Imagines Everywhere

Satan is my sugar daddy

[imaginesbitches]

Masterlist

It’s super early to start considering this but I wanna start now instead of later when it’ll be too much work.

I’m lazy like that.

I’ll add to it when I can be bothered to do stuff. Feel free to message me with requests

Adam Sackler

Choices

Part 1

Unspoken Rule

Avengers

Miscommunications - Clint Barton

It Doesn’t Make Sense - Bucky Barnes

Supernatural

Lying to Dean About The Bruises on Your Neck

Social Media Stuff

Adam Sackler 1

Snapchats with the Avengers 1 2

Bucky and Steve’s Tinder

Facetime with Dean

Dean Texts 1

Sugar Daddy Peter Hale

Derek Hale - Always

Queen

La Vie En Rose

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

[barbienextdoor]

Clark Kent yearning for his pretty girl

pairing: clark kent x f!reader cw: body worship, masturbation, mirror sex, possessive/obsessive behavior, standing doggy, words of affirmation, praise, hes feining so bad w.c: 564 |kinktober masterlist|

Clark was always gentle with you. Sweet. Careful. Almost too careful sometimes, as if he thought you might break under his touch. But tonight, it wasn’t just gentleness in his eyes; it was hunger. He had you spread out on the bed, his mouth everywhere at once. His lips traced along your neck, your shoulders, down your arms, like he couldn’t get enough.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he whispered, voice already frayed, desperate. His hands slid over your stomach, kneading, worshipful. “Every inch of you is perfect. I can’t stop touching you.”

You shivered, gasping when his mouth found the swell of your breast, sucking a mark into your skin like he wanted the world to see who you belonged to. “Clark-” you breathed, fingers threading through his dark hair.

“Say my name again,” he begged, almost frantic, kissing down your ribs. “Say it, please.”

His desperation had your thighs clenching, the sheer need in his voice undoing you. You moaned it, louder this time: “Clark.”

That pulled a growl from him. He tugged you up suddenly, carrying you with ease toward the full-length mirror against the wall. His reflection loomed behind you, tall and broad, his pupils blown wide with obsession.

“Look,” he ordered, one hand wrapping around your throat; not tight, just enough to tilt your chin toward the mirror. “Look at how beautiful you are. Look at what’s mine.” You whined, hips bucking as he slid his dick along your folds, teasing you, smearing your slick.

“You think I don’t notice?” His voice was rough, almost unhinged now, his breath hot against your ear. “The way people stare at you. They don’t deserve it. They don’t deserve to see you like this. Only me.”

Then he pushed into you, slow but relentless, filling you until you cried out. Clark’s eyes in the mirror darkened, his jaw tight as he groaned, “God, you take me so perfectly. Like you were made for me.”

You couldn’t look away. His big hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open wider as he fucked into you from behind, forcing you to watch every movement, every roll of his hips.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded lowly, still thrusting deep. “I want to see you fall apart for me. Want to watch you lose yourself knowing I’m the only one who can give it to you.”

Your hand slid down, rubbing frantically at your clit as his dick hit that spot inside you over and over. Clark’s gaze never left your reflection- the way your mouth fell open, the way your body shivered under his control. “You’re mine,” he growled, slamming harder now, his control fraying. “Mine to worship. Mine to ruin. Say it.”

Tears prickled your eyes from the intensity, your voice breaking as you moaned it out: “Yours. I’m yours, Clark.”

He groaned like it was salvation itself, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, spilling inside you with a guttural sound. The warmth of him triggered your release, your body convulsing, pleasure crashing over you as he held you upright, forcing you to watch the way you shook in the mirror.

When it was over, his lips pressed soft kisses over your temple, your shoulder, your throat, every place he could reach. His voice was shaky, reverent. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you,” he whispered. “You’re everything.”

[supermenz]

I think about you (so don't let go)

summary: Broken by the fall of the Hometree and Eywa's silence, you dream for a possibility of peace of mind, figuratively and literally. You come to the Metkayina's village looking for a temporary refuge in your search of said peace, and end up never leaving in favour of love.

pairing(s): tonowari x omatikaya!reader, platonic reader x neytiri

word count: 15k (i know...)

warnings: reader is neytiri's sister, grief and mourning, mention of dead bodies, eywa's constant meddling, probably suggestive, yearning, pining, "but i don't want ninat", added lore cuz i got carried away, kinda miscommunication, no ronal hate, space racism?, complex neytiri i fear...., mentioned pregnancy, mentioned childbirth, rotxo is adopted lmao, when the story starts reader is around 19 and both neytiri and tonowari are around 22, takes place after avatar (2009), proofread one time instead of the two usual times so pls let me know if there are any errors

author's note: can't believe this fine shyt is now a single dad

dividers from @uzmacchiato!

When the smoke clears and the ashes fall, nothing is left of the Hometree. 

Nothing but the stump, the bulging roots and the cut-off part remain of your destroyed home. You’ve never seen one, but you think that the remains of the tree must look like a decapitated corpse — something that once was full of life, and now is just… there. A reminder of what was. 

Many managed to evacuate the branches as it fell, but just as much ended up being buried by its massive limbs; you can’t find it in yourself to understand if it was a blessing — for them to have such a quick death, one that avoided them from feeling the endless grief you’re feeling now — or a tragedy. You keep asking Eywa the same question, but either she doesn’t know, or she won’t tell you. 

She hasn’t been telling you much lately, anyway. 

As the daughter of the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk, you grew up close to the bond you shared with Eywa. Mo’at always brought you and your sisters along with her to pray, and the three of you soon learnt how to perceive her in everything you did and everything that happened. The Great Mother is in all of us, your mom used to always say, before you fully grasped the concept. She gives, and we take. And when the time comes, we’ll be the ones to give back what we borrowed. 

It looks like, to you, that the time has come. Only, Eywa won’t seem to take anything from you. 

During the day, you’re back at the ruins of the Hometree, with a few other Omatikayas looking for the remains of their loved ones. When they are easy to remove, you do so, and then give them the burial they deserve as a part of the People; when the branches have buried them too deep in the terrain for you to remove them, you pray for them and their souls, hoping that they are, at last, at peace. 

At night, you pray by the Tree of Souls until the first morning lights shine through the outline of the mountains, when your mother wakes and gently drags you to the marui you share with her and orders — more like begs — you to sleep. “You won’t be able to hear Eywa better if you tire yourself so, daughter,” she utters as she holds you tight in her arms, humming that same lullaby she used to when you were little. “I doubt she wants you to be exhausted.” 

You sniffle brokenly, hiding in her shoulder like a child as she covers you with the blanket she had stitched with the help of Sylwanini and Neytiri when she first realised she was pregnant with you. It’s a miracle you managed to salvage it from the fall of the Hometree, as most of your belongings have been lost during it. “We still haven’t found Tsu’tey, sa’nok,” you whisper, muffling a sob. 

Mo’at sighs softly, holding you tighter. “Oeyä yawne,” my beloved, she starts, “Tsu’tey died a great death. Even if you do not find what remains of him, I’m sure Eywa will hold him close nevertheless. He fell into the ocean, after all — she’s strong there, too. We might not think of it to be our home, but everywhere Eywa is, can be considered our home.” 

Still, it’s hard to believe that Jakesully out of all people is helping rebuild your village. 

He’s supposed to be one of the aliens that came from the sky — one of the four-fingered demons that have destroyed your home. And somehow, Eywa still chose him to lead the Omatikaya. 

You don’t deny his bravery, nor his will to learn your ways, nor the fact that he is a great warrior — Turuk Makto, in fact. It doesn’t mean that it isn’t hard for you to look at him and not see the Hometree lying dead on the ground, burning, and the Tree of Voices reduced to shreds under the dozers. 

You know it’s probably just your grief talking — you’ve never had anything against the man, not even when he first came here, blabbering about wanting to learn the way or whatever the RDA had put in his head — but you don’t know what else to do. When you’re not looking around for the corpses of the fallen, or praying for them, or begging Eywa to tell you the meaning of all of this, you’re either crying or trying to sleep — and when the latter comes, it’s never restful. 

Neytiri is grieving, too, and you know it, but she takes it differently — because she has Jake, and she’s putting all she has into building a new, safe village, where maybe one day their kids will grow happily. But you feel stuck — like when it fell, the Hometree swallowed you, too, along with all the fallen comrades that you had known for your whole life. 

Your answers finally come during another restless night spent under the Soul Tree. 

Your mother has since stopped trying to coax you away from it — instead, she has taken to making salves and weaving shawls under the light of the branches as you weep silently for a sign, the terrain still against your body, unlike the usual steady beat you used to feel. Sometimes Mo’at braids your hair, other times recalls stories of your father and sister, but mostly lets you cry it out — even if her heart breaks every time a tear slips down your cheek. Neytiri sometimes comes along, chanting her songs and saying her prayers, but lately, she’s taken to spending her nights in the tent she calls home, with Jakesully. 

(Not that you blame her. If you had a mate, you’d probably find comfort in them, too. If you had a mate, maybe you wouldn’t be so utterly hopeless.) 

It’s when you find sleep while having these thoughts that finally, Eywa responds to your call in the best way she knows — a dream. 

You feel like you’re floating, and finally, finally– you can feel her presence. She’s everywhere, surrounding you with her warmth, and it’s just when you look around to understand where you are that you notice that you are underwater. Life swarms you from every angle — the fishes twirling in a dance only they can understand, anemones and corals shimmering with bioluminescence on the rocks under your feet. 

You don’t know for how long you swim, but what you know is that you haven’t felt this feeling in what seems like ages. You have missed the Great Mother’s presence, and if this dream tells you anything, it’s that maybe, she has missed you, too. 

A large, warm hand engulfs yours. You can’t see the face of the man that has taken it, but by the color of his skin, he can’t be Omatikaya. Come with me, a voice says, and you aren’t able to really distinguish it — it does not sound like a real voice, rather like a spoken thought inside your mind. Our Spirit Tree is this way. You feel the same hand on the small of your back, guiding you in the water, in a way so gentle that you already dread the moment his touch will fade. 

You wake up with your hand still feeling warm and dried tears staining your cheeks. The ground you’re lying on feels stiff and cold. Hoisting yourself up on your elbows, you notice the sky — it’s still night — and your mother, sleeping with her head leaning on the trunk of the tree. “Are you trying to tell me that I have to find my peace somewhere else?” you murmur quietly to the tree, impossibly tired in every way imaginable. And maybe it’s just an impression, or your lack of sleep, but you think the branches glow a little more than usual at that. 

The hard part is not accepting to leave behind the Omatikaya — in your heart, you knew that a part of you died when the Hometree fell, and no new village would ever make up for what the sky people have taken away from you; every camp made after that would only look like a ghost of what was, where you grew up in. 

No, no. The hard part is convincing both the Tsahìk and the Olo’eyktan to let you go. 

By the time morning comes, your bags are already packed. Your ikran, Ry’ia, is waiting for you just outside of the village chirping softly with Neytiri’s mount, Sa’atra, as you pull on your traveling shawl and wait for the villagers to wake up before your departure. Needless to say, it doesn’t take long for chaos to erupt. 

Neytiri drags you away from the astounded clan members as soon as she gets wind of what’s happening, Mo’at and Jakesully on tow when she sits you down in one of the newest tents, her face unreadable as she takes a seat in front of you. “Explain.” 

You look at her mate and your mother, sitting respectively on her left and on her right, and suddenly your heart fills up with courage you weren’t even aware of having. “I had a dream last night,” you start, “Eywa has shown me where to find my peace again.” 

As you recall your vision, you can tell that the only one fully understanding the meaning of it is your mother, because while Jakesully doesn’t look too troubled about it, Neytiri hasn’t had that betrayed look on her face towards you since you were seven, and you stole the last piece of fruit intended for her. “What?” she asks in pure disbelief, “Wha– why would you ever think of going away from here, sister? We have plenty of men who would be delighted to have you as their mate. We have the ocean. We have fishes. Do you really have to look for them from another clan to be happy?” 

You shake your head, guilt seeping through your chest. “Sister, if I could be happy while being here, close to you, I would stay. But…” Your eyes drift up to Jake and immediately go back to her, not wanting to blame him for all the things humans have done to you. “I can’t find it in myself to build a new village that Tsu’tey, father– hell, Sylwanin won’t see. And even if I could…”

You scroll your shoulders, “Eywa has shown me the way,” you say firmly, “and I will follow it.” 

Neytiri looks over to Mo’at, searching for support in the discussion. “Mother, please, tell her this is madness,”

She looks at her for a singular moment, then to you. Finally, she speaks. “When I was your age, I had a dream, too. It led me to your father.” The story isn’t new to you — everyone knows Mo’at was part of the Orangi clan before she married your father. 

Neytiri stares at her, “Mother, you can’t be serious– she doesn’t even know where–” 

“How can she know, if she does not try?” The Tsahìk interrupts her, “Eywa has shown her that she won’t find peace while living here. These things are rare, but they happened. That was my case, at least.”

Your sister gapes at her, flabbergasted, only to look back at you, getting back up on her feet. “If you leave,” she hisses, “I will never forgive you.” She storms out, her tail twitching after her, leaving the tent feeling even colder than before.

Finally, you manage to look at Jakesully straight into his eyes, trying to avoid the glare your mother is sending him, and you’re surprised to see an actual understanding of the situation there. “You do understand why I can’t stay here, do you?”

He blinks, sad. “I do.” 

You nod, “Good. I would never ask you to leave — this is your home, too, after all. And it would mean sacrificing Neytiri’s happiness. I’d rather be happy here too, but… I can’t do that. Not while my loved ones lay under the Hometree, dead.” you shake your head, ashamed of what you’re about to say, “Not while you are here living the life they deserved. I am sorry, Jakesully.”

Tentatively, he places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he mutters, sorrowful, “I know you would stay here if you could. Just… please, do not go today. Wait until the end of the week. Let me talk to your sister– I’ll try to change her mind.”

As he leaves to go look for Neytiri, you are left with your mother. Your eyes remain downwards, all the courage of before gone after your sister’s outburst, your heart feeling heavier than ever. Needless to say, when she moves to hug you, you’re left stunned — you were waiting for her to tell you you were mad, too. “I am sorry, daughter,” she says, her usually firm voice trembling, “I did not understand your pain was so great. I thought Eywa had in her plans to keep my daughters close to me, but if having you far from me is the price for your happiness, then I’ll gladly take everything that comes with it.”

You avoid mentioning her teary eyes when she pulls back, her hands holding your shoulders. She sniffles, trying to save face. “The Metkayina are the only sea clan your father’s ever had contact with,” she manages, "their Olo’eyktan may still remember him. You should start your search from there.”

In the following days, you are smothered with gifts. 

Everyone makes something for you to take on your travels, or to give to the chiefs of the foreign clans you’ll visit. Your friends Ninat and Peyral stitch a beautiful shawl in record time, stitched beads and feathers in it. So that you may have something to remember us by, Peyral explains, emotional, as Ninat nearly bursts into tears. 

Your mother makes a Tsahìk necklace typical of the Omatikaya and tells you to give it to the wife of the chief. Showing respect to your hosts is always important, remember. Do not forget your culture, but do not force it on them, either. 

Even Jake turns up one night, giving you a funny-looking bone knife that he clearly has just learned how to carve. “As a… parting gift?” he tells you, even if it sounds more like a question. His ears bend down, “I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave to be happy. I wish things didn’t have to be this way.” I wish you could overcome our differences like your sister did. 

You look at the knife — the jaggedy blade looking ugly but clearly heartfelt — and then back at him. “You’re a good man, Jakesully,” you tell him. “I am truly sorry that my opinion on you has to be stained by what your kind has done to us — but perhaps, it’s just because things are a little too fresh. Perhaps, I just need some time away from here.” 

Neytiri doesn’t come looking for you until it is time for you to go. As you say your goodbyes to friends and everyone you grew up with, she shuffles quietly behind Jake, her hands behind her back. Still hugging Ka’ani, you look at her as she gets closer, suspiciously quiet, only to present you with a bead on her open palm. 

You gasp at the sight of it — it’s a bright blue stone, one of the ones to be found only in the ikrans’ nest, with the Omatikaya clan symbol etched on it. “For your songcord,” she explains, not looking you in the eye. “To mark your… new start. Your travels.” 

You look at the bead, taking it in your hands, then tug Neytiri close to hug her as tight as possible. “I’ll miss you, sister,” you murmur in her shoulder. 

Even if she’s supposed to be mad at you, she reciprocates the hug immediately, and it doesn’t take long for the tough facade to crumble. “Please, come back when you’re finally happy again, okay?” her voice is trained, and you doubt anyone but you heard her whisper. “This will always be your home. You’ll always have a place to stay here — with me.” 

Ry’ia is delighted in the change of scenery — you can tell by the way she reacts through the bond, but also the happy shrieks she lets out once you lower her near the surface of the ocean so that her wings may touch the water. You look behind you — to the mountains that you’ve called home ever since you came to the world — one last time before turning your gaze back to the sea, the directions your mother gave you etched into your mind. 

Awa’atlu is almost three days of travel from your village, turned into four by the stops you make to allow Ry’ia and yourself some rest. And when you finally reach it, it’s night, and only a few lights are shimmering in the Metkayina village. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, you turn your ikran to the rocky side of the island — devoid of any maruis from what you can see — and land atop the coast, dismounting from Ry’ia and patting the side of her neck. “Good girl,” you murmur, “rest now, yes? I’ll take a dip and be back here with you in a moment.”

You remove your traveling shawl as she chirps quietly, remaining in your loincloth and chest piece as you dive into the waters. 

You feel like crying in relief when you finally feel her. Eywa is everywhere here — she surrounds you with the water in bioluminescence, in the anemones that move in rhythm with the currents and the nocturnal fishes that swim around in a haze. It’s like waking up from a bad dream, being able to finally feel her again. 

Even if brief, the peace it gives you swells your heart. The Great Mother wasn’t holding a grudge against you — you simply weren’t searching for her in the right place. 

You resurface to catch some air, only to notice that you aren’t alone.

A turquoise zukzuk — an otterfin — stares at you with her big eyes, and if she weren’t an animal, you’d say she was smiling at you. She rubs her snout into your shoulders, chirping happily, and you chuckle, petting her back, “Aren’t you a cutie? Oh, yes you are, yes you are…”

She licks your cheek, and you fake a gag even as she basically throws herself in your arms. “Now, hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust strangers? If I were a tad bit more selfish, I’d totally bring you home with me,” you’re not sure how you would manage an otterfin in the forest or while traveling, but you’re sure that if there’s a will, there’s a way. 

“Hey, you shouldn’t swim here when it’s dark,” 

The screech you let out is loud enough to wake up the whole village, you’re sure. The zukzuk — who looks more scared than you — jumps in your arms as you hug her, ready to defend her from any possible attacker. The latter — a man with turquoise skin and weird tattoos over his face — screams back, mostly startled by your yelling. 

“Sorry, sorry!” he puts his hands in front of him as your screams die down, still hugging the otterfin, “I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that — we’re too close to the reef, and it’s mating season for the akulas. Their cubs will start hunting for preys any moment now. It’s dangerous to stay here for long.”

You share a look with the otterfin, who’s still cuddled to you, and it’s just then that the man seems to notice her. He frowns, “Nala, is that you?” It's the same tone you use for Ry’ia when she pulls some kind of stunt you told her not to do, and the zukzuk lets out a noise while looking at you with the biggest eyes as if to say, I’ve never met this man in my life. 

The latter gasps, “It is you!” 

The pup cuddles closer to you, hiding under your chin, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like she wants to mock him. You raise an eyebrow, “This is your zukzuk?”

The guy nods, “She knows she shouldn’t swim here at night, it’s dangerous–”

A rumble from below interrupts him, and you all freeze. “…What did you say about those akula cubs?” You don’t even know what an akula is, but judging from the fact that apparently their cubs make swimming at night dangerous, it can’t be anything good. 

His hand wraps around your wrist as he starts to drag you away, back onto the shore, much faster than it took you to even get here. “Just where did you come from? Are you Ta’unui really so clueless?” Another rumble from behind you, and he swims even faster. You keep Nala under your arm, and she keeps moving her tail like she’s trying to help him move away. 

It’s only when you’re out of trouble and onto the shore, where the water reaches your knees and you’re illuminated by the bioluminescence and the moons, that he notices that you don’t look like a Tau’nui at all. He stares at your slim tail and arms, leaning his head like he’s never seen a specimen like this, and even your clothes are weird. Quite dumbly, he pulls at the feathers stitched into your top, staring intently, “What are those?”

The fact is, you’re also just noticing that he doesn’t look like normal Na’vi men, too — at least, not to the ones you’re used to. He’s broader, taller, and apparently also dumber, because he doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s just grazed and uncovered part of your breast. 

You deadpan. He blinks. Nala barks. He lets the feathers go as he turns purple, “Sorry, I didn’t notice.” He’s lucky that the Omatikaya are people raised with no shame about their bodies, because otherwise, the slap you would’ve given him wouldn’t have been too nice from a girl who’s supposed to look for uturu in his clan. 

You squeeze the water out of your hair as he stares weirdly, Nala twirling around the two of you. “Why were you swimming if the waters are so dangerous at night?” You ask him, trying not to stare too much at his arms — you never thought that the Omatikaya men needed more muscles, but now you understand that if they did, it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. His tail — twitching uneasily behind him — is thicker and longer than yours, and his arms have strange prolongments on their sides — to help swimming, you suppose. While Omatikaya grow slender and thin to avoid any difficulty in swinging in the forest, maybe the Metkayina grow to swim more efficiently in the ocean. 

“I was looking for her,” he points at Nala, “we spoiled her a little too much, and now she doesn’t know how to take a no.” He tries to smile at you, “You’re not from around here, are you? Your tail would be horrible for swimming.” 

You nod, “I’m from the forest clans — the Omatikaya.” you tell him your name, and he nods. “I came here looking for uturu, but the village seemed to be asleep when I got here, so I figured I would talk to the chief in the morning.”

He looks troubled, “I’m Tonowari,” he introduces himself, “I’m from the village. Uturu? Has something happened to the Omatikaya?” 

No matter how much you insist he doesn’t, he drags you to the village — in the literal sense, as you didn’t want to follow him and he has to take you by your wrist — and over to a secluded mauri, where he finally lets go. Ry’ia chirps tiredly beside you, huffing indignantly at him as you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “I’ll talk to Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to the mauri, “wait for me here, okay?” Nala quietly follows him, dragging her little belly over the sand. 

You didn’t really explain the whole thing— you just told him that you’re here to find contact with Eywa again because you weren’t able to in your homeland. You don’t really know why he insisted so much in talking to the chiefs now, and you can’t help but wonder why he feels comfortable waking up the two most important people in his village for a stranger. 

Soon enough, he comes back out from the marui, gesturing for you to come inside; you do, and you’re greeted by two very much awake chiefs, sitting with their backs straight as ever. 

“Olo’eyktan Arvak and Tsahìk Tsika,” Tonowari tells you, nodding to them, “I’ll leave the three of you alone– keep an eye on that big bird of yours.”

“She’s not a big bird," you whisper, too tired to fully protest. He pats your shoulder, looking a bit guilty, letting the woven sheet atop the pod close back behind you, “Sure she isn’t,” 

You remain alone with the chiefs — and Nala, who you realise just now hasn’t followed Tonowari. Looking at the couple, you figure that the Metkayina must all have his same features. “Sit,” Tsika gestures to the empty space in front of them, “and tell us everything.”

Recounting the fall of the Hometree is more difficult than you thought it would be — because even if it’s been almost a month now, the wound still feels fresh. They listen, not prodding for more information when you stop to take a deep breath to avoid bursting in tears, and the Tsahìk puts a hand over her mouth when you mention your father. “Eytukan,” she murmurs, looking over to her mate. “He came here when we called for the other Tsahìks.” 

At your confused face, Arvak explains, “A little over twenty years ago, our son fell sick. Rashes all over his body, convulsions, other symptoms we’d never seen before.” 

His wife takes a deep breath, “When nothing seemed to work and we lost all hope, Arvak chose to call the other clans’ Tsahìks and healers for help. The Ta’unui sent a healer, the Aranahe some healing plants, and everyone pretty much did the same. But your father,” she pokes you in the chest, not in a mean way — in a way that says, the man you’re half a part of. “Olo’eyktan Eytukan came here himself. Excused his wife’s absence, told us she had just given birth to their third daughter and wasn’t able to travel properly. He took a look at our son’s state, and said that it probably was txumpaywll poisoning — until then, we didn’t even know that its plants had started to grow on our islands. Made a salve for his rashes, concocted the antidote and left when he got better.” 

They bow their heads at you, “It will be an honor to pay back Eytukan’s kindness. Tell us what you need, and we’ll do anything in our power to help you.”

You beg them to raise their heads, embarrassed. “I just want some time with your clan,” you tell them, “learn your ways with the creatures, how you move within the currents.” If Jakesully out of all people managed to learn the Omatikaya’s ways, you doubt it will be much harder for you. “I… I’ve lost contact with Eywa. I hope that learning your clan’s ways will help me in finding it again.” 

Arvak has got a pensive look on his face. Then, he says, “Tonowari, I know you’re listening. You can come in.” 

The man sheepishly enters the marui again, sitting beside you, a little embarrassed. You raise an eyebrow — did he really think either of you didn’t hear him? You might’ve not heard him approach when you were in the water, but back with your feet on steady ground, you would’ve known how to spot him before he was even in your line of sight. 

Nala squeals and throws herself on his knees, purring. Arvak tries to ignore her to his best abilities. “Our son Tonowari will teach you everything he knows about the reef,” ah, so that’s why he didn’t have any problem waking them up. Nice to know that the Olo’eyktan’s successor has seen your boob. On his part, Tonowari makes no protest. “Her training starts tomorrow. Go show her one of the vacant maruis — she’ll stay here for a while.” 

Ry’ia is already sleeping when you and Tonowari detach your bags from her saddle, and you try your best not to gape at his biceps as they flex while he takes the heaviest woven baskets out of your hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll take those– you must be really tired.” 

He balances them on his side and shoulder as he walks you through the maruis — with the few still awake villagers peeking out of their tents to steal a curious look at you — only to stop in an empty one, carefully leaning the baskets down to the floor. You stare at the woven walls of your new home, at the mat on the floor and the little space reserved for the fireplace, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this can work. 

You set down your bag as Tonowari stands back up from his knelt position, “Try to get some sleep,” he tells you quietly, “I’ll come to wake you up tomorrow a little before dawn — it’s when the ilus wake up. If you need anything, that–” he points to a nearby pod, “–is my marui.”

He stops for a moment and looks at you, sitting on the sleeping mat. “I’m sorry about your father and what happened to your people.” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Thanks.” You avert your eyes and wrap your shawl a little tighter around you. “Uh… goodnight, Tonowari.”

He nods, a sad smile on his lips as he moves outside of the tent, still holding open the curtain serving as door. “Goodnight.” 

He closes the blind, and you’re left to your thoughts. 

Tonowari laughs. “Your swimming form is funny.” 

You pout. “If you're here to poke fun at my survival-level swimming form, I’m sure Nala would be happy to teach me how to instead.” 

His laugh gets even louder, and he raises his hands up. “I said it was funny, not bad! It’s like… watching a child take their first dive out of their mother’s womb.”

“Are you really saying that a kid might swim better than me?”

The son of the Olo’eyktan has at least the decency to stifle his chuckles now. “No, no, I’m sure you’ll learn soon enough.” 

This morning, the villagers were astonished to find out that the chiefs had basically sneaked you into the village overnight — but sure enough, their spirits changed when you started distributing the gifts you had brought for them. The Tsahìk seemed pleased with the necklace your mother had made her, claiming it to be of beautiful manufacture, as her people raided your baskets for the shawls and armbands your friends had stitched for them. Yovo fruits were gone in a matter of seconds, and Arvak had to set aside the dried meat you brought to assure that everyone got a piece for dinner. 

(As for Arvak’s gift, you gave it to him once the crowd dissipated. You told him it was from Toruk Makto, who even after proper Omatikaya training, unfortunately still had to work on his carving abilities. He took the dagger nonetheless, pleased that Toruk Makto himself took time out of his day to make something for him.)

Despite your gifts quietening the protests of your arrival, the villagers still stared a little too hard sometimes — no wonder, they’ve never seen a forest Na’vi before. Most of them are nice or at least cordial to you, but a few doubtful stares still linger as Tonowari tries to do his best in teaching you the ways of the Metkayina. 

You start spending your mornings — from before dawn up until lunch — with the Olo’eyktan son, learning how to juggle the currents and hold your breath, and your afternoons with the clan elders, weaving baskets and learning how to stitch seashells into body pieces. 

(The first time you asked if you could help weaving the growing side of the marui pods, they gasped, scandalized. Apparently, it’s strictly the men’s job around here.) 

After a few days and horrendous tries, you finally manage to finish your first armband — Priya, an old woman wearing the feather chest piece that one of your friends had made, insisted on it. It’s decorated with a few shells you managed to collect while diving with Tonowari, and as she inspects it closely, she hums, clearly pleased with your work. “I’m sure your mate will be delighted to wear this, one day.” 

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. “My mate?”

The other elders nod convincingly, passing around your work. “In Awa’atlu, the first piece a girl makes is always a stitched armband," she explains, revealing why she had pressured you so much in starting off with one. “The mother makes sure to save it, and when the time comes, it will be given to her husband to wear. He, in return, will give her a carved comb, usually decorated with anything that pleases the woman.”

You think about it for a moment, “So, the first ever piece the men carve is a comb, too?”

The women laugh like the mere thought is hilarious. “Of course not!” Priya hollers, “The first piece a woman stitches is important because in her life, she will make numerous beautiful works. The men give them the most beautiful comb they make, because it’s already a miracle if they manage to make one singular, decent comb.” 

At this, you laugh with them, thinking about that wobbly knife Jake made for their Olo’eyktan. Then, you snort, “This wasn’t my first armband, though,” yes, you had to learn how to properly position shells and have them not fall off the strings, but this isn't your first time stitching.

One of the other women shrugs, “So what?” She says, “It’s the first one you make here — as a future proper Metkayina — that counts as first.” 

Later on that night, back in your marui, you observe the armband and store it inside one of your woven travel bags, hoping that one day, the man you dreamt about will be able to wear it.

Whenever you are free from both weaving lessons and Tonowari’s constant nagging, you delve deep into the forest that the island offers, collecting herbs and fruits. Apparently, the Metkayina have learnt to make the most out of what the sea has to offer, and subsequently rarely explore the forest except for harvesting fruits. The seaside forest is a bit different from what you were used to, but fortunately the plants do not differ that much. 

The first time you show the Tsahìk how you used to make disinfectant salves in the forest, she stares at the concoction like it has just clicked something in her brain. She smells it, tries it on one of the hunter’s light scratches and notes how he doesn’t lament any stinging. “Why don’t you come with me and my tsakarems one of these days?” She asks finally. “I’m sure we could teach you something, as well as learn from your… peculiar ways.” 

The next day, you ask about the tsakarems to Tonowari as he gently hoists you up to an ilu. “Here, when the Tsahìk doesn’t have a daughter, she takes various apprentices under her wing,” he explains, showing you how to place your feet to avoid falling off of the creature’s back. “And then, either the most talented or the one the future Olo’eyktan chooses becomes Tsahìk, while the others go on to become healers.” 

You still fall off of the ilu’s back, but it doesn’t really matter — because Tonawari is there, ready to catch you, and immediately steadies you as you come crashing onto him. You’ll learn, he signs, still underwater. Do not worry, you’ll learn. 

The two of you have grown significantly closer since your arrival, and you try not to notice the way his touch tentatively lingers over your hips as he brings the both of you back to the surface. The two of you stare at each other then, his hands still atop your waist, and just as he’s about to say something, the moment is broken by Nala — and either she’s obsessed with his biceps at least half as much as you are, or she’s really just a little, fat bugger. You both laugh as she slobbers all over your face, his hands leaving your body, and you have to convince yourself that you’re not missing his touch to continue the riding lesson. 

Your weak spots are the signing lessons and the apnea training, mostly because your complete attention on him is needed to actually learn something. 

The first time he pushes his hand into your belly to show you how to breathe with your stomach, you thought you would’ve been able to faint right here and there — or swoon, depending on how you see it. And whenever he shows you new signs and their meaning, unfortunately all you can think about is what exactly his fingers can do. 

After lunch, you join the Tsahìk and the tsakarems in their dive for medical algae; a girl named Ronal shows you the best shells to pick to add to plants to make a paste, and the fishes that you have to follow to find a certain type of anemone with incredible healing properties. She’s a little ruffled by your presence at the lesson and you can tell, but you don’t find it in yourself to judge her; you’re pretty sure that when Jake was learning your ways, you were far more suspicious of him than she is of you.

Weirdly enough, the Tsahìk comes looking for you when you don’t show up to her lesson the day after. You come to find out that what you thought was a once-and-done offer was meant to be a more permanent position among the tsakarems, and now your evenings are filled with her lessons about spirituality and healing, too.

But the best thing about Awa’atlu is, by far, Eywa’s presence: she’s everywhere, in the waters you swim into the bonfire Avrak lights when it’s time for dinner, and for the first time in months, you feel safe. Even Ry’ia does, and it’s evident in the way she made herself a nest atop one of the highest trees in the forest.

You’ve made friends with the elders and two girls close to your age, Wali and Em’a, and the curious glances that the Metkayina sent you on that first day you spent here are nothing but memories now, as they have seemed to accept you as one of her own. 

Ironically enough, you start noticing how close Ronal and Tonawari are just now that you know her. 

Nothing much, but still noticeable, because most of the women in the clan are not close enough to him to be touching him — but she does. And for some reason, a lingering touch on his arm here and two grazing knees there are all it takes to ruin your night. 

You know it’s stupid — a lot, actually.  You’d already figured that one day, Tonowari will have to choose a beautiful and probably Metkayina woman to mate with to become the Tsahìk when his mother won’t be able to be anymore. Ronal is smart, definitely the prettiest tsakarem out of Tsika’s group, and above all, an established Metkayina in the clan. You, meanwhile, still have to properly mount an ilu, and Eywa forbids a skimwing.

When the fire dies out and it’s time for everyone to go to sleep, you sneak away from your friends to find refuge in that same rocky coast you landed on the night you arrived, and find yourself looking at the stars.

The next morning, after yet another slip down the back of your ilu, you’re ready to pack your bags and go back to wallowing in your pity in the remains of the Hometree, but Tonowari stops you by the tail and drags you back into the water, already hoisting you up the ilu’s back again. “Come on,” he encourages you, getting on the saddle right behind you. “Make the bond– I'll worry about not making you fall.”

Your eye twitches. Just how are you supposed to stay focused on the ilu when you can feel his chest pressing against your back, and his arms basically engulfing your own as he holds onto the saddle? He blinks at your staring, acting oblivious. “What?”

By some miracle, you manage to focus on your mount. The ilu’s speed causes you to completely lean on Tonowari for support, but he doesn’t seem to mind — the opposite, actually. One of his arms wrap around your midriff to keep you more stable, and while underwater you can feel his chin rest on your shoulder, when you rise back to the surface it’s his breath that you can feel on your cheek — and you know for a fact that he’s doing that on purpose, because he’s much taller than you, and he has to be crouching to be almost your height. 

“See?” He whispers in your ear. “It’s not so hard.” Well, of course it isn’t with him assuring you don’t fall. Slowly, you lift your head up to look at him, a brow raised in amusement. “Not with you here, mister.” 

Your sultry gaze makes him blush — an absolute hunk of a man who has surely had his fun playing with your closeness up until now, defeated by the batting of eyelashes. Unbelievable. His index finger traces a little pattern over your side, his eyes not leaving yours, “Then I’ll be here for as long as you’ll need me.” 

Wali and Em’a tease you endlessly about your lessons with Tonowari, and although they are terrible at catching fishes with the nets, whenever the two of you are out in the water they’re suddenly the most interested in fishing, even if their eyes are directed to anything but their supposed catches. They insist on rebraiding your hair in the Metkayina way when your braids start growing out, picking the prettiest shells and beads they can find to intertwine them in your strands. Considering you ditched your feather tops for their net-and-shell ones a while ago, if it weren’t for the colour of your skin and your tail you could probably pass as a reef Na’vi without too much trouble. 

But the main problem remains — you are not a Metkayina, not in the true sense of the word. And you are reminded of that as you see Ronal drag Tonowari away from the bonfire during dinner. 

Your mood shifts visibly. You play around with the fruits on your bowl, completely bummed, and Em’a and Wali share a knowing look. “Maybe she just wants to talk to him,” the latter whispers, as her friend nods. “Yeah, they butted heads allll the time when we were kids. I’m sure he just did an ugly marui pod and she wants to point out every single mistake he made with the weaving.”

You huff a bitter laugh, “Yeah, because I’m sure that that kind of stuff requires an immediate discussion.” 

You go back to watching the stars atop the rocky coast that night — it’s a habit by now, because even if you feel happy here, you still miss your mother and sister. The thought of the three of you watching the same sky always manages to comfort you. Alas, now it’s helping you overcome how stupid you’re feeling, because you know that Ronal is perfect for Tonowari. 

She’s been a tsakarem for longer than you, has grown up with him, knows how to ride an ilu perfectly and knows the way of the water like the back of her hand. She doesn’t come from who-knows-where, where trees grow as tall as the stars and far away from their beloved ocean, doesn’t have a useless tail for swimming, and doesn’t need to resurface constantly for a breath of air as much as you do. Wanting to be with him is selfish, because you’re fully aware that there’s already someone perfect for him out there. 

Still, that doesn’t mean it hurts less. 

The next day you opt to avoid Tonowari’s lessons, staying close to Em’a and Wali to help them stitch a wedding gift for one of the village’s couples on one of the empty, woven platform just above the water surface. The chief’s son had looked confused when he’d found you with the women instead of in your marui, but his questioning glance was met with a shrug. “Well, they need this gift done before the end of this week. I won’t be able to ride an ilu properly any time soon, anyways.”

His shoulders sag a bit and he looks like a grounded ikran, but he still nods and goes his way, back to the beach. “What?” you ask Em’a when she stares at you, gaping. “He looked so sad! Why didn’t you go with him? Me and Wali could’ve finished this alone!” 

You go back to your stitching, fiddling with the strings. Your mind takes you back to the other day — the way his finger traced your skin — and still, a little part of you can’t help but wonder how things would be if he didn’t like another girl already. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude between him and Ronal, you know.”  

Your friends stare at each other, not knowing what to say — it’s not like they can rebuke without knowing what the two of them talked about — or did — last night. 

You spend the day avoiding Tonowari like they pay you for it, running errands in the forest for the Tsahìk and finishing baskets with the elders, and by the time dinner time arrives, you can’t evade him anymore without half the clan wondering what happened between you two. 

You’re sitting beside Em’a — who’s arguing with Priya about what shells are best for a chest piece — when someone tugs at your braids as gently as possible. “Hey,” 

Of course, it’s him. He looks a bit sheepish, a weird leather pouch over his shoulder as he lets your hair go and sits beside you, brushing a fallen braid behind your ear. “I like the way you did your hair– it’s really pretty.”

Well, if Priya and Em’a weren’t listening before, now they definitely are. It’s a miracle Wali is on cooking duty tonight, because otherwise, you’d have three very nosey listeners instead of two. You blush, “Um– really?” Damn him and the effect he has on you. One day, he’ll be Ronal’s — but you decide that it surely won’t be a problem if you have his attention, just for tonight. 

He nods, a smile gracing his features. “The prettiest,” for some reason, it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about the braids anymore, but you’re not brave enough to point it out aloud. “You know, I was thinking that we could try again with the ilus tomorrow. Don’t let a few falls discourage you — I’m sure I fell a lot when I had to learn, too.”

You scoff, swatting him on the arm. “Really? Big, bad Tonowari beaten by a skimpy ilu?” 

He rubs the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I don’t really remember — I was little — but I’m pretty sure my bad memory is just because I probably hit my head really hard while falling.” 

That manages a laugh out of you — and it’s like he can go back to breathing properly, because he had really thought he had done something that offended you in some way or the other. He was more stressed than he let out this morning, when you refused to come with him to see the ilus. 

The night goes on and you laugh like you haven’t in months. He sure knows how to make great company when he wants to, and his arm — leaned on the sand behind your back — sometimes brushes against your spine, causing pleased goosebumps to etch over your skin. Eywa, you want him to be even closer so bad. 

And it’s just when he leans down and scoots a little closer, his hand tentatively resting on your back, that you notice her. 

Ronal is glaring at you from the other side of the bonfire, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently. The charm wears off — you remind yourself that you can’t exactly pretend she doesn’t exist for a night, because even if you don’t owe her anything, you don’t want to cause any rift between her and Tonowari. It’s not like he’ll ever mate with you, anyway. 

So you gently pull away, trying to ignore his hurt stare as you get up from your previous sitting position. “I– did I do something? Are you–”

“Sorry, I just need a breather,” you disappear into the forest, but not before seeing Ronal stomping angrily towards Tonowari, surely ready to yell at him. Priya and Em’a cast worried glances at your back, but you’re too distraught to actually notice. 

The rocky coast is quiet in contrast to the continuous chatter of the bonfire, as the sound of the waves is the only thing breaking the silence. You hug your knees close to your chest, staring at the stars, wondering what and how Neytiri is doing right now — cuddled up with Jake, no doubt. Well, if Ronal wasn’t so perfect for Tonowari, you think you’d like being cuddled up to him, too–

A hand on your shoulder nearly makes you jump out of your bones — were you really so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the same man you were just daydreaming about approaching? Embarrassing. If your father were alive, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

Tonowari sits beside you again, and you hug your knees just a little closer. “I, um,” he stutters, and you can’t believe a man of his size is able to get embarrassed. “Today, when I went hunting outside the reef, I got you something.” He grabs the pouch slinged over his shoulders, opening it to reveal a beautiful conch shell. 

You’ve never seen one so big — it’s probably the size of your head, if not bigger. The outer shell is iridescent, reacting to the bioluminescence of the waves that crash underneath you, while the inside is streaked in blue and purple. You’ve never seen anything like it, and you gape at the sight. “Tonowari, what…”

“I saw it and it just reminded me of you,” he explains, his cheeks a pleasant indigo. He holds it out for you to take, and if you weren’t sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, you’d say his hands were trembling slightly. “And so, as it is tradition, I thought I should’ve gotten it for you– if you will accept it, that is.”

You’re too dumbfounded by the seashell to really listen to him. You take it in your hands, tasting the weight of it, admiring its colors and wondering how something so beautiful could have reminded him of you. At last, you find yourself hugging it close to your chest, even if its spikes poke a little into your arm. “Thank you, Tonowari,” you say, feeling as full as anyone can be. 

He perks up, his ears twitching like he’s in disbelief, his tail moving happily in the sand. “…Really? You accept it?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?” It's a gift, and you don’t plan on giving it back to him anytime soon. It’s too beautiful to even sit anywhere near his man-cave. 

The grin he makes takes up his whole face. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. Fantastic, even.” 

Gently, he touches your arm. “So, how about riding those ilus tomorrow?”

The next morning, you manage to mount an ilu properly — without Tonowari behind you for support, that is. It’s nothing much, but it’s still a step forward into life in the reef, and from the way your teacher claps and hollers, you’d think you’d tamed an akula. 

