â
The argument lived between you without being spoken. You saw it again in your mind as if the reef were replaying it for punishment: the moment youâd tried to tell him what the healer had confirmed; the way his expression had gone distant, not from disgust, but from duty snapping into place like armor; the wrong words that had spilled from himâtoo fast, too sharp, too concerned with what it meant for roles and timing and responsibilities. The way your tears had begun before you even felt them, humiliating in how quickly they arrived, betraying you in front of him. The way his face had gone pale, horrified, as if heâd been wounded rather than the one holding the blade. The way his hand had lifted, instinct reaching for you, then frozen midair, fingers splayed like he was afraid of himself.
And then the cold space of three days after: him keeping distance like penance, you refusing to give him the chance to close it. No touch, no words. Only the weight of what had been said and what hadnât, hanging between you like a net you couldnât untangle.
âYou knew,â you said now, quietly. âBefore the healer.â
Neteyam swallowed. His throat worked around something heavy. âI did.â
Your eyes narrowed. âHow?â
He didnât answer directly. He glanced toward your hips, then looked away quickly, as if even seeing you was too intimate. âYou slept deeper,â he said. âYou ate more salt fruit. You did not turn away from my heat at night.â
A pause.
âYour body has a rhythm. I have learned it,â he continued, softer now, âI knew we were not careful. I counted without meaning to.â
His gaze lifted to yours again, earnest and unguarded. âI guessed.â
Then, barely a breath, like a truth he hadnât planned to say aloud:
âI hoped.â
The reef pulsed under your feet, patient.
You let out a short breath. âAnd yet you still looked at me like a problem.â
Neteyamâs jaw tightened. âI looked at myself like a problem.â
You tilted your head. âYou are always doing that.â
A faint, familiar almost-smile tried to pull at his mouth and failed. âI am good at it.â
âYou are good at being perfect,â you corrected, because you needed to hurt him a little, needed the argument to stay alive so you didnât have to feel the tender things beneath it. âLook at you. Standing by the fire pit. Smiling at all the right people. Saying all the right things.â
Neteyamâs gaze held yours, quiet and unflinching. âIs that what you think I am doing?â
âIt is what you do.â
His shoulders rose with a slow inhale. He took a step closer and then stopped, as if remembering how easily closeness could become a weapon.
He lifted his hands, palms open. Not pleading. Offering.
âYou can send me away,â he said. âI will go.â A beat. âYou can tell me to stay farther. I will.â Another beat, softer. âYou can tell me to stop following you like a stray ilu.â
You exhaled sharply despite yourself. âDo not use Loâakâs words.â
âThen stop listening to him,â Neteyam murmured, and for a moment the old mischief flickered through, a spark still alive beneath the new weight in his eyes. It died quickly. âI did not sleep,â he added, as if the truth had been clawing at him for days and he finally let it out.
You didnât soften. Not yet.
âThat is not my concern.â
âIt is,â he said, and thenâvery carefullyâhe let his voice drop, as if lowering it might keep it from shattering. âEverything about me is becoming your concern. That is what terrifies me.â
You stared at him. Firelight was distant now, but the reef painted him in faint blue-green pulses, making the beads in his hair glow like small seeds caught in a net.
âBabyââ
The word left him before he could stop it. Learned, you knew, on his fatherâs kneeâsaid softly to calm, to steady, to reach without force.
Your jaw tightened. âDo not call me that right now.â
He nodded immediately, shame flickering, the habit broken as quickly as it surfaced. âOkay.â
âYou made me cry,â you said, quieter, because the truth did not weaken with reserve.
Neteyamâs throat bobbed. âI know.â
âYou said things likeââ You stopped, because repeating the wrong words felt like putting them back into the world. âYou made it sound like I had trapped you. Like thisââ your hand drifted without meaning to your abdomen, barely there, the smallest motionâ âwas taking something from you.â
Neteyam went still, like something had struck him. His eyes snapped to your hand, then back to your faceâwide, raw, horrified, as if the thought alone tasted wrong in his mouth.
âNo,â he breathed, and the word came out too fast, too sharp, more panic than denial. âNever. Iââ
His throat worked. His jaw clenched, then released, like he was forcing himself not to reach for you again, not to touch when touch had been the mistake.
âI made it sound like that,â he said, and there was something sick in the way he admitted itâlike swallowing a thorn. âAnd I hate myself for it.â His voice lowered, unsteady. âI wasnât thinking you were a burden. I was thinking I was,â he said, and the words came out like a confession heâd been holding in his mouth until it tasted like blood. âI thought⌠I have spent my whole life being the first. The steady one. The one who holds everyone else. And then you said it, and Iââ
His hands flexed. He closed them into fists and then opened them again, forcing himself to be soft.
âI did not know how to be both,â he finished. âDuty and you. I spoke as if they were enemies.â His voice broke on the last word, almost imperceptible, but you heard it.
You should have felt satisfied. You should have felt vindicated.
Instead, you felt tiredâtired in a way that went deeper than the last three days, deeper than the fight itself. Like you were tired of being careful all the time, tired of becoming something you had to earn by bleeding.
âNeteyam,â you said, and your own voice betrayed you with how quietly it said his name.
His gaze dropped, briefly, to the necklace at your throatâthe one he had made you once, long ago, with hands too young and a mission too big. He had disappeared beyond the reefâs comfortable boundaries for it. Youâd found out later, from Tsireya, when the gossip had been sweet rather than cruel. Heâd handed it to you privately as if it were no big deal, like he hadnât risked anything at all. You had pretended you hadnât noticed his scraped knuckles. You had pretended you hadnât wanted to kiss him then.
âI am not asking you to forgive me,â he said. âNot tonight.â His eyes lifted again, unfaltering. âI justââ His voice tightened. âI cannot bear that I was the one who did that to you.â
Your chest ached. The reef glowed around your calves with each shift of your feet.
You searched for something sharp to throw at him to keep from feeling the tender things beneath it, and you found the first thing you had been staring at since the firepit.
âYou lookâŚâ You began, and the insult you meant tangled in your throat when your gaze dragged unwillingly over himâthe clean line of his jaw, the strength in his shoulders, the way his braids moved when the wind touched them, long on his back like something made to be held. He looked rough at the edges from lack of sleep, yes. Shadows under his eyes, a tightness at the corners of his mouth. But the roughness only made him look more real, more grown. He looked like a man who could carry a child on his shoulder as naturally as a weapon and not stumble.
You hated yourself for noticing.
âYou look tired,â you finished weakly, as if that could hurt him.
Neteyamâs mouth twitched. âThat is your attack?â
âDo not push me.â
He didnât laugh. He didnât tease. He only watched you with a quiet understanding that felt more dangerous than any grin.
Then, softly, as if offering you a rope back toward something familiar, âOh,â he said, âYou like my hair.â
Your eyes narrowed. âDo not flatter yourself.â
Neteyamâs gaze stayed steady. âYou are looking at it.â
âI am not.â
âYou are,â he murmured, and you hated how gentle he was about it, how he didnât press the advantage. âIt moves. You always watch when it moves.â
Heat climbed your neck. âYou think very highly of yourself.â
Neteyamâs lips curved, faint, like the ghost of your old game. âOnly around you.â
Silence hung between you, thick with salt and things unspoken. The reef pulsed; the lanterns on the walkway far behind swayed like distant stars.
Neteyam shifted his weight, hands hanging at his sides, not reaching. âTell me what you need,â he said simply. âNot what you think I should want. What you need.â
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
You did not forgive him easily. You did not want to give him that. Not yet.
But you were tired of holding your own distance like a weapon that cut you too.
So you stepped forwardâslow, carefulâand lifted your hand.
Neteyamâs breath caught as your fingers threaded into his braids near his shoulder, the beads cool and smooth under your touch, the strands thicker than you remembered. You tugged gently, not to hurt, only to feel the truth of himâreal, present, yours and not yours.
âSevin, youâreââ he breathed, not teasingâanchoring himself to the sound of you.
Neteyam shuddered as the corners of your fingernails grazed his scalp, a subtle ripple through his body he tried to hide and failed. His eyelids fluttered shut, jaw clenched as if heâd swallowed a sound. The reaction was immediate and honest, and it made something inside you twist with a heat you refused to name.
You watched him, and something in you softened in spite of yourself.
âYou can be so dramatic,â you whispered, because you needed to keep one foot in anger.
Neteyamâs voice came out low, hoarse. âYou are touching my hair.â
âSo?â
His gaze locked onto yours, unguarded for the first time all night. âSo I will do anything you ask.â
The words should have sounded like a line. Like something heâd say in English when you were teenagers to make you blush and sputter.
But he didnât. He said it like truth.
Your thumb brushed the side of his neck. His skin was warm beneath the faint moisture of night air. You could feel his pulse there, fast and heavy.
âYou should be with your family,â you tried again, because you were stubborn even when you were losing.
Neteyam leaned in just enough that his forehead nearly touched yours. âI am,â he breathed. âI am standing with you.â
âAnd her.â he added.
You scoffed, the sound thin. âOh, so now you have decided you want a daughter?â
The corner of his mouth twitched, caught between embarrassment and something dangerously sincere. âI didnât sayââ
âYou didnât have to,â you cut in, even as warmth betrayed you, pooling low in your chest. âYou are already naming things that donât exist yet.â
âI want you,â he said simply. âEverything else comes from that.â
The closeness made your thoughts go quiet. The salt air tasted sharp. The glow around your legs pulsed brighter as you shifted.
You should have pushed him away. You should have made him earn more words.
Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed him.
It wasnât gentle the way it had been when you were younger, when it had always felt like a stolen thing. This was an indulgence taken in full knowledge of the eyes that would watch later, the elders who would talk, the timing that would always have something to say.
Neteyam made a small sound in his throat and then his hands finally rose, slow, carefulâstill afraid of himself, still respectful of your anger. His fingers found you with more confidence than heâd allowed himself three days ago, and you felt the shift in him like the tide turning. One palm slid along the curve of your hip, steady and warm, and his thumb pressed there as if anchoring himself. The other slid up your back beneath beadwork, fingertips grazing skin, tracing Ronalâs knots like he could read them. He pulled you in until there was no space left to argue.
You let him.
You let him because even with anger still alive in you, you trusted him to hold you properly.
You tightened your grip in his braids, drawing him closer, and Neteyam exhaled like heâd been holding his breath for those three days and only now remembered how to let it go. The kiss deepenedânot frantic, not sloppy, but full, claiming, his restraint braided with want until you could not tell where one ended and the other began.
His lips moved with a familiarity that was not new, only newly allowedâfamiliarity that could only have been built in the shadows of marui and on dim walkways when you were both still pretending you were subtle, still pretending you were not already choosing each other. He kissed you like a man who had learned the cost of wrong words and did not intend to make them again.
He guided you back a step into the shallows, careful of your footing, careful of you, the sand cool under your feet, bioluminescence blooming around your ankles as if the reef were laughing quietly at your lack of subtlety. Your free hand found his chestâsolid beneath your palm, the rise and fall of his breath a steady rhythm. You felt the strength there, earned and carried without display.
You shivered, and Neteyamâs arms tightened instinctively, his hand at your hip shifting with the smallest caution that said he remembered, without looking, what lived beneath your skin. His palm brushed your abdomen once, barely, and you felt a pause in himâso slight it could have been imagined, so subtle no one would have called it anything at allâbut it was there: a stillness, a reverent flicker, a moment where the reefâs glow seemed to gather.
Your leg hitched up without your permission, knee bending to hook against his hip as you rose into him, closing the last sliver of distance your pride had been trying to keep. The movement made the beads at your hips click softly, and drew a sharp inhale from Neteyam, surprise and something darker flickering through him. His grip at your waist tightened instantlyânot rough, not carelessâjust firm enough to hold you steady as the tide lapped and the sand shifted underfoot. His hand slid down the back of your thigh and lifted, supporting the hitch without looking, without thinking. Like practice, fingers splayed wide, firm, confident under your thigh.
Neteyam pulled back just enough for his breath to hit yours. His eyes looked darker in the lanternless glow, the reef painting him in soft pulses. He swallowed, gaze dropping briefly, not to your hips this time, but to your throatâyour necklaceâbefore lifting again.
His thumb brushed the bone centerpiece at your collarbone, a gesture so intimate it felt like an oath. You felt his fingers trembleânot with fear, but with something else: a fierce, quiet joy that he didnât know how to hold without showing it.
You could feel how he held himself now, not just as a warrior, not just as a son, but as someone learning the shape of a new duty that did not erase the old ones. It did something to you, made anger feel like a thin shell over something softer. And beneath the anger that still lived in youâbeneath the pride, beneath the sharpnessâyou felt it: the way his touch made you believe he would hold what you were carrying with the same steady hands he held everything else.
Neteyamâs mouth turned to your jaw, then dipped lower, to the sensitive hollow beneath your ear. He kissed there onceâtesting, deliberateâthen again, slower, his lips lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.
