🏩 "𝑽𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑨," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ nsfw varka's cock is big, as we all assumed, and it just causes a little bulge on his wifey’s abdomen when he's balls deep inside her ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: @/aveli.nnn on insta plz reblog / like 2 support ⠀ ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 0.6k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
#⃝ 𝓦ARNINGS ◦ ₊ㅤ ㅤ﹙ smut p i v sex varka’s huge mentions of breeding reader’s body allows tummy bulges unprotected sex varka’s mean & teases you this mf knows exactly what he’s doing 2 u finger sucking mentions of cunnilingus reader is his wife slight dumbification
໒ִ 𓈒ིྀ ˚ ℳINA'S 𝓝OTES ⫽ ୧ྀ ─ I’m writing this before I go to bed after studying and reciting for so long omfg ⁺ ノ masterlist ◦ ₊
VARKA’s cock pulsed deep inside your pussy, your half lidded, pleasure-drunk eyes meeting his teasing ones.
“You feel me deeeep inside you, yeah?” He spoke in a low deep hum, kneeling on the bed before you, his hips pressed against yours. The room felt hot, sweaty, walls too thin for what you two were doing. Mondstadt saw him as the grandmaster, smiling, perfect, and a little empty headed at times. You were the one who saw past the outer shell, who got to experience him at his most depraved state.
His favourite state; being balls deep in his wife.
You hummed softly in response, naked and sweaty beneath him. Your thighs were aching from the past 20 minutes of “foreplay” which he loves so much. Burying his face between your thighs while striking his cock but edging himself so that he could finish inside your warm, sweet hole.
“I’m not letting any of it go to waste, m’kay?” He had told you, before filling you up repeatedly with his sticky white seed.
His hand shifted from your thigh, warmth spreading to your tummy when his large hand pressed down gently. Eliciting a soft moan from you, your hands clawing into the silk sheets, curling your toes and squirming. As if you weren’t already on edge. “Mmm… s-stoppp.. don’t press there,” you whined, left eye closed from the twitching pleasure.
“No?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking, before lifting his hand obediently and staring at your abdomen. “S’hard not to… can see my cock bulging from inside your cute belly,” he hummed lowly, hips slowly pulling back.
It’s almost like you could feel what he was about to do, already watching your back and holding on a breath. His hips slamming forward, knocking the air out of you, a loud moan passing unfiltered through your soft lips. “Fuck… you sound good with me in you, you look incredibly good with me inside you, you smell so good when I’m in you… wanna marry me, doll?” He breathed out, his hand moving from above your abdomen to grab your chin.
“We’re already marriedddd.. stop talking and just fuck me..”
He chuckled, moving to push his index and middle finger into your mouth. “Don’t even need to ask twice…” he grinned, eyes half lidded with blissful pleasure. He blinked, watching you instinctively suck on his fingers with muffled soft moans, before he pulled his hand back, pushing your thighs down against your chest again. Lifting his hips, and slamming back into your again.
Plap. Plap. Plap.
Your breathing had quickened, your head lolling to the side, moaning out loud between every thrust. The room was loud and lewd. A fwop here and a shlorp there. “A-ah.. ah… mmh..!” You moaned out for him, mouth agape, eyes squeezed shut. While he was groaning shamelessly and moving his hips with a desperate pace.
“F-fuck yeah… you love this, don’t you?” He chuckled between his own gasps at your mindless nodding, “love being fucked dumb by me,” he punctuated dumb with a sharper thrust, pressing the gummy head of his cock against your cervix. Before focusing on the quicker, more shallow thrusts.
His pace quickened when he felt the tingle at the back of his spine, that euphoric sensation buzzing through him, before he stuttered and slammed against your hips for the last time.
Cum spurted from the tip of his cock, painting your walls in his warm white seed again. Filling you up for the nth time that night. His body blanketing yours in a warm hug, kissing the tension and stress away on your face. “Y-yeah.. just… a little more, angel..” he breathed out, muscles tightened and sweating all over. Nose nudging against your cheek.
“Just… a few more rounds, I need to see your tummy all big, whether that be from our babies… or just that cute bulge from my dick.”
his dick is heavy in his hand, flushed and leaking, the head slick as he runs it slowly through the slippery mess between your thighs. your folds are swollen, twitching with every brush of his tip.
his voice is rough when he whispers, “gonna ease it in, baby… s’gonna feel big. you tell me if it’s too much, alright?”
but you’re already nodding, legs spread wide, cunt stretched open and aching for him. the first inch pushes past your entrance and your body clenches around him immediately, sucking him in with a wet, squelching noise that makes his whole body jolt.
“oh—oh, sweetheart…”
his dick is so fat it forces your walls to stretch around him, snug and slippery and tight, and he’s biting his lip hard to keep himself from rutting deeper too fast. the air’s full of heat and moans, your gasps high and breathy while his are low, cracked, almost desperate.
he’s panting into your neck, trembling from restraint as he feeds you more. your pussy gives a sticky noise each time his hips nudge forward, and you can feel the drag of every vein along your inner walls, your muscles fluttering like you’re trying to spit him out but pull him deeper at the same time.
by the time he’s halfway in, your nails are digging into his back and your thighs are starting to shake. there’s a thick pressure deep in your belly, like your body’s being filled too full, and when you glance down, you can see the faint outline of him under your skin, stretching you out from the inside.
“just a lil’ more,” he groans, voice cracked. “you’re taking it—so good, baby, so soft down there, you’re squeezing me real tight…”
you whimper as he finally bottoms out, dick buried to the base, the thick root of it pressed firm against your overstretched entrance. he doesn’t move, breathing hard against your cheek, both of you dizzy from how deep he is.
your cunt pulses around him, dripping mess down onto the hairy base of his cock.
his hand finds your lower belly, palm spreading over that swollen spot where his dick bulges inside you.
“look at that,” he murmurs, in awe. “my sweet girl’s stuffed so full.”
he doesn’t even need to move. just the feeling of being buried inside you for the first time, the sight of your pussy stretched wide around him, your gasping mouth, your fluttering lashes, your slick dripping onto his thighs—it’s all too much.
he grinds in once—just to feel the way you tremble—and you both moan at the same time, breath tangled, filthy and flushed and soaking the bed.
and when he finally pulls back to push in again slow and deep, your whole body arches.
“there you go,” he groans, voice ruined. “that’s it, baby. open up f’me.”
NYX MY DEARIE!! CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MILESTONE WAAH <333!!
It has been such an honour + IMMENSE fun to havs gotten to meet you and to have spent time w you!! I'm unfortunately a bit of a ghost as far as dms are concerned TAT but I really enjoy our convos every time!!
Anyways with that aside– could I (vv predictably) ask for Xiao + sfw + the first time he lets you approach close enough to hug him? <33
like 670 words! unedited im sorry abt the commas i dont have the brainpower to fix them and they are always my achilles heel 😔 assumed to be earlier in timeline (he is still quite worried abt his karma). gn!reader i think. thank u for the congratulations hehe!! and dw abt dms i get it !!
The wind is nice enough tonight, though uncharacteristically cold for Liyue’s summers—he notices. Of course he does. Xiao’s eyes linger on the way you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, how the breeze flutters through thin fabrics and layers intended for much more temperate weather.
“Do you want to go inside?” He asks it softly, like he shouldn’t even be paying attention to your discomfort (even though you both know he is always there, observant, and curious, and caring).
“No, it’s okay!” You wince a little at how quick your response is—betraying your eagerness to spend time with him. Going inside would mean not seeing him for another day or so, considering the distance he always puts between the two of you. He keeps it even now, with his knees tucked beneath his chin as he sits on the railing and turns his gaze back towards the stars. “I’m not that cold.”
Xiao blinks slowly at you before scoffing. “You’ve been shaking for ten minutes.”
You know you can’t deny it. “I am cold,” you admit it with a frown. “I just don’t want to go in yet.”
He regards you for a moment, golden eyes piercing and curious. He’s unreadable in a way that makes you squirm, where his expressions are always neutral and his words don’t allow for you to read into anything. Most of the time you like that—his soft, direct way of communication and his refusal to entertain nonsense. But now it is a bit uncomfortable, where you can’t tell if you’ve ruined the fragile air, where it very might well shatter the moment and make him leave.
“Okay.” It takes a long time for him to say that. Then, he slips off the railing, and your heart sinks. “I’ll have Smiley Yanxiao prepare a porridge tomorrow. So you don’t get sick.”
You smile. “It’s not raining.”
He shrugs. “Humans are rather fragile.”
You think his care is warmer than any breakfast you could be served but you choose not to voice that, instead taking another step towards where he’s paused in the doorway (heading to go deliver that request, you’re sure). “Xiao.”
“Yes?” His voice has softened considerably from earlier, and the warmth wraps around you. He stiffens a little when you step closer again but he doesn’t move, either.
“Can I hug you?” Your voice barely reaches above a whisper, but the way his head tilts and brow furrows tells you he heard it as clearly as if you’d yelled it. “You know… to be less cold.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced by your logic. Though he doesn’t call you out on it, just nods gently—a small, subtle movement that pairs with his arms uncrossing to make room for you. Then: “okay.”
You stifle your grin until you can tuck your head into his neck and snake your arms around his waist. He’s stiff at first underneath you, arms hanging by your sides and exhaling softly when your cold fingers brush the side of his torso and he feels it through the fabric. Hesitantly, he cages you against him, hands loosely meeting over your shoulders and running in slow, soothing movements along the back of your neck and shoulders.
“Are you less cold?” Feeling his chest rumble beneath you with the words is thrilling, so you just nod and press closer.
“I just wanted to hug you, Xiao,” you laugh softly. “I’m not that cold.”
“You feel cold,” he reminds, tracing where the wind left goosebumps on your arm. “You shouldn’t hug me for long. It isn’t good for you.”
Your arms tighten around his waist at that. “Don’t leave yet.” You blink up at him and look at the gentle cast of his lashes and the soft, bewildered part to his mouth as you press even closer. “I’ll take the karma. Let me.”
Xiao shakes his head. “It’s too much for you.”
“It’s too much for you, too,” you whisper. “Just one moment more.” He gives you a lot more.
˙⋆✮ - You met someone online—someone you could talk to behind a screen, someone who understood you a little too well. But who would’ve thought the person on the other side was actually your biggest enemy?
Xiao x fem!Reader Trope - Enemies to lovers, slow burn
Status - started 06/03/26
Warning - swearing, kys jokes, suggestive jokes, characters might not be that accurate, maybe cringe....etc
Note - Hi guys! This is my first smau and English is not my first language so please be kind, I hope you guys would be able to enjoy this as much as I enjoy the process!
this is sooo late but i still wanted to write something for alhaitham just bc i love him so bad :,) happy late birthday/valentines alhaitham u move me deeply
Alhaitham has never been one to celebrate his birthday.
It's not like he thinks it's embarrassing or strange at all; it's just been a long time since it's been anything special. In the deep recesses of his mind, he can remember his mother brushing his hair while he stirs awake in his bed, his father singing a crude opposite of a lullaby.
When the clock strikes twelve, his heart pulls to his grandmother spoiling him with a package in his room, knobby knuckles and wrinkled fingers swaddling over his as she helps him build the new bookshelf for his room.
Alhaitham has never been one to celebrate his birthday, but for some reason, he misses your presence a little extra today.
It's shameful, really, how natural his body craves yours — how instinctively he finds himself on your side of the bed in the morning, how empty his arms feel knowing they can't wrap around yours, how wired his neurons are to responding to the ghost of your laughs and commands.
You come back tomorrow, though.
Not today, tomorrow.
Mondstadt has stolen you away from him for the week of his birthday, valuing your precious research over your charm — they don't know you the way he does, so they have no idea what they took from him.
They couldn't possibly understand the creases in your smile lines, nor could they point out the irony in your sarcasm, so he thinks the Akademiya is downright wicked for scheduling you away from him.
("If they weren't already corrupt before this, they definitely are now." He grumbles under his breath.
"'Haitham," you give him a funny look, "You were literally in charge of it for a little bit."
"And? My point stands.")
That's why it's surprising when a certain smell awakens him from his slumber.
The aroma of grain and vegetables flows through the air, stirring him from his sheets, bleary eyes blinking open to his room. It feels warm in his room, which he supposes could possibly be from the changing weather — from the dusty winds that blow sand in from the desert to the beating sun that's begun to shine that much brighter and earlier — but still, that wouldn't explain the scent of his favorite food outside.
Kaveh can't cook for shit, and he most certainly wouldn't spend his extra Mora for an extravagant meal on him of all people, so who could be outside?
The thought rouses his mind awake, his footsteps past the hallway leading to the common area, drowsy curiosity peaked in his chest and—
He understands now.
You stand in the kitchen, not as some figment of his imagination or the fade in his dreams, but your full physical form. In all your glory, your bags and supplies haphazardly lain on the sofa, wearing one of the shirts he'd given to you to remember him by. Sunlight creeps past the blinds to adorn your cheek, a small curve in your lips as you hum a tune unfamiliar to his ears, the sound of snaps and sizzling coming from the pan you're stirring.
And his heart tightens.
It could never be shameful to love someone like you so arduously. Not when you make it so easy.
His feet move on their own, hitting the spot where the floorboards never really lined up correctly, the creak in the step signaling your attention away from the food to your boyfriend as he gets to you.
“’Haitham, you're awake—?” Your words are cut off when his arms wrap around your body from behind, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the unsteady thump in his chest against your body.
“You're here.” He mumbles against your skin, his face feverish. He can't help but repeat himself. “You're here.”
You laugh, and he squeezes tighter.
“You didn't think I'd miss your birthday, would you?” Your hand reaches up, ruffling through the wisps of his hair, leaning your head on the back of his.
“You told me you'd be gone.”
“It's called a surprise,” you mock him playfully, “Ever had one before?”
Not on his birthday, no.
His grandmother was always too soft to pretend to forget about his birth date — he meant too much to her to even fathom it, even if it ultimately would've been okay. Maybe she left it out on purpose, so he could experience what surprise felt like with you, so his heart could fathom being so utterly whole he thinks his ribs might burst.
The wooden spatula in your hand stirs the concoction, the aroma of beef in the air. He ignores your question, resting his chin on your shoulder, murmuring the question that’s been on his mind since he woke up.
“What are you cooking?”
“Can you guess?”
He can.
Ideal Circumstance, coined by him in jest after a late night at the Akademiya and a craving for Sabz Meat Stew with zero inclination to open a recipe and some clean pans.
All the ingredients are there — lamb sizzles against the open flame, half-cut lemon ready to garnish on the table, parsley, leeks, and cilantro finely chopped and frying in oil. The onions are caramelizing in a slow cooker, and the rice boiling in the pot.
“… My favorite?”
Only Alhaitham would have the hubris to make his favorite dish one that he created — though, to be fair, only Alhaitham would be a good enough cook to transform a soup into a fried bread bowl and keep it tasting good. A teasing pout pulls at your lips, a sing-song lilt in your voice.
“I’m your favorite, though, right?”
His teeth ache.
(He could eat you right now.)
His head tilts towards you, lips coyly brushing against the middle edge of your collarbone. Silently, he bites down — gentle and with barely any pressure, grazing against your skin.
You shiver at the contact, pressing your lips together as he travels up your neck, teeth grazing warm skin, up to your ear to bite against the cartilage. You taste sweet against him — a hint of the fresh wind from Mondstadt on the nape of your neck, sweat from your travels on your flushed jaw.
“Alhaitham …”
A low chuckle escapes his throat, gravelly in his chest as he disconnects his lips from your skin. “Apologies,” he presses one kiss to your cheek before settling his head down on your shoulder again, “I got too excited.”
“Just go and set the table,” you mutter, your voice uneven, “This should be ready in 15 minutes.”
Eventually, he’ll have to let you go, and the time will ebb and flow as it normally does. He’ll set the table, and you’ll portion out the meal; he’ll wash the dishes as you unpack your things, and he’ll wash your hair as you bathe. It’s this small slice of domestic life with you that he’s been dreaming about since you left, and he’s happy to get to it when the easygoing tone in your voice becomes annoyed, but it’s his birthday today, and he thinks he has the right to indulge himself with you just a little bit more.
He responds with the most obnoxious kiss to the crook of your neck he can muster, earning a gasped “Alhaitham!” from you.
He smiles.
It’s been a long time since Alhaitham even remembered his birthday, much less celebrated it. Stuck in the small gap between winter and spring, it was you who brought warmth to the cold — you’re the one who melted the snow and brought rain back to trees devoid of any life.
“I love you.” He whispers.
In between the unbalanced thumps in his heart and his eyelashes fluttering to a close, he hears you say the same thing.
i lowk stole the favorite line from the boothill fic but gang it aint plagiarism if ur copying urself so
synopsis: now that the akasha terminal has been shut down, sumeru city dreams once more. alhaitham has begun dreaming for the first time in over a decade, and all of his dreams always lead back to you
word count. ❤︎ 6.4k words — pls trust it’s not that long just give it a chance for me okay pleaseeeeeee
before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; canon compliant ; yearning alhaitham ; discussions of marriage and weddings ; alhaitham stresses over bringing up proposing to you ; hand jobs ; implied cunnilingus ; wet dreams + male masturbation ; semi mentioned unprotected vaginal sex + creampies ; alhaitham comes in his boxers ; small references to his parents and grandmother ; banter and fluff as always
commentary. ❤︎ my last fic of 2025!! omg 🥹❤️
Alhaitham has recently started dreaming, and they are rather strange dreams, at that.
People in Sumeru were unable to dream not too long ago. Or, at least, the fully grown ones with access to the akasha terminal were unable—and Alhaitham is very much an adult who had full access to said terminal until just a bit ago. He has long been eighteen, which legally dictates his rights as an adult Sumeru citizen with full autonomy, without the need for a guardian. He is also well past the threshold of twenty-one, which, according to extensive, peer-reviewed Akademiya research on brain and body development, marks the official onset of adulthood.
By all measurable standards, he qualifies as an adult, and adults in Sumeru did not dream. They have not for as long as he can remember—and yet, he dreams now. For the first time in over a decade, in fact.
The dream today is pleasant.
He’s warm and content, lying with sunlight filtering through closed curtains and spilling across his face. His breathing stays slow and even, lips parting as if he’s about to speak, though no words come. Only a faint sound slips from him, and it’s barely more than a hum. His fingers twitch once, loosening instead of tightening, and the crease between his brows smooths out entirely. He likes what he is seeing—in fact, it leaves him content enough to relax.
He shifts, just slightly, chasing the feeling as it begins to fade, as his consciousness seems to win over.
And then his dream has faded completely.
He wakes to the feel of your palm on his cheek, warm and gentle as your fingers trace lightly over his skin, grounding him. “Wake up,” you whisper, voice laced with worry. “Are you okay?”
Two teal eyes, kissed with amber, blink open slowly—unfocused, drowsy, and slightly confused until they settle on you.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles, though his voice sounds a little too quiet to be convincing. Though he’s not upset for the reasons you seem to think.
“Nightmare?” you ask. “You were mumbling in your sleep.”
“No,” he groans as he stretches—and then he tugs you close, bringing you flush against him, your cheek pressed into his bare chest. You grin as soon as you settle into his warmth. “Nothing like that. It was a good dream.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t remember,” he says, closing his eyes. “Just that it was good.”
“Was I in it?” you poke his cheek.
He chuckles, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Hm, I don’t know if that would make the dream pleasant. That might just give me a headache instead.”
“So I wasn’t a part of your very good dream?” you gasp. He opens his eyes to glance at you, and he is met with a playful, accusatory glare. “Were you dreaming of other women, then?”
“Now, now,” he pats your back soothingly with the hand that rests at the small of it, “let’s not jump to unnecessary conclusions here. I told you, I don’t recall the dream. It’s hazy—but rest assured, I am not thinking of other women even when I am not in control of my thoughts.”
That is a lie.
Not that you need to know it, of course. But it’s a rather firm lie because Alhaitham remembers his dream very vividly. (Though he was honest about the fact that there were no other women involved—that part was very truthful.)
He does not make a habit of lying to you regularly. In fact, if anything, Alhaitham is honest to a fault. Some people (including you) have taken to letting him know that his honesty could do with a tad bit of softening before it is seen as a blow. But the fact is that he is always honest, and more importantly, he values being honest with you, of all people, above all else.
But this is a very hyper-specific scenario that he has never encountered before, and thus, being honest at this moment would leave him in a bit of a complicated predicament.
Alhaitham has been having dreams, and by no means are they normal dreams.
The first time, it started with a very sweet and endearing dream where he returned home to find you sitting on the couch. He envisioned in his mind the image of himself bringing home zaytun peaches that he happened to catch on his way back as he passed the market. Knowing that they’ve always been your favorite, he decided to be ever the doting boyfriend and bring them back for you.
Except he was not your boyfriend in this dream—at least, this is what he has since then deduced with his ever-so-brilliant mind. The evidence for that is in the fact that you called him dear instead of your usual baby, and you hand-fed him a slice of a peach as you murmured, have you put in your request for that day off next week yet? Our anniversary is getting closer, you know.
Now, that was a very odd detail in his dream, considering your anniversary is nowhere near the time of year when zaytun peaches are in season. Not even close. The only explanation could be that the anniversary had changed (because you now celebrate something different…like perhaps marriage) or because he simply got the date wrong in his mind when he conjured up this scene as he slept. But he chose not to dwell on it when he woke up because dreams are merely a manifestation of images, thoughts, and emotions that pass through the mind during sleep. They are not always accurate because they occur when the mind is not in the same state of consciousness as when it is awake—and any respected member of the Akademiya who has minimal levels of comprehension skills could decipher that from the Akademiya’s research documents from previous studies into dreams (that he has taken his position as Scribe to his advantage to get his hands on).
But then it got weirder.
The second time he dreamt of you, you were wearing a ring. Not just any ring—but his mother’s ring.
Grandmother, when he was younger and still determined to believe she would recover from being ill and stay by his side, had been very resolute in preparing him for when she would be gone. The first thing she had done was hand him his mother’s ring as she explained, this belonged to me before I passed it down to your father so he could propose with it. You don’t have to use it, of course, but do keep it safe for me, won’t you? And do promise me you’ll find a need for a ring one day, even if it’s not this particular one—I won’t rest well knowing you grew old all on your own, you stubborn boy.
His grandmother would have been pleased to know that Alhaitham has always known he would like to get married someday. He never put a lot of effort into seeking out a partner (until he met you, at least) because he was always under the impression that such encounters happen best when they occur naturally, and not with wasted effort by searching for them desperately. But he had always intended to settle down with a lifelong partner by his side—and not just because Grandmother had asked it of him before she passed. It’s because Alhaitham is only human, and even as much as he values his solitude, he knows a thing or two about loneliness and the aches that come alongside it.
So, when you are wearing the exact ring he has always planned to propose to his future partner with—the partner that he has only ever considered being you—in his dream, he is more than a little startled when he wakes up.
He is not startled because the image of you being his wife is a hard pill to swallow. If anything, it’s a rather fantastic sight. He is startled because the idea of making you his wife at the current moment is an idea neither of you has ever really entertained.
Marriage is something he has always resolutely believed was a commitment that would be brought up as a topic once you both were seriously involved with each other, comfortably established in your careers and finances, and properly on the same page about your agreements of what this would legally entail in order to officially merge your lives together on paper and pen. That conversation has not yet taken place, and he had wagered that it would take another year or two before you would get there.
But the third dream is really what shifts his views.
You’re next to him, pen in hand as you sign a certificate, and he follows after. By official Sumeru documentation, you are legally his wife, and he is legally your husband.
At least, that was the case until he woke up.