Later that evening, you’re still helping Em’a and Wali with their wedding gift, as well as recounting last night’s events to their flabbergasted faces. “A conch shell?” Wali asks to confirm, her thread and beads long forgotten. 

You nod, mimicking the size of the shell with your hands, “Yeah, a thing this big,” 

Em’a squeals, “No way! I didn’t think he was so straight forward!” 

Confused, you ask, “What do you mean? He was just being nice,” 

They look at each other, gaping, then back at you, “What do you mean, he was just being–”

They’re interrupted by someone sitting down next to you without asking permission, and you blanch when you see Ronal. “Oh– oh, um, hi.”

She blinks at you like it’s no big deal, then picks up a spare thread and needle and begins helping you with the netting. “So, what did Tonowari tell you last night?”

You hesitate. “Oh, um, you know — lessons stuff. A few tips on how to balance my weight on the ilus better. Um… in a– friendly way?” 

She perks up an eyebrow suspiciously, her ears twitching in annoyance. “Lessons stuff, huh?” she repeats, stitching a shell in the most aggressive way you’ve ever seen — even Neytiri bad-mouthing Jake never reached these levels of hostility. “In a friendly way? Is that so?”

You share a panicked glance with your friends, laughing awkwardly. “Yes?” It sounds more like a question than a reply, and that’s probably what tips her over the edge. Her eye twitches, and she doesn’t even bother to put the needle and thread where she found them as she rises back up to her feet while grumbling, “If you’ll excuse me,” 

“She didn’t even try to be sneaky,” Em’a mutters as soon as she’s out of hearing range, “what’s up with her?”

Your stomach churns, “Well, it’s probably the fact that–” 

A loud slap echoes from the village, making the three of you flinch. A second slap ensues. When you look up, you notice that Tonowari is standing on the shore, holding his jaw with his cheeks already turning an ugly purple, and Ronal is marching away, fuming. 

…Yeah. You probably shouldn’t have accepted that shell thinking that it wouldn’t matter if he was going to marry her anyways. 

You wonder what exactly is between them, but can’t find it in yourself to ask him — mostly because you aren’t brave enough to tell him that you like him. Em’a and Wali can keep telling you that there’s nothing between them, but recent events continue to prove them wrong. 

That night, at dinner, you mostly keep to yourself, deep in your thoughts, and even if Priya tries to drag you out of your misery, it’s all futile. For one reason or another the fruit you’re munching on tastes bitter, and you’re not sure if Tonowari’s absence around the bonfire helps or worsens your mood. It’s only when Ronal herself pats your shoulder and gestures for the beach that you get out of your haze. 

She tugs you by your arm down onto the shore, as silent as ever. “Listen, I’m really sorry–”

“Did you do anything you need to apologise for?” she asks, jumping off a rock. You stumble, “I– well, I know you and Tonowari probably–” 

“Stupid forest girl,” she huffs, not even looking at you, “thinks I want him like he’s some kind of trophy when he’s stupid like a baby–” 

“Hey! That’s not nice–” 

She tugs you roughly one last time only to let your arm go as you reach where the ocean meets the sand, and you fall down in the water, wetting your — newly made, you must add — loincloth. You groan, rubbing your backside, “Ow– I get that you’re mad, but this seems a little too much to me–”

Ronal points to somewhere behind you, looking tired of you. “Go.” 

You blink, confused — and then you turn, only to catch sight of Tonowari, only a few klicks behind, mounting an ilu. He raises a hand to greet you, the smile on his face nervous, and you notice that he’s got that pouch slung over his shoulder again. 

Hesitant, you turn to Ronal — looking for what, you don’t know. She raises an eyebrow expectantly, “What are you waiting for? Go.” 

You’re not sure you want to know what kind of game she’s playing, but something tugs at your tail. It’s Nala, you come to realize, and she’s trying to drag you off to Tonowari. 

You relent, following the zukzuk and mostly letting yourself get carried by the current until you’re in front of him. He gestures his fingers to his forehead as a salute and then holds his hand out to you, “Care for a swim?”

Still hesitant, you look at the ilu, then back at him. “No baby akulas trying to eat me this time?”

He laughs, “No, not where we’re going.”

You allow him to hoist you atop the ilu — because even if you're capable of doing it yourself, he always does that — and then climbs up in front of you, holding one hand behind your thigh to keep you steady and the other on the reins. “Hold on tight.” 

You have to admit that riding at night is beautiful. Other than the moons and stars above you, the only light comes from the bioluminescence, and you remove one hand from his waist to brush the surface of the water, in awe. Nala swims beside you, holding up with the pace with some effort, but still looking very happy to see you and her carer together. 

Tonowari stops the ilu when floating rocks and boulders — like a miniature-size Hallelujah Mountains — start to appear in the sky. “Where are we?”

He turns to smile at you. “You came here for Eywa, didn't you?” he asks, “Well, you could say we're going to visit her.”

He dives and you follow him, still a bit reluctant. He stops to let you catch up to him when he notices that you’re a bit behind him, a hand coming up to hold your smaller one — and suddenly, all of this feels very familiar. The fishes twirling around the two of you, the rocks and algae shimmering, the life you can feel buzzing within the water– 

Tonowari lets go of your hand as you stare all around you, but it’s just to sign something. Come with me, our Spirit Tree is this way. His hand comes up to the small of your back, and if you weren’t holding your breath, you’re sure you would’ve sputtered. 

If he notices the way you’re staring at him — like you just discovered a whole new person — he doesn’t mention it. He just guides you through the swarms of nocturnal fishes until you see it — the Spirit Tree. 

Never in your life you would’ve thought that something like that could’ve existed underwater. It looks like it’s made out of dreams, shining upon anything that comes close to it, and Tonowari’s hand slowly leaves your back as you approach it — he’s letting you have some space, you realise. 

Meeting the ancestors is like going back home — maybe it’s because in the spirit realm the Hometree and all the people that came down with it are alive, or maybe it’s because you didn’t do it for a long time. Either way, once you come back from it — you have to, the air in your lungs is starting to feel less and less every second that passes — you come to find out that finally, you feel truly at peace. 

You swim up to a rock covered in moss to catch your breath, taking a moment to admire your surroundings — you’ve swam up to an open cave, it seems, painted and engraved with stories from the start of the Metkayina clan to the new days. Tulkuns, ilus and Na’vi twirl across the stone, set for an endless dance across generations, and you hear the water crinkle beside you. 

“Do you like it?”

You nod, “It’s beautiful. Our Spirit Tree, back in the forest, doesn’t really offer any space for carvings.” 

Tonowari nods, looking at the artwork scattered across the walls. “This is the Cove of the Ancestors. It’s where we bring the dead to rest, where newborns have their first contact with Eywa and ceremonies are held.”

You hum, already imagining him in full Olo’eyktan attire, his father passing down his spear to him. The man clears his throat. “I… I also brought you here for another reason other than the Spirit Tree — Ronal suggested I might’ve wanted to… clear things up a bit between us.” 

You feel your heart skip a beat. Ah, there it goes. “There’s nothing to clear up,” you assure him, even if your chest feels like it’s imploding. “It’s okay. I know you have responsibilities — and we both know that Ronal’s the best tsakarem out there.”

He blinks, confused. A beat passes, slowly. Then, “But I don’t want Ronal.”

Oh. Oh.

You stutter, wondering if he’s joking — and from the way he’s looking at you, he’s not. “But– I thought you two had a thing. She dragged you away from the bonfire the other night — she’s always so close — she slapped you this morning just because we talked last night.” 

Tonowari’s laughter is sincere and without any malice behind it. “What? No!”

He removes his pouch from his shoulder, and opens it to reveal another conch shell– even bigger than the last one. It’s different, though: this one reminds you of him, all turquoise and light blue accents, and you wonder just how many hours he has spent looking for it. “Here in Awa’atlu, gifting a big conch shell symbolises the start of a courtship,” he explaines — embarrassed, perhaps? “I got so used to having you around that I forgot you weren’t born Metkayina, and probably didn’t know of the tradition. Honestly, I was too happy you had accepted it to ask myself if you knew about it — and for that, I owe you my apologies.” 

You soften visibly, but still hold a little resistance. “But Ronal–”

“Ronal is a friend,” he empathizes the word, “if anything, she sees me as a brother she can’t get out of her hair. All this time, she’s pressured me to make my move on you — before the other skxawngs in the village noticed all your qualities. That day at the bonfire? We kept arguing over what compliments I should’ve used for your hair.” 

You blush, “I kept telling her I should’ve just told you that you were beautiful — which was true — but she kept insisting for a subtler approach. And when we came back, you weren’t there.”

You fiddle with the shells of your chestpiece, “Well, I thought you went to have some alone time with her or something,” you mutter.

Another laugh. “So, you escaped to watch the stars every time we were a little too close? I’m flattered that you kept looking at me,” 

You push at his arm, “Then why did she slap you this morning? Your cheeks are still swollen, by the way.”

He snorts, “Ouli — the ceremonial tattooer — gave her a conch shell a week ago, and she has accepted it. She can’t wait to be absolved from tsakarem’s duties, but they can’t step down until the Tsahìk — and the future chief — choose who, one day, will guide the people spiritually.” Two of his fingers come up to your chin, holding your head up to stare into your eyes softly, “She was waiting for me to choose you. I told her I’d propose the shell to you yesterday, and then she found out that apparently, you saw it as a friendly talk. Needless to say, she was pissed.”

“But– I’m not even fully trained yet. She’s better at–”

He shakes his head, “I don’t care what she’s better at — I know you’ll learn everything about our ways, eventually. You’ve already proven yourself worthy enough.” he raises the shell again, his hand moving up to your cheek. “So, what do you say if we try this once more? I found another shell just to ask you again.” 

You take the shell in your hands, admiring it for a moment before throwing all your self-control out of the picture, jumping in his arms so abruptly that he falls down on his backside. The kiss is mind-shattering, his hug is everything you imagined it would be, and his body is just as warm as it was in the dream where you saw him for the first time. 

The funniest thing is that once you pull away, you both are gasping for air — something you’ve never seen him do, even after diving sessions that seemed to be hours long. Tightening the hold of your arms around his neck, you press your chests even closer, your noses brushing. “Is this the answer you wanted?”

He huffs a chuckle, his eyes already looking down at your lips again, “I don’t know– seemed a bit too friendly to me. But maybe, if you do that again, say, three or four times more, I might grasp the concept fully…” 

You’re pretty sure the two of you could’ve stayed there kissing all night — and maybe even more than that, with the way you could feel him pressing against your crotch — if it wasn’t for Nala, who, by the time you went back for seconds for the fourth time, already had enough and positively jumped over the two of you, breaking the sweet moment with barks and flaps of her tail. 

That doesn’t stop you from sharing quick, frenzy kisses whenever she’s not looking, as by the time Tonowari accompanies you back to your marui, your lips still feel swollen and are surely flushed. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you, pressing one last peck to your cheek. You nod, giving his hand one last squeeze, “‘Course,”

You decide to take things slowly — you still don’t know the Metkayina’s ways to their full extent, after all. The next few months are made of exhausting training, as now you’re the only tsakarem and still have to pass your iknimaya, and you don’t want to let anyone down. You know the expectations that everyone has about the Tsahìk, and you surely have no intention to make Tonowari look bad as Olo’eyktan when the time comes. 

And about him, he surely makes the intensive training easier. 

Everytime he notices that you’re a little too stressed he makes sure to bring you a trinket from his hunts — let it be a weird rock that looks like a heart or a basket full of shells you can make your chest coverings with. He finds flowers to put in your hair during meal times, and just swings you over his shoulder like a pouch full of water when he decides that you’re overworking yourself a tad bit too much, dragging you to his marui for a well-deserved nap.

The day of your iknimaya marks your formal entry in the clan — one who later on becomes even more real thanks to your mating ceremony. 

It’s a quiet affair — quieter than it is usual for the son of the chief — but neither of you resent the lack of festivities or celebration, because the most important thing is that you are now mated for life. Per Metkayina tradition, you rebraid each other’s kuru braids, picking beads and shells perfect for each other just for the occasion, and when the time to exchange your wedding gifts comes, you think back to Priya’s words and wonder just who she married — because the comb Tonowari carved out of coral is nothing short of stunning. 

“I’ve never been to your forest,” he tells you as you brush the swirls of the flowers and trees etched along the smooth side, “but I’ve tried imagining it so many times, I can only hope I brought it justice.” It may not be completely accurate to the forest, but the thought he put into it is more than appreciated nonetheless. In exchange, he wears your armband like it’s a badge of honor, even if it’s a little too tight on his bicep. (Not that you’re complaining — the sight is scrumptious, and you can’t believe you get to wake up next to him for the rest of your life.) 

You quickly settle in the marui Tonowari built with his father in the months of courting, and after a few months of blissful marriage, you don’t even notice when your belly starts to grow. 

You just assumed you were getting a little too comfortable in your new life with him and maybe put on a bit of weight — after all, the Metkayina are much softer than the Omatikaya, so maybe your body’s just adapting to the environment. You think so, until Tonowari points it out. 

One morning, as he’s tying his braids back, he stops to look at you — still lying half-asleep on the mat you share, barely awake yet. He crouches to stare weirdly at your belly, then pokes at your bellybutton like he’s trying to study a new species of fish. “Oeyä Tanhì,” he starts — my star, a nickname he has taken a liking to calling you since your wedding. 

You hum non-committedly. “Yes, Ma Wari?” 

He keeps poking at your stomach, and keeps doing so even when you try to swat his hand away. “Stop it, Tonowari, it tickles.”

He kisses your cheek, and continues doing so all the way to your forehead, brushing your hair away from your face as he leans his cheek over the top of your head. His chuckle is full of disbelief as he whispers, “My love, I think you’re with child. Your belly is rounder and stiff.”

A moment passes. Then, “Are you calling me fat first thing in the morning, Tonowari?” 

A terrifying silence and a visit to Tsika later, it’s confirmed — you are pregnant, already four months along. You’re confused, mostly because your people don’t show up until five months, but one look at your hunk of a husband is all it takes to explain your questions. 

Your second tattoo is to celebrate the pregnancy. While the first was above your eyebrow and went down to your cheek, this one cups the upper part of your belly and continues to your sides, still leaving some space for eventual other tattoos on your lower belly and hips. 

At night, you sit on the step going onto the ocean of your marui, letting your feet float in the water as Tonowari sits on a banked canoe below, rubbing ointment on your freshly-done tattoo. “The arch symbolises the first pregnancy,” he mumbles softly, “the sides, protection for the firstborn. If another pregnancy occurs, a piece will be added here,” he brushes against the empty, rounded sides of your belly, “for protection of the second born, and then one for the third, and so on.” 

You laugh, playing with one of his braids. “I think you’re getting too full of yourself, mister– let me give birth to this one before talking about other children, will you?” 

He rests his head in your lap, almost purring when you start tracing lines over his face and scalp, “And when the child is born,” he adds, a hand still over your stomach, “the father gets a tattoo over the heart, one that turns into a spiral as more children come.” 

A hum, “Maybe we should start thinking about names first, Ma Wari.” 

The agreement is, he chooses the name if it’s a boy, you choose if it’s a girl. He picks the name Aonung; you opt for Tsireya. 

His father’s illness comes as a bitter surprise to all. 

It starts with a cough, then he’s getting groggy when he moves a little too much, until no remedies the Tsahìk, you or the healers try to use work, as he lies bedridden in the marui him and his wife have shared for decades. 

Tonowari is understandingly broken up about it — the man who he grew up idolizing, who offered you a refuge in your grief, who helped him build the marui where you’ll be raising your child and every other one that might come after them. He won’t be meeting his grandchild, and even if Arvak insists for you to sleep properly in your own pod for the wellness of the baby, you’re not going to leave him or your husband alone in this difficult time. 

You and your mate spend every night by his side as Tsika prays and chants for Eywa, not getting a blink of sleep herself, until the inevitable comes, and Arvak’s hand finally goes limp in hers. 

The period of mourning doesn’t seem like nearly enough for Tonowari to handle his grief — he spends every night curled up into you, resting his head on your lap, trying to find comfort in you and his unborn child. He’s so big that if the situation was a little different, you would’ve laughed; instead, you just hold him close and sing him to sleep. 

But life doesn’t stop for grief, and you know that well. Soon, he’s named Olo’eyktan and you Tsahìk, Tsika stepping down from her position with tears in her eyes as she gives you her headpiece. 

Time in the village goes fast — people to heal, ceremonies to make, salves to concoct and prayers to hear. Months pass and your belly starts feeling impossibly big, so much so that the kids of the clan start following you everywhere to help their increasingly more tired Tsahìk. Tonowari always laughs when he sees them, going on about how Nala now has competition for the place in your heart reserved for children and animals, and the otterfin herself brings you a gift everyday — let it be a polished rock she found while swimming or a type of seaweed she thinks to be delicious. 

The contractions start at night. You toss and turn in pain but try to avoid waking up Tonowari, just in case it’s a false alarm like the ones you had in the last three days. It’s only when he nudges you with a gentle hand — hair still mussed a bit with sleep — and tells you that the mat is wet that you understand that your child is coming. 

Tsika and Ronal — now one of the best healers in the village and happily mated to Ouli — don’t spare any minute after your husband calls for them, and immediately have him carry you — now almost delirious with pain — to the birthing pond, where the water is warm and Eywa’s presence strong. The sigh you let out when your husband gently positions you against the rocky wall of it is one of pure bliss, and your clammy skin now surely doesn’t give you any problem. 

Aonung is born hours later at dawn, resurfacing out of the water by himself like tradition, crying out for his father to take him. Tonowari takes one good look at him, hears his strong wails and immediately passes him to your tired, waiting arms, “A boy,” he says breathlessly, brushing your braids out of your face, “a healthy, strong boy.” He presses his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping down his cheek, “Thank you, Oeyä Tanhì, thank you.” 

“Aonung,” you call out sobbing, as the babe stops his crying and latches onto your breast. “Hi, my sweet, hi,” he’s a little bigger than Omatikaya babies, but you love him nonetheless. He nestles over your chest as soon as he’s done feeding, and chooses that that’s now his favourite place to be. 

In the next few weeks, your son reveals himself to be a real mama’s boy. During the day, he stays curled up in your chest in the netted wrap that Em’a and Wali had made for you, and Eywa forbid Tonowari tries to help you by taking him — because he will cry until his ears beg for mercy, only to go back to being an angel as soon as he passes him back to you. 

The children coo and poke at him when you bring him to meet them, and one of the older ones jokes about how he looks just like your husband, but can only stand you. You laugh at that, because it is true — Aonung is his father’s copy, and maybe that’s why he likes you so much. 

It’s only when he reaches three months of age that you gather enough courage to ask Tonowari to visit the forest — not because you’re afraid he’ll say no, but because you’re not sure if you’re ready for it. It’s been almost two years since you left now, and while you aren’t exactly ready to see the remains of the fallen Hometree again, you want Aonung to meet his grandmother and aunt, and your husband to see where you grew up. 

Of course, the latter could never deny you anything, and a week later you get on Ry’ia with him behind you and set sail for the forest of the Omatikaya. The village is left to Tsika’s hands, and Aonung babbles happily against your chest as he flies for the first time in his life. 

The village is in the same place it was two years ago — it’s just grown a lot since then, marui pods where the branches once weren’t even steady enough — and you laugh when Ry’ia leaves you immediately to go back to the ikrans’ nest, ready to meet her old friends no doubt. You keep one hand over Aonung’s small back and the other in Tonowari’s palm, guiding him through the branches and groves as he stumbles many times. 

You laugh, “How does the forest feel, reef boy?” 

He pales as he stares down the branch you’re standing on, wondering just how many people die here from falling down into the void. “Dangerous, my love.”

Neytiri screams when she first sees you — alerting all the other villagers about your arrival. She runs to hug you tight, not even noticing your son nestled between you two or the reef Na’vi awkwardly standing behind you until you pull back, a soft smile on your lips. “Sister, it’s been so long–”

You laugh, nodding. “It has been, sister. I wanted to introduce you to Tonowari–” the man salutes her with his fingers going to his forehead and then gesturing towards her as you take Aonung out of his wrap and into your arms, “and little Aonung.” 

You don’t notice the way her face falls instantly. Your boy coos at her, gesturing his fat little arms towards her, and the moment is interrupted by Mo’at, far more pleased than her elder daughter at the turn of events. When your sister takes her nephew in her arms and your mother hugs you, she stares at his turquoise skin, larger tail and wide forearms with worry, “He’ll never be able to move fully in the forest with these,” 

You chuckle, still in your mother’s embrace, “A good thing we live in the reef then, no?”

Her eyes skim over your sturdier arms, the tattoos over your body and the seashells braided into your hair– and before you know it, she leaves Aonung in Jake’s arms and storms off.

Being back home is nice — because while Awa’atlu became your home in the last two years, here in the forest still live your friends and family, and it’s where you grew up. Your mother spoils Aonung rotten and watches him as you go hunting on your ikran with Ninat and Peyral, while Jakesully — upon Tonowari’s insistence — tries to show him the way of the forest. Your friends chuckle every time they catch sight of your husband, asking if every Na’vi in the reef is as big as him, and if you know any Metkayina men willing to marry in the Omatikaya. 

Neytiri, who you found out to be pregnant the day you arrived, mostly stays by herself, pondering, and whenever you ask if she wants to do anything with you she refuses, lamenting nausea or other pains. 

You talk to Mo’at about it, worried, but she just gives you a weird look. “She’s grieving, child.”

Your eyebrows rise up to your hairline, “What do you mean, grieving? Who died?”

“She thought you were still traveling,” she whispers, caressing Aonung’s curls while he munches on the beads of your braids, “and that once you were ready, you would’ve come back to living here. Seeing you with a mate and a son… it broke her heart, because now she knows you’re not coming back.” 

You think back to all the times you two talked about how your children would grow up together, being best friends and close just like you did — and your heart breaks a little, too, because in all of this, you hadn’t considered how she would take the fact of you never fully returning to the forest. 

That night, you leave Aonung with Tonowari — as your son has finally started to appreciate his father a little, too — and go looking for Neytiri at the Tree of Souls, knowing that at this hour, she usually prays and chants her songcord. 

She stops when she hears you approach, her ears perking up. You smile softly, “I thought we could pray together– like the old days?” When your father was still alive, your sister still arranged to Tsu’tey, and the both of you were less complicated. When she could still become Tsahìk, and you had no reason to. 

She scoffs a little, “Like the old days,” she mutters, “am I supposed to pretend that you didn’t turn your back on me?”

You grimace, taking a seat next to her, “Tiri…”

“Don’t ‘Tiri’ me,” she hisses, “you have no right– I was waiting for you. Waiting for you to come back–” her voice cracks — pregnancy emotions; you know them too well. “For you to come back here and marry one of our men like our ancestors did for centuries. Instead, you marry a reef Na’vi and– and move Eywa knows how far from here without saying anything–”

She breaks down, and you shush her gently, cradling her head on your shoulder. This feels familiar, because when you were kids, she was usually the one comforting you. “Why did it have to be the Olo’eyktan?” she cries, her tears wetting your skin, “Couldn’t you find someone less important — someone you could come here to live with?”

You shake your head, pressing your cheek on the crown of her hair for comfort, “I didn’t choose him, Tiri,” you say softly, “I fell in love. That’s not something one controls, and you, out of all people, should know that.”

Still in denial, she sobs harder, “What will it be of our kids?” she asks, pressing a hand over her slightly swollen belly, “Will they grow up as strangers, like they’ll be to our father and sister? Will they look at their aunt and wonder if she’s an outsider?”

“Never, sister, never,” you hush, “we’ll visit — you and Jake can visit, too.”

As her cries die down, she asks, “Does the thought of living here still scare you so much?”

And for that, to your horror, you don’t find an answer. 

Tsireya comes a little over a year after her brother, and this time, she looks like you. She still has her father’s Metkayina features — the tail, her forearms — but one good look at her face, and it doesn’t take a Tsahìk to guess that she’s your daughter. Ironically enough, she prefers her father's chest over yours — unless we’re talking about feeding time, because, let’s be real, Tonowari will never be able to beat you at that for obvious reasons. 

Aonung has started to waddle a while ago, and has been restless since. He goes from your marui to his grandmother’s, visiting Ronal and Em’a on the way, falling at least twelve times in the meantime. He loves swimming with you and his father, constantly bugs his sister when she’s stealing the milk that he’s convinced should be his, and plays with Nala on the shore when the zukzuk starts following him around. 

He’s a sweet boy who brings you flowers and pieces of fruit when he notices the smallest frown on your face, and loves cuddles from mom and dad before and after going to sleep. And even if he’s a little mean to his sister sometimes, you know he loves her very much from the way he begs you to let her swim with him or wants to share his food with her. 

You visit Neytiri a few more times, but the visits slowly come to an end when you realize that she has no intention of ever coming to the reef to see the life you’ve built here. While Mo’at visits frequently, bringing the children gifts and swarming them with affection, your older sister seems to have accepted the fact that in her eyes, you’ll never be truly close again. 

You accept the notion with far more ease than you could have ever imagined — because you have a family now, and people that look up to you for guidance. If Neytiri doesn’t want to see that, it’s okay; you’ll never manage to love her any less for it. 

The kids grow quicker than you realize, because soon, Tsireya is waddling behind Aonung too, and the excruciating process of weaning her off starts. 

Her brother had been even more difficult, so you’re actually quite relieved to see that she at least does not cry herself to exhaustion every night like he did. But every time she lets out the smallest whimper, you find Tonowari’s big eyes boring into yours, with that look that says, we could resolve the problem by just having another baby. You always glare at him when he suggests that, because two kids under three already feel like more than enough now, and you have no intention of having another one so soon. 

But as she often does, Eywa has a different plan for you. 

Tonowari hurriedly wakes you up one night as you’re resting on the sleeping mat, nearly asleep as the kids quietly snore beside you. He’d been out all evening to help his mother with some herbs while you watched the children, so you’re worried to find him so distraught. “One of the Ta’unui’s women died in birth,” he whispers, careful not to wake up Aonung or Tsireya, “they need to feed him, but none of the women in their village is nursing. Could you…?”

He doesn’t even have to ask, really, because five minutes later you’re sitting in the Tsahìk’s tent, nursing little Rotxo while the Ta’unui Olo’eyktan shares worried whispers with Tonowari. The newborn is a little chunkier than Aonung and Tsireya were, but that just means that his mom, while she could, took good care of him. 

“He’s an orphan,” you hear the chief say, “his dad died a little while ago on a hunt, and he’s only got his grandmother now — but frankly, she’s old, and I doubt she’ll be able to take care of him for long…” 

The solution seems clear in your eyes, and after talking to Rotxo’s grandmother about her new place in the Metkayina village, you introduce Aonung and Tsireya to their new little brother. They don’t ask why you didn’t have a big belly like the other pregnant women in the village, or why his skin isn’t a little bluer like theirs, and instead take to him instantly, putting shared efforts to find nice shells and smooth little rocks to put in the woven crib where he naps. 

Everyday, you bring him to his grandmother so that she can have a piece of her daughter back with her, and slowly, she takes a liking to your children as well. They start calling her grandma like they do to Tsika and Mo’at, and you don’t miss the way she seems to be rejuvenated by being around such lively children. 

“No more kids, huh?” Tonowari teases you gently one evening, the sun fading into the horizon, as you breastfeed little Rotxo while watching Aonung and Tsireya play with ilu cubs in the water. 

You swat his arm, so tired but so full of love. “Oh, shut up, Tonowari. The next kid we have, we’ll have in at least ten years.” 

He raises an eyebrow, amused, “Oh? So, we will have another kid?” 

You blush — incredible how after having two of his kids and being bare for him so many times, he still manages to get a reaction out of you. “Maybe.”  

He hums, an arm wrapping around your shoulders as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Yeah? And what do you want to call them, if it’s a girl?”

You look down to little Rotxo, his hand opening and closing around the curve of your breast, his chunky belly pressing against your ribs. It’s ridiculous — the way Tonowari can get you to think about another baby while already having three small children. 

In the end, you utter softly, “Pril.”

[lilacnavi]

neytiri’s pretty sister

pairing: movie 1: jake sully x omatikaya female reader

notes: soft dom jake, hopelessly in love jake, courting, mating, pregnancy, neytiri is a good sister, brief jake x neytiri at first. smut, breeding, tummy bulge, slight size kink, body worshiping, jake talks you through it, this oneshot is all abt reader’s boob tbh wahahaha

word count: 7.7k

prompt: he thought neytiri was the prettiest woman he’s ever seen until you stumbled upon his eyes and prove him wrong.

main masterlist | jake sully masterlist

credits to @uzmacchiato

The lush canopy of Pandora filtered the sunlight into a mosaic of greens and golds, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor as Neytiri moved with the fluid grace of a born hunter. Her lithe blue body, striped with faint bioluminescent markings, cut through the undergrowth like a shadow given form.

She was teaching Jake Sully, the skxawng from the sky people, the sacred ways of the Na'vi. The subtle art of listening to the wind's whispers, the precise grip on a bowstring, the harmony of breath with the world's pulse.

Jake followed her every motion, his own newly transferred Na'vi form still adjusting to its powerful limbs and heightened senses. His broad shoulders flexed under the minimal covering of his loincloth, muscles rippling as he mimicked her stance, tail flicking with concentration.

To him, Neytiri was a revelation.

A fierce, untamed beauty that outshone the sterile lights of his human past. Her sharp golden eyes, framed by the elegant lines of her face, held a fire that both intimidated and captivated him, her long black hair swayed with each step, brushing against the curve of her hips, and her voice, when she spoke, carried the melody of Eywa herself.

"This is how you become one with the forest." Neytiri instructed, her tone firm yet laced with an undercurrent of warmth, demonstrating how to nock an arrow with effortless precision.

She straightened, her chest rising and falling steadily, the beaded strands of her top shifting slightly over her toned form.

Jake nodded, wiping sweat from his brow, his golden eyes tracing the elegant arch of her neck, the way her ears twitched at distant sounds.

She was beautiful.

He thought.

Wild and pure, a woman who could command the stars.

They paused near a cluster of glowing ferns, the air humming with the soft calls of unseen creatures. Neytiri turned to him, her expression softening just a fraction, though her tail curled tightly behind her in subtle tension.

"When you are one of the People, Jake." She said, her voice dropping to a more intimate timbre, golden eyes meeting his with a flicker of hope she tried to conceal. "You may choose a mate. There are many worthy females in the Omatikaya, strong weavers like the daughters of the elders, or skilled hunters who ride the ikran with the wind. There are also performers, Ninat is the best singer in the clan."

Her words echoed the clan's traditions, but beneath them lay her quiet yearning. She imagined his choice falling to her, despite the looming bond with Tsu'tey that duty and the loss of her older sister demanded.

Jake's lips curved into a lopsided grin, his broad chest expanding as he stepped closer, the scent of earth and exertion clinging to his blue skin.

"Well I don't want Ninat. I don't want any of them." He replied, voice rough with sincerity, golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made the space between them feel charged. He leaned in, heart pounding against his ribs, the words bubbling up from deep within. "Neytiri, I—"

A sudden rustle shattered the moment, leaves parting as you stumbled into the clearing, your arms cradling a bundle of fresh atokirina, seeds of the sacred tree, that you'd been sent to collect for the clan's rituals. Your heart skipped as your sparkling golden eyes widened, taking in the scene.

Your sister Neytiri, poised and alert, and the stranger beside her, the dreamwalker she'd spoken of in hushed tones during late-night talks by the fire. You'd never crossed paths with him before, too occupied with your duties among the healers and young ones, but now, here he was. Tall and handsome, his muscular frame etched with the raw power of a warrior in bloom, golden eyes sharp and curious, his long black hair tied back to reveal the strong lines of his jaw and the subtle scars from his sky people life.

A flush crept across your azure skin, your ears perking forward in surprise while your tail swished in a quick, involuntary arc of curiosity.

In that instant, Jake's confession evaporated, his gaze snapping to you like a predator scenting prey.

Awe slackened his features, jaw parting slightly, golden eyes dilating as they roamed over you, drinking in every detail. Neytiri, with her commanding presence, blurred into the background and all that existed was you. Your feminine form was a vision of Omatikaya allure, sweeter and more inviting than any he'd imagined.

The pretty beaded top clung to your full, ample breasts, the strands hugging their generous swell so tightly that the deep blue of your nipples peeked teasingly at the edges, barely concealed by the delicate weave. They were larger than those of the other females he'd glimpsed, plump and perky, rising with each quickened breath you took. Your waist, slender and cinched with a shimmering wrap of beads that tinkled softly, flared into hips draped by a loincloth in a stunning gradient of plum fading to indigo, the fabric swaying to hint at the perky curve of your ass beneath. Long black hair cascaded down your back, the silky strands reaching just above that enticing swell, framing your body like a living tapestry.

And your face, gods, Eywa must have crafted it with extra care. Sparkling golden eyes that shimmered like the Tree of Souls, full pouty blue lips parted in mild shock, high cheekbones glowing with a natural luminescence.

Your tail flicked cutely behind you, ears twitching as you realized the intrusion, a soft warmth blooming on your cheeks.

He was even more striking up close than Neytiri's stories had suggested, those golden eyes holding a depth that made your stomach flutter, his broad shoulders and confident stance stirring something unfamiliar in your caring heart.

"Neytiri! Oh, I'm so sorry." You exclaimed, your voice sweet and melodic, laced with genuine apology as you tugged the bundle closer to you hastily, golden eyes darting between your sister and the dreamwalker. A shy smile tugged at your lips, but embarrassment won out. "I didn't mean to disrupt your lesson. I'll leave you both—"

With a quick dip of your head, your long hair swinging forward to brush your breasts, you turned and darted back into the foliage, your bum flexing under the gradient loincloth with each light-footed step, tail curling bashfully as you vanished.

Jake remained rooted, still in a trance, his golden eyes fixed on the spot where you'd disappeared, chest heaving as if he'd run a hunt. The forest's symphony faded around him, all he could replay was the sparkle in your eyes, the sway of your hips, the way your full tits had strained against those beads.

"Who... who was that?" He asked finally, voice husky and dazed, turning to Neytiri with a mix of wonder and resolve.

Neytiri's ears flattened slightly, her golden eyes narrowing in quiet surprise as she watched her sister's retreating form. She straightened, tail lashing once in restrained emotion.

"That was my younger sister, (Y/N)." She replied evenly, though a thread of protectiveness wove through her tone. "The prettiest and most sought-after female in the Omatikaya clan. She is feminine, sweet, always caring for the young and the wounded. Many warriors vie for her attention, but she chooses none yet."

Her words carried a subtle pride, but beneath it, a flicker of unease stirred, your beauty had turned heads since you were old enough to weave your first top.

Jake's grin returned, slow and determined, his golden eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. He nodded, absently flexing his hands as if already imagining them on you.

"I know now who I want to be mates with." He said firmly, voice thick with conviction, glancing back toward the underbrush as if you might reappear.

Neytiri's breath caught, her chest tightening with a sharp pang of hurt that she masked behind a stoic nod. Her tail drooped for a heartbeat, golden eyes dimming as the hope she'd harbored cracked like dry earth.

"As Eywa wills." She murmured softly, turning away to resume the lesson, but the air between them had shifted, heavy with unspoken loss.

Meanwhile, you hurried through the winding paths back toward the heart of the village, your heart racing not just from the sprint but from the image burned into your mind. Those piercing golden eyes, the handsome tilt of his head, the way his muscular body moved with an outsider's raw energy. You'd heard Neytiri speak of Jake Sully, the dreamwalker she was guiding, the one who carried stories of the sky people in his strange ways. But seeing him... he was unlike any Na'vi warrior, his presence both foreign and magnetic, stirring a warmth low in your belly that made your cheeks flush a deeper blue.

You paused by a trickling stream, sinking onto a mossy rock, your gradient loincloth pooling around your thighs as you hugged your knees to your chest. The beaded top shifted, beads cool against your skin, but your thoughts were far from the gentle flow of water.

He was handsome, you admitted to yourself, a shy giggle escaping your lips as you recalled the spark in his gaze when it met yours. Your tail swished idly, ears perking at the memory of him, a crush bloomed unbidden in your sweet heart, feminine instincts drawing you to his strength, imagining his large hands brushing yours during a shared hunt or his laughter mingling with the clan's songs.

But the giggle faded, replaced by a soft ache in your chest. Neytiri had confided in you just the night before, her voice excited yet conflicted as she braided your long black hair by the firelight.

"He is learning quickly, tsmuke." She'd said, golden eyes distant. "I will take him to the Tree of Voices soon to show him Eywa's heart. Perhaps... he will see me as more."

You'd nodded then, your caring nature urging support for your sister's rare vulnerability, even as she mentioned her duty to Tsu'tey.

"I like him." She'd admitted with a wistful smile. "Even if my path is set with another."

Stumbling upon them like that, you'd thought it had happened already, the hint turned to truth in that secluded glade.

Were they speaking of mates? Had your interruption stolen her moment?

Sadness tugged at you, golden eyes misting as you traced the beads at your waist, the weight of your chest rising with a sigh. You wanted joy for Neytiri, your fierce protector, but the dreamwalker's face lingered, handsome and unknowable, making your heart twist with forbidden longing.

How could you crush on him when he was meant for her?

The forest seemed to echo your turmoil, leaves rustling as if Eywa herself pondered the threads of fate.

The sun climbed higher over the Omatikaya hometree, its rays piercing the canopy to bathe the village in a warm, ethereal glow. Jake moved through the bustling clan with purpose, his powerful Na'vi legs carrying him swiftly past woven huts and chattering families. His golden eyes scanned the crowds, heart thumping with a mix of nerves and excitement he'd rarely felt since arriving on Pandora.

Neytiri's lessons had continued that morning, but his mind had wandered relentlessly to you. Your sparkling eyes, the generous curve of your breasts straining against those beads, the sway of your hips as you fled. He couldn't shake the image, it haunted him like a siren's call. Neytiri had noticed his distraction, her responses clipped, but he barely registered it. All he knew was he had to find you, introduce himself properly, and start weaving his way into your world.

You were near the healer's grove, kneeling by a cluster of luminous herbs, your long black hair draped over one shoulder as you carefully plucked leaves for poultices. The gradient plum and indigo loincloth hugged your thighs, the beaded waist wrap glinting in the light, while your top cradled your full breasts with gentle insistence, the blue peaks of your nipples just hidden beneath the strands. Your tail curled contentedly around your ankle, ears perked to the soft hum of the forest.

Thoughts of the dreamwalker, Jake Sully, still fluttered in your mind from yesterday, a secret warmth that made you smile shyly to yourself. But you pushed it down, Neytiri deserved her happiness.

A shadow fell over you, and you looked up, golden eyes widening as you saw him standing there, tall and imposing, his muscular chest bare, loincloth low on his hips accentuating the V of his abdomen. His black hair was loose today, framing his handsome face, those golden eyes locked on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Hello." Jake said, his voice deep and warm, a grin spreading across his lips as he crouched down to your level, tail flicking with eager energy.

Up close, you could see the faint scars on his blue skin, remnants of his sky people life, and it only made him more intriguing, exotic and strong. Your heart raced, a flush creeping up your neck. He was even more handsome in the daylight, his broad shoulders flexing as he balanced on his haunches.

"Jake Sully." You breathed, standing quickly and brushing dirt from your hands, body shifting under the loincloth. A polite smile curved your blue lips, though your ears twitched nervously. Remembering yesterday's interruption, you assumed the best for your sister. "Congratulations on your mating with Neytiri. I'm so happy for you both, tsaheylu is a sacred bond. She spoke so highly of you."

Your voice was sweet, laced with genuine warmth, golden eyes shining as you clasped your hands in front of your chest.

Jake's grin faltered, his golden eyes widening in confusion, a jolt of panic surging through him like a hexapede bolt.

Mated? With Neytiri? No, that couldn't be how you saw him, not when he'd barely slept, replaying your face, dreaming of your touch.

His tail lashed once, ears flattening as his mind raced. He didn't want you thinking he was tied to another, especially not your own sister, before he could even whisper his intentions.

"Wait, what? No, that's... that's not—" He rubbed the back of his neck, muscles bunching under his skin, voice dropping to a hurried rumble. "Neytiri's beautiful, yeah, fierce and all that. She taught me everything, showed me the way. But she's not the one I want to be with. Not like that."

Heat flooded your cheeks, turning them a pretty purple hue as embarrassment washed over you. Your golden eyes darted to the ground, tail curling tightly between your legs, while your ears pinned back. Oh, Eywa, you'd assumed wrong, jumped to conclusions like a foolish youngling.

"I... I thought, after yesterday... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" You stammered, your chest rising with a quick breath, the beads tinkling softly.

Jake's panic eased, replaced by a soft chuckle that rumbled from his chest, his gaze softening as he watched the color bloom on your face. It was adorable, that flush making your azure skin glow, your pouty lips parting in shy distress.

He reached out instinctively, his large hand brushing your arm lightly, calluses rough against your smooth skin.

"Hey, no, don't apologize. It's cute, actually. That purple? Suits you." His voice turned teasing, golden eyes sparkling with affection, already drawn to your sweetness like a moth to bioluminescent light.

You peeked up at him through your lashes, the touch sending a spark through you, your tail uncurling slightly.

"Cute?" You echoed, a small giggle escaping despite yourself, the sound light and melodic.

"Yeah." He said, standing and offering his hand, his fingers engulfing yours when you took it, pulling you gently to your feet. The contact lingered a beat too long, his thumb tracing your knuckles. "Look, I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm Jake. And I'd like to spend some time with you, if that's okay. Show me around? Or... whatever you do when you're not collecting herbs."

He was smitten already, his body leaning toward you, tail brushing yours accidentally or not as if magnetized. Your heart fluttered, the doubt about Neytiri fading under his earnest gaze.

"I'd like that." You replied softly, squeezing his hand before letting go, though the warmth remained.

Together, you wandered the grove, the air filled with the scent of blooming vines. Jake asked questions about the herbs, his voice animated, golden eyes never leaving your face as you explained their uses, how the glowing petals soothed wounds, the roots eased fever. You demonstrated, crushing a leaf between your fingers, the juice staining your blue skin, and he leaned in close, inhaling the aroma, his breath warm on your shoulder.

"That's incredible." He murmured, his hand grazing your waist as he steadied himself, the touch electric.

You laughed, a fluffy moment as you swatted his arm playfully, calling him skxawng for his wide-eyed wonder, and he feigned offense, pulling you into a mock chase through the ferns. Laughter echoed, his clinginess showing in how he stayed near, brushing leaves from your hair, his fingers lingering on the strands that fell just above your ass.

By the time the sun dipped lower, you both sat by a stream, sharing stories, his of the sky people's machines, yours of clan hunts. His golden eyes drank you in, smitten beyond words, already plotting how to see you again.

The next day dawned brighter, and you found yourself primping more than usual, a secret thrill bubbling in your chest.

You'd woven extra beads into your long black hair, the tiny stones catching the light like stars, cascading down to frame your curves. Your top was a new adornment, bejeweled with iridescent petals that hugged your generous chest even tighter. The loincloth swayed as you walked to the meeting spot, a sun-dappled clearing near the hometree, your waist beads tinkling, perky swell of your ass cheeks flexing with each step.