You felt his teeth graze the faintest edge of skin, not biting, only contemplating. He pulled back just enough for his voice to reach you, low and rough with restraint. âTell me not to,â he murmured, mouth hovering at your pulse.
Your fingers tightened in his braids, tugging without meaning to. Neteyamâs eyes fluttered at the pull.
You forced your voice to stay sharp. âDo not get ahead of yourself.â
His lips brushed your skin again, a kiss like a threat softened into devotion. âNot tonight.â
âYouâre already marked,â he said quietly, and the word didnât feel dirty. He lifted his chin slightly, gaze flicking to the necklace at your throat, then to the bone shard resting against your collarbone like a promise. âYou wear me.â
You tried for sharpness and found none. âYou wear me too.â
A low sound rumbled in his chestâpleasure, relief, something deeper than bothâand you felt, with a sudden clarity, that he liked this: the fact that his rebellion had once been words and secret keepsakes and clandestine kisses by the shore and now had become flesh.
He didnât say it. He didnât have to.
You let your fingers slide deeper into his braids, nearer to the root as your lips chased his yet again, and Neteyamâs breath stuttered. The reaction was honest again, and it sparked a heat in your chest that had nothing to do with anger.
Your other leg nearly lifted tooâyour body trying to climb into him entirelyâbut he anchored you with a quiet firmness, grounding you, keeping you steady even as he pulled you closer. Your hooked knee slid slightly along his hip as the tide cooled your calf, and Neteyam adjusted instantly, shifting his stance so the sand wouldnât steal your footing. He did it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had done it a hundred times in the dark.
âEasy,â he murmured, low. âIâve got you, baby.â
The word landed warm and certain, like his hands all over you had always been meant to be. Your breath left you in a rush you did not bother to hide.
The drums behind you rose, steady and patient, like a reminder that time did not stop for anyone.
A footstep sounded behind you on the sand.
Lighter. Quick. Not cautious in the way an adult would be. The kind of step that did not ask permission of the night.
You broke apart, both of you turning too quickly, like children caught stealing fruit, Neteyamâs arms loosening but not leaving you.
A figure stood at the edge of the shallowsâa familiar silhouette, hesitating between retreat and curiosity. For one humiliating second, you thought it might be your father. Or your mother. Or Eywa herself deciding to personally witness the mess.
Tukâtirey.
Not little Tuk anymore. Not the wide-eyed child who used to cling to her motherâs side. This Tuk carried herself with the sharp, bright confidence of adolescenceâsame age Neteyam had been when he first arrived at the reef, same hungry curiosity Loâakâs eyes had bore at that age. She stood with her arms folded and one hip cocked, her posture too sure for someone who had no business being out here alone.
For one long second, she stared at you both like you were a new kind of fish.
âOhhh,â She whispered, very calmly, and there was far too much satisfaction in it, âWow.â
âTuk,â Neteyam said, voice strained.
Tukâs grin widened. âSo this is why youâve been flitting around every night,â she said, then flicked her gaze to you. âAnd why youâve been disappearing.â
âGo,â Your jaw tightened. âYou should be at the party.â
Tuk waved a hand. âI was. And then I saw you leave.â Her eyes glittered. âYou looked like you were going to bite someone.â
Neteyam made a sound like a groan swallowed. âYou followed her.â
Tuk lifted her brows. âYou did too.â
The reef pulsed as if laughing.
Neteyam rubbed a hand over his face. âTukââ
She pointed at him. âDonât âTukâ me like Iâm eight years old.â Then she pointed at you. âSo, is it true that youâre⌠that he got youâŚâ
Your stomach dropped.
Tukâs eyes widened in delight at your expression. âOh, it is true,â she breathed, almost conversational, and the words hit the night like thrown shells. Her eyes moved between you and Neteyam again, bright with the thrill of naming what everyone pretended not to. âEveryone is whispering. They say youâre basically already mated.â
You looked at Neteyam and felt the absurdity bloomâsoft, bitter, almost sweet. The stakes were different now. In three days, you would stand before Eywa and make it official. Everyone already watched you like it was inevitable.
And stillâstillâhere you were, in the shallows like the night belonged to you, leaving your posts to be caught by a teenager who would absolutely report back.
You exhaled and leaned closer to Neteyam, voice low. âSheâs going to tell on us.â
Tukâs grin sharpened. âOh, youâre whispering,â she said, delighted. She stepped closer, stopping just outside the glow at your feet, deliberately keeping her distance like she was pretending to be respectful while clearly savoring every second. âShould I tell her mother first? Or our mother, huh Neteyam?â
Neteyamâs ears reddened further. âTuk.â
Tukâs grin sharpened. âAnd they say youâre fighting,â she added, because of course sheâd heard that too. âIs that why he looks like he got dragged through the shallows?â
You made your voice flat. âTukâtirey.â
She blinked at the full name, the way teenagers always did when adults used it. Then she smiled again, because she had inherited stubbornness like a birthright.
âYes?â
You glanced at Neteyamâs necklace, at yours. You glanced at the reef glow around your feet, at the lanterns swaying far behind. Becoming had never been clean. It had always been messy and public and slow.
Tukâs eyes flicked between you and him, and for the first time, her grin softened into something more curious, almost careful. âAre you two⌠okay?â she asked, and the question landed heavier than her teasing. Adolescence had given her sharpness, but it had also given her instincts.
You didnât answer right away.
Neteyam didnât either.
Tuk shifted her weight, watching you both as if she were trying to decide which story this was. She had grown up in a village full of eyes; she knew the difference between gossip and scandal and something that mattered.
Finally, you spoke, voice quiet.
âTell whoever you want,â you said, coolly, and felt Neteyamâs gaze snap to you in surprise. âBut if you run to your mother with a story, you will also tell her why we are here.â
Tuk paused, eyes narrowing as her mind racedâcalculating. She looked at Neteyam, then at you, then at your hands at the nape of his neck, at his around your waist, then back again.
Neteyam stared at you as if you had just drawn a knife and placed it on the table.
Tukâs voice lowered into something conspiratorial. âWhy are you here?â
Neteyamâs jaw flexed.
You held Tukâs gaze, steady. âGo back to the fire,â you repeated, gentler this time. âIt is late.â
Tuk looked between you again, sensing the shift in the air. She didnât have words for the fight that lived between you. She didnât know about the tears that had bubbled up degradingly, about the way Neteyam had gone pale like he was afraid of himself. But at her age, she now knew tension the way fish knew current. She could feel something sharp under the sweetness.
Her grin softened into something more curious, almost tender. âOkay,â she said slowly. Then she brightened again, because she couldnât help herself. âHave fun!â
Neteyam groaned. âEywa, help me.â
âDonât come back looking too⌠obvious.â Tuk giggled and backed away, already turning, already running toward the lanterns like she was carrying a secret that might burn her hands if she held it too long. âIt will ruin the night!â
When she was gone, the night fell quiet again, but it was a different quiet nowâwider, as if the world had exhaled and decided to let you be kids again for a moment.
Neteyamâs forehead dropped to yours, a shaky laugh leaving him that didnât sound like laughter at all. âWe are not subtle, sevin,â he murmured.
âYou are not subtle,â you corrected automatically.
He hummed lowly. His hands stayed on you, careful and solid.
You did not melt, not fully. You let the anger remain as a line between you because you needed him to remember it.
âYou hurt me,â you said quietly.
Neteyam closed his eyes. âI know.â
âAnd you do not get to fix it withââ Your gaze flicked to his mouth, betraying you, and you hated yourself for it.
Neteyamâs eyes opened, catching the movement. He didnât smile. He didnât tease. He only nodded, accepting the terms of whatever messy peace you could offer tonight.
âI will fix it with time,â he said. âAnd with being better.â A pause. âI am becoming better.â
The word settled in the space between you. Becoming. Not a moment. A process. A tide.
You swallowed. The reef pulsed beneath your feet, sowing light around your ankles with each shift, as if it were quietly bearing witness to what was growingâbeneath skin, beneath pride, beneath wrong words.
Far behind, the drums rose again, steady and patient.
Neteyamâs thumb brushed your hand where it still rested in his braids. âDo you want me to go back?â he asked. âTo stand where I am supposed to stand.â
You stared at him, at the necklace at his throat that you had carved with young hands, at the beads in his hair that marked him one of your people, at the way he held himselfâstill the perfect oldest son, still carrying duty like a second spine, but learning, slowly, how to carry you without turning you into a burden.
You did not forgive him easily.
But you did not send him away.
âNo,â you said at last. âStay.â
Neteyamâs breath left him like relief. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to your foreheadânot a kiss meant to be savored, not a kiss that proved anything. A small, quiet thing. A promise made in the dark.
In the distance, the village laughed. Someone called a name. Lanterns swayed.
You and Neteyam stood at the edge of the reef, messy and unfinished, days away from a rite that would make everything official before Eywa. The timing was still imperfect. Much remained unresolved and waiting like a wave you couldnât outrun.
But his hands were steady on you, holding you as if steadiness was something he could give even when he couldnât give answers.
âCome back with me, yawntu,â he said, and it was neither a command nor a request.
You did not move yet. You let the anger live where it belonged. You let the new weight inside you be real without becoming a weapon.
Your fingers brushed, and you told yourself you would pull away. You didnât.
Instead, your hand found his, light at first, as if testing whether the night would object. Neteyamâs fingers closed around yours slowly, deliberatelyâgiving you time to change your mind. When you didnât, his thumb settled against your knuckle, warm and familiar.
The sound of the village drifted closer again as you took your first stepâlaughter cresting and falling, the steady insistence of drums that did not care whether hearts were mended or not. Time, as always, kept moving.
You squeezed his hand once, not looking at him.
âLetâs go,â you said.
He went with you, matching your pace without crowding it, like he had at long last learned how to walk beside you instead of ahead.
You were older now. Wiser. Almost official.
And stillâyour fingers fit his the same way they always had.
Some things never change.
notes ⯠if you liked this, go read my new fic, SAFE IN YOUR SKIN! i didnât write it with the intention of connecting it the this ficâs world but now that i think about it, it actually works perfectly as a prequel vignette.
awaâatlu at night, a sleeping nest swaying with the tide. neteyam learns how to stop keeping an inch of space between himself and youâand lets the reef do the rest. or, neteyam discovers metkayina engineering and also emotional vulnerability. unfortunately for him, both work.
notes ⯠neteyam and reader cuddling and falling asleep in a hammock. shy young love. thatâs it thatâs the fic. short and sweet <3
The hammock was woven for the reef.
That was obvious the moment you climbed into itâthick, buoyant fibers braided with dried sea-grass and soft kelp cord, suspended low enough that the air smelled like salt even up here. It swayed gently, responding to the tide below, not the wind. Everything in Awaâatlu moved like thatâsubtly, constantly, as if the village were breathing with the ocean.
Neteyam hesitated at the edge, one hand braced on the trunk, fingers digging into bark that wasnât homegrown. The tree creaked softly beneath his weight.
âYouâre stalling,â you said.
âI am assessing,â he corrected, very seriously.
You snorted and shifted deeper into the nest, testing the give. It dipped toward the lagoon, the faint glow of bioluminescence reflecting up through the weave like scattered stars.
âIt will not throw you into the water,â you said. âIt knows we live here.â
âThat is not how nests work.â
âThat is exactly how Metkayina nests work.â
He gave you a look, then finally climbed in, movements careful, deliberate. The nest dipped again, then steadiedâbalanced, as if mildly offended but willing to accommodate.
You lay on your side first, facing out toward the water, tail tucked close. The air was cooler this close to the lagoon, damp with salt and night-blooming flowers. Somewhere below, someone laughed. Somewhere farther, the tide shifted.
For a moment, Neteyam stayed rigid behind you.
Not touching.
You could feel the restraint in the inch of space he left between your backs, the way his legs were angled to avoid brushing yours. His breathing was too controlledâcounted, like he was on watch instead of trying to sleep.
âYouâre doing that thing,â you murmured.
âWhat thing?â
âThe thing where you act like you are on patrol.â
âI am not.â
âYou are holding your breath.â
He exhaled, long and quiet. âI am not.â
You smiled into the dark. âYou were.â
A beat.
ââŚOkay,â he admitted.
The nest swayed gently as he adjusted, inching closerânot all at once, but carefully, like he was negotiating with the space. His knee brushed the back of yours, then settled. Warmth followed. His chest hovered near your back, close enough that you could feel it without being pressed.
His tail moved last.
It brushed yours by accident.
Both of you froze.
You waitedâhalf-expecting him to pull away, to apologize. Instead, he stayed still, breath stuttering just once before evening out again.
âOh,â he said quietly.
âThatâs⌠fine,â you said, a little too quickly.
âYeah,â he agreed. âI wasnâtâ I meanââ
You laughed softly. âYou are allowed to have a tail, Neteyam.â
âI do have one,â he said dryly. âIt just doesnât usually⌠do that.â
You shifted yours deliberately this time, letting it rest alongside his. The contact was warm, groundingâless electric than youâd imagined, more comforting.