And Alhaitham has just not been very content with being your boyfriend anymore after such a vivid image in his mind—such a clear and hard-to-forget display of your love and the joy that comes with loving him, too, written all over your face.
How could he forget that?
The answer is that he does not. He does not forget that, and every added dream since has just been more and more vivid moments of sweet, post-marital bliss beside you. And Alhaitham is getting quite sick of being just your boyfriend and not your husband.
So he has to bring up the fact that he would like to be your husband. The only problem with that is that it never ends up being a good time.
Like right now, for example—he could just be honest with you about what he saw in his dream and be brave and broach the topic of marriage with you. He could sit you up, look you in the eye, and say, I’ve been dreaming about a future with you, and I want to make that future a reality because you are worth building a future with.
Instead, he melts into the mattress when your hands rub over his abs, feeling him up before wandering lower and lower and—oh, you’re doing that thing with your nails where you tease and rake them through that patch of hair that starts at his lower belly, right above the waistband of his boxers. He tells himself that it’s your fault for now that he was unable to bring up the topic because how can anyone focus with a touch like that?
“Sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice strained, “it’s too early to be a tease.”
“Being a tease is how I like to start my day,” you pout. “It energizes me.”
“Well, it shaves off years of my life,” he responds through a breathy grumble—and then you decide (after you’ve had a good giggle at his misery, of course) that you’ll be merciful.
Your hand palms over his underwear and rubs along his half-hard cock, making him bury his face into the crook of your neck as his breath turns heavy. It doesn’t take a lot of work on your end to get him fully erect—and maybe he’d be a bit embarrassed by that, but you don’t give him too long to dwell on it before your hand is tuckin into his boxers and freeing his cock from the terrible, confining prison that is the fabric that covers him. He hisses when he feels himself meet the cool air of the morning, and then he tapers off to a soft moan as you gently smear the pre cum at his tip and stroke slowly.
“You’re feeling generous this morning,” he croaks hoarsely.
You grin as you kiss the side of his head and hum, “It’s important that I remind you how lucky you are so you don’t make mistakes you’ll regret. Even in your dreams.”
“I’m not sure that was something we had to ever worry abou—ngh,” he cuts himself off with a grunt as you tighten your grip around him and properly set a pace for your hand to drag along his thick, hardened length. You have touched Alhaitham enough times to know exactly what he likes and how he likes it. How he enjoys it when you fist him quickly along the tip only for a bit before slowing down and taking your time with precise strokes along his entire length, squeezing at the base.
His thighs spread to give you better access as he burrows deeper into your neck, burying his sounds into the crook of your neck while you take your time feeling the throbbing heat of him pressed into your fisted hand. He’s hot. Flushed and sweaty just from this, and the way he cuts himself off from having better access to air when he hides his face into you doesn’t really help.
“Feel good?” you murmur.
“You…you already know that answer,” he pants.
“I like to hear about the fruits of my labor,” you tease, “if you would kindly give me a review.”
“A review?” he asks, mildly amused. He cannot be amused for too long, however, because you give the base of his cock a little squeeze, and he twitches in your hand and makes a sound that borders on a whine. “Fuck,” he moans.
“I’ll take the sound of that as a good sign,” you grin, “but still, a review of my efforts would be insightful, you see. I like to know that I’m meeting your expectations.”
“You are,” he mumbles, his voice breathless and shaky, “b-but…but I’m afraid I can’t say much until we’ve concluded. For research.”
“For research,” you agree.
And then you quicken your pace, and stroke him faster, and he chokes on a strangled groan before planting his feet onto the mattress and bucking his hips up into your fist and meeting your fist. The familiar ache between his legs builds and builds and builds until suddenly, it snaps in the form of a coil in his belly and erupts with a sensation that jolts through every nerve in his body. He spills into your hand, hot and messy ropes of his cum coating both your fist and the muscled, defined expanse of his abs.
You’ve always liked that display. He can tell that your eyes are focused on the mess he’s making on himself without even looking at you, and he’s luckily too busy with being lost in his own pleasure to be disgruntled by your never ending favortism towards always making him feel very shy.
“So,” you murmur, “how was it? Honest review, please.” He’s silent for a moment, and then you giggle as you add, “Or have I tired you out already?”
Just a moment longer, and he’s lifting his head from the safety of your neck, eyeing you with a rather challenged look as he asks, “Is that what you think?”
“Yes,” you nod smugly.
He gives a dry chuckle before detangling himself from you—before you can protest and ask why he’s leaving, he’s already crawled to that familiar place between your legs, lifting the ends of your (his) shirt and revealing your soaked underwear as he spreads your thighs to accommodate him when he licks through the fabric at your folds. You shiver when his nose bumps your clit.
“I have more research to do before I can give any conclusive results,” he murmurs into your cunt, pressing a kiss through the drenched cloth. “I’ll let you know how you’ve met my expectations in a short moment when I see for myself how quickly you can come undone for me.”
Then he expertly tugs your panties down your legs, buries himself between your thighs like he’s done a million times before, and he has long forgotten his dreams because he is too busy thoroughly enjoying his very rewarding reality.
Getting rid of the akasha terminal was the worst decision Alhaitham has ever helped make.
At first, the dreams he started to have as a result of banning the akasha terminal were making him ache for a certain future with you that he can not currently attain before he gathers enough courage to speak to you about, but now his dreams are just torturing him.
They shift without warning.
This time, in his dream, you’re close—closer in a way that he is not unfamiliar with, but a way that still makes his hands shake like it’s his first time. Your arms are wrapped around his neck and tugging him towards you, drawing him in with an ease that makes his thoughts scatter.
Your mouth brushes his.
Once. Twice.
It’s unhurried, but it’s messy—the kind of kiss that lingers just long enough to make his chest feel tight, but is urgent enough to make his pants tighten, too. Except, conveniently, he has already shed his pants in his dreams. The only thing he has to worry about in this scenario is responding to your kiss and tilting his head, tongue pressing against yours, and exploring your mouth. There’s the faintest sound in the back of his throat—a reflexive sound that makes you hum in appreciation at his eagerness.
His body reacts before his mind can catch up to the fact that this is just a dream.
In reality, his brow creases faintly as warmth pools low, right between his thighs in a very distracting manner. The sheets are tangled around his legs as he exhales through parted lips, breath no longer quite as steady as it was a few moments ago. A soft, incoherent murmur slips out—your name, almost, though it dissolves into something unintelligible halfway through.
In the dream, you smile against his mouth at the sound of that murmur.
In the real world, in his bed, his hand twitches briefly by the fabric near his waist before he stills again, clearly uncomfortable by the building ache between his legs, but unwilling to wake. His breathing deepens, uneven now, heat blooming beneath his skin everywhere in a rather frustrating way.
Fuck me, Haitham, you plead in his mind, fuck me like it’s your first time fucking your wife. And he does. In the vivid little scene running in his sleep-hazed mind, he is pressing into your slick cunt and feeling your walls hug tightly around his aching cock. He is feeling you squeeze and flutter around him as he rolls his hips and chases that familiar friction from his length sliding along your warm walls.
And that apparently is what he is feeling in his reality, too, because his hand is mirroring that friction with movement that is in sync with every thrust in his imagination. It’s a much less satisfying version of things—his hand palming his cock through his underwear is hardly comparable to the pleasure-filled haven that is your cunt. But he is lucky enough to be unconscious to actually make the comparison.
And then he falls apart—both in his dream and his reality. One second, he’s kissing you deeply as you gasp his name and he groans yours, spilling his seed into that perfect little pussy that he gets to fuck all to himself…and then the next second, he’s twitching his hips to rut into his own hand as he soils his boxers with his release.
His eyes blink open, bleary and tired and incoherent as he tries to gather his surroundings. He looks down, takes a glance at his hand, stares at his own mess as he gathers his thoughts, and comes to the realization of what has taken place as soon as his sharp mind puts together all the scattered pieces.
Fuck.
He has to find a way to stop this nonsense. Dreaming of fucking you on your honeymoon has to be the most pathetic low he’s ever sunken to—a cowardly low, even. If he cannot bring himself to have this very important discussion with you about where he wants to take your relationship, then he does not earn himself the right to picture you in such intimate and explicit ways and then…get off to them.
He rubs his good hand over his face before he pauses, and his blood runs cold.
If that was a dream…and he’s very much awake in bed—a bed he shares with you—then…
His head snaps toward your side of the mattress. It’s empty.
His heart squeezes with relief and drops with panic all at once—he wasn’t aware that was even possible. By the end of this, he might have to see a cardiologist if he manages to survive this heart attack, and he’s suddenly most grateful for Sumeru’s free healthcare. The idea of you noticing that he’s had a salacious dream about you would certainly be one form of torture, but the idea of having you notice that he’s come in his underwear from a salacious dream about you would be downright cruel and unusual punishment, and he would really, really prefer it if you weren’t here to notice that.
Thankfully, by the grace of the Dendro Archon, you are not.
And that part confuses him greatly, because he doesn’t hear you in the kitchen making breakfast, nor in the living room, conversing with Kaveh. He tiredly sits up, blinking against the lingering haze of sleep, and scans the room before his eyes land on a piece of folded parchment resting neatly on his nightstand.
He reaches for it, and the handwriting is unmistakably yours as he unfolds it.
Ran to the market real quick! I didn’t want to wake you—you looked too cute and peaceful. I’ll be back soon. I just want to grab a couple of things to make you your favorite for breakfast.
Love you ♡
He exhales slowly, shoulders dropping as the tension eases out of him all at once.
Relief settles in his chest, followed almost immediately by something softer. Affection. Fondness. The heart-fluttering knowledge that you thought of him first thing in the morning, and that you’d gone out of your way just to do something nice. For him.
Alhaitham slumps back to sink into the mattress, staring at the note in his hand longer than necessary. He has never wanted to marry you so badly in his life—which is saying something because marrying you has been the only thing on his mind for weeks now.
Today, he thinks determined, he will have this conversation with you. He tries to ignore that heavy, sinking feeling at the bottom of his stomach.
Alhaitham knows you love him. Some might even make the mistake of thinking that you love him more than he loves you (which he thinks is impossible—he has certainly fallen first, and harder) because you are so easily outward with your affections for him. You touch him so effortlessly, grabbing his hand and rubbing his arm and wrapping yourself around him like it’s second nature to mold into him. You lean up and press chaste but sweet kisses into his cheek and jaw, and make it seem like it’s nothing. You are not shy about loving him—careful to keep it professional and respectable under the public eye, yes, but never secretive.
It is common knowledge to anyone that you are head over heels for him, and to doubt it himself would be to discredit the carefully built love that you have nurtured in your heart and gifted him. He would never doubt your affections.
But he can certainly doubt himself.
Alhaitham is not an easy man to love. He knows that. He knows he can be terribly stubborn on his beliefs and blunt with his words, and in the past, he knows he has not always been the easiest person to rely on as a friend. He can only imagine what having him as a partner is like. He can only imagine how much patience and grace you’ve afforded him, and wonders if he, of all people, is worth all that effort.
Perhaps right now, when you are two people who are living separate lives side by side under the same roof, entangled by proximity and affection, you will say he is worth it. You will say he is worth it now because you are not caged to his imperfections and forced to accept them, and you can realize later down the line that he was always an inevitable mistake. But perhaps…if he asks you to consider marrying him, and you truly ponder on the weight of that, you will decide something else.
If you marry him, your life will bleed into his.
He’ll add your name to his property, and this house will also be yours in the documents and not just in his heart. You’ll take his last name and become his family in the records. You’ll be able to make decisions on his behalf if he’s ever lying on a hospital bed due to heart failure from one of your ridiculous stunts (you’ve had many of those, and he feels it’s only a matter of time).
If you marry him, your life and his will no longer be two parallel lines that are as close to each other as possible without touching—instead, you’ll merge like a forked road that finally becomes one. And maybe you’ll realize that maybe you are caged, and maybe it’s all a greater deal of nonsense than it’s worth to put up with someone like him and all his imperfections.
And he would never blame you. The reality is, Alhaitham could never find it in himself to blame you for being so practical. If you told him today that you could never see yourself marrying him, then he would never blame you.
You’re being a jerk, his heart screams, she’s put up with you long enough, hasn’t she? She’d never stay this long if she didn’t think you were worth it. Have faith.
You’ve always been a jerk, his mind argues, and she’ll finally wake up and realize it when you hit her with something as serious as marriage. Be realistic.
Before he can dwell on it any longer, the front door opens, and your cheery little voice that lights up his whole world calls out, “Haitham, come quick! You’ll never believe it! Someone from Inazuma had a stall at the market today! You have to see all the things I got—they were such a steal!”
He snorts, smiling fondly to himself.
And just like that, his heart and mind stop arguing and come to one undeniable agreement: he is hopelessly in love with you…and your likely terrible sense of what constitutes a good deal.
Alhaitham knows he is acting strange, and worse—he knows he’s worrying you.
For starters, he kisses you long and hard in the doorway when you come home from the market. A lingering kiss from him isn’t entirely out of character, but typically, he defaults to at least scrutinizing your total mora spending before kissing your lips senseless against the doorframe. This time, he doesn’t even glance at the bags in your hands. He simply cups your face and kisses you like he needs to remind himself that you are real.
You’ve been worried about him lately—he knows you’re perceptive enough to have pieced it together by now that something has been on his mind. The vivid dreams have been leaving him disoriented some mornings, and he hasn’t done a particularly good job of hiding it. He drifts, stares off into nothing, goes quiet in a way that’s different from his usual contemplative silence. Ever since the akasha terminal was dismantled, Sumeru City has been collectively adjusting to the unfamiliar reality of dreaming—of remembering these dreams, and feeling them linger. He’d hoped that this shared discomfort would be enough to reassure you that he wasn’t an anomaly.
But after that kiss, he sees it plainly in your expression—the concern is only worsening. And that decides it. He will not delay this conversation any longer. Not if his silence is costing you peace of mind, and not if his cowardice is turning into something that hurts you.
“Sit with me,” he says quietly, setting your bags aside before you can protest.
You follow him as he pulls you to your bedroom, brows faintly knit together the entire walk there. When you both settle down, he sits close—close enough that your knees brush, and close enough that you can feel the tension radiating off him. He folds his hands together, and there’s a long pause.
Too long. He’s stalling—and Alhaitham never stalls a difficult conversation. He always prefers to have them done and out of the way.
“Haitham,” you murmur gently, “you’re scaring me a little.”
“You don’t have to worry,” he says immediately. “This isn’t a serious matter. Well—it’s a serious topic, of course, but the matter at hand isn’t an emergency, is what I mean.”
“That was not reassuring,” you deadpan.
His lips twitch despite himself, glancing at you fondly. “I’ve been thinking,” he begins, measured and careful, “about the long-term logistics of this relationship.”
You blink. And then your face drops. “...Oh.”
And then he wants to kick himself—what in Teyvat was he thinking? That sounds like an opening to a breakup for anyone who has ears, and you clearly have ears.
“It’s not what you think it is,” he says quickly, “I promise.
You stare at him, a little crestfallen. “Is…is everything okay?”
“No.”
“Oh,” your voice comes out even smaller than before—if that’s even possible, “I…I see.”
He shoots you a look of pure alarm, then sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m trying to say this correctly, and it’s not coming out that way at all.”
You chew your lip, shifting closer. “Okay. Then don’t say it correctly. Just say it how it is.”
He’s silent for a long moment—it’s a tense silence, and it eats away at both of you. Finally, you both break the silence at the same time.
He says: I want to marry you, at the same time that you ask: Do you want to break up?
You pause. He recoils.
And then, he asks you in an incredulous tone, “Why would I ever want to break up with you?”
You ignore him as you breathe, “You want to…get married?
He swallows thickly as he stares down at his hands. “Yes.”
“Like,” you clarify with furrowed brows, “eventual marriage? Or right this instant marriage?”
He snorts quietly. “We can’t plan a wedding right this instant; that would be rather impractical.”
You smile despite yourself. All the earlier worries seem to fade, and there’s a light broken over your face that wasn’t there before. “Okay, that at least makes a little more sense.”
He opens his mouth—then closes it. His jaw tightens, and for the first time since this conversation started, his composure visibly wavers. Your face and tone suggest that you are happy—but…Alhaitham’s mind is a complex thing. It works and works and works things from angles that even he doesn’t always realize he can create.
You seem to sense his unease.
“It’s not that this topic makes no sense,” you explain softly. “But it feels sudden. Not that it’s a bad thing. Just…like I said, it’s sudden, that’s all.”
He swallows. “That’s because I didn’t intend to bring it up yet,” he admits. “But continuing to delay it has started to feel miserable.”
“And why is that?”
“Because…because I’ve realized that I would like to marry you sooner rather than later, unlike I had originally planned, and…that realization has been…persistent.”
You search his face, hand reaching to gently grab his and brush a thumb over his knuckles as you ask, “Persistent how?”
He hesitates, and you can almost just see the moment he caves and decides to stop holding back.
“I have very vivid dreams about you,” he starts. He pauses as soon as he does—that was not a very promising start to this conversation.
You look at him in confusion, blinking as you process the words. “Oh…” you trail off, fighting back a small, amused grin. “That’s…interesting.”
“Not weird ones!” Alhaitham adds quickly. He wants the ground to swallow him whole. Gods, if only it would. Burying him alive might actually be preferable to surviving this moment. “Just…intimate.”
Oh. And somehow, he’s made the situation even worse.
“Ah,” you nod, biting your lip to stifle a giggle, “I see.”
“That’s not what I meant!” he insists quickly.
“Oh, really? Then define intimate,” you raise a brow, giving him a knowing look.
“Intimate as in…not vulgar, okay?” he grumbles.
You snort, and he gives you a rather miserable look as you do. “Haitham, it’s okay if you do—it’s not really something to be ashamed of this late into our relationship,” you say, trying to be reassuring.
It does not feel very reassuring.
He wonders, briefly, if Dendro is powerful enough to split the ground beneath him and open a hole just deep enough to disappear into. He’s very competent at wielding his vision—surely he could make it work if he tried.
Clearing his throat, he exhales shakily. Then, with as steady a voice as he can manage (which is not very steady at all, given that his throat is still hoarse from where this conversation nearly derailed earlier), he speaks up.
“They are not vulgar,” he huffs. He refrains from adding, most of the time, like his mind instantly thinks. “The first one I had…I came home, and you were napping on the couch. I brought zaytun peaches because they’re your favorite. You cut them into slices, and we shared them.”
“Oh. Well, that’s very cute—”
“Just let me finish, please,” he turns to you, a little desperate. You shut your mouth and lift your free hand in surrender. He takes another breath before continuing. “The second one, you were…” He flushes deeply, heat creeping up his neck, “...wearing a ring.”
Your breath stills.
“My mother’s ring was on your finger,” he continues quietly. “And the third, we were signing documents. I’m sure you are intelligent enough to gather the context of this particular dream.”
You don’t say anything. Silence settles between you, heavy enough that it carves a pit into the bottom of his stomach.
“I keep having dreams like that,” he sighs, finally meeting your eyes. “Domestic, mundane ones. A future that is peaceful and easy. And you are always part of that future for me.” He exhales, shoulders tense. “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. I just—now that we can dream again, this is what my mind keeps returning to.”
You stare at him for a moment—and then you smile, and it’s soft, and fond, and suddenly your hands are cupping his cheeks.
“You know, silly,” you murmur gently, “you don’t have to tell me all your personal dreams just to say you’d like to talk about marriage.”
“So,” he says cautiously, “I take it this subject is not an uncomfortable one for you.”
“Why would it be?”
He shrugs. “Maybe you wouldn’t be ready.”
“Then I could just say so and ask you to give me some more time,” you counter.
“Or you’d realize marriage with me is not plausible,” he mumbles quietly.
“And why is that?” You ask, bewildered. He stays silent. For a long, long time, it’s silent until you gently nudge him and repeat, “Why is that, Haitham?”
“Because I am not the easiest person to…” he trails off before deciding on, “getting along with.”
“You are to me,” you smile softly, cupping his cheeks as you turn his face to meet yours. His eyes stare into yours pleadingly—begging you to tell him something that isn’t going to haunt him as a nightmare now that he has the wretched ability to dream. And you do. “Haitham, you’re easy for me, okay? I’m here, and I have been for so long because it’s easy when it’s you. And sure, sometimes things can get hard—but when do they not for anything? That doesn’t mean you’re not easy to be with. You’re the easiest thing I do.”
“That last part has multiple connotations,” he says quietly, giving you a pointed look.
“And now it’s getting hard,” you sigh.
He cracks a slightly smug grin at that. “Another double entendre,” he says, and he dodges the shove you aim for his shoulder before chuckling as he adds, earnestly this time, “but…I do feel better—really. So thank you. And I love you.”
“I love you, too,” you lean your head against his arm. “So can I see the ring?”
“Hm. That depends. Do you promise to say yes if I ask you to marry me in the future?”
You laugh quietly, reaching over to brush a thumb over his cheek as your hand cups his face. “You’re really asking me if I’d say yes?”
“Correct.”
“Haitham, I’d say yes if you asked me right now.”
“There is no need for that,” he says, giving you a flat, unimpressed look. “Please reserve that response for when I’ve planned a proper proposal.”
You giggle and lean in, pressing your forehead to his. “Okay, okay. I’ll be patient. But show me the ring.”
“It’s usually meant to be a surprise—”
“Please,” you whine. “Please, please, please? I’ll die if you don’t let me see it.”
“Unlikely,” he says dryly. But he’s already caving, you can see it as clear as day. He hesitates only a second longer before sighing and slipping his hand into his pocket, drawing out a small box and flipping it open. You choose not to comment on the fact that he carries it around like that so readily, instead focusing on admiring it. It’s a beautiful ring—your breath hitches just from looking at it. He places it in your palm carefully, letting you get a better look.
“Oh,” you say, and it feels like your heart is in your throat.
“I don’t want an answer,” he says quietly. “Not right now, at least—I’ll give you a proper moment to answer. I only wanted you to know that when I think about the future, whether it’s when I am asleep or awake, you’re always there.”
You sniffle, laughing a watery, shaky little laugh as you murmur, “You know something funny? It sounds like we’ve been dreaming about the same future all this time.”
His eyes widen for a moment before they soften. He chuckles and takes your face in his large, warm hands, cradling your cheeks carefully as he swipes away at the tears in the corner of your eyes. “Always so emotional,” he hums.
“Always so above emotions,” you counter, “who knew you could be so romantic?”
“You did,” he snorts, “aren’t I always romantic with you?”
“Yes,” you breathe—and your fingers tighten around the ring that is carefully kept in your grasp a little. “That, you certainly are.”
so my idea for this fic was like what if alhaitham started dreaming about marriage with his partner after the akasha terminal was banned and he slowly went insane thinking about it from yearning so hard and his partner was just nonchalantly having the same dreams and happily going about their day like yay! what a nice dream!
masterpost / wc: 669. / takes place after episode 5
it wasn't the first time that kunikuzushi took care of you while you were sick.
he had done this plenty of times. after all, you sometimes had moments where you'd neglect your health for your studies, just like today. and whenever that happened, kunikuzushi would always be by your side, taking care of you to the best of his abilities.
no wonder this feels like some sort of deja vu to him.
he hasn't taken care of you for months (a lie; even after you broke up, kunikuzushi would find himself taking care of you all the same). it's sickening how, even after everything, kunikuzushi couldn’t bring himself to stop. call it self-sabotage or whatever the fuck you'd call it, but he just can't bring himself to break out of the habit of caring for you.
then again, you guys decided to stay as friends, right? it was merely implied since neither of you decided to leave the circle you both have now. and things would get messy if one of you left anyway—neither of you wanted that either. especially when it's just because of something personal between you both.
laying you down on his bed, kunikuzushi checked your temperature again.