You wanted to look pretty for him, though you blushed at the thought, tail swishing in anticipation.

Jake arrived, his loincloth slung low, revealing the powerful lines of his thighs, but the moment he saw you, he froze.

Awe slackened his jaw, golden eyes raking over you, from the beaded cascade in your hair, to the way the top accentuated your plump breasts, rising enticingly, down to the curve of your hips. His cock twitched beneath his loincloth, hardening instantly at the sight, a rush of heat flooding him. You were a vision, more stunning than yesterday, and he had to shift his stance to hide the growing bulge, tail curling tightly.

"You... you look amazing." He breathed, stepping closer, voice husky with desire.

His hands found your arms, sliding up to your shoulders, thumbs brushing the base of your neck where your pulse raced. A giggle bubbled from your lips, purple flushing your cheeks again as you ducked your head, ears twitching forward.

"Thank you." You whispered, golden eyes sparkling up at him, the affection in his touch making you bold.

You leaned into him, your chest pressing softly against his, hand resting on his abdomen, feeling the hard muscle tense under your palm. He was on cloud nine, a low groan escaping as your body met his, the scent of your skin, earthy and sweet, filling his senses.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you." He admitted, one hand drifting to your waist, fingers splaying over the beads, pulling you flush.

You giggled again, blush deepening, but reciprocated, your tail entwining with his in a subtle caress, your free hand tracing his jaw.

The air thickened with tension as you explored the forest together, his touches more insistent, a hand on the small of your back guiding you over roots, fingers interlacing as you pointed out hidden glow-worms. Soft touches turned heated, he pulled you down to sit on a fallen log, his thigh pressing against yours, arm draped possessively over your shoulders.

You nestled closer, affectionate nuzzles against his neck, your soft curves molding to his side, eliciting contented rumbles from him. Inevitably, your faces drew near, breaths mingling. Jake cupped your cheek, golden eyes dark with want.

"Can I...?" He murmured, and you nodded, heart pounding.

His lips met yours, soft at first, exploratory, then deepening as your plump blue lips parted in a sweet mewl, tasting of wild berries and innocence. He groaned into the kiss, addicted instantly, tongue sweeping in to claim, hands roaming to your hips, pulling you onto his lap where his hard cock pressed insistently against your core through the thin fabrics. Your full tits crushed against him, nipples hardening under the top, and you mewled again, fingers tangling in his hair.

He broke away gasping, forehead against yours, cock throbbing painfully.

Gods, he wanted to bond right there, strip you bare, sink into your warmth, make tsaheylu under the stars. But no, he had to honor the ways.

"I like you." He confessed, voice rough with emotion, golden eyes boring into yours. "A lot. From the second I saw you, it hit me."

You searched his face, doubt flickering despite the bliss.

"Are you sure?" You asked softly, golden eyes vulnerable, hand on his chest. "Neytiri... you were with her the other day. I thought—"

As if reading your mind, Jake shook his head, hands framing your face tenderly.

"Yeah, I found Neytiri beautiful and strong, yeah. But when I saw you? It's like every other woman just... ceased to exist. Your eyes, your smile, the way you move, it's all I see now. Everything clicked into place, crystal clear. You're the one, the only one I want. My heart knew it before my head did." His words were mushy, earnest, spilling from a man unused to poetry but driven by raw truth, tail squeezing yours reassuringly.

Your heart swelled, happiness blooming like a nightflower, golden eyes misting as you smiled, pouty lips brushing his again.

"I feel it too." You whispered, the sadness over Neytiri easing in the face of his sincerity.

"Then... can I court you?" He asked, voice hopeful, thumb tracing your lower lip.

"Yes." You breathed, sealing it with another kiss, the forest witnessing the spark of something eternal.

The days following your first kiss blurred into a whirlwind of warmth and anticipation, the forest itself seeming to hum with the promise of what was unfolding between you and Jake. You felt it in every glance, every brush of his tail against yours, the electric pull that had drawn him to you from the start.

As the sun rose on the third day of his official courtship, you found yourself near the communal fire pit, helping prepare the evening meal, your long black hair tied back with fresh vines, the loincloth swaying with your movements. Your golden eyes sparkled with a secret joy, ears perking at the distant calls of the horn announcing the arrival of those who hunted.

Jake emerged from the hunt, his broad shoulders glistening with sweat under the dappled light, a fresh kill slung over one powerful arm, a hexapede, its flanks still warm. His loincloth rode low on his hips, accentuating the defined ridges of his abdomen, and his golden eyes locked onto you immediately, a grin splitting his handsome face. He moved with purpose, weaving through the clan members who paused to watch, their murmurs rippling like leaves in the wind.

Everyone knew now. Jake had made it unmistakable. His hand would find the small of your back as you walked, fingers tracing lazy circles on your azure skin, or he'd trail behind you like a shadow, his presence a constant, comforting weight. Whispers followed you both, envy in the warriors' eyes for the exotic dreamwalker who had captured the clan's most sought-after beauty, and in the women's gazes, a longing for the way Jake's attention never wavered from you.

He approached the fire pit, dropping the hexapede with a thud and kneeling beside you, his muscular thighs flexing as he began to prepare the meat.

"For you." He said, voice low and rough with pride, golden eyes gleaming as he sliced into the richest cut, the tender loin, marbled with fat that would sear to perfection.

The scent of blood and earth filled the air, mingling with the smoke from the flames. You watched, mesmerized by the flex of his biceps, the way his black hair fell across his forehead, damp with exertion. Your heart fluttered, a soft blush tinting your cheeks that purple hue he adored.

"Jake, you didn't have to—" You started, but he shook his head, skewering the meat and holding it over the fire, the flames licking at it until juices dripped, sizzling.

"But I want to." He replied, his tone earnest, tail curling toward yours in a subtle claim. Once cooked to a golden char, he cut a piece and offered it to you on the tip of his knife, his free hand cupping your chin gently, thumb brushing your pouty blue lips. "Open up, ma'yawntutsyìp."

The endearment rolled off his tongue with growing ease, learned from Neytiri's lessons but now laced with his own affection.

You parted your lips, golden eyes locking with his as you took the bite, the savory flavor exploding on your tongue, smoky and rich, the best part of the kill, reserved for the one he wished to provide for. A dribble of sauce escaped, trailing down your chin, and before you could wipe it, Jake's thumb swiped it away, his touch lingering, tracing the curve of your jaw.

"There." He murmured, voice husky. "Can't have you messy. Eat plenty, you need your strength."

He fed you another piece, his body leaning closer, the heat from his chest radiating against your side, making your chest rise with a quickened breath. You chewed slowly, savoring not just the meat but the intimacy of the moment, your tail entwining with his fully now.

"You're a good hunter now." You praised, voice soft and genuine, golden eyes shining as you swallowed. "The tastiest I've had in moons. Eywa must favor you."

Jake chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated through you, his hand moving to your waist, fingers splaying over the beaded wrap.

"All for you." He said, feeding you more, watching your lips wrap around the morsel with a hunger that went beyond the food. A bit of sauce clung to the corner of your mouth again, and he leaned in, wiping it with his thumb before sucking it clean himself, golden eyes darkening. "Gotta make sure you're full. I want to feel that tummy bloated, know I took care of you right."

Heat flooded your face, purple blooming across your cheeks as you swatted his arm playfully, the beads on your top tinkling with the motion, your body shifting as you laughed.

"Skxawng!" You exclaimed, giggling, ears twitching forward in delight. "You're impossible."

But your hand lingered on his bicep, feeling the hard muscle, and you let him feed you another bite, the flirtation sending sparks through your core.

From the edge of the gathering, Neytiri watched, her lithe form perched on a root, bow across her lap. Her golden eyes softened, a mix of resignation and quiet joy as she took in the scene.

Jake's undivided attention on you, the way your laughter lit up like bioluminescent vines, your bodies angled toward each other as if the rest of the world had faded. You looked good together, his taller, broader frame complementing your curvaceous one, the dreamwalker's exotic markings blending with your clan's patterns.

She saw the jealousy in the other women's stares, the envious glances from the men who had once vied for your hand. Her own heart ached a little, but seeing your happiness, the flush on your skin, the sparkle in your eyes eased it.

Jake was smitten, utterly lost in you, and you in him.

As the meal wound down, Jake stood, pulling you up with him, his hand engulfing yours.

"Come with me." He said, voice laced with excitement, leading you away from the fire toward a secluded glade where the undergrowth parted like a secret path.

The clan watched, murmurs of approval and envy trailing you, everyone knew he was courting you, his touchy nature broadcasting it louder than any announcement. His arm draped over your shoulders, fingers idly stroking the top of your arm, thumb circling the soft skin there.

In the glade, bathed in the soft glow of floating pollen, he knelt again, producing a bundle of flowers he'd tucked into his waist, vibrant helicorals in shades of deepest indigo and shimmering violet, their petals unfurling like your loincloth's gradient, edged with glowing veins that pulsed like heartbeats.

"These reminded me of you." He said, holding them out, golden eyes vulnerable yet intense, tail flicking with nervous energy. "Prettiest things in the forest."

Your breath caught, golden eyes widening as you took them, the delicate blooms cool against your palms. A giggle escaped, bubbly and light, as purple flushed your cheeks once more, ears pinning back shyly.

"Jake... they're beautiful." You whispered, burying your face in them briefly, inhaling their sweet, nectar-like scent. You looked up, lips curving into a beaming smile, your chest heaving with the emotion swelling in your chest. "No one's ever... thank you."

Leaning in, you nuzzled his cheek, your body pressing close, the flowers crushed slightly between you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hardening length pressing subtly against your thigh through the thin fabric, a reaction he didn't hide, his voice dropping to a growl.

"You deserve it all." He murmured, nuzzling back, lips brushing your ear.

The courtship deepened over the following days, Jake's determination shining in every gesture. He trailed you to the weaving circles, his large hand resting possessively on your hip as you worked bioluminescent threads, or joined you in the river, splashing water playfully until you were both soaked, your beaded top translucent against your hardened nipples, his laughter echoing as he pulled you into his lap on the bank.

The clan buzzed with it, warriors nodding respectfully to him, women sighing enviously at how he anticipated your every need, from braiding a loose strand of your hair to sharing his water gourd, lips lingering on the rim where yours had been.

One evening, as the stars began to prick the sky, Jake sought out your mother, Mo'ak, the tsahik, in her healer's hut adorned with glowing fungi and sacred relics. You waited outside, heart pounding, your tail swishing anxiously, golden eyes fixed on the woven entrance. Neytiri stood nearby, her posture straight but her expression unreadable, arms crossed over her chest.

Inside, Jake knelt before Mo'ak, his voice steady despite the gravity.

"Tsahik, I come to ask for your blessing to court your daughter properly." He said, golden eyes meeting her wise, piercing gaze. "(Y/N). She's everything to me. I want to provide, protect, be worthy."

Mo'ak regarded him, her long braids swaying as she tilted her head, the air thick with incense.

"You are sky person turned Na'vi, Jake Sully." She replied, voice resonant and measured. "But to bond with one of the people, you must become one fully. Pass the Iknimaya, the rite of passage. Tame your ikran, choose your banshee. Prove Eywa sees you as Omatikaya. Then, and only then, will I give my blessing."

Jake's jaw set, determination hardening his features, muscles tensing under his skin.

"I will." He vowed, voice fierce. "For her."

Emerging from the hut, he found you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing to your forehead.

"She wants me to pass Iknimaya." He explained, hands roaming your back soothingly. "I'll do it. No doubt."

Neytiri approached then, her golden eyes meeting yours first, a soft smile breaking through.

"I see how he looks at you, tsmuke." She said, voice gentle, ears relaxing. "The way you light up. It... it hurts a little, but Eywa has her path."

She turned to Jake, placing a hand on his shoulder, her touch sisterly now. "You have my blessing, skxawng. Court her well. And pass the rite, she deserves a true warrior."

With that, she stepped back, giving you both space, her own heart finding peace in your joy.

You beamed at Jake, golden eyes misty, pulling him down for a kiss that lingered, your bodies entwining under the emerging stars. The path ahead was clear, his determination fueling yours, the clan's envy fading into quiet acceptance as your bond grew stronger, root by root.

The sun hung low in the Pandora sky, casting a golden haze over the floating mountains as the Omatikaya clan gathered at the edge of the Hallelujah Mountains.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild rhythm that matched the distant cries of ikran echoing through the mist-shrouded cliffs. You stood among your people, your turquoise-tinged blue skin shimmering under the light, the beaded top straining against your full, heaving breasts with every anxious breath. Your long black hair cascaded down your back, brushing the curve of your plush bum beneath the plum and indigo loincloth that swayed gently in the breeze. Golden eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, your ears twitched forward, tail lashing with barely contained excitement.

Neytiri stood beside you, her hand squeezing your shoulder in silent support, while the rest of the clan, warriors, hunters, and elders watched with bated breath.

High above, Jake soared on his newly tamed ikran, Bob.

The great winged creature screeching triumphantly as it banked through the twisting spires of rock. His blue form was a blur of muscle and determination, loincloth whipping in the wind, broad shoulders flexing as he guided the banshee with expert precision.

He'd trained relentlessly for this, the Iknimaya, the rite that would make him truly one of the people. Every dawn, he'd risen before the light, practicing with the clan's hunters, his golden eyes fierce with resolve.

All for you.

To prove he was worthy, to bind his life to yours under Eywa's gaze. You remembered the nights he'd spent whispering promises in your ear, his large hands roaming your body, tasting your skin as if committing it to memory.

"I'll do it." He'd whispered against your neck, voice thick with need. "For us."

Now, as his ikran dove toward the gathered crowd, landing with a powerful flap of wings that stirred the air, Jake dismounted in one fluid leap. His chest rose and fell heavily, sweat tracing rivulets down his chiseled abs, pooling at the low-slung waist of his loincloth. The queue of his braid dangled freely, ready for the final bond.

Your mother, Mo'at, stepped forward, her voice booming with approval.

"You have passed, Jake Sully. Eywa sees you. You are Omatikaya."

The clan erupted in cheers, bioluminescent markings glowing brighter in the fading light.

Jake's eyes found yours immediately, locking with an intensity that made your knees weaken. He strode through the throng, ignoring the slaps on his back, until he reached you. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that finally spilled over your cheeks, warm and salty.

"I did it." He murmured, voice rough with emotion, forehead pressing to yours. "For you, ma'yawntutsyìp. I'm one of you now. Yours."

You sobbed softly, joy bubbling up from your core, your hands clutching his wrists as if to anchor yourself. Your breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hardening through the thin beads at the contact, a flush of purple blooming across your skin.

"You worked so hard." You whispered, golden eyes shining up at him, lips trembling. "I knew you could. Eywa chose you for me."

Your tail wrapped around his leg instinctively, pulling him closer, the world narrowing to just the two of you amid the celebration.

Neytiri's gaze softened from nearby, a small smile curving her lips as she watched the depth of your bond. The envy from the clan had long faded into acceptance. Jake's devotion was as clear as the stars emerging overhead.

Mo'ak approached then, her wise eyes appraising Jake with final approval. "You have proven yourself, warrior. My blessing is yours. Take her as mate. Honor our ways and my youngest daughter."

You beamed at your mother as she only chuckles softly as the expression on your face, Jake was relieved as it was a big thing for him to earn blessings from the important people in your life.

That night, under the veil of stars, you and Jake slipped away from the festivities, hands intertwined, leading each other to the Tree of Voices. The sacred grove shimmered with ethereal light, tendrils of the great tree swaying like living prayers, the air thick with the hum of Eywa's presence. Pollen danced in soft glows around you, illuminating your path as you stepped into the heart of it, the ground soft with moss beneath your bare feet. Your heart raced, a mix of nerves and overwhelming love swelling in your chest.

This was it, the moment you'd dreamed of since that first stolen glance.

Jake turned to you, his golden eyes reflecting the bioluminescence, filled with a reverence that made your breath hitch. His muscular torso on full display, the scars from his human life now badges of his Na'vi journey. His loincloth hung loose, hinting at the thick bulge already straining against it, aroused by the anticipation alone.

"You're everything." He said, voice low and fervent, stepping closer until his body heat enveloped you. His hands traced your arms, up to your shoulders, fingers tangling in your long hair. "I love you so much it aches."

You gazed up at him, golden eyes misty, your body responding to his nearness, pussy clenching with need, a slick warmth gathering between your thighs.

"I see you too, Jake." You breathed, ears pinning back shyly as your tail flicked against his. "Make me yours. Forever."

With trembling hands, you both reached for your queues, the sensitive neural tendrils uncoiling like living vines. Jake's breath ghosted over your face as he brought his closer, the tips brushing, sending electric sparks through your bodies.

"Tsaheylu." He whispered, the word a sacred vow.

The tendrils connected with a soft, intimate click, and the world exploded into shared sensation, his heartbeat thundering in your chest, your emotions flooding his mind. Pleasure, love, desire, it all intertwined binding your souls as mates.

The bond deepened everything.

The scent of his skin, musky and wild, filled your senses, the taste of his lips as he crashed them against yours, messy and desperate, tongues tangling in a wet, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating through the tsaheylu, making him groan in response. His hands roamed greedily, cupping your large breasts through the beaded top, thumbs circling your hardened nipples until they poked visibly against the fabric.

"Fuck, you're perfect." He growled against your lips, breaking the kiss to nip at your jaw, inhaling deeply at your neck.

Your scent, sweet like nectar and earth, drove him wild, his cock twitching hard against your thigh. You arched into him, hands exploring the hard planes of his back, nails digging into his blue skin as the bond amplified every touch.

"Jake... please." You whimpered, golden eyes half-lidded with lust, purple flush spreading down your chest.

He knelt slowly, reverent, his large hands sliding down your sides, hooking into your loincloth and tugging it free. It pooled at your feet, exposing your glistening pussy, folds swollen and wet, clit peeking out begging for attention. He stared, awe-struck, golden eyes darkening with obsession.

"So beautiful." He murmured, leaning in to nuzzle your inner thigh, nose brushing your slick skin, inhaling your arousal like a drug. "Your scent... it's intoxicating. I need to taste you."

His tongue darted out, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the tangy sweetness that coated his lips. You gasped, legs trembling, one hand fisting his hair as pleasure shot through the bond, his own arousal spiking, cock leaking pre-cum against his loincloth. He worshiped you with his mouth, lips sucking gently on your clit, tongue delving inside to lap at your walls, humming vibrations against you.

"Taste so good, ma yuey." He praised between licks, voice muffled, hands gripping your perky ass to pull you closer, fingers kneading the firm flesh.

Your moans filled the grove, high and needy, echoing off the glowing tendrils, each one making his heart swell with love and possession. Rising, he shed his loincloth, his thick cock springing free, long and girthy, veins pulsing, the tip flushed and dripping. You licked your lips, reaching for him, but he caught your wrists gently, guiding you down onto the soft moss.

"Let me take care of you." He said, voice husky with adoration, positioning himself between your thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your entrance until you bucked up, whining. "Gonna fill you up. Breed you. Make you mine in every way."

With a shared nod through the tsaheylu, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your tight pussy around his girth. You cried out, the burn of fullness exquisite, walls fluttering as he bottomed out, the bulge of his cock visible in your lower belly, a prominent swell that made him groan in awe.

"Look at that." He rasped, hand pressing against it, feeling himself inside you. "Taking me so deep. Fuck, you feel like heaven. Hot, wet, squeezing me perfect."

He started thrusting, slow at first, animalistic growls rumbling from his chest as he sniffed at your neck, marking you with his scent, hips snapping harder. The pace built, messy and primal, skin slapping against skin, your juices coating his balls as he pounded into you. Messy kisses followed, lips bruising, saliva trailing between mouths as tongues battled.

He worshiped every inch, sucking marks into your breasts after ripping the beads away, laving your nipples with his tongue while his hand rubbed the tummy bulge, obsessed with how you accommodated him.

"Love this body." He panted, nipping your collarbone, tail thrashing wildly. "These tits, this ass, this pussy, all mine. Gonna knot you, fill you with my cum until you're dripping."

You clawed at his back, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

"Yes, Jake! Harder, breed me!" You moaned, the bond letting you feel his impending release, the knot at the base of his cock swelling.

He rutted like a beast, sniffing your hair, your sweat-slicked skin, lost in the haze of love and lust. With a roar, he slammed home, knot inflating to lock you together, hot spurts of cum flooding your womb as he ground against you, milking every drop. Your orgasm crashed over you, pussy spasming around him, milking his seed as waves of ecstasy pulsed through the tsaheylu.

He collapsed onto you, still buried deep, peppering your face with soft kisses, both panting.

"My mate." He whispered, golden eyes shining with tears of his own, hand stroking your belly where his cum warmed you. "I love you. So fucking much."

You smiled through your haze, arms around his neck, body glowing with aftershocks. "My warrior. My heart. We're one now."

Happiness bloomed in your chest, so profound it bordered on pain, the love you shared a living force, unbreakable.

Months blurred into a dream of domestic bliss.

Jake's days filled with hunts and duties as a full Omatikaya warrior, but his nights were yours, bodies entwining under the stars, the tsaheylu reaffirming your bond with every touch. The clan celebrated your union with feasts and dances, Neytiri's blessing a quiet anchor in the joy.

Now, as the sun filtered through the woven walls of your shared kelku, you stood before a reflective pool, hands cradling the gentle swell of your belly.

Pregnancy suited you.

Your skin glowed with an inner luminescence, breasts fuller and heavier, nipples a deeper blue against the azure hue. Your long hair framed your face, golden eyes sparkling with a serene happiness, the loincloth adjusted to accommodate your changing form. You felt radiant, alive with the life growing inside, a testament to Jake's love.

He entered quietly, his presence announced by the soft pad of his feet, golden eyes lighting up as they roamed your body. Dropping his hunting gear, he crossed to you in three strides, hands immediately going to your waist, then lower to splay over your bump.

"Look at you." He breathed, voice thick with wonder, kneeling to press his ear against your belly, listening to the faint flutter within. "Glowing like a pretty flower. More beautiful than ever, carrying my child and all mine."

His tail curled around your leg possessively, lips brushing your skin in feather-light kisses.

You giggled, a light sound that made his heart flip, fingers threading through his hair.

"Ma'Jake, you're insatiable." You teased, though your body warmed at his touch, pussy aching faintly even now.

Rising, he pulled you into his arms, careful of your belly, nuzzling your neck and inhaling your changed scent that’s richer, sweeter with the pregnancy.

"Gonna give you more babies." He murmured against your ear, voice playful yet serious, hands cupping your ass gently. "Fill you up again and again. Our family strong, like us."

You swatted his chest lightly, purple blush tinting your cheeks, ears twitching in amusement.

"Skxawng! Our first isn't even out yet, and you haven't named him." You chided, though your golden eyes danced with love, body leaning into his solid frame.

He grinned, that boyish smile that still made your heart stutter, pulling back to gaze at you.

"Then let's name him now." He said softly, the word carrying weight, a nod to the strength and legacy you both honored. "Our son, Neteyam."

[wildestdreamsblog]

Don't feed it, it will come back

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Staff!Reader (Idol AU)

Summary: Kim Namjoon finally got out of military and back to the unwilling makeup artist. You may or may not have promised to marry him after the military service just so he would leave you alone. And well, he was now out to collect your promise (One shot)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Smut, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: First of all, Happy birthday to me. Second of all, I love Namjoon okay bye I hope you enjoy

The kings were back and you were still here.

It was as though the entire eighteen months did not happen. Hybe, their own kingdom, welcomed them with open arms, fans were roaming the streets in show of their unwavering support for the group and media from all over the world were broadcasting of their return. Likewise, the boys headed straight to the company as soon as they stepped out of the military compound as though they couldn’t wait a single second to reclaim their thrones.

Except for the apparent changes in their bodies as they adapted to the rigorous routine of the military, it was like nothing changed. It was evident by the way he was shamelessly staring at you as the meeting presided. Unwavering. Unblinking.  You could feel the hair at the back of your neck stood up from the crushing uncomfortableness brought by his unwanted attention. You kept your gaze fixed forward, refusing to meet his eyes, except for that one slip—when you caught him sitting back, arms crossed, eyes heavy on you. Taehyung chuckled lowly at the sight of his hyung who looked like he was barely constraining himself. Meanwhile, you wanted to leave the building and perhaps if not for the ironclad contract, the country.

You had gone without this for eighteen months.

You thought those months were enough to extinguish whatever fire he had for you.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

You should have known that a man such as Kim Namjoon wasn’t someone who let go so easily as evident by the way he persevered to lead BTS from a small company’s gamble to a worldwide phenomenon.

You should have known that he was someone who held promises in high regard, especially when it came from you.

“And so, that concludes our meeting!” Bang PD announced with a clap before addressing Namjoon and Taehyung. “Welcome back, boys and let’s take over the music industry once again.”

The staff cheered for them, some clapped their backs, congratulating them. You, on the other hand, were already one foot out of the room, so close to freedom when Bang PD called you. You groaned inwardly. There just went your escape. “I’m sorry for pulling you out of the TXT team. I know how much you like working with them. But you know how particular Namjoon is,” he sighed, his tone apologetic. “He didn’t want to proceed with his schedule if his usual team is not there.”

You didn’t know how to react. It wasn’t that he was particular with his team. No. It was just that he was particular when it came to you. You must admit that the entire time you spent working for them was one of the best years of your life. Despite the job being demanding, the boys made it worthwhile with the salary, benefits and of course, the friendship you built with them. The job honestly opened a lot of doors for you, doors that you could walk through any moment had it not been for one foolish mistake.

Everyday felt like living your dreams. You were literally living the life people dreamed of until he turned it into a nightmare. Or was it you who sabotaged yourself? Was it you who flew too close to the fire only to find out that the fire would rather burnout than let go?

It honestly started with a simple, harmless admiration.

You were with them almost every single day. You weren’t blind. You saw how the boys held this unexplainable charm that inevitably drew the fans. You noticed. But it was harder not to notice Namjoon more. He was charming, polite, a true leader in every sense of the word, intelligent, and well… he was like a man written by a woman.

As someone who had to work closely with his face, you could see the dark bags in his eyes, the tiredness that could only be hidden by makeup. He was always quiet while you worked with him, only greeting you a quiet good morning before closing his eyes and letting you do the work while the other members filled the room with noise and energy.

The next schedule with him, you were sure to buy him coffee after asking around the staff what he preferred. When you placed it on the table in front of him, he blinked at it, bleary-eyed.

He looked surprised, blinking his sleepy eyes before slowly drinking the coffee, hiding his dimpled smile. It became a quiet ritual after that. You’d bring the coffee; he’d give you a warm smile and a soft “thank you.” And each time, those simple gestures were enough to warm you far more than the drink ever could. It started with coffee.

Then came the conversations—short at first, until one day he asked about the book in your bag. The next thing you knew, the two of you were trading thoughts about novels while you brushed powder across his skin.

He smiled more now. His eyes seemed brighter. And in those moments, it was easy to believe he was warmer too.

If there was a thing such as a slow burn, yours was probably the slowest.

You didn’t even think your crush would turn out to something more, and at that point you just truly felt bad for the guy. He was falling asleep from working too hard. You’d been pulled from your usual schedule and assigned to another group, accompanying them overseas for an entire week. By the third day, you were exhausted, halfway through a late dinner in your hotel room, when your phone lit up.

Where are you?

You stared at the unknown number.

I’m sorry. Who’s this?

A pause. Then—

Namjoon.

Before you could even process, another message came through.

Where are you?

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

I’m in Japan. Do you need anything?

When will you come back?

On the 28th. Why?

The next day, you were asked by the company to come back immediately. You weren’t told why.

When you walked in the makeup room once again, you heard someone muttered thank god.

Namjoon was already there, one leg crossed over the other, glancing up from his phone—not at you, but at your reflection in the mirror. His gaze was sharp, unblinking, the kind of look that pinned you in place.

Looking back, that should have been the first red flag.

You weren’t assigned to another group since then.

 Suffice to say, it was the beginning of Namjoon monopolizing your time —one subtle scheduling change at a time, until every shift, every day, every hour seemed to circle back to him.

“What are you two?” Hoseok once asked, the ever-present smile in his face was as wide as ever.

His question caught you off guard you until he clarified that he was asking about you and the group’s leader. You said that you were friends. Hoseok lost his smile right then and there.

You weren’t delusional to hope that a simple harmless crush of yours would turn into a relationship. First, you didn’t think you would survive being in a relationship with an idol and second, Namjoon didn’t even like you.

You shrugged off that peculiar interaction.

“You should come to the party!”

You were already shaking your head before they could even finish their sentence. Parties weren’t your scene, and after the exhausting wrap on their album shoot, all you wanted was to go home and collapse into bed.

“Just stop by, noona! We promise we’ll have the drivers take you straight to your apartment!” Jimin pleaded, leaning forward with that disarming smile that made it harder to say no.

“I don’t want to be an imposition, really—” you began, already rehearsing your polite refusal.

“I’ll give out a bonus if you come,” Namjoon said suddenly, his voice cutting cleanly through the room.

You turned to him, startled. He’d been quiet through the entire exchange, absorbed in his phone—or so you thought. But now his eyes were on you, calm, unreadable, as if he’d been listening the whole time.

“…I’m going.”

Jimin whooped in victory. Namjoon just went back to his phone, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth in the mirror.

It was where it all truly went down.

The party was exclusive only for Hybe, everyone was having fun with all the drinks, food and the music. The members were obviously enjoying themselves as they should. They deserved it after the crucial several months of back-to-back schedule. You’d been content to ride the wave of celebration for a while, but the alcohol was beginning to blur your thoughts, the heat of the room pressing in. Fresh air seemed like the only solution. You weren’t sure why the balcony called to you, but you went, slipping out into the cool night. The muted bass of the party thudded faintly behind you as you inhaled deeply, the crisp air clearing your head.

Leaning against the railing, you tilted your head back to admire the stars—until a puff of smoke curled into the air on your right.

You turned.

There, half-swallowed by the shadows, stood Namjoon. The glow of the ember lit the edge of his face, the cigarette resting casually between his lips. His eyes met yours through the haze, unreadable.

You blinked, owlishly.

He looked at your lips, heat in his eyes apparent. It was quiet, no one dared to say a word. Namjoon stepped closer to you, his thick thighs enclosed by dark slacks and he didn’t stop until he was just a shy inch from you.

Your eyes were at his chest, and ever so slowly, you met his draconic eyes.

He smiled.

And you were gone.

His hand was on the back of your head, the other tilting your jaw up to meet his as he kissed you.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t soft. It was hungry, ravenous, dangerous. Namjoon drove you back until your spine hit the wall, hidden in shadow. His lips devoured yours, his tongue claiming without asking, playing with yours as if it already belonged to him. He tasted right—alarmingly right.

His hands roamed lower, gripping your thigh, thumb tracing along the strip of skin your dress exposed. The restraint in his touch was thin, trembling.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” he growled against your mouth, “every single fucking day.”

A beat.

Your breaths filling the air.

“…What’s stopping you?”

That was your second mistake.

The night was a blur.

Not because it was unmemorable, but because everything happened so fast.

Before you knew it, you were in his apartment. You heard the door click shut behind you, and as ominous as it sounded, you remembered thinking you just sealed your fate. Namjoon was looking at you, the apartment dark saved by the moonlight from the floor to ceiling window.

His hand slid across your jaw, his eyes fascinated by you.

You touched his hand, grappling with a semblance of control even when his erection was pressing against your stomach. “I..I don’t usually do this-”

His smile was slow, dangerous, the kind that promised nothing good.

“Good.”

It was all he said before he lifted you by the waist and hoisted you up the table. He pushed your legs apart, his hips in between them as he kissed you, his lips soft against yours. You couldn’t help but moan as he peppered kisses down your shoulders then his lips landed on top of your breast.

He was patient, but not when it came to this as he ripped down your bra and suck on your nipples like he had been starving for so long. His fingers went down to your core, pressing on your clothed clit and without any preamble, ripped your panties.

“Fuck, baby, you’re wet just for me,” he growled before he lifted your legs over his broad shoulders. He thrusted his tongue while sucking your clit. He was animalistic, hungry, savage as he made you come and come again until your begged him to stop. At one point you did try to crawl off the table only to be stopped by his strong arms.

“Where are you going, baby? We’re not yet done,” he crooned at you as he fingered you, too overstimulated to notice that you didn’t once discuss about protection.

“N-Namjoon–”

“Yes, baby girl?” he whispered and you heard zipper and the buckle of belt. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size.

“I…I don’t think that’s going to fit..”

“Of course it will,” he assured and wondered what you were talking about when you were made for him.

He guided the bulbous head of his cock, bumping your clit every so often. You mewled from the sensation. You were a mess. He knew it and he loved it.

“Namjoon…baby, please daddy–”

“What do you need baby?”

“Y-your cock. Daddy please!”

“Hmm,” he pushed the head of his cock in you and you knew you came a little from being so overstimulated, his thumb rubbing your wet clit. “I only take what’s mine,” he murmured. “Are you mine?”

“D-daddy –”

“Are you mine, baby girl?”

“Y-yours –”

You didn’t even finish when he slammed in you. you were squeezing your tight cunt around his hard cock. You could feel everything. You could feel the vein, the hardness and how deep he was in you. To Namjoon, this was nirvana. He could feel himself already becoming addicted. Obsessive, even. This was why he never allowed himself to indulge on his desires.

He was an obsessive man.

He never expected it to feel this fucking good. His fingers were going to leave marks, your neck would display his ownership.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. You feel incredible.”

He could feel you tremble as he shuddered out of his orgasm, his hot cum inside you.

You remembered waking up the next day with your body sore and his arm wrapped around you. You didn’t know how you made it out of his apartment quietly, but you did.

Shame burned through you, vivid and suffocating. You kept replaying the night in your mind—his hands, his voice, the way you’d let go of every line you’d sworn you wouldn’t cross. It wasn’t just unprofessional. It was reckless.

He must think you were the kind of person who let desire dictate their choices. You couldn’t even bring yourself to blame him if he did.

So when your phone began lighting up with message after message from him, you didn’t open a single one. You didn’t have to—not when you’d already decided you were taking the month off. No work, no meetings, no chance encounters in dim-lit rooms with him standing far too close.

“What do you mean I am off the group’s shoot?”

The manager exhaled heavily, like he’d been dreading this conversation. Around the conference table, the other staff avoided your eyes, staring down at papers, coffee cups, anything but you.

“Y/N,” he began carefully, “I wish I could give you a better answer, but… BTS specifically requested for you to be exclusive to them.” He hesitated before adding, “They said Kim Namjoon is… very particular.”

And there it was. The consequence of your actions. The price for leaving his bed.

The weight of it settled in your chest, cold and suffocating. You didn’t have to ask why. You already knew.

It only worsened from there. Namjoon wanted you around all the time—on sets, in meetings, in the shadows of every event. You weren’t just working with BTS anymore; you were orbiting him, tethered by something you didn’t remember agreeing to but somehow couldn’t break free from.

You were starting to suffocate. How could you even know that that horrendous mistake would turn your life into a nightmare?

You didn’t want to be in this situation, much less being in a pseudo-relationship with the leader of one of the biggest groups in the world. You wanted your old life back. In fact, you tried to break it off whatever was between the two of you one dinner.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, barely able to meet his eyes. “It’s not… right. I want things to go back to normal.”

Namjoon, with that practiced calm that made you want to scream, simply asked, “And what happens if the industry finds out you left because you fucked one of the members… and you’re in a relationship with one of them?”

You blinked at him, pulse skipping. “You’re not my boyfriend—”

He tilted his head slightly, setting down his chopsticks with deliberate slowness. “You’re right,” he said, voice soft but unyielding. “A husband and wife sounds better. More ironclad.”

Your stomach dropped. “Are you insane?” you asked, half-hoping he would laugh and tell you this was all some sick joke.

But he just shrugged, like the idea of marrying you on paper to keep you locked in his orbit was the most natural thing in the world.

The air in the meeting room was already taut, but the moment the door opened, the tension doubled. Seokjin walked in during his rare break from service—still in casual military uniform, the air of authority he’d gained during service clinging to him.

You and the other staff scrambled to your feet out of habit, but Seokjin’s eyes didn’t waver from Namjoon.

“Stay,” he said—not to the room, but to you specifically.

You froze, halfway standing.

His gaze slid back to Namjoon. “Are you changing our plans because of her?”

Namjoon leaned back in his chair, hands folded loosely on the table as if this was nothing more than a routine discussion.

“She’s going to leave once I’m in there.”

The bluntness of it hit like a slap.

You opened your mouth to protest, but Seokjin’s eyes cut to you sharp, assessing before returning to Namjoon.

“That’s not a reason to disrupt the schedule,” he said, voice clipped.

“It’s reason enough for me,” Namjoon replied calmly, though his eyes flicked toward you like a silent warning.

And suddenly you understood: This wasn’t just about enlistment. It was about making sure you had nowhere to run.

And now, you saw an out. A rare opportunity for you to be free from him.

Eighteen months of freedom.

Eighteen months of breathing space.

Seokjin rubbed his forehead, the kind of motion that said he’d been dragged into too many of Namjoon’s storms before. He leveled his gaze at his younger brother.

“This isn’t you, Namjoon.”

“Is she not going to run?” Namjoon asked, voice calm, but the words were like a blade. “If I enlist?”

Your stomach sank. Hypothetical, he said—except you knew he already believed the answer.

Seokjin exhaled through his nose. “What if we get her to sign a contract? Will that be enough?”

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. “I want her to promise me that she’ll marry me after.”

Your head snapped toward him. “What?!”

He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at you—steady, deliberate—like the idea was no more outrageous than asking you to pass the salt.

“Promise me,” he said quietly, “and I’ll go.”

What would a false promise cost you, right?

This.

This was what it cost you—eighteen months of deliberate silence.

Eighteen months of ignoring every call, every text, every midnight voicemail where his voice cracked as he told you he couldn’t sleep without you. That he was wasting away. That he didn’t know how to breathe in a world where you didn’t look at him.

And maybe you should’ve felt something—guilt, pity, even the faint ache of what used to be but you didn’t. You were just counting days, waiting for the lock on your cage to rust.

Your contract was almost up. One more month and you could be free from HYBE, from the constant eyes, from him.

You’d already mapped out your exit like a military operation. No forwarding address. No lingering contacts. No chance encounters in dim-lit corridors with him standing too close.

You thought he got over you now.

You were wrong.

 “It’s just for one two days. Think of it as the last thing you’ll have to do for the company before you leave,” Bang PD said with a smile before leaving the room. You sighed, shoulders sagging, and turned—only to freeze.

There he was, blocking the hallway like he’d been waiting all morning just for this exact moment.

You blinked, owlish and unprepared, words stuttering in your throat. What did you say to someone you’d ghosted for almost two years? Someone whose messages you’d ignored, whose calls you’d silenced until the sound of his ringtone felt like a warning siren?

“W-welcome back, Namjoon,” you managed, voice too soft, too unsure.

He didn’t return the greeting. His eyes stayed locked on you, dark and unreadable, his arms folded across his chest as though he had every second in the world to stand there and dissect you.

“You’re resigning?”

It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even a question, not really. More like a quiet confirmation of something he already knew.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

A beat passed.

“Okay,” he said finally, turning slightly to let you pass. “See you in the shoot.”

And that was it. No anger. No plea. No demand.

For a second—just a fleeting second—you thought maybe he really had gotten over it. That maybe eighteen months had dulled whatever hold he thought he had on you.

The shoot happened to be six hours away from Seoul. The company car dropped you off with your things in front of what seemed to be a rest house.

It was too quiet to be a shoot.

You were used to chaos—the constant hum of chatter, the thud of heavy equipment being hauled around, cars lined up outside ready to transport anything that needed moving. But now? Nothing. Not even the faintest echo of footsteps.

Peculiar didn’t even begin to cover it.

But still, this was your last work for the company. After this, you were done, you told yourself. You just had to suck it up.

You opened the door only to be met with silence. Despite the house being homey filled with paintings and books, there was something eerie about it that you just couldn’t put your finger to. You walked deeper into the house, your phone on your hand calling your co-worker about where they could possibly be.

“Honey, what shoot? We are all in a break.”

You froze. “What?”

A low, velvety whisper brushed against your ear. “Welcome home, baby.”

You gasped, spinning around only to find Kim Namjoon standing far too close. Shirtless, his broad chest damp and glistening, grey sweats hanging low on his hips. His hair was tousled, droplets still sliding down his temple.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. “I didn’t know you’d be this early, but I cooked just in case. Come on.”

Before you could process, his hand wrapped around yours, warm and firm, pulling you toward the kitchen.

You struggled, twisting your wrist. “W-what’s going on? Where’s the shoot? W-ha—”

Namjoon chuckled, finally stopping. He turned to face you, closing the distance in a single step, his hand sliding to your waist until your bodies were flush. His breath was warm on your skin as he dipped his head to inhale at your neck.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured. “I barely slept in there, did you know that? I was losing my mind not being able to get to you.” His grip tightened, possessive. “Ah, but regardless… you’re here now.”

You attempted to push him away to no avail. “Namjoon, seriously, where is everyone? My team was supposed to—”

“They’re not coming.” His tone was casual, almost lazy, but it landed like a brick in your chest.

Your phone was still in your hand. You glanced at it, thumb hovering over the screen to call again only for him to pluck it away with ease. He set it down on the counter like it was nothing.

“You…” Your mouth went dry. “…you set this up.”

Namjoon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your temple. “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to make sure you were here alone?” he murmured, almost proudly. “No interruptions. No distractions. Just you and me.”

The warmth of the house now felt suffocating. Your gaze darted toward the front door, but Namjoon’s body shifted subtly, blocking the way without even touching you.

The air between you crackled with something you couldn’t quite name—part longing, part danger.

You swallowed hard. “Namjoon… what do you want from me?”

He grinned then, eyes crinkling in a way that would’ve been charming anywhere else, with anyone else.

“Your promise, my dear wife.”

You froze. “That was… I didn’t mean it, Namjoon. We would never work out, and you know that.”

His gaze darkened—not with anger, but with a strange, unshakable certainty. “You know what I realized in there? I realized that I want… no. I crave a family. I was hoping the seed I kept on planting in you would bear us a child, but maybe it wasn’t time. I was so disappointed every time your period came. But we have all the time in the world now… wife.”

Your stomach churned. “I’m not your wife. I will never be your wife—”

“Baby,” he interrupted softly, almost pitying. “You already are. Didn’t you think I wouldn’t… pull strings for you?”

You shook your head, taking a step back, but his hand caught your wrist with the precision of someone who had imagined this moment a thousand times.

“What strings?” you demanded.

Namjoon’s smirk deepened. “Immigration can be so… accommodating when the right documents cross their desk. You signed things you didn’t read, remember? When you thought it was just for a work visa?” He leaned in, eyes locked on yours. “Turns out you signed our marriage license, too.”

The room tilted. The paintings on the wall blurred. “No—”

“Yes,” he murmured, brushing his thumb along your jaw, as if comforting you. “And now there’s nowhere for you to go. Korea is home. I am home.”

You tore your wrist free, stumbling back, breath ragged. “You can’t—”

“I already did.” His voice was gentle, final.

And then, as if to seal it, he reached over to the counter and slid a small velvet box toward you. Inside was a simple gold band.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Kim.”