He adjusted again, closer now, the front of his body aligned with your back. Not pressing. Just present. His arm hovered awkwardly at your waist, unsure.
âYou can put your arm there,â you said. âItâs okay.â
âI wasnât sure ifââ
âIf I didnât want you touching me, I would have said so,â you replied, then added, softer, âI usually do.â
That earned a quiet huff of laughter.
His arm settled across your waist, not holding, not pullingâjust anchoring, palm warm against your side. You felt him relax incrementally, the line of his body easing as if heâd been waiting for permission the whole time.
The nest rocked gently beneath you, responding to the tideâs slow pull. Somewhere below, water lapped against the stilts of Awaâatlu, rhythmic and patient.
âDoes it always move like this?â he asked.
âOnly when the tide shifts,â you said. âYou get used to it.â
âI feel like Iâm on a boat.â
âThat is the point.â
âIt is unsettling.â
âYou are unsettling.â
He snorted, the sound vibrating lightly against your back. âYou are supposed to tell me itâs calming.â
âIt is calming,â you said. âYou just donât know how to relax.â
âThatâs rude.â
His thumb brushed once at your waistâabsentminded, unconsciousâthen stilled as if heâd realized what he was doing.
You didnât pull away.
âYou should have seen Aoânung earlier,â you started, voice drifting lazily. âHe tried to jump between the platforms and misjudged it completely.â
Neteyam hummed. âHe does that a lot.â
âHe blamed the wind.â
âThere was no wind.â
âExactly.â
âWait, I actually did see this.â His arm tightened slightly at your waist as he laughed, the sound low and unguarded. âLoâak nearly followed him,â he said. âLike an idiot.â
You smiled. âOf course he did.â
âHe saidââ Neteyam paused, clearly trying not to laugh. âHe said he was âtesting the structural integrity.ââ
You burst out laughing, the sound muffled as you pressed your face into the nest fibers. The movement made the whole thing sway, and Neteyam instinctively pulled you closer.
âCareful,â he murmured. âYou will prove him right.â
âHe would never survive Metkayina engineering,â you said. âTsireya told him to stop running everywhere like the ground was going to disappear.â
âThat explains why he kept asking if the platforms were⌠reinforced.â
âThey are,â you said. âJust not for people who sprint like theyâre being chased.â
Neteyam shifted his chin to rest lightly against your head. âKiri fell asleep during Ronalâs lecture.â
You stilled. âNo.â
âShe didnât mean to,â he said, smiling. âShe was standing. Fully upright. Justââ he tilted his head to demonstrateâ âgone.â
You snorted. âShe does that. I once had to nudge her awake during a council meal.â
âWhat happened?â
âShe blinked at me and said, âI was listening.ââ
âOh, Iâm sure.â
Silence settled again, comfortable and loose. The kind that only came after laughing.
Then, quieter, Neteyam added, âTuk stole my wrist beads.â
You turned your head slightly. âShe what?â
âShe said I wasnât wearing them properly.â
âYouâre not,â you said automatically.
He stiffened a little. âI am.â
âYou are supposed to knot them tighter. Otherwise they slide when you swim.â
ââŚShe said that too.â
You smiled into the dark. âAnd?â
âAnd then she put them on herself and said sheâd give them back when I learned.â
You laughed again, softer this time. âShe speaks the truth.â
His arm tightened, mock-offended. âYou all conspire against me.â
The nest swayed gently as the tide shifted, rocking you both. Neteyamâs breathing had slowed now, deeper, less guarded.
âToday was weird,â he said after a moment.
âMm?â
âIn the best way,â he clarified. âJust⌠different.â
You nodded, though he couldnât see it. âItâs always like that when you stop moving long enough to notice.â
He was quiet for a beat, then said, almost sheepish, âI donât usually sleep like this.â
âNeither do I,â you admitted. âUsually I sprawl.â
He huffed softly. âI can tell.â
You nudged him lightly with your hip. âYou love it.â
Another pause.
ââŚYeah,â he said. âI do.â
Minutes passed. Maybe longer.
At first, you were too aware of everythingâthe weight of his arm, the heat of his chest, the way the nest dipped slightly toward him, nudging you closer. You catalogued sensations like you were afraid theyâd vanish if you didnât pay attention.
Neteyam was doing the same. You could feel it in the way his breath hitched when you shifted, in how carefully he adjusted his legs so they fit behind yours without tangling.
Eventually, your shoulders dropped.
Your breathing slowed.
The reefâs rhythm seeped into youâthe distant hush of water, the faint creak of woven fibers, the constant, subtle motion that made stillness impossible. You let yourself settle back into him instead of holding yourself rigid.
He inhaled sharply at the change, then relaxed, his chest rising and falling against your back in an easy rhythm.
âYouâre warm,â you murmured, already half-asleep.
He smiled into your hair. âYou say that like it is a surprise.â
âItâs nice,â you corrected. âYouâre usually cold after swimming.â
âThatâs because you steal all the heat.â
âYouâre welcome.â
His arm tightened slightly, more secure now, thumb resting at your side. âGet some sleep,â he said softly. âIâve got you.â
Your tail curled more firmly around his.
His followed without hesitation, fitting into the space yours left like it had always known where to go.
His thumb brushed your side again, absent and easy now, no hesitation.
Outside, someone shoutedâlaughter, splashing water, the sound of youth refusing to be quiet even at night.
âYou think theyâre still awake?â he murmured.
âDefinitely.â
âGood,â he said, voice dipping with amusement. âThen they can be jealous.â
You smiled, eyes already heavy.
The nest swayed.
The tide shifted.
You slept.
And when you woke briefly laterâdisoriented, half-dreamingâyou didnât pull away. You only adjusted closer, tucking yourself more securely into the curve of him.
Neteyam stirred, barely awake, tightening his arm just enough to keep you from drifting.
âHey,â he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
âHey,â you whispered back.
Neither of you said anything else.
notes ⯠if u liked this, u might love its spiritual successor SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE! lot more fleshed out, tiny bit steamy (like marginally đ), lwk didnât realize this one would start to get traction faster than that. mwah đ
đ pit stop ! 𦹠exhuastion settles in his bones after a long day's work. guilt overtakes yours after missing him for hours. what happens when you combine a sleepy katsuki bakugou with his needy, preciously insatiable girlfriend? (6K)
đ safety car ! â not safe for work â smut â eighteen plus only. pro hero au, canon compliant, established relationships, i wrote this b4 christmas so... christmas movie mention, soft dom n sub dynamics, sleepy sex, clothed sex, dry humping, pussy jobs, praise kink, cum play, i luv u ariana grande. pro hero bakugou, quirkless & fem reader.
đ team radio ! â anyway... another kacchan fic but it's just six thousand words of grinding on himb... do what u will with that. i love himb smmm !! hope u guys like! click for more.Â
ââ Š tteokdoroki âą 2025.
exhaustion weaves between each of the bones that form katsukiâs ribcage and settles between every breath he takes from there. heâs only just come home, just barely been able to strip his professional pro hero outer-layer and become the version of himself that you get to keep a secret.Â
no one knows the katsuki bakugou that likes a shitty hallmark christmas movies and wears matching hello kitty pyjama pants just because you asked. the bakugou who practically purrs at the feeling of your fingers raking through his hair or drawing soothing shapes at the center of his chest. the bakugou whoâs content to be kissed and coddled and loved up on by you, in the privacy and safety of your home.Â
youâre snuggled up together on the couch, katsukiâs back tacking against black leather that squeaks with every move and an arm slung lazily over your waist â heavy and warm in a way that makes you feel guarded or protected, giving you the room to feel small. occasionally, his thumb grazes that little slither of skin between your waistband and the hem of your tank top â circling it, reminding you that heâs there. looking up at the blonde through your lashes, head resting on the steady rise and fall of his chest, you can tell that heâs tired. worn out from all the work and patrols during the lead up to christmas. itâs weighs on his features, pulls his bottom lip into a resting frown and makes his eyes flutter as he tries to fight off sleep, keeping his blurring gaze on the movie flickering across the flatscreen TV.Â
at least heâs off now. at least he has time to rest.
except your brain canât rest.
itâs been going a mile a minute since your boyfriend came home, his sugary-sweaty-caramel-like scent and the way heâs clung to you all evening has driven you completely up the wall. you want him more than you allow your body to let on, more than just the domesticity of the cosy scene playing out between the two of you right now â but you know that katsukiâs exhausted, too tired to speak or to move or to do anything except lay here with the comforting presence of you on top of him.Â
he makes a quiet noise, a low groan that shoots straight to your core, when he shifts to feel more relaxed â bending his leg at the knee so thereâs more room for you to lie between them. the feeling is almost like a knife or a gunshot wound, what with all of him pressed up against your middle.Â
you exhale through your nose and the heated circles he draws into the dip at the base of your spine pick up â hotter, smoother, longer as if heâs dragging them out. the kind of gesture that lets you know heâs still there, even when heâs drifting off.
âyou okay?â bakugouâs deep, gravelly voice layers thick over the noise of the film in the background and causes a twinge in your stomach that you know you canât rid without his help. his ruby eyes that are always so intense and inquisitive, tick away from the movie and down to you â soft around the edges with intention. he cares.
so you nod, play pretend like your mind isnât unravelling before him, and smile shy. ââm okay,â your head tilts until your chin rests square on his chest. âjust missed you today. glad youâre home.âÂ
âfuckinâ cute,â he tuts tenderly before he lifts a hand, tenderly squishing your cheeks between dexterous and rough-paced fingers. you try not to think about how they feel and how large his hand is too much. âtell me about your week.âÂ
you answer him because it provides welcome distraction from the early sparks of lust streaking their way down the length of your spine. little nothings about your week escape your frenzied stream of consciousness despite the way you lounge against your offensively attractive pro hero boyfriend. you note the coffee a stranger brought for you on monday, passing on the good vibes, and the elderly couple seated across from you at the Italian restaurant where you had your team christmas work lunch on thursday â and all the little details in between.Â
all the while, katsuki listens despite the show dancing across the screen not too far away. he smiles at the excitement in your tone as you recount each tale, squeezes you close when you yawn mid sentence and nods attentively here and there. heâs present in all the tiny ways that let you know he really does care.
but then youâre halfway through a story about how your coworkerâs lunch ( an unfortunate beetroot casserole ) exploded in her bag on the commute into work â your wonderful, sweet, sleepy boyfriend messes up. well, to you. heâs messed up. fucked it all to hell and back, because in the world where his hand innocently slips lower, cascading down to grip your waist and no longer making cute shapes â you interpret it as him out to get you. out to make you melt like butter in a hot cast iron pan.Â
fingertips are rough, calloused and hot against the doughy flesh at your hips â sinking into your skin not enough to leave a mark, but enough to remind you that heâs there. still listening even as reality fades away from him and the sirenâs song of sleep calls his name. your breath mustâve hitched or paused or stopped because when your brain finally reconnects to its stem â the pretty blonde beneath you has a brow raised and bleary eyes hard set on you.
âbaby?âÂ
freezing in place, you squeak. âhm?â
âyou were sayinâ?â comes his careful and curious reply. âpromise i was listening, just fuckinâ tired tonight.âÂ
another unfortunate thing is that katsukiâs voice turns sexy when heâs sleepy, like hot honey that runs through your ears and heats you up until youâre as hot as the center of the earth. itâs got the kind of grit that tells you heâs been hard at work, protecting people and keeping the city safe, the kind of cadence thatâs sharp around the edges and stings between your thighs where youâre unable to rub them together.Â
immense guilt clings to the words that die gracefully in the bottom of your throat, because you know you canât ask your pro hero boyfriend to fuck you after a twelve hour shift â just because his sleepy voice turns you on. itâs stupid and embarrassing and you really do try your best to shake it off before he can catch on.
âi forgot,â is the excuse you settle with, wincing at how flimsy it is and how damp your panties have gotten from the lazy look of confusion bakugou casts your way. pink plush lips curving into a frown, thick brows furrowed, vermillion eyes seeing right through you. god, heâs sexy. âletâs just watch the movieââÂ
âalright, âm callinâ bull. whatâs gotten into you?â bakugou, obviously, isnât satisfied with your answer and reaches over to pause the flick on the tv â shifting all of his ( or whatâs left of it ) focus to you, concern weaving its way between the burgundy-brownish flecks in his pretty eyes. âyou and i both know we havenât been watchinâ shit. youâve been jumpy all night too. you sure youâre good? nothinâ happened at work?â
katsukiâs a digger, a fixer. he wonât stop pestering until the problemâs solved and you can smile again â the issue at hand is so fickle and stupid, it makes you squirm hotly with embarrassment knowing youâve caused all this fuss by being too horny when your boyfriend is completely drained. ânothing happened!â the pitch of your voice skyrockets lamely, bakugouâs tired face twitching at the highness.Â
so he switches tactics and squeezes you where his large, perfectly veiny hands meet the soft skin of your hips â his head tilts like a curious puppy and he blinks, slow, sexy in a way that makes you actually physically pulse with need. âsweetness,â his voice falls by an octave. deep and velvety and caked in warning â prodding and poking the butterflies in your tummy just enough to send them into a frenzy. âcome on, talk tâme.âÂ
you canât help it. not when he talks like that. touches you like you might fall to pieces from the pressure. âsuki.â pushing your lips into an instinctive pout, a whine escapes its shackles from behind your teeth, where the shy sound lies imprisoned against your tongue.