38.3. you still have a fever. kunikuzushi didn't hesitate and started to prepare the necessary things he'd be needing to speed up your recovery.
-
when kunikuzushi was about to leave his room so that you could rest on your own, he felt a weak grip on his clothes. “kuni…?” you called out to him, your voice a bit hoarse.
“hm?” he hums in reply.
“where are you going?”
“the living room so that you could rest more easily," he says, gently grabbing your hand that held his clothes and laying it down on his bed.
“stay here, please?”
there was a brief pause.
he's probably going to regret this—that’s what kunikuzushi always thinks when he gets faced with these situations. he's probably going to regret this, regretting that he could never say no to you. but if he learned to say no, would he still be able to keep you in his life?
“okay.”
he sits down on the edge of his bed, staring at your features. there's a hint of nostalgia in his eyes; his mind is unintentionally replaying the other times kunikuzushi had to take care of you while you were sick.
after a few minutes of silence, you were already sleeping again. “are you asleep?” he asks the obvious. no answer. he takes this as a chance.
“i hope you know that i don't really mean what i say. i also hope you know that i still push your buttons because i love you. whether it's the same love that we shared back then or not, that's only for me to know," he says, taking advantage of your sleeping state to open up.
he continues, a hand reaching out and starting to play with your hair. “your reason was perfectly understandable. but i wish we didn't end on such good terms.”
“because if we didn't, maybe it would hurt us less.”
a pause. “i remember you asking me back then if it was actually possible to love someone with all your heart. i didn't believe it, of course. but you insisted that it was possible and that it would apply to us soon enough.”
“now? maybe you were right. how ironic that it would only start to apply when we're already over.”
kunikuzushi takes a deep breath. “i never really mean what i say; you of all people should know that by heart. but i do mean it when i say that i miss you. especially when i say that i love you.”
“i know that if you're awake right now, you'd probably call me corny and proceed to playfully roll your eyes at me, but i’m serious. i hope you know that.”
“and i hope that if time allows it, i would still have a chance.”
cw: more drinking (sorry), more profanities too, a kiss somewhere in there (is that really a warning?)
“we leave you alone for one second, and you’re already picking fights.” kazuha scolds kuni as soon as he gets back to their table.
kunikuzushi doesn’t know how you and heizou got to the table as well. but now, you’re all sitting around and playing “spin the bottle”. the game is simple, you spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on has to take a shot.
the bottle stops spinning.
and it lands on you.
“hand it over.” you downed the shot of tequila.
you again.
“i’ll take it.” kuni says. he got glances from the others but they gave him the shot anyway.
lyney spins the bottle, but it lands on you again.
what fuck is up with this bottle? you thought.
“i’ll also—” kuni gets cut off by someone.
“i’ll take it," heizou says.
the tension was getting thicker.
the bottle was spun again, but this time it landed on kuni. you took the shot for him.
one last spin, and it lands on you again.
“me.”
“me.”
both kuni and heizou said it at the same time.
“to kuni.” lyney slides the shot over to him.
“fucking hell, it’ll take me a years to get drunk at this point.” you said, grabbing the bottle from lyney and drinking the remains in seconds. there wasn’t that much left anyway, so you were still good.
“okay, next game! this one is a personal favorite. it’s called king’s cup. each of you will pick out a card, and each card corresponds to an action. kuni, would you mind doing the honors of shuffling our lovely deck?” lyney says.
as soon as kuni stops shuffling the deck, the game starts. “kazuha, you go.”
“three of hearts. three means me. i’ll take two shots, then.” kazuha says, downing the two drinks immediately.
“lynette, you’re up next.”
“nine, rhyme. let’s go with lie.”
“sky.” kazuha replies.
“fly.” lyney’s eyes slowly watch over everyone.
“cry.” you said. kuni looks at you.
“try.” heizou looks at kuni.
“die.” kuni returns the favor.
yanfei was far too busy looking at a certain pigtailed girl in the dancefloor to even notice that it’s her turn. “time’s up, fei. drink up.”
“shit, sorry.” yanfei drank her shot right after.
“kuni, it's your turn.”
“eight, mate.” kunikuzushi says. “pick a drinking buddy.” he already knows who he's gonna pick. “you.” heizou.
“game.” heizou smirked.
the “mates” chugged down another shot of tequila and had a short staring contest. heizou was the first one to look away, leaving kunikuzushi smirking in victory. kuni looks in your direction, only to find you already staring at him.
when it was heizou’s turn, he seemed delighted with the card he got. “queen, question master," he says. “are you single by any chance?” he points at kazuha.
“huh?”
“i’m asking you if you're single.”
“why? aren't you and (name)...” kazuha was confused. very confused.
“what? are you serious? i’m hitting on you for fuck's sake!”
“well, i am. can i have your number by any chance?”
kunikuzushi was left fucking dumbfounded by that. what did this mean? he was apparently jealous over nothing. does this mean he has a chance now?
“my turn," you say. kuni’s eyes shifted towards you immediately. “queen as well, question master.”
“kuni.” a few ‘oohs’ could be heard. “who was the girl you picked up back then at the bus stop near uni?”
“huh?” he didn't process that one immediately.
“wait, what?”
“you heard me, kuni. answer the question.”
kuni took a bit of his time to think about what you were referring to, and now he finally remembers, “that was my cousin.”
“what the fuck? so it wasn't another girl? what about the one you talked about earlier?”
“i don't even know who that was. she said she liked me, but whatever. there was never another girl, but maybe for you there was another guy.” kunikuzushi whispers the last sentence, but you still hear him.
“excuse me? the fuck do you mean another guy when the guy you thought i was with is literally flirting with your best friend? did you even realize they left the table already?” you defended yourself.
kuni raises an eyebrow at you. “but he kept taking your shots?”
“oh, i was just messing with you. you look funny when you're mad, like a pissed off cat," heizou says, kuni curses at him in return.
and kuni drank another shot, now cursing at himself for how stupid he was. you also drank out of frustration over what had just happened.
soon after, you all decided it would be best to go home when lyney finally got himself drunk after hosting the two games earlier. kuni pulls you away from the crowd in an attempt to leave the bar first. after bribing the bouncer, you two stood near the entrance.
“i can't drive. so kazuha is going to take you home. they'll be out in a bit," he says. the others started going out one by one, but kunikuzushi held you by the shoulders before you could leave. “listen to me.”
“by the time you wake up tomorrow, tell me that you love me. tell me that you're finally willing to let me love you the way that you deserve to be loved. tell me you want me.” his face was dangerously getting closer to yours.
“i’ve said this too many times to count, but i love you. i’ll never get tired of saying it because it's true. i love you, (name). always have, and always will. forever and always.”
“kuni, i’m honestly drunk right now, and i don't know shit, but i do know that i love you too.”
“there you go.” he boops your nose. “see you.”
“kiss me before i go?”
“hmm, maybe when you show me that you love me as much as i love you, then sure," he says, starting to walk away from you.
“ah, fuck it.” he turns around and walks back fast.
his lips brushed over yours softly. the kiss was gentle and slow, enough for him to relish the moment and enough for you to taste the alcohol from his lips.
it felt right—perfect, even.
when you got into the car, kuni decided to stay out a bit more late.
and both of you could not wait for tomorrow to come.
extra notes.
i believe this is my cue to not update for the rest of the month /j
masterlist / prev ep / next ep / timestamp doesn't matter
kunikuzushi got up from his seat immediately. luckily, the professor for this class hasn't arrived so attendance isn't noted yet. leaning towards the guy next to him, venti, kunikuzushi asked him a favor. "can you tell our prof that i suddenly got diarrhea? i need to run an errand real quick."
venti, although confused as to the sudden favor, still agreed, and kunikuzushi swiftly made his way to the clinic. it didn't matter to him if he accidentally bumped into others; what matters for him is getting you as fast as possible.
as soon as he arrived, he knocked first before going in. "good afternoon, where are they?" he asks the clinic nurse, trying to catch his breath. she then led kunikuzushi to the bed you were resting in and informed him that you fainted due to a lack of sleep and meals.
"(name), get up," he says in a soft voice—a voice that he only used for you.
"nini?" you replied, your eyes still half-closed and your body slightly turned in his direction.
it was a pang to his chest, but he paid it no mind because he had to get you home. "let's go home, hm? you're burning up here," he says, gently pressing his palm against your forehead and smoothly sweeping some strands of hair out of your face.
"i can't walk; my whole body hurts." you covered your head with the pillow you were lying on. kunikuzushi softly sighs at you. you never really changed after everything, huh?
"come on, i'll give you a piggyback ride, just like the old times."
with you on his back, kunikuzushi made his way to the parking lot, where his car was. but as he was carrying you there, he heard you slightly mumble something.
"nini? don't leave me."
he sighs again and whispers. "you were the one who left me, dummy."
it's been a few minutes since he started the drive to your place. you peacefully slept on the passenger seat when you suddenly got woken up by a bumpy road.
"kuni?" you say, rubbing your eyes a bit.
"hmm? oh, you're awake." kunikuzushi glances at you for a quick moment before he focuses back on the road. "before you ask, i'm taking you home because you got sick."
oh. there was a slight disappointment when you heard him. "can we go to your place instead? your bed is... softer."
kunikuzushi knows he can't say no to you—maybe that's why he couldn't bring himself to disagree with you when you wanted to break up back then.
"fine," he sighs.
"don't you have class today?" you asked him.
"that doesn't matter anymore."
"huh? yes, it does. we're literally exes, so why are you like this?"
"it doesn't matter if you've broken up with me; that doesn't change the fact that i still care for you." tension filled the air as he said those words.
just because we're exes doesn't mean i don't give a fuck about you.
"thank you." you breathed out.
"you should continue resting. we're still gonna drop by a pharmacy." kunikuzushi continues on driving. "i'll argue with you again when you're feeling better," he chuckled.
before you could even realize it, you eventually fell asleep again.
– two researchers confess in the wild | albedo x reader fluff
expeditions with albedo are... interesting. often, he is lost in thought- treading unsteady grounds with ease and crouching down occasionally to satisfy his interests. you're always a few paces behind him. watching for the security of his own steps so you can replicate it for yourself.
you don't talk. not unless he's found something to point out to you that he deems relevant to your research. sometimes it's a naturally occurring phenomenon like a flower; sometimes it's an alchemic test. the point is that during expeditions, he does his own research and you do yours.
seeing him at work, you have to admit that albedo is leagues above you in terms of knowledge. yes, you are fully capable of bearing your own footing, but yours is nothing but a drop of water compared to albedo's ocean.
that has never stopped him from treating you as his equal, however. whenever he speaks to you, he makes sure never to insult your intelligence. most important to him is that you ask when you don't understand; and that's exactly what you do. to him, this is a comfortable relationship- neither too co-dependent nor too detached.
"this is a good place to settle," albedo announces to you as he scans the area. you scan too, taking in the small expanse of open space surrounded by tall, protective trees. there are logs surrounding traces of ashes- telling you that this place has been rested at before. you look up and see the warm evening sky. he's right. it's a cosy place.
"are you sure?" you ask out of courtesy. the only reason he's offering a place to rest, after all, is because you're a human and you need it. "i don't mind going a bit further. i read somewhere that there's an interesting cave past the river right in front- perhaps you'd like to see?"
he turns to you, pauses, and smiles. "i appreciate it, y/n. i would like some time to consolidate my findings, however. we can visit the cave tomorrow." you nod in understanding. "alright."
as you settle down and prepare your items for sleep, you notice albedo sitting on a log- thoughtfully gazing at the horizon peeking between the trees. the sleeping bag in your hands drops with a 'plop' and you straighten it out. once you're satisfied with the placement, you head towards him.
he says nothing when you sit on an adjacent log. it's completely silent- save for the birds' woos and insects' chirps. and yet, the both of you are comfortable. the light silence continues for a while, until the skies are dark and your bones start to get chilly. you let out a cold breath that catches his attention.
"it's getting cold- i'll go start a fire," you tell him, standing up to grab some loose sticks. his acknowledgment is a distracted hum.
you can tell that he's deep in his thoughts while his eyes follow you around. try as you might, his heavy gaze is hard to ignore. "something the matter, albedo? anything i can help with?" you call out while continuing your motions. he blinks.
"this place isn't safe for humans like you." you pause. he must sense your confusion because he continues, "there are too many endangering factors. wild creatures, unpredictable weather, poisonous foods-" and to that you chuckle. for he has had to save you from an unfortunate stomach illness during one of the expeditions- and it's the kind of experience that you can only laugh at in hindsight.
the actual experience, however, was a lot more scary than you'd like to admit.
"y/n!" albedo's voice rang in your ears as you belched out all the contents of your stomach. there was a pungent, acidic smell to it- and an acidic feel. your whole digestive system was burning, and you could not stop puking.
"fuck, fuck, fuck! i knew i shouldn't have let you eat those fruits- i should have known they were poisonous- fuck!" you can't see, but his hands grappled at everything he could reach- his belongings, his notes, his hair; clamorous in finding a way to help.
with one hand gripping your stomach, you reached out to him with the other. you muster whatever breath you could before heaving, "water.." and his noisy panic went into a silent task-mode. after he handed a canteen of water to you, he waited. softly patting your back to soothe what little he could.
your vomiting lasted for a week- although it stopped being so persistent after the first night. the expedition ended early and you rested at home, away from your research and away from albedo. still, you saw him everyday.
busy as he is, the man brought you flowers and gave you fruits for every visit. says he feels guilty even though you insist that the choice to consume was yours. he made sure you were fully healthy before letting you do any work again- and even then, he's still constantly worried for your wellbeing.
"-so i don't think you should continue following me on my expeditions." you drop the loose sticks on top of ash traces and squat down to work a fire up. but your mind continues running. you look at him. "but how about you, bedo?"
he delicately leaves the log and joins you on the ground, arranging the sticks you brought. "i'm synthetic. i'll be alright." you stare at his synthetic hands that carefully shift the pieces of wood. he mentions this often- that he's synthetic; that he's a creation made to explore the world. that once his task is accomplished, an enormous feat as it is, he will have no more purpose to be. you've never been able to sit with that.
"..what does being synthetic mean to you?" you decide to ask as sparks fly from the friction of your rocks. the question, though laced with your own discomforts, is otherwise genuine.
you seem to have stirred something in him, because his eyebrows twitch in a way you've seen when he discovers something unexpected. "it means.. that i can explore the world ungirded. that i can pursue my task of finding the meaning of this world."
you frown. "and after that?"
he frowns. "after i accomplish it, if i were ever to, then i would perish."
you frown harder. "i don't think so."
a fire bursts from your rocks and crackles atop the firewood. albedo's eyebrows lift- a sign of intrigue and curiosity. you look into the teal of his eyes that reflect the flickering fire. he awaits your explanation, patient as he sees your thoughts gather behind your own eyes.
"i think.. you're more than your task," you start, your voice slow and certain. "maybe you see yourself differently, but.." you get warmer as you speak. not only because of the fire, but you notice a new warmth engulfing your heart.
"the albedo i know would bring me flowers and fruits when i was sick. he would panic when i vomited, and end the expedition early. the albedo i know.. worries about the people he cares about, and would protect me and keep me safe from any danger. the albedo i know would help me with a fire even though he's got better things to do."
with every word your smile grows, recalling the feelings of affection that bloomed in your heart with his every action. "you're already so good at your task, i mean- i admire your determination and willingness to go above and beyond- but you're also so good at everything else too."
at this point you're rambling, but you don't mind. because the look on his face is something you wish you could capture to keep forever. his lips are pressed together, twitching ever so slightly as if he was contemplating smiling. there's a bashful tinge in his eyes and on the apples of his cheeks. you take it all in, along with your feelings, and slowly the pieces fit together. you finally realise-
you like him.
"what?"
shit. did you say that out loud?
"i.. yeah," your gaze sheepishly lands on the ground between you. "i like you, albedo."
somehow, you don't feel nervous about your accidental confession. rather, there's a new strength in you to continue working with him- following his expeditions. because you not only have things to learn from the world, but you have much to learn from him. regardless of whether he returns your feelings or not.
from the corner of your eye, you see him slowly reaching out for your hand, gently touching the tips of your fingers. you return your gaze to his. "i.. i've still got a lot to learn about emotions," he states, and you wonder if he's saying that to you or to himself. "but i'd love to learn, not just.. not just for research, but for-" you understand that this may be a leap for him. your fingers curl around his.
"for myself. for you, as well. i think.. i've come to like you, y/n." a small smile graces his lips.
"it may take a while for me to grasp these concepts," he continues in true albedo fashion, "but i trust you to be patient with me. you'll teach me as well, won't you?"
somehow, your heart races at this. the albedo, from whom you've been learning, requesting that you teach him. you, specifically. "you can trust me." you respond with certainty.
for a while, you stay there, fingers gently hovering upon each other as you relish the warmth of the campfire. you wonder where this relationship is headed- and as albedo says, it will take a while. but you've got all the time and dangerous expeditions in the world to explore that, so perhaps you shouldn't worry as much as you think you should.
– scaramouche spends some time with his shy partner | scaramouche x f!reader, soft smut, fluff
the atmosphere in the room is nothing close to obscene. it is light, gentle, playful- one will only find two lovers innocently indulging in their desires. yet, with their kisses and caresses, even an angel would avert its eyes so as to not intrude.
you look up at scaramouche, who has you lying naked on the bed amidst a silk blanket that veils fractions of your body. he sees only your eyes as your forearm drapes over your face in profound embarrassment.
"we've gone through this, y/n," he demands, a soft smile contrasting his twitching eyebrows, "don't cover your face."
you shake your head underneath your arm. this isn't your first time being naked with him. you've done this many a times with your lover, yet each time your heart still flutters at the sight of his lean body.
his lean body. your partner is toned. a hazy line runs down the middle of his tummy, decorating a torso with a waist so small an hourglass would be jealous. his skin was neither too hairy nor bare, and you know that from the past times he's gone waist to waist with you. 'it's almost like cotton', you've thought once before, while his body rubbed against yours in a loving heat of motion.
the memory makes you blush and squirm.
scaramouche chuckles, a teasing lilt in his voice- "what are you thinking about, hmm?"
your eyes met his in a pleading gaze. "nothing," you whisper. and in another sentence, "please..." you beg.
the breath he lets out is shaky and it tickles the arm that hides your lips. he plants a kiss before shifting it from your face to your side. "please, hmm?" his tone is slow, "please what?" there's a genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he doesn't know what you want. but he does. he's done this so many times you could say he's become an expert of your desires. and yet he asks.
you're stubborn, however. with one hand pinned down by your lover, you use the other to gently pinch the skin of his shoulder. "you already know." your pout makes him think that you'll sulk if he pushes on further. part of him wants to see that happen. part of him, specifically the lower part, just wants to feel you already.
"you're lucky i do." and his lips meet yours. once, twice, thrice- slowly increasing in intensity. he weaves his voice into his kisses, humming against your lips. smoothly, he travels down. he kisses your jaw, then your neck, and he spends a lot of time working your neck. it takes a few wet seconds for you to notice his tongue sneaking past his lips to taste your skin.
scaramouche continues down your body and his hands roam about you- steadily losing patience as he approaches your thighs. the breath he lets out is warm, open-mouthed, and shaky. you're wet.
he greets your slit with a peck before sliding his finger up it. and, to tease you, he looks directly into your eyes as he licks it. and when you hastily turn away, he chuckles. "you're too pretty for me, y/n."
the way your body reacts to his words, his fingers and his tongue betrays the shy red of your cheeks- jerking, squirming, shivering. and just as he laps up the juices in between your thighs, he laps up the sight he's beholding of you.
"fuck," his voice is a mumble against your clit, "you're so fucking pretty." and against your will, you moan. he continues. sucking, kitten-licking, breathing in your heat.
your hand finds purchase on his hair- and you find in you the strength to resist pulling it. you just need to touch him. that's all. "scara-", you whimper, and he growls in response. his hand that held your thigh rests on top of your newly placed hand. you feel his tongue swipe up your slit as he guides you deeper into his hair- fingers intertwining with his soft strands.
when he feels you're comfortable where your hand is, he orders- "pull." you pause. hesitating on behalf of your shameful will. he plunges himself deeper into your heat, as if to override your will with desire- mouth open as his tongue thrusts into you. again he orders, "pull."
so you pull. the moan that he lets out is almost impure, shrouded by the sound of your flesh. "again," he orders, though his voice resembles more of a grunt. you pull again. his hips immediately buck into the bed in a falter. a few more licks, and he sits up, breathing heavily- just as heavily as you are. "i can't hold back anymore." he strokes himself and brings his waist closer to yours.
"y/n." you look up. his hand is gentle, shivering, when it cups your cheek. it smears wetness on your skin. "tell me what you want." you shake your head.
for a moment his heart stops. "you don't want..?" his hand withdraws from your face. sensing his fear, you say, "no, scara, i do," and your voice is gentle, "i just.. don't wanna say it." you bite your lip. his relieved sigh is followed by the return of his hand on your face, fingers warm and wet. "why not?" he decides to tease.
you pause, then decide to tease back. a sheepish, playful smile tugs at your lips, "because i'm too shy."
he pulls back entirely at this, head falling back so he can look up and ask god what he did to deserve this. "hah... fuck." he can't deny the wide smile on his face, "fuck," and he comes down to suckle on your neck. body against body, but not yet connected. "fuck," he mumbles into your skin, "i'm the happiest," a kiss, "fucking," a lick, "man in the world."
with his lips still attached to your neck, he guides himself against your slit. you share a shiver as his member slickly slides up and down the opening. "y/n," he gazes at you past your jaw. brings himself closer to your ear. a whisper- "i need you to tell me to put it in."
he sees your eyes widen, eyebrows turning up and still, he's rubbing himself against you. the both of you know- you need more.
"pl-please," you whisper, turning away from him. your soft voice goes softer, "put it in."
you feel the tip push in.
"look at me and say it."
you take the deepest breath you could take in such a situation and turn towards him. you expected him to be tense- just as needy as you are, perhaps, impatiently waiting for you to say the words.
but when your eyes meet, he's smirking. head tilted to the side as if to tell you that he can wait for hours (though the truth couldn't be farther from that). you can't hold back anymore. fuck it.
"scara, please... put it in, please," your lips quiver after delivering the pathetic plea.
"as you wish." and you're stretched with the full length of scaramouche's member. you moan in relief, and so does he, but the both of you are still tense. knots in your cores tight and waiting to unravel. "ready?" he asks, and you nod meekly. hoping he doesn't torture you any more.
a hand caresses your hair, "good girl." he starts moving. the motions are familiar. he's fluid, as he always is, gentle throughout yet firm when he reaches a deep spot inside you. but something feels different. not physically- his soft skin and silk sheets are all too familiar. but mentally. emotionally.
as he thrusts inside you, breaths hard and focused, you realise that it's the impact of actually mustering up the words to request your lover to fuck you. you've earned this. you've earned the grip of his hands on your hips as he moves vigorously inside you. you've earned the string of "fuck"s that mimic the rate of which he enters you. you've earned the build-up of tension, as both of you squirm and buck against each other, chasing your climaxes.
"y/n, fuck!" he calls out, leaning down to kiss you, "i'm close."
you nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders. "me too." breaths getting heavier.
his thrusts, from methodical, become haphazard. he's no longer fluid but rather fervently chasing his high- both of your highs.