[ladykelsi]

line-up [alpha!141 x omega!reader]

summary: pack 141 makes their choice.

pairing: alpha!141 x omega!reader

warnings: +18 (mdni), omegaverse, hints of misogyny, smut (mdni), p in v, exhibition kink, dubcon.

[part 1]

part 2: the selection

if things were any easier for omegas in this world, you would’ve left the facility ages ago.

to be looked down upon because of your secondary gender and to then being bartered and sold to a devil is all there is for your kind. and in your case, four of them.

a bit over a week ago, you were made aware of their interest. and you thought that would be the end of it. a mere passing interest, yet beyond the box and them taking a pair of your freshly worn underwear would be the end of it, you were surprised when you were called to The Selection.

a barbaric tradition to commodify omegas and turning them into mere things to be tried, tested and tasted as if they were sample snacks on a table at a buffet. it genuinely makes your teeth grit tightly when you have to acknowledge that the only way to be provided for is through this archaic ritual.

still, you were almost too smug when Jason returned with a sour expression to escort you there. it felt nice knowing he was at least wrong about one thing he said.

you made it this far. to be chosen, to be inside this room. if even one of the alphas stops in front of you, even for just a few seconds, even for just one whiff. that’ll be all the consolation you need.

today, you stand in a line with at least thirty other omegas of all shapes and sizes in one room. each one facing forward, all either in loose shirts, shorts and skirts, each one barefoot. underwear is optional. the smart ones opt out of it for easy access, to be more enticing, to be more desirable. while others, the shy ones (namely, you) keep your knickers on. but those who keep them on do it purely because they think they’re not leaving this place anytime soon so why bother to give the alphas any more incentive to take a peek?

one other item all omegas in The Selection are required to wear is a bite guard. a collar that protects the mating gland, which is the only defense in case an alpha tries to take a bite on an omega’s neck. that’s only supposed to happen after the transaction’s complete and the omega’s well out of the establishment’s reach.

there’s at least five other guards standing watch in case things go south, all armed with guns and ammo. the air is charged with nerves. whispers fill the room as you all stand in a single line and wait for the process to begin. and only when the door opens do you all fall quiet and be still.

a man walks in alongside Jason and two other guards.

you’re suddenly hyper aware of your breathing. the constant rhythmic drum of your heart pounding in your ears (has it always been that loud?). you keep your hands clenched tightly so no one can tell how badly you’re shaking. maybe you should have put up a fuss and stayed in your room like Jason had (rudely) suggested earlier.

as far as you know, only one pack is present today. usually, the establishment sets a date every three months to gather enough packs in one place. it’s easier that way. gets multiple omegas out of the facility while serving more alphas in one go.

but it’s only been a month since the last ritual. which means this pack must be of extremely high importance or they’re paying good money to make such a demand.

the man stops at the first omega and looks at her before beginning to trek down the line, barely taking more than a few moments to glance at each person. it’s a slow walk, agonizing enough to make your heart race when he comes closer and closer to you. you assume it’s to take enough time to inhale each omega’s scent, but he works quickly enough that he’s not dragging the seconds.

a small mercy, you suppose. so as not to give anyone false hopes if he stops at one person for too long. yet it leaves the small sting of rejection just as he leaves, but that’s to be expected.

here’s the thing about line-ups; anything goes.

depending on the establishment, an omega can be touched anywhere and everywhere whilst they stand in line. or worse, either get fingered or fucked right then and there in front of the others. and they aren’t allowed to react to it. some establishments have banned coitus in front of the others entirely but more than a few like the show of it.

so you’re just supposed to stand there and listen to the wet, salacious noises and moans without saying a word. doesn’t matter if your face blazes hotly or if you clench your thighs. just bite the inside of your cheek and look straight ahead.

it’s to taste the goods, to see if an omega is good enough to devour. privacy is hardly a concern. some alphas do request that the omega they choose is taken to a more secluded room. but you think too many of them like the sick thrill of being watched.

there’s pros and cons to it. usually, it gives omegas something to gossip about. sometimes, rivalries spark from the whole ordeal. other times, you all gather around the chosen omega to either gush or cry about the experience, depending if they enjoyed it or not. other times, it’s both.

you tend not to dwell on feelings of jealousy if one of your friends are picked. it’s better to be happy for them. easier. even if your stomach churns at not being enough for any of the alphas that come and go. even if you end up crying yourself to sleep at the end of the day.

you’ve always thought you’d grow old in this place. that no alpha would want you.

you reckon he’ll pass by you, which he did. in those moments, you got a good look at him. brown skin, plush lips, dark curls shaved a bit at the sides, a handsome face that had your eyes trailing him for much longer than necessary before he got too far away. the triumphant look on Jason’s face did sting and only added to your disappointment.

until.

four omegas down the line, the man halted in his tracks.

you assumed he was going to examine the omega nearest to him. but no. that was not what he did. instead, he starts walking backward. four steps you counted just by sound alone. until he was right in front of you again. until he turns to face you with the prettiest brown eyes you think you’ve ever seen on a man.

you hold your breath, waiting for him to move, to keep walking as he did. he doesn’t. you’re so unfamiliar to having an alpha’s full attention on you in a way that doesn’t induce their ire. it’s frightening the way this one looks at you. it’s then you get a good view of his full face and only then did you notice the little scars on his left cheek.

those wide brown eyes stare directly at you. you hold his gaze, momentarily caught in his enchanting snare. he’s…

god, he’s so pretty.

he’s tall, lean-muscled and built more for agility than strength but that didn’t mean he didn’t look like he could snap your neck if he wanted to. he didn’t wear a shirt. only glad in a pair of gray sweatpants as he walks as barefoot as all the omegas in the room. just walking around, displaying his impressive statue without a care in the world.

does he like what he sees? your omega whimpers at the thought of this pretty alpha’s approval. your gaze quickly flickers away from his before you let her get too carried away. you’re struggling to keep your pheromones in check because of her already and he’s not helping your case.

your eyes have barely widened before his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. because of that, you don’t mean to, but you sharply inhale purely out of shock than anything else. and just like that, the scent of him invades your senses faster than you could realize.

his touch alone is dizzying. warmth and sweetness wrapped in his palm as he offers it to your skin. the contours of his fingers gently tracing your face while your heart thunders in your ears. a whimper threatens to break from the back of your throat, one you’re not keen on letting out.

your heart beats far too quickly for your lungs to keep up. the more shallow breaths you take, the more of the alpha’s scent you take in through your nose and it makes you even more nervous.

the odour of the soap he must’ve used before he came here is all you can taste while he caresses your cheek. it immediately snaps you to the memory of a name circled in one big heart.

Kyle.

oh, god.

oh, god, it’s Kyle.

you think he sees the recognition in your eyes the moment it clicks and only then does he suddenly lean in, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. your skin burns hotly at the deep groan that rumbles from his chest.

“fuck…” he gripes, tongue swiping at your jaw. you feel his breath on your bite guard. “it’s you.”

you bite back another whimper when his hands dips under your t-shirt. he finds the stiff peaks of your achy nipples, rolling them under each thumb. you fight the fire he ignites in your belly. hold back every urge to moan, to scream, to reach out and touch him the way he’s touching you.

it takes everything in your power to recite the rules of the selection process. stay still. eyes forward. don’t react, don’t react, don’t–

“hello, love.” you feel his smile as he’s nuzzling your cheek. “nice to finally meet you.”

and there goes all your focus.

you fight to retain it but it’s a losing battle. he’s claimed every bit your rational thought. one hand leaves your breast and trails downward. you know you’ve lost yourself to him, to all he has to give, to all he’s going to take. there’s no end to how much he’ll take and you can’t find it in you to even try to stop him.

“nice to– nice to–” you stammer while his hand slides under your skirt, his fingers trace the fabric of your panties, right along the seam of your cunt. the instinctual urge to close your thighs kicks in. a sharp gasp punches out of you, barely squeaking out, “m–meet you!”

the words are barely out of your mouth before his lips meet yours. it’s terrifyingly easy to get lost in his kisses. he’s slow, softly biting your lips before he tastes the sound you make.

you’re so overwhelmed, you don’t even notice your eyes fluttering shut as you resign to Kyle’s affection. only when he pulls away can you remember to breathe with your expression dazed and skin flushed just for him. his fingers must feel the slick sticking to the gusset of your panties because he smiles and presses his mouth to yours again, swallowing the mewl that comes out of you when he slips his fingers beyond the last barrier of cloth.

you’re then overly aware of the guard’s eyes on you. of the way your omega keens in delight when Kyle nips your jaw and seals his mouth there. you’re overly aware of the omega’s standing on either side of you, both standing as still as statues, yet flinching at the sudden noise that slips out of your lungs when Kyle reaches into your panties.

your clit is stiff and it throbs when met with just the barest touch. it’s embarrassing how quickly your eyes roll back when he presses on it and rolls it between two dexterous fingers. slick pours out of your cunt in copious amounts and stains your panties and thighs. he sinks one finger inside you, earning a tight squeal of shock. your pheromones are all over the place, overpowering everyone else within range but you think everyone except Kyle is bothered by that.

what you didn’t think is that you’d even be in this position. trapped between the wall and the first alpha that came out through the door, sniffing you out specifically. you never thought you’d ever have anyone shower you with this much affection.

even amongst omegas, you weren’t the most popular. like many, since you came of age, not one alpha has shown an interest in you during The Selection. because of that, you weren’t worth much compared to the prettier, more vibrant ones of your own kind. and the less attention an alpha gave you, the less likely you were going to ever leave this facility.

and for a long time, you genuinely believed that this was your final resting place.

thus obviously–

you finally manage to take a deep breath when Kyle slides his fingers out of your cunt and brings them to his mouth. his eyes flutter, a warm hum at the taste of you.

–you were wrong.

so, so wrong.

apparently, so was Jason. you catch him tightly clenching his jaw, the genuine mix of shock and shame and rage swirling his eyes before he glances away with a heavy blush staining his cheeks red. you don’t have a moment to dissect whatever that meant because Kyle’s fingers return to drag along your sensitive bud. you bite your wrist in an effort to stay quiet.

“don’t be shy, angel.” a nip to your ear, a shiver down your spine. he leans in to whisper. “let him hear you. let him watch and learn how to please an omega.”

out of the question, you want to scream.

you shake your head viciously, the words stumbling out of your mouth almost incoherently, “i’m not– supposed to–”

you can’t even form a sensible thought. the only reason you even know that you’re not supposed to react a certain way is because it’s been hammered into you, that it’s become second nature to withhold yourself.

Kyle doesn’t care.

“don’t mind the rules, love.” he pinches your cheeks in one hand and forces your gaze to meet his. “you’re following your alpha’s orders now.”

how could you say no to that?

you're in no position to but even if you were, you doubt the outcome would've been any different.

yet you wonder if there’s another omega they’re going to choose. it’s not unheard of and it would make sense. there’s four alphas after all. five, if you count Laswell. they all can't rely on one omega, there has to be another, right?

Kyle kisses you like there isn't. like you were the only one. like there is no other option but you. and you can't help but melt into him again.

this has never happened before. you’ve never been the center of attention.

“don’t mind them.” you think you lose your head when he sinks to his knees. “we fought over your knickers, by the way.”

he confesses such a thing so casually, as if he’s not about to sin between your thighs in front of the whole world to witness. you’re shocked by it, nonetheless. by the idea of four alphas fighting for a small piece of you.

“there’s hardly anything left of them now and you should definitely blame Johnny for that. so i’ll be keeping these for myself.” he murmurs that last part more to himself as he peels your panties off and pockets them. “it was a painstaking wait to finally meet you.”

it’s so jarring, to have an alpha kneel for his inferior. you didn’t expect that he ever would. no one else did, lease of all the guards. he hooks one leg over his broad shoulder, his mouth planting kisses on your thighs.

you’re all too aware, all too shocked by the heat of his heavy breaths. “aren’t you– going to…”

“patience, my love.” he croons.

your eyes shut when he parts your sodden folds and places one sweet kiss on your swollen, pulsing bud, the thunder in your ears soaring louder at the nickname.

his tongue licks through you with no mercy and absolutely no regard for who was present, a low hum bubbling from him at the taste pouring out. he parts open your folds to play with your swollen clit, revelling in how you squirm and hold back a strained moan. you’re severely under-prepared– no, you’re no match for the onslaught of his affection. nothing could’ve fortified your defenses for this.

he eats your pussy like he was born for it. like there was no higher purpose than to devour. he works slow, agonizing little circles around your nub before sucking it in his mouth. all while working a finger into your spasming cunt, then another.

“you smell so good, love.” Kyle’s hoarse whisper cuts through the heated atmosphere. every other guard is as silent as the grave as they’re forced to witness everything; victims of their own making with their impossibly asinine rules. every omega was just as quiet and there was no one you’ve felt more embarrassed for other than yourself. “taste even better. i could spend all day on my knees like this if they’d let me.”

teeth bite your lip as you tremble, your head tipping back against the wall when you succumb to his wicked tongue. Jason’s gaze is heavy as you try to avoid it. your breaths turn short as the pleasure mounts, spreading across every nerve ending as Kyle laps at your cunt. you’re drawing near a climax before he stands up.

you’re not shocked when he pulls the front of his pants down with such ease that you’re sure he’s not wearing any underwear. his cock springing up, hard and veiny, with the tip already leaking as he uses the slick he collected from your pussy to give it a few good strokes.

“been dreaming of this for too long, angel.” you’re too focused on his glistening lips and chin before he hikes your leg up against his hip.

you wanted to bring up the argument that he hadn’t even known about you for very long. but you don’t think that even mattered with how the tip easily slides into your cunt.

your mouth falls open in a gasp. your gaze fixed on his, trapped, unable to look away as he makes one smooth glide halfway inside your pussy before pulling out. he takes his sweet time, grinning as he taps the head on your clit to draw a sharp hiss from your teeth. one more glide and he buries his cock deep into you and holds it there.

“there we go, angel.” he moans, eyes hazy with desire.

you don't expect him to press his mouth against yours again while he fucks you against the wall. his tongue swipes along yours and you taste yourself in his affection. fingers grasping his arms as your body is rocked up and down with each thrust.

a line of spit still connects your lips when he pulls away. it's filthy. depraved, makes your head spin as if you’d been tied to a rope and swiveled for hours on end. it's nothing like how soft his eyes are when his tongue slips out to lick it clean off of your mouth, which turns into another heated kiss where he swallows your mewls.

you're embarrassed by how much it turns you on. standing there as you're getting fucked in front of the other omegas and especially the alphas who've always looked down on you. the sound of your ecstasy making them all flinch and look away. knowing damn well how much it aroused them too.

your hands cling to his shoulders for dear life as you make a mess of him. he swallows the sounds you can't hold back anymore as he's snapping his hips. the molten inferno building up and spreading through your veins. every touch, every kiss, every time he pounds your cunt like he was born for it drawing you closer to the edge that awaits you.

“you’re so perfect for me.” he murmurs into your mouth. he sounds as wrecked as you feel. his head tilting to lick a hot strike all the way up your neck before his teeth risk a soft bite right there. you feel as though he wants to ensure that he leaves as many traces of him on you as he can before parting ways. “perfect fuckin’ pussy. you feel so good, angel. the others are going to love you.”

your pussy flutters around him and he groans, his breaths, warming the bite guard collared around your neck. he sucks another mark just above its metal ends and where your skin begins. you can’t take it anymore. a sharp hiss passes your lips when his cock knocks against something sensitive deep inside that makes your toes curl.

“aw, baby. you’re so close, aren’t you?” he moans, “you’re gonna cum all over your alpha’s cock? then you’re going to let him cum inside you, aren’t you? yeah?”

you’re nodding at everything he says before you even process what it means. it’s unbearable to think about altogether as hope stirs in your chest. you just want it to be true. you just want it to happen. for him to cum inside, for him to claim you.

“please–” you manage to choke out the word as his hand slips to where your bodies meet. “please, alpha–”

a hiccup cuts off your plea when his fingers rub soft circles on your clit. your arms slide around his shoulder and hold on tightly with your eyes squeezing shut. “shh. it’s okay. it’s okay, love. i’ve got you.”

the floodgates finally break with a cry and tears you open. he keeps pistoning in and out of you as you burst. the roar in your ears made it impossible to hear the hoarse praises he’s whispering as you clench around his cock. one final thrust and he buries himself deep, spilling inside your cunt with a loud groan.

the shame that followed damn near drowned you. the silence was worse with only the sounds of your heavy breaths echoing through the room. you and Kyle stayed like that for a good, long while. with him still pressing you against the wall, with your leg hiked up around his hip. with your mind blurring around the edges and him anchoring you to himself.

frankly, you liked it this way. for if he pulled away immediately, you surely would’ve fallen to the ground with how shaky you feel at the moment.

he takes his sweet time detangling himself from you. first, kissing your mouth, your cheeks and neck, savouring every bit of you for as long as he can. you both moan as he’s slowly pulling his cock out of your pussy and pulls it under his pants, then gently slides your leg down. the vulgar mixture of slick and cum slipping out and down your legs is a tangible reminder of the ritual.

you can barely stand on your own, only relying on the wall to keep you upright. your gaze tracks all over the room. the shame riddled all over every other alpha’s eyes, the omegas who won’t even look at you. it barely takes you a moment to notice the welts Kyle’s shoulders trailing down the length of his arms.

“see you again soon, my love.” he plants one more sweet kiss pressed to your lips.

pulling away was a challenge to him because his expression tells you that he doesn’t want to leave. and you don’t want him to. but rules are rules. the ritual has to continue. the cycle must keep going.

“fuck.” Kyle laments as he leans in again and gives you one last sloppy kiss before reluctantly leaving you.

the next alpha beelines right for you.

didn’t even take his time looking at the other omegas. he just followed the scent of his packmate and stopped straight in front of you in under a minute.

you guessed it was Johnny just by the hairstyle alone.

“there ye are, bonnie lass.” he hums into your neck, pushing his fingers into your quivering hole.

you don’t get the chance to speak before his mouth seals against yours and swallows whatever sound you must’ve made as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. his tongue messily glides around your mouth, teeth nipping and biting your bottom lip before he pulls away.

“Gaz, that right bastard.” he growls through a cheeky smile. “he took yer knickers already?”

it dawns on you that this is how people drown. just a glance into those ocean blue eyes and you’re struck by how breathtaking they are.

“s–said you ruined the ones i gave you guys before…” you managed to stutter out loud, your voice pitching high when he keeps fingering you.

“aye. wha’ of it?” it’s shameless the way his grin widens. “and i’ll do it again if given the chance.”

you’ve never met a man more proud of his unyielding and never-ending lust.

you’re horrified when he brings one ankle to his shoulder and notches his cock against your opening. “i want that bastard behind us tae see yer toes curl when i do this–”

do what? is your one singular thought with your brows furrowing before you’re quickly answered.

Johnny’s cock glides to the hilt in one thrust. the world narrows down, a choked sound escapes from your throat while he responds to it with an unrestrained growl. you stand no chance after he gently clasps a hand under your jaw and starts to fuck you in earnest.

and he’s far from merciful. each thrust knocks you back against the wall as your nails desperately dig into his shoulders. you want to scream. you want to plead for mercy. or at least tell him to slow down. but all you can muster are broken cries that echo through the ears of every spectator in the room.

“she’s weeping fer me already.” Johnny groans out loud, ears trained on the wet squelch of your cunt. you must be squirming too much in his grasp because your leg slips off of his shoulder and ends up hooked on his elbow, which he quickly rectifies. “steady now, lass. we’re just gettin’ started.”

if this was just the start of things, you’ll be dead by the time he’s done with you.

with his forehead pressing on yours, the gravel of his voice vibrating into your skin as you’re holding on for dear life as he whispers nothing but pure filth into your ears. nipping the lobes and the curve of your ear, nipping the skin of your neck.

“if it weren’t fer this damned collar, ye’d be ours already, lass.” he expresses the fact with such disdain, as if the collar was one last obstacle between you being trapped in this prison and you becoming part of their pack.

as if there wouldn’t have been anything else to stop them from claiming you.

“if i could just bite here–”

your first instinct is to stiffen when you hear the faint sound of teeth on metal. his hand reaches behind your neck and lightly tugs, though you both know that won’t do anything. if he could, he would tear through the collar and mark you right then and there. but only one person holds the key to the collars.

yet you realize one thing about this pack; they’re relentless about one of their own. there’s very little stopping them from taking whatever the hell they want and right now, they want you.

Johnny’s desperation is living proof of that.

your leg strains at the height it has been pulled to. his grunts are all you can focus on besides the rapid force of his cock pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy. he fucks you like he wants to claw his way into your trembling body and make a home for himself there.

and Jason watches as you let him.

the shock in his eyes turning green with envy. with shame now that he’s being forced to swallow his pride because he’s being proved wrong.

either way, you can’t stand it.

you can’t stand being looked at by him. can’t stand witnessing his emotions unfold while you’re facing a storm of your own.

“alpha–”

you try to formulate a string of words even though they slip away. and you don’t even get the chance to because Johnny cuts in.

“keep watching him.” a vengeful growl, pushing deeper into you while you’re clutching at his shoulders, your breaths reduced to nothing more than desperate moans. “let him watch as i ruin this fuckin’ cunt, bonnie lass.”

you’re forced to obey his command with a hand cupping the underside of your jaw. it’s meant to keep your eyes forward, to make sure you’re doing as you’re told. and maybe under normal circumstances, you would’ve hated to follow orders given with such an urgency.

but with Johnny splitting you open on his cock, it’s hard to think of anything but how good you feel. your own brain is turning against you, going fuzzy and droopy, overwhelmed with the pleasure.

he slows only to change the angle just a bit. his grin returning when he grazes something deep and tender and it makes you gasp. his thrusts hasten to target the spot, repeatedly punching right against it until you cry out. the fire blisters and scorches as you hold on for dear life.

Johnny grips your cheeks in one hand, planting his mouth on yours. tongue licking the tears that had fallen over your lips, teeth nipping and tugging. he’s destroying you from the inside out. and you’re gladly letting him. you’ll gladly let him do it again beyond this.

“tha’s it, lass.” he gripes harshly, breaths uneven. “let go for me.”

he cums the moment you do. a violent burst leaves your thighs and his soaked. it leaves you trembling in his arms, breaths heavy and exhausted. your arms slinking over his shoulders, his muscles shifting as he gently puts down your leg.

“soon.” he whispers just for you to hear. “we’ll all be together soon.”

you hope so.

the next man was the biggest one. you just know that’s Ghost.

he doesn’t sniff around you like dogs as the other two did. his eyes were like black fire. smoldering hot and as infinite as the empty night sky.

Ghost examines your trembling frame with the curiosity of a man who’s endlessly taking in the vision standing before him. his eyes caught on the slick glistening along the inside of your thighs. and only when he’s certain that you’re the right omega does he press you against the wall.

he doesn’t greet you like the sergeants have. there’s no words exchanged between you and him while his hands slowly grope you.

“soft.” he hums into your throat while his hands touch and squeeze your breasts, your waist, your thighs before he dips between them. he puts his fingers in his mouth and a low growl reverberates through your bones when he adds, “sweet.”

your skin prickles deliciously. there’s no end to this big alpha’s curiosity, it seems.

“turn around. hands on the wall, pretty girl.”

the command melts over you like honey. his gruff voice is softer than you expect when he speaks to you.

you bite your lip when he nudges your feet apart while hiking your shirt above your hips. you hear a sharp inhale behind you, most likely him taking in your heavy scent.

“did you even wear your knickers, love?” you squirm as he squeezes your ass before slipping down and cupping your sodden cunt, thick fingers playing with your folds before grazing your bud.

“i—i did.” it's shaky, eyes shutting when he teases your hole. “the oth–ther alpha t–took them.”

your words tremble and break apart as he eases a finger inside, then another one. he bites his lip at the squelch your cunt makes,

“which one?” he asks, tilting his head into the crook of your neck. “was it Johnny?”

you shook your head. “Kyle.”

“fucking thief.” the sound that comes with that response is somewhere between a low growl and a chuckle that rumbles into your skin. “the little shit knew i wanted them.”

there's ruffling behind you and when you look, he's undoing his pants, pulling them down. you snap your gaze forward, holding your breath when the tip slides through your folds.

you opt to muffle the sounds into your arm while your pussy stretches around his throbbing cock. it's not an easy glide so he takes it slow, opening you up for him in ways that shouldn't feel so good.

your toes curl as he sinks in. it's debilitating how the first thrust knocks against that sweet spot. a fresh coat of slick glistens his shaft as he slowly pumps into you. your skin prickling hotly at the soft grunts behind you with each thrust.

“you're taking me so well, omega.” he says, “making me proud on your first day with the pack.”

high praise that makes you clench around him. “alpha…”

he groans loudly at that, hands tightening on your hips. though still cautious, he thrusts a little harder, a little faster, spurred on by the noises you make. the salacious wet sounds of his skin slapping against yours makes up for what you're trying to hold back.

“you're already so close, aren't you?” a mewl responds to his rhetorical thought. you can't see his wicked grin but you hear it in his next few words. “yeah, you are. this sweet cunt's squeezing me so good.”

shame blooms all over your face and you're glad to be facing the wall.

his arm bends around you, his fingers reaching between your folds to rub your swollen clit as he growls into your ear, “let's make her weep, shall we?”

and weep you did. in more ways than one.

there was no holding back the scream that tears out of your lungs when another orgasm splinters you in half. you don’t remember much of it besides the way your pussy convulsed and leaked all over him so much that it ran down your legs and all the way to the floor.

“oh, fuck!” Ghost’s growl reverberated into the heady kiss he placed to your neck while he buried his cock in your gushing pussy one final time and filled you with his cum.

it's astonishing how you're still able to stay upright for those few moments. you’re not overly fond of the tremble in your legs after that point. it hardly even matters that you’re trying to stay on your feet when you know the next alpha is on his way to ruin you like the last three did.

you take deep breaths as you slid to the floor in shame, trying to remember how many came and went. Kyle, Johnny, Simon. one more. the last one, you hope. because you don’t know how much more of this you can take before you melt into a puddle on the floor.

thankfully, John doesn’t take long to arrive. he takes even less time to find you. considering that you’re emitting the overwhelming scent of his pack members from afar, you’re willing to bet he’d find you through a thick wall of concrete.

“fucking finally. thought i’d go insane with all this endless waiting.” the heavy sigh that came out of him was that of sheer relief as he pulled you up and into his arms and breathed in your scent. “hello.”

“hi.” you squeak as he wastes no time touching you where you’re most delicate.

“i see you’ve already met my boys.” John hums, his eyes shining with amusement. “did they all treat you well?”

you don’t get to enjoy the warmth of his smile when his fingers trail between your thighs. the words melt on your tongue before you can respond. he takes his time rubbing your swollen bud, watching as your mouth parts open for a shaky exhale to fall through.

you squeak when he smacks your pussy. “i expect an answer, omega.”

“yes!” your voice trembles with a small moan after, lungs burning with sharp exhales. your breath catches again, eyes shutting when his fingers spread your folds open. “they– they, um– they did.”

“good.” he muses while playing with your quivering hole. your tired gasp leaves your mouth parted as he makes a mess of the cum that dribbles out of you. “now which one of those muppets took your knickers, love?”

it’s hard to formulate an answer with his fingers curling deliciously inside your cunt.

your eyes flutter open just to close tightly again, your voice rasping out a quite– “Kyle…”

the answer earns you a grunt. he rolls your sensitive clit in gentle, insistent circles. playing with your pussy like he has all the time in the world.

“gonna have to bargain with him after this.” he chuckles, his free hand trailing under your shirt to grope your breasts. “bastard’s lucky he won the coin toss to go first.”

you can only get a moment of respite when he pulls away. it’s only then you notice that he’s in jeans, unlike the rest of his pack. the clink of a belt makes your skin prickle hotly. you watch him in awed silence. a thick wrist littered with coarse hairs, much like his chest. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were looking at a taller, bigger version of Johnny.

his hand moves expertly, with precision, with patience. he’s done this many times before. the calm before the storm. you’re looking at the moments before someone gets absolutely ruined by him.

his cock is just as thick as the rest of him. your head tips back against the wall when he notches against your sore opening. your teeth biting your swollen lips as he buries himself in one, devastating stroke. a shaky hum sounding out from you, eyes shutting as tears threaten to spill once more. he has the nerve to smile once he sees the grip you have on the omega standing next to you.

you’re lifted up, arms thrown over his shoulders, legs crossing at the small of his back on instinct. after that, John takes his time. his thrusts slow, but far from gentle. he plants himself against you, chest to chest, his lips melting into yours to swallow the noises you’re trying to hide.

“that’s a good girl.” you bite back a moan, gaze shifting away from his wicked lust.

but you can’t escape it. you know it as well as he does. and he capitalizes on that.

“doing so well, making me proud.” he hums while he grinds against your sweet spot. you muffle a noise under his neck. “making us all proud.”

you doubt any of the other omegas are proud of what they’re witnessing at the moment. but you’re finding it harder and harder to care while you’re leaking all over his cock to the point where it drips down to the floor.

you try to be careful not to give in to the urge of biting the alpha’s neck when he sinks his face into yours. “you smell so good, lovie.”

John thick scent makes your dizzier now that he’s so much closer but it’s the nicknames are throwing you for a loop. the compliments are even worse. you barely remember Kyle saying the same thing earlier.

he seems to know exactly when your eyes met Jason’s because he cups your jaw in one hand and forces you to look at him.

“look at me.” he commands. you can do nothing but obey. “s’just you and me right now. he doesn’t matter anymore.”

a harsh thrust knocks the wind out of your lungs. you cling to him as he wrecks your cunt, the wet slap echoing alongside your soft mewls. the string draws tight and turbulent once more, heat building rapidly with the force of an ocean kept at bay by weakened walls.

“from now on,” he growls, his hand sliding to the back of your head to grip your hair as his thrusts turn brutal. “no one else matters.”

“alpha!” your eyes roll back until you saw stars.

the drag of his cock wilted your resolve, clarity becoming less and less in your reach as your head spins. you clamp down on his cock, helpless to him. somehow, as your thoughts spilled out through your ears, you realized one thing. that he was right. no one else mattered. nothing else did.

not when things had shifted so drastically in the span of a week.

from being the least sought out omega to suddenly being every alpha’s wet dream.

the drop is so devastating that you couldn’t breathe. only a soundless gasp escapes your mouth with your ears ringing and black spots dotting your sight while John branded his existence inside you with his cum. if it weren’t for him holding you against the wall, you’d have fallen to the floor again.

“think we might have overdid it.” he chuckles, breathing as heavily as you.

your only response was a weak moan.

that was it. you had finally completed the humiliation ritual.

The Selection was over.

the owner of the establishment was surprised upon seeing the pack again so quickly. his assistant who had just placed a cup of tea on his desk was just as startled.

“Captain Price.” his voice takes a higher pitch upon seeing you behind John and Soap. “141 has made a decision already? it’s barely been an hour. don’t you think that perhaps you all need more time to–”

“we chose her.”

the finality in their decision left a silence in the room that was deafening.

“are you sure?”

“absolutely.” no hesitation whatsoever. it’s just as reassuring to you as it is disappointing to the owner, who doesn’t hide his frown but doesn’t dare to voice his thoughts on the matter.

Ghost helps you stay upright and pets your hair. “she’s going to make a lovely addition to the pack.”

“now do us all a favour and get this bloody collar off her.” added Gaz, his hand grazing the metal clasped around your neck.

the assistant glances at her boss, who nods to her. she pulls open a drawer and retrieves something from within. she comes over to stand in front of you and only then do you see what she has in her hand.

it looked like a wax seal stamp. she places it along the side of your neck, where its circular shape fits into a space carved into the collar then her hand twists. you flinch once the piece of metal snaps open. Kyle does not hesitate to pry it apart and off of your neck in the next moment.

you don’t know what to make of the freedom that comes with that. the lack of metal clinging to you. your hand moves to graze the skin.

it was… surreal. you never thought it would come to this. you never thought there would come a time when the collar would stop being a part of your normal life. and in its absence came something you could only dream of.

the end of an era, your mind whispers.

and you can’t help but agree. the collar represented part of your life. with it gone, the seasons now change.

“Ghost, Gaz.” John calls to them. “go grab her things while Johnny and i make the final arrangements.”

“aye, Captain.” the two said in unison.

the owner sighs and pulls out the necessary paperwork. and that was it. this would be the last time you would ever see him. something in your chest tightens when you come to the realization that this is your last day in the establishment.

your life as an omega was about to change drastically now that the collar was taken off of you.

hopefully for the better.

“come on, sweet girl.” said Ghost. “we need to start packing.”

there isn’t much to pack. they didn’t know this until they stepped inside your little enclosure.

Jason won’t even look at you as you Kyle and Ghost examine your room. he stands as a sentinel just beyond the barrier of your room. clearly memory lane is taking him down the path of shame. rightfully so. you don’t envy him for being an arrogant asshole who could’ve been a lot little kinder to others.

though you feel a bit self-conscious about Kyle and Ghost being here. more so about them seeing what your little space looks like than the fact that you were just fucked in front of a bunch of your friends.

“you.” Ghost barks at the guard, jerking his head. “come here.”

Jason looks like he’s about to balk at the order, to resist against it and flee, hackles rising high before he takes a couple of steps inside without a word. you don’t blame his hesitation. after all, only a fool would come when certain death beckons them.

“where’s the mini fridge?” asks Ghost.

the guard’s eyes furrow at the question. he briefly glances at you (you’re just as confused) before addressing the alpha in front of him. “there isn’t one, sir.”

“and why the fuck not?”

“all rations provided for by the facility don’t need to be stored in one, sir.”

“so no midnight snacks then?” Kyle frowns deeply, his disappointment seeping into the room.

“no, sir. those aren’t allowed.”

you let them grill Jason with more questions about the facility, completely ignoring them and letting the conversation wash over you as you stand in the corner, hoping they don’t pay attention to you until it’s time to go.

“not a very comfortable bed.” Kyle says as he lays down on it. his disapproval permeates through your chest as he looks at you. “how’re you supposed to fuck in this?”

the inquiry halts your thoughts for a minute. the omegas’ rooms aren’t exactly built for their comfort. it’s even an absurd notion to even think about. but you’re too stunned by it to think of anything other than recreating what happened at The Selection right here. with Kyle and Ghost. in your tiny room.

your sticky thighs press together as you look away, cheeks blazing. you don’t doubt that they would do it. forgo every rule set in place just to take you again. regardless of what the leaders of the establishment might say about it.

“w–we’re not supposed to.” is all you can offer.

“really? you’ve never tried?” Kyle sits up from your bed. “not even for your heat?”

you shake your head.

“wanna test it out?” his smile glints with mischief as he’s tilting his head.

you balk, startled at the suggestion. “n–now?”

“yes, now.”

before you even realize it, Ghost has closed the door and locked it. you’re so started by the sound of the click that you almost fail to notice that Jason is still inside. with the three of you. and he looks like as much deer in the headlights as you.

“and he’s going to watch.” Ghost adds as he’s slowly unbuckling his belt.

“what?” you and Jason squawk simultaneously, glancing at each other with an equal amount of immeasurable shock.

the silence of your small enclosure sucked all the serenity out. Ghost takes slow strides until he's right behind Jason and made a show of clasping his neck to keep him rooted where he stood.

“don’t think we don’t know what you said about our omega being ordinary.” he grows lowly. “we’re going to show you why jealousy is a green-eyed little monster that makes you say all sorts of stupid shit.”

it doesn’t truly click how they know or why they’d be so pent up about proving Jason wrong. but something burns deep from within at the thought of the alphas being so angry on your behalf.

angry enough that they would make Jason watch as they ruin you.

Kyle extends his hand to you. “come here, love.”

if you thought what they did to you in front of everyone was filthy, you won’t even be able to fathom what’s about to happen behind closed doors.

you were limping around by the time they were done. you were sore all over and had no idea how they managed to get three more orgasms out of you in the span of fifteen minutes. Jason had been thoroughly silenced in that time as well. he walked out flushed, sweating and damn near in tears.

eventually, Simon and Kyle do get around to helping you pack the things you’re meant to take with you to your new home.

just a few articles of clothing, two pairs of shoes, a couple of books, one mug and the box carrying all of the gifts Pack 141 had gotten you the week before. you weren’t allowed anything else.

“that’s everything?”

you find the four alphas looking at you incredulously.

the anxiety in your chest spikes immediately. words muddle in your mouth long before you even attempt to articulate them.

“uh– yes.” you quickly glance behind you, checking if you took something you weren’t supposed to. “why? is there something wrong?”

you made sure to check if everything you took was yours before it all went in the bag.

“no, no, not at all, just…” he pauses, giving your bag a long, hard stare. “we were expecting a little more luggage, is all.”

“i’ll take tha’.” Johnny lifts the bag onto his arm and marches forward like he couldn’t get out of there any faster.

you wanted to ask if there was a problem with the things you had but John sensed your distress and was already on it before you could even utter a word.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it, love.” John presses his lips on your hairline as he gently nudges you to move forward.

nothing really matters beyond that. you were with your pack now.

you are where you belong now.

the end :)

can you tell that this is lowkey a gaz fic? because once again, i am peddling gaz propaganda through 141 poly fics and nobody's gonna stop me hehe :)

banners by@cafekitsune and @vase-of-lilies

offer a coin to the picklejar

[main masterlist]

[gullemec]

Golden Cage - Series Masterlist

read on ao3 main masterlist

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Series Summary: As the daughter of a powerful pharmaceutical magnate, you've spent your life in the shadow of your family name. In the wake of your mother’s sudden and suspicious death, you’re left untethered, searching for something, anything, to make you feel alive again. But when a chance encounter thrusts you into the chaotic world of The Boys, a ruthless Supe-killing vigilante group, your carefully constructed reality begins to unravel. As the lines between hero and villain blur, you are forced to question everything you thought you knew about yourself, your family, and the world around you.

Series Warnings: canon divergent (the canon is a fun suggestion), emotionally constipated billy butcher, reader has very poor self-esteem, heavy discussions/depictions of grief, language, smut (18+ MDNI), slow burn enemies to friends to lovers, emotional/psychological abuse, daddy issues, canon-typical violence, murder, alcohol consumption, implied age gap, violence toward the reader (not butcher)

Status: Completed

please let me know if I've missed any tags! <3 take care to read the tags on each individual chapter <3

A/N: I'm so so so excited to share this with the world, I have been working on this fic for so long and it's really my baby <3 I also want to say that I really went loosey-goosey with the canon here. This is essentially a story within The Boys universe, using characters from The Boys, and referencing plot points from the show, but it doesn't necessarily take place within a specific timeframe in the show and some characters won't be mentioned. Just vibes basically. Thanks for reading <3

Chapters:

One: Down the Rabbit Hole

Two: Pandora's Box

Three: Lion's Den

Four: Whiskey on Ice

Chapter Interlude: Picture You

Five: Cross the Line

Six: Red Underlined

Seven: So it Goes

Eight: Deep Blue

Nine: Light Me Up

Epilogue: The Last Page

Sequel Series can be found HERE

[brummiereader]

Return To Sender

(Masterlist)

Summary: Letter after letter had been sent out, each one returning with no response. And with your editor breathing down your neck to finish your article on the notorious Birmingham gang and its imprisoned leader, drastic times called for drastic measures. But when Tommy Shelby finally agrees to the interview, you don’t only get his undivided attention, you earn his watchful eye from behind the iron bars of his prison cell. As each visit burns hotter than the last, blurring every line you swore you wouldn’t cross, you become fearful of not only losing your job, but your slipping control over the situation. What a fool you were to think you could just walk away from a man infatuated. A man in...love. Or at least, Tommy Shelby’s version of it.

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, delusional take on love, manipulative behaviour, smut, psychological abuse, stalking.

Authors Note: This is a Dark!Tommy series that some readers may find triggering. Please review the warnings before continuing.

Teaser Trailer

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight (completed series)

Gif credit: @benson-shelby.

[witchywithwhiskey]

on the clock

pairings: werewolf!CEO!Bucky Barnes x human!assistant!female reader

summary: feeling unfulfilled by your job, you sign up to become a member of the Pleasure Portal network, which allows you to have sex with monsters around the world for money. then, when you connect with an anonymous monster on a boring summer day at the office, it leads to an afternoon delight—and something more.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, unspecified age gap, monsterfucking and teratophilia, werewolf/human sex, knotting, sex work/reader becomes a sex worker, portal sex, piv sex, very rough sex, unprotected sex, anonymous sex, multiple creampies, come inflation, cockwarming, orgasm control/delay, multiple orgasms, big cock, size kink, free use, some objectification, dirty talk, sexting, praise kink, light verbal degradation, bdsm undertones, sir kink, pet names (sweetling, sweet girl), aftercare, feelings

word count: 10.2k

a/n: for week 12 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event, i had a pretty good idea of the premise for this fic (and it's based loosely on this post) but i had y'all vote to help decide some of the specifics, like Bucky being a werewolf. since the other two options were so close, i worked them both in 🤭 this ended up being way longer than i expected, but i'm really excited about this particular magical universe, and i hope y'all love it as much as i do!! please enjoy some werewolf CEO Bucky!!! ♡

prompt: "You can’t be real." | [Fantasy Character | Monsterfucking | Dreaming/Daydreaming]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

You didn’t need the money. Not really. 

All your bills were easily covered by your job. You worked 60 hours a week as the senior executive assistant to Bucky Barnes, who, in his early 40s, was the first werewolf to ever become CEO of a Fortune 500 company. 

The role paid well enough that you’d been able to buy your dream apartment in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and still have money leftover for savings and fun things like vacations and going out to brunch. 

So you really didn’t need any extra money from a side hustle, because your career was plenty lucrative. But, frankly, your job as Bucky Barnes’ senior EA was boring.

Over the course of your career, you’d worked hard to rise up the ranks of assistants, taking on new roles at different companies until you’d made it to the top of the ladder. But you found yourself in the odd position of having nowhere else to go, and little to do. 

As Mr. Barnes’ senior EA, your job was to oversee the rest of the CEO’s assistants. At any given time, he had half a dozen, all of whom managed his schedule, fetched his dry-cleaning, and did everything else the busy werewolf didn’t have time to do.

However, after the brief transition period when you first stepped into your role and made some changes so that the fleet of assistants ran more efficiently, and everything was delegated to the others, there was little left for you to do.

All that was expected of you was to sit at your desk in the sparsely decorated antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, with its towering, thick wooden doors that were often closed, leaving you entirely alone. Occasionally, you’d have to greet any visitors who’d arrive for an in-person meeting, but that was rare.

Most days, no one came to Mr. Barnes’ office, since the werewolf preferred virtual meetings and phone calls to in-person sit-downs. So you spent long, arduous days alone at your desk while your boss worked and the fleet of assistants scurried around doing his bidding, which was relayed through you.

It left you with a lot of free time—free time that you spent trying to keep busy, and trying not to daydream about your handsome werewolf boss. 

It had been against your better judgement that your foolish heart had caught feelings for Bucky Barnes, but it turned out you had a soft spot for werewolves with icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and expensive suits. It didn’t help that he had a dry sense of humor and a brusque, no-nonsense way of conducting business that you respected.