âoh.â
yeah. oh.
heâs used to pet names from you. itâs katsuki when youâre mad, kacchan to tease him or be annoying, baby in the mornings when he wakes up at the crack ass of dawn for a run and tries to bring you with him, kats on a day to day basis â like a secret thatâs yours and no one else has. but suki. in the past, youâve only ever called him suki when youâre wanting something, wanting him. when youâre too timid to tell him what you really need or how he can help the slight ache that builds below the surface â a place that only he can soothe or reach. Â
âah, i see. poor little babyâs feelinâ needy, huh?â you see his face, the knowing smirk that stretches into his smile lines, it burns at your nerve endings before you can even realise and stirs the pot of lust simmering deep within. he knows you a little too well for your liking, just what to say and how to say it â easing the wild landscape of your mind and turning you into that sweet, pliant little thing he loves so much. katsuki makes it easy to forget, natural to be good.Â
your only form of retaliation is to swat at bakugouâs chest. âdonât!âÂ
ââm not doing anything, i swear,â comes his low and breathless purr, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight down to your core that grows slick just from hearing him. instinctively, the two of you shift â bakugou moving down further on the couch with his back to the arm rest, you shuffling upwards until your shaky thighs can bracket his hips. you lean forward, chest to chest, and tuck your heated face into his neck. as the weight of you settles over him, comforting and familiar and warm, the blonde exhales shallowly. as if heâs working himself up to this, hands carefully dancing up and down your supple sides whilst his fingertips press into you a little more feverishly. âso fuckinâ needy ân for what. fuckinâ shit, too damn tired for this.âÂ
kataukiâs golden lashes tickle your forehead as his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion. his body sinking deeper into the leather. you nearly shrink back, afraid of pushing him too far. âsuki, you donât have toââ
âhey, hey. said âm tired. not dead or fuckinâ senile.â even though he curses, thereâs no malice in the bass of your boyfriendâs voice. in fact, heâs more amused â chucking fondly against you instead. âcâmere, get comfy. wanna taste you.âÂ
with a gentle thumb and forefinger, bakugou tilts your chin upwards and angles his head down to kiss you. at first, itâs languid and slow enough to set your nervous system alight, he doesnât ask when his tongue presses against the seam of your lips â because he knows youâll open up on command, slipping the pink muscle into the sweltering and wet warmth of your mouth. drool instantly pools over your own tongue, turning the kiss syrupy as he licks into you and his hand shifts upwards to cup the back of your head.Â
he lets you take over, swallow him whole and take what you need to pacify the needy ache bouncing around from your heart to your brain. itâs a little sticky and clumsy from where katsuki is too tired to keep it clean and coordinated, but neither of you mind much â melting into one another to form a union. heâs happy enough to taste the want in your mouth and the pitiful pleas that start to bubble up on your lips.
âatta girl, take whatever you want. i got you, sweetheart,â he lets out a broken groan between the sloppy exchange of kisses â pleased and prideful when your hips start to grind down on him hungry but shy. his cock kicks to life underneath you, nudging your clothed mound through layers of pretty pink hello kitty sweatpants. âbeen wanting this, huh? waiting for me to take care of you just how you need?â he continues soft, yet dominant â your core starts to flutter at the intonation, arousal clinging to your folds and soaking through the seat of your panties.
a hiccup forms in the rhythm of your breathing as katsuki lets his paws wander in a deliberate pathway down to your waistband. his fingers slip past the elastic and push further down to grope your ass through the material â massaging their soft globes. âwhaddya wanna do, baby?â the blonde coos with his breath hot on your wet lips, fingernails raking over your damp underwear. âwanna ride me like this? hump my cock till your pretty clothes are soaked through? tell me, wanna help youâŚâÂ
his speech grows slurred and angsty like he canât wait to get a real look at you falling apart, itâd be like a shot of caffeine to his nervous system too. you know he expects you to answer, even through his quiet fatigue â katsukiâs dominance reins strong. he trains your body to reply, letting go of your ass cheek and using his now free hand to rub your wet pussy from behind. deliberate, clumsy circles fall on your clit from over your underwear and alternate between speeds just to pull some whiney noises from you.Â
âsuki, sukiâ!â you cry out, face hot beneath the skin as you instinctively buck back against his hand â jolting over his growing bulge. âwant this. i-i can cum like this.Â
âfuck, youâre so cute and so fucking wet for me,â bakugou slaps his hand down on your quivering, empty cunt from behind â the force restricted by your sweatpants. a sticky clap resounds throughout the living room and makes you shake from embarrassment and anticipation. âcan you take these off for me? i wanna see you, sweetness.âÂ
you do as youâre told, briefly pulling away from your sweltering heap of limbs to kick off your bottoms â leaving you half exposed in your underwear. this gives the blonde just enough time to push his own down, tucking the elastic waistband underneath his bare, heavy balls.Â
bakugou lies flat on the couch, reaching for you then âcome sit,â he instructs simply and smiles mellowly, proudly, when you shuffle on your knees, straddling him once more. his muscular arms welcome you home to him, smoothing over every inch of your skin â the parts you love and the parts you sometimes hate, appreciating you like a man who knows heâs got it good. you tingle wherever his fingertips lie, miss them all too much when he moves on from a particular spot but most importantly â you feel adored, loved because even though heâs been worn down by the world, katsuki takes the time to treat you tenderly.Â
swiftly, he pulls your soiled panties to the side and tucks the crotch behind one of your swollen folds â the two of you then share hushed moans as your sexes come into contact again. now with a little less fabric, naked and syrupy against each other. his cock is as pretty as always â bright red and blistering hot at the tip with thick, creamy precum oozing from the tip and pooling at his belly button ( now visible due to where his shirt has risen up ). perfect purple veins spiral down the meat of his shaft, pulsing from where it peeks out from his absurdly pink sweats. thereâs enough of him in your line of sight to make you drool from two places.
âgod, look at that, baby,â humming faintly under his breath, bakugou reaches down between your parted thighs with a thumb to spread your pussy over his length â exposing you to sleepy, sinful eyes. âperfect pussy, all fuckinâ mine.â his chest rumbles like a prideful beast at the vision before him, glistening cunt throbbing with need, all for him. he thumbs his signature onto your clit, worsening the heartbeat that thrums through it.Â
âkats,â you heave, impatiently. âsuki, donât tease. need somethinââŚâÂ
âthen you know what to do, sweet thing,â with an encouraging and gentle reminder, bakugouâs calloused palm spans over the base of your spine and pushes you forward â prompting you to swirl your hips over his lap. his frame shudders at the first glide of his painfully hard shaft through your swollen, sluice folds and as the hood of your clit catches deliciously on his cockhead. you react in exactly the same way. shakily, you fall forward with a strained pant â not expecting the sensitivity and the jolt of ecstasy spreading through your limbs like a vicious wildfire.Â
it was was before and itâs even worse now â with the way his breath fans hotly over your face and his chest rumbles hungrily beneath your own. the vibrations tweaking your nipples to hardness, they rub against his firm pecs the more you rock your hips and buck against him.
youâve really missed katsuki, really needed him, and here he is laying himself bare for the taking.Â
âkats⌠âm so sensitiveâŚi donât think i canââ you murmur, unsure of yourself. of this. if you cum too quickly itâd be like youâd used him â heâs way too tired to reach his peak without the work.
katsuki grounds you before you can get too overwhelmed, a lingering and languid kiss is pressed against your lips to keep the peace.
he doesnât let you think on it too much, hips jerking upwards to remind you that he wants you just as badly and heâll accept whatever your body has to give. âtake it from me. i donât mind,â the blonde murmurs gruffly over the crude âschlickâ sound your sexes make as he slowly pulls you back and forth over his creamy cock. sweet, glacĂŠ arousal smears along the length of him, a mix of what you leak and aids in your hesitant movements. with your boyfriendâs help, you build momentum carefully â stacking up pleasure brick by brick and bucking down on him using sensual swirls of your hips.Â
âthatâs it, fuck, grind on me just like that.â
tiredness etches its way into his tone, seeps from his pores but it doesnât stop bakugou from praising you as you rut against his thick erection faster and faster. whilst his hands stay settled at the small of your back or the soft skin at your hips, they guide you through the motions â back and forth, back and forth until your breath hitches and your words come out as brainless babbles. he doesnât control you, nor physically, katsuki lets you pick a pace that causes an erratically erotic pulse in your cunt. one that has you clenching around his seedy tip every time it brushes over your spasming hole â like itâs begging to be filled.
tension sluggishly builds between your bodies, it coils in your lower tummy and twists at your focus and the explosive pro-hero absolutely adores it. nothing turns him on more than seeing you like this, pliant, soft and needy â aching to be fucked. the two of you are dizzied with desire before you know it, a heap of sweaty, sex tainted limbs on the couch without realising. katsuki seems to grow impossibly harder between your supple thighs, the forked veins on his dick throbbing with blood flow carrying lustful hormones from his brain and his heart â you feel the rhythm and the want for you that heâs filled with, and it motivates you to take more.
thereâs something so sexy about the way your boyfriend lets you use him despite the fatigue looming over him and you know that itâs the reason why his pelvis and lower abdomen are smeared with your juices â golden and scarred skin now glistening underneath the warm, dim lighting in your living room because how much his lazy, slanted smirk and deep gravelly voice make your mound spew round after round of arousal.Â
âso fuckinâ lucky, my girl is so fuckinâ perfect for me,â bakugou continues to rasp avidly, so fucking gone underneath you. his praise starts to sear through your skin, akin to the sensation of burning yourself on a hot pot of sugar set to caramelise. his touch invokes a similar feeling, warm as though heâs been using his quirk as it slips back down to you â kneading the globes of flesh to keep himself grounded, in fear of losing himself to the way you practically rub your pussy raw and sticky on his girth. âslow baby, slow. donât wear yourself out. let your body feel it all.â
a pathetic simper claws its way out of your throat because it all feels too good to slow down now. not when he sits between your legs just right, like heâs meant to be there. not when he lets you press down against his prominent, pulsating erection and depend on him for every ounce of your pleasure. itâd kill you to go slow but itâd be even worse if this ended all too soon.
you collapse on top of bakugou, weak from the bliss, shy from his constant sleepy attention. you just need a minute, a second to hide from the unruly lust curling around your organs. âneed me to help you?â your boyfriend voices quietly, soft spoken words turning to a broken hiss as your spasming hole leaves a thick trail of cream from his balls to his very tip. katsuki thrusts up into your sticky mound like itâs natural, like heâs not running on empty and staying up to entertain you. like heâs coming home. encouraging you with pretty moans from just being able to lay his eyes on you.Â
despite how weary he sounds, the pro hero murmurs in an attempt to guide you â keen on seeing the way your face crumples like your world is falling to pieces, needy precious tears slipping over the edge of your lash line. he likes you like this malleable and desperate for anything he gives. âcircle your hips, take it nice ân easy. sâgood, sweetness.â he continues to praise and instruct against the crown of your head, even as you glide deliciously over the leaking head of his dick. âthatâs it, you got it. i got you.âÂ
the two of you fall into an easy rhythm then. following the notes of a tune your bodies have danced to before â early mornings before patrols, late nights in foreign countries for missions. you rut and grind against one another, the puffy folds of your molten core bracketing his chubbed up girth, keeping katsuki tucked away in your gushing wetness, covering him in your claim.
you move with a gentle gluttony, like your bodyâs been built from the ground up just for this â lazily humping bakugou until all you can hear is the claggy cloying noise of your cunt on him. you ache for him, tremble with a delightful pain that blossoms in your lower body like a couple of coals have been thrown onto your fire. bakugou throws his head back against the couch, sunny blonde hair askew as though itâs been swept up in a breeze. his angular jaw turns slack, mouth open wide as his intimate gripes and groans filthily fill the air â almost imitating your whimpers with how exhausted he sounds.
he canât help it, going from grasping at your forearms to keep you anchored to the cock that kicks up against your drooling pussy â to smoothing over the curve of your ass, his nails forming light crescent moons against the skin as he pulls you forward and rolls his milky mushroomed tip against your entrance.