"scara- scara, scara, 'm cummin- hah-" your eyes squeeze shut. if you can't see him, he can't see you, right?
it's not the first time he's witnessed you climax, but he can't get enough of how sweet and honey-like you sound; unrestricted by your self-proclaimed shyness that he also can't get enough of. how you avoid his gaze but become all the more vulnerable by closing your eyes. he can't help but moan.
with one last thrust he cums, sensitive to the way you tighten around him and cum as well. his weight falls entirely on you as he collapses, chest and ribs rising and falling together in your needs to catch your breaths.
he plants a kiss on your collarbone and sighs.
the waning of your lust gives way for your mind to regain control, and you comprehend the nakedness and the proximity of your partner to you. immediately you gasp and look away, covering your face as if that changes the fact that his exposed skin is kissing your exposed skin.
he chuckles, and you feel it resonate in your chest. your turned head exposes a part of your neck he hasn't kissed, and he kisses it- imprinting his smile onto your skin.
"how are you still this shy," his warm breath smears against you, "after everything we've done together?"
when you don't reply, he lifts himself up to see your runaway gaze.
"or did you forget how you begged me to put-" you yelp, smothering his sentence with a pillow, "my pshhhmmshfhfmh-!"
in a fit of laughter, he wrestles with you and your feather-filled weapon, tossing it out of reach. he pulls your waist from below and traps you in his arms. deep breaths. you're grinning, and so is he. you both release a long sigh.
🐱🐈⬛hi! can i request some hot sex between a cat/scaramouche hybrid and a fem/reader dog. let it be during school, reader teases and touches scaramouche's tail, reader ends up pinned against the wall in the restroom. :3 🦮🐶
Cat!Hybrid!Scaramouche x Dog!Hybrid!Fem!Reader
!NSFW!
content: reader is fem, breeding kink, semi-public sex, teasing, doggy style, Cunnilingus, reader is a golden retriever (or can be any breed!) I just like black cat x golden retriever trope.
-
At first, it was just playful teasing, when you would swish your fluffy tail against his. Or pull on his tail when he wasn’t looking, he was always annoyed, hissing at you or calling you a dirty dog. But you were only trying to get a reaction out of him, since you loved his attention. You had a crush on this mean cat boy, and you were down bad for him.
And for Scaramouche? he hated it. He thought you were unbearable and embarrassing. It irritated him especially since you were all sunshine and rainbows, you’d tackle him sometimes and even lick at his face. You had even asked him to play fetch with you- and he looked at you with disgust.
But he couldn’t hide the fact that you were annoyingly cute. You’d always wait for him, walking with him. Practically praising him, and defending his name no matter how many times your friends called him a stinky furball. Yet you’d always kept your head up high your tail wagging as you spoke on about ‘he’s amazing- you guys don’t get it’
But today just had to be the day your seats were changed. He was already dealing with his impending rut since it was springtime, and his new spot was right next to you, you were practically going to break your chair with how much you were wagging with excitement as he sat next to you.
You were attached to his hip that entire day, talking his ear off rubbing your tail against his own. But this time, he just happened to crack- when you decided it would be a good idea to grind your hips against him as you sat on his lap jokingly. That's how you ended up in a compromising position in the bathroom stall…
Whines left your lips as he pulled at your tail, his tongue was buried in your cunt. “p-please… I can’t take it- hngh!!~” he pinched your swollen clit as his sandpaper-like tongue dragged along your folds. His slurping was sensitive to your floppy ears. Your panties had been ripped off your form and were on the tiled floors. Your back pressed against the cold porcelain of the toilet, and your legs thrown over his shoulder.
“I told you there would be consequences for teasing me.” He earned a yelp out of you as he spanked your bottom, “yet, you continued to grind your ass against me in class.” Another yelp left your lips as he spanked you again. His long sharp nails threatening to scratch at your skin. And a red shaped mark plastered along your ass.
“Gosh, you taste like heaven.” He slobbered over your cunt his hand tugging at your tail, and his ears twitching when you would moan. “But fuck, you’re loud..” he complained against your sensitive lips, his nose buried deep. You could say the pussy cat was quite the pussy eater.
His cock was begging to be freed from the tight prison that was his pants. He purred against your folds before emerging from the wetness between your legs. He licked at his lips, your slick was dribbling down his chin. “I h-have to breed you- fuck!” He was losing his composure.
He flipped you over your arms resting against the porcelain. Your cunt was still sensitive from his constant licking, and your floppy ears winced as you heard the sound of his zipper being pulled. Your nose twitched as you could smell his desire- hissing left his lips as he stroked his cock, pre-cum smearing along his shaft. He slapped his cock against your entrance, edging himself a bit longer.
“You can take it right? Cause I can’t wait any longer.”
He mewled as his cock enter your wet pussy, you clawed at the porcelain a loud whimper leaving your lips. The way he stretched your pretty little cunt was magnificent, your slick coating his shaft which made him claw at your ass. It seemed like he was enjoying this more than you.
He wasn’t nice with his thrusts, then again- he was never nice. Your soft skin teared slightly as his claws dragged along your skin. At first, he didn’t mean to, he was too lost in the middle of breeding you. But as he took notice of how much better you looked scratched up? Perhaps he’d start doing it more often.
“S-scara- not so r-rough!” You whimpered as your body rocked roughly against the seat. However, your pleas landed on deaf ears as he was so clouded by lust of his terrible rut. You made him feel this way, perhaps this was your punishment. You deserved to be bred and he was happily going to fulfill that plan.
He grabbed at your tail, a whimper left your lips. “How does it feel huh??” He tugged harder, tears streamed down your face. Mostly from pleasure, and the slight pain of your tail being tugged at. “Doesn’t feel so good does it-“ you moaned as he drove deeper into your core. Drool dribbled down your chin as he bred you.
This was his revenge for all the times you pulled his tail, and he might add that your tail was fluffy and soft, warm too. “It- feels…” you struggle to form words, his tongue clicked as he leaned forward his chest pressed against your back. His clawed had that was holding onto your tail moved to your chin. He smashed his lips against you; his tongue licking at your teeth.
He kept you quiet for now, but he couldn’t deny how close he was from releasing his first load. He pulled away, a trail of saliva followed with. With a hiss he pushed down on your back. You yelp as your back arched, your stomach felt light. You were not to far from releasing yourself-
“n-need to fill you up..” his lust blinded him, the sound of skin slapping against skin rang in his furry ears. He mewled as he felt you grow tighter, you were already cumming all over his dick.. your tongue stuck out, breathing heavily. But he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.
Scaramouche was lost, lost in the feeling of your tight pussy. He wouldn’t be satisfied unless he came in your womb, he grabbed at your waist. His thrusts were merciless. But he knew his body couldn’t take it anymore, with a few sloppy thrusts- he painted your velvet walls white.
His seed flooding your womb, he knew he couldn’t have any of it spilling out. He needed you to stay full of his cum, how else would you bear his litter? He gently lifted your head towards him, “fuck, I needed this- maybe you have your uses after all.” He flicked your forehead, lucky you! You had just earned the affection of the mean catboy.
You gave him a slight smile before your body gave up. Clearly tired from being bred in such a tight space, but don’t worry. This mean kitty was nice enough to clean you up! (Surprisingly) and brought you to rest in his dorm, with your head in his lap while he played with your fluffy ears. <3
-
Note: sorry for the long wait, please leave and comment if you enjoyed! Along with liking and reblogging!! All the support helps greatly :D
EDIT: I have recieved a request for a part 2!! Stay tuned <3
Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: Raffle Winner | [Scaramouche/Wanderer x Reader]
This fic occurs after "Hat Guy's ASMR Commissions: S Tier"
Summary: You're trying your best to keep things cool and casual after you realize your newly assigned project partner is Hat Guy—your beloved online content creator who your friends recently commissioned an NSFW guided masturbation audio from as a present for you...and you do pretty well at leaving past sin behind! At least, until you unknowingly win a raffle he has held and once again find yourself bending under the weight of his commands.
Content: Smut, Guided Masturbation, Toy Use, Name Calling, Degradation/Humiliation, Phone Sex, Mutual Masturbation, fem!reader
Word Count: 5.7k
Note: This has been in my WIPS for a bajillion years and I finally had a brain blast about it the other day
The voice of the person beside you is…eerily familiar. Scratchy, attractive, and perhaps a little annoyed—
“Do you mind moving your bag? There aren’t very many seats left.”
Without saying a word, too stunned to speak, you reach over and move your bag to the floor at your feet. The man grunts, and takes a seat beside you.
As he pulls out his laptop, you finally build up the courage to look at him.
Dark hair and eyes to match…slim fingers, but veiny hands…a black shirt and oversized jacket—
“Do you need something?”
Oh, fuck—you’ve been openly staring.
Your eyes meet his for the first time, and you open your mouth, but no words come out. The beat of your heart starts to get faster.
He cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at you.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
This is just too much—there’s no fucking way this is happening—
Unfortunately, before you can finally pull it together and try to redeem yourself, your professor takes the podium at the head of the room.
“Class! Welcome! While it might be a little unconventional to start the semester out on this note, I just want you all to know in advance: this class will heavily rely on cooperation with others. There will be many team projects. In fact—the person you’re sharing a table with will be your project partner for the whole semester!”
…what.
Beside you, the man sighs—clearly unhappy to hear about there being group projects, or you being his partner, or both.
“Great, looks like we’re stuck together.”
“Yep…,” you mumble in response, the first word you’ve managed to speak since his arrival.
He obviously notices, because his lips pull into a teasing little grin, his eyes remaining trained on your still-speaking professor as he whisper—
“Oh, would you look at that? She speaks.”
Your pussy clenches.
Mhmm, yep!
You’re gonna go jump off a bridge.
While jumping off a bridge would certainly be the easiest way to get yourself out of this situation (recap: being assigned project partners with a man whose internet persona has degraded you and made you cum), you don't exactly have the balls to follow through.
So, you do the next best thing.
Disassociation!
You have definitely never gotten off to the voice of the man sitting beside you. You're just a good, law-abiding student…one that maybe needs to go to confessional, but still.
He's your project partner, and you're his, and that's that.
…Unfortunately, your initial reaction has already made an impression on him.
At the end of the lecture, he stands up, casts you a glance full of judgement, and then walks away without a single word.
His eyes practically read “I can't believe this is the person I'm stuck partnered with”, and honestly, you feel the same!! (Albeit, for a different reason).
At least you'd been able to survive your first lecture next to him without making things any more awkward…
…BUT STILL.
“What the fuck,” you hiss to yourself as you leave the lecture hall. You fish your phone from your pocket and open Twitter.
Considering how often you wander onto his page, it's no surprise the first tweet on your timeline is from him.
Your eyes briefly scan over the tweet (just some random 10 second response to some sort of drama), and then you click on his profile picture.
Your hand immediately moves over the button to unfollow him, but you can't bring yourself to hit it.
You sigh loudly, and shove your phone back in your pocket—trudging towards your next class.
It's fine. You don't need to unfollow him. In fact, there's no point really, because if you're gonna be seeing him in class twice a week, it'll just be a reminder anyway.
…in other words, no matter how hard you try, you'll be thinking about him for the next 3+ months, until the semester ends.
…hahahahaha.
Fuck.
That night, you sit cross legged on your bed and meditate. You find your inner peace, and banish your demons.
You need to pass this class. He's your moody partner. That's all there is to it.
The next time you see him, you're cool as a cucumber.
“Alright class, if you haven't already, make sure to exchange emails or phone numbers with your partner. The first draft of your project will be due in 3 weeks.”
This is what your professor says at the end of his lecture, murmurs rising in the stands as students begin communicating with their partners and exchanging info.
You're glad to know you're not the only slacker, but now you have another problem. The man beside you is packing up to leave, and you want to stop him so you can get his info, but you still don’t know his name.
And it's not like you can call him Hat Guy! That'll definitely give you away.
“Hey, um—”
He notes your hesitation and rolls his eyes.
“Scaramouche,” he supplies. You test the name on your tongue.
“Scaramouche…do you mind if we exchange emails?”
Somehow, having his phone number seems a little too personal.
He hikes his bag over his shoulder, and you blink, wondering if he's going to leave without getting your email in return. It wouldn't surprise you, considering how much he seems to dislike interacting with others.
But then, after having his back turned to you for a good few seconds, he looks over his shoulder, his eyes annoyed.
“Are you going to tell me yours, or what?”
“Oh!” you startle. “It's [YN]@gsi.edu.”
“See how easy that was?” he says with a fake little smile, and then walks away.
You almost flip off his retreating figure.
What a brat.
But, at least now you two will have a way to communicate outside of class…
Scaramouche isn’t afraid to admit he's a loner. People are annoying, and he feels most comfortable in his room, on his PC, judging others on the internet.
Which is how most of his evenings are spent.
Hence, why he's once again on his PC, checking his recent social media interactions.
He's just hit 20k on Twitter…he wasn't expecting that to happen so soon.
A small smirk tugs at his lips.
“Bunch of horny bastards.”
He opens nsfw comms one time and now he's got a fan base. How pathetic.
But, 20k is 20k...he supposes he should do something as thanks.
It takes him a little bit of thinking, but he manages to come up with the perfect prize. One that won't be overly burdensome and will also likely drag in more paying customers for next time.
And so, he makes his tweet.
Now, all he needs to do is wait.
It's not that Scaramouche necessarily has anything against his project partner personally. Sure, an awkward first introduction had left much to be desired, but he knows that it's partly because he just…doesn't like people in general.
Nor does he like group projects.
Frankly, if he had known this course would have a group project, he would have searched for a different professor to take it with.
Alas.
Walking into the lecture hall the next week, Scaramouche takes his regular seat—his gaze sliding sideways towards you as he pulls out his laptop.
You're on your own laptop—a google docs tab open and ready to be filled with notes. However, with the lecture not having started yet, you're currently checking emails. You delete a few, and then move your cursor to the search bar.
Scara's interest piques the second you start to type twitter's domain into the search bar, but just as you're about to hit enter, you freeze. Then, you backspace the address and close the tab entirely—instead opting to stare at your blank google doc instead.
Scaramouche resists clicking his tongue.
What a goody two-shoes.
A beat later, the professor makes his way into the lecture hall, and class begins.
He does his best to pay attention, really—but his thoughts wander.
Maybe he shouldn't have started up a raffle. He'd decided on it mostly because it would likely bring in more paying customers (chance at private phone call + more entries for nsfw commissioners = more nsfw commissioners going forward = more money for him), but…now it sounds like a little bit of a hassle.
Scaramouche sighs, tapping his finger against his thigh.
It's not like he agreed to call the raffle winner at a certain time, though. He could just wait to make the call until he's feeling in the mood.
He nods to himself. He's in control—everything is up to him—so it'll be fine.
“Hey…”
He blinks out of his thoughts to find the lecture hall filled with conversation, and with you peering at him, like this isn't the first time you've tried to get his attention.
“Lost in thought?” you ask, and he sits up a little straighter.
“Hard not to be when the professor drones so much. What's going on?”
“Oh, the professor told us to use the last 15 minutes of class to make an outline for our project, since he assumes most people haven't talked yet.”
Scaramouche glares at the head of the room. If the professor knows students don't want to be forced to interact, why make them do group projects??
Turning to your laptop, you create a new document and title it. Project Planning.
Scaramouche sighs, knowing that as much as he wants to just get up and leave, he might as well take advantage of the window created by your professor.
“Alright,” he says, turning towards you. “Got any ideas?”
Thankfully, it seems you've put a little thought into the project already—offering up some topics you think will work well. Scara vetoes a few right off the bat—uninterested in them—and almost laughs when you turn away to roll your eyes in annoyance—unable to hold back your reaction at his blunt comments.
Seems you're finally coming out of that awkward shell.
“Well, we've picked our topic, have a few ideas on where to start researching, and a basic outline for the presentation,” you summarize 15 minutes later—people beginning to exit the lecture hall.
Scaramouche snaps his laptop closed and shoves it in his bag.
“Good work team,” he says, somewhat sarcastically. “Now make sure you start researching before next class.”
“Uh, you too, buddy,” you shoot back at him, catching the implication in his words that he's trying to get away with you doing most of the work.
“This project is gonna be 50-50. I will hound you if I have to.”
Scaramouche rolls his eyes.
“Fine. I will also put forth some effort. I'm not a complete asshole.”
You squint at him like you're not sure you believe that, and he narrows his eyes at you.
“Alright,” you relinquish, turning away from him and packing your own bag. “I'll choose to believe you.”
Good girl, he thinks to himself wryly, but thankfully doesn't voice those words aloud.
He's into degrading and teasing internet strangers for money, and you're certainly not that.
Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, he instead says a simple, “see you”, and then exits the lecture hall.
He misses the quick-as-lightning middle finger you flash him as he walks away.
When Friday night rolls around, Scaramouche…spends a lot of time trying to figure out how the fuck to do a raffle.
Maybe he should have figured out the mechanics first, but luckily with the help of a website that has already been created for this purpose, it ends up not being a complete hassle.
He inputs the names of all his commissioners into the system, and then allows it to randomly select one.
The email address that stares back at him sounds vaguely familiar—probably a commission he has filled more recently.
He searches his emails for the address, and ah—that's right. The commission which had been gifted by friends, and not purchased by the recipient herself.
Interesting.
Before attempting to contact the winner, Scaramouche makes another tweet saying the winner has been selected (but that'll he'll be contacting them privately, as he doesn't intend on putting someone's personal handle or email out on the internet).
Then, once that's taken care of, he drafts his email to the winner.
Subject: Twitter Raffle - Winner
Hi again,
You may have seen but I recently hosted a raffle for all my past commissioners, and you were drawn as the winner.
The prize is a phone call from me. Let me know a phone number I can reach you at. The call will be random, so it will be a nice surprise for us both ;) Look forward to it.
-Hat Guy
Nodding, he hits send and waits.
…and waits.
…and waits.
…and—
“Does she not check her fucking emails??”
He hisses the words at his phone as he plops himself into his seat in the lecture hall Monday morning.
It's been 2 whole days since the raffle ended and he hasn't heard anything! You'd think someone whose friends went out of their way to purchase a filthy comm for them would be desperate enough to get back to him ASAP.
“You alright…?” you ask, sliding into your seat beside him.
He waves you off.
“It doesn't concern you.”
Okayyyy, obviously he's in a bad mood…
Not bothering to try and pry any further, you silently unpack your things.
Scaramouche bounces his leg, frustrated.
It's not like he has necessarily felt in the mood yet, but he may soon, and he needs that phone number.
For a second, he debates picking a different raffle winner. He always could, but…he figures he should wait at least a week to make it seem like they got a fair chance to get back to him.
He scrolls through his inbox, and happens to see the initial email from the recipient's friend.
He perks up.
Maybe their friend would be willing to give him their phone number…
Smiling to himself, he writes another email—a very polite one, explaining the situation and kindly asking to be provided with a phone number he can reach their friend at.
He sends it just before the lecture starts, and by the time he's packing up to leave, he already has a response.
Hi Hat Guy,
Oh, how fun! My friend is sometimes slow about checking her email, forgive her ❤️
Below is the phone # you can reach her at. I'm sure the little kitten will enjoy this surprise.
Scaramouche stares at the phone number with devious glee—a grin spreading on his face.
At his side, packing up your things to leave, you notice the shift in his attitude.
That smile of his is a little off-putting, but…
You heft your bag onto your shoulder, and head for the door.
At least he seems to be in a better mood now.
About a month into the semester—between school, work, and your part-time job—your days have become busy.
Busy enough that you're not constantly scrolling through social media, letting your brain rot.
But, you don't exactly mind, as it has helped you take your mind off of Scaramouche, and…the things that have transpired between the two of you through a veil of anonymity.
Seeing him in class twice a week for multiple weeks now has also aided in softening your nerves about the whole situation.
At this point, he's just your attitude-having project partner, who you just happen to know has a semi-popular online personality.
That's all there is to it—embarrassing actions and a sinful audio file buried beneath rows of fresh emails—memories beginning to fade away.
You take a deep breath, a smile stretching at your lips as you breathe in the scent of buttered popcorn—the bowl cradled between your hands as you plop onto your couch.
Your muscles relax, and you reach for the TV remote.
This is your first free evening of the week, and you fully intend to spend it unwinding from the last few days of class and work. You'd managed to get any assignments finished up earlier, which means your Sunday night will be fully devoted to R&R.
You open Netflix and are trying to figure out what movie sounds interesting enough to watch, when on the table in front of you, your phone screen lights up.
You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward to look at the ID of the call coming through.
It's a local number, but one that you don't have saved.
You debate letting it go to voicemail, but inevitably grab your phone, and hit the button to accept the call.
“Hello?” you say, holding it up to your ear.
“What are you wearing?”
You freeze, holding your phone in front of you, staring at it in shock horror. Something about the voice on the other side makes your hairs stand up, but you assume that's because of their offputting question, and nothing else. Slowly, you bring it back to your ear.
“Excuse me?”
“What, you think I'm just some pervert? You don't recognize the voice of the man that commanded you like a toy?”
Immediately, you freeze—your heart pounding so harshly inside your chest that you worry you may actually be having a medical emergency.
That playful, condescending tone…it's Scaramouche. Or, rather, based on the way he's talking to you, Hat Guy.
“How did…?” you almost whisper, unable to think straight.
…he's calling you? Why?? How???
There's a scoff of a laugh on the other end of the line.
“Your friend said you've been busy lately, and I figured that may be an excuse, but based on how confused you sound, maybe they weren't lying. Do you even know why I'm calling?”
“No, I don't,” you admit, digesting his words. Did Yae or Lisa give your number to him??
He sighs.
“I hosted a twitter raffle and you won. When you didn't respond to my email, I reached out to your friend to get your phone number. Now, here we are.”
You won a raffle? Fuck, you haven't been regularly checking his page since he became your project partner, and you've been falling behind on your emails too…
“Well,” you say, voice tight. A part of you is afraid he'll somehow recognize your voice over the phone. You need to abort this call ASAP.
“As…lucky as I feel to have won, I obviously kept you waiting on a response, so I don't mind if you decide to re-draw a new winner—”
“Hush,” he interrupts you, and it's a command.
Despite yourself, you immediately stop talking, and then curse yourself—feeling embarrassment bloom.
Why are you listening to him—
“If I wanted to draw a new winner I already would have. And besides, you kept me waiting, like you said. So to make it up to me, why not just be submissive and obedient, hm?”
You open your mouth. Your bottom lip trembles.
What can you even say? How can you get yourself out of this?
You suppose you can simply say that you're uncomfortable with this. As bratty and mean as he can be, you also know he's big on consent. He won't push it if you're not willing.
And yet…
You place your free hand above your heart, feeling the hurried thrum.
As much as you're horrified at what's happening, you're also excited—arousal settling unbidden between your legs.
This whole situation is wrong, and yet, there's a desperate part of you that wants to be under his command once again.
His voice drawls from your phone, yanking you back into reality.
“So…?”
There's an exit, despite the expectation in his voice.
An exit you hardly look at.
“I consent to this phone call continuing,” you say, not willing to promise you'll be good.
Scaramouche chuckles.
“You've got a little spice, huh? Can't wait to get you fucked out and needy.”
Your thighs clench—arousal soaking a wet spot on your panties, and you take a shaky breath.
“God, I can't believe this is happening. I need a drink.”
“Get one,” he says without missing a beat. “Might help.”
“Help what?” you respond with a scoff, but nonetheless get up and head for the small kitchen of your apartment.
“Your agenda to get me “fucked out and needy"?”
You open your fridge and locate a half empty bottle of soju you'd cracked open a while back. Then, you twist the cap off and chug it as if it were water—the smooth aftertaste almost making you feel like it is.
“Oh, you've got a little bit of a mouth on you. If I were there, I'd definitely take care of that quickly.”
“Too bad you're not here,” you respond with a snarky smile he can't see.
“Too bad,” he echoes, and you have to keep your mind from wandering to thoughts of what would be happening if he actually was here.
“Did you have your drink?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then let's get started. Head to your room, let's get comfortable.”