Still, you maintained a professional demeanor at work, not allowing your feelings for your boss to show when you greeted him in the morning or spoke to him about his schedule. But if you were honest with yourself, your little crush on the werewolf was the reason you didn’t look for another job.

You’d fallen into a routine of monotony, broken up only by the brief, thrilling moments when you interacted with Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even realize you were looking for something to escape the vicious circle your life had become until it was right in front of your face.

It was on one particularly dreary afternoon when you took the first step down a path that would change everything. 

Cold rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, obscuring the view of New York City’s Central Park that lay at the feet of the company’s high-rise in Manhattan. You felt like a princess trapped in a tower, held above and apart from the rest of the world, bitterly alone. 

To remind yourself that you weren’t the last person in the world, living among the gray clouds, you found yourself scrolling through your social media feed, eagerly watching the little windows into other peoples’ lives. 

It was then that you came across a video from a woman who made her living as a “spicy accountant.” Unlike some of the others you’d seen on the app, though, she made her money through something called Pleasure Portal. 

You watched in rapt attention as the woman in the video explained what it was—a network created by the company’s warlock CEO using proprietary portal technology that connected those with willing holes with clients willing to pay to use those holes, even if they were entire continents apart. 

According to the woman, all transactions were completely anonymous and conducted through the app, though there were options for leaving tips and favorable reviews. To ensure everyone’s safety, there was an application process that included health and background checks verified by the Pleasure Portal company. 

And the best part, at least to you, was that it was open to everyone—human and monsters alike.

That had been the most enticing selling point for you, because even if you didn’t need the money, Pleasure Portal offered a safe and anonymous way for you to explore what it would be like to be with a monster, something you’d only ever fantasized about before.

Although you’d developed a crush on him, Bucky Barnes wasn’t the first monster you’d daydreamed about. 

Over the years, you’d wondered endlessly about what it would feel like to be split open by a minotaur, to be put under a lust spell by a warlock, to be tied so intimately by a werewolf’s knot…

You’d been breathless with excitement as you applied to be part of the Pleasure Portal network right then, on that dreary afternoon. You kept oscillating between feeling like it was a dream, too good to be true, and giddy excitement as you filed your paperwork, and gave proof that you tested negative for STIs and were on birth control.

It took surprisingly little time to be approved, the app on your phone unlocking your profile while you were sent the portal device.

As soon as you got the notification that the package had been delivered, in the middle of the afternoon on a hot, summer day, you left your desk, giving Mr. Barnes a ridiculous excuse about needing to go home early to feed your neighbor’s cat. 

Once at you made it back to your apartment in Park Slope, you tore into the box with as much care as you could muster, your eyes widening and lips parting with wonder when you finally got your hands on the portal device.

It was as small as a matchbook and, according to the instructions, should be affixed to your skin above, below or beside the hole you wished to connect to the network. The magic in the device could then be activated only from your app, which required face ID, and it could be shut off using the app or by voicing the safe word you registered with the service.

The app was how you connected with potential Pleasure Patrons, filling out your profile with interests and limits, and setting yourself as available whenever you were open to clients. Anyone looking to use your services as a Pleasure Pocket could send a request, and you had the option to approve or deny based on their profile, which revealed their first name, age and species, and how much money they were offering. 

Although you were almost too excited to read through all the instructions on the portal device and fill out your profile, you forced yourself to pay attention and get through it as quickly and methodically as possible so you could finally get started.

It wasn’t long before you were attaching the device to your mound, just above your pussy, and setting yourself as available on the app. Your profile specified that you were particularly open to monsters—and you were delighted to discover they were all too eager to use your services.

From that night on, you became an active Pleasure Pocket on the Pleasure Portal network. 

At first, you consigned yourself to only using it when you were at home, letting monsters from all over the world rail you while you made dinner or took a shower or lay on your couch watching TV. But work was so boring, and you really didn’t have much to do, so what was the harm in wearing it to the office?

It was breathlessly thrilling to wear the Pleasure Portal device at your desk, alone in the antechamber outside Mr. Barnes’ office, feeling all manner of monster cock fill you while you were on the clock. It got to a point where even if you weren’t stuffed full of cock, you were daydreaming about it. Your idle thoughts constantly wandered back to your favorite Patrons.

The day everything truly changed, was a day like any other.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in New York City, the golden summer sun glinting off buildings and giving you a perfect view of Central Park with all its gorgeous green foliage. And it was another boring day at your desk, with nothing for you to do since the assistants were self-sufficient and Bucky was busy behind his closed office doors. 

At that point, you’d been part of the Pleasure Portal network for a few months, and your mind kept straying back to one of your recent clients, a minotaur that had used you the previous week. 

Your fingers toyed idly with the buttons of your silk blouse, which was tucked into a tight black pencil skirt. You bit your lip as you remembered the feeling of the minotaur’s impressive length filling you up for hours one morning, his stamina lasting for what seemed like an eon.

He’d used you for so long, and fucked you so relentlessly, you’d nearly passed out at your desk. It had been glorious.

Once he was done with you, the minotaur had left you a generous tip “for monopolizing your morning,” as well as a favorable review: “5/5 stars, tightest pussy I’ve had in a long time. Would fuck again.”

It was the last part of his review that still stuck with you a week later, and had you daydreaming that he would, in fact, fuck you again. You didn’t often accept repeat clients, but for the minotaur, you’d make an exception. He’d pleasured you well enough that you could see yourself enjoying another session with him.

Unbidden, your thoughts veered sharply away from your minotaur client. Instead, icy blue eyes, sharp canine teeth, and a broad chest clad in an expensive suit flashed through your mind. You tried desperately to halt your thoughts before they could venture further down that path, but your imagination couldn’t be stopped.

Your fantasy shifted, and before you could rein in your mind, you were thinking about being stretched open on a thick werewolf cock while you sat in your boss’s lap. The base of his length, where his knot would inflate, would nudge against your clit and remind you that once he came, you’d be unable to separate. 

Your bodies would be tied together in such an intimate way that couldn’t be ignored. You’d be connected in the most primal, physical way possible…

With a sigh, you blinked the tantalizing image from your mind and returned your focus to the gorgeous sight of the summer sun shining brightly down on New York City, glinting off the water of the lake in Central Park and shimmering off the windows of the other skyscrapers in midtown Manhattan. 

You willed your heart to slow and your breathing to even out in an effort to temper the heat that had begun building in your core. When your fantasy had shifted to Bucky, your slit had flooded with desire, and you could feel the sticky evidence in your panties when you crossed one leg over the other. 

Truthfully, you’d hoped that joining the Pleasure Portal network would distract you from your crush on your boss, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Letting all manner of monsters use your hole was fun, but it was all anonymous, and it lacked the true connection you thought you could only find in real life. 

And, to be perfectly honest, you weren’t interested in finding a true connection with anyone other than Bucky. Even the minotaur from the previous week paled in comparison to your boss. Though he’d been a good lover and had tipped well, you didn’t want anything more from him than a few more orgasms. 

You were, unfortunately, still hung up on the older werewolf CEO with the icy blue eyes that sent shivers down your spine and the devastatingly handsome face. You wanted the monster who sat in his office just a few dozen feet away from your desk, but might as well have been a whole world away with the thick wooden doors and his inability to see you as anything more than his EA.

A soft chime from your phone pulled you from that train of thought and you picked up the device. A small smile stole across your face when you saw a Pleasure Portal notification: A new Patron was requesting a session!

Eager for something to distract you from your thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you quickly opened up the app and scanned the request.

James, 42, werewolf, was asking for an immediate session, and he was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money—so much that even your eyes widened at the number of zeros. It was more than you made in an entire week as a senior EA, and all for a few hours of being this monster’s Pleasure Pocket. 

Still, you couldn’t lie and tell yourself the money was really what swayed you. It was this potential client’s profile, particularly the part where he noted he was a werewolf. 

After daydreaming about Bucky, you were feeling more than a little needy. And even though fucking this werewolf named James wouldn’t be the same as finally getting the attention you desired from your boss, you couldn’t deny yourself. You wanted a knot, and if you couldn’t have the one you really wanted, you’d take anything you could get.

So, without any more thought, you hit the button on the app that accepted James’s offer.

As soon as the Pleasure Portal app registered your acceptance, you felt the device hum to life on the mound of your pussy. Delightful tingles erupted in a circle around your hole, the magical current of the portal coming to life and teasing your skin.

You gave a little shiver of anticipation as you leaned back in your expensive, ergonomic desk chair. You closed your eyes, and waited for James to begin using his side of the open portal, arousal already gathering between your thighs as you thought about being used by the anonymous Patron.

Less than a minute later, you felt the pointed tip of the werewolf’s cock nudging carefully against your entrance. The first feel of him made your breath catch in your throat.

James felt big, even just the tip of him spreading your lower lips as he pushed against your entrance. He seemed to be taking it slow, testing out your readiness, being careful not to hurt you with one rough thrust.

When you realized how big he was and the care he was taking with you, your pussy flooded with arousal. It was enough to make your hole slick and ready for his massive cock.

It occurred to you that James might be the biggest monster you’d ever taken, and you were eager to find out if you were right about that. In your chest, your heart raced, but the rest of you remained still as you waited with a breathless excitement for James to feed you more of his cock.

Your prediction was confirmed a moment later when James pressed deeper, the narrow tip of his cock giving way to a thick girth that had you gasping for air and clutching the edge of your desk. Your nails dug into the unyielding wood as your pussy clamped down hard on the werewolf’s penetrating length. 

A soft chime came from your phone, and you picked it up to find James had sent a text through Pleasure Portal’s in-app messaging system. Some clients tried to use it for dirty talk, but more often than not, their attempts at seducing you with words had the opposite effect so you usually ignored them. 

However, James’s message was different. 

Fuck, you’re tight. Even for a human. 

The werewolf sounded grumpy, almost resentful of your pussy, like he could barely believe anyone, even a human, could be so tight. It was a far cry from the effusive flattery most other Patrons tried to woo you with, but the honesty of it charmed you. 

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and your thumbs moved quickly as you typed out a response that you hoped would elicit more delightful grumpiness from the older werewolf. 

Fucked many humans, have you?

The self-satisfied grin on your face slipped when James pushed further into your hole, your mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ and your eyes going wide as your body stretched to accomodate his monster cock. 

He was so big and overwhelming, the velvet-wrapped steel of his girth rubbing deliciously against your inner walls while he pressed deeper, that you momentarily forgot about your phone and it fell with a dull thunk to your desk.

When he was still only partway inside your pussy, James paused, as if giving you time to adjust—and giving himself a moment to send an answer to your question. 

My fair share. How many werewolves have you had?

Picking up your phone to read the message, you huffed a dry laugh at James’s blunt question. It wasn’t really his business—though he must’ve seen on your profile that you had a few positive reviews from past werewolf Patrons—but you found you didn’t mind the intrusive question.

For some reason, you felt a connection to James that had always been lacking in your previous clients, werewolf and other monsters alike. You knew it was likely just because he reminded you of the boss you were crushing on and would never have, but you couldn’t help indulging yourself and gave James an honest response.

A few. None as big as you, though.

The werewolf must’ve shunted his hips forward, burying his cock impossibly deeper in your pussy. The sudden surge of pleasure made you forget yourself, and a desperate squeal slipped from your lips before you could clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound.

God, he was so big, the stretch of him burning pleasantly through your core. Your pussy throbbed around the thick girth of his shaft, which was buried so deep, you swore you could feel him in your belly. Pressing a palm to your lower stomach, you stared down at your lap in awe when you could feel the thick steel of him inside your body even while you sat alone in your desk chair. 

The magic of the Pleasure Portal was wild—and you loved it. 

You loved sitting at your desk, in your office above the clouds, stuffed full of werewolf cock where anyone could walk in—where even Bucky could walk in—and talk to you like nothing was out of the ordinary. He’d never know you were full of cock, unless your face gave you away.

That thought made your pussy drip around James’s thick cock, making the slide of his hard length easier as he slipped even deeper. Your moan at the feeling was muffled behind the palm of your hand and you bent over, letting your forehead fall against the cool wood of your desk while you basked in the sensation of being filled so deliciously. 

Even with your thighs trapped tight together by your pencil skirt, the new position opened your body up, and made it easier for James to hilt his monstrous cock in your tight hole. In seconds, he was buried to the base, filling you up more than you even thought possible.

It was all you could do to stifle your blissed-out moans and desperate whimpers in your hand, not wanting to draw your boss’s attention and end your exquisite torment as you writhed in pleasure on James’s cock.

I’m sure you say that to all the monsters on this app.

It took a moment for you to wade through the haze filling your head and grab your phone to read James’s message. 

When you did, you let out an unladylike snort. It was so perfectly grumpy that it made you want to be playful with the older werewolf, an urge you didn’t often care enough about your Patrons to muster.

Gotta earn those tips somehow 🤪

James must’ve let out a low growl at that response, because you could feel the vibration reverberate through his cock where it was buried inside you. 

A soft, pitiful mewl slipped from your lips, and you dropped your head back to your desk with a thunk, your eyes sliding closed as overwhelming pleasure washed through you. 

You’re trouble.

The chime of your phone had you lifting your head back up, your eyes popping open, and you couldn’t bite back the smile at the warm grumpiness of James’s response. 

Something about those two words had your heart doing flips in your chest and the long-dormant butterflies in your stomach taking flight. 

Your inner walls were stretched so perfectly around his hard length, you could practically feel the thrum of his blood pumping in his shaft, and he could feel every throb of your pussy. Your pussy fluttered around the werewolf’s thick cock, and you could feel him twitch in reply. 

It was as if your bodies were conversing in a language all their own.

It was so intimate, the physical connection between you and this anonymous werewolf named James, that you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering to your boss. You wondered if he would be as big, if he’d fill you up as good—if you’d be able to feel every vein and ridge in his cock. 

You wondered if Bucky would be able to make you smile and laugh the way James had. 

And as soon as you had that thought, you realized how unfair you were being to James. It wasn’t his fault you couldn’t get over this ridiculous crush on your boss, and you started to feel bad for thinking about another monster while he was inside you.

So you pushed all thoughts of Bucky aside and refocused on James, picking up your phone to type out another playful response, hoping to get another grumpy reply.

Trouble with a tight pussy, though, right? 😉

Yeah, sweetling, you’ve got a very tight pussy. Feels like you’re strangling my dick.

You huffed a laugh at the vaguely violent description of your pussy, enjoying the blunt way the grumpy werewolf spoke. And if your heart fluttered even more at the sweet nickname and naked praise in James’s message, you ignored the blossoming emotion in your chest. 

The only thing worse than harboring a crush on your unattainable boss was developing a crush on one of your anonymous Pleasure Patrons. That way lay only heartbreak, of that you were certain. So you tried to rein in the feelings developing in your heart.

When you tried to type out another playful message and remain detached, though, your fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, sending a text that was perhaps a little too honest. 

Thank you, sir ☺️ I want to please you.

James’s cock jumped inside you, drawing a low, obscene moan from your lips before you could bite it back, your eyes going hazy as pleasure throbbed through your body. 

Distractedly, you wondered which part of your message had elicited that response from James—whether it was you calling him ‘sir’ or your honest desire to please him. Or perhaps it was both.

Before you could muster up the courage to ask, his next message came through, and your mouth curved into a pleased smile when it answered your unspoken questions.

Keep calling me that and you’ll earn a very generous tip, sweetling. 

A pleased smile bloomed across your face as you read James’s message. You tried to tell yourself it was in response to the prospect of the tip he was offering, and not the sweet nickname, but you weren’t fooling yourself. 

You tried to think of a more playful, detached response, but before you could come up with anything, another message came in.

I have a call soon, I just need some quick stress relief beforehand, but I’ll double your tip every time you cum on my cock.

You breathed a sigh of relief before you could stop yourself, happy to have a break from your flirty exchange with the werewolf to talk about the logistics of your session. Still, you couldn’t stop your pussy from fluttering around James’s cock at his blunt, filthy words. 

He filled you so well, it was almost hard to think, and you blamed your needy distraction for the almost desperate tone of the response you sent him. 

Use me, sir, and I’ll do my best to take it 🫡 That’s what I’m here for.

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. You could feel the way he groaned at your words, the low rumbling of pleasure reverberating through your sensitive inner walls, and making you gush with even more wetness, like your pussy was drooling for the werewolf cock stuffed deep in your hole to fuck you.

Then he was doing just that, using his side of the Pleasure Portal to fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your pussy like you were nothing more than a fleshlight made solely for his pleasure. It was brutal, ruthless, perfect, the way his cock filled your tight hole, the pointed tip bullying your cervix with every merciless thrust.

All you could do was take it, pleasure swarming through your body and overwhelming your mind, until you were little more than the werewolf’s toy, your body hunched at your desk, your face buried in the crook of your arm to muffle your sounds of enjoyment while you took everything he offered. 

Your inner walls were stretched thin around James’s cock, and though the drag of his thick girth felt devastatingly good, it wasn’t enough to make you cum. With trembling fingers, you slipped your hand beneath your pencil skirt, not caring how high up your thighs you pushed the material, just intent about reaching the juncture of your thighs.

It took only a brief brush of your fingers against your clothed clit to set you off. 

Your mouth fell open and you pressed your blunt teeth into your arm through the silk of your blouse, a high-pitched whine falling from your lips as the pleasure in your body exploded and you were carried away in the relentless rhythm of James’s cock pounding into your cunt.

Your panting breath was loud in your ears, but you could’ve sworn you heard a faint groan as your pussy milked the werewolf’s cock, your inner walls clamping down so hard on his thick length, you felt him twitch deep inside you. 

But you brushed off the sound as a figment of your imagination. It must’ve been your mind playing tricks on you, born of a desire to hear your partner when you were alone in your pleasure, with only your gasps and moans as company. You ached to press against James’s sturdy body, to hear his voice, to feel more than his cock…

Thankfully, a soft chime from your phone dragged you back from the sudden rush of loneliness that filled your heart and threatened to consume all your enjoyment like a black hole. 

Good girl. Cum on this fat werewolf cock like the perfect little slut you are, sweetling.

“Oh fuck,” you whispered to yourself, your eyes sliding closed as another shiver of pleasure skated down your spine at his words and his pumping cock. Already, tension was coiling tight in your core again, and you were rocketing toward another release.

You’d never gotten off to the dirty talk your Patrons had sent in the past, but James’s words did something to you no other monster had managed—they made your pussy gush and flutter. They made you moan, the sounds low and lewd as they bounced off the bare walls of the office antechamber. 

James’s message was the ideal mix of praise and degradation. It tapped into your desires so perfectly, you wondered distractedly if he was also a wizard or a mind-reader. 

And then you realized he hadn’t stopped his ruthless pounding even when he’d been texting you, which meant he was fucking his half of the portal with one hand while typing his filthy messages to you with the other.

It all unraveled something in you, and you scrabbled for your phone on the desk, your fingers clumsy and trembling as you typed out a response, desperate for James to know what he was doing to you. You wanted him to know how good he was making you feel. 

You feel so so good inside my tight cunt, sir. Your fat werewolf cock is splitting me open, breaking me apart. Feels sooo good. 

The act of typing out those words made the tension in your body wind tighter, and just as you hit send, you realized you were on the precipice of another release. Quickly, you sent another message without waiting for a response. 

I’m gonna cum again.

Your fingers, which you’d pulled from beneath your skirt so you could text with two hands, slipped back beneath the tight fabric. They squirmed between your plush thighs, which were already pushing the pencil skirt’s seams to they’re limits, and tugged your panties to the side to rub your clit. 

You were careening toward your second release in just a few seconds, your breaths coming in sharp, desperate pants, and your heart pounding in your chest. You could even hear the faint, obscene wet sound of James’s cock pounding into your gushing pussy. 

But all of it fell away when you heard the chime of another message.

Rub your pretty pearl, sweetling, and cum again on this thick werewolf cock. Show me what a good slut you can be for me, use that tight cunt to milk my fat cock. 

Obediently, your fingertips pressed harder to your clit and you rubbed it roughly, matching the rhythm of James’s fucking, until you were shoved over the edge again. Your entire body seized, every muscle in your body going taut, as the tension in your core wound tight and then, suddenly, snapped. 

Dropping your phone to your desk, you shoved half your fist in your mouth to muffle the high-pitched scream that clawed up your throat and wanted to burst free. 

You couldn’t tell how much noise you were making, but you hoped it wasn’t enough to get Bucky’s attention, because you were lost to the bliss James offered. You were a hopeless, pitiful puddle of pleasure in your ergonomic chair—and you never wanted it to end.

While you were in the throes of your release, you thought you heard another groan, deeper and filthier than the one earlier, a sound that matched the way James’s cock kicked deep in your cunt, like he was on the verge of losing himself in your body. 

But that thought drifted away in the current of pleasure that was carrying you along, dissolving as soon as it had appeared, leaving you to revel in your release. 

Distantly, you heard your phone go off, and you reached for it blindly, gasping for breath as you struggled to open your eyes and read the text.

That’s a good girl, cumming so perfectly for me. You have such a slutty hole, sweetling, cumming all over my werewolf cock and clutching at me like you’re begging for more. Do you want another one, my sweet girl?

A soft, sharp whine slipped from your lips and you had to bite down hard on your plush lower lip to stifle the sound. Even still, it ricocheted off the bare walls in the antechamber, and you hoped the thick wood of Bucky’s office doors muffled it. 

But you barely paid your boss any mind, fingers trembling with need and excitement as you typed out a response to James with one hand.

Yes, please, sir. Please make me cum again, I wanna cum all over your big werewolf cock. You fill me up so so good. I wanna bounce on your huge, perfect cock and take every inch of your fat knot, sir. Please!

James’s reply came back so quickly, even you were stunned with how fast it appeared. All he said was: 

Fuck. You can’t be real.

You had little time to marvel over those words, and the way they made your heart flutter dangerously in your chest, because in the next breath James was pounding into you even harder. 

He used your cunt as his own personal pleasure portal, fucking you like you were the stress relief he deserved, shoving his entire length deep inside your pussy. The narrow tip of his cock battered against your cervix, pushing into it a little more each time, giving every thrust a sharp edge of pain that made the pleasure even more exquisitely devastating.

It was all too good, too perfect, your mind splintering as the world around you fell away entirely. You were no longer the senior EA to werewolf CEO Bucky Barnes, you were a Pleasure Pocket made to be used by every manner of monster for their pleasure. 

No, not just any monster—you were made specifically for James, 42, werewolf. You were his personal sex toy, his pocket pussy, his fuck hole. And all you could do was take it—take his cock, take the brutal pounding he offered, and the bliss that came with it, and let him take his pleasure in your body.

You imagined James on the other end of the magical portal, holding the cylindrical fleshlight-like device in his big hands and yanking it down on his impossibly thick cock. You pictured him fucking the portal toy—and, by extension, your cunt—with everything he had, sweat beading on his face, the muscles in his broad body shifting beneath his fur and skin.

Before you could stop it, the image in your mind shifted, the generic figure of a werewolf morphing into something more familiar, something resembling the daydream you’d had earlier. 

In your mind’s eye, James became Bucky. 

You could so easily picture the way Bucky’s bright blue eyes would flash with hunger and darken with lust as he pounded into your tight cunt, the emotions churning like the sky during a summer thunderstorm. 

It was far too easy to imagine the way his sharp canine teeth would glint in the lights of the office as he bore down on your body, his expensive suit only undone enough to free his cock, the gush of your pussy making a mess of the front of his slacks as he split you open with every thrust.

His inhuman muscles would strain the seams of his suit, making them cling to the bulge of his biceps and the flexing of his thighs as he fucked you on his desk. You’d be entirely at his mercy, which was exactly where you wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—even with James.

A pang in your chest dragged you out of your fantasy, and you remembered the werewolf who was actually fucking you. You felt a little bit bad for daydreaming about Bucky when you were with James, especially since the latter had quickly become your favorite Patron. But, you reasoned, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

So you sank deeper into your daydream about your boss, imagining it was Bucky fucking you instead of some random stranger on the other end of the Pleasure Portal. 

The combination of James’s perfect cock and your imagination’s perfect picture of Bucky was too much for your mind and body to take. The werewolf was fucking you too hard and too fast, and you were breathless from the pleasure, unable to stop yourself from speeding toward a devastating release. 

You held on for as long as you could, but James seemed intent on making you cum again before his call began. And the werewolf confirmed as much when your phone chimed with another message.

Do it. Cum on my cock, sweetling. Be a good girl and give it to me so I can fill you up with my knot and stuff your tight pussy full of cum. Then you can sit pretty on my fat werewolf cock like a perfect little knot slut while I take this call.

Those filthy words were all you needed to push you over the edge. 

A breathy, high-pitched cry escaped your lips before you could stop it, but you were too far gone to care. Pleasure overwhelmed you, blackness creeping into the edge of your consciousness as your body shivered and shook with the force of your release.

All the while, your pussy was clamped down on James’s thick cock as he kept fucking you, like your body was begging for his cum. His hard length vibrated with a groan you could’ve sworn you could hear. You swayed perilously in your chair, your eyes closed and your entire being focused on the cock bringing you so much pleasure.

The werewolf lasted only a few more moments, his thrusts turning wild and erratic as he rutted into your too-tight cunt. Then he was shoving his cock deep in your hole, his knot inflating and stretching the edge of your hole a second before his big cock twitched inside you, spilling his cum in your plugged pussy.

Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden stretch of James’s knot, and though there was a brief moment when you worried he might be too big for you to take, your body was loose and relaxed enough from your three orgasms that it adjusted. You were left with a feeling of being blissfully full.

It felt so good, in fact, that you leaned back in your chair with a sigh of contentment. Your fingers trapped between your thighs stroked your clit and your pussy pulsed with one more release. 

Pleasure shivered down your spine as you came again, and your inner walls fluttered weakly around James’s cock, sucking him deeper while his shaft throbbed and he filled you with cum.

Did you just cum for a fourth time, just on my knot?

You dragged your hand from beneath your skirt to grab your phone when it chimed. A sated smile curled the corners of your lips as you read James’s message, your pussy fluttering with happiness. 

The smile bloomed into a full-blown grin when you typed out your response, going for playful but ending up sending something entirely too honest. Again.

Yes, sir 🥴 I wouldn’t have thought of myself as a knot slut, but I think you’ve converted me. 

Haha

James’s dry response had a pleased sense of pride filling your chest. It was the first time he’d shown any kind of emotion outside of his dirty talk, and your heart squeezed, even as you told yourself nothing good could come of the little crush you were developing on your Pleasure Portal client. 

Before you could spiral about how you felt about James, though, another text from the werewolf came through your phone. 

Time for you to rest, sweetling. Be a good girl and keep my cock warm while I take this call. If you’re patient, I’ll use you again and double your tip.

You smiled at James’s message. Of course you could be patient and good, especially for him. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable and accustomed to the feeling of fullness in your core.

It was a little strange, the feeling of James’s thick cock and full knot inside you, mainly because you were still alone at your desk, high above the New York City skyline, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, you thought you might be able to get very used to sitting on a werewolf’s knot, and even enjoy it very much. 

But you would’ve rather been able to do so in the presence of the werewolf whose knot you were tied to.

A pang of loneliness pierced your heart, and you thought of the werewolf whose knot you really wanted to be tied to, but you quickly pushed it away. Instead of thinking about your boss, you focused on the throbbing pulse between your thighs where you were tied to the anonymous werewolf.

Thank you, sir. Knock ‘em dead 😘

As soon as you sent the message, you wanted to take it back. Blowing a kiss felt too…romantic, too intimate for a Pleasure Pocket and their Patron. But the little note had already popped up confirming James had seen it. He didn’t respond, though, and you had to assume his call had started.

You tried to distract yourself by checking on your own work. 

The fleet of assistants were all busy with their tasks, and according to Bucky’s schedule, he was in a meeting for the next couple hours. 

It was a relief to know your boss wouldn’t be interrupting your session with James, and you wondered distractedly if they might happen to be on the same call. But then you snorted and shook your head at the ridiculous thought. Not every werewolf knew each other, you chastised yourself, and it was small-minded to think otherwise.

It was just a coincidence that James was in a call at the same time that Bucky was in a virtual meeting. 

Satisfied that there wasn’t any work to be done, you got comfortable in your chair, and closed your eyes against the bright summer sun filtering in through the windows of the antechamber. You allowed your mind to drift and daydream to your heart’s content.

You wondered what James looked like—what color his eyes were; what shape his canine teeth were, if he left them sharp or had filed them to be blunter and more socially acceptable. You wondered if he was broad-shouldered, like Bucky, or lithe and slim like other werewolves you’d seen.

All the while, you tried to ignore the building restlessness in your body. 

You should’ve been plenty sated after James gave you four orgasms in such a short period of time, but the constant fullness of his cock in your cunt and his knot stretching the rim of your hole was enough to make you needy again.

Still, you remembered James’s last command, and you did your best to sit still, be patient and not bother him. It wasn’t that you cared much about the tip he’d offered, you just wanted to be good for him. 

After a while, James’s knot deflated enough that he could’ve pulled free and ended the sessions, but he kept his cock lodged inside you. His cum was slowly seeping out around his thick girth, soaking your panties and creating a sticky mess between your thighs. 

Unfortunately, that only turned you on more, your renewed desire mixing with the copious amount of James’s cum, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t stop squirming in your seat. Unable to stop yourself, you slid a hand beneath your skirt, already bunched up around your thighs, and rubbed your clit teasingly.

The touch was enough to make your pussy pulse around James’s cock, and you felt his thick length kick in response. He’d softened a little since unloading his cum in your pussy, but you felt him start to harden again.

A second later, your phone chimed. 

Sweetling.

A shiver of desire slid down your spine at the warning in James’s tone, even through text. 

You knew the message was meant to stop you from distracting him during his call, but you couldn’t help yourself. You stroked your clit, delighting in the feeling of your pussy throbbing and his cock twitching deep in your tight hole, growing to fill you again. 

With one hand, you typed out a reply.

I tried to be good, sir, but I’m just a silly knot slut who needs you to fill me up with your fat werewolf cock again until you’re pumping my tight cunt full of your cum and tying me to your cock with your knot 🤪

James’s response came back a few seconds later.

I knew you’d be trouble.

You gave a soft snort at his words, and though it was difficult to discern someone’s tone over text, you got the impression James’s comment was said with warmth. 

Before you could analyze it any more, the werewolf’s cock began to move inside you. He fucked you in slow, shallow strokes that gave you only a fraction of the friction you needed to get close to cumming again. 

You expected him to pick up speed, but he went on like that for long, torturous minutes, until a pitiful whine was building in the back of your throat and you were scrabbling for your phone. 

In just a few minutes, James had reduced you to a desperate mess, your hips squirming restlessly in your chair, your body uselessly trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

Please, sir. Please fuck me, use my tight pussy to make your cock feel good. You’re tormenting me. I can’t get off like this. Please!

Writhing in your chair, you unbuttoned your blouse down to your bra, brazenly groping your tits and plucking at your nipples while you tried to give yourself the stimulation James seemed determined to withhold.

His next reply seemed to take forever. 

Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you decided to be a naughty knot slut instead of a good, patient girl like I asked.

A frustrated sound wrenched free from your lips and you abandoned your tits to drop your hand between your thighs. You rubbed your clit madly, intent on eking out a release despite James’s torture. 

James must’ve felt the way your pussy spasmed and fluttered around his cock as your pleasure ramped up, because another message came through.

If you cum, you won’t get any of the tip you’ve earned.

Your mouth twisted in a snarl and you rolled your eyes. Of course every man or monster using Pleasure Portal assumed you could be controlled with money. They all assumed that was the only thing you were after. 

You’d never been more grateful for Mr. Barnes’ generous salary than in that moment, because it meant you could care more about your release than James’s threat.

You kept rubbing your clit, rocking your hips on your seat until the ergonomic chair began to squeak. You were desperately clawing your way to the peak of your pleasure, and though you could already tell it wouldn’t be anywhere near the heights you’d reached earlier with James, it would at least take the edge off. 

But then the werewolf’s next message made your fingers go still. 

If you cum, I won’t use your pussy again. 

Your whole body shuddered in protest at the idea of not feeling James’s cock pounding into your cunt again, and a tiny growl slipped from your lips. 

It took a great deal of effort, but you pulled your hand from between your thighs and typed out a reply.

Fine.

You couldn’t help but tack on another message, anger, desire and frustration swirling through your body and making you feel far too comfortable with your client.

You’re a mean werewolf.

Faint vibrations reverberated through James’s cock and you thought he’d chuckled at your message, though you couldn’t be sure. Even more frustration surged, and for the first time since you started using the Pleasure Portal, you wished you were actually with your client. 

You wanted to see James’s reactions, you wanted to hear his voice and feel his strong body beneath yours while his cock filled you up…

That’s ‘You’re a mean werewolf, sir’ to you. 

James’s message brought your attention back to him and, despite yourself, you giggled at his ridiculous joke. Some of the frustration had drained from you as you eased back from the edge of your release, and you were ready to forgive him. 

But before you could, he sent another text.

Don’t worry, sweetling, my call’s almost over. Then I’ll use you the way you want. 

With a happy grin, you settled back into your chair and waited patiently, keeping the werewolf’s cock nice and warm in your dripping pussy. You kept your thoughts on easy things like your plans for the next weekend as you watched the sun slowly descend on New York City, the shadows growing long as they stretched across Central Park.

True to his word, James’s call ended not too long after his last message. You knew the moment it was over because he started fucking you hard and fast again, so suddenly you cried out, careless about whether your boss could overhear you. 

Thankfully, those thick wooden doors to Bucky’s office must’ve swallowed the sounds you made. You shoved your hand under your skirt, rubbing your clit, desperate to reach the crescendo he’d denied you during his call. 

Cum on my cock, sweetling. Gimme all your sweet cream while I fill you up with so much cum, your belly will be bloated, stuffed full with my seed and knot.

As soon as you read James’s message, you were lost to the pleasure of his words and his cock, and your fingers on your clit.

You muffled a piercing scream in the palm of your hand as you came, your mind flooding with pleasure and your pussy clamping down possessively on James’s cock while he rutted into you. You were so far gone in your bliss, you thought you heard a roar over the rush of blood in your ears, but you didn’t think it could be real.

Then all thoughts were pushed from your mind and you could only focus on your own clenching body, the warm waves of bliss surging through your limbs as James’s knot inflated and tied you together. His cock twitched as his cum spilled inside you, filling you beyond what you thought possible. 

You looked down at your belly, watching it swell slightly; your eyes widened, and your pussy gave an excited pulse. The sight was so obscene, you couldn’t help your response, but the werewolf on the other end of the portal didn’t seem to mind.

James’s cock kicked and reverberated like he’d groaned or chuckled, and you softened, relaxing into your seat as you enjoyed the aftershocks of your release. All the while, you lightly stroked your ever-so-slightly distended belly with a sense of pleased satisfaction. 

While you floated in your post-orgasm haze, your phone chimed with a sound like a cash register. Lazily, you picked it up, knowing it wasn’t a text, and read the screen.

Your jaw dropped and your whole body clenched in surprise at the amount of money James had tipped. His cock twitched as if in response in your cunt and you pressed your palm to your lower belly, as if to calm him, while you blinked a few times.

Still, the absurd number remained on your phone’s screen. 

You earned it, sweetling. 

The message popped up in the app and you clicked on it, navigating to your exchange with James. Your fingers were clumsy as you typed out a reply.

Thank you, sir. You’ve been so incredibly generous.

You chewed on your lip, thumbs hovering over the screen as you wondered if you should say more. 

You didn’t want James to think your session was all about the money, but was that a ridiculous thought? Maybe it was all about the money to him. He was using an anonymous sex portal app, after all. Not looking for someone to form a connection with.

But it still seemed like there was something more between you two, right? You felt more comfortable with him than you had any other client, like you knew him already somehow…

Before you could agonize over your exchange with James any more, a new message from the older werewolf came in. 

You were the best stress relief and cockwarmer, sweetling, and I enjoyed our afternoon together. I hope you’ll accept me as a Patron again.

James’s words settled the anxiety brewing in your chest and you let out a sigh of relief. You knew it didn’t mean he’d ever want more than you offered on Pleasure Portal, but at least he wanted to be with you again. It was as simple as that, you didn’t need to overcomplicate it.

He wanted to have another session with you—and you wanted that as well. So you told him as much. 

I had a good time, too. You’re welcome to use me any time you want, sir ☺️

The two of you chatted about unimportant things until James’s knot deflated, and he instructed you to drink plenty of water and have a nutritious snack. You promised him you would and bid him goodbye before ending the session.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you suddenly realized how late it had gotten and you pushed yourself up to your feet.

All the blood rushed to your head and you swayed for a moment, blinking spots from your eyes. Remembering James’s words, you gulped down some water from your reusable water bottle and grabbed a snack from your desk along with a spare set of clothes you kept on hand for messy Pleasure Portal sessions.

In the bathroom, you changed and cleaned yourself up, glad that Bucky was already in his office when you got to your desk that morning so he wouldn’t notice you were wearing something different if you ran into him.

Though that was a big if.

Your heart sank a little at the reminder of your unrequited crush on your boss, but hope filled you again when you thought of your newest Pleasure Patron. It might be another silly crush on an unattainable man, but at least James seemed interested in you.

By the time you made it back to the antechamber outside Bucky’s office, it was time for you to gather your things and head home. 

You were bent over your desk, your hips straining at the seams of the slightly smaller pencil skirt you’d thrown on, having forgotten it had shrunk a little in the wash, when a door opened behind you. You jumped and straightened up, nearly dropping your water bottle and spilling it all over your desk. 

“Oh! Mr. Barnes,” you said, spinning to find your boss towering in the doorway of his office, broad shoulders filling the space. “Heading home early?” you asked in a bright, professional tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from your voice. 

It wasn’t often that you saw your boss. He was always in meetings or coming or going from his office so that you only got cursory glances of the large werewolf. But he was paused for once, and you took a moment to look him over.

He had a mop of dark brown hair, worn just a little bit shaggy so no one could ever accuse him of trying to pass as anything but a werewolf. His blue eyes were bright and sharp in the late afternoon light, and you could see just a hint of his canine teeth as he offered a charming smile.

That expression on Bucky’s face nearly bowled you over. Your eyes skimmed quickly over his broad shoulders, trim waist and thick thighs before returning to the handsame face of the werewolf that haunted your daydreams. He looked every bit the important CEO, but there was also a looseness in his body you’d never seen before.

“I am,” Bucky said, his blunt words drawing you back to the moment. He held a hand out in a gesture for you to precede him to the elevators beyond the antechamber outside his office. “Let me walk you out.”

The offer was so surprising, all you could do was murmur, “Oh, thank you,” before scurrying in front of him. As you began to walk, you felt James’s cum begin to leak from your pussy and you moved faster.

Your belly wasn’t bloated anymore, and you’d cleaned yourself up as well as you could in the bathroom, but your Patron had filled you with so much cum, you expected you’d be leaking for the rest of the day, if not into the morning. 

You hoped desperately that your boss couldn’t smell it, because if he did, you wouldn’t have any explanation if he decided to question why you smelled like another werewolf’s cum when you were meant to be working at your desk outside his office.

When you came to a stop at the elevator bank, Bucky gently laid a hand on the small of your back and leaned around you to press the button. Thankfully, he didn’t show any signs of smelling James on you, and you exhaled a silent sigh of relief. 

The two of you made idle chatter while you waited for the elevator—you asked him how his afternoon meeting had gone and the edge of Bucky’s mouth fluttered like he was holding back a smirk while he told you it went very well. He said he’d gotten everything he wanted. 

Then he asked how your afternoon had gone, and you’d stumbled out a response about being very productive, all while more of James’s cum leaked from your cunt. 

As  you talked, you got the sense that Bucky was in a better mood than usual. He was certainly more talkative and open with you than was typical for the older werewolf CEO. He was polite, of course, but he mostly left you alone to do your job, only communicating via email.

But that particular afternoon, he seemed…happier. His icy blue eyes were warm, crinkling at the sides whenever he chuckled, and his smile was quicker, easier somehow. 

Impossibly, it made Bucky Barnes even more attractive to you. 

He was hot as the brusque and busy werewolf CEO, but this side of him, which was charming and warm, was even hotter. You could feel your heart unfurling in your chest, your feelings for your boss not only returning, but blossoming into something you didn’t know if you’d ever recover from.

When the elevator finally arrived, it was empty, and you gave yourself a subtle shake as you stepped in, reminding yourself that your boss was off-limits and likely didn’t see you as a potential partner. 

Bucky followed you, pressing the button for the lobby and turning to you as if to continue your conversation. But just then, the door whooshed closed and you were alone in a small, enclosed space with your boss—your werewolf boss. 

You were already looking at him, anticipating what he’d been about to say, so you were able to watch the change in his demeanor as it happened. 

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and his shoulders stiffened, his bright blue eyes darkening with something you could only describe as hunger. His gaze raked over your face, and his chest expanded as he took a deep breath, his thick muscles testing the limits of his suit. 

You watched as recognition dawned in his sharp, icy eyes, and if your mind wasn’t so sluggish after your afternoon of orgasms, you might’ve understood what was going on, what he was realizing. 

As it was, you still hadn’t caught up with the shift in Bucky. You stared at him in confusion as he stepped quickly to the side, his thick finger pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator. It shuddered to a halt between floors, leaving you alone with your boss.

Slowly, Bucky turned to you, his eyes flashing with lust and his teeth bared so that you could see the light glinting off his canine teeth. He prowled toward you slowly, like he was trying not to spook you. 

All you felt was intrigued, a thrill of excitement shooting through your body as you allowed Bucky to back you into the corner of the elevator until his chest was a hair’s breadth away from yours. Your chest was heaving in your blouse with excited, panting breaths, and your head was tilted back, watching Bucky’s face closely.

The purr that came from the werewolf CEO was so low and dark, you hardly recognized it as belonging to your boss, even as the sound went straight between your thighs. Your pussy thrummed eagerly in response, like it knew something you didn’t—like it recognized him in a way you didn’t understand yet. 

“Tell me, sweetling,” Bucky Barnes rasped, staring deep into your eyes as his big hand settled possessively on your hip. You swayed into him, watching his pink mouth framed by dark, gray-streaked stubble as he voiced the question that would change everything. “Why do you smell like my cum?”

thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

as a reminder of my blog's rules, please do not comment/reblog only to request a part 2! specific questions and comments about the fic, the characters, and the larger universe are entirely welcome!! i just ask that you please engage with my story rather than simply demanding more!!

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement Masterlist

Pairing: Tommy Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Your stepfather made an ill-advised wager with Arthur Shelby and when he lost the coin toss, you were are to be given to Arthur for the night. And you will be taken tonight. Just not by Arthur…

The next day, after claiming you himself, Tommy doesn't return you to your home in Small Heath to face the consequences of actions that weren't yours. He tells you he's keeping you hidden, to send a message to those in Small Heath who think that when you gamble with the Peaky Blinders, you don’t walk away unscathed.

Is that his only motive? Or could it be that he doesn't plan to let you go... ever?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 (The End)

[catbayunthestoryteller]

Almighty Cure

Pairing: Sanji x f!reader

Summary: the reader is studying to be a doctor like Chopper with the Witch up on the mountain. She heals Sanji and he falls for her while she tends to him. Later, she and Chopper join the Strawhats crew and Sanji tries even harder to pursue her.