âsuch a good fuckinâ girl, listen so well. doinâ everything i say, you know, youâre making me feel so good, baby. so fucking good,â katsuki gets a potty mouth when heâs high on pleasure, delirious from his lack of sleep. a stream of colourful curses, bracketed by his alluring unfiltered whines, stick to the strings of saliva that fill his mouth and they only worsen when you push down to meet him half way. you do the work, shimmying your hips over his lap and rubbing your little pressure nub against the sensitive veins decorating his shaft âsweet pussy on me like this, making a mess. howâd i get so fuckinâ lucky?â
you let him talk and babble sleepily because he lets you use his body, the pleasure shamelessly building between you both in unsturdy blocks ready to come crashing down at any instant. âshit, this is just what i needed. youâre exactly what i need, baby. all the time. every time.â bakugou groans on, fatigue causing a crack in his gritty voice. now, the foundation is weak, one more swipe of his meaty girth along the length of your silken slit could have you both in pieces sooner rather than later. youâre both so messy and lazy and gone for each other too. Â
even through the exhausted haze coasting over his mind like a veil of fog rolling down a hill â katsuki notices. he picks up on the way your hips shift, pressing down harder on him, how your breath hitches as the waist band of his pants rubs the backs of your thighs raw. you work so hard to chase that high, he canât help but smile sleepily with pride. âthat feel good for you? yeah? when i rub my dick against this cute little clit, just like this.â he chuckles with a low and dangerous rasp, barely there. his fingers too, just ghosting over your supple hips, guiding you where heâs too tired to thrust up.
you nod meekly into the crook of his neck, bite down on golden skin to hide your needy mewls.Â
âoh i know. take it, sweetness. lose yourself on me.â whilst katsukiâs hands grow sweaty on your skin, hot and heavy where they stop you from pulling too far off him. creamy strands of your arousal form a thick froth between your thighs, smeared over your pretty pussy and your boyfriendâs aching cock â sending notes of sex into the calm, cosy air.
his ruined ruby eyes barely open, tiredly and languidly sloping downwards from the angelic twist of your face in ecstasy to the ever growing glisten of your thighs. this must really be love, bakugou thinks, to have his girl so desperate for him that sheâd give him a pussyjob on the spot while he rests. without really being able to resist, two of his thick digits sneak towards your swollen, puffy folds to spread them and he lets out a shattered simper at the sight of your sweet hole pushing out fat droplets of your own nectar.
jesus, the blonde could drop dead right here and he wouldnât even be mad.
âo-oh fuck. suki, suki!â you pant out, sighing like a dream. the coil building deep within winds itself tight, like tying a knot before you set something free. youâre sure bakugou knows before you do, whatâs about to hit and drown out the wonders of the world outside. you reckon he can smell it, the taste of your orgasm hanging in the air, especially when he inhales the waves of lust radiating from your skin â licking his lips.Â
you grind against him with more passion, faster and faster until the couch squeals from the feverish force. all of your muscles begin to tense, contrasting with the violent way in which you tremble above him, but you canât focus on the pain that stings in your pelvis from your movements â you can only think about how good the two of you will feel once you tumble over the edge. not even your clothes, soiled and waterlogged with a lewd concoction of your shared arousals can slow you down. not even the deep cut of your tangled panties against your inner thigh will stop you from pushing onwards.Â
all that matters is the magnetic push and pull between your bodies, the back and forth of a thick throbbing cock against your milky mound. the prominent veins catch on the most sensitive parts of you and like a hook, line and sinker â youâre both dragged closer towards your peaks. if he werenât so tired, youâd get him to fill you to the brim â cream your cunt for as long as heâd last, but right now youâll settle for the opaque white stain that spreads over your sex. the precum that beads between your pussy lips work every buck of your hips, that now start to lose their rhythm.Â
âfuck, baby,â bakugou swears beneath you, skin flashing with a heated red hue. he blushes hard as you wreck him, head cocked to those and golden locks spread out against the headrest of the couch. âdo you know how much i love you like this? love you onâtopâa me, needing me. taking it like a good girl, helping me relax.â his glows under ambient living room light, body coated in a layer of perspiration as the blonde uses the last of his energy to match your pace.Â
large arms lock around your back, holding you closer to his molten hot chest than physically possible and eliminating any space between you. katsuki groans low and sexy, sending a crack of dopamine through your system like an electric shock, and strokes his girth over your core, drowned out by your slick. neither of you stop now, a stoneâs throw away from pent up bliss that you both know is about to burst into the real world. pop your little bubble and pocket of the universe.
âsuki, donât think i can hold it,â with your hips rocking fluidly, akin to a rushing river, your boyfriend helps you with the final push â letting the pad of his thumb roughly graze the painfully hard nub kept safe between your parted folds. you grind against his fingers wildly, staining it with your viscous essence until his entire palm is practically covered in you. a teaser for your orgasm thatâs about to break the surface. âplease donât make me hold it.âÂ
usually he would, usually heâd drag you on for hours until sex felt like loving torture, but tonight, katsuki wants to see you break â watch what youâve earned from having your way with him. ânever. let go for me, sweetness. show me how much you needed this. make yourself cum for me,â he shakes his head once, craning his head down to pull you into a sloppy kiss â tongue melding with your own, spit pushed into your mouth lazily in a way that contrasts with the heavy snap of his hips upwards, length pulsing right where you need him. âoooh, good girl. iâve got you. thatâs right, make a mess. ruin me for everybody else.âÂ
âh-hah. s-suki!âÂ
thatâs all you need, really.Â
whatever nasty, crude opaque white that had bubbled up against your spasming entrance ( a blend of precum and your juices ) is quickly washed away by the flash flood of your high. leaving a loose milky streak along the length of bakugouâs shaft in its wake. the world seems to burn into a kaleidoscope of different colours that make you feel woozy and break you away from reality â when you cum, it spirals down his cock in a viscous stream like molten lava and splashes against your tummies; adding to the mess, making it so much worse.Â
both of your shaky arms hug the blondeâs head â acting like an anchor or a tether to the world. the ropes that had been twisting deep within since the start of all this, unravel at a speed that you can hardly register and youâre rendered a helpless mess of exerted limbs on top of your already tired boyfriend. he doesnât mind that you cry, or squirm, the weight of you and the angelic sounds you make as you fall apart are bakugouâs solace. just what he needed, just what you needed.
you curse, you cry and you heave into his neck, the delicious strain of your vocal cords giving him that one final burst he needs to push towards his own high. âmhm, mhm? keep going for me baby, âm right there. let me use you for a sec,â bakugou snarls out. he rasps without giving a fuck, losing his composure and forgetting what it means to talk. he ruts faster, harder into your ruined cunt with what little strength remains in him, orgasm stacking painfully in his pelvis. âh-holy shit. fuck, youâre so good to me.âÂ
one large hand leaves your hip to cup the back of your neck, not squeezing, but creating enough presence to leave you lightheaded. the explosive pro hero drags you into another sloppy, uncoordinated kiss â licking into your mouth to pass what little sanity he has left onto you. âcumminâ sweetheart, gonna paint this pussy with my cream. s-shit,â katsuki coos and curses under his breath, next to every praise that comes to mind and over the crude sound of your sensitive sex slipping over his dick.
every inch slides against your pussy one last time before the blonde finally succumbs â every ache and ounce of tension melts away from his hulking body underneath you as he lets go. he shudders, piping hot spurts of his seed landing hot against your mound as it pulses on him. thereâs too much of it, sloshing your legs and sinking into the couch â some seeping through the shreds of clothing the two of you are somehow still wearing. all the while, katsuki feeds you the passion splayed across the tongue, moaning into your mouth while he cums on your clit and your cunt.Â
he doesnât pull away, even as you both twitch through the aftershocks â grabbing hold of the swollen base of his cock to tap his cum-coated tip against your hole. katsuki chuckles, absolutely drained, as it locks and unlocks around nothing. greedy.Â
âmmmn, love you so much, baby,â he hums, once the ringing in his ear finally stops and the static cracking across his brain finally calms. bakugou clings onto you like you're a life line, only letting you lift your head slightly, just so you can breathe. âfuck, that was so good.âÂ
you stay on top of your boyfriend, satiated and buzzing with adoration â letting your own wave of tiredness work its way through your system. âlove you more,â you bleat back with a tiny yawn, content as you listen to the dull thud of katsukiâs heartbeat whilst it slows. heâs still present, warm, coaxing though sleepy and it makes you feel safe. âthank you for spoiling me.âÂ
âthank you for being a good girl and letting me, your boyfriend affectionately pecks your forehead once, exhaling deep through his nose as if all his worries from the week have been cast away. âeven when youâre too fuckinâ shy to ask.âÂ
âyou were sleepy!â you bite.
he bites back, words slipping into sleepy slurred speech. âyeah, and youâre insatiable. my needy baby,â bakugou murmurs, teasing half heartedly because heâs too busy trying to lock you down on top of him for a nap. âthink makinâ me cum is gonna knock me out though. so câmereâŚâ
âoh my god. shut up. you know i can be needy.âÂ
âfeels good to be needed. so, quit your whininâ and close your eyes," katsuki squeezes you once, as a reminder, letting you itâs safe to want him. no matter what. âfall asleep with me, just like this.âÂ
and from there, you do. tucked up together, albeit, a bit overly warm and sticky, which you just know heâll complain about later but for now â you bask in the afterglow, completely satisfied after taking exactly what you need.
end.
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maybe describing it like that is a little mean. you know that. but really, there's not a better way to describe the way deku dedicates his attention you as anything other than creepy.
it's not like you don't like deku. or that you're completely off-put by it. you always knew there was a part of him that was destined to be lame. even deep into his career with every woman across japan trying to jump his dick, there was something uncharacteristically unfazed about izuku midoriya.
he's been unhinged. it's apart of his appeal. he might smile for the camera and make babies laugh or whatever heroes do - but then he gets to fighting and everything is different. there's something murderous to him. something...off. and admittedly, getting to know him has been nothing short of off-putting. that's part of who he is, part of what makes him so untouchable.
still, you thought he'd be more...plain. vanilla isn't the word. just more simple. and in a way he is, isn't he?
but there's something about him that always borders around obsession and it's something only you ever get to see. he's no virgin, but the way deku acts towards you is nothing short of creepy. it's because it's you that he acts that way, and if you think too deeply about it your stomach twists.
but if you don't, you kind of like it. you like the way deku obsesses over you and only you. like the way he can never touch you slowly when he really wants it. everything is frantic, blood rushing into his face. desperate and open mouth kisses on every feasible inch of your skin.
cock neglected, tucked away and uselessly big in his jeans. always untouched because his hands are occupied with you. he moves like he's trying to memorize the shape of your body, and whines like you're depriving him of water.
he's fast about it. picks you up like you weigh nothing and sets you down wherever is comfortable. he makes it a show, a throaty noise as he rubs his face against your clothed cunt. takes deep breaths that make you want to squirm away, hushed moaning. his tongue takes one long stripe up the seam with your panties on.
and he takes them off but he does it so slowly. stares as the fabric peels away. admires how wet you are with watery eyes, big hands pulling you apart till your clit is stood to attention. he kisses it, and if you were deluding yourself it's romantic.
but really it's so awfully possessive. and you don't hate it, but it makes you wonder just what he's thinking.
when he finally, finally lets himself taste (something he'd held off masochistically) you can hear his moan reverberate through your whole body. "oh, baby," desperate and needy and so fucked out.
he's such a creep about all of it, but there's something enticing about it in the end.
The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.
"Ke-"
"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."
With a huff, you sink back into your chair.
"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."
Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.
"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."
Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-
Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.
Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-
"That's what I wanted to talk about."
Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.
"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.
"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"
Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.
"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."
You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.
"I could be dead in a week."
"You won't be."
"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."
"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."
The character dies much earlier than it usually does.
"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"
"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."
"Fine to touch?" you say.
He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."
Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.
Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.
To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.
"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.
You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.
"Just don't bite me."
Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.
"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.
This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.
It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-
His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.
Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.
"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."
Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--
and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.
That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.
"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"
"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.
"Y-yeah."
"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."
The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--
"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"
The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.
An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.
"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.
"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."
That doesn't make you feel better.
"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."
"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."
"Why are you always so mean t'me, huh?" Yuji asked, even though he knew you couldn't answer, with your jaw all slack and tongue lolling out, drool slipping down your chin.
"You're such a bitch, and I let you be one! Why do I let you!" He's honestly just rambling to himself out loud, manhandling you so your face is in the pillows and your ass is in the air, hands scrabbling at the fabric of his sheets. He's groaning as he scrunches his eyes shut, brows furrowed. It's so hard to stay mad at you when your pussy is clamping down on him like this, like you wanna milk him dry. He leans down so his chest is flushed to your back, pulling you up and into a gentle head lock, face smushed into his thick bicep, like he can't decide what position he wants you in.
"You're always making comments under your breath and they aren't even true! You told Nobara that my dick was small, and you know it isn't. You know that, angel." Oh and you do. You really do, because splitting you open right now and you swear you can feel it in your throat. There's a buldge in your stomach from the size of it and just how deep he is inside. He always manages to go deeper, when he's already balls deep.
"Y-Yuji." You whine out, nails clawing at his forearm as he thrusts up into you, jostling you with each one. "Gonna c-cum." You hiccup tears slipping down your face from the sheer intensity of his movements.