Like a puppet on strings, you immediately turn and make your way into your bedroom, seating yourself on the edge of your mattress.
You set your phone beside you on the bed, warmth blooming in your stomach as the alcohol settles.
“How about answering that first question I asked you? Unless, you're not wearing anything?”
You roll your eyes—smoothing your hands against your pants.
“I'm wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt. I was just getting cozy to watch a movie before you so rudely interrupted.”
“The more you give me attitude, the more I'm gonna edge you.”
Your pussy clenches. Shit.
“It's just not…sexy, y'know?”
“Who said you need to be in lingerie to have sex appeal?” he immediately shoots back. “If I were there, I'd bend you over and would have one hand under your shirt pinching your tits while the other tugs your pants down and gives you a good hard spank for being a brat. Sounds sexy enough, don't you think?”
Your pulse races, arousal licking at your insides as you yearn for him—for the scenario he's painted.
“Actually, why don't you do it for me?”
His shit eating grin translates through the call.
You flex your jaw.
“Do what?”
“Spank yourself,” he responds. “Strip yourself naked, and bend over your bed. If I can't hear it audibly through the phone, then you didn't do it hard enough.”
Despite the scoff that leaves your lips, you've already stood—your fingers grabbing at your shirt as you tug it up and over your head.
Goosebumps rise on your skin as the warmth of your clothing is stripped away, and you shiver when your nipples drag against your sheets as you lean over your mattress.
You curiously grope your own ass with your hand, unable to keep yourself from feeling a pang of disappointment that Scaramouche isn't here disciplining you himself.
“...the angle is a little challenging but…”
You raise your hand and smack your right cheek with an open palm. Your skin immediately stings, the sound bouncing between the walls of your room.
When Scaramouche doesn't comment right away, your gaze darts to your phone.
“You heard it, right??”
“Oh, is that what that tiny sound was? I thought it was just static from the receiver.”
“You—!”
“Do it again. Switch cheeks.”
Annoyed, you immediately twist your body and raise your other arm, smacking your un-reddened cheek.
“...wow, that was even quieter than the first one—”
“Because you made me use my non-dominant arm—!”
“—guess you'll have to do it again. Back to the other side.”
On the other end of the line, Scaramouche smiles joyfully at the frustrated groan you let out.
He shifts in his computer chair, his cock sitting heavy against his leg beneath his shorts.
He's having too much fun already, and the show has only just begun.
The sound of a solid smack reaches his ears, followed by a little whimper. He breathes an amused laugh through his nose, but before he can get the chance to tell you that you've finally done a good job, you're speaking.
“I literally can't do it any harder than that on my own, okay?? So, you'll have to accept it!”
“Hmm…I was about to admit that was good enough, but then you went and ran your mouth again.”
You freeze, staring at your phone in horror. His tone promises punishment.
“I—”
“Grab your vibrator,” he interrupts you, not intending to give you a chance to apologize. “Kneel on the floor and hold it to your clit.”
Obediently, like a scolded puppy, you fetch your vibrator from a nearby drawer, and kneel, pressing the head between your legs.
“Turn it on.”
You do so, your body jolting as vibrations assault your swollen clit. Arousal flares in your gut, your muscles tightening, and you can't help but whine.
“Turn it up.”
You turn it up to medium. Your walls wetly clench around nothing, craving to be filled with cock.
And yet, even empty, you're still quickly approaching an orgasm.
“Sc—”
“Turn it up again,” he overlaps with your call of his name. (His real name—inadvertently saving you.)
A whine sneaks past your lips, your thighs clenching around the vibrator.
“Hat Guy, I—”
“Sir works fine. Or Master. Hat Guy during sex just seems…too stupid. Even if it is phone sex.”
“Sir,” you pant. “Please let me turn it down. I'm gonna cum.”
“No, you're not,” he replies calmly, as if your clit isn't throbbing. “I didn't give you permission.”
“I know, but—!”
You writhe, your shoulders slumping, and your forehead pressing against your mattress. Your fingers tighten around the vibrator, your sanity starting to slip.
“Even if I wanted to I wouldn't be able to hold it with the vibrator on high—”
“Oh? That sucks.”
“Sir!” you plead, and he can hear the desperation in your voice. He can hear the snark and wit slipping away—your brain melting into something much more primitive. A sub who wants to please as much as she wants to cum.
Your labored breathing and pathetic whines have him shoving his hand into his pants, his fingers fisting around his cock.
“You can withstand it like a good girl—”
“I can't!” You cry, your entire body shaking. The arousal in your belly is wound so tight that you feel like it's going to snap.
“But if you cum, we can end it here, right? Don't you want that, since you tried to suggest earlier that I should pick a different winner?”
“I—”
“Even though now you're stripped naked kneeling on the floor like an obedient slut? All for a man you don't even know—”
“I'm gonna cum!” you cry, your eyes squeezing shut. Tears wet your lashes, your finger hovering shakily over the power button of your vibrator.
“I don't want to. Not yet, please—!”
“Fine. Stop.”
You jam the button, the vibrations ceasing. Your cunt pulses wildly, an orgasm that had been teetering on the precipice slowly retreating back to safety.
Your entire body goes slack, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.
“I told you I'd edge you,” he says smugly.
You lift your head, glaring at your phone.
“That was a lot for a first edge.”
“Oh, is that back talk? Should we try it again?”
The thought of edging like that again—worse yet with a potential ruined orgasm looming if you manage not to stop in time—immediately has you sitting up a little straighter.
“...sorry.”
“That's more like it. What a good girl.”
You bite your lip to resist making a snarky comment.
“You've got a dildo, right? Get it.”
Once again like a puppet on his strings, you swiftly retrieve your dildo. You're just about to reach for your lube as well when Scaramouche pipes up.
“Also, no lube.”
You pause.
“No?”
“You're gonna lube it up for yourself.”
…oh.
“Get on your bed. Ass in the air.”
You do as he says, and, already knowing where this is heading, position the dildo below your face.
“I want you to suck your dildo as if it were my cock, got it? No teeth, no biting. You'll follow my directions.”
“Yes, sir,” you respond, your neediness making you compliant. You want to follow his directions and let him use you until he feels you've earned your orgasm.
“Good. Suck on the tip.”
You bend down and part your lips, taking the dildo into your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the crafted cock head, lubing it with your spit.
Diligently, you continue to suck and lick until Scaramouche issues his next command.
“Deeper, now. Take the shaft into your mouth.”
Loosening your jaw further, you flatten your tongue and take the dildo deeper. Silicone veins trace against your tongue, and you can't help but wonder how Scaramouche's cock would compare.
If he were here, you bet he'd have a hand rooted in your hair—guiding you to his depth and pace.
The mental imagery makes your pussy clench, and you can't help wiggling your ass, wanting even more. To be filled, to be touched—anything.
“How's that dick feel in your mouth, sweetheart?”
He can hear the audible pop of your lips as you unlatch the dildo to answer him. The sound has him fisting his dick tighter. His thumb catches the precum leaking from his slit, and he smears it over his cock, wishing that the friction of his hand was your mouth instead.
“Wish it was your dick instead.”
He sucks in a breath.
Fuck.
“Hah…look at you, trying to win brownie points.”
You giggle, and somehow the sweet sound makes him want to bully you more.
“Back to sucking, princess. As deep as you can go now. I wanna hear you gagging.”
You do as he says—bobbing your head until the tip of the dildo brushes past your uvula.
Immediately, you gag. Yet, you don't stop—going down on it time again until tears are wetting your lashes and drool is slick against your lips.
“Next time you go down, hold it there,” he says, and if you were of sounder mind you'd probably realize how breathy he sounds.
But alas, you're too busy taking the dildo into your throat—smothering the urge to gag as tears finally roll down your cheeks.
A good 10 seconds pass before he finally decides to relent.
“Breathe.”
You hurriedly sit back, lungs heaving as sinful lines of spit connect you to the dildo you've been so lovingly adoring.
“Again.”
You’re not quite sure how long he forces you to choke yourself on the fake dick—considering your head starts to get fuzzy after the fourth time—but when you finally crack and brokenly whine “please”—a please that clearly means “I want more” and not “stop”, Scara decides it’s time to move onto the main act.
“Think you’ve earned that cock inside you?”
“Yes,” you pant, your pussy practically dripping. “I did everything you asked and didn’t even puke.”
He can’t help but laugh at that.
“Very true. Why don’t you go ahead and sit on your dildo then, hmm? Take it nice and slow. You don’t need lube, right?”
“As if,” you grumble, positioning your spit-slicked dildo beneath your hips. “I’ve never been this wet in my fucking life…”
You nudge the head between your folds—a blissful little sigh escaping you as you the dildo fills you inch by inch—giving you that stretch you’ve been craving.
Scaramouche catches the sound, and he grips his cock tightly, fighting against himself as the mental imagery of you sinking down on his cock fills his mind.
He usually doesn’t feel much when he fulfills commissions. Whispering filth and giving mean commands is like second nature to him—no emotion involved. But…you’ve got him craving—wishing he were there in the flesh inside of hiding behind a screen.
“Hm,” he chuckles, “you should be thanking me for that.”
“...”
“...or do you not want to ride that dildo?”
You sigh, annoyed, but can’t resist. You need to feel the friction between your walls—you’re going to go crazy if you don’t cum soon.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“For bullying me and getting me wet.”
The laugh that leaves him has your heart skipping a beat—the sound genuine, and a little boyish.
“Fine, you’ve earned it. Go ahead and ride that cock, princess. Imagine it’s mine.”
Oh.
Without hesitation, you immediately brace yourself on your palms and begin grinding your pussy on the dildo. Your eyes flutter shut, and you imagine him beneath you—his hands on your hips, guiding you.
You’re sure he’d look smug if he saw you and how desperate he’s made you—unraveling further with each passing second. Every stroke of the cock between your walls lights your nerves on fire, and it’s not long before you’re panting and whining—struggling to keep pace.
“Fuck…”
Your eyes crack open and you peer over at your phone, drawn to the breathy voice on the other end of the call.
“You’re so wet I can hear it…”
And you are—arousal smearing messily against your skin as your pussy sucks the dildo in again, and again, and again—
Scaramouche clenches his jaw, his fist working against his cock in tandem with the wet sound of your cunt.
Your pussy would feel so much better than his hand…
“I…,” your voice shakes, as do your thighs. You’re starting to lose it.
“I’m getting close…do I have permission to cum?”
“No,” is his immediate response, and you almost whine, but then he continues.
“We’re gonna cum at the same time. Hold out a little longer.”
Your eyes widen at his words, and heat floods your face as you realize the reason he’d sounded so breathy a moment earlier.
He’s touching himself while dominating you.
Holy fuck.
…It only makes you want to cum more.
“Fuck,” you curse, head hanging as you keep your pace—your stomach tightening as you attempt to ward off your looming orgasm.
It’s not easy to do—especially when Scaramouche’s heavy breathing is picked up on the receiver.
Like forbidden ASMR that goes straight to your cunt.
“Please cum…,” you beg him. Your pussy can’t take it anymore—the dildo grinding against your g-spot too deliciously.
“I’m almost there,” he reassures you, his brow pinching as he concentrates on the stroke and pressure of his hand—trying to imagine what you’d feel like around him.
A wanton symphony of sounds reaches his ears—all of your defences down. You can’t stop yourself, your brain only caring about cumming.
It’s so fucking hot.
Scaramouche bites back a groan as his balls tighten.
“Get ready, princess…”
Oh god, you’ve never been more ready in your entire fucking life.
Just knowing he’s about to give you permission has your pussy clamping hard on the dildo, nearly sending you tumbling over the finish line too early.
“Shit,” you bite. You try to push the urge back down, but it’s impossible. You’re too close—you’ve been holding yourself on the edge for too long—
Luckily, Scaramouche gives his final command at the perfect time.
“Cum.”
With a choked cry, you let go. Your pussy spasms, hips grinding to a shaky halt as the waves of pleasure crash over you.
At the same time, Scaramouche spills his seed over his hand—biting back curse as he milks himself dry.
It’s been a while since either of you have cum this hard…
For a minute after, the only sound on the call is that of two people catching their breath. Then, finally, you speak up.
“Did I get you that turned on?” you tease with a tired grin he can’t see.
He can hear it, however.
“Don’t try me,” he warns, although there's a little bite in his voice—the tiny smile on his lips betraying him. You laugh.
“Yes, sir.”
“Better,” he muses. He leans back in his chair, eyes sliding to his phone.
“So, are you glad you accepted your prize?”
You flop down onto your mattress and roll your eyes.
“Maybe.”
“Mhmm.”
You giggle at his unconvinced hum. He rolls his eyes.
“I’ll end it here. Go clean yourself up and drink some water.”
“Yessir~”
He breathes a laugh.
“Fucked out brat…don’t dream of me.”
“I won’t,” you promise, and with that, Scaramouche ends the call.
For a few minutes, you lay there—unwinding, letting your muscles relax.
…then, the post orgasm clarity hits, and you shove your face into your pillow and scream.
Scara has had a little crush on reader for a while now, and as he sees how sweet she’s with the kids, he decides he has to fuck his own kid into her. 😩
He talks to her for a little while, and then manages to get her so worked up, that they just HAVE to fuck in an empty classroom during lunch or after school
Baby fever
AFAB! Teacher! Reader x Teacher! Scaramouche
CW: smut, grinding, breeding kink
Watching you treat children with such love he can't help but wonder how you'd treat your own...and his.
A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long omfg I wanted to have this out by Saturday but I needed a break...
Not proofread
Being a teacher has been a curse and a blessing for Kuni.
He likes teaching, giving knowledge to the young generation, even if he's seen as strict. Sitting in his class has even the jokesters behaving just because his glare alone scares them.
In his eyes children are the most innocent a human can be.
Of course there's always those with a rotten character but generally he doesn't mind them as much as adults who are oblivious to their own selfishness and inflated importance.
Most of his coworkers he absolutely cannot stand, he hates when they try to initiate small talk with him during breaks, hates their surface kindness.
They're annoying, all except you.
You're genuinely kind, good hearted and he'd be lying if he said he didn't have his eye on you from the moment you set foot into the school.
Something about you is fundamentally different from the other teachers.
Handling the children with care and empathy has drawn him to you, captured him, you're as sweet as the sugar he usually despises.
The most you give them is a scolding if they act like brats and for some reason they actually listen to you.
Seeing you be so gentle and joyful with them... It's not helping the crush he has developed on you over time you've been working with him.
You're the only one he doesn't mind holding a conversation with, in fact he could talk to you for hours.
No one else ever sees him so lively and chatty.
For weeks now he's had an itch he can't quite scratch, an urge he can't put into word whenever he watches you interact with students so lovingly.
It has him absolutely fuming with the need to put his own child inside of you, he's convinced you'd be an amazing parent.
The last straw is when he watches you comfort a girl who just scraped her knees in a game of tag.
He needs you. Today.
So when everyone else leaves for the day he goes to see you in your classroom, cleaning up a little and grading little assignments.
Even when you're alone there's a cute little smile on your face, which only brightens when you see him in your doorway.
If only you knew the effect you have on him.
Leaning against the frame the grin you know so well creeps onto his lips, watching as you wave him in cheerfully, completely missing the way his gaze clings to you.
Strolling over to your desk he makes himself comfortable sitting on an unoccupied corner, staring intensely at you.
"You look tense." His feet are dangling casually, head tilting slightly.
"Rough day?"
Nodding you still look awfully happy and content.
Moving behind you he places his hands on your shoulders, massaging a little, fingers skillfully easing the knots in your muscles.
You sigh, relaxing into his palms like putty, not even realizing how close he is until you feel him whisper into your ear, breath hitting your skin.
"You're adorable when you're this boneless, you know that?"
Shivers run down your spine at that comment, not unnoticed by him.
Oh if only you could see the smirk adoring his features right now.
He keeps talking as if he doesn't know about the effect he's having on you, asking you about your day, hands wandering just a little bit further down than necessary.
Compliment after compliment leaves his mouth, each making you more flustered than the last, but still capable of holding a proper conversation about nothing in particular.
"You know, your outfit suits you well." That one gets you good, you dared wearing something a little tighter but still appropriate today.
It got you lots of approving nods from your male coworkers but you didn't care about anyone's attention but his, secretly hoping he'd notice.
Squirming in your seat he can tell he's getting to you, getting you all wound up.
"You know what I sometimes wonder?" His chest presses against your back as he leans even closer.
"You always look at your students with such devotion and care...but how would you look at your own child?"
Finally pushed over the edge you grab him, pulling him in front of you before crashing your lips against his.
Without hesitation he's all over you, lifting you by your thighs and carrying you to a forsaken table nearby, splaying you across the cold surface but never separating from you until both of you are out of air.
"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to have you like this...all to myself." Slotting himself between your legs his whole body covers you, fitting perfectly against yours.
Clinging to him you grind your hips up against his, earning you a groan that manages to escape before he can stifle it.
Little hickeys cover your neck in no time, his hold on you wandering wherever he can reach like a man dying of thirst.
He's aware of how wet you are, his point only proven when digits slip into your panties, rubbing through your folds right against your clit, coaxing little held back moans from your vocal cords as he circles it with his index.
God he can't wait to fill you and watch you swell with his offspring.
His impatience is clear in the desperation he tears at your fabric with, wanting to finally have a taste of what he's been after for ages.
Trying your best to keep quiet you're afraid of getting walked in on, even if unlikely with everyone having gone home.
The moment you feel his touch on your bare chest however, squeezing the soft tissue and pinching at your nipples, that fear goes out the window, it's obvious he wants to hear you, your little whines as he makes you feel amazing. And who are you to refuse giving him his own private concert?
His need for you is made obvious both by the tension between you and his cock straining against his pants, right by your now exposed cunt.
Locking your legs around him you jerk him impossibly close, not an inch of space between allowed anymore.
Freeing himself from the prison his length was confined to he can't resist teasing you a little, pushing it right against your already quivering hole but not quite doing anything else just so he can hear you whimper for him to finally hurry up.
Not having to be told twice he dips the head inside, watching you tremble before slamming in to the hilt, bottoming out.
The sight of you arching your back from the sudden action is absolutely delicious to him.
Luring you into a sense of security he caresses your cheek gently, removing himself from your pussy before thrusting right back in, his pace harsh from weeks, months of pent up frustration.
Moving in and out he watches the bliss twist in your features, mouth parted, eyes glazed as your nails dig into the skin of his back. He can't bring himself to mind, quite the contrary, he enjoys it very much.
Over and over again he hits a spot deep inside of you that you didn't even know existed, lewd noises echoing in the otherwise empty room.
"Take it all...every single drop." He's so determined to stuff you full, to breed you he doesn't even care to silence himself.
Pleasure hums across every single one of your nerve endings, your clit throbbing as he just keeps pounding into you mercilessly until you feel him coming undone, spilling inside of you.
Stilling his entire body weight leans into your trapped form as you yourself reach your peak, clenching around him, milking him dry.
Catching his breath he can't help but still look smug at the picture before him, you absolutely ruined and leaking his fluids.
"I hope you know that now I got a taste of this... I won't stop until you're full with my baby."
HOW YOU GET THE GIRL .ᐟ ( a scaramouche x gn!reader smau )
synopsis: breaking up with kuni was one of your biggest regrets yet (however, you'll never actually admit that to anyone). but was it really a wise decision to keep in touch with him even after you broke his (and your) heart?
or in which you and scaramouche are exes but you both stayed in the same friend group—which makes things extremely chaotic.
started on: 10/09/23 | ended on: 01/09/24
genres: college au, exes to lovers trope, crack (an attempt of comedy, really), fluff, angst (mandatory for this trope honestly), profanities + kys jokes, other ships are most likely implied, socmeds with narrations !!
note: inaccurate college depictions for some courses erm. (🖋️) means the ep has narrations
taglist: closed!
playlist: first half is full of angsty songs mb :,)
Synopsis. Research on the Herwi clan of Pandora is both sparse and sacred. Current reports claim the existence of an icebound Na’vi residing in the bitter sub-zero mountains of Pandora: snow-white and unforgiving, as elusive as the fleeting snowflakes. Though physical evidence of these people are so far non-existent, and so are the eyewitnesses alive to tell the tale.
As a scientist on Pandora, you have only one goal: to prove the existence of the Herwi clan. As olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan, Gojo Satoru has only one goal: to make you his mate.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!scientist!reader, Na’vi!Gojo, Avatar AU, based on James Cameron’s movies, snow Na’vi, hidden tribes, snowy setting, scientific research, Shoko cameo, plot, culture, Na’vi language (translations at the end), Eywa, YEARNING Gojo, fated mates, size differences (he’s 11 feet), oraI (f + m rec.), standing oraI, pússydrúnk Gojo, fìngering, bíting, spìtting, cervìx kìssin’, trying to fit, he’s BIG big, feraI Gojo, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, MANHANDLlNG, matíng presses, monsterf-ing (Na’vi), rough s, stopping you from running, p sIapping, p talking, dúmbifícation, chokíng, cIit pinching, he’s slightly lNSANE, slight bréeding, mentions of kids, overstím, creampíes, cúmfIation, cúmpIay, bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 15.2k
A/N. This one’s to all the lovely babygirls who’ve been begging for this heheh, I lob you all <33
“Satoru of the snow—once the ice disappears so shall your name.” One amongst the elder members of the Hunt sighs.
Gojo Satoru was a phantom figure before them. He led the way—towering and lithe. Long ivory hair dancing in the flurry. Bioluminescent freckles upon skin such a pale blue that it was practically white. Even amongst the Herwi, Gojo stood out.
Their olo’eyktan. Their leader.
He cuts a pathway through the wind and snow, carrying the carcasses of several snow beasts that he’d hunted himself. They rested upon his strong shoulders - the group’s largest catch, as always - and Gojo was unyielding to the howl of Pandora’s highest peaks. These mountains were a crown upon the young Na’vi’s head.
The elder clicks his tongue, “Do you not believe it is time for this clan to see our olo’eyktan mated-”
“So let the snow melt.” Had it been anyone but Gojo Satoru, then these words would be lost to the snowstorm. “But I shall forever remain waiting for my mate.”
“But the absence of a tsahìk-”
“Mawey- do slow down.” For not the first time since their trek started, Gojo is turning his head behind him. He might have been a firm leader, but he wasn’t unfair. He watches the Herwi hunters that extend from his feet to far beyond hills of ice and frost - some middle-aged and weathered by the snow already, some fresh-faced and cold with the eagerness to prove themselves. Following them were six-legged canines they called txeylan—powerful hinds pulling sleds piled high with hunt. “The younger ones are having trouble keeping up.”
Gaping, the elder looks between his leader and the younger members near the middle of their group. Flanked by older Na’vi. “But- but olo’eyktan-”
He’s looking up at the irritated sky, “I will see no further talking.”
Though there is an easy smile across his face, the elders know not to cross him. Senior in age—only age.
They bowed their heads and looked away above all because he is their leader, but below that - deep, deeeeeep below what their prides would allow them to ever admit - because they knew he was stronger. The strongest.
The heir born of a blizzard, Satoru of the snow.
It was said he opened his eyes during the coldest night of that year. Ice-blue. Bitter blue. Like the pools of crystallized water that the Herwi people would dance their celebrations upon - and that night they held the longest celebrations to date. Arms in arms and singing songs. And giving thanks and giving the young his first taste of snow.
And though the position of olo’eyktan had an aspect of inheritance to it either way, it was undeniable that the world had just borne their future leader.
He’d grown up taller than other Na’vi his age. Stronger. Stormy flurries wherever he stepped, and a blizzard himself.
There almost seemed to be a gap between him and everyone else.