The cold bit at skin like it had teeth. It bit through wool, skin, bone, until everything felt brittle and distant. Snowy wind screamed around the mountain like an angry spirit, battering the walls of the old castle and rattling the shutters in their frames.

Inside, the castle smelled of medicine: dried herbs, boiled roots, and old stone warmed by fire.

You stood at a long wooden table, grinding dried leaves into powder with a mortar and pestle. Your hands moved automatically. Grind. Turn. Grind again. Outside the wind howled like a wounded beast, but you barely noticed it anymore.

You had lived on this mountain long enough that winter was simply part of life.

“Too coarse,” came the voice behind you.

You didn’t even look up.

“I’m not finished,” you replied calmly.

“Mm,” hummed Dr. Kureha. “You should have been.”

You finally lifted your eyes.

The old woman leaned against the doorway with her usual sharp, hawk-like expression, long white hair tied behind her shoulders. Even after all this time, she had the unsettling ability to look both amused and annoyed simultaneously.

“You’re getting slow,” she added.

“I’m getting thorough,” you said.

A snort escaped her. “Doctors who take too long lose patients.”

“Doctors who rush lose them too.”

She stared at you for a moment. Then she barked a laugh. “Fair enough.”

A sudden crash echoed from somewhere outside.

Both of you froze.

Footsteps thundered across the upper hall.

Then the door burst open and a small figure tumbled inside in a flurry of fur and panic.

“Doctorine! Doctorine!” cried Tony Tony Chopper.

You straightened immediately. “What happened?”

“There are people!” Chopper blurted. “On the mountain! They collapsed outside!”

Kureha sighed as though someone had interrupted her afternoon tea.

“Well go drag them in then,” she said.

“They’re already here!”

Another pair of doors slammed open down the hall.

You hurried after Chopper, boots echoing on the stone floors.

The scene you found in the entry hall looked like a battlefield casualty ward.

Three unconscious bodies lay sprawled across the stone floor, surrounded by snow that had melted into puddles.

One was a young woman with bright orange hair: her skin pale, breathing shallow.

Another was a tall young man with a straw hat lying beside him, his limbs spread like someone who had collapsed mid-step.

And the third...You paused. Blond hair. A long black coat half-torn from climbing the cliff.

His chest rose slowly, painfully. Blood stained the side of his shirt.

Kureha knelt immediately beside the orange-haired girl.

“Poison,” she muttered after checking her pulse.

Chopper gasped. “What do we do?!”

“Treat her before she dies,” Kureha snapped.

She glanced at the straw-hatted boy. “Hm. Hypothermia.”

Then her eyes flicked to you. “And the blonde idiot broke a rib or three.”

Your gaze dropped to him again. His lips were blue from the cold. Frost clung to his eyelashes.

He looked…absurdly handsome for someone half-dead.

“Get the girl upstairs,” Kureha ordered. “She’s the priority.”

Chopper scrambled to obey.

“And the boy with the straw hat,” she continued, already walking away, “throw him in the hot bath before he freezes solid.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “And him?”

Kureha waved a hand dismissively. “You handle the cook.”

You blinked. “How do you know he’s a cook?”

She snorted. “Look at those hands. No swordsman’s calluses. And he smells like spices.”

…Fair enough.

You crouched beside the blond man. His chest shifted sharply when you pressed your fingers along his ribs. Definitely injured.

“Let’s see what trouble you’ve brought us,” you murmured.

You slid an arm beneath his shoulders and hauled him up.

He was heavy. Dead weight always was.

Dragging him down the hall was an exhausting process that involved slipping on melted snow twice and muttering several creative insults about strangers collapsing on your doorstep.

Eventually you shoved open the door to the bath chamber. Steam filled the room. The large wooden tub was already half full with hot water. Perfect.

You laid him on a bench first and began removing his coat. It was soaked through with melted snow. Then the shirt.

You paused briefly when his chest was revealed. Not because you were shy but because the injury was worse than you expected.

A deep bruise stretched across his ribs. Possibly cracked.

“Of course,” you muttered. “Why wouldn’t you fall down a mountain.”

You grabbed a cloth and began cleaning the wound. His skin was freezing beneath your fingers. He needed warmth immediately.

Once you were satisfied the injury wasn’t bleeding internally, you slid your arms beneath him again and dragged him toward the tub.

With considerable effort, you dumped him into the hot water.

The splash soaked your sleeves.

“Wonderful,” you said flatly.

You leaned against the tub edge, watching him.

His blond hair floated slightly in the steam. He looked peaceful. Which was irritating, considering the amount of work he’d caused.

Minutes passed. Then his eyelids fluttered. Slowly, blue eyes blinked open.

They stared at the ceiling for a moment in dazed confusion. Then they shifted and landed directly on you.

For a few seconds, he simply stared.

Then his expression transformed. His eyes widened. His mouth curved.

“An angel…” he breathed hoarsely.

You stared back blankly.

“Ah,” he continued weakly, pressing a hand to his chest. “Have I died? Because if heaven looks like this...”

You flicked water directly into his face.

He sputtered.

“No,” you said. “You’re alive. Unfortunately.”

He blinked. Then smiled again.

“You wound me, beautiful stranger.”

“Your ribs did that already.”

He glanced down at his bare chest. Then back at you. His smile turned dazzling.

“I don’t remember removing my shirt,” he said lightly. “But I must say, I’m honored you took the initiative.”

You crossed your arms. “If you flirt one more time, I’ll throw you back into the snow.”

He laughed. “Oh. A fiery angel.”

“Doctor,” you corrected.

“Even better.”

You sighed. “Do you always talk this much after nearly freezing to death?”

He leaned back in the tub, eyes studying you. “Only when greeted by a beautiful woman.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Your ribs are cracked,” you said flatly. “And you had hypothermia. If you move too much, they’ll break.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Then I suppose I should remain very still…while admiring you.”

You stared at him.

He grinned.

You grabbed a towel and draped it over his shoulders. “You need to warm up slowly.”

He watched your hands carefully. “You’re really a doctor?”

“Training to be one.”

“Then I’m in excellent hands. Are my friends alright?”

You nodded. “The girl with orange hair is being treated.”

Relief flooded his face. “And the captain?”

“In a bath like you.”

He exhaled slowly. “Good.”

The flirting faded slightly from his expression. For the first time since waking, he looked tired. You wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

“Rest,” you said.

He watched you. “Why do you live up here?”

You shrugged. “To learn medicine.”

“From the witch?”

Your lips twitched. “Yes.”

He tilted his head. “That must mean you’re brave.”

“Or stubborn.”

He smiled faintly. “I like stubborn women.”

You sighed. “I gathered.”

A moment passed.

Then he spoke again: “My name’s Sanji.”

Sanji.

You told him your name. He repeated it slowly.

“It suits you,” he said.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you saved my life.” He looked thoughtful. “And that you have terrifying patience.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a compliment.”

“It is where I’m from.” he said breezily.

You studied him. There was something sincere behind the charm. Something kind.

“So, you’re a cook,” you said.

He blinked. “How did you know?”

“You smell like pepper and citrus.”

He laughed. “Sharp nose.”

You shrugged. “Sharp teacher.”

He looked down at the water. “I had one too.”

You waited.

“My old man,” he said.

“Your father?”

He shook his head. “Not by blood.” He looked up again. “He raised me.”

You leaned against the tub edge. “He must’ve cared about you.”

Sanji smiled faintly. “He kicked me down the street and told me to chase my dreams.”

“That’s…an interesting parenting method.”

“It worked.”

You tilted your head. “And your mother?”

He went still. The silence stretched. He shook his head. “She died when I was young.”

You nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It happens.”

But the way his fingers tightened on the towel told another story.

“You left people behind too,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Everyone does eventually.”

He smiled gently. “Then I suppose we’re both chasing something.”

“Maybe.”

He leaned back again. “You should come with us.”

You froze. “What?”

“Our ship.”

You stared. “You just met me.”

He grinned. “And you've already saved my life.”

“That’s not how crew recruitment works.”

“Worked for our captain.”

You sighed. “Your ribs must’ve rattled your brain.”

He laughed. Then winced again. “Ah.”

“Stop laughing.”

“Can’t help it when you’re around.”

You opened your mouth to retort. But then the door burst open. Chopper rushed in.

“She’s awake!” he cried.

Sanji’s head snapped up. “Nami?!”

“You should stay here,” you said.

He immediately tried to stand and nearly collapsed. You caught his shoulder. “Idiot.”

He grinned weakly. “But she’s alive.”

“Yes.”

Relief softened his entire expression. You helped him sit back down.

Moments later, the hallway filled with voices.

The next morning, the castle felt different. Warmer. Laughter echoed through the halls. Nami was recovering. Luffy had already eaten half the kitchen. Sanji, wrapped in bandages, insisted on cooking breakfast anyway.

“You should be resting,” you told him.

He smiled. “Cooking is rest.”

You snorted.

Later that day, Chopper stood beside you on the balcony.

The Straw Hats’ ship waited below the mountain.

“They’re going to leave,” he murmured.

“Yes.”

He looked at you. “…I want to go.”

You weren’t surprised. “You should.”

His eyes widened. “You think so?”

“Yes.”

“You?”

You hesitated. Then looked downstairs. Sanji stood below, arguing with Luffy. He glanced up and spotted you. His face lit up immediately and he waved enthusiastically.

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

“…Maybe,” you said quietly.

Chopper gasped.

And just like that, the next adventure began.

The sea felt very different from a mountain.

On Going Merry, the world was never still. The deck creaked, ropes hummed in the wind, and waves slapped gently against the hull in a rhythm that slowly replaced the constant howl of Drum Kingdom’s storms.

Life among the Straw Hat Pirates was loud, unpredictable, and filled with arguments that somehow ended in laughter.

Monkey D. Luffy shouted constantly. Roronoa Zoro slept in impossible positions. Usopp told stories that grew more dramatic with every retelling. Nami counted money like it personally offended her.

And then there was Sanji.

Sanji had a problem.

The problem was you.

Or more specifically, your medical cabin.

When you and Tony Tony Chopper joined the crew, the lower storage room had quickly been converted into a small infirmary. Shelves were filled with bottles, herbs, bandages, and neatly labeled medical supplies.

It was quiet there. Peaceful.

Which was exactly why Sanji hated it. Because you were inside it. And he was not.

The first day after leaving Drum Kingdom, he lasted six hours. Six.

You were seated at the small table, carefully organizing dried herbs when the door creaked open.

Sanji stood there, leaning against the doorway.

You didn’t look up. “What hurts.”

He blinked. “…What?”

“What hurts,” you repeated calmly. “Because you shouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He pressed a hand to his forehead with theatrical exhaustion. “A terrible headache.”

You glanced up. His hair was perfectly styled. His posture straight. He looked extremely healthy.

You sighed. “Sit.”

He obeyed immediately, sliding onto the bench.

You moved closer and placed your fingers against his temple. His eyes immediately softened.

“Does it hurt here?” you asked.

“No.”

“Here?”

“Also no.”

“Then where?”

He hesitated. “…When you stop touching me.”

You removed your hand instantly. He gasped softly as if you had stabbed him.

“You’re fine,” you said.

“But my suffering...”

“Out.”

He laughed as he left. But ten minutes later he returned. This time holding a small plate.

“Peace offering,” he announced.

You looked down. A delicate pastry dusted with sugar.

“…You're bribing the doctor.”

“I thanked the doctor.”

You took the dessert. “Leave.”

“Worth it,” he said cheerfully.

The second visit came that afternoon. You were examining Chopper’s notes when the door opened again. Sanji shuffled in slowly holding his neck.

“My neck,” he lamented.

You stared. “What about it?”

“It’s stiff.”

“Why?”

“Kitchen work.”

You sighed. “Sit.”

He obeyed eagerly. You stepped behind him and pressed your fingers along the back of his neck.

His shoulders instantly relaxed.

“…Heaven,” he whispered.

“Does this hurt?” you asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

“For preventative care.”

You stopped touching him. He groaned. You pointed at the door. He left. And returned fifteen minutes later with a bowl of caramel pudding.

The third visit was a stomachache.

“The risks of culinary innovation,” he declared solemnly.

“Did you poison yourself?”

“Possibly.”

You sighed. “Sit.”

You placed a hand on his stomach.

His eyes widened.

He stared at you like you had personally delivered salvation.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why...”

“But I feel better already.”

You removed your hand. “Out.”

He left a chocolate tart on the table.

The fourth visit involved a cut on his hand. This one was actually real. A thin slice across his palm. You cleaned it carefully. Sanji watched you the entire time. His usual teasing had softened.

“You have gentle hands,” he said.

“You have reckless knife skills.”

“I was distracted.”

“By what.”

“You.”

You tightened the bandage. He didn’t complain. When you finished, he held up his hand and admired the work. “Beautiful.”

“It’s gauze.”

“It’s art.”

He left three cream puffs.

The visits continued: headaches, burns, splinters. A mysterious “fatigue of the soul.” You rejected every dramatic complaint. But you treated every small injury. And Sanji loved every second of it.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting the sea in shades of amber and violet.

You were alone in the infirmary when the door opened again. Sanji stepped inside.

You looked up. “What hurts?”

He walked closer slowly. “My heart.”

You stared. “…No.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not a real medical complaint.”

He sat across from you.

“Doctor,” he said gravely.

“Patient,” you replied.

“My heart hurts terribly.”

You folded your arms. “Describe the symptoms.”

“It beats too fast when you’re near.”

You sighed. “And?”

“It breaks when you reject me.”

You pointed to the door. “Out.”

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he gently took your hand. You froze. Before you could protest, he guided your hand to his chest. Pressed it there, over his heart. You felt it immediately: fast, wild, like a drum in his ribs.

You opened your mouth, but then something strange happened. The rhythm slowed. Until his heartbeat settled into a calm, even pulse beneath your palm.

Sanji watched you softly.

“See?” he murmured. “You’re the remedy.”

You pulled your hand back. “That’s not how medicine works.”

“It works perfectly.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love.”

You stared at him. “You say that to every woman.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Just you.”

The room fell silent.

“Don’t worry,” he added lightly. “Your rejection breaks my heart every day.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yet you’re still here.”

He shrugged. “I heal overnight.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m persistent.”

He stood. Straightened his jacket. “And I will never stop pursuing you.”

You rolled your eyes. But your lips twitched.

Sanji noticed. His grin widened like he had just discovered treasure.

“Progress,” he whispered.

“Out,” you repeated.

He saluted and walked to the door. Placed a small plate on your desk. A delicate strawberry dessert.

“For the doctor.”

You watched him go. Then looked down at the pastry and sighed.

The first sign something was wrong was silence.

The kitchen of the Going Merry was never quiet when Sanji was inside it.

There was always something: metal tapping against bowls, knives striking cutting boards with confident rhythm, the low whistle of a melody drifting out between simmering pots.

But that afternoon the ship smelled faintly of overcooked rice and the kitchen was quiet. You noticed it immediately. So did Tony Tony Chopper. The two of you exchanged a look across the infirmary table.

“That’s strange,” Chopper murmured.

You stood. Very strange.

Sanji normally appeared in the medical cabin five times a day with various theatrical ailments. Today, he hadn’t appeared once.

You climbed the stairs to the kitchen.

The door creaked open.

Sanji sat slumped against the counter. His blond hair hung loosely across his eyes. His cigarette sat forgotten between his fingers, burnt to ash.

“Sanji?” you said.

He looked up slowly. And immediately you knew. His face was pale, eyes glassy. smile weak.

“Well hello, doctor,” he murmured hoarsely.

You crossed the room. Your hand pressed to his forehead. Hot. Very hot.

“You’re burning up,” you said sharply.

He chuckled weakly. “Just a small fever.”

You grabbed his wrist. His pulse raced under your fingers. “When did this start?”

“Earlier,” he admitted.

“Why didn’t you come to the infirmary?”

His smile softened slightly. “…Didn’t want to worry you.”

You stared at him. Then grabbed his arm. “Up.”

“But dinner...”

“Up.”

Even sick, he obeyed immediately.

You dragged him toward the infirmary.

Chopper looked up as you entered. “Oh no!”

“He has a high fever,” you said.

Sanji collapsed onto the bed with a groan. Chopper began rummaging through bottles. You prepared the medicine quickly and held the cup to Sanji’s lips.

“Drink.”

He obeyed. Then leaned back against the pillow. His breathing was uneven. You frowned.

Hours passed. The medicine should have helped. But the fever barely dropped. Sanji tossed weakly against the blankets. Sweat clung to his skin. His breath came shallow. You pressed a cool cloth to his forehead again.

“Come on,” you murmured softly.

Chopper paced beside the bed. “Why isn’t it working?”

“I don’t know.” Your stomach twisted. You checked his pulse again. Still too fast. Sanji stirred slightly.

His eyes opened halfway. “…Doctor.”

“I’m here.”

He smiled faintly. “Told you…you’d always cure me.”

You forced a calm expression. “Of course I will.”

He drifted back into uneasy sleep. Night fell over the ship. The crew slept. But you stayed beside his bed. Hour after hour.

Sanji’s fever worsened. His breathing turned ragged. Your hands tightened around the edge of the mattress.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You had medicine. You had knowledge. You were supposed to fix this.

“Sanji,” you whispered.

He didn’t respond.

You pressed your hand to his chest. His heart raced wildly beneath your palm.

Your throat tightened.

“You promised me,” you murmured.

Your voice trembled slightly. “You said I could always heal you.”

Sanji shifted weakly. You leaned closer. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re not allowed to break promises.”

Your hand remained over his heart, feeling every frantic beat.

“You hear me?” you whispered. “You stubborn idiot.” Your voice softened. “Please get better.”

He didn’t answer.

You leaned down. Your lips brushed his temple. A soft kiss.

“Come back,” you murmured. Another kiss. This time against his cheek. “You can’t flirt with me if you’re dead.”

You exhaled shakily. Your forehead rested lightly against his. “…Sanji.”

Hours passed.

The fever slowly began to break. His breathing steadied. His pulse slowed beneath your hand. Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair beside him, your hand still resting over his heart.

Morning sunlight spilled through the infirmary window.

Sanji woke slowly. His body felt weak. But the fever had faded. He blinked at the ceiling. Then turned his head. You slept beside the bed. Your hair was slightly messy. Your hand still resting over his chest.

Sanji stared quietly. He remembered fragments.

Hours later you woke and immediately began checking his temperature again.

“How do you feel?” you asked briskly.

“Alive.”

“Good.” You scribbled something into your notes.

Sanji watched you carefully. “You kissed me.”

Your pen stopped. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

He grinned. “I remember.”

“You were delirious.”

“You kissed my cheek.”

“You hallucinated.”

“You kissed my temple.”

“Fever dream.”

“And you told me to come back.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re making things up.”

Sanji leaned back against the pillow, looking extremely pleased. “You care about me.”

“I care about my patient.”

“You kissed your patient.”

“I did not.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Strange.”

“What.”

“Because I definitely remember how soft your lips were.”

Your face heated. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And alive,” he said cheerfully.

He swung his legs off the bed.

You stepped forward immediately. “You’re not fully recovered.”

“I feel great.”

“You were nearly dying last night.”

“But I had the best doctor.”

You sighed. “Sit down.”

He didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer.

“You kissed me,” he said softly.

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I was checking your temperature.”

“With your lips?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Sanji lifted a hand slowly, brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped. You exhaled. “You’re still sick.”

“Probably.”

“You should rest.”

“Probably.”

“Then go back to bed.”

“Probably.”

He didn’t move. He leaned down and kissed you. Carefully as though giving you time to pull away.

For a moment you did nothing. Then your hand slid into his shirt, resting over his heart, the same place you had held all night. His heartbeat sped beneath your palm. You kissed him back. His hand gently cupped your face. The kiss deepened slightly.

When you finally pulled away, Sanji looked dazed.

“…Doctor.”

You cleared your throat. “You’re still sick.”

His grin returned instantly. “Then I suppose I’ll need regular treatment.”

You pointed at the bed. “Rest.”

He obeyed immediately. Because now, Sanji had proof. And he would absolutely never stop pursuing you.

a/n: You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3

(All my fics are free to read, support is voluntary)

a/n: I tried to match the show's fast pacing dialogues, don't know if it works. English is not my first language.

a/n: I took the liberty of creating a taglist for the people who commented on my post that they'd read a fic like this if I wrote it. Hope you like it! <3

@ymeyummy @yohanseyebrowmole @myhusbandsandwifeys @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms @diana2001sblog @multifandomgirl2018 @taro-gabi @fayxv @xenvondegurechaf @bubblefoxie @kin-moon @cottagecoreforvever @elorabean @frieschan @soomxsss

[froggiewrites]

Hot and Cold

Pairing: Sanji x Reader x Zoro

NSFW

Summary: When Zoro fails to come home before a major storm hits, you and Sanji set out to rescue him. But as the cold sets in, you might end up the one who needs help. Luckily, Sanji and Zoro know exactly how to warm you up. Content: Fem!Reader, Huddling For Warmth then Fucking for Warmth (in that order), Threesome, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Outdoor Sex Word Count: 5.3k

“Stop worrying, he’ll be alright.” Sanji’s voice is gentle, as is his hand on your shoulder as he tries to lead you back inside. His thumb brushes against your lip, which you realize with a start you’ve been chewing on. “The idiot’s strong, he can handle a little snow.”

“It’s more than a little,” you mutter, brushing off his hand and pressing yourself against the railing of the Sunny. Nami had warned everyone they needed to be back to the ship before sunset to avoid a huge storm front rolling in, and everyone had listened attentively. Except, of course, for your swordsman, who is nowhere to be found. “What if he’s lost?”

“He’s definitely lost,” murmurs Usopp, voice muffled behind his scarf. “But he’s been lost in worse situations before, he’ll be fine.”

“See, angel? He can handle himself. We need to get you inside before you freeze. You’re already shivering.” Sanji’s eyes and voice are so soft, so convincing, and his hands are so warm, but you can’t help but imagine Zoro freezing to death in a ditch somewhere. He can handle any enemy, you’re sure, but no man can fight the elements. Especially not shirtless with nothing but his swords and a flask of sake.

“I’m gonna go after him.”

“You’re what?” Usopp sounds nauseous at the idea.

“You are not,” Sanji insists, voice more authoritative than he’s ever used with you. “It’s dangerous out there, and you’re not superhuman like him. You have terrible circulation, you’re halfway frostbitten just standing here. You’ll freeze in that storm!”

“So will he! He’s not invincible, no matter how hard he tries to convince everyone he is. I’m gonna find him, and either we’ll come back to the ship or take shelter in the village. But he’ll never find his way back on his own, he’ll probably walk into the ocean by accident or something.” You pry your freezing cold fingers from the railing, shoving them into your pockets and taking purposeful steps toward the plank. You know you should pack supplies, or get a better coat at the very least, but if the crew unites to stop you there’s no way you’ll make it off of the ship. Nami will tie you down before she lets you risk yourself like that. Your best bet is rushing off before anyone can stop you. Sanji and Usopp won’t hold you back, no matter how worried they are.

You’re surprised to feel Sanji’s hands on you again, fingers tightening firmly against your arm. “Absolutely not. It’s not safe.”

“You take risks for this crew every day, you can’t stop me from taking my own.”

“I–” He huffs, clearly frustrated. “I’m not going to stop you. I’m coming with you.”

“What?” You and Usopp chorus, your voice hopeful, his horrified.

“Just give me a second to grab you a thicker coat and some gloves, at the very least. I’m not sending you out into a storm underdressed and alone.” He chews on his cheek, turning something over in his head, light behind his eyes dimmed, and you almost feel guilty dragging him off with you. The image of Zoro, buried beneath the snow, only one single callused hand reaching out of the bank into the sky quickly alleviates the feeling.

“We need to hurry.”

“We will.”

And he does. He may not have any sense of urgency for Zoro, but he seems to know if he takes a second too long you’ll dash off into the distance alone. He returns with a scarf and gloves for you, as well as a puffy coat in your size that you’ve never seen before in your life. He wraps you up so tightly you can hardly feel your arms, but you can’t bring yourself to scold him once you notice the slight tremor in his hands. He’s so worried for you, so afraid of what could happen, but he’s coming with you anyway. He can fuss as much as he wants if it helps him. “Thank you.”

“Of course, angel.” His eyes aren’t on you when he speaks, which is a rarity for him. They’ve fixed on the clouds rolling in on the horizon, engulfing the mountain you’re heading toward. There’s a slight wrinkle in his forehead, one you fight the urge to reach out and smooth.

“We should probably get going, huh? The longer we wait the worse our chances of finding him are.” You offer him your hand, which he takes gratefully, squeezing you once. You don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“Yeah, we should.” He sets a quicker pace than usual, one you hate to admit you struggle to keep up with. He’s normally wonderfully attentive when you’re together, always hyperaware of every thought and feeling you have, but now he’s on a mission. You suspect he’s more worried about Zoro than he’ll admit, and adding on his self-imposed duty to protect you, you imagine he’s probably pretty overwhelmed.

You start in the village at the base of the mountain, asking the few villagers brave enough to venture out if they’ve seen a large man with green hair.

“Nope, haven’t seen anyone like that. Hey, you two are foreigners, right? You should get inside before you lose your chance.”

“No, I haven’t. Are you sure you should be out right now?”

“Haven’t seen anyone like that. Do you two need somewhere to stay? The inn might be full, but I have an extra room. You shouldn’t stay out in this.”

You feel yourself losing hope with every rejection, but a petite old woman somehow says exactly what you needed to hear.

“That swordsman? Yeah, I saw him this morning climbing up the mountain. Told him it was stupid with the storm rolling in, and he told me to mind my business. What a rude little thing. He’s probably freezing to death up there.”

“He went up the damn mountain?” Sanji is usually loath to raise his voice in front of a woman, but he looks about ready to wring Zoro’s neck. “Why the hell would he do that?”

“Said something about training? I don’t know, probably up there sitting under waterfalls or cutting trees in half, or something else foolish. If he hasn’t come down yet, he probably won’t. It’s hard enough to get up there in fair weather, it’s nearly impossible in a storm. You two should stop looking and take shelter.”

“Thanks for the advice, ma’am, but we’re not going to abandon our friend for being stupid. If we did that, we’d hardly have any left.” You grip Sanji’s hand tighter, and he accepts it without complaint. “Is there anywhere up the mountain he might have taken shelter if he came to his senses?”

“If? Not when? God, kids these days. He’d probably take the main path up, it leads to a nice clearing with plenty of room to run around, and it’s pretty close to the waterfall. There’s a cave behind it he could have ended up in, plus a few cliffs that could block the worst of the snowfall. But I really can’t endorse you going up there to get yourselves killed.”

“We appreciate the concern, ma’am, but we’re tougher than we look, I promise.” Sanji gives a brilliant smile, the same one he gives every woman, but you know him well enough to see the strain at the edges. “We’ll make sure to get him as soon as we can, and take shelter as soon as possible. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Hm. Well, it’s no problem. You two stay safe, alright? It wouldn’t be right if you got yourselves hurt trying to help your friend. He made his own choices.” She gives you both a look of pity before moving on, marching her way home before the snow comes down so quickly she can’t see in front of her.

“I’m gonna kill that mosshead when we find him.”

You want to scold him, but this really is stupidity beyond the pale. “I won’t stop you.”

“That means a lot, dearest.” He lifts your hand to rub it against his cheek, and you ignore the rapid beating of your heart to focus on your mission. Zoro is in trouble. For once, you can save him, instead of him saving everyone else at the cost of himself.

The trek up the mountain is…unpleasant, to say the least. The snow is coming down harder with every passing second, and it wasn’t exactly a smooth walk up in the first place. You nearly twist your ankle a dozen times before Sanji finally gives up.

“I’m carrying you.” His arm is around your waist before you can protest.

“What? No!”

“I’m sorry, angel, but you’re going to hurt yourself, and it’ll be faster this way. And the faster we get to Zoro, the faster we’re out of this.” For maybe the first time in his life, Sanji ignores your request and pulls you into his arms. You’re pressed against his toned chest, your face pressed directly against the buttons of his shirt, shielded against the wind. You squeak in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to be angry with the pace he’s pushing himself to. He clearly wants to find Zoro just as quickly as you do, even if you suspect your reasons are slightly different.

“God, why couldn’t he have left a trail of footprints or something? If he was going to get lost on a snowy mountain, the least he could do is make it easy for us.” You can feel his grumble in his chest.

“I’m sure if we tell him next time he’ll stomp as he walks up.”

“He damn well better. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately, before even beginning to assess your condition.

“Try that again.”

You take a second, reconnecting with your body and doing a full scan top to bottom. You’re shivering violently, your teeth chattering in a way you thought only happened in cartoons. “I’ve…been better. But I’ll be okay, we can keep going.”

Sanji lets out a dissatisfied hum but doesn’t press the issue any further, which is the best you could hope for. “I’m going to make him pay for making you suffer like this.”

“Is being stranded in a horrible snow storm not enough?”

“No.” His answer is nearly instant, and you can’t help but laugh. How very…Sanji of him.

“I hope he’s okay,” you whisper.

“...I’m sure he will be.”

You notice he doesn’t use the present tense, but you’re too focused on trying not to shiver to push him.

You don’t know how much time passes. It could be minutes, hours, god, it could even be days. The cold seems eternal, the snow neverending. You can’t see more than a foot in front of you, if that. Sanji’s footsteps are confident, assured, but you don’t know how he could possibly know what’s in front of you.

“I think we’re close.”

You pull your head away from his chest to look at his face. His cheeks and nose are red and chapped, the cold clearly doing a number on him, but he’s doing better than you, at least. “How do you know?”

“I just do. Just hold on for a little longer, okay?” He tightens his grip on you, shoes digging further into the snow with determination. You have no idea what he sees or feels, but you trust him implicitly. Zoro must be close.

The ground changes from snow to stone, and you stop being pelted with snowflakes. You can hear water nearby. You can’t bring yourself to lift your head from Sanji’s chest, eyelids heavy and body cold. “Are we in a cave?”

“Yeah, we are, and the idiot is definitely here. I can smell him.” There’s a slight shaky chuckle in his voice, and you know the joke was definitely for your sake more than his. You can’t bring yourself to laugh, but you hope he feels the impression of your smile against his chest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Hearing the voice of Roronoa Zoro sounds like coming home. You hear shuffling, and suddenly there’s a third hand against your back. “And what the hell did you bring her here for? She shouldn’t be out in this storm.”

You can feel every muscle in Sanji’s body tense. “Yeah, dumbass, I fucking know! But she was so worried she couldn’t stand it, and I couldn’t convince her to stay on the ship! Be grateful she cares enough about you to get like this in the first place!”

Zoro makes a choked noise in his throat, one you pretend not to notice, simply curling in further to Sanji’s intoxicating warmth. “She…she insisted on coming out here?”

“Yeah, asshole, so be grateful. And get a fire going or something, she’s freezing.”

“I tried,” Zoro snaps, “But the wood is all wet from the damn snow.”

You can feel Sanji walk a few more feet before you’re both on the ground, you cradled carefully in his lap. “Well we need to figure something out. We can’t leave her like this for the whole storm.”

“Aren’t you cold?” It comes out as little more than a whisper, but you know they both heard you. 

Sanji makes a noise resembling a whimper. “We’re alright, angel, don’t you worry about us. We found Zoro, we did exactly what you wanted. So rest now, okay? We’ve got it.”

“What the cook said. We’re okay, don’t worry.” Gentleness doesn’t come naturally to a seasoned fighter like Zoro, and you can feel him fighting his every instinct as he speaks, but by god does he manage. A large hand presses against your head, a normally stern voice soft in your ear. “You don’t need to worry about us. It’ll take more than a little cold to take us down.”

“I think this is more than a little.” You press into the warm hand against your head, and your arms wrap around Sanji without you thinking about it.

“You might be right about that, but still,” Sanji insists, “We’ll be alright. Just focus on staying awake and keeping warm, okay?”

“I’m okay, I’m not all that cold,” you murmur, “I can hardly feel it.”

“That’s worse,” Zoro says bluntly. Judging from the noise of pain he makes, Sanji kicked him for the comment. “It is worse!”

“It’ll be okay, princess. We’ve got you.” Sanji sighs quietly, a noise of resignation, before you hear something you never thought you would. “Get over here, mosshead. We need your warmth.”

“What?”

“She’s freezing, she needs more heat, you've got some. Get over here before I come to my senses.” He’s speaking through gritted teeth, clearly not thrilled at the prospect. Something hard and warm presses against your back, and before you know it, Zoro’s chin is resting on your shoulder, his chest against your shoulderblades.

“Only for her,” he mutters softly.

“Yeah,” Sanji snaps, pulling you impossibly closer. You can’t help but sigh at the warmth surrounding you, the comforting hardness of the two men you care about most in the world. You feel them both relax at the sound of your pleasure, and you can’t help but shift to get more comfortable.

You never thought you would hear Zoro make a noise so…pathetic.

“Stop that,” he snaps quietly, beginning to shift away from you. You can’t help the absolutely pathetic whine that escapes you, and he stops in his tracks.

“Let her do what she wants,” Sanji insists, his voice similarly tight.

“Is this what you wanted the whole time, you pervert? I’m not gonna let this happen while she’s vulnerable.”

“You idiot, we need to stay strong for her. She’s trying to get comfortable. Our feelings don’t matter. Overcome your body. Isn’t that part of your training?”

“A woman grinding on me isn’t training, moron!”

Oh.

In your haze, you kept pushing deeper and deeper into them, and only just now have you realized the consequences of this. With Sanji against your front and Zoro against your back, you’ve been shoving your chest further into Sanji’s, and your ass against Zoro’s crotch. There’s two hard objects pressing against you right now, and you have a feeling you know what they both are. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry, I’m just so cold–”

“Don’t worry about us, angel. You just focus on staying warm.” Sanji’s voice is so gentle, so kind, but there’s a shake beneath it, a heat you recognize.

“Y–yeah, don’t worry about us.” Zoro, not one to be outdone, pulls you closer against him, pressing your wet shirt further against you. There’s a heat seeping through, of course, but you can’t help but whine at the discomfort. The snow that was pelting you before has melted into the fabric, trapping the cold against your skin. You shift again, trying to alleviate the feeling, but there’s nothing to be done. As long as you’re wearing this coat and these pants, the horrible tight stickiness and persistent cold won’t leave.

But obviously, you can’t strip in front of your crewmates. You don’t even have anything to change into.

You sit for a few minutes in tense silence before Sanji speaks up. “Are you warming up at all?”

You want to lie, to deny the reality you’ve realized, but you can’t quite bring yourself to die for your pride. “I–I don’t think so. My clothes are wet, so–”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I didn’t realize,” Sanji mutters, full of apology.

Zoro, his bluntness welcome in this moment, says exactly what you were hoping to hear. “Oh my god, take them off, idiot!”

“You can’t say that to a lady, idiot!” You don’t know if you’ve ever heard Sanji so angry. “You can have my suit jacket, angel–”

“Your suit is also soaked, idiot cook! It will just make it worse. Do you want her to freeze for propriety?”

“I’m surprised you even know that word, you brute! God forbid I value her privacy–”

“She can have as much privacy as she wants six feet under, but I bet she would prefer to live! Isn’t skin to skin better for retaining warmth anyway?”

Sanji goes quiet at that, and you lift your head to see the conflict in his eyes. Lust, decency, and his desire to protect you are battling, and you can’t tell who’s winning.

“Sanji?”

“Yes, dear?” His eyes just barely manage to focus on you.

“It’s okay. I trust you guys.”

You don’t know if you’ve ever seen a man hornier in your life. He looks like he’s won the lottery, even with the small doubts still lingering in his mind. Zoro clearly has his doubts as well, but you can see he’s far more focused on solutions to your problems than his own feelings on them.

“I’m gonna strip you now, is that okay?” Zoro hands are already reaching for the button on your jeans, and you just barely manage to nod. Zoro’s hands are as unsteady as you’ve ever seen them, not as confident on your waistband as they are the hilt of a blade, but he peels back the fabric inch by inch just fine.

In contrast, Sanji’s hands are quick and confident as they unzip your coat, removing your arms from the sleeves just as delicately as he tucked them in. He places your coat to the side, quickly removing your shirt in a similar fashion, leaving you in just your bra and underwear pressing against his wet shirt and pants, along with Zoro’s wet bottoms.

“Better?” You don’t know if you’ve ever heard Zoro so unsure.

“A little. You guys are still kind of wet, and I think it got all the way down to–” You cut yourself off, scolding yourself mentally. They’re only slightly damp, and the two men around you are as uncomfortable as it is. You don’t need to push it. You’ll survive with stiff nipples and a cold ass for a few hours.

Suddenly Sanji and Zoro chuckle, and you’re reminded that you’re surrounded by two of the strongest demons on the Grand Line. You can feel the rumble of laughter in their chests.

Zoro speaks first, hardly a trace of his initial hesitation remaining. “Oh, is that so? You need something else to stay warm?”

“Do you know what you’re asking for, angel?” Sanji’s voice is tense, controlled, and ready to break at any moment. His hands are against your waist, his eyes boring into yours. There’s a fire behind them, one that matches the intensity of the man behind you. There’s no sign of their earlier tension, too focused on you to remember their eternal fight.

Part of you still hesitates, the sane part that knows this is going to change a lot more than you’re ready for. But you’re so very cold, they’re so very warm, and a larger part of you has wanted this for a very long time. “I do.”

Your underwear is off before you even realize they’ve started moving. Sanji’s hands engulf your chest, his palms warm against your cold nipples. Zoro’s lips are against your neck, warm and comforting, before his teeth scrape against your skin, making you squeak. You can feel him smile against you.

Sanji’s still in his dress pants, though his shirt has disappeared. Your hands wander across his chest, admiring the hair painted across it and the way it emphasizes his pecs. You can feel Zoro’s massive chest pressed against your bare back, still slightly damp from the snow, soft relaxed muscle pressing against your shoulder blades. There’s something hard pressing both against your front and back, only separated from you by a few flimsy pieces of fabric. You think you’d kill a man to feel them both at once.

“Please–” You hardly get out the word before Sanji’s lips are against yours, swallowing your plea as his hands leave your breasts just long enough to let Zoro squeeze them. The swordsman is breathing heavily against your ear, his hips rutting just once against your ass. You moan, allow Sanji’s tongue to dart between your lips. You hear the sound of a belt unbuckling, or perhaps that was two? Zoro’s hands are pinching your nipples, making you whine, and making it really hard to concentrate on anything but the heat rapidly overtaking your body.

“We’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.” Zoro’s voice is husky as he pants, nose nuzzling lightly against your head. He squeezes you again, once, twice, rutting against you again, and you realize with a start there’s nothing between you anymore. Did Sanji take off his pants for him?

Maybe they’re better at working together than you give them credit for.

Sanji finally pulls back to breathe, letting you gasp for the air you’ve desperately needed but absolutely refused to pull back for. Light headed and dizzy, you lean forward, pressing your face directly between Sanji’s pecs. They’re somehow both soft and firm, perfectly sized, and, most importantly, very, very warm. You don’t even realize you’re nuzzling into him until you hear his laughter. “I think she has a favorite, mosshead.”

“Yeah, right! She hasn’t had the choice yet, idiot, you’ve had her pressed against your chest since you got here. She has no idea what she’s missing out on.”

“She just has discerning taste. Unfortunate for you, huh?”

Maybe they aren’t great at working together after all. You giggle, and that might be the last mistake you ever make. You feel their attention shift back to you, two predators no longer pulled away from their prey.

“Oh, you think this is funny, princess?” Zoro almost says it like an insult, but the way his hand slides across your stomach is almost heartbreakingly tender. “I think that means we haven’t been doing our jobs, huh, cook?”

“I think you’re right, mosshead. Clearly we aren’t taking good enough care of her if she can be distracted like that.” Something warm and hard rubs directly against your clit, making your head shoot up as you gasp and jump back, directly into Zoro’s crotch. “That’s more like it.”

Zoro nips at your neck again as his hand reaches lower, parting your lips and exposing you to both of them. “You shouldn’t be the only one with a view, hm?”

You think the cold might be making you delirious. It has to be, for you to say something so stupid without a second thought. “So you admit Sanji’s a view?”

Sanji laughs, a true, genuine full body laugh. Zoro chuckles as well, but his is far less genuine and far more dangerous. “Oh, you really think this is funny. Don’t worry, we’ll fix that.”

You peek over your shoulder to see his face, and the look in his eyes sends a chill down your spine and heat right to your core. You immediately look to Sanji for help, but you find no sympathy, his eyes focused downward, breathing heavily just at the sight of your cunt. “Oh, god, you’re beautiful.”

“We can agree on that,” Zoro mutters, breath tickling your ear. “You ready, cook?”

“I think I was born ready for this.” He takes his beautiful cock in his hand, pumping once, twice, lining himself up with your entrance. You can feel Zoro shift behind you, and you know he’s doing the same.

“It’s a shame you can’t see me, beautiful. You deserve to see my cock before it makes you scream my name, don’t you think?” His teeth sink into your neck again, making you moan, and you can see Sanji’s cock twitch at the sound.

They don’t speak as they both move forward in sync, pressing their tips against both of your holes. They allow you just one moment to catch your breath before they move, Sanji tortuously slow, Zoro mercilessly quick. Zoro is buried to the hilt before Sanji is even halfway inside, and you cry out, hands clawing against Sanji’s chest and Zoro’s thigh, a pathetic whine echoing against the cold stone that surrounds you.

You expect Sanji to stop, to cradle your face in his hands and kiss your tears away, but he keeps the same pace, voice sympathetic but firm. “I know, angel, I know. Just a few more seconds, then you can adjust. You can do it, I know you can.”

“Yeah, you’re strong, you can handle it. Can’t you?”

You whine again, nails definitely making a mark in Zoro’s firm thigh. “No, I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” they insist in unison, voices soft. Your torture ceases as Sanji comes to a stop fully inside, and you can finally breathe again, blissfully and terribly full. You feel stretched beyond belief, as though you’ll rip in half at the slightest movement, but somehow you don’t. Two voices whisper soothing words in unison, though you can’t focus on them. A thumb brushes against your cheek, gathering the wetness that gathers there, and a pair of lips presses against the other cheek.

“You’re doing amazing.”

“You’re wonderful.”

“So strong.”

“So good for us.”

Their voices blend together, as do their actions, every hand somehow belonging to both and neither as they roam your body. One cradling your cheek, another rubbing soothing circles against your back. Slowly you come back to yourself, the feeling of fullness growing normal, feeling right, almost like you were made for this.

“Are you ready?” You can’t say who asked. You can’t even recall what you answered. You just know that a moment later, two sets of hips begin to piston into yours, pace steady and slow, as two sets of lips begin to kiss every exposed inch of your skin.

The callused hand against your clit is Zoro’s, you think. You can feel the roughness of his fingertips, hardened from years of training, not harsh against you, but certainly not merciful.

The hands against your chest are certainly Sanji. The fingers that roll your nipple between them are soft, precise, never faltering. The lips against your other breast are soft and gentle. You never once feel even a hint of teeth.

Zoro’s canines press into your neck. You cry out as he begins to thrust faster, out of sync with Sanji, finger moving carelessly against you. He can barely bring himself to rip his mouth away from your skin, determined to mark you before the night is over, but he does for just long enough to growl, “So fucking good for us.”