"Say sorry and I'll let you. Don't cry, baby doll, I'll let you cum if you just say sorry, yeah?" And he's so gentle, cooing as he swipes his thumbs under your eyes.
"M'sorry, m'sorry, wont do it again, sorry, m'sorry, Yuji." You babble, hiccuping as your head lolls to the side to rest on his bicep, drool slipping into the crease between his bicep and your cheek.
"There you go, good girl." Yuji smiles, kissing your temple and he reaches a hand down to swipe at your clit while he picks up the speed of his thrusts. "That's all you had to say, yeah? S'not that hard to be nice to your boyfriend, huh?" You nod at his words in agreement, words not working for you at the moment, jaw going slack as you whimper, cumming around his thick cock.
years after the sully family first arrive at the reef, celebration gathers like tide. on the eve of a rite meant to bind you to one another, a recent fight over an unplanned pregnancy still hangs between you and neteyam. he is learning how to choose you without turning duty into armor. you are learning how to stay without forgiving too quickly. becoming is not clean. love is not subtle. some things never change.
word count ⯠6.8k
content + warnings ⯠aged-up characters ; canon-divergent postâthe way of water (neteyam lives duh) ; metkayina!reader ; mentions of pregnancy ; intimacy & making out (non-explicit) ; heavy petting ; emotional reconciliation ; hurt/comfort ; family dynamics ; coming of age ; tsireya x lo'ak cameo (crumbs...) ; tldr perfect goody-two-shoes neteyam knocks you up like right before you're about to mate... oh the scandal of it all...
notes ⯠no i am not dead. this is so funny bc wdym the first fic i actually have the balls to post publicly is randomly fucking james cameron's avatar đđ anyways this fic comes straight from the heart; it's about timing, becoming, and young love growing up without ever growing apart. i listened to another life by sza a lot while writing (dw there is a happy ending i promise). thank you for being gentle with this one <3
Awaâatlu learned celebration the way it learned tideâby degrees, by light, by the slow insistence of bodies moving toward one another. As dusk folded itself into the reef, the village began to bloom: lanterns kindled along the woven walkways, soft as jellyfish drifting on a current; shell-chimes tuned by wind; the first low drumbeats traveling through the planks and into bone. Even the water seemed to gather its glow earlier, as if eager to be noticed.
Inside your familyâs marui, the air was warm with hands and silkweed and the faint, clean bite of sea salt dried into cloth. Ronal moved around you in practiced silence. Her fingers were sure, fastening you into ceremonial woven bands and beadwork that caught the lamplight in brief, bright flashes. She didnât speak of your hips. She didnât look twice at the way the sash sat a fraction looser there, as though it had always belonged that way. She simply tightened a knot, smoothed a line, and let the adjustment exist without naming it.
A necklace lay against your throatâsea stone and pale bone, the centerpiece a small shard that didnât belong to your reef. It was older than the last year of open courtship, older than the last time Neteyam had made a game of confusing you with demon words. You had worn it for so long now that it had become part of you, as natural as the curl of your fingers or the flick of your tail when you were irritated. Ronalâs hands brushed it once, just once, as she checked the lay of the beads, and then moved away without comment. That, too, was a kind of understanding.
Tsireya hovered at the edge of the marui with her own adornments already set, eyes bright, mouth full of questions she wisely didnât ask. When your mother finished, she stepped back and regarded you as if measuring the line between what you had been and what you were becoming.
âGo,â Ronal said simply. âBe seen.â
It wasnât an order, and it wasnât a blessing, but it felt like both.
The moment you stepped outside, the sea met youâcool air, salt, the distant crackle of firepits beginning their work. The walkways underfoot thrummed faintly with movement. Somewhere, a group of children laughed too loudly and then hushed as an elder passed. The night had already decided it would be watched.
Your sister slipped her hand into yours as you walked, light and familiar. âYou should be seen,â she murmured, mimicking your motherâs tone with a fondness she couldnât hide.
You rolled your eyes. âI am being seen.â
âNot by who you should be seen by,â she teased, and then, softer, âHe has not slept.â
You didnât let your step falter. You didnât let your throat tighten, either, though something in you tried.
âHow do you know?â you asked, too casually.
Tsireyaâs gaze flicked to your face. âLoâak said so.â
As if his name had been a hook thrown into the water, Loâak appeared from behind a stack of woven baskets, half-hidden and entirely incapable of staying so. He looked like heâd been assigned a task and then abandoned it the moment something more interesting occurred. He grinned when he saw you, as though heâd caught you thinking too loudly.
âYou are out,â he said, then squinted in exaggerated appraisal. âWow. Big night. Big everything.â
âSpeak carefully,â you warned, not unkindly.
Loâakâs grin only sharpened. âI am always careful.â He leaned in and looped an arm around Tsireyaâs neck, dropping his voice as if the village itself might eavesdrop, which it absolutely would. âNeteyam has been pacing around the marui every night like an ilu trapped in shallow water.â
Tsireya covered her mouth to hide her laugh. You didnât. You made your face blank, the way you had learned to do when you were younger and adults spoke in riddles.
Loâakâs eyes slid to you, mischief faltering for half a heartbeat. Then he recovered, because he was Loâak. âHe looks like shit,â he added, too brightly. âDonât tell him I said that.â
You didnât respond. You didnât give him the satisfaction. You only let your gaze travel past him, beyond the busy weave of bodies and lanternlight, toward the center of the festivities, where the fires were taller, and the speeches would happen, and everyone would pretend they werenât watching who stood beside whom.
And then you saw him.
Neteyam stood near the firepit with his parents and yours, the lines of his posture perfectâshoulders squared, chin lifted, smile set exactly where it should be. He spoke when spoken to. He nodded at the right moments. He looked, from a distance, like the eldest son everyone expected him to be: steady, polite, precise. The reefâs light painted soft silver along his cheekbones; firelight warmed the planes of his face. Beads threaded through his hair caught and released the glow with each tilt of his head.
Loâak had said he looked like shit. Lie.
Neteyam looked tiredâshadows under his eyes, a tightness at the corners of his mouthâbut the tiredness only made him like someone who had been awake with a problem he could not solve by sharpening a blade. It made him look raw in the way men rarely allowed themselves to be seen.
Loâak followed your gaze and made a slight sound of triumph. âYeah,â he said, as if heâd found his own confirmation. âLook? I see you doing that thing where you pretend not to care, but your eyesââ
âGo be useful,â you cut in.
He lifted both hands in surrender, a laugh already on his tongue as he backed away. âI am useful. I delivered critical information.â Then his grin tilted toward Tsireya, softened in a way it never bothered to be when it aimed at you. âCome on, Tsireya.â
Tsireyaâs cheeks warmed faintly. She didnât pull away when he hooked his arm around her shoulders. She squeezed your hand once moreâquick, supportiveâand let herself be tugged.
Loâak glanced back over his shoulder with a final, gleeful cruelty. âWell,â he called, voice sing-song, âgood luck with that trapped ilu of yours.â
The village swallowed them, as if drawn away by some new tide.
You kept walking.
The village opened wider around the main firepits, the lanterns brighter here, the air thick with smoke and roasted fish and sweet fruit. Voices overlapped like wavesâgreetings, laughter, the low cadence of elders speaking with purpose. You moved through it as you had your whole life, familiar with the weight of being looked at, familiar with the way people made room without being asked. And then the crowd shifted, subtly, like a changing current, and your gaze found him again as if it had been pulled there.
He had become tall without anyoneâs permission. Taller than he used to be, taller than he had any right to be when you remembered the boy whoâd first stepped onto your reef, all sharp limbs and stiff respect. His body had filled out in the way of men who carried labor and purpose in their muscles, the broadness of his shoulders unmistakable beneath ceremonial adornment. His chest rose and fell, slow and controlled, but you could see the strain at the edgesâan effort to appear untroubled when he was not.
His braidsâlonger now, thickerâfell over his shoulders and down his back, moving when he moved, a quiet kind of violence in how much you noticed. They brushed his collarbones when he turned his head, shifted like water when he laughedâsoft, restrained, perfectly timed laughter at something Tonowari said.
Around his collar hung a necklaceâshell and bone, a piece that did not match his clanâs old style nor yours entirely.
It was yours. Not because you had given it to him in any official wayânothing in your lives had ever been allowed to be official too earlyâbut because you had carved it, once upon a time, and placed it into his hand in the shadow of night like it meant nothing. You had shrugged and told him it took an afternoon. He had pretended to believe you. You had scraped your fingers raw to smooth the edge of the bone. You had waited for a specific fish to shed a tooth you could take without harm. You had spent days walking the shore with an innocent patience, hunting pieces of the reefâs generosity until you could make something worthy of his throat.
He wore it tonight as if it belonged there. As if it had always belonged there.
As if he had never taken it off.
You watched him for a moment too long, and he did not look at you. His eyes were on his father, on Tonowari, on the elders. He was playing his part perfectly. His smile shifted when it needed to. His head bowed in respect at the right times. He stood close enough to his father that their shoulders nearly touched, a line of family drawn in muscle and shadow.
Jakeâs gaze flicked across the crowd and caught on you like a net. His mouth twitchedâalmost a smile, almost not. He leaned slightly toward Neteyam and said something you couldnât hear.
Neteyamâs smile shiftedâtightened, thinned at the edges.
Jakeâs hand clapped his sonâs shoulder, friendly and firm. His voice carried just enough when he turned his head, as if speaking without intending to be overheard was a lie heâd never learned. âThatâs the woman youâre about to mate with,â he said, gaze traveling between you and his son with lazy amusement. âAnd youâre standing all the way over hereâat your own engagement party, mind youâlike youâre afraid sheâll bite you.â
Neteyamâs jaw flexed. He didnât look toward you. He didnât have to. âShe wonât speak to me,â he said, quietly.
Jake made a sound like laughter swallowed. âYeah,â he said, entirely unsurprised. âThat tracks.â
Neteyamâs fingers twitched at his side, then stilled, held in place by discipline so old it was almost instinct. Jake leaned closer, voice dropping, and whatever he said next made something change in Neteyamâs expressionânot the mask, not the posture, but something behind the eyes, something like resolve. Jakeâs hand left his shoulder.
Neteyam finally looked up.
His gaze found you across the firelight like it had been waiting. It landed, held, softened for a heartbeat, and then he turned it away, swallowing something down.
You felt the pull in your ribs like a tide. You hated it. You hated how easily your body still remembered him, how easy it was to want to thread itself through anger. You hated the way the new life under your skin seemed to make your emotions louder, closer to the surface. You hated the way it all made you feel less in control.
You turned before anyone could see the crack.
Tsireya was no longer at your side. You did not look for her. You slipped through the edges of the gathering, away from the firelight and the eyes, toward the darker walkways where lanterns thinned and the seaâs glow began again. The reef had always been where your thoughts became quieter, where the worldâs noise softened enough for you to hear yourself.
Behind you, you felt the shift before you heard itâthe faint change in the air when someone began following, careful, not wanting to draw attention.
Neteyam had learned your home too well.
You kept walking. He kept pace, staying far enough that it could be coincidence, close enough that it wasnât.
The walkways ended and sand began, pale under lanternlight, cool beneath your feet. The water lapped gently at the shore, and the bioluminescence bloomed with each step into the shallows, as if the reef were sowing light for you to carry.
You didnât turn until you were far enough that voices were only a wash behind you, muffled by distance and wind.
Neteyam stopped a few paces away. He stood like a man whoâd been taught his whole life to hold himself steady even when his hands shook.
His adornments were close now, visible in detail: the Metkayina beads woven through his braids, the shellwork at his wrists, the faint patterns of evening paint along his collarbones. Reef-ink marked his arm in patient lines: one softened by time, newer ink still sharp around the edges, both permanent, both earned, marking him as much a man of the clan as any born of the reef. Bone from his old life threaded in among reef materials, not as an intrusion but as a bridge. Becoming made visible, carried on his skin.
You looked at them and felt something ache, sharp and immediate.
âYou should be with your family,â you said, rough, embittered.
Neteyamâs gaze lifted to you, steady. âI am,â he said softly.
You scoffed. âI do not belong to you yet.â
Something flinched in his faceâpain, maybe, or the memory of the last time his words had been wrong.
âI know,â he said. âI am trying to act like it.â
The argument lived between you without being spoken. You saw it again in your mind as if the reef were replaying it for punishment: the moment youâd tried to tell him what the healer had confirmed; the way his expression had gone distant, not from disgust, but from duty snapping into place like armor; the wrong words that had spilled from himâtoo fast, too sharp, too concerned with what it meant for roles and timing and responsibilities. The way your tears had begun before you even felt them, humiliating in how quickly they arrived, betraying you in front of him. The way his face had gone pale, horrified, as if heâd been wounded rather than the one holding the blade. The way his hand had lifted, instinct reaching for you, then frozen midair, fingers splayed like he was afraid of himself.