Gojo had been sixteen when he was officially granted the mantle of ‘The Strongest’ by the clan. It was only about time, and only because of the elders’ reluctance that it’d taken this long.
And now it was impossible to say whether he was more loved or respected as a leader: the more boisterous of the younger Na’vi certainly loved him, the elders couldn’t stand him, the ones of mating age just couldn’t get enough of him. Though it was all for naught.
In all the twenty-eight years that he’d sifted through these snows - in all the ten years since he’d come of age - Gojo hadn’t so much as looked at another with a degree of infatuation.
Not for a lack of propositions- in fact, if you asked his attendants then they’d tell you that Gojo had a surplus of propositions. At least five Na’vi would stroll up the familiar pathway to his underground hut, calling out sing-song wishes to braid his hair, to walk amongst the ice glaciers together, to mend his fur clothes.
Hopefuls.
His attendants were ordered to send them all away with a gift from the olo’eyktan and a firm rejection (though, Gojo finds that that certainly didn’t deter them…)
They just didn’t seem to understand why such a suitable young Na’vi seemed to be waiting…watching…for something even he himself didn’t seem to understand. Always turning his blue eyes to the skies, ever since he was a child, always, always-
Gojo stops in his tracks.
One of his arms raises to halt the procession behind him.
The Na’vi hunters freeze.
The Na’vi hunters let their tails swish.
The txeylan sniff the air.
Gojo’s long pointed ears twitch in every direction before resting in a single direction up ahead - where the belly of the snow seemed to swell with something. Something that the recent snowstorm had swallowed.
“Olo’eyktan…” One of the younger Herwi behind him whispers. “What is it?”
“Mawey. It might be a dead snow beast.” He hisses, though he knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t uncommon for even the creatures of these terrains to be bested by nature. But something about the figure in the snow was…different from the hounding things they hunted. Much more delicate, much more scrunched in on itself.
Gojo keeps his hand held high in the air and passes on his hunt to the nearby clansmen. Still holding onto his bow and arrows, he edges closer. “Ì’awn- the clan stays here while I investigate.” Leaving no room for a word edgewise.
The wind whips his long hair and kuru as the Na’vi steps closer. And some maddened part of him almost feels that it was as though Eywa, their goddess, herself was trying to get him to stay away.
But an even madder part of him wanted to get closer—needed to get closer.
He was being drawn in.
Making not even a single noise with his padded feet, he’s crouching down before the unmoving figure and using his long skeletal fingers to wipe away those dredges of snow.
Away from a face—
He gasps.
The rest of the Herwi startles behind him, “What is it- what is it, olo’eyktan?”
“Is it a snow beast? Must we commence the rituals-”
“Cease! Are those fingers it has-”
“Five?”
But Gojo doesn’t answer their queries, instead he’s silently pressing his ear to the swell of the body’s chest and—ba-dump!
Listening to that faint heartbeat.
He’s not sure how this little human was still alive, and he pulls back to look at them- the first he’s ever seen. Gojo has already heard the whispers from other Na’vi clans, of these aliens named mankind whom had settled upon Pandora a few years ago.
He’s heard about humanity’s wits, their machinery, their greed.
He’s heard of the way they’ve hurt his people.
But he’s never seen one up so…close. Were they all this small? How could something so small be so destructive?
Gojo tilts his head down at you and runs one of his cold indexes down the side of your masked face, did they all look so hurt by the cold? He can’t imagine that it didn’t hurt- after all, the only reason that the Herwi had managed to reside in these mountains for hundreds of years was because of its harsh environment. Not human nor animal nor Na’vi wanted to be here—but Gojo always loved this place, as did his people.
He wondered whether it was such passionate love or hate that drew the little human in his arms to climb such peaks. To come this far.
He can’t help but lean down and scoop the human up into his arms.
“O-olo’eyktan what is the meaning of this-”
“Fnu- shhhh.” Gojo responds in his native language, “She’s resting.”
The olo’eyktan carries the human all the way back the treacherous path to his clan huts.
And every time he looked down, he could see the way that smaller body fell and rose with each faint breath. He could see the flying of human-made coats that did nothing to fight off the cold of Pandora. He could see the pen and notebook stuffed inside it as if they were the most precious treasure of all.
He can see you.
.
.
.
Day #1 in the Herwi village:
Woke up in what seems to be the healer’s hut, a wide insulated space that is more or less steeped into the underground with a berth of the entrance AS (above snow). Capped dome on top. Walls are composed of wooden planks on the interior flanked by compact ice from the outside, decorated in the thick furs of what appears to be snow beasts. Long book shelves. Kindling lantern of something bioluminescent and emitting heat. Shockingly warm inside. Vents are present but small to prevent an excess of thin air. Separate storage spaces and areas for examination, implications of advanced surgery and medical procedures taking place far beyond what we humans can understand.
Though Herwi healing techniques seem to be similar to that of other Na’vi clans (particularly the Omaticaya) in terms of relation to Eywa and natural resources, it must be noted that Herwi healing makes prominent use of ice for anti-inflammatory and vessel constricting methods.
Sparse presence of herbs and more emphasis on pressure points (for a copy of the Herwi circulatory system diagram see Page 8…), though the olo’eyktan reassures that there are a multitude of flora endemic to the Pandoran heights.
The olo’eyktan seems particularly eager to give a tour?
With your eyes blinking open…you think you’ve died and gone onto whatever there was afterwards.
It would’ve been just like you to meet your demise during the pursuit of your research- the higher-ups at your laboratory predicted the same thing. The last thing you remember before blacking out was feeling faint - weeks of hiking up this arduous peak and you’d run out of your provisions a few days ago, surviving on only melted ice to fill your belly. At least, until the sudden threat of a snowslide had resulted in you abandoning your tent and bags behind for escape.
From then on it had only been: you, your pen, your notebook with your research, your translator, and your burning passion to find the Herwi.
It was no surprise that you didn’t last long.
But you suppose you just didn’t expect the ‘afterwards’ to be a blue, blue summer sky.
Oh—how you missed the cloud-frothed ocean of blue down on Earth. It was never quite the same on Pandora, and you’re just beginning to wonder whether heaven was really home-
“Yawne, txen?”
Before your muddled mind realizes that this really wasn’t your sky after all.
What you were looking up into were the eyes of a Na’vi warrior.
He’s leaning his overlarge body above yours, and you’re pressing yourself flatly against a mattress—one that was made of copious amounts of furs and the softest spun wool to make you feel as though you were floating up on the clouds.
But the farther you’re getting, the more he dwarfs you with his curious peering.
Closer.
And the only thing you can do is look up into his handsome blue face- the lightest of blues you’ve ever seen.
Now, you have to start this off by saying that every single Na’vi you’ve seen was beautiful—every single one of them.
But you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone like him before: long white hair, blue eyes almost like a Metkayina, and glowing spots scattered like snowflakes across his cheeks. Heavy eyelids. Taller than your average Omaticaya. Perhaps a bit bulkier, as well.
If you tilted your head just past his looming figure then you could take in the tufted fur clothing he wore, slightly more coverage than of Na’vi from the more tropical areas; with patterns of rosettes peaking out wherever his skin was exposed and dotted like a fainter version of a snow leopard’s. From your own planet.
But you were not on your own planet.
Far from it.
You’re realizing with a jolt that he was one of the Herwi clan-
“Are you…” And though you’d dreamed and wished and hoped for this day for so long—right now you find yourself absolutely speechless. “Are you- fuck.”
To which he only beams- “Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey.” His pearly white teeth are on full display, one little dimple crinkling at the edge of his smile. He just looks so handsome like this that you almost lose your breath- no. It must be the hypothermia that’s getting to you. It must be. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that he almost sounds utterly relieved—“Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung?”
Before he can say anything more, you’re digging in your coats- or at least attempting to. It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle behind the thick blankets and realize that you weren’t wearing those humanly thin layers you did when climbing up the mountain. Well-fitted for the Earth’s cold, but not for the harsh ever-winters of Pandora.
Instead you were wearing…a thick woolen coat?
Much too large on you- almost comically so. It had sleeves that reached a few feet past your fingertips, draped down to your toes, and enough space that you could hide at least five of you inside it.
No translator.
No pen. No notebook-
He sees this smaller figure fluttering about worriedly and tilts his head curiously, “‘Upe lu nga fwew?” Before handing you your notebook and pen from a table behind him.
“Pardon? Ah- thank you so much—!” You beam at him, and he beams back. But looking into his blue eyes once more, you feel a sudden sense of helplessness wash over you. “But I’m sorry, I still can’t understand you.”
At this the Na’vi furrows his pale brows - you’re not quite sure whether he knew what you were saying, but he seemed to have picked up on your emotions. Nudging his large face against yours with a purring sound, “Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga.”
And a part of you somewhat melts- “I said I really can’t- hahah.” You half-heartedly try to push his incessant face away with a laugh, taking particular delight in noting how happily his tail was swishing. Fluffier with more fur than you’ve observed on other types of Na’vi, also covered in pretty rosettes that swayed to and fro.
It’s right now that you wished you had the patience to stay behind and immerse yourself more in the Na’vi language lessons your laboratory had provided. Most scientists didn’t even go out into the field until they were experts - but you were too antsy, too greedy to know. Something seemed to have called you here whether it cost you your life.
Given you’d picked up on some phrases here and there, but it seems that the Herwi had a different accent from the clips played in those listening tests. Slightly softer, slightly more of a whisper.
Like the breath of winter, his words cooled your mask and heated up something entirely different inside of you. “Oe pey ngim krr.”
Before you know it, the Na’vi clasps both your hands in his—and you’re startled by just how large they are, just how cold. You’re analyzing the way his pale fingers hold your own as if it was all that was tender in the world.
Intertwining.
“Ngim krr.” He looks at you with those azure eyes seriously, opening up the palm of your right hand and touching his to yours. Palm against palm. Breath against breath. “Nìt'iluke.”
You get the feeling that you were missing something very important- “I’m sorry I really wish…I’m so sorry to ask any more of you- I really am. But have you happened to see my translator anywhere?”
“Tìnga’prrnen?” He cocks his head in confusion, trying to mouth the word.
“Erm- yes?” Hoping that he understood you, “My translator—” You emphasize the syllables- “It’s a little device to understand you-”
You’re gesturing between the two of you- and you swear you see the light blue Na’vi pale. “Tìnga’prrnen? Oe?”
“Yes?” You knew that ‘oe’ referred to oneself.
He balks- maybe you were getting through to him? “Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen-”
“Skxawng.”
Before he’s suddenly cut off by a hard smack to the back of his head- and you’re looking up just in time to see another Herwi Na’vi enter the hut. The dimorphism between this particular strand of Na’vi wasn’t anything too prominent, you find - both were tall, both were pale, both had long tails and rosettes scattered across their agile bodies.
The only real difference was that the one at your bedside was more rugged, with even more pure-white beads woven into his hair. Though that you could chalk up to their separate duties within the clan.
She walked inside as though she owned the place, throwing her long loose hair behind her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch as she shuts the other man up—as she brings out a black earpiece from behind her and hands it to you. “I believe this is yours. It was dropped in the rush outside.”
“O-oh!” You’re surprised to find that it was none other than your translating device. Taking it gratefully, “Thank you so so much.”
“Don’t mention it.”
At your baffled expression - as far as you knew, the Herwi were the last remaining uncontacted clan of Na’vi, with no knowledge of humankind nor their many languages. “I learned your language from my books-” Gesturing around her - you were right to assume that this was her hut, filled to the brim with ointments and books. Mostly of Na’vi origin, but you could spy a few in English and Japanese. “-sent by friends in the Omaticaya. I find your human stories are…quite amusing.”
“I see.” You breathe.
She gestures at herself, “Ieri Shoko of the heart.” Then at the male Na’vi member, “Gojo Satoru of the snow. I apologize for him, he is our olo’eyktan- also the one that found you.”
“So you’re my saviour.” You’re looking towards him- Gojo once more. He catches your eyes and looks away with a pale blue hue dusting his face. “Irayo nga.” Giving your thanks (one of the few phrases you could speak with complete confidence).
You’re looking towards him- He shudders, “Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen.”
As soon as he’s saying it, Shoko smacks her hand on her forehead- and you wonder what exactly he means.
So without further ado, you’re fixing the earpiece onto yourself.
“Idiot.” Shoko’s turning back to Gojo, “You know that’s not what she meant?”
Gojo crosses his arms and huffs- “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if it’s for her-”
“Not even Eywa could make that happen.”
“Getting preg-”
“Hello?” Testing—and if the way both Na’vi jerk their heads to you in slight surprise is anything to go by, then you’d say that the translator was working rather well. It was less an earpiece that translated and more a device to target that part of your brain that communicated and understood foreign languages.
Allowing you to both understand and speak in the dialect of the Na’vi - an invention by yours truly, of course. You’d (as close as) perfected it just last year for this expedition. “Can you understand me?”
Gojo stares at you with wide blue eyes.
With his pretty lips parted.
With his tail swishing back and forth.
“I see y-”
“We understand you.” Shoko nudges him roughly in the ribs, “I apologize if we’re a bit startled- it’s the first time we’re seeing a human in person.”
“I could’ve guessed that.” You giggle, flickering your eyes over to the starstrack Na’vi. Though you were equally as such. Somehow you speaking in his language just seemed to make him…“But I want to emphasize that I come in peace- I just want to learn as a scientist, not even my laboratory knows exactly where I am. And I intend to keep it that way.”
Shoko crosses her arms and looks gravely at you, “What do you want?”
“To learn. To research you and your people.” You look between them both, “To confirm the existence of the Herwi clan has been a dream of mine for a long time- not for the papers or the accolades, but because I just wanted to know you.”
“And how can we trust you?” Shoko says, getting nudged by Gojo afterwards.
“I won’t reveal anything you don’t want me to.” Determination dripping in your tone, “Not even if they kill me for it.”
They appraise you, and it’s silent for a beat before Shoko looks at Gojo.
And Gojo nods.
Shoko shoots you a barely-there smile, “Well…human, what do you want to know?”
.
.
.
After you woke up, it was after a long talk and almost three or so hours later that you’d gotten up- Shoko and Gojo had both rushed to your side. Waving them off, you’d attempted to shrug off the coat and hand it back to Gojo - long since realizing that it was his - but he’d almost been offended by the gesture.
Refusing.
He’d kept a hand behind on the small of your back to steady you with every step climbed towards the entrance. And once you were out- you could practically feel the storm freeze around you.
Colder than cold.
The Herwi looked at you with fear.
They stopped in their tracks and didn’t even look to breathe until Gojo had followed right after. And standing beside him like that, you’d been made too aware of the drastic height difference between you two. The average Na’vi was about nine to ten feet tall, though by the look of it the Herwi of the snow were much larger than their oceanic counterparts—slightly thicker, with limbs that were long and covered in sparse fur to protect them from the cold.
The Herwi average was about ten feet, you’re finding.
Though Gojo stood at a proud eleven feet (11’1 as you come to interrogate out of him more precisely later on) and rested his hand gently upon your shoulder. They had faint scars on them that marked him as a warrior, and you could feel the slight callouses send shivers across your coat-swathed body. His tail curled around your thigh.
You don’t think you even came up to his stomach-
“My people…” He announced in booming Na’vi. “-as some of you may know from the hunt today, we have a guest.”
You shift at the stares.
“More importantly, my guest. And we will make her feel welcome like family.”
“Family?” The whispers came.
“But she is one of the sky people…”
“Part of the family is…but if the olo’eyktan says so…”
“I’ve never seen him so casually touchy with someone before-”
“Shhhhhhh!”
“I understand if you are scared, and to those who wish it- you are free to leave and never interact with her while she is here.” Though none of them do move. Fixated. “But to those who aren’t, I urge you to share the beauty of our culture.”
To which you’d gulped before introducing yourself as you had to Shoko and Gojo.
.
.
.
Day #2 in the Herwi village:
The governing system of the Herwi is quite reminiscent to that of other clans - made up by a singular olo’eyktan or olo'eykte, accompanied by a tsahìk (though Gojo assures proudly that he is not mated as of writing this), and a council of clan elders that act as an advisory board.
Most decisions are made solely by the wisdom of Gojo himself, though large choices require a vote from the council as well as his people. Such requisites are rare, however, as it seems the olo’eyktan’s impact extends to the non-council people in such a way that they trust him with everything. (For more on the lovely reception and the sheer popularity of Gojo Satoru see Page 11…)
Governing seems to be harmonious if a little quietly tense in regards to certain elders that disagree yet are ultimately obeisant to their olo’eyktan.
This scientist in particular caused a little stir in the Herwi leadership once a research visit was proposed by the olo’eyktan to the rest of the elders. Though initial reactions had been reluctant, after a terse discussion, ultimately six moons had been granted to collect all appropriate research (due to be checked by the elders prior to leaving). No more. No less.
Six moons should be more than enough!
Shoko might have let it slip that it was Gojo who used his privilege as olo’eyktan to convince the council…and he wasn’t too happy that they’d granted you merely six moons (five days if you’re counting the first night there) to stay here. He wanted to gawk at this new human more, you supposed.
But you were so very grateful to each and every one of them either way - even those wizened elders who scowled at you suspiciously wherever you passed. Though even glares seemed sweet when you were living your dream, hm? And it best be believed that you were taking advantage of every single second you had with the clan - every single second.
Because this was exactly what those cigar-smoking higher-ups had laughed at you for.
They thought you were chasing a myth.
The Herwi people had been so gracious as to offer you an empty hut, despite Gojo’s fervent insisting that you take his and he can simply tough it out in the cold outside-
And the next day you were up early- perhaps a little too early for the olo’eyktan who’d apparently tracked your trail and followed you around for an hour. Before he finally managed to stop you in the middle of your field study - helping out a young Herwi mother take care of her crying toddler, whilst learning about Herwi childcare techniques - and raised his bag full of food.
Breakfast.
You’re smacking your hand against your forehead as you’d completely forgotten - not quite out of the ordinary for when you got too immersed in your work. But it was different when you had someone seeking you out to take care of you…
And so after sharing the abundance of breads and berries and soups (far too much for but the two of you) with the Herwi mother and child, the two of you sit outside her hut and admired the view of the village. The soft half-sun that melted across the capped peaks, a buttery layer of light that was not even half as bright as on Earth.
But somehow gentler.
Gojo’s raising one berry to his lips before- “Ah…” His mouth drops when he takes a glance at you- more accurately, at your masked self. And he’s stopping in his movements, “Excuse me for just a second, beloved.”
“Oh? Of course.”
You watch as he’s standing up and sprinting light-fast towards the edge of a great steaming lake in the horizon. His figure’s crouching down and cupping his hands in the sparkling water, bubbling with fury. Gojo brings it up to his face and whispers a mantra that you couldn’t quite determine. Not from where you were sitting.
Before carefully bringing it right up to you- “Drink, beloved.”
He gently leans down to let his fingertips meet your mask.
And you’d had no option—you consider it for science, though a part of you knew you didn’t have to linger your lips so much on his cold skin- but you lift your mask up and drink it.
Once the water floods your throat, you knew something was different.
Your lungs quiver.
Once.
Twice.
And you’d found yourself able to breathe—
Breathing on Pandora.
“How did you…” As you gasp, Gojo reaches out and removes the mask off of you completely. He’d let the earpiece stay on, of course, but lightly grazed his cold digits against the shell of your ear and made you shiver. “I don’t even know what to say- thank you. I didn’t even know this was possible—no other Na’vi clan let alone a mere human has discovered a way to let us breathe normally on Pandora.”
“For you. Lake Yapay.” Gojo says, large hand still cupping your face. “It steams great billowing heat in the day, and freezes by night. Here in Herwi, we use its water to expand our lungs during snowstorms.”
And you want to write it down- you know you should, but the pen in your fingers won’t move. Or more accurately, your fingers won’t move.
He continues, “This land is alive and works in mysterious ways. It has worked for you, beloved, as I knew it would.”
“Thank you again, olo’eyktan.”
“Satoru.” He interjects.
“Satoru.”
He smiles as if it meant the world.
And so your feast commences.
“You have to remember to eat.” Gojo says to you as he scoffs down a sweet paste made of ice-blue berries, “How will you brave the winter storms otherwise? Of course, I will protect you—and yet still.”
“Well, I sure hope I survive six more nights for my research then, hm?” You joke.
But you hadn’t expected Gojo’s face to darken, for him to shake his head. “It’s not fair.”
“Pardon?”
“Six more nights…” And you hadn’t exactly expected him to be so…invested in your research - you admit that you would benefit more from a longer period of studying the Herwi, but you were ready to take what was given. He looks down at the glaring snow and whispers—more to himself. “It’s not fair. I will correct it.”
“Correct?”
“Oh?” And you look from him to the village straight ahead, “Well, I’d be happy either way, Satoru.”
Just then that little Na’vi you’d been helping to watch over before comes waddling and giggling out of the hut to hold onto you- and you pick her up readily.
Gojo took one look at the two of you and shivered.
Shivered.
.
.
.
Day #3 in the Herwi village:
Hunts are an imperative part of the Herwi lifestyle—not only is it how the people are nourished, but it’s a social activity, it’s a coming-of-age activity.
As aforementioned, hunts are commenced and led by none other than the olo’eyktan. A large group of Herwi warriors shall trek across the icelands in one unit, and it was quite interesting to note that most of the younger hunters are positioned in the middle where they are less likely to get injured during such a trip.
It is in the middle of their hike that Gojo will alert when the group is to split up: Snow beast hunters and snow marine stilts. Divide and conquer seems to be the only strategy that somehow tames such an unforgiving environment, and Herwi marine-hunters seem to be picked from the most patient of warriors. They carve out a hole in the middle of frozen bodies of water (never Lake Yapay, this divine body is never harmed) and each positions themself atop a tall icicle beside it to escape prowling beasts and currents. Crouched and ledged atop one, the sheer core strength and balance is divine once they cast their lines and wait.
On the other side of things, we have the Herwi beast-hunters. Using a large variety of weapons, the most popular is noted to be the bow and arrow - used by the olo’eyktan himself. They stalk in the cold white billows of snow with not even a single shiver, they lay in wait for hours, they tire their prey out.
And nevertheless this scientist found today’s hunt rather interesting…
The third and fourth days had passed by in much the same fashion - except for the slight tweak in your routine that included opening your hut door and finding the olo’eyktan standing there every single morning.
Always with food, always with a smile, always with some interesting niveous flower for you to press into your notebook. Then afterwards the two of you would set out to help you interview the Herwi people of all ages and backgrounds, to take samples, to explore the natural fauna, to even join Gojo on one of his Hunts on the third day.
They admitted that they didn’t focus on hunting as much as they normally did on that trek, too enamored with this strange little human that had showed up one day and had their olo’eyktan glued to her side.
You interviewed hunters and elders (well, the ones that didn’t ignore you completely or were on the verge of cursing you out until they caught their leader’s eye) until your mouth hurt. And Gojo had taken you into the best spot with natural Pandoran fauna, making you jot down notes until your fingers cramped.
Once the sun was beginning to set and the Na’vi were getting ready to head back to their village for the night, you’re taking the opportunity to interview some of the young hunters. Gojo was off in the distance making up for the slightly lowered hunt by ice-spearing more snow beasts. And you were more than happy not to distract him while he took care of his olo’eyktan duties- after all, the other hunters were nice. Never having seen a human before, they’d been more than happy to answer your questions.
Ribbing each other, guffawing as they answered, placing their hands down on you and ruffling your head from above.
Almost as if you were a plaything- and you admit it was in the name of science, you didn’t mind it too much until a particularly boisterous hunter about Gojo’s age had kept swatting at you no matter how many times you politely moved away. Until he’d caught you on the scruff of your coat and tried to lift you up—
You hear the sound of bones breaking before you realize what it is.