Sanji pulls his mouth from your chest with a loud pop. “So good, princess, so wonderful. Like you were made for this. Like we were made for you.”

You can’t respond coherently, moaning out something that might resemble one of their names, or might be a cry to the divine. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Yes,” they mutter in unison. Sanji’s hips speed up to match Zoro, his pace a little less steady and a little more frantic. His face is flushed, his pupils blown out, his hair askew. Zoro’s free arm pulls you tightly against his chest, causing Sanji to push further forward, crushing you between them.

“Are you warm?” Sanji’s staring directly into your eyes, hardly blinking as his fingers dig into your hips, every one of his thrusts bringing him to the hilt. “Is it working?”

Zoro huffs something that might be a laugh in your ear. “I think she’s burning hot, Sanji. Keep going.”

You expect him to bristle at the order, but instead he smiles wider than you’ve ever seen, pressing his face into your neck.

You can hardly take a full breath, every passing moment pulling your muscles tighter and tighter, so much that you feel like you might snap in two. Invisible strings pull you up, up, up, your shoulders curling inward as your nails dig so hard into Zoro’s thighs you think you might be close to drawing blood. A single stroke of Zoro’s finger lines up perfectly with his and Sanji’s cocks pressing into every sensitive spot you think you have, making you cry out, pull inward again, before every part of you is wracked with your orgasm.

Your cunt clenching around him is evidently too much for Sanji, as his thrusts become unsteady and he whines into your neck as he spills into you. He cries your name as his arms wrap around you, pressing between your back and Zoro’s abs.

Zoro follows not long after, speeding up to an impossible pace before one final thrust does him in, his hands grasping at your ass as he cums. The three of you sit, panting in a desperate attempt to catch your breath, before you just barely manage to squeeze out a few quiet words. “Thanks for warming me up.”

They both laugh, faces hidden in either side of your neck.

“It’s what I live for, angel.”

“Anytime, princess.”

They’re slow to separate from you, Zoro pulling out from you inch by tortuous inch as you whine. “I know, but it has to happen eventually.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole. I’m gonna die like this,” Sanji grumbles into your skin. 

“You might if you let the cold set in, dumbass.” Something hits you in the back of the head, making you cry out, before you realize what it is: a blanket.

You stare at him. “You had a blanket this whole time?”

You can’t see the look on Sanji’s face, but judging by how smug Zoro looks, you’re missing out. “It wouldn’t have helped with those wet clothes anyway. We made enough heat for it to work.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the truth becoming clear. “You forgot.”

“What? No!”

“You forgot, and post nut clarity made you remember.”

“Never say that to me again. And no!”

Sanji pulls away from your neck, and you turn to look at him. “I think he forgot.”

“He definitely forgot.”

“Shut up!”

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @eggrollforyou

[amaris-whisperer]

The 101st Member l Roronoa Zoro x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (OPLA) x Fem!Reader Genre: Action romance, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort Summary: Years ago, Zoro was a bounty hunter, and you were the elusive fixer who always slipped through his fingers. Now, as an undercover agent for Baroque Works, you find yourself as the 101st member standing between him and his escape from Whiskey Peak. Note: My masterlist

--

The air in the East Blue always smelled like salt and cheap iron. Back then, Zoro was not a pirate. He was a hunter with a heavy sword and a scowl that scared off most men. I was the one person who didn't run. I was a fixer for the underworld. My job was to clean up messes, and Zoro was often the one making them.

We met in the narrow alleys of Loguetown and on the shifting sands of nameless islands. Every time we crossed paths, our blades met with a sharp ring that echoed through the night. We would stand close enough to hear each other breathe.

He had a look in his eyes that was both lethal and curious. I remember the way he would tighten his grip on his swords when I managed to slip away. I always left him behind, disappearing into the shadows before he could claim a victory.

I was the only one who could find him when he took a wrong turn. More than once, I had led him back to the main road without saying a word. He hated that. He hated that I knew his weakness. He never thanked me, but he never truly tried to cut me down either.

There was a silent understanding between us. We were two forces moving in opposite directions, destined to collide but never to stay.

Then, I received the invitation from The Baroque Works, and I became Ms. Midwinter.

I convinced myself that a man like Zoro would forget a ghost from his past. He had a dream to become the greatest swordsman, and I was just a distraction he had encountered during his wanderings.

On the day I left, I watched him from a distance. He was sitting by the docks, cleaning his white blade. I wanted to go to him, but I turned my back on the East Blue and the hunter with the green hair. I stepped onto a ship heading for the Grand Line, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of my perfume in the wind.

I told myself he would find someone else to track his steps. I told myself that my heart was not breaking as the shore faded into the mist.

Years passed in the desert heat of Alabasta and the dark corners of the organization.

I rose through the ranks, becoming a shadow among shadows. I heard rumors of a Pirate Hunter joining a crew of misfits, but I pushed those thoughts away. I was a professional. I had a mission to complete.

I buried the memories of our stalemates under layers of lies and duty. I lived as a stranger in my own skin, waiting for a day that I thought would never come. I settled into my role as the 101st member of a trap, never imagining that the man with three swords would be the one to spring it.

--

The moonlight over Whiskey Peak was cold and sharp. I stood in the shadows of the stone buildings, watching the aftermath of a slaughter. A hundred bounty hunters lay scattered across the dirt.

In the center of the clearing stood the man who had caused it all. He wore a navy shirt that was damp with sweat and dust. He did not look like a hero. He looked like the swordman I used to know in the East Blue.

I stepped out from the darkness, my Baroque Works coat fluttering in the wind. I was the one hundred and first member. I was the one who was supposed to finish what the others could not. I saw his shoulders stiffen as he sensed my presence.

He turned slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. When his eyes met mine, the air seemed to leave his lungs.

"You," he said. His voice was a low growl that vibrated in the quiet night.

"I have a different name now, Zoro," I replied. I drew my daggers, my hands trembling slightly. "I am Ms. Midwinter. I have a job to do."

He didn't wait. He moved like a blur of blue and steel. Our swords collided with a force that sent sparks flying around.

This was not like our old stalemates. There was a new ferocity in his movements. He pressed forward, forcing me to retreat toward the edge of the bar. Every strike was a question I didn't want to answer. He wasn't just fighting a bounty hunter. He was fighting a ghost.

"You disappeared," he growled, his teeth gritted as he locked his blade against mine. "I searched every port from Loguetown to the Grand Line. I thought you were dead."

"Why would you care?" I shouted back. I tried to hold my tears. "I was just a fixer. I was a target you couldn't catch. You only want to win. You only want to collect my head like the others."

"You think this is about a bounty?" He pushed harder, his face inches from mine. "I didn't forget you. I never forgot that scent of yours."

I swung my dagger at his side, but he parried it with ease. I felt small under his gaze. I believed his anger was because I had escaped him years ago. I thought he was furious that a spy had tricked him for so long. I was fighting for my life, while he seemed to be fighting for the truth.

We were caught in a dance of steel that neither of us wanted to end. He was difficult when it came to feelings, but his swords spoke for him.

They told a story of a man who had been lost without the one person who could find him. I realized then that we were both bleeding from wounds that had nothing to do with blades.

--

Time passed, and I could feel the vibrations of the battle in my very bones. Around us, the air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the stinging scent of gunpowder.

My breath came in shallow, ragged hitches. My muscles screamed with a fatigue that went deeper than skin and bone. I was holding my twin daggers in a cross guard, but the weight pressing down on me was too much.

Zoro was not just using his swords. He was using his entire being to crush my resistance. The navy fabric of his shirt was soaked through, clinging to the hard lines of his chest.

I looked into his eyes and saw a terrifying focus. It was not the cold gaze of a bounty hunter looking for a payday. It was the burning stare of a man who had found a ghost and refused to let it slip back into the ether.

"Give it up," he growled. The sound was raw, vibrating through the hilts of our weapons.

"Never," I spat back. But my voice lacked its usual edge. I was trained to be cold, to be efficient, and to be gone before the dust settled.

I saw a split second of an opening. I shifted my weight, trying to slide beneath his guard. I planned to throw a smoke pellet and vanish into the labyrinth of dark alleys behind the tavern. I had escaped him a dozen times in the East Blue. I had left him standing on docks and in forests, searching for a trail I never left. I was the master of the exit.

But this was not the East Blue, and Zoro was no longer the man who simply wandered into my traps.

As I turned to spring away, he moved with a speed that defied logic. He didn't reach for his third sword. Instead, he dropped the blade in his right hand. The heavy steel hit the ground with a dull thud.

Before I could even gasp, he lunged. His hand shot out, catching my shoulder and spinning me around. I felt the rough, splintered wood of the tavern wall slam into my back. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs.

My daggers fell from my hands, clattering uselessly onto the stone. He didn't give me space to breathe. He pinned my wrists high above my head, his fingers locking around them like iron manacles. He used his body to cage me in, his chest heaving against mine. The heat radiating from him was staggering.

"Don't you dare move," he hissed. His face was so close that our noses brushed. I could see every bead of sweat on his brow and the dilation of his pupils. "You are not running again. I am done chasing you through every port in the world."

"I have a mission, Zoro," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "I am not the girl you knew. I am a shadow. I belong to the agency."

"You belong to me," he countered. His words were heavy and determined.

He didn't wait for my rebuttal. He leaned in, his lips crashing against mine with a desperation that felt like a collision.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was a battle. It was a claim. It tasted of the cheap whiskey from the bar, the salt of the ocean, and years of unspoken frustration.

I felt the rough stubble on his jaw and the heat of his breath. It was an insane thing to do in the middle of a war zone, surrounded by a hundred fallen men, but Zoro had always been a man who lived by his own rules.

I tried to turn my head, to find some air, but his mouth followed mine relentlessly and hungrily.

"You think... you can just... take what you want?" I managed to gasp against his lips, our mouths barely parting.

"I've been waiting... since Loguetown," he muttered back into the kiss, his voice a low vibration that I felt in my own throat. "Shut up and stay put."

"You're a fool," I breathed against his lips, but my hands were no longer fighting his grip. They were searching for a purchase on his navy shirt, bunching the fabric between my fingers. I was kissing him back with a ferocity that matched his own. I was letting the mask of Ms. Midwinter crumble into the dirt.

His lips moved against mine with a punishing rhythm. "Tell me you're not going," he demanded. The words muffled as he bit at my lower lip.

"I can't... stay," I whispered, even as I leaned deeper into his heat.

"You are," he growled against my mouth. "I'll tie you to the mast if I have to."

The world outside our small circle of heat began to stir. The silence of the night was broken by the low groans of the peons Zoro had cut down earlier.

Then I heard the sound of a dozen guns cocking. I looked past Zoro’s shoulder and saw the shadows moving. The peons were standing up among the fallen. Their eyes were wide with shock and rage.

To them, Ms. Midwinter was no longer a high-ranking agent or their sister-in-arms. They were no longer groggy; they were fueled by the sight of my betrayal.

I was still clutching the front of Zoro’s navy shirt, my lips swollen from a kiss that had tasted like whiskey and war. They saw the way he looked at me. I was now a traitor caught in the arms of the mosshead swordman.

"Traitor!" a voice shouted. "She is a traitor! Kill them both!"

Zoro didn't jump. He didn't even flinch. He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against mine. His breathing was heavy, a synchronized rhythm with my own. He looked into my eyes, and for a brief second, I saw a silent promise. It was the look of a man who would fight the entire world to keep what was his.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice returning to that stoic, lethal calm.

"I'm going to kill you for this," I said, though there was no heat in the threat. I reached down and snatched my daggers from the ground as he released my wrists.

"Later," he said, drawing his swords with a hiss of steel.

He stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders forming a shield. He wore that navy shirt like armor, and as the first line of gunmen stepped into the moonlight, I realized that I was no longer an observer of his life. I was part of it.

The bridge back to my old life wasn't just burned; it was gone, turned to ash by a kiss in a graveyard of hunters. I took my place at his back, my daggers held low and ready. We were surrounded, the shadows closing in, but as Zoro shifted his grip on his swords, I knew that for the first time in my life, I wasn't the one who was lost.

"Kill her first!" another voice shrieked.

A spray of lead cut through the air. Zoro spun me behind him, his swords whistling as they deflected the bullets into the dirt. We moved as one, a seamless dance of steel and instinct. I drew my balde, feeling the familiar weight in my palms, but my mind was still reeling from the heat of his mouth.

I parried a heavy claymore and drove my elbow into a minion’s throat. "Can you see now?! You are a distraction!" I yelled, the adrenaline making my voice crack. "I had a perfect life here until you wandered into town and ruined it!"

Zoro ducked under a swinging mace, his blades creating a whirlwind of silver.

"Is that what you call this?" he barked back. He stepped into my space, pushing me back against a stone pillar as he cut down a man reaching for my hair. His face was inches from mine again. "You call hiding in a hole like a rat a life?"

Before I could answer, he crushed his lips against mine again, right there in the middle of the crossfire. It was a frantic, punishing kiss that tasted of iron and salt. I pushed against his chest, trying to stay focused on the three men rushing our flank, but my fingers ended up curling into his shirt instead.

"Stop doing that!" I gasped against his mouth, finally breaking away to throw a dagger into a sniper's shoulder.

"Then stop kissing me back!" Zoro retorted. He swung his third blade, the one held in his teeth, and sliced through the weapons of four men at once. The sound was like a scream of metal. "You were shaking in my arms, spy. Admit it. You missed this."

"I missed the quiet!" I shouted, ducking a dagger that whistled over my head. I swept the legs of a giant man and stabbed downward without looking. "You are loud, you are messy, and you have no sense of direction! You ruin everything you touch!"

Zoro laughed, a dark, rough sound that vibrated in my chest. He grabbed my waist, pulling me into a spin that ended with us back-to-back. He felt like a furnace against my spine.

"And you," he grunted, parrying a spear, "are still the only person who can keep up with me without dying. Admit you love the mess."

"I hate you!" I yelled, even as I leaned my weight into his back, using him for leverage to deliver a flying kick to a gunman’s face.

"Liar," he whispered, turning his head just enough to catch my earlobe with his teeth before plunging back into the fray.

We ignored the dying screams of the minions as if they were nothing more than background noise. We were too busy arguing, our blades clashing against enemies while our words clashed against each other.

Every time an attacker got too close, they were dismantled with a casual, brutal efficiency that we didn't even pause to talk about. We were a storm of two, moving through the hundred men of Whiskey Peak like they were made of paper.

"You're going to get us killed!" I cried out, slicing the belt of a man trying to tackle me.

"You're already dead to them," Zoro said, his eyes glowing with a feral light as he stepped over a pile of bodies. "So you might as well come with me."

The numbers were thinning fast. Only a handful of men remained, trembling as they realized their bullets couldn't touch us. Zoro moved toward the last cluster of fighters, his swords held low. He looked like a god of death in a navy shirt, his muscles rippling under the warm light.

"I'm not a prize to be taken, Zoro!" I shouted at his back.

He didn't look back. He was focused on the final man, a captain who was shaking so hard he could barely hold his sword. "Stay put," Zoro commanded. "I have to take the crown off Mr. 9's head. But We aren't finished yet."

I watched him move. His violence made my heart ache. This was the man I had tried to forget. This was the man who had chased me across the East Blue. And now, he was clearing a path for me through my own wreckage.

I looked at the dark alleyways leading away from the bar. I looked at the blood on my hands. I knew that if I stayed, I would be his unconditionally. I would have to face the feelings I had buried under years of lies.

While Zoro raised his blade to take the crown, his back turned to me in total trust, I made my move since this was my chance. Mr. 9 called me out for help. But I didn't make a sound. I stepped into the shadows of a nearby building, moving like the ghost I was trained to be. I didn't say goodbye. I didn't look back at the navy shirt or the green hair. I ran into the darkness, the scent of his whiskey and the sea still burning on my lips.

--

The gunpowder smoke hung heavy over Whiskey Peak, creating a thick grey veil that hid the fallen.

I ran through the winding backstreets, my heart pounding against my ribs. I knew these alleys better than anyone. I climbed over stone walls and slipped through narrow gaps, certain that I had put enough distance between us. I reached the final stretch of the harbor, the salt air filling my lungs. I could see a small rowboat tied to a rotting pier. I just had to reach it.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed behind me. They weren't hesitant; they were fast and rhythmic. I looked over my shoulder and saw a flash of green hair cutting through the mist.

Zoro was running with a terrifying speed, his eyes locked on my back. He wasn't wandering. He wasn't lost. He was a predator who had already caught the scent.

"Stop!" he roared, his voice echoing off the stone buildings.

I didn't stop. I pushed myself harder, my boots skidding on the damp cobblestones. I reached the edge of the pier and prepared to jump, but a hand suddenly gripped my collar with such immense strength.

I was jerked backward with a force that made me stumble into his chest. I looked up and saw him breathing heavily, his face flushed from the chase and the fight.

"Let me go, Zoro!" I hissed, clawing at his hand. "I am a wanted woman. I am a traitor to the organization. If I stay with you, they will never stop coming!"

"Let them come," he growled. He didn't look at the path. He looked directly at me. He began to walk toward the harbor, dragging me along beside him. His grip was firm and impossible to break. He marched past the ruined houses toward the silhouette of a ship with a sheep head.

"I am a spy!" I argued, digging my heels into the dirt. "I am supposed to be invisible. I am supposed to disappear when the job is done. That is how I survive!"

Zoro stopped walking and turned to face me. The wind from the ocean blew his hair back, exposing the sharp, determined line of his jaw. He looked tired, but he looked like a man who had finally won.

"You are a terrible spy," he said. His voice was steady and calm. "You forgot the most important rule of your trade."

I narrowed my eyes at him, my breath hitching in my throat. "And what rule is that?"

"Don't leave a trail," he replied. He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. "But you left one anyway. For years, I followed the smell of your perfume and the way you fight. You were the only trail I have ever been able to follow perfectly. Even when I was lost, I could always find you."

I stopped fighting him then. My hands went limp at my sides. I had spent so much time trying to be a shadow that I forgot I was a person. I looked at the ship waiting in the water.

It was small compared to the massive vessels of the underworld, but it looked like a home. Zoro didn't wait for me to agree. He simply kept his hand on my arm and led me onto the wooden deck of the Going Merry.

The crew was starting to gather, but Zoro ignored their questions. He led me to a spot by the railing where the air was clear.

I watched Whiskey Peak shrink into a tiny speck on the horizon. The life of Ms. Midwinter was over. I was no longer a secret agent or a fixer for criminals. I was just a girl on a pirate ship, standing next to a man who refused to let me get lost again.

--

The next morning, I stood at the edge of the pier, the cold sea breeze tugging at my hair. The boat I had planned to steal was bobbing just a few feet away. I felt his presence before I heard him. The heavy thud of his boots stopped just inches behind me.

"You're still looking for an exit," Zoro said. His voice was rough, stripped of its usual bravado.

I didn't turn around. "I don't belong on a ship full of dreams, Zoro. I’m a fixer. I’m the girl who hides bodies and erases tracks. You have a world to conquer."

I felt his hand reach out, but he didn't grab my collar this time. He rested a palm on my shoulder, the heat of it seeping through my thin coat. He turned me around slowly until I had no choice but to look at the white fabric of his shirt.

"I’ve spent years wandering," he said, his eyes searching mine with a raw intensity that made me want to flee and stay all at once. "I get lost in straight lines. I lose my way in broad daylight. But every time I caught a hint of your scent, or heard a rumor of a girl who moved like a shadow, I found my bearings again."

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against mine. "You aren't a mission. You aren't a mark. You're the only thing in this world that makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. If you leave, I’ll just spend the rest of my life looking for you again. Save us both the trouble."

He reached up, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with surprising tenderness. "Stay. Not as a spy, and not for the agency. Stay for me."

I looked at the small rowboat, then back at the man who had fought a hundred men just to get to me. The shadows of the East Blue felt a lifetime away. I reached up and pulled his face down to me.

"I don't know how to be anything else," I whispered.

"Then just be mine," he replied, diving his head down to reassure me.

Then I realized something as his addictive lips were devouring mine. The argument was over. But our story began again.

[mssalo]

ma'am

Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, sub!Joel, dom!f!reader, oral (male and female receiving), nipple play (SUCKING JOEL’S NIPPLES like he deserves), premature ejaculation, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, desperation kink, Joel whimpering, explicit sexual content, mutual devotion, protective partnership, reader is emotionally supportive but firm, Joel finds comfort in being cared for (he’s babygirl) and Joel being so far gone it’s frankly adorable.

11k. enjoy.

part two: after hours

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller had always been the guy people turned to when things needed fixing—whether it was a busted fence, a tough decision, or clearing out a horde of infected, he was the dependable one. The solid one. The man who got things done without flinching.

But with you, it was different.

You weren’t like anyone else in Jackson. You’d arrived last winter, stepping into the town’s bustling life like you’d always belonged, and somehow, you’d made it your own. 

People respected you—trusted you—not because you demanded it, but because you commanded it. You were sharp, resourceful, and unshakably confident. 

Joel couldn’t decide if you reminded him of a soldier or a queen, but either way, it made his chest tighten every time you spoke.

It started innocently enough.

“Joel, we need these supplies moved to the north gate before sundown,” you said one day, standing by the depot, that calm, no-nonsense tone that made Joel’s stomach flip.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied without thinking, the words slipping out as easily as breathing.

You’d looked up, a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘yes ma’am’ type,” you teased lightly, your lips curving into that small, knowing smile.

Joel had flushed, shifting on his feet like a boy caught stealing. “Guess it’s just… habit.”

You didn’t push, just nodded and turned back, but Joel couldn’t get the moment out of his head.

Something about the way you spoke to him—firm but never condescending, confident but never overbearing—lit something inside him he hadn’t felt in years. 

Respect, maybe. Or something deeper, darker, and far more dangerous.

The more months you worked together, the worse it got for him.

“Joel, grab the shotgun and cover me,” you ordered one day, crouched behind a rusted-out truck as infected skittered through the woods ahead. Your voice was steady, even in the heat of the moment, and Joel’s chest swelled as he followed your lead without question.

Another time, while patrolling the perimeter, you had said, “Check the west side at dusk. Let me know if anything’s out of place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel had answered automatically, his voice softer, almost reverent.

You didn’t always notice how easily he fell into step with you, how much he craved the way you trusted him to follow through. 

But Joel noticed. Every damn time. 

And it wasn’t just respect—though that was there too—it was something raw and magnetic. Something that made his chest tighten and his cock stir in ways that left him fumbling for composure.

It wasn’t just the way you spoke. It was the way you carried yourself. The way you moved through the world with confidence that was effortless, never forced. 

You weren’t trying to prove anything to anyone—you just were. You called the shots when they needed calling, and people listened, not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

Joel wanted to. And more than that, he liked it.

One night, it all came to a head.

Jackson was quiet, the streets bathed in the soft glow of lanterns strung between buildings. Joel was walking back from the stables when he spotted you on the porch of the town hall, a map spread across the railing in front of you. 

The way the light hit your face, catching on your jawline and softening your features, made his chest ache.

“Joel,” you called, your voice slicing through the stillness like a blade.

He froze for half a second before making his way over, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. 

His pulse quickened as he got closer, his eyes darting over you—your loose hair falling over one shoulder, the curve of your wrist as you held the edge of the map, the faint furrow in your brow that he desperately wanted to smooth away.

“Everything alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glanced up, your eyes meeting his. “Come take a look at this,” you said, motioning him closer.

Joel stepped up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he looked at the map.

The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, and Joel had to force himself to focus on what you were pointing at—a marked spot near the riverbank.

“Been seeing signs of movement out here the past couple nights,” you explained. “Could be nothing, but I want to clear it tomorrow. Need someone to back me up. You in?”

“Always,” Joel said immediately, his voice quieter than he intended but no less firm. His fingers brushed yours as he took the map, and he swore he felt a spark.

You smiled then—just a small curve of your lips—but it sent heat rushing through Joel’s chest. “Good. Be ready at dawn.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel murmured before he could stop himself.

Your brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in your expression. “You don’t have to keep calling me that, you know.”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks warming. “Can’t help it,” he muttered, his gaze sliding to the ground. “Suits you.”

Your smile widened just enough to make his heart stumble. “If you say so.”

With that, you folded the map, tucked it under your arm, and disappeared into the town hall, leaving Joel standing there like a damn fool, his chest tight and his jeans uncomfortably snug. 

He swore under his breath, adjusting his stance in a futile attempt to ease the ache building low in his belly.

It wasn’t fair. 

The way you got under his skin without even trying. The way you made him feel… lighter and heavier all at once. 

Joel had spent his whole life being the one people leaned on, the one who carried the weight, and for once, he didn’t mind letting someone else take the reins. 

Hell, he wanted to. 

He wanted to follow you, to listen to you, to give you every ounce of control you asked for.

Joel stayed rooted to the spot, staring at the closed door of the town hall long after you’d gone inside. 

His pulse pounded in his ears, the ache in his jeans growing unbearable as his mind replayed the last few moments—the way your voice curled around his name, the subtle command in your tone when you told him to be ready, the approving smile that lingered on your lips when he’d answered.

It was ridiculous, he thought bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. He was a grown man, for Christ’s sake, and yet here he was, rock-hard in the middle of Jackson like some lovesick idiot. 

His cock throbbed against the tight denim of his jeans, a constant, humiliating reminder of how badly he wanted you—how badly he needed you.

Joel swallowed hard, adjusting himself as subtly as he could manage, though the motion sent a shiver of frustration through him. 

This was nothing new. 

Every time he was around you, it was like his body betrayed him, reacting to the sound of your voice, the sway of your hips, the smallest flick of your wrist as you gestured for him to follow.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it—about you.

The way you carried yourself, confident and composed, made his chest tighten in ways that were equal parts admiration and raw, aching need.

You were everything Joel wasn’t. Steady. Collected. In control. And fuck if he didn’t crave that about you.

More than anything, he craved the way you made him feel. Like he could just… let go.

The thought sent a fresh jolt of arousal straight to his cock, and Joel bit back a groan, his hand clenching at his side. 

He’d spent years—decades—being the man people turned to, the one who handled the tough shit without complaint.

But with you? He didn’t want to be the guy in charge. 

He wanted to be the one following orders, wanted to be the one looking up at you, waiting for your approval. 

He wanted to make you proud. 

To hear you say his name the way you had earlier, with that faint hint of amusement, like you saw something in him that no one else ever had.

Goddamn it, he was pathetic.

Joel shook his head, muttering a low curse under his breath as he turned away from the town hall. 

The walk back to his house felt like a blur, his thoughts too tangled to focus on anything but you. 

Every step sent a dull throb through his cock, and by the time he reached his front door, his hands were trembling, his jaw tight with restraint.

Inside, Joel leaned heavily against the door, the cool wood pressing into his back as he exhaled shakily. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, the pounding of his heart loud in the stillness of the house. 

The faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots reminded him he wasn’t dreaming, though he almost wished he were—wished the memory of you wasn’t so vivid it set his whole body on fire.

His jacket slid from his shoulders and hung limply on the hook by the door, but the ritual did little to calm him. 

His hand lingered against the fabric, fingers gripping tightly for a moment as though holding on to it might anchor him. But there was no escape—not from the way you lingered in his thoughts, the way your voice echoed in his ears like a melody he couldn’t shake.

C’mere, Joel. I need you to check this.

C’mere, Joel….

The words played on repeat, the confidence in your tone, the subtle curve of authority behind every syllable. 

The way you’d glanced at him tonight, your eyes catching his for just a second longer than necessary—it was enough to drive him insane. 

Joel groaned softly, the sound rough and guttural as he pressed the heel of his palm against the stiff, aching bulge in his jeans.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that might clear it. But it didn’t. It never did. He’d thought about you like this too many times to count. 

Late at night, alone in the dark, his fist slick and tight around his cock, imagining you leaning over him, your voice a breathy, commanding whisper.

“Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”

It was the praise that undid him every time, the approval he ached for, that soft edge of control in your voice that made his chest tighten and his hips buck into his hand. 

Joel’s teeth dug into his bottom lip as he pushed off the door, his steps hurried and uneven as he made his way toward the bedroom. 

His body was hot, his skin flushed as he kicked the door shut behind him and leaned against it, his breath coming fast and shallow.

He didn’t bother with the lights. There was no point when the image of you burned so brightly in his mind.

His hands fumbled with his belt, the leather sliding free with a sharp hiss before he shoved his jeans down his thighs, kicking them aside. 

His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

Joel wrapped his calloused fingers around himself, his rough palm dragging slowly along the length as his head tipped back against the door. 

A soft, broken groan escaped his lips, and he tightened his grip, savoring the sharp sensation.

“Yes,” Joel whispered hoarsely, his hips jerking into his hand as the thought took hold.

The image was so vivid it made his knees weak.

“On your knees, Joel. Let me see how much you want it.”

He imagined you standing over him, your hands on your hips, your lips curved into that wicked, knowing smile.

You’d look down at him like you owned him, and Joel would crumble beneath that gaze, his body desperate to obey.

His hand moved faster, his strokes rougher as his chest heaved. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick and broken. “I’d do it. Anything you want, darlin’. Just… just fuckin’ tell me.”

And then, there was the fantasy he couldn’t shake. You’d guide him down—your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him hiss as you tilted his face up toward yours.

“You want to make me feel good, baby? Show me.” You’d press his face between your thighs, your warmth surrounding him, and Joel would lose himself.

He could almost feel it—the softness of your skin, the slick heat of your cunt against his lips. His tongue would trace slow, deliberate circles around your clit, savoring the way your body trembled beneath his mouth. 

You’d moan his name, your voice breathy and broken, and it would be the only thing he cared about.

Joel groaned loudly, his hips jerking off the door as his hand tightened, the slick sound filling the room. “Please,” he rasped, his voice shaking. “Please, darlin’. Let me be good for you. Let me—”

He imagined you grinding against his face, your thighs clenching around his head as you guided him, demanding more. “That’s it, Joel. Just like that. Don’t stop until I come, baby.”

The thought of your approval, of hearing you call him a good boy as he worked tirelessly to please you, made his cock throb painfully in his hand. “I’d do it,” he muttered hoarsely. “I’d fuckin’ worship you, darlin’. Just say the word.”

The tension snapped, his body locking up as his release hit. Hot, thick spurts spilled over his hand, his voice breaking into a low, guttural groan as his hips jerked helplessly. 

Your name fell from his lips, raw and reverent, as the pleasure coursed through him, leaving him trembling and spent.

For a long moment, Joel stood there, his chest heaving, his hand still wrapped loosely around his softening cock. 

The air was thick with the scent of his arousal, the evidence of his need dripping onto the floor, and yet all he could think about was you. Your voice, your smile, the way you made him feel like he could let go of everything and just… be.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he finally pushed off the door and reached for a towel. 

He cleaned himself up quickly, his thoughts still tangled, his body still thrumming with the remnants of his release. But even as the tension faded, the ache lingered—the desperate, aching need for you.

For your voice. For your touch. For your approval.

And Joel knew he’d never stop wanting it. Never stop wanting you.

Because this wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Not until he had you.

Not until he could hear you say his name the way he’d always dreamed, soft and breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders as you told him exactly what to do.

· · ───

The sun was barely cresting the horizon as you and Joel set out toward the riverbank, the chilly morning air biting at your cheeks. Joel kept a steady pace beside you, his rifle slung across his shoulder, his eyes scanning the dense treeline with practiced precision.

Despite the tension that always came with patrols, there was a comfort in your presence—a grounding force that he couldn’t quite put into words.

The faint scent of soap and leather lingered on you, familiar and steady, and Joel found himself stealing glances at you more than he should.

You walked with such assuredness, each step purposeful, and the soft sway of your hips had him swallowing harder than necessary.

He tried to focus, but your commanding presence made it impossible not to feel both overwhelmed and grounded.

“See this?” you murmured, crouching near a patch of disturbed dirt. Your voice was low, clipped, yet patient as you gestured for him to come closer. “Looks like someone’s been through here recently. More than one.”

Joel crouched beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he examined the ground.

The way your hair caught the morning light, the subtle curve of your neck—it was too much. His chest tightened as he forced his gaze to the dirt and away from the way your lips parted slightly in concentration.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rougher than intended. “Could be raiders.”

“Could be,” you agreed, straightening and adjusting the strap of your pack. “Let’s keep moving. Stay sharp.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel said before he could stop himself, the words slipping out instinctively.

You glanced at him, one brow arching, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.

You turned without a word, leading the way through the uneven terrain. Joel followed close behind, his pulse quickening with every step. 

You always had this effect on him, like you were a magnet and he couldn’t help but be pulled in.

The ambush came fast. 

Raiders poured from the treeline, their weapons raised, shouts breaking the morning quiet. 

Joel moved on instinct, diving behind a fallen log and returning fire, but it was you who commanded the chaos with sharp, decisive orders.

“Joel! Left flank! Cover me!”

He obeyed without question, his rifle steady as he took down one of the raiders attempting to circle around. 

Even in the heat of the moment, his eyes kept darting to you—how you moved like a ghost through the underbrush, your aim deadly, your composure unshaken.

But when one of them charged at your blind spot, Joel didn’t think. He moved.

The gunshot echoed like thunder as he dropped the man with a single shot. 

You spun to face him, your eyes wide—not with fear but with something else. Relief? Gratitude? Whatever it was, it made his chest swell.

“Thanks,” you said, your tone steady despite the chaos. “But I told you—stay back.”

Joel gritted his teeth but nodded, ducking back behind cover as you finished off the last of the raiders. 

When the dust settled, you stood amidst the wreckage, your rifle slung over your shoulder, your expression calm but sharp. 

You scanned the area one last time before nodding.

“We’re clear,” you said, turning toward him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied, though his arm burned where a bullet had grazed him. 

He shifted, trying to hide the blood seeping through his sleeve.

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re hit.”

“It’s nothin’,” he muttered, brushing it off.

“It’s not nothing,” you snapped, stepping closer. Your hand grabbed his arm, firm but not harsh. “We’re done here. You’re going back to Jackson. Now.”

Joel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “I can keep goin’. I’m fine.”

You tilted your head, the corners of your lips pulling into a wry, almost dangerous smile. 

“Joel,” you said, your voice low but laced with authority that sent a shiver down his spine. “Do I look like I’m asking?”

Joel swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “No, ma’am,” he muttered, his voice quieter this time, almost reverent.

“Good.” Your fingers lingered on his arm for just a second longer than necessary, the heat of your touch branding him, before you turned toward the horses. “Let’s move.”

At the clinic, Joel sat on the cot, his shirt discarded, the gash on his arm raw and angry. He winced as the doctor worked, stitching the wound with quick precision. 

But his eyes weren’t on the needle or the thread—they were on you, leaning against the doorway with your arms crossed, your expression unreadable.

“You’ll need to rest for at least a couple days,” the doctor said, tying off the final stitch. “No patrols, no heavy lifting.”

Joel opened his mouth to argue, but your sharp glance silenced him immediately.

“Got it,” you said curtly, nodding at the doctor. “Thank you.”

When the doctor left, you turned to Joel, your arms dropping to your sides as you stepped closer. “Let’s get you home.”

Back at his house, you guided him inside, your hand on his arm, your touch firm and steady. 

Joel sank onto the couch with a groan, his body heavier than he wanted to admit. You moved with purpose, disappearing into the kitchen before reappearing with a damp cloth and a glass of water.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but you cut him off with a look that had him snapping his mouth shut.

“Let me,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

You knelt beside him, pressing the cloth gently to his arm. Joel swallowed hard, his breath catching at the sight of you so close, your fingers brushing against his skin.

The faint scent of you—clean and sharp, with a hint of something sweet—filled his senses, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out.

When you finished, you sat back on your heels, your eyes meeting his. “Joel,” you said softly, “why do you push yourself so hard?”

Joel looked away, his jaw tightening. “Don’t wanna feel useless,” he muttered. “Don’t wanna… be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” you said firmly, leaning closer, your voice carrying a weight that made Joel’s chest ache. “You’re the furthest thing from it.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his breath catching at the intensity in your gaze. “I just…” He hesitated, his voice breaking. “I just wanna be good for you. Wanna make you proud.”

You tilted your head, a slow, knowing smile curving your lips.

“You already are, Joel,” you murmured, reaching out to cup his face. Your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, and Joel leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Joel’s breath was uneven, his good hand curling into a fist on his thigh as he struggled to find the words.

You sat beside him on the couch, quiet and steady, your eyes on his face, your expression calm yet unreadable. It only made him more frantic.

“I—I can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” Joel stammered, his voice rough and breaking. 

He rubbed a hand over his face, his palm trembling slightly as if he was trying to physically hold himself together.

“I need… I need you close. I don’t know what the hell I’m doin’, but I—I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t speak. You just nodded slowly, your gaze unwavering, and it made him feel both exposed and comforted all at once. The tension in his chest was unbearable.

“I—dammit,” he muttered, his voice thick, his gaze darting everywhere but your face.

“I’m tryin’ to say it right, but I don’t—I can’t—I need you, alright? I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. About how you—how you’re always so damn steady, and you—”

He sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes finally locking on yours. They were glassy now, his vulnerability laid bare. “You make it easier, y’know? Just bein’ around you… I feel like I can breathe. Like maybe I ain’t so—so broken after all. And I… I need that. I need you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into the faintest smile. It wasn’t teasing, wasn’t pitying. It was understanding, warm, and Joel swore it made his chest ache even more.

“Baby,” you murmured softly, the endearment sending a shiver down his spine. “You like me…romantically?”

Joel froze for a moment, his breath catching as your words settled over him. His lips parted, but all he could do was nod, the movement small and jerky, like he was afraid to admit it outright.

“Want to be good for me?” you asked, your voice a low, soothing hum.

Joel’s nod came faster this time, his breathing growing heavier as he leaned into you, desperate for something he couldn’t quite name.

You leaned in slowly, cupping his face with one hand, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble along his jaw. 

Joel’s eyes fluttered shut as you pressed your lips to his, soft and lingering, and the low, guttural sound he made against your mouth was filled with need. 

His hand reached out, gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to you, and his lips parted under yours, seeking more.

But just as he leaned into the kiss, you pulled back, your face still close enough that your breath mingled with his.

“Get better for me first, yeah?” you murmured, your thumb trailing along his jaw.

Joel’s eyes snapped open, his brows furrowing as he shook his head. “No, please,” he whispered, his voice rough and desperate. 

“Please, I can’t—I’ve been waitin’ for so long. Please don’t make me wait anymore.”

You shushed him softly, your fingers sliding through his hair, and Joel practically melted under your touch, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself back.

“You’ll wait,” you said firmly, though your tone was still warm. “Because you’re mine, and I’m not about to let you go. But first, I need you strong, Joel. Need you rested. Yeah?”

Joel let out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he nodded, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Alright,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Alright. But just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

“Well…you know me, baby,” you whispered, your lips brushing against the crown of his head.

Joel’s breath hitched again, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as if to prove to himself that you were real. And as the weight of the moment settled between you, he felt something he hadn’t in years—peace.

· · ───

Joel had never been good at resting, but being sidelined for days was pure torture.

His arm still kinda ached where the stitches pulled at the edges of the wound, but the pain was nothing compared to the gnawing anxiety that came from not seeing you. 

Three days felt like a lifetime, and every hour that passed without you made his chest feel tighter.

You’d been on patrol since the crack of dawn, and Joel had spent most of the day pacing around his house, every creak of the floorboards setting his nerves on edge. 

He hadn’t wanted to push his luck with the doctor or you, so he’d stayed home, but the absence of your presence was like a physical ache.

He’d heard the patrol schedule—you were checking the area near the riverbank, where the raiders had been sighted. 

The thought of you out there, alone or with someone who wasn’t him, made his stomach churn.

Joel knew you could handle yourself—he’d seen it firsthand—but the idea of you in danger without him there to back you up was unbearable.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Joel couldn’t take it anymore. 

His boots thudded against the wooden floors as he grabbed his jacket and rifle, the pain in his arm be damned.

If he didn’t see you soon, he was going to lose his mind.

The gates of Jackson were quiet, the air cool and crisp as Joel made his way toward the watchtower. A few guards gave him curious glances, but no one stopped him. He wasn’t exactly known for staying out of trouble, injured or not.

“Have you seen her?” Joel asked one of the guards at the gate, his voice gruff.

“Think she’s still out near the west ridge,” the man replied, tilting his hat back. “They were due back an hour ago, though.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. An hour ago. His grip on his rifle tightened as he set off toward the west ridge, his boots crunching against the gravel.

The relief was like a flood when he spotted you in the distance, your silhouette unmistakable against the fading light.

You were walking back toward the gates, your pack slung over your shoulder, your rifle in hand. Joel’s breath hitched at the sight of you, his steps quickening as he closed the distance between you.

“Where the hell have you been?” Joel barked, his voice harsher than he intended as he reached you.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his tone. “Patrol. Where I said I’d be.”

“You were late,” Joel muttered, his gaze sweeping over you, searching for any sign of injury. “Anything happen out there?”

“Couple of runners,” you replied, brushing past him toward the gate. “Nothing bad.”

Joel followed you, his chest tight as he struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve sent word. Let someone know you were runnin’ behind.”

You turned to face him then, your eyes sharp. “Joel, I’m fine. I’m more worried about why you’re out here when you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I was worried about you,” Joel admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Didn’t like not knowin’ if you were okay.”

Your expression softened, and you let out a quiet sigh. “Joel, I told you I’d be back.”

“And what if somethin’ had happened?” Joel pressed, his voice growing rough. “What if—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he looked away.

You stepped closer, your hand resting gently on his arm. “Hey,” you said softly, your tone soothing. “I’m here. I’m okay. And you need to trust that I can take care of myself.”

Joel’s eyes flicked back to yours, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at the steadiness in your gaze. “I know you can,” he muttered. “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna worry.”

You smiled faintly, squeezing his arm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Joel huffed a laugh, the sound low and rough. “Ain’t what I meant, but… yeah, take it how you want.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging him toward the gate. “Let’s get you home. You’re not supposed to be out here.”

Joel wanted to argue, but the warmth in your voice and the steady grip on his arm made it impossible.

He let you guide him back toward his house, the tension in his chest slowly unwinding with every step.

The walk back to Joel’s house was quiet at first, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm. But as you neared the porch, Joel’s tongue loosened, and the floodgates opened.

“What was it like out there today? Was it quiet before the runners? Were they close? You eat somethin’? Drink enough water?”

You chuckled softly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Joel, I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know, I know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his steps faltering slightly as you led him inside. “Just… can’t stop thinkin’ about it. About you. Out there without me.”

His voice was rough, his words tumbling out so quickly he barely had time to filter them. “I mean, I know you’re capable—hell, more than capable—but I wasn’t there, and… I hate not bein’ there.”

You stopped just inside the doorway, turning to face him. Joel’s eyes darted over you, like he was trying to memorize every detail, his breathing uneven, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t quite dare.

“You’re rambling, Joel,” you said softly, your voice calm and steady as you reached up to cup his cheek.

Joel froze, his breath hitching at your touch, his wide eyes locking onto yours. “I just…” he began, his voice faltering. “I just—”

“Hush,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “I’m here. I’m fine. And I’m not going anywhere for another 4 days.”

Joel exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch like a man starved. “I know,” he rasped. “I know, but I can’t stop—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips soft and warm against his, and Joel melted beneath it, his whole body going taut before he relaxed into the moment. 