And then the cold space of three days after: him keeping distance like penance, you refusing to give him the chance to close it. No touch, no words. Only the weight of what had been said and what hadnât, hanging between you like a net you couldnât untangle.
âYou knew,â you said now, quietly. âBefore the healer.â
Neteyam swallowed. His throat worked around something heavy. âI did.â
Your eyes narrowed. âHow?â
He didnât answer directly. He glanced toward your hips, then looked away quickly, as if even seeing you was too intimate. âYou slept deeper,â he said. âYou ate more salt fruit. You did not turn away from my heat at night.â
A pause.
âYour body has a rhythm. I have learned it,â he continued, softer now, âI knew we were not careful. I counted without meaning to.â
His gaze lifted to yours again, earnest and unguarded. âI guessed.â
Then, barely a breath, like a truth he hadnât planned to say aloud:
âI hoped.â
The reef pulsed under your feet, patient.
You let out a short breath. âAnd yet you still looked at me like a problem.â
Neteyamâs jaw tightened. âI looked at myself like a problem.â
You tilted your head. âYou are always doing that.â
A faint, familiar almost-smile tried to pull at his mouth and failed. âI am good at it.â
âYou are good at being perfect,â you corrected, because you needed to hurt him a little, needed the argument to stay alive so you didnât have to feel the tender things beneath it. âLook at you. Standing by the fire pit. Smiling at all the right people. Saying all the right things.â
Neteyamâs gaze held yours, quiet and unflinching. âIs that what you think I am doing?â
âIt is what you do.â
His shoulders rose with a slow inhale. He took a step closer and then stopped, as if remembering how easily closeness could become a weapon.
He lifted his hands, palms open. Not pleading. Offering.
âYou can send me away,â he said. âI will go.â A beat. âYou can tell me to stay farther. I will.â Another beat, softer. âYou can tell me to stop following you like a stray ilu.â
You exhaled sharply despite yourself. âDo not use Loâakâs words.â
âThen stop listening to him,â Neteyam murmured, and for a moment the old mischief flickered through, a spark still alive beneath the new weight in his eyes. It died quickly. âI did not sleep,â he added, as if the truth had been clawing at him for days and he finally let it out.
You didnât soften. Not yet.
âThat is not my concern.â
âIt is,â he said, and thenâvery carefullyâhe let his voice drop, as if lowering it might keep it from shattering. âEverything about me is becoming your concern. That is what terrifies me.â
You stared at him. Firelight was distant now, but the reef painted him in faint blue-green pulses, making the beads in his hair glow like small seeds caught in a net.
âBabyââ
The word left him before he could stop it. Learned, you knew, on his fatherâs kneeâsaid softly to calm, to steady, to reach without force.
Your jaw tightened. âDo not call me that right now.â
He nodded immediately, shame flickering, the habit broken as quickly as it surfaced. âOkay.â
âYou made me cry,â you said, quieter, because the truth did not weaken with reserve.
Neteyamâs throat bobbed. âI know.â
âYou said things likeââ You stopped, because repeating the wrong words felt like putting them back into the world. âYou made it sound like I had trapped you. Like thisââ your hand drifted without meaning to your abdomen, barely there, the smallest motionâ âwas taking something from you.â
Neteyam went still, like something had struck him. His eyes snapped to your hand, then back to your faceâwide, raw, horrified, as if the thought alone tasted wrong in his mouth.
âNo,â he breathed, and the word came out too fast, too sharp, more panic than denial. âNever. Iââ
His throat worked. His jaw clenched, then released, like he was forcing himself not to reach for you again, not to touch when touch had been the mistake.
âI made it sound like that,â he said, and there was something sick in the way he admitted itâlike swallowing a thorn. âAnd I hate myself for it.â His voice lowered, unsteady. âI wasnât thinking you were a burden. I was thinking I was,â he said, and the words came out like a confession heâd been holding in his mouth until it tasted like blood. âI thought⌠I have spent my whole life being the first. The steady one. The one who holds everyone else. And then you said it, and Iââ
His hands flexed. He closed them into fists and then opened them again, forcing himself to be soft.
âI did not know how to be both,â he finished. âDuty and you. I spoke as if they were enemies.â His voice broke on the last word, almost imperceptible, but you heard it.
You should have felt satisfied. You should have felt vindicated.
Instead, you felt tiredâtired in a way that went deeper than the last three days, deeper than the fight itself. Like you were tired of being careful all the time, tired of becoming something you had to earn by bleeding.
âNeteyam,â you said, and your own voice betrayed you with how quietly it said his name.
His gaze dropped, briefly, to the necklace at your throatâthe one he had made you once, long ago, with hands too young and a mission too big. He had disappeared beyond the reefâs comfortable boundaries for it. Youâd found out later, from Tsireya, when the gossip had been sweet rather than cruel. Heâd handed it to you privately as if it were no big deal, like he hadnât risked anything at all. You had pretended you hadnât noticed his scraped knuckles. You had pretended you hadnât wanted to kiss him then.
âI am not asking you to forgive me,â he said. âNot tonight.â His eyes lifted again, unfaltering. âI justââ His voice tightened. âI cannot bear that I was the one who did that to you.â
Your chest ached. The reef glowed around your calves with each shift of your feet.
You searched for something sharp to throw at him to keep from feeling the tender things beneath it, and you found the first thing you had been staring at since the firepit.
âYou lookâŚâ You began, and the insult you meant tangled in your throat when your gaze dragged unwillingly over himâthe clean line of his jaw, the strength in his shoulders, the way his braids moved when the wind touched them, long on his back like something made to be held. He looked rough at the edges from lack of sleep, yes. Shadows under his eyes, a tightness at the corners of his mouth. But the roughness only made him look more real, more grown. He looked like a man who could carry a child on his shoulder as naturally as a weapon and not stumble.
You hated yourself for noticing.
âYou look tired,â you finished weakly, as if that could hurt him.
Neteyamâs mouth twitched. âThat is your attack?â
âDo not push me.â
He didnât laugh. He didnât tease. He only watched you with a quiet understanding that felt more dangerous than any grin.
Then, softly, as if offering you a rope back toward something familiar, âOh,â he said, âYou like my hair.â
Your eyes narrowed. âDo not flatter yourself.â
Neteyamâs gaze stayed steady. âYou are looking at it.â
âI am not.â
âYou are,â he murmured, and you hated how gentle he was about it, how he didnât press the advantage. âIt moves. You always watch when it moves.â
Heat climbed your neck. âYou think very highly of yourself.â
Neteyamâs lips curved, faint, like the ghost of your old game. âOnly around you.â
Silence hung between you, thick with salt and things unspoken. The reef pulsed; the lanterns on the walkway far behind swayed like distant stars.
Neteyam shifted his weight, hands hanging at his sides, not reaching. âTell me what you need,â he said simply. âNot what you think I should want. What you need.â
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
You did not forgive him easily. You did not want to give him that. Not yet.
But you were tired of holding your own distance like a weapon that cut you too.
So you stepped forwardâslow, carefulâand lifted your hand.
Neteyamâs breath caught as your fingers threaded into his braids near his shoulder, the beads cool and smooth under your touch, the strands thicker than you remembered. You tugged gently, not to hurt, only to feel the truth of himâreal, present, yours and not yours.
âSevin, youâreââ he breathed, not teasingâanchoring himself to the sound of you.
Neteyam shuddered as the corners of your fingernails grazed his scalp, a subtle ripple through his body he tried to hide and failed. His eyelids fluttered shut, jaw clenched as if heâd swallowed a sound. The reaction was immediate and honest, and it made something inside you twist with a heat you refused to name.
You watched him, and something in you softened in spite of yourself.
âYou can be so dramatic,â you whispered, because you needed to keep one foot in anger.
Neteyamâs voice came out low, hoarse. âYou are touching my hair.â
âSo?â
His gaze locked onto yours, unguarded for the first time all night. âSo I will do anything you ask.â
The words should have sounded like a line. Like something heâd say in English when you were teenagers to make you blush and sputter.
But he didnât. He said it like truth.
Your thumb brushed the side of his neck. His skin was warm beneath the faint moisture of night air. You could feel his pulse there, fast and heavy.
âYou should be with your family,â you tried again, because you were stubborn even when you were losing.
Neteyam leaned in just enough that his forehead nearly touched yours. âI am,â he breathed. âI am standing with you.â
âAnd her.â he added.
You scoffed, the sound thin. âOh, so now you have decided you want a daughter?â
The corner of his mouth twitched, caught between embarrassment and something dangerously sincere. âI didnât sayââ
âYou didnât have to,â you cut in, even as warmth betrayed you, pooling low in your chest. âYou are already naming things that donât exist yet.â
âI want you,â he said simply. âEverything else comes from that.â
The closeness made your thoughts go quiet. The salt air tasted sharp. The glow around your legs pulsed brighter as you shifted.
You should have pushed him away. You should have made him earn more words.
Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed him.
It wasnât gentle the way it had been when you were younger, when it had always felt like a stolen thing. This was an indulgence taken in full knowledge of the eyes that would watch later, the elders who would talk, the timing that would always have something to say.
Neteyam made a small sound in his throat and then his hands finally rose, slow, carefulâstill afraid of himself, still respectful of your anger. His fingers found you with more confidence than heâd allowed himself three days ago, and you felt the shift in him like the tide turning. One palm slid along the curve of your hip, steady and warm, and his thumb pressed there as if anchoring himself. The other slid up your back beneath beadwork, fingertips grazing skin, tracing Ronalâs knots like he could read them. He pulled you in until there was no space left to argue.
You let him.
You let him because even with anger still alive in you, you trusted him to hold you properly.
You tightened your grip in his braids, drawing him closer, and Neteyam exhaled like heâd been holding his breath for those three days and only now remembered how to let it go. The kiss deepenedânot frantic, not sloppy, but full, claiming, his restraint braided with want until you could not tell where one ended and the other began.
His lips moved with a familiarity that was not new, only newly allowedâfamiliarity that could only have been built in the shadows of marui and on dim walkways when you were both still pretending you were subtle, still pretending you were not already choosing each other. He kissed you like a man who had learned the cost of wrong words and did not intend to make them again.
He guided you back a step into the shallows, careful of your footing, careful of you, the sand cool under your feet, bioluminescence blooming around your ankles as if the reef were laughing quietly at your lack of subtlety. Your free hand found his chestâsolid beneath your palm, the rise and fall of his breath a steady rhythm. You felt the strength there, earned and carried without display.
You shivered, and Neteyamâs arms tightened instinctively, his hand at your hip shifting with the smallest caution that said he remembered, without looking, what lived beneath your skin. His palm brushed your abdomen once, barely, and you felt a pause in himâso slight it could have been imagined, so subtle no one would have called it anything at allâbut it was there: a stillness, a reverent flicker, a moment where the reefâs glow seemed to gather.
Your leg hitched up without your permission, knee bending to hook against his hip as you rose into him, closing the last sliver of distance your pride had been trying to keep. The movement made the beads at your hips click softly, and drew a sharp inhale from Neteyam, surprise and something darker flickering through him. His grip at your waist tightened instantlyânot rough, not carelessâjust firm enough to hold you steady as the tide lapped and the sand shifted underfoot. His hand slid down the back of your thigh and lifted, supporting the hitch without looking, without thinking. Like practice, fingers splayed wide, firm, confident under your thigh.
Neteyam pulled back just enough for his breath to hit yours. His eyes looked darker in the lanternless glow, the reef painting him in soft pulses. He swallowed, gaze dropping briefly, not to your hips this time, but to your throatâyour necklaceâbefore lifting again.
His thumb brushed the bone centerpiece at your collarbone, a gesture so intimate it felt like an oath. You felt his fingers trembleânot with fear, but with something else: a fierce, quiet joy that he didnât know how to hold without showing it.
You could feel how he held himself now, not just as a warrior, not just as a son, but as someone learning the shape of a new duty that did not erase the old ones. It did something to you, made anger feel like a thin shell over something softer. And beneath the anger that still lived in youâbeneath the pride, beneath the sharpnessâyou felt it: the way his touch made you believe he would hold what you were carrying with the same steady hands he held everything else.
Neteyamâs mouth turned to your jaw, then dipped lower, to the sensitive hollow beneath your ear. He kissed there onceâtesting, deliberateâthen again, slower, his lips lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.
You felt his teeth graze the faintest edge of skin, not biting, only contemplating. He pulled back just enough for his voice to reach you, low and rough with restraint. âTell me not to,â he murmured, mouth hovering at your pulse.
Your fingers tightened in his braids, tugging without meaning to. Neteyamâs eyes fluttered at the pull.
You forced your voice to stay sharp. âDo not get ahead of yourself.â
His lips brushed your skin again, a kiss like a threat softened into devotion. âNot tonight.â
âYouâre already marked,â he said quietly, and the word didnât feel dirty. He lifted his chin slightly, gaze flicking to the necklace at your throat, then to the bone shard resting against your collarbone like a promise. âYou wear me.â
You tried for sharpness and found none. âYou wear me too.â
A low sound rumbled in his chestâpleasure, relief, something deeper than bothâand you felt, with a sudden clarity, that he liked this: the fact that his rebellion had once been words and secret keepsakes and clandestine kisses by the shore and now had become flesh.