Whipping your head behind you in an instant to see that Gojo was behind the other hunter and pulling his hand hard enough that you hear other Na’vi cry out.
He lets go of you, of course, and you watch with widened eyes as Gojo then bandages his fellow Na’vi’s arm himself. Though you note that he doesn’t apologize.
Gojo didn’t leave your side for a single second after that.
That night after the dinner by the lake, Gojo walks you to your hut and sleeps outside in the bitter cold- no matter how much you tried to get him to take up the bed inside. He’d insisted.
After mating, he’d said.
You wonder whether your translating device was malfunctioning…
(See Page 26 on Herwi possessiveness…).
.
.
.
Day #4 in the Herwi village:
Beads.
A well-known part of Na’vi culture, one of the most recognizable, perhaps. The scientific community has written long and extensively on the importance of bead-sharing in the Omaticaya clan, however, this scientist shall be the first to detail the beauty of how this tradition extends to the Herwi clan.
According to the artisans of this village, beads aren’t fashioned through molten stone or seeds or clay—given the availability of such in this environment. Rather, they’re made with snow.
Never-melting snow.
Yes, the design of hona beads from snow is a practice unique to the Herwi clan. Broken off from the hardest icicles growing at a peak of Mt. Hoet said to touch the sky, not only is it a treacherous passage to get to those specialized bits of ice, but the process of making the beads finds itself just as arduous. These icicles are then welded into delicate beads and dipped into the waters of Lake Yapay at night, letting them soak and then carried to freeze at the highest peak once more.
This process is repeated until the beads are as hard as diamonds on Earth- perhaps even harder. Never-melting. Never-breaking. Never-forgetting. Though not too hard so that the Herwi will be unable to carve unique patterns and symbols special to themself. Rinse. Repeat.
Though the clear meaning of such is ambiguous, it is most certainly a way of showing appreciation - as one would have to love someone very much to do this, no?
It was on your fourth day amongst the Herwi clan that Gojo didn’t show up with a beautiful flower or trinket from the terrain- instead, he’s bounding up to you with a string of beads and knotting it against the side of your face.
Pushing it back and taking you in with it.
Without a question.
“Satoru, did you…” You’re holding the line of beads up to the sunlight and watching the little patterns glimmer. They were slightly frosted and flurried like the smallest of snowglobes, “Did you make this for me?”
And you swear they had the most intricate design of clouds on them, swirling and tumbling.
“Of course.” He smiles proudly. “Us Herwi are taught how to design our very own hona beads ever since we were children, and as Na’vi coming of age we walk up the path to make the first one for ourselves…as adults we make one for our family or…” Mates.
“And this- god, I need to…write about this but I can’t even imagine how long this would’ve taken.”
“Four days.” Gojo cocks his head and looks down at you- and that brilliantly confident grin of his plasters across his face once more. “For most it takes four years, but for you I did it in four days.”
“Oh, they’re just amazing.” You run a hand down the ice-cold globules, “Thank you, Satoru.”
He holds your hand as he leads you out into the village.
Gojo tells you that night to wear those very beads to the clan dinner - once a week (at the very least) after a particularly successful Hunt, the Herwi people will get together for a massive feast. You’d heard excited whispers about it from the public you surveyed, and it seems that the olo’eyktan had chosen tonight.
Night had begun to fall, and you were dragged playfully by some younger girls straight to the edge of this vast frozen lake. Past snow-capped huts that stuck out of an even more snow-capped ground like eager heads, and ice-jeweled trees and frozen rivers and pathways lit with bioluminescent algae trapped in lanterns of ice.
It was a world in frost.
Where Na’vi had gathered with their families, their friends, their food—all in an array of tables that circled the crystallized body of water like a wedding ring.
Under the snowy night sky they communed.
“You are wearing my- I mean your hona beads.” Gojo had beamed as he eventually caught up with you and guided you himself. He led you by hand again - even though you weren’t exactly quite sure why…at least it kept you from being toppled over by the other tall Herwi rushing to snag their own seats. “You look beautiful with them, beloved.”
And you weren’t quite sure what to say- though the bubbling pit at your stomach certainly wanted you to tell him something. Instead you divert the topic, “You hunted today as well, yes? Is there anything here that you hunted?”
To which he looks at you with a rather cocky smile, “Beloved, I have hunted more than half of the feast tonight. Trust that you will enjoy it.”
And you might have joked about him being presumptuous- but you really did enjoy the feast.
Under a star-studded sky and glimmering lanterns that twinkled like the freckles upon Gojo’s face, he led you to the very head table that no other Na’vi dared touch. It was rather obvious that this one was meant for the olo’eyktan himself, but what was curious was when your seat had been placed right next to his.
Perks of being a special guest, you suppose?
Shoko was beside you and shot you an amused smile, before preening for another Herwi next to her with a scar that ran across her face and half-braided hair.
“Utahime.” Gojo had whispers in your ear, “Shoko’s mate.”
“Ah- I see!” Pen quivering in your hand, you’re jotting down your observations in your notebook under the table. “Perfect. I’m quite curious about the mating rituals of the Herwi, you see. Do you suppose I’d be able to ask them some questions later on in the night?”
“Don’t ask them questions- ask me.” Gojo huffs. Brows furrowing. Lower lip jutting into a pout.
He leans over and wraps his arm around the back of your chair. Squirming, “O-oh…but you’re not mated yet, are you, Satoru?”
“Nope!”
“Right…” But then how could you ask him about mating if he wasn’t—nevermind.
Because just then the group in charge of cooking for the clan had rounded the tables and begun placing their most savored delicacies on top of them. Meats upon vegetables upon berries that you’d seen growing naturally across the mountainside they lived on. It was steaming hot and everything that you could dream of.
Whether you didn’t like meat, whether you didn’t like vegetables- there was always something there for you.
Most of the richest dishes were allocated around the olo’eyktan and your single table, stuffing the surface to the brim until you had to squeeze next to Gojo for space. Of course, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps too busy piling his place with the sweetest treacly milks and frozen desserts that he could reach.
After dinner came the dances.
It happened every night after the community dinner when everyone - full and satisfied by then - would start humming and chanting their ancient hymns. Echoing into the sleepy snow and the ever-young night, someone would pull out two snow beast-skin drums by then. Thumping away to the songs of the snow.
Children ran off and made snow-prints and snow-fights in the mountains of powder. Family members would begin drowsily feeding each other and insisting they eat more. Others traced their own hona beads and promised they’d make ones for the one they love.
More would punch small holes through the frozen lake and bring the water up to their mouths, of which a sudden blow would make the water freeze and scatter out into the air in twinkling snowflakes. Emulating the stars themselves.
Snow-breathers.
They’d sing, they’d sound, they’d show off and then…the first mated couple would walk onto the middle of the frozen ice.
Then the second.
The third.
The fourth and the fifth and the sixth-
What a way to end the night, love warming the cold air and couples twirling around each other with their tails intertwined. Usually, you’d be content to clap and attempt to sing along—
But then Gojo stands up- and you almost believe he was ready to leave the table altogether…until he’s reaching his hand out to you.
You.
And you look around in slight surprise- almost as if expecting someone to materialize right beside you and take Gojo’s hand instead. But the only thing you’re getting is Shoko’s approving nod from next to you, before she lets herself be dragged by Utahime onto the frozen lake.
And so you’d danced.
Rather an interesting sight considering the height difference, you admit—but it was beautiful. Gojo scoops you up into his arms with one steadied underneath you, the other holds one of your hands in his.
So much larger. So much more powerful.
And yet so gentle.
He twirls you around to the music and you laugh at the wind stinging your face.
“Satoru, you’re going to drop me—”
“I should rather die than drop you.”
“But- but what of the other Herwi that will be mistaken?” You ask then, already sensing the envious looks that were thrown your way.
“There goes my dream of being tsahìk, I’m almost sure of it now-”
“But I haven’t been able to try my luck with the olo’eyktan yet-”
“Oh shush, girl! You seriously think any of us had a chance?”
You look into his handsome face, eyes trained on you despite all the whispers and disturbance amongst his people. Only you. “You won’t be able to find a mate this way.”
Something unreadable in his blue eyes, flickering with fire from the tables and something else entirely. “Perhaps I don’t want one.”
“Well that would be entirely your decision.” You place your hands on his broad shoulders, flexing as they move you around with ease. “But it seems in Herwi tradition, the olo’eyktan is wont to take a mate.”
He raises a white brow, “And who should you believe must be my mate then?”
You didn’t quite know how to answer that.
Averting his eyes- and those of the Na’vi staring at you two. “W-well, Herwi has many fine women and men. Reykol is the best singer.”
“I do not want Reykol.”
“Tìtaron is a good hunter.”
He pulls you closer, “Yes, she is a good hunter. But I am better, and I do not care for Tìtaron.” Reaching up one hand to brush away the snowflakes that had begun dusting your face, “I believe I have already been fated to. Even before I was born, I have already chosen.”
You swallow, “Who, Satoru?”
He only smiles.
“Who?”
But he does not answer, you’re twirled around once more and the moonlight catches your dangling beads.
“Is that…”
“Surely our leader isn’t saying what we think he is saying-”
“But look at him, he looks so…happy.”
You turn your head to catch the fact that most of the Herwi were looking at you, whispering behind their hands. In hindsight, you think that perhaps it was not a coincidence that they ogled you - and particularly the hona beads that you’d been gifted. Not a coincidence at all.
You wore his signature because you were his.
And they all knew you were his.
.
.
.
Day #5 in the Herwi village (the last day):
Leaving tomorrow, a perceptive scientist may notice that there is only one thing missing from this comprehensive research into the Herwi clan.
The source of Eywa.
As a deity to all Na’vi people, her influence seeps into the songs and prayers of even the highest terrains on Pandora. Into the healing. Into the well wishes. Into the belief system of a people so accepting and harmonious that their tree of Eywa does not need to be visibly present for her will to be carried out.
But as for where she resides here…
Your fifth and final day was less research and more saying your goodbyes to all the friends you’d made in the Herwi clan. You’d be leaving first thing tomorrow, before the sun even rose, according to the sternest of the elders.
Gojo hadn’t met you outside your hut that morning, and you’d idled away the time packing and repacking your bag of samples and books. Thrice, before you started to believe that he might not come after all.
But that was alright, ultimately believing that he’d show up later on in the day, you visited all the healers, the hunters, the dancers, and the chefs. The mother and toddler you’d grown close to on your first day here, and even a stray elder that had sought you out to bow goodbye.
All the young Na’vi and the old Na’vi.
All the Na’vi that had come to not fear you and the Na’vi that had found you endearing at first sight.
They’d warmed up to you since you first came here. They gave you gifts, each of them, and your heart ached as you thought of leaving.
Goodbyes were always painful - but perhaps one most of all. Gojo.
He still hadn’t met you by the end of your route, and you’d circled the village about twice by the time you were done. He was nowhere to be seen.
It was almost as if he’d disappeared into thin air.
It was with a heavy pit in your stomach that you started to head back to your hut—your last dinner with the Herwi people would be in a few hours. Afterwards, Gojo had previously arranged for you to be accompanied by some of the clan’s best warriors on your trek down.
You just thought that’d include him.
Perhaps you could sleep it off until the final dinner- and you were shutting the door just behind you…
Before sounds a hurried, hasty knock—
You open the door to see the olo’eyktan of the Herwi tribe.
Panting. Covered in snow.
“My apologies, I have spent the day clearing the pathway for us.” Gojo huffs out, leaning against your door frame with one hand. The other reaching out to you—“Come with me, beloved?”
.
.
.
The Herwi source of Eywa was inside an ice cave.
One that would get blocked when the goddess herself did not wish to be seen, one that Gojo had torn through layers of packed ice to burrow a pathway for the both of you. He’d carried you all the way to the gaping mouth of blue ice and ghost snow.
Closing in on you like arms of rime beckoning you to the tree of Eywa. The Tree of Winter.
The cold embrace of a mother.
One you were still not quite sure whether you were allowed to see—but Gojo knew he wanted you to see. He saw you.
At the end of the cave was an ice column about eighty feet tall and naturally formulated to look like the winding branches of a tree. Dripping to the ground in phantom white snow, each one delicate and graduating from white to blue. There almost seemed to be a glowing aura about it.
Clear mirrors making up the tree’s vines. Honed tips of the icicles rising from Pandora and stabbing down towards it. The top of the tree reached where the cave roof was hollow, beaming a circle of light from the skies that donned Eywa in innocent pink.
You gasped at the white snowsprites that bounced off of the tree and onto your two bodies.
Where Gojo stand with his back straight, his meaty thighs spread—pearly white teeth biting down to stop himself from fucking moaning at the feeling of your mouth sliding up n’ down his hot cock.
While you were standing.
You didn’t even have to get on your knees.
His eleven foot figure loomed above you, one hand on the back of your head and the other pumpin’ his furious erection. Your maw slips down his puckered tip and he shivers- bucking ever-so-slightly and hitting the back of your throat dead-on—
And yet he wasn’t even fully bottomed out.
He wasn’t even fully bottomed out.
The sudden realization makes you claw at the sides of his blue skin with a whine- direct vibrations that make the puckered tip lodged inside your mouth twitch. He’s sploshing out even more syrupy pre like he couldn’t stop it.
He’s not even trying and it’s already so much, cascading like a waterfall down the front of your chin.
“Now- hah, now.” One of Gojo’s prolonged fingertips reaches out to smear away the slippery sheen across your face- at least, that’s what you think he’s doing.
But instead you’re feeling him curve his rude digits between your lips and push those dewy droplets inside. Shovelling his cock just a little bit deeper, “S’not good to waste it, beloved. Open your mouth and take it all like a good girl, yes?”
“Mmmpf-” A damn miracle that you could get out that much sound in the first place. You’re pulling off to answer, and Gojo jerks his hips a lil’ to chase your damp mouth. “You’re saying you want me to take it all—?”
He shivers, leopard-like tail twitching. “Yes.”
And right before your very eyes, you can see his shaft throb even bigger.
Harder.
The prettiest bluish-pink on his tip, one with a divot that leaks out a line of precum. You’re following it with your dazed eyes- before the next thing you’re seeing is a close-up of it.
Gojo has his massive hand plastered to the back of your scalp and is pushin’ your head in, digging his dripping wet tip against the back of your throat. With a groan, the Na’vi pins you to him and hammers out a few sloppy thrusts of his cock.
Again and again.
Slurp after slurp—
“Gonna take it all- hah- my entire cock inside that pretty mouth, yes?” He’s cocking his head to the side and asking down at you sweetly. And he might look all in control, but Gojo’s voice fucking breaks at the very end of his sentence.
Right in synchronization with the way you were draggin’ your sizzling tastebuds down the veiny sides of his erection. Just the cutest tongue that was eagerly lapping up everything he was giving—“Doesn’t matter if you’re a lil’ human, you’re gonna take the leader’s biiiiig cock, aren’t you?”
Removing yourself from his thickened tip with a wet pwah! “Y-you’re really serious about the-”
“Yes.”
And he’d apologize for cutting you off later- hell, he’d grovel at your feet if he has to. But right now all Gojo can think of doing is holding onto the back of your head and strollin’ his thumb down the column of your throat. The olo’eyktan can feel that fat cylindrical intrusion where his cock was pumping in and out- and he’s sliding his fingertip dooooooown that bulge. “Aren’t you a scientist, beloved?”
“Y-yes?”
“Then aren’t you curious about just how far a human can take Na’vi cock?”
“Well…” You blubber out, “I guess so-”
“Then consider it for your research.” With each syllable he’s cutting your breath off by thudding his cockhead against the roof of your mouth. “Then just fucking- haaaaah—” And you’re finding that the pre Na’vi cock exuded was actually rather sweet- almost like honeydew flooding up your mouth n’ being slid all round by the intrusion of his shaft. “-take it.”
“Mmmpf—ngh.” Tears were streaming down your face by now, wetting your cheeks and making the Na’vi wipe them away with his thumb.
“Don’t cryyyyy—” He’s airily calling out, almost nothing like the level-headed Na’vi you’d met before. “Big girls don’t cry. Don’t worry- m’gonna give you all of my cock, beloved.”
“S-Satoru-”
But each of your broken yowls were being bullied back in with his bludgeoning wet tip, bruisin’ away its splitted end anywhere and everywhere.
He swabs into the tiniest nooks and crannies inside your mouth with his sheer size, leaving your knees utterly weak where you were still standing. He’s holding your head up to his cock- “C’mon- feel.”
You peer up at him in confusion.
“Feel for your research.” Fluttering his long pale lashes down at you, a sultry smile spreads across his lips. “How many loooong thick inches you’re being given. How many veins are filling ya up. How many times I hit the back of yer throat like this-”
A shuddering slam right where you were most tender. “Please-”
“M’helping you with your- fuck, research.” He chuckles down lecherously, “By shutting that smart human mouth of yours up.”
“Fuck-”
“Feel it- just feel.”
He thrusts so hard that his heavy ballsack smacks! against your chin, “Feel the way that lil’ mouth of yours can barely even take me. Feel how fat my balls are with cum just for you. Count them? Wanna calculate the girth?” Until it was stinging a permanent girth on your skin, rubbed raw with impact. “Feel the way I- ngh, bruuuise your throat n’ those sensual lips until anyone that talks to you knows I’ve been here.” He’s babbling on stupidly by now, eyes falling more n’ more half-lidded by the minute. He’s holding on tightly to your restless head and shoves- “Feel the way I fuck my mate—”
Gojo trails off as if shocking himself, and you’re snapping your teary eyes up to him with a muffled- “What?”
But you don’t know whether it’s on cue, you don’t know whether it’s the startle of being caught- but Gojo’s slamming his cocktip way past the back of your throat and cumming.
Oozing out hot dollops of cum that take over your pretty mouth.
Shaft throbbing furiously. Balls twitching like no other. He throws his head back and squelches straight down your throat, and you can feel the thickness of it plug up your voicebox.
So sweet.
So much.
And you’re not sure whether it’s a Na’vi thing or it’s a Gojo thing that he’s cumming so much in one go.
Loooooong miry stripes that trickle down the sides of your mouth- he leans down and pushes them back between your lips with one of his thumbs. Ivory sap constantly leaking down onto your tastebuds, he feels the heady slip n’ slide of his cock against those wads of cum. “Fuh-fuck…”
And then he’s not moving, merely clasping the back of your head and bringing you firmly up against his slender pelvis.
Your nose rubs against the tufts of white on his abs before you realize that he’d just bottomed-out—just once, like he’d promised.
And it was enough to send you reeling, feeling the pushback of his swabbin’ tip. Pouring out even more heady liquid every time he was draaaaging down your velvety tongue.
The tip of your tastebuds flicks his sensitive slit just right and you can feel him pulse deep inside. “Feel me in there?” Gojo’s groaning from above. “Feel how much I ache for you. Feel the volume of my cum- are you counting it?”
“I-I—”
But evidently your half-sob wasn’t enough.
And the Na’vi is reaching down and pinching your nostrils together with his free hand. “Ah ah- focus on your research, beloved.”
And you’re struggling uselessly against his mean action, to which Gojo watches with a predatory gaze at the way you huff n’ sputter. And he has the audacity to snicker-
“I really can throw you around like a ragdoll, huh?”
It’s as if the realization had just struck him and he’s shuddering.
It almost feels like ages before he’s finally pulling away with a loud plop!
An excess of your cum was leaking out of your maw and threatening to drip onto the floor- “Tch, this is a sacred place, my human.” He’s rasping out—swipin’ up the frothed white cum as if he wasn’t absolutely desecrating you. Pushing those clingy wads between your maw.
He then guides his honed tip to glide across your lips, gluing your lips shut with all his seed.
And Gojo can’t help but admire you- peering up at him with his towering height. All covered in his syrupy slick and speechless, unable to talk even if your voicebox had been left intact.
He smiles, tail swishing happily to and fro. “My human.” Gojo leans all the distance down to kiss you upon your sopping wet lips. “My m- pretty human. My pretty human…”
But you don’t have enough sense at the moment to ponder too long on his little slip-up before he’s bending down close with his hoarse mouth against the shell of your ear.
Making you feel so sensitive.
“-did ya get enough research yet?”
And then he’s good on his other promise: throwing you around like a ragdoll.
Before you know it, Gojo’s thundering down onto his knees upon the frozen floor - taking you right along with him. He grabs his fur coat from a little ways away and makes you rest down on top of it. With ease.
Back flat on the coat. Legs spread high in the air.
Twisted around the back of Gojo’s neck and locked in place-
“Satoru-” You look around the Tree of Winter that only seems to glow even brighter, the snowsprites buzzing. “-are you sure we should be doing this h—oh.”
Gojo doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t have to.
He’s merely unhinging his jaw and letting his loooong pinkish tongue drip out. It was glossy with ravenous saliva, thick at the base, and curved at the tip. The end of it dripped tantalizingly with spittle- almost torturously.
Achingly needy.
There was an almost feline quality to it that made your thighs clench.
“N-nevermind.”
The only thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo had his tongue stuffed against your wet core and swabbin’ away until you saw white—“M-mmmpf.” His mouth was just so large that he could engulf your pussylips with a single bite, honed canines grazing the outer edge of your cunt while he kisses inwards. “My pretty mate- my tasty mate.”
It’s almost as if he was pussydrunk already.
With just a single slurp of his curvaceous tongue glidin’ up and down your slit, Gojo has his blue eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips bucking. Wildly. “Why didn’t Eywa tell me that you’d taste so good-”
“Oh my—” Your back arches while his thickened fingertips come between your legs to pinch your puckered pussy into his mouth. Pushing you against him even more - greedy. “Shit, it just feels so-”
Smack!
And without a single warning, Gojo has his roverin’ fingertips slamming down on your pussy. Straight on top of your slit where your clit was hidden, it sends shockwaves of both pain and pleasure up your spine.
You’re gasping and staring down at him-
“Now now, no cursing- be good before Eywa, hm?” That damn hypocrite - and you could see it in that sultry smile of it. Gojo was getting off on the way you’d squirm your cunt restlessly against his face, sighing into the way he starts fucking your pussy once more. “Or else m’not gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours out, ya hear?”
You gape, “That’s not fucking fair-”
Smack!
“What was that, beloved?”
“I said—”
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
Until Gojo’s leaving your pussy raw and needy, and even then he wasn’t done with you- he has the audacity to purse his plump lips and spit. Spit. Letting the sharp strike of saliva make you shiver—
“What was that?” He asks you in such a breathy tone, such a ruined tone. Gojo spoke like if you told him you needed him right now then he would simply shatter.
And you can only gulp at the state that he was in - you’ve researched Na’vi during times of high pressure, during battles, during their coming-of-age ceremonies. But never had you met one that simply seemed so…feral. “I-I’ll be good, Satoru.”
He smiles like he’s been wanting to hear those exact words for years.
Fingertips jittering with excitement, he then reaches for your intertwined ankles with his tail.
Locking them in place, Gojo murmurs. “Good…” Before he’s getting ready to dive straight back into your sweetened cunt once more, “Because you better not run-”
And you don’t get to ask just what might constitute you running from his mouth. His tongue.
You don’t get to ask just what it meant when he looked at you with that dark inkling of something carnal, as if he was about to devour you whole.
You don’t get to ask anything, in fact, and whatever questions were already in your throat burst into a zillion pieces at the feeling of him pushing his tongue inside your hole. Properly.
Not lapping away coquettishly on your outer cunt, not slurpin’ up all your treacly juices.
Gojo had his tastebuds stuffed inside your entrance and was draaaaagging them all across every orifice inside of you. Thrusting his entire length in and out at a rapid pace, you could feel the edge of his chin hitting your base with every movement.