He didnât say it. He didnât have to.
You let your fingers slide deeper into his braids, nearer to the root as your lips chased his yet again, and Neteyamâs breath stuttered. The reaction was honest again, and it sparked a heat in your chest that had nothing to do with anger.
Your other leg nearly lifted tooâyour body trying to climb into him entirelyâbut he anchored you with a quiet firmness, grounding you, keeping you steady even as he pulled you closer. Your hooked knee slid slightly along his hip as the tide cooled your calf, and Neteyam adjusted instantly, shifting his stance so the sand wouldnât steal your footing. He did it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had done it a hundred times in the dark.
âEasy,â he murmured, low. âIâve got you, baby.â
The word landed warm and certain, like his hands all over you had always been meant to be. Your breath left you in a rush you did not bother to hide.
The drums behind you rose, steady and patient, like a reminder that time did not stop for anyone.
A footstep sounded behind you on the sand.
Lighter. Quick. Not cautious in the way an adult would be. The kind of step that did not ask permission of the night.
You broke apart, both of you turning too quickly, like children caught stealing fruit, Neteyamâs arms loosening but not leaving you.
A figure stood at the edge of the shallowsâa familiar silhouette, hesitating between retreat and curiosity. For one humiliating second, you thought it might be your father. Or your mother. Or Eywa herself deciding to personally witness the mess.
Tukâtirey.
Not little Tuk anymore. Not the wide-eyed child who used to cling to her motherâs side. This Tuk carried herself with the sharp, bright confidence of adolescenceâsame age Neteyam had been when he first arrived at the reef, same hungry curiosity Loâakâs eyes had bore at that age. She stood with her arms folded and one hip cocked, her posture too sure for someone who had no business being out here alone.
For one long second, she stared at you both like you were a new kind of fish.
âOhhh,â She whispered, very calmly, and there was far too much satisfaction in it, âWow.â
âTuk,â Neteyam said, voice strained.
Tukâs grin widened. âSo this is why youâve been flitting around every night,â she said, then flicked her gaze to you. âAnd why youâve been disappearing.â
âGo,â Your jaw tightened. âYou should be at the party.â
Tuk waved a hand. âI was. And then I saw you leave.â Her eyes glittered. âYou looked like you were going to bite someone.â
Neteyam made a sound like a groan swallowed. âYou followed her.â
Tuk lifted her brows. âYou did too.â
The reef pulsed as if laughing.
Neteyam rubbed a hand over his face. âTukââ
She pointed at him. âDonât âTukâ me like Iâm eight years old.â Then she pointed at you. âSo, is it true that youâre⌠that he got youâŚâ
Your stomach dropped.
Tukâs eyes widened in delight at your expression. âOh, it is true,â she breathed, almost conversational, and the words hit the night like thrown shells. Her eyes moved between you and Neteyam again, bright with the thrill of naming what everyone pretended not to. âEveryone is whispering. They say youâre basically already mated.â
You looked at Neteyam and felt the absurdity bloomâsoft, bitter, almost sweet. The stakes were different now. In three days, you would stand before Eywa and make it official. Everyone already watched you like it was inevitable.
And stillâstillâhere you were, in the shallows like the night belonged to you, leaving your posts to be caught by a teenager who would absolutely report back.
You exhaled and leaned closer to Neteyam, voice low. âSheâs going to tell on us.â
Tukâs grin sharpened. âOh, youâre whispering,â she said, delighted. She stepped closer, stopping just outside the glow at your feet, deliberately keeping her distance like she was pretending to be respectful while clearly savoring every second. âShould I tell her mother first? Or our mother, huh Neteyam?â
Neteyamâs ears reddened further. âTuk.â
Tukâs grin sharpened. âAnd they say youâre fighting,â she added, because of course sheâd heard that too. âIs that why he looks like he got dragged through the shallows?â
You made your voice flat. âTukâtirey.â
She blinked at the full name, the way teenagers always did when adults used it. Then she smiled again, because she had inherited stubbornness like a birthright.
âYes?â
You glanced at Neteyamâs necklace, at yours. You glanced at the reef glow around your feet, at the lanterns swaying far behind. Becoming had never been clean. It had always been messy and public and slow.
Tukâs eyes flicked between you and him, and for the first time, her grin softened into something more curious, almost careful. âAre you two⌠okay?â she asked, and the question landed heavier than her teasing. Adolescence had given her sharpness, but it had also given her instincts.
You didnât answer right away.
Neteyam didnât either.
Tuk shifted her weight, watching you both as if she were trying to decide which story this was. She had grown up in a village full of eyes; she knew the difference between gossip and scandal and something that mattered.
Finally, you spoke, voice quiet.
âTell whoever you want,â you said, coolly, and felt Neteyamâs gaze snap to you in surprise. âBut if you run to your mother with a story, you will also tell her why we are here.â
Tuk paused, eyes narrowing as her mind racedâcalculating. She looked at Neteyam, then at you, then at your hands at the nape of his neck, at his around your waist, then back again.
Neteyam stared at you as if you had just drawn a knife and placed it on the table.
Tukâs voice lowered into something conspiratorial. âWhy are you here?â
Neteyamâs jaw flexed.
You held Tukâs gaze, steady. âGo back to the fire,â you repeated, gentler this time. âIt is late.â
Tuk looked between you again, sensing the shift in the air. She didnât have words for the fight that lived between you. She didnât know about the tears that had bubbled up degradingly, about the way Neteyam had gone pale like he was afraid of himself. But at her age, she now knew tension the way fish knew current. She could feel something sharp under the sweetness.
Her grin softened into something more curious, almost tender. âOkay,â she said slowly. Then she brightened again, because she couldnât help herself. âHave fun!â
Neteyam groaned. âEywa, help me.â
âDonât come back looking too⌠obvious.â Tuk giggled and backed away, already turning, already running toward the lanterns like she was carrying a secret that might burn her hands if she held it too long. âIt will ruin the night!â
When she was gone, the night fell quiet again, but it was a different quiet nowâwider, as if the world had exhaled and decided to let you be kids again for a moment.
Neteyamâs forehead dropped to yours, a shaky laugh leaving him that didnât sound like laughter at all. âWe are not subtle, sevin,â he murmured.
âYou are not subtle,â you corrected automatically.
He hummed lowly. His hands stayed on you, careful and solid.
You did not melt, not fully. You let the anger remain as a line between you because you needed him to remember it.
âYou hurt me,â you said quietly.
Neteyam closed his eyes. âI know.â
âAnd you do not get to fix it withââ Your gaze flicked to his mouth, betraying you, and you hated yourself for it.
Neteyamâs eyes opened, catching the movement. He didnât smile. He didnât tease. He only nodded, accepting the terms of whatever messy peace you could offer tonight.
âI will fix it with time,â he said. âAnd with being better.â A pause. âI am becoming better.â
The word settled in the space between you. Becoming. Not a moment. A process. A tide.
You swallowed. The reef pulsed beneath your feet, sowing light around your ankles with each shift, as if it were quietly bearing witness to what was growingâbeneath skin, beneath pride, beneath wrong words.
Far behind, the drums rose again, steady and patient.
Neteyamâs thumb brushed your hand where it still rested in his braids. âDo you want me to go back?â he asked. âTo stand where I am supposed to stand.â
You stared at him, at the necklace at his throat that you had carved with young hands, at the beads in his hair that marked him one of your people, at the way he held himselfâstill the perfect oldest son, still carrying duty like a second spine, but learning, slowly, how to carry you without turning you into a burden.
You did not forgive him easily.
But you did not send him away.
âNo,â you said at last. âStay.â
Neteyamâs breath left him like relief. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to your foreheadânot a kiss meant to be savored, not a kiss that proved anything. A small, quiet thing. A promise made in the dark.
In the distance, the village laughed. Someone called a name. Lanterns swayed.
You and Neteyam stood at the edge of the reef, messy and unfinished, days away from a rite that would make everything official before Eywa. The timing was still imperfect. Much remained unresolved and waiting like a wave you couldnât outrun.
But his hands were steady on you, holding you as if steadiness was something he could give even when he couldnât give answers.
âCome back with me, yawntu,â he said, and it was neither a command nor a request.
You did not move yet. You let the anger live where it belonged. You let the new weight inside you be real without becoming a weapon.
Your fingers brushed, and you told yourself you would pull away. You didnât.
Instead, your hand found his, light at first, as if testing whether the night would object. Neteyamâs fingers closed around yours slowly, deliberatelyâgiving you time to change your mind. When you didnât, his thumb settled against your knuckle, warm and familiar.
The sound of the village drifted closer again as you took your first stepâlaughter cresting and falling, the steady insistence of drums that did not care whether hearts were mended or not. Time, as always, kept moving.
You squeezed his hand once, not looking at him.
âLetâs go,â you said.
He went with you, matching your pace without crowding it, like he had at long last learned how to walk beside you instead of ahead.
You were older now. Wiser. Almost official.
And stillâyour fingers fit his the same way they always had.
Some things never change.
notes ⯠if you liked this, go read my new fic, SAFE IN YOUR SKIN! i didnât write it with the intention of connecting it the this ficâs world but now that i think about it, it actually works perfectly as a prequel vignette.
ur sukuna favorite wife blurb has rotted my brain like that is a NEED now
cw: sukuna has multiple wives, a bit of wlw fetishization, degradation
"Why am I your favorite?"
Sukuna doesn't try to deny it. He can't, not when you're tucked into his bed, draped in only the jewels he's gifted you. None of the other wives are even allowed in his bedroom without permission, and yet you're here, just like you are almost every night.
He shrugs his robes from his shoulders and then he's bare, two half hard cocks hanging between his legs. It's been a while since you were frightened by this true form of his, but you can't deny it's monstrous. Four arms, a twisted mouth, a forever grinning maw across his stomach: it's be a horror if it wasn't your husband.
"Does it matter?" His lip curls as he speaks.
"It does to me," you say as you pat the bed beside you. Like a dog summoned, he eagerly crawls forward on to his hands, pulling the sheets down as he approaches.
"Maybe it's because your tits are so suckable."
First, he kisses the string of pearls across your neck and runs his tongue across the diamonds, savoring the salt of your skin on them. Then, he moves to the swell of your tit. His dagger edged teeth nip the skin and a bloom of heat stirs inside you. A bruise is already coming to the surface.
"Mai has bigger breasts than me," you pount out, breathless.
"Your skin is soft," he retorts. His free arms are clutching for you, digging into the fat of your ass.
"Gena is younger. Her skin is much more supple."
"Your cunt is sweet."
"Not as sweet as Lyla's."
Sukuna pauses for a moment, mouth half closed around your nipple. He leans back after a moment, a dark chuckle on his lips.
"Have you been licking the other wives while I've been away?" He leans in like he's angry, but the wicked grin across his face tells a different story. "Whore."
He says the word with such joy. One of his cocks is hard against your inner thigh, twitching to go back inside you, where it belongs. The mouth across his stomach has begun to drool, warm droplets of spit wetting your lower stomach and pubic hair. When you move your thighs, you aren't sure if the slick is from you or from him.
"I've tasted her on your cock, sire." You keen forward for a kiss and he lets you take one, even letting you linger for a moment, "And on your lips."
"I'm tempted to summon her now, just to see you between her legs." Sukuna gathers both cocks in one hand, guiding them towards your core. The thought of stretch to fit both makes you squirm, but his sturdy hands keep you in place, "Her cum in your lips must be a heavenly delight."
"Does that mean she's your favorite now?"
Real anger flashes across his gnarled face. With gritted teeth, he leans back onto his knees to tower about you.
"Woman, you are more hassle..."
He suddenly grips your hair and tugs, dragging your face centimeters from his. He moves your body like it weighs nothing to him, and yet he's careful not to hurt you.
"I will say this once and never again, so listen." Sukuna's eyes are sharp and narrowed, "You are the only wife I love. That is the reason you are my favorite."
Just as suddenly as he grabbed you, he lets you go. Your fall is softened by the mountain of pillows-- all of which bought just for you.
"Now, spread your legs and never ask a stupid question again."
everyone should have a token pussy eater on their roster. a man that wouldnât even dare to take out his cock if all you did was tell him to eat your pussy. a boy thatâs so well behaved he wouldnât even entertain the thought of letting his cock pry you open if the initial goal is to make you cream on his tongue. it should be a god given right, really.
imagine how nice it would be to have an armin or a shoyo willing to drop to his knees so he could push his tongue past your foldsâ sucking on your clit, lapping up your juices as if youâre some sort of summer fruit. a megumi or a yuta eating you out to make an insufferable day just a little bit better.
boys who can cum in their pants by only having his head between your legs as he ruts against the bed. glossy and puffy lips that are slightly parted as he catches his breath. yeah. âĄ