Inside and out.
Inside and out.
But the sheer speed of him wasn’t even the bit makin’ you the most dizzy- see Gojo’s Na’vi tongue was something amazing. Something incredible.
Just so large and lavish that it was stretching your walls out like never before.
“P-please-” You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything like this- the way that Gojo’s textured tongue would mold against your walls, the way he’d pinpoint even the tiniest orifices with his flexible tip, the way he’d expand and contract his tongue purposefully. Until you saw white. Bucking—“Please it just feels so-”
“Where’d ya think you’re going?”
And the slur in his voice makes you pause- “Wh-what…?”
The last thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo tightens the rude grip of his fingertips on your pussylips. And the other one of his hands holds onto your waist to haul you back down onto his mouth- you hadn’t even realized that you’d been edging away in sensitivity.
“Didn’t I tell you not to run?” Spankin’ those rugged fingertips of his down on your clit once more. You get the feeling that Gojo’s meanly choosing your clit because he knew that’d make you clench ‘round his tongue even more. “Don’t run. Don’t even move.”
“You’re just so fucking- ngh, big and you expect me not to move?” You wail out in indignity.
“Well, who told you to fuck a Na’vi warrior?” He’s countering, those half-lidded eyes of his twinkling with humor. “Better yet- who told you to fuck the olo’eyktan-”
And you suppose you had no explanation for that.
Especially not even Gojo was pumping his thickened tongue into you so fast that any and all explanations in your throat start to dissolve. Instead being replaced by the most pathetic whines and groans as he keeps fucking your pussy greedily.
As though Gojo was a man parched.
Because your wettened pussy was more refreshing to him than the waters of the lake- and if he could, he’d have his head stuffed between your legs every second of the day. Simply slurpin’ up every dewy droplet that escaped out of you, Gojo catches even those tiniest of wads.
Slipping his looooong tongue inside—you’re driven damn near mad once he slithers his length in and grazes your g-spot.
Hips bucking, eyes snapping open. “H-how did you even manage-”
“Ah ah—” His familiar tut, and soon enough you’re glued back down onto his pretty mouth again. Gojo doesn’t even need to try to ease you pliably back onto his face no matter how much you try to run- but oh, it was just so fun to watch your sultry surprise. The way you only got wetter when he manhandled you. “So this is that cute lil’ g-spot human have, hm? I thought it was just something in Shoko’s anatomy textbooks.”
“You- you read her textbooks…” You ask.
“All day and all night.” Gojo replies with a smirk, his ears twitching as he hears the quickening of your heartbeat. “Only Eywa knows how much I’ve touched myself imagining this.”
“Oh—”
It hits you like a flash of lightning- and so do the sudden swipes of Gojo’s tongue reaching your sweetest spots. Thud-thud-thud-thud he’s ricocheting against your bundle of nerves rapidly, making it echo like your own heartbeat in your ears. Thud-thud-thud-thud—
“Shit-” And suddenly you understand- you thought you understood before? But no, now you understand why Gojo had been telling you not to run away initially.
“Don’t run.” He warns.
Because all you’re feeling are the large stripes he’s licking up your slick walls, and the only thing you can think of doing is bucking. Rutting. Reaching for his lips wildly- though your body moves torturously as if you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to run away—“Shit.”
“Don’t run.”
But how could you not run from it? How could you not even move when Gojo had your body teased n’ toyed with till absolutely no end?
He was hammerin’ his tongue against your g-spot furiously—and you were sure by now that he has the exact pattern of his tastebuds bruised right on that area. Shapin’ your velvety walls to his tongue, Gojo dives in just so animalistically.
And you can’t help but buck. You can’t help but arch your back. You can’t help but reach your hand out and attempt to grab onto something- anything for dear life.
Again and again. “Shiiiiit is it even allowed to feel this good-”
But the Na’vi leader merely stops your hands with his own, folding them neatly into his hair. Holding onto his clammy scalp- “As Eywa wills it.” He smiles and your cunt’s just so sensitive by this point that you can feel the exact degree of curvature of his grin. “Which reminds me…”
And for your profanity you’re getting three more direct spanks, “Shit-”
One more.
Before you feel him then twist his fingertips on your throbbing clit and pinch- “Ya reeeeally can’t be a good girl f’me, huh?” Gojo asks you with a smile, though there was a hint of something in his voice that reminded you why exactly he was the olo’eyktan of such a large clan. “Look at you—”
“Sh-shit, that feels so-” But he isn’t listening, and you’re fighting the heels of your feet against his broad back.
“Look at you.” He’s tightening his tail on your ankles and dragging you back down. He’s spitting down through clenched canines, every single word sending sparks up to your hazy brain. Barely even working by this point, surely. “Swearing. Squirming. Moaning like a slut and trying to escape- as your leader, I should punish you, beloved.”
“No more pussy spanking—” You whine, “Just makes me so sensitive…”
“I’m not talking about pussy spanking, beloved.” To emphasize his point he gives just a light tap on your sensitive nub once more.
It leaves you shaking to wonder just what else he has in store for you- though you don’t have to let your mind grapple in the dark for too long. Because in absolutely no time - just a few more vulgar thrusts of his tongue - you’re feeling the sudden plump intrusion of something slender at your hole.
It certainly couldn’t have been his tongue, because you knew what that ridged texture felt like.
It certainly couldn’t have been Gojo’s cock, because you’d tasted that and you knew he had a much larger circumference.
So that left only one option—Gojo had your pussylips spread apart and your entrance gulping up every inch of his fingers. They just looked so stark with their blue color disappearin’ into your hole, and Gojo’s increeeeedible length making you feel so full.
Two of them were all that were shovelled inside- and yet he was already stretching for your very cervix on his first thrust inside. He scours the spongy end of your pussy then slides back out—in and out, in and out, in and out.
Each time his knobbly joints push against your g-spot and left you crying-
“Feel my fingers inside you?” Gojo rasps ruthlessly, his mouth wrapped around your throbbing clit. Groaning at the way you grow even wetter- Na’vi senses were strong, and he could smell the impending orgasm on you. “Feel the way I reach for your- hah, womb all inside? Feel the way I can fuck a baby in you so easily?”
“Yes-” You answer to them all, “Yes yes yes yes—”
And before you can say anything more, his powerful tail hauls you down. Bashin’ in even deeper with his plush fingertips. “Feel the way I’ve found eeeevery cute spot of yours? Feel the way I know your pussy inside and out?”
“Yes- fuck.” And you don’t even care if you’re ‘punished’ any more for breaking Gojo’s stern rules. Gojo himself was slamming his knuckles red and raw against your cunt, fucking his human’s tight pussy. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”
“Feel the way m’making you mine—?”
“Satoru, m’gonna cum-”
“Note it down in your research.”
And then you’re exploding straight into your high - and you know it’s the best you’ve ever had.
Your eyes fall shut and the only thing you’re seeing behind them is pure black with stars of white, pulsing against your bleary vision in time with the furious throbbing at your cunt. Little zaps of pleasure shoot all the way down to the tips of your toes every time he’s moving his maw across your core. Sharp. Sensitive. He’s wedged between your legs and lappin’ up each pulse.
Sluuuuurp—!
Long, aching drags of his tongue. They’re roverin’ over the most sensitive spot of your clit, meanwhile his fingers were glazed in slick n’ fucking you stupid already.
Gojo thrusts you through your high as if he was angry at you. As if he can’t get enough. As if he’s losing his damn mind and you n’ your pussy are the only reasons why-
It takes you only a minute more for your wave of bliss to taper out, fully riding through it.
And then only another minute more for you go from fucked straight to overstimulated by a few more of his rovering thrusts. He swabs your g-spot once more and you think you’re bawling- “S-Satoru, I’m already done-”
But he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to hear you.
In fact, you couldn’t sworn that he was grabbing onto your right thigh with his free hand and keeping himself plastered even more into your cunt-
“Satoru—!” You’re calling out helplessly, “Satoru, I’m already- ngh, done-”
“Mhmmmm?” Muttering something wet underneath his breath, and you have to strain your ears to actually hear him. Breathy. Panting. “Research- fuck! More…”
“I can’t even- oh.” It was almost dangerous just how potent he was with his mouth and fingers, and before long your thighs were starting to shake with sensitivity. Causing you to grab onto his scalp even tighter and-
“O-oh.”
And accidentally tug on the long braid of white hair thrown over his shoulder—his kuru.
Did that manage to…
Your breath hitches, and you’re reaching out to graze your fingers down his kuru once more-
“Fuh—fuuuuck.” Gojo throws his head back in a voice that almost sounded like a whimper, his slick lips quivering. His skin covering in goosebumps. His erection throbbing from where you could spy him. His entire large body shakes with the zaps of hypersensitivity going down his spine, “D-don’t think you know what you’re getting into, beloved…” His murky breath clouds out in front of him.
“You sure?” You challenge - what a privilege it was to see him break.
The olo’eyktan grits his teeth—-“I’m warning you…”
But when were you ever one to listen to warnings?
Without thinking much of it, you tighten your hand ‘round his kuru and tug—
And then he’s on you in a split-second.
He’s not even moving- he’s grabbing onto your hips and bodily puuuulling you right back down till your cunt lips kiss his cock. He’s pushing your legs up until your kneecaps hit your tits. He’s hunching his entire body forwards and-
“Sh-shit.” Your eyes widen, “Satoru, did you just-”
“Yes.”
Just you teasing his kuru is enough to make Gojo spuuuurt out in creamy wads of cum once more, coating the outer part of your pussy in a thick layer. It feels hot and wet on top of you, streaming down to drench the coating. Before he’s swervin’ his swollen tip inside and fucking you-
No hesitation. No preparation.
You’re getting what you deserved, and that was to be fucked like an absolute anima by the Na’vi.
“You don’t know what you’ve done.” He’s spitting- straight into your hotly opened mouth. Those sharp canines of Gojo’s nipping at your bottom lip, “You don’t know what you’ve done- you don’t know what you’ve done-”
“Shit, shiiiit—Satoru.” Moaning out his name like a broken record player. He’s bullying out harsh semi-thrusts against your cunt that leave you scrambling for breath- just shovin’ his puckered tip inside, just tasting the inside of your pussy with his cockhead, just trying to fucking fit.
“Sayin’ my name like that and you don’t even fucking—” Before Gojo feels your soppy walls clench tightly ‘round him, and his lips part a little before racing down and spitting on your cunt. “Fucking fit.”
“You say that like it’s so easy-” You sob out.
He was pistoning his hips into you ferally.
The only thing he was doing was stretchin’ out your cute hole a few times, just so big that you’re being push-push-pushed up the fur coat you were splayed out on-
A hand at your throat.
“Don’t. Fucking. Run.”
And you don’t have the chance to tell him that you weren’t actually running and in fact it was just his roverin’ hips forcing you upwards- but before you could do that, Gojo’s already rendering you speechless with his cock.
He’s grabbing an even tighter restraint of your neck.
He’s manhandling your entire body down like he’s crazed.
He’s juuuuuust barely managing to squeeze in a sultry inch of two of his massive length- the mere sensation of that in itself enough to send your mind bursting into a heap of stars. It was almost numbing on your lower half, to have this much of him fitted inside you.
Stuffed inside you.
Throbbing inside you.
And it seems that the only one more affected by that fact wasn’t you - it was Gojo Satoru himself. Head falling into the crook of your neck. Tail flinching as it now wraps around your right thigh. Mouth parting with an agonized groan.
“F—fuck.” He’s echoing out hollowly into your ear, “Fuck, you’re so fucking…tight.”
Gojo spits out the word as if it was the very reason the olo’eyktan was shattering right about now. And almost on cue, those sopping wet walls of yours clench ‘round his tip and makes the Na’vi yelp—
“Fuck, don’t do that.” He’s shuddering through his sloppy strokes, his split-ended tip filling you up with dewy precum. “Fuck, don’t do that unless you want to be taught what happens when you pull on the kuru of a Herwi like me, little scientist.”
“What happens?” You ask innocently.
“S’why I’m telling you to fucking—oh.”
Just a few more pulsating clenches of your cunt, and Gojo shivers as though he’s being held hostage by your wet walls.
He bears his canines and snarls at you in the way you’d seen Na’vi do when they want to signal, to intimidate, to mate.
But you stare up at the olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan with determination.
And he’s giving you one final probe-
“I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.”
He breathes out against the shell of your ear, almost like the last whisper of his sanity before Gojo stares into your wide heart-eyes—and he’s reeling his hips back to plunge.
Uncaring how unready your poor entrance was.
Uncaring how your tiny human body shakes underneath his larger one.
His fat cock swipes between your glittery folds and puuuuushes against the instinctual restraint of your hole, all the way until you start to tremble- and he knows he can’t push any more. He knows he can’t break you.
He’s fighting back every sudden primal urge in him that just wants to fuck you all the way inside- and furiously pumps his solid inches back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping a hand always on the top of your stomach for when he’s feeling his hard globular tip push upwards.
Gojo was just so big that he could feel himself sinking in from the outside-
“And that’s not a promise, beloved.” Gojo’s pale brows furrow as his cockhead starts swabbin’ even deeper after each thrust, “That’s not a promise- that’s not even a challenge-”
“Th-then—?” He’s pushing doooown on your overstuffed core and you find it hard to breathe, both pressures from between your legs and from Gojo pushing on your cylindrical tummy bulge was just…
The olo’eyktan grins when he watches his cute lil’ human struggle to take his entire cock, the bluish hue of it spreading apart your thighs. He reels his slender hips back in quite the long drag—before ultimately hammering- “It’s an oath. Before Eywa.”
A divine oath.
Added to the fact that Gojo was slamming his ruddied tip into you with each syllable- and you could never forget about the sheer size difference. The way that it helped him bend over you and fold you in half as though nothing but a lawnchair—your ass was cleanly dangling off the floor with how much Gojo was bending you.
A mating press. The meanest one you’ve ever seen.
You’re hit with the sudden inclination that you weren’t about to walk out of here any time soon.
And Gojo seems to be doing well on that fact- he hadn’t completely bottomed-out yet, but he was still drilling into you with such fervour. Streaking his cum from before across every inch of you, a layer of white that you feel from the inside.
Feverish cocktip swabbin’ all the way at the back of your cervix, full balls smacking your cunt.
Every time he was hurtling his hips forwards, it almost felt as if the ground beneath you was trembling.
It almost felt as if he was hitting each of your geysering spots without even needing to try. Just so big that the veiny sides of his cock rubbed n’ dubbed up against those orifices unfairly.
It almost felt as if you were losing it-
“So I think you’ll have a loooot of fuckin’ research, beloved.” Gojo snickers, his tail flicking you playfully. And at this point you’re not even sure what the conversation was about, just knowing that it was the background music to the lecherous thwacking of his hips on yours.
So hard that you could feel the wads of his high from before glazing your insides. Dripping all the way near the rim of your cunt before being pumped back inside.
He pushes down on top of that bulge once more and watches you whine, “I almost don’t want to, mmm, ask what it’ll be about…”
“Ohhh, y’know—” Gojo trails off airily, something shaky in the back of his tone that sends shivers up your spine. It makes you almost content to know that you’ve gotten him so pussydrunken- but then again you weren’t too far behind. He tilts his head to the side and looks at you through partially closed eyes, smiling. “-human-Na’vi babies.”
And it’s with that that Gojo finally - finally - drills his cock all the way to the hilt.
Bottoming out.
His breath catches at the realization.
Blue eyes widening. Mouth watering.
It feels so different to have your hot innards surrounding him entirely- and fuck, Gojo wasn’t even sure whether a human like you would be able to take all of him. But it seems that you really were made for him, yes? Every curve and edge of you. Every bit of your cunt that he gives an experimental buck into, before pumping inside like a madman-
Pounding you into the smooth ground of the celestial temple.
It feels like you’re being thrust into heaven itself because of the way he was so big, big, big—all the way from the purple-ish tip that was zig-zagging your walls, to the oversized tummy bulge he was fucking into you, to the way he had you folded. Manhandled.
Gojo’s only lasting a few strokes before he’s crushing you to him so hard that it almost hurts- “Right here—right here.” The hand atop your stomach pushes down where his ruby-red tip was kissin’ and kissing at your womb. “You’re gonna have a lot ta research about fucking- ngh, getting bred by the fucking olo’eyktan. A lot to research about carrying my next heir, yeah?”
“Yes…” Arching your back into him.
“And then here—” That very hand now drifts down to the in-betweens of your pussylips and rubs his thumb over your clit. He’s drawing little circles and hearts on top of your sensitive nub that makes you wrack with pleasure, “Yer gonna have to research giving birth to such a biiiig baby, beloved.”
You shiver at the thought, mostly excitement.
And he purrs as he rubs his cheek against the sweaty crown of your head, “But s’okaaaaay- I’ll help you through every step of it, beloved. My mate.” The Na’vi’s staring down at you lovingly, fucking you filthily. “M’gonna breed you all full, okay? You might just have to research more about Na’vi phenotypes- heh.”
You can only nod. “Please…”
And before you can dwell too long on that last particular word—mate—he’s continuing. “And then you don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing- I can take care of eeeeverything. I’ll wash our kid. I’ll dress our kid. I’ll feed our kid. I’ll do everything and anything just please-”
“Y-yes?” Your voice cracks.
And he winks down at you almost mischievously, “Let’s do some research together on when I’ll be able to breed you all full of my cum next, hm?”
And with only a few more vicious thrusts, you’re feeling your second wave of pleasure tonight take over. You knew it’d been bubbling inside your veins for some time now- and right now it almost felt as if that euphoria was overflowing.
Overspilling.
Just like the gushing wads of slick that drivel over the front slit of your cunt and leave you so wet that you feel like a waterpark. Just rhythmic bursts of your high that leave your body loose and limp, shaking a bit every time that Gojo’s cockhead plummets inwards.
Head muddled.
Eyes rolling to the very back of your head.
This might just be the best orgasm of your entire life, and your wave of pleasure is looooong and drawn-out with how many times Gojo thrusts his cock in to fuck you through it. “Shit, Toru—”
Again and again and again.
Each time hitting the target of your g-spot dead-on and watching as you gush around him even more.
You were at Gojo’s complete mercy…almost.
Shaking. Your hands find themselves in his hair once more- or more precisely grazing the long length of his kuru. “Satoru.” You’re breathing out as he shivers carnally, “Satoru, I want it- ngh, inside.”
His eyes widen, “Demanding something of the olo’eyktan, are you?”
“Inside, Toru.” Desperate now.
To emphasize, you’re lightly tugging on his kuru and watching as it makes the Na’vi above you shudder. His cock pouring out heaps of precum that only act as a warning for something…more. “F-fuck, better keep this all in until tomorrow-”
At the very least.
You’re honestly not sure if you can keep it all in even now—because then Gojo’s throwing his head back and cumming long and hard. Harder than he ever thinks he has before- his seed dribbles out of him like a gooey waterfall, taking place inside every nook and cranny you have.
Heavy balls clenching almost aggressively as they empty out inside you.
He’s swervin’ each ounce of it inside by dragging his globular tip, that reddened cockhead making you swear you taste Gojo all the way at your throat.
Flooding.
Your toes curl, it almost feels as though he’s fucking you into a third and fourth high altogether-
“Until tomorrow-” Gojo barks out through his smoky tone, “Until always-” After reaching his high so many times in one night, his sparks of euphoria just rip through him. And you can feel the sheer intensity of it by the way his slippery slick thwacks! against the back of your pussy, hot and heavy. It seems to inflate you from the inside, “Until we have our…fuck.”
And it’s not like Gojo to let up a sentence. Especially one that wavered with emotion.
“Until I have…” He starts again, blue eyes twinkling. “…you.”
Right now he was cupping the side of your face with his left hand- accidentally…or perhaps not…dslodging the translating device from your ear.
And then the Na’vi olo’eyktan leans with his forehead pressing down on top of yours.
Dragging his hand down the side of your head, where his beads for you twinkled in the glow of Eywa’s tree. Breathing out the words—“Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si.”
He looks at you with a slightly sad smile as if he was almost bitterly glad you didn’t understand. Though little did he know…“Oel ngati kameie, Satoru.”
And the look on his face was worth all the time you’d spent poring over Na’vi language books with Shoko these past few days. At least you understood this.
You grin, “I did a bit of research myself.”
He holds you tight, he holds you as if he wanted you two to become one.
More so.
Eventually—after about four or so more rounds, and once you were thoroughly shattered and kept on begging for it, Gojo had swiped his long kuru into his hand and raised it up to you. You yourself didn’t have one, but if there was anything you learned from being with the Herwi people—it’s that love comes in all forms and differences.
You press your lips to his flower-like nerves at the very end of his braid. Immediately, a rush of something between you two and you understand what he meant about being mates.
You feel what Gojo sees.
You feel what Gojo smells.
You feel what Gojo hears.
You feel what Gojo tastes.
You feel what Gojo feels.
You feel complete.
.
.
.
Day #6 in the Herwi village (day after the mating):
The ancient of the Herwi clan were one of the only believers in fated mates, of one who had been destined to walk beside you upon this good planet through Eywa’s will. It was said that life does not flower until one meets one’s fate, not even the skies shall migrate, not even the ice shall melt.
Two souls bound to meet.
And until then one can only look up, up, up…
This scientist was found in quite the curious position as mate to the olo’eyktan on the morning after.
Re-entering the village, hand-in-hand, it was inevitable that the Herwi people would stare. Not only was it quite past the deadline of six moons given, but each bore resemblance of a mating session that could’ve been spotted a smile away.
Bite marks. Bruises. Slight falter in walking.
Not to mention that it seems word had spread about the…inoccupancy of the Tree of Winter just the night prior. (Additionally for more on Herwi stamina read Page 69…)
Circling back, the stares were rather unabashed. Some gasping. Some ribbing. Some tuts by elders of the clan who then again turned around with a smile.
It was obvious that they had been praying for the olo’eyktan’s happiness for a long, long time.
It must be noted that congratulations were doled out heavily at the communal dinner that night. Food. Dances. Parades.
It must be noted even further that preparations for coronation at the Herwi tsahìk shall be taking place in a week’s time. Who would have thought, a human being a tsahìk? Who would have thought that humans had fated mates as well?
For this scientist’s final note, preparations are already being planned meticulously for the arrival of a new heir to the Gojo name.
And that leaves the scientific community with one last thing, now that fluency in the Na’vi language is on the path to be attained: the glossary.
Tsahìk - Head shaman, high priest, interpreter..
Olo’eyktan - Male clan leader.
Mawey - Calm.
Txeylan - Best friend.
Ì’awn - Stay.
Fnu - Be quiet.
Txen - Awake.
Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey. - You’re alive- oh, you’re alive.
Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung? - I’m happy. Awake? You’re awake? Are you injured?
‘Upe lu nga fwew? - What are you looking for?
Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga. - Beloved? I’d give you anything.
Oe pey ngim krr. - I’ve been waiting a long time.
Tìnga’prrnen - Pregnant.
Tìnga’prrnen? Oe? - Pregnant? Me?
Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen. - You want to get me pregnant?
Fì'u - This.
Irayo nga - Thank you.
Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen. - I wouldn’t mind being pregnant.
Lake Yapay - Lake Steam.
Hona beads - Endearing.beads.
Mt. Hoet - Vast.
Kuru - Neural queue.
Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si. - I see you, my mate.
Oel ngati kameie, Satoru. - I see you, Satoru.
A/N. It must be acknowledged that Herwi culture was influenced by some aspects of Inuit culture, as well as some aspects of my own Sinhalese culture! Both such beautiful cultures that I was honored to research more in-depth on. Also this Na'vi vocabulary bank was used, and for longer Na’vi sentences this translator was used and might not be fully accurate ahhh-