His hands found your hips, tentative at first, then firm, gripping you like he was afraid you might disappear.

When you pulled back, his lips chased yours for a heartbeat before he caught himself, his eyes fluttering open. He looked dazed, his chest heaving, his pupils blown wide as he stared at you.

You smiled softly, the sound of his uneven breathing filling the space between you.

Joel’s lips parted as if to speak, but before he could, you leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time. His groan was low and deep, the kind that seemed to come from the very center of him, vibrating through your chest.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, his need unmistakable.

When your lips parted and your tongue brushed against his, Joel whimpered—a sound so desperate, so raw, it sent a rush of heat straight through you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly into the kiss, and Joel’s grip faltered for a second, his lips pulling into a shaky smile against yours.

“Why’re you laughin’?” he asked, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as he caught his breath.

“You’re eager,” you teased, your hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. “It’s sweet.”

Joel groaned again, his cheeks flushing as his hands smoothed up your sides. “Can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice dropping lower. “You’re drivin’ me crazy, darlin’. Been thinkin’ about this for too long.”

His gaze dropped, and his eyes darkened as they settled on the curve of your breasts, visible through the gap in your blouse.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hands twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t dare without permission. “You’re perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you ran your fingers along his jaw. “Joel,” you said, your tone firmer now, and he immediately snapped his gaze back up to meet yours, his breath hitching. “What are you lookin’ at?”

His cheeks went even redder, but he didn’t look away.

Your lips quirked into a sly smile, and you reached up to unbutton the top of your blouse slowly, deliberately. Joel’s eyes tracked every movement, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his cock straining visibly against his jeans.

“You’ve healed up, huh?” you asked, your tone playful, and Joel nodded quickly, his hands shaking slightly.

“Barely feel it,” he murmured, his voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, darlin’. Please let me—”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head as you pushed the blouse from your shoulders, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“Go ahead, Joel,” you said, your voice steady but laced with heat. “If you think you can handle it.”

Joel groaned, his hands finding your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his mouth crashed into yours.

His kisses were messy, desperate, his lips sliding against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands roamed your body, shaky but reverent, sliding up your ribs and hovering just below your chest.

“Eager little thing,” you murmured against his mouth, and Joel whimpered at the words, his hips pressing against yours as his arousal became undeniable.

“Can’t help it,” he breathed, his voice shaky and desperate. “Been wantin’ to get my mouth on you for so long. Wanna lick every inch of you. Fuck, those pretty nipples—been dyin’ to suck on ‘em, darlin’. Let me taste you, please.”

The way his voice cracked, the way he clung to you—it was enough to make your resolve waver. But you weren’t going to let him get off that easily. Not yet.

“Bed,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to guide him toward the bedroom. Joel followed without hesitation, his hands still on you, his body trembling with barely-contained need.

“Sit down, baby,” you murmured, your voice firm but teasing as you pushed him gently onto the mattress.

Joel sat immediately, lips wet and swollen from your kisses, his pupils blown wide as he stared up at you like you were a goddess he was desperate to worship.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking to your chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

You stepped between his legs, running your hands up his thighs, feeling the way they trembled under your touch.

“Is this what you’ve been dreamin’ about, Joel?” you asked, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in close. “Me, standin’ over you like this, lettin’ you look your fill?”

Joel groaned, his head tipping back as his hips jerked involuntarily. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Every night, darlin’. I—fuck—I think about you all the time. Can’t stop.”

You smirked, running your hands higher until your fingers brushed against the hard, throbbing bulge straining beneath his jeans. Joel’s breath hitched, his hips lifting slightly as if to chase your touch.

“Bet you’ve been strokin’ that cock to the thought of me, haven’t you?” you purred, your nails scraping lightly along his thighs.

“Thinking about my tits, my mouth, wonderin’ what it’d feel like to have me all over you?”

Joel let out a broken whimper, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as he nodded. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice thick with desperation. “Fuck, yes. I think about you all the time—Drives me crazy.”

You laughed softly, Joel’s eyes focused, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of you, his gaze zeroing in on your breasts, the way your nipples pebbled in the cool air.

You reached up, cupping your breasts and squeezing them lightly, your thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Wanna taste them, baby? Wanna feel my tits in your mouth?”

Joel groaned loudly, his hands clenching into fists as his cock strained painfully against his jeans. “Please,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, let me—fuck, let me taste them."

You smirked, stepping closer and guiding his hands to your hips. “Go on then, baby,” you murmured, leaning in until your chest was level with his face. “Show me how much you want it.”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples with a desperate groan. 

His lips were hot and eager, his tongue swirling over the sensitive bud before he sucked it into his mouth, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Fuck, that’s it,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. “Good boy, Joel. Just like that.”

Joel whimpered against your skin, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, squeezing them gently as he switched to your other nipple. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate strokes, his lips tugging and sucking as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Finally” he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but no less desperate.

You chuckled softly, grinding your hips against his lap, feeling the hard line of his cock pressing against your thigh. “You’re so needy,” you teased, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “Can’t even keep your hands to yourself, can you?”

Joel shook his head, his mouth still attached to your nipple as he let out a low, guttural moan. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tightly as he rocked against you, his cock throbbing beneath the rough denim of his jeans.

“Can’t help it,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “You’re all I think about. All I want.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Then be a good boy for me, Joel,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “Keep sucking.”

Joel groaned, his hands tightening on your hips as his lips moved back to your breast, sucking and licking with renewed fervor. His hips bucked against yours, his need spilling out in every touch, every sound.

“You like these, baby?” you murmured, cupping your breast and brushing your thumb over your wet, glistening nipples. “My sweet boy likes them, hm?”

Joel froze for a moment, his pupils dilating as the meaning of your words sank in. His hips bucked sharply, and he let out a strangled moan, his whole body trembling beneath you.

“Fuck, I-,” he groaned, his voice cracking as his head fell back against the headboard. “Shit, darlin’, I’m sorry—I can’t… I’m—fuck!”

You felt the unmistakable heat and dampness spreading as Joel’s hips jerked one last time, his moans spilling into the quiet room. His face flushed a deep red, his chest heaving as he realized what had just happened.

“Shit,” he muttered again, his voice thick with embarrassment as he covered his face with one hand. “I didn’t mean to… fuck, I’m so sorry. This is so stupid—”

“Joel,” you interrupted, your voice firm but soothing as you brushed his hand away from his face. “Look at me.”

He did, his eyes wide and vulnerable, his lips parted as he struggled to catch his breath. The sight of him—flushed, desperate, and utterly wrecked—only made you want him more.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your lips curving into a wicked smile. “I’m flattered, baby. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Had to come in your pants for me.”

Joel let out a choked sound, his hips twitching involuntarily beneath you.

“I… fuck, darlin’, you make me crazy,” he admitted hoarsely. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about you. I need you. Please… let me make it up to you.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear. “Still wanna keep going, baby?” you whispered, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. “After you’ve already made such a mess?”

Joel nodded frantically, his hands gripping your hips like a lifeline. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I don’t think I ever wanna stop, ma’am. Please… let me taste you. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head as you studied him, your expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, you smiled, your fingers trailing down his chest. “Undress me,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm.

Joel flushed, his hands moving to your waist again. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your pants, his eyes flicking up to meet yours for permission. 

You nodded, leaning back onto the bed as you let him guide the fabric down your legs, his touch careful but firm.

By the time your pants were off, you were sprawled out on the bed, your back resting against the pillows. 

Joel knelt between your legs, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes drinking in every detail like he was trying to commit it to memory.

"You're beautiful," he said again, his voice breaking slightly as his fingers slid along the waistband of your panties. 

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands clumsy but desperate as he unbuttoned your pants and slid them down your legs.

He paused when he saw your panties, a visible wet spot already soaking through the fabric. His breath hitched, and he let out a shaky, “Fuck… look at that. So wet for me, darlin’. Goddamn.”

His hands trembled as he paused, glancing up at you for reassurance.

You smirked, one eyebrow arching as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

"Go on, baby," you murmured, your voice soft and encouraging. "You've got me all to yourself. Do what you've been dreaming about."

Joel’s hands hovered over your hips for a moment before he finally let them settle there, his thumbs brushing against the edge of your panties.

Joel settled between your legs like he was kneeling before an altar, his chest heaving and his fingers trembling as he slid along the waistband of your panties.

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and wide with need, and you gave him the softest smile, threading your fingers into his hair as you gently tugged him closer.

“yeah, baby” you murmured, your voice dripping with encouragement.

His breath hitched, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He kissed you there, slow and reverent, his beard grazing your flesh and sending shivers through you. Each kiss was accompanied by a low, throaty groan, his lips moving steadily closer to the source of your heat.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, his voice breaking as he reached the edge of your panties. His nose pressed against the damp fabric, and he inhaled sharply, the sound guttural and desperate.

“Fuck, you smell so good, darlin’. Like heaven—sweet, wet heaven.”

His hands trembled as they gripped your thighs, holding you open as he buried his face against you, nuzzling and inhaling like he couldn’t get enough.

The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against your calves, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his breath and the wet heat of his mouth against your panties.

“Been dreamin’ about this—about your sweet cunt for so fuckin’ long. Want it so bad, baby. Wanna taste you—wanna lick you, suck that pretty clit between my lips and drink you down till there’s nothin’ left.”

You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging gently, encouraging him.

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice low and breathless. “You wanna eat me out, baby? Wanna show me how good that mouth of yours is? Then take them off.”

Joel knelt between your thighs, trembling as he slid your soaked panties down your legs.

He didn’t even try to hide the way his breath hitched when your cunt was fully exposed to him, glistening and perfect.

His chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths as he just stared for a moment, his lips parting like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“You just gonna look, Joel?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging gently. “Or are you gonna be a good boy and show me what you can do?”

That broke him. His head dipped instantly, his breath ghosting hot over your slick folds as he whispered, “Yes… yes, ma’am.” His voice was low, reverent, almost a prayer.

The first touch of his tongue was hesitant but deliberate, a slow drag from your entrance to your clit, as if he wanted to savor you.

He groaned into you, the sound muffled but deep, and then he leaned in further, pressing his mouth to your cunt like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice soft but thick with pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so eager for it. Just like that.”

Joel didn’t answer—couldn’t answer.

He was too focused, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he worked his tongue through every inch of your folds.

His breath hitched as he tasted you, his lips sealing over your clit for a moment to suck softly before his tongue returned to explore your entrance.

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, your hips arching slightly into his mouth. “You’re so fucking good at that. Look at you, so hungry for me. You love this, don’t you? Love worshipping my pussy.”

His only response was a desperate, muffled groan and moaning as he shifted his grip, spreading your thighs wider. 

His nose pressed against your clit, and he rubbed it there as his tongue delved inside you, slow and deliberate, tasting you from the inside out. 

His breathing was ragged now, warm puffs of air against your heat between each swipe of his tongue.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered hoarsely against you, his voice barely audible over the sound of his mouth working your cunt. “Fuck… taste so good. Yes. Yes, ma’am…”

You tugged his hair lightly, guiding him just where you wanted, and he followed without hesitation, his moans vibrating through your core. 

His nose nudged your clit again, his tongue lapping at your entrance with long, languid strokes, and your moans filled the room, soft and breathy.

“That’s it,” you encouraged, your voice breaking slightly as he found just the right rhythm. “Such a good boy. Keep going, baby. Make me come.”

Joel groaned deeply, the sound muffled as he pressed his face impossibly closer to your core, his lips locking around your clit. 

Each sound he made was guttural, desperate, like he was losing himself in the taste of you.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, anchoring himself to you as his nose pressed against your folds, adding pressure in all the right places.

“Good boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you combed your fingers through his hair, guiding him exactly where you needed him. “Keep going, baby. Suck my clit just like that.”

Joel whimpered against you, the sound low and wrecked, and he obeyed without hesitation, sucking harder, his tongue darting out to flick over the swollen nub between pulls. 

He groaned again, his hips shifting slightly as if he couldn’t help but grind against the mattress, completely undone by the act of pleasuring you.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling as the tension in your core tightened to an unbearable degree.

“Fuck, Joel—don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

He moaned louder at your words, his hands tightening on your thighs as he doubled down, his lips creating just the right amount of pressure while his tongue worked you mercilessly. 

His nose nudged against your clit in rhythm with his sucking, the sensation pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” he murmured against you between strokes, his voice trembling with need. “Wanna make you come, ma’am. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed, your back arching as your orgasm slammed into you, waves of pleasure crashing through you so hard you couldn’t even form words. 

Joel groaned against you, his tongue and lips relentless as he rode out your release, his moans vibrating through every sensitive nerve ending.

When you finally came down, your thighs trembling and your breath shaky, Joel slowly pulled back, his lips glistening and swollen, his face flushed and eyes glazed with pure adoration.

He looked like a man on his knees at the altar of a goddess.

“perfect,” he whispered, his voice wrecked, his gaze fixed on your blissed-out expression.

“Did I do good?” he asked quietly, his voice raw and hoarse.

You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Better than good, baby,” you murmured. “Fuck.”

Joel’s eyes darted to yours, wide and full of something raw and pleading. 

He leaned in again, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he spoke, his voice trembling with need. “Please… can I keep goin’? Just a little more. I don’t wanna stop. Wanna taste you again, ma’am.”

His mouth found your clit in a featherlight kiss, his tongue flicking out experimentally, careful and reverent as though seeking permission. 

His hands slid up your thighs, holding them open like you might change your mind.

“Joel,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hand threading into his hair and tugging just enough to stop him. “No, baby. I wanna feel you now.”

Joel froze, his breath hitching, and he whined softly against your skin, the sound almost pitiful. “But—” he started, his lips pressing to your clit again in a desperate, fleeting kiss. “I can make you come again. Please, I—”

“Joel.” Your voice was sharper this time, not cruel but commanding. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his lips glistening and his pupils blown wide. “You’ve been so good, baby, but I want you now. Don’t make me ask twice.”

The words sent a visible shudder through him. He hesitated for half a second before pulling back reluctantly, his lips parted as if to protest but no words came out. His hands lingered on your thighs, squeezing gently as he swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally said, his voice low and hoarse, the respect and submission in his tone sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

He sat back on his heels, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your next command.

You leaned up slightly, cupping his cheek with one hand, your thumb brushing over his flushed skin. His lips were parted, breathless, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. 

“You’ve done so well, baby,” you murmured softly, letting your other hand trail down his chest. “But I need to see all of you. Let’s get this off.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his wide eyes locking onto yours as you reached for the buttons of his shirt. “Yes,” he whispered, the words shaky and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this moment.

One by one, you undid the buttons, the fabric parting to reveal the broad expanse of his chest.

You slid the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the bed as you sat back to admire him.

Your gaze swept over the planes of his body—the strong curve of his shoulders, the scars that marred his skin, the soft dusting of hair on his chest.

“Fuck, Joel,” you murmured, your voice full of heat and awe. “Look at you. You’re beautiful.”

His cheeks turned a deep red, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “Don’t know about that,” he mumbled, his voice low and unsure.

You leaned forward, your hands sliding over his chest, your thumbs brushing along the ridges of his scars.

“Oh, I do,” you purred, your tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re fucking perfect, Joel. Every inch of you.”

Your fingers grazed his nipples, and Joel froze, his breath catching audibly. The faintest shiver ran through his body, and he let out a soft, shaky, “Ma’am…”

You smirked, leaning in closer. “Sensitive, huh?” you murmured, circling the hardened peaks with your thumbs.

Joel let out a broken gasp, his hips jerking into the air as his hands gripped the sheets beneath him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice low and desperate. “Didn’t… didn’t know I -.”

“You didn’t?” you teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to one nipple before flicking your tongue over it. Joel’s reaction was instant—a guttural moan that sent a wave of heat straight through you.

“Sweetheart I-” he gasped again, his hands trembling as they hovered near your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. “I—fuck, I—”

“Hush, baby,” you whispered, shifting to his other nipple and sucking it into your mouth. 

Joel cried out, his head falling back against the pillows as his chest arched into your touch.

His hips bucked again, and you could feel how hard he was, straining against the confines of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know… didn’t know I could feel this good. Please, don’t stop.”

You hummed against his skin, your tongue teasing over the sensitive bud before you nipped at it gently. Joel’s whole body jerked, a sharp gasp escaping his lips.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you murmured, sitting back to admire the way his chest heaved, his eyes wide and glassy. “Bet no one’s ever touched you like this before.”

Joel shook his head frantically, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. “No,” he breathed. “Never. Fuck, it’s—ma’am, it’s so good.”

You let your hands drift lower, tracing the sharp lines of his ribs and the soft curve of his stomach. Joel’s eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a shaky moan as your fingers teased the waistband of his jeans.

“You want more, baby?” you asked softly, your voice teasing and full of promise.

Joel nodded frantically, his voice barely above a whisper as he rasped, “Please… please, ma’am. Anything you want.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, slowly pulling them down along with his underwear, your eyes drinking in the sight of him as he was finally exposed.

Joel’s cock sprang free, flushed and thick, the head an angry, swollen red and glistening with his earlier release.

Pearly streaks of cum had smeared down his shaft, pooling at the base and even dripping onto his balls. You let out a low hum of approval, your lips curling into a wicked smile.

“Such a mess,” you tutted, your voice thick with teasing affection. “You’ve really made quite the mess, baby.”

Joel’s chest heaved, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he avoided your gaze, his embarrassment clear. But his hips jerked slightly, almost involuntarily, at the heat in your voice.

“Aw, don’t get shy on me now,” you teased, your fingers curling gently around his cock, feeling the slickness of him against your palm.

“This is nothing to be embarrassed about. It just shows how much you need me.”

Joel whimpered, his voice breaking as he finally met your eyes. “I… I can’t help it,” he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling. “You make me—fuck—you make me crazy.”

Your thumb stroked up the length of his shaft, smearing the sticky remnants of his cum before circling the sensitive head.

“I know, baby,” you cooed, your voice softening just a touch. “And I love how desperate you get for me. Let me clean you up first, okay? Can’t leave my good boy all messy like this.”

Joel nodded frantically, his lips parting as a shaky moan escaped him. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice thick with submission.

You leaned down, your tongue darting out to trace along the underside of his cock, starting at the base where his cum had pooled and slowly working your way up.

The taste of him was intoxicating, salty and musky, and you let out a quiet, pleased hum as you licked him clean. Joel’s entire body trembled beneath you, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he struggled to stay still.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ma’am… oh, fuck…”

You didn’t stop, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, collecting every drop of his release before moving lower.

Your lips closed around one of his balls, sucking gently as your hand continued to stroke him, coaxing soft whimpers and gasps from his lips.

His thighs trembled, his breath hitching as you moved to the other, lavishing it with the same attention.

“You taste so good, Joel,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry as you pulled back slightly to admire your work. “Such a pretty cock, too. Look at you, all clean and perfect for me now.”

Joel moaned loudly, his head tipping back as his hands clenched the sheets even tighter. “You’re—fuck—you’re perfect,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I don’t deserve this.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing along the length of his cock, your touch light and teasing.

“You deserve every bit of this,” you said firmly, your voice dipping into a commanding tone. “You’ve been such a good boy for me, haven’t you? Letting me take care of you like this.”

Joel’s hips jerked against your hand, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he nodded frantically.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Yes, ma’am. Please… please don’t stop.”

You leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive slit.

“You want more, baby?” you murmured, your voice dripping with seduction. “Want me to make you feel even better?”

Joel’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto yours as he nodded, his desperation palpable. “Please,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything. Just… please let me feel you.”

You smiled, soft and knowing, before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Anything, huh?” you teased, your voice low and dripping with promise. “Then show me, Joel. Show me how much you want this.”

Joel’s hands trembled as he gripped your hips, helping you straddle him. His cock pressed against your slick heat, and he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through both of you.

His eyes flicked between your face and where your bodies were about to join, his chest heaving with anticipation.

“Don’t make me wait,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please, ma’am. Let me feel you.”

You reached down, guiding him to your entrance, your breath hitching as you slowly sank down onto him.

The stretch was delicious, the thickness of him filling you completely, and you couldn’t help the moan that spilled from your lips.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, your hands bracing on his chest. “You feel so good, baby. So big—.”

Joel’s head fell back against the pillows, his lips parted as a choked moan escaped him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice shaky. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect. Feels like heaven, darlin’. I—fuck—I can’t believe this.”

You rocked your hips slowly, letting yourself adjust to the feel of him before setting a steady rhythm.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he bucked up to meet you, his movements desperate and hungry.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice low and commanding as you leaned over him, your lips brushing against his ear. “That’s it, Joel. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need.”

Joel whimpered beneath you, his hips stuttering as he clung to you.

“You’re… you’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he rasped, his voice cracking with emotion. “The way you—fuck—the way you handle everything. The way you handle me.”

You tilted your head, studying him with soft affection as your hips moved steadily against his.

“Finally can let go, hm?” you murmured, your tone soothing yet commanding. “Yeah? Let me take care of you, Joel. You don’t have to worry so much.”

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching as his hands slid up to cup your waist, holding you like you were his lifeline.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his hips bucking harder into you. “I—I worry about you, darlin’. But… but it’s an honor to. Always an honor.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply, swallowing the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.

His thrusts grew erratic beneath you, his chest heaving as he neared the edge.

Joel’s hands gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your skin like he was afraid to let go.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his hips moved with a frantic rhythm beneath you, desperate and unrelenting. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body moving in perfect sync with his.

“You’re so fucking good, Joel,” you murmured against his lips, your voice heavy with affection and desire. “So perfect, baby. Keep going—don’t stop.”

His head tipped back, exposing the vulnerable curve of his throat, a choked moan escaping his lips.

“I—I can’t—fuck, darlin’,” he gasped, his voice trembling with raw emotion. “You feel so goddamn good. Can’t… can’t hold on much longer.”

You cupped his face, bringing his gaze back to yours, your thumb brushing over his flushed cheek.

“You don’t have to hold on,” you whispered, your voice a soothing command. “Let go for me, Joel. Let me feel you.”

Joel’s eyes widened, his pupils blown, and his hips snapped up into you with desperate force.

“You’re—God, you’re everything,” he groaned, his voice breaking as his hands slid up your sides, trembling as they roamed over your body. “Everything, darlin'. Don’t wanna stop… don’t wanna lose this.”

“You’re not gonna lose anything,” you reassured him, your own voice breathy and uneven as you rocked against him harder, the friction pushing you closer to your own edge. “I’m here, Joel. Always. Now, give it to me, baby.”

Joel’s body tensed, his back arching off the bed as a guttural moan tore from his throat.

“Fuck!” he cried, his hands gripping your hips as his release hit him, his cock pulsing inside you with a heat that sent you spiraling.

The intensity of his climax triggered your own, your body tightening around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

Your cries mingled with his, the room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, raw and unrestrained.

Joel’s hips stuttered beneath you, his movements slowing as he rode out the last shuddering waves of his orgasm. His hands loosened their grip on your hips, sliding up to cradle your back as he pulled you down against his chest, holding you close.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds in the room your labored breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets. Joel’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his chest rising and falling beneath you as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re… you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with awe. “I don’t deserve you, darlin’. Don’t deserve any of this.”

You lifted your head, brushing your lips against his with a tenderness that made his breath hitch. “You deserve it all, Joel,” you murmured, your voice steady but warm. “Every damn bit. You’re good to me—you’re good for me.”

Joel’s eyes searched yours, shining with an emotion he couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to hide. His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing your forehead in a lingering, reverent kiss.

"Now rest up. We’ve got work to do.”

· · ───

From then on, you and Joel became Jackson’s most formidable pair. Whether it was managing patrols, handling disputes, or protecting the town, people knew better than to question the two of you. Joel was your rock, steadfast and loyal, while you were the sharp, commanding presence that kept everything moving forward.

He was at your side for every decision, every challenge, always watching your back—and stealing those quiet moments when it was just the two of you. Joel wore his pride in you like a badge, unspoken but deeply felt, in the way his gaze lingered and his touch steadied you.

And every night, as the world outside grew dark, you both found solace in each other—a partnership built on trust, strength, and the kind of love that didn’t need words to be understood.

Joel always said it best in his own way: “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, darlin’. Always.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

I am not beta reading all of that so if y'all find any errors tell me or ignore them like I did the past 22 years. Hope this was fun for you - please comment your opinions (plsplspls). I kinda feel like this is too long idk-

love youuuuuu

[catchastarorten]

—License and registration, please.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x wife!fem!reader

Summary: Did you pass the speed limit? No. Did Jun-ho pull you over anyways to steal a few moments (and kisses) with you? Yes.

Content: fluff, shared kisses, a girl flirting with him but Jun-ho being very loyal, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.1k

The air was cool that afternoon, sunlight glinting off the windshields of passing cars. Traffic duty wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it was steady, and after everything Jun-ho had endured chasing shadows and secrets, it wasn’t so bad. He didn’t mind the transfer. It gave him time to breathe. To be with you.

A motorcycle driving into sight caught his eyes, bringing him out of his thoughts. A man carrying a girl on the back, helmet-less.

Jun-ho approached the two as the motorcycle came to a stop, his partner—a younger, less experienced officer trailed after him.

“You’re not wearing a helmet. Your license, please.” he took out a small tablet as the man cursed, eyes full of impatience and annoyance.

“Isn’t this entrapment? Hiding to catch people is shady. You want to squeeze money out of broke citizens?” the man scoffed.

“Your license, please.” Jun-ho ignored him and extended a hand out, waiting.

The man handed over his license begrudgingly as the girl sitting behind him on the motorcycle hopped down, giving the man a reassuring pat as if saying, “I’ve got this,” before coming closer to Jun-ho.

“Look, can’t you just let us go? I’m wearing one.” she gestured to her own helmet, giving it a steady pat.

“No, ma’am.”

The girl frowned, but took a second look at him and her eyes sparkled, peering at him. “Hey, you’re really handsome!” her voice tuned into a higher pitch at her excitement, as if she found some treasure.

“I could charge you with obstruction.” Jun-ho said dryly, checking the information on the small tablet in his hand.

“You’re a tough cookie,” the girl smiled wider, taking out her phone. She snapped a few pictures, striking different poses as Jun-ho tried to avoid the camera, his head ducked low as he scanned over the information shown on the tablet. The man on the motorcycle narrowed his eyes at the sight.

As the ticket printed out from a machine strapped to Jun-ho’s vest, the girl patted his shoulder. “Come on, get in here!” she leaned closer, but he stepped away to maintain a good distance, before walking over to the man.

Jun-ho handed the ticket to the guy. “The fine for not wearing a helmet is 20,000 won. Pay it on time.”

The man snatched the ticket away as the girl continued fawning.

“What’s your number? Are you single?” she squealed.

Jun-ho blinked, momentarily taken aback, before he smirked softly and raised his hand, the band on his finger glinting in the sunlight. “Happily married,” he said simply, his voice warm.

The girl’s excitement evaporated, replaced by a pout. “Seriously? Who’s the lucky woman?”

Jun-ho didn’t answer, instead he walked back to the squad car.

The man drove off on his motorcycle, a bitterness clinging onto him. The girl was startled and chased after the guy, shouting and exclaiming and throwing her helmet at him but missing while trying to catch up, her loud curses disappearing into the distance along with the motorcycle.

Jun-ho watched the scene unfold with an amused smile, shaking his head before getting back into the squad car. His rookie partner shot him a bewildered look. “Does that happen to you a lot?”

“More than you’d think. Just ignore them,” Jun-ho replied, settling back into his seat, looking down at the band on his ring finger as his eyes softened, already missing you.

They were driving back toward their usual patrol route when Jun-ho caught sight of a familiar car in the distance. It was yours, the unmistakable silhouette of the vehicle and the way it handled the road bringing an instant smile to his face.

“Pulling over for a second,” he told his rookie partner.

“What? Why?”

Without explanation, Jun-ho sped up slightly, falling into step behind your car before flicking on the lights. You weren’t speeding—you rarely did—but you pulled your car to the side of the road obediently anyway, your indicator blinking calmly, putting the car in park.

Jun-ho stepped out of the patrol car, smoothing his uniform. His partner stayed inside, fiddling with the radio.

He walked up to your window, tapping lightly on the glass, then gestured for you to roll it down. When you turned to look at him, he saw the way your eyes flickered in recognition and affectionate annoyance. He could already feel his heart melting.

You raised an eyebrow, playing along as you pressed the button and lowered the window.

“Officer,” you said, your voice laced with playful suspicion. “What’s the problem?”

Jun-ho leaned against the frame, speaking in a serious way, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “License and registration, please.”

You scoffed. “I wasn’t speeding. You know I wasn’t speeding.”

“You were driving suspiciously… within the speed limit,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Very suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Am I really getting a ticket for obeying the law?”

“Yes,” he said, dipping his head closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “But you can pay in kisses.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in through the open window, his lips brushing yours in a tender, stolen kiss. It was soft, warm, and lingering—the kind of kiss that reminded you just how much he adored you. When he pulled back, he waited for just a moment before stealing another kiss. And then another.

“Jun-ho,” you mumbled, your voice half-scolding but mostly filled with affection.

“One more,” he murmured, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the window.

You gave in, letting him kiss you again.

“That’ll cover it,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement as he pulled back, his eyes lingering on yours.

Just as he straightened, the passenger door of the squad car opened, and his rookie partner stepped out, looking thoroughly confused. “Uh… everything okay?”

Jun-ho let out a sigh, his expression shifting back to something more professional, though you could still see the softness in his eyes when he glanced at you. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “I’ll be there in a minute, go wait in the car.”

The officer hesitated but nodded, retreating back to the patrol car, leaving the two of you alone again.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Jun-ho said, his voice softening as he looked at you.

You smiled warmly. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. “Sharp.”

With one last lingering look, Jun-ho stepped back, letting you drive off. He stood there for a moment, watching your car disappear down the road, his heart full.

As he returned to the squad car, his rookie partner gave him a questioning look, but Jun-ho didn’t offer an explanation. Some things were just for him to cherish.

[limeranceincarnate]

Murdered 1462

Vladislaus Dragulia x fem!reader

Part Two

WC : 3.7K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mentions of witchcraft, verbal abuse, murder, canon-typical violence and story-line, pregnancy, death, etc.

If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

“Born: 1422… Murdered: 1462.”

‘I was born into a noble family, my father was the duke of Hungary.’

Slipping into the more tame selection of your clothing, muting the sound of ruffling cloth as much as possible to not wake you lady-in-waiting, Agnes, who had fallen asleep whilst handling your linens. Once dressed, you throw a shawl over your head in any attempt to hide your identity. You’d been hated by the townspeople ever since you and your father had travelled here for business, the small-minded people of Transylvania already despised the idea of foreigners, but the idea of you and the rumor of the practice you brought along? Most claimed you to be a witch. But alas, even their hatred couldn’t extinguish your spirit.

Sneaking out had never been easier. 

You’d always been an adventurous person, something your father always chastised you for. He believed ladies should sit still, sit quietly, and sit pretty. He had an image to uphold, and he couldn’t have his only child galavanting around town, acting improper. He used to let you do as you please, but when the plague took your mother he became cold, harsh. 

Feeling the cold air hit your skin as you shimmy out the window and down the trellis until your shoes hit the ground with a small thud, making a small promise to yourself to be back before dawn. The entire grounds of the house were fenced in, with guards stationed at the main gate. You couldn’t exit out that way as they would stop you the second they saw you. But unbeknownst to them, you’d discovered a break in a part of the fence. Shimmying out the back, you begin the trek down the hill the house sits on to the village. 

~~~

‘It had been cold when I met him, when he saved me. If he hadn’t shown when he did, I fear I would have been no longer. ‘

“You can run but you can’t hide, witch!” You were growing tired, legs and feet burning with effort. When turning a corner in the marketplace you’d run into someone,  knocking the shawl off your head, revealing your identity. You’d garnered the attention of a group of particularly cruel drunkards, who began to hurl obscenities towards you. And before you could even blink, they began chasing you. You tried to throw them off, hoping all your time exploring would have given you enough of a terrain advantage. But the feeling of someone grabbing the back of your shawl and pulling you to the ground steals all your hope of getting away. 

Pain absorbs your back as you land hard and fast on the cold ground. The early morning dew seeps through your dress as the cold air fogs your breath as it leaves your lungs from the impact, the main perpetrator kneeling on your neck, cutting off your air supply. One of the other men wrapping your feet and hands with rope. Your ears rang as your head snapped back against a rock, vision going foggy. You couldn’t hear what the men were saying to you, only that they were taunting you. You were able to make out the blur of a mass of light coming towards you, and it was only when the heat brushed against your face could you tell it was fire. 

You tried to fight back, to struggle. But with the mans’ knee against your throat, the lack of oxygen was making you weak. As the black spots were so close to entirely filling your vision, the man suddenly lets off of you, and the heat of the fire goes away. You cough, rolling over onto your elbows and knees as you try to regain your breath. You can hear the men pleading to a deep voice for mercy, and then your vision returns in time to watch as they run away.

“Are you alright?” 

‘I didn’t even know his name, he wouldn’t give it to me. All I knew was that I was utterly captivated by him.’

The deep accented voice held your attention entirely, as the man attached to that voice crouched down next to you, a gentle hand placed on your back. “Madam? Are you alright?” Gasping out, feeling like your vocal chords are completely crushed, only able to choke out a small “yes.” The hand on the small of your back stays while one reaches to your left forearm, grabbing it to help you up. And when you stumble backwards, the firm body of the stranger is there to catch you. 

When you’ve regained your breath, and were able to stand on your own, you stepped away from the stranger. “Who are you?” gazing at the man before you and trying to map his features by only what you could see in the barely-there moonlight. You’ve decided by what little of him you could see, that he was still undoubtedly handsome. Slightly taller than you, possibly 6-foot, dark hair, and shockingly blue eyes. 

“Who I am is of no importance at the moment,” the deep voice jolting you out of your stupor, “But it is important to know why a group of beţivii (drunks) were attacking a young woman in the forest?” At the mention of your attack you feel the pain seep into your neck, adrenaline finally beginning to wear off. Letting out a cough as your hand comes to gently cup the base of your neck. “Well, Romanians tend to be quite wary of foreigners, and you’ve just bore witness to the fact that they don’t particularly like me.” your tone clipped, pulling a deep chuckle from the man. 

You feel blush overtake your visage as you realize how rude that sounded, embarrassment filling you at your rudeness to the man who saved you. “I’m sorry, I’m usually not this rude I swear, I’m still just a little frightened. Thank you, by the way, for coming to my aid. I’ll ask my father to make sure you’re rewarded for your valiant efforts.” The stranger ignores your apology and thanks, “Your father?” his head tilted to the side, pieces of hair falling across his face, “Yes my father, He’s the Duke of Hungary, we’re here on diplomatic business.” “Hmm, for what?” You falter and cover your mouth, giving the man an apologetic look. You’re relieved when he seems to pick up on what you’re implying, even though he gives you a dark, brief, look of knowing,  “I understand, trade secrets.” He says with a slight smile, holding out his arm. “Here, it’s almost dawn, let me accompany you back to wherever you’re staying.”

And with a small smile, you take his arm. 

‘I didn’t anticipate what would happen when I took his arm. That my world was about to turn, that taking his arm on that cold, damp, morning, signed my death.’ 

It was a lovely walk back, filled with small talk and pleasantries. When you approached the doors to the Governor’s house, you could hear the commotion before you saw it. When the stranger accompanying you opened the door, his right elbow still linked with your left, all the commotion suddenly came to a screeching halt. Several pairs of eyes turned to you, including those of Agnes, then the faces attached to all those eyes paled when they saw the man whose arm you still held. When your father called you towards him, a dark look in his eye, you felt the pit of your stomach drop. “Step away from him. “ Your father beckoned, he hadn’t looked this grim since the doctor in Hungary told him of your mothers fate. 

Swallowing in nervousness you look up to the man accompanying you only to find him already looking down at you, a rather downcast look in his eyes. Your father calls again, walking towards you. “Step away. Now.” You stare long and hard at the man by your side until he gently nudges you towards the others in the room. You failed to notice until you looked up that most of the guards in the room had their weapons aimed towards him. Stepping away from him you’re immediately met by your lady in waiting coming and sweeping you up the stairs. “Lock her in her room Agnes, until I call for her.” You throw one last glance towards the man to find him still staring at you. Turning the hall, Agnes gently pushes you into your room, and before she shuts the door behind you, the angry conversation from the foyer floods into the room. “What were you doing with my daughter, Impaler.”

‘I suppose it wasn’t a bad situation, after all I was quite taken with him, even if I didn’t know who he was at first. I didn’t fear him, even though everyone else did.’

It was what felt like hours before you heard a key being inserted in the lock of the door. Bounding up from the bed to be greeted by the sight of two guards when the door swung open. You weren’t able to utter a single word when you were grabbed by both arms and dragged away from your room, well actually the room belonged to your Stranger, in your time locked in you had discovered from Agnes that Vlad was the Military Governor of Romania, and that you and all the diplomats were currently residing in his house. 

Ironic how things work out. 

 When you asked where you were being taken you were met with utter silence, the guards only tightening their grip after you tried to pull away. Only feeling ease when the door to what you recognize to be the master study of the house was yanked open and you were promptly thrown in. 

Glancing up at the long table to see other diplomats lining the perimeter, your father and who you've come to know as Vlad the Impaler, gracing the far end of the table. “What’s going on?” questioned towards your father even though your eyes are locked with Vlads. Your father says nothing to you as he quietly sends off the others in the room, leaving only the three of you. You only move when he quirks a finger in a come-hither gesture, your eyes glued to your socked feet as you cross your hands in front of your legs. “You understand the reason for my business here,” your father says, “to create a treaty with him” word spoken with venom, “to prevent him from causing any more destruction and massacre off to the West” Saying nothing, only giving a slight nod, still looking down. “Well everything was lined up perfectly, but now, the Voivode (governor) has added a new term to the treaty. Your hand in marriage.”

Feeling your eyes bulge out of their sockets as your head flies up, immediately shouting out “What?” the glare your father sticks on you prevents you from saying anymore. “You heard me girl.” grabbing your arm as he drags you to the farthest corner of the room. “And as much as I hate to do this, you will marry him. You’re reaching your twentieth year and still haven’t married, and I will not jeopardize the well-state of Hungary just because you decide to be stupid and prance around in the town unsupervised.” Your jaw dropping in shock, eyes welling with tears. This man before you was not your father, in all fairness he hadn’t been much of a father after your mother died but his words still hurt nonetheless. 

“Your grace, I would like a moment alone with your daughter.” your father turns red-faced, the beginnings of a protest forming in his mind, “It wasn’t a suggestion.” One elegant finger pointing towards the door, “Leave. Now.” huffing, your father pushes past you and storms towards the door, the loud sound of it banging closed behind you causes you to jump, a small cry of fear leaving your lips. 

Now it was just you and him. With your head still down you didn’t notice his approach until perfectly polished shoes fell just within your line of sight. Your name being gently called as a rough hand softly finds itself upon the back of your elbow. “I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.” His right hand coming to your chin and tipping your head up, Blue eyes coming into contact with yours once again. “I hope you know I do not wish to cause you distress with my proposal.” You nod profusely, muttering out a soft repeating of “I know.” The same hand on your chin moves up to wipe the tears you didn’t know had fallen. For a man who had killed thousands with those same hands, when he was near it was nothing but gentle touches. “Our marriage doesn’t have to be immediate, I’m not immune to the benefits of a little light courtship, however I am reaching an age no bachelor ever should.” Words spoken with a joking lilt, Vlad briefly hunching over. You can’t help but chuckle at the sight of his horrible interpretation of an old person. 

The two of you are launched into a comfortable silence, and you realize that with all that you’ve learned about this man in the past however many hours didn’t scare you as much as it probably should’ve. And with this newfound bravery and lack of fear, you confidently reach and grab the hand that’s resting on your cheek and with as much courage as you could muster, and you accept his proposal. 

‘Being with him wasn’t at all what I thought it would be. He was nothing but kind to me, nothing but gentle touches and words all throughout our marriage.’

With the treaty being settled and your newfound courtship with a certain military general, everyone left back to their home territories, including your father. Him practically trading you off to sell his own skin didn’t hurt as much as it used too. He left quickly and with promise that most of your possessions still in Hungary would be sent down to Romania. You kept Agnes with you, after all she’d been one of your closest confidants since your mother had died. When the spring of 1460 came along, it brought your twentieth birthday and marriage ceremony with it. 

It was a truly gorgeous ceremony. While not filled with pomp and circumstance, it was graceful, elegant. Your pursuer wasn’t exactly poorer, and you were able to have the most gorgeous gown you’d thought you’d ever seen. You had Agnes of all people walk you down the aisle, seeing as your father hadn’t thought to show even though invitations had been sent weeks in advance. You had been introduced to an estranged number of people at your wedding. Your husbands’ father, Valerious, who served a group of Holy Knights. He proved to be a rather cynical man, yet seemed to be nice once you’d gotten to know him. 

You couldn’t help but notice, however, a man who always hovered near the back. He was tall, dark hair, covered in black clothing, however you could never make out his face. You knew he was watching you, even when separated from Vlad you could feel the glare of someone constantly burning into the back of your neck. Everytime you garnered your husband's attention to question him about the man, he seemed to have disappeared, swallowed by the shadows he hid in. 

Marriage to one of the most dangerous men on this side of the Balkans wasn’t bad. He always treated you with a gentle hand, was never harsh, never cruel, and he never-ever raised his voice. When questioned on his docile behavior his reasoning behind it being that you were his wife, and you should never need to fear him. 

When you came to find out that he didn’t live in the palace-like house you were staying in when you first arrived in Romania you were slightly shocked. No, instead he lived in a citadel, a castle near the Arges River; Poenari. And what a beautiful place it was. You much preferred the secludism of this house than the one in the town. The view of the mountains and the fresh air they produced was always a reprieve. Your room was in the highest level of one of the castle spires, with a large window parallel to your bed, so you always woke to the stunning view of the sunrise. 

You were however surprisingly lonely most of the time. As it would turn out, being someone of extreme military prowess took a lot of your husband's time away from you. If it weren’t for Agnes and the few estranged workers who milled around the estate you fear you’d have gone mad. When he wasn’t busy trying to take over most of Europe, he was a very caring man. Giving you luxurious gifts, taking you on trips. His love took you into the deepest throes of passion, both physically and metaphorically. 

You truly couldn’t ask for a better husband.

‘It was raining that night, not quite cold enough for it to snow. I can’t remember that much, I just remember how scared I was.’

The rain crashed against your window, thunder and lightning taking the sky ever-so-often, Vlad wasn’t in bed even though it was quite late. He was having a very crucial meeting, about what you didn’t know, he’d only come to your room to tell you not to wait on him, to go on and sleep, and to bestow a small kiss to you and your rotund stomach. 

After almost two years of marriage, the summer of 1462 blessed you with news of a child. With Poenari being so far from any doctors, your dear Agnes stepped in as a midwife of sorts, making sure you were healthy; sleeping and eating well. She said that springtime would be when your child would finally make their appearance into the world, and you were eaten alive with both anticipation and excitement. 

But with your pregnancy came all sorts of changes. For example, it might have been the dead of winter, but you felt as if you were burning alive. Dressed in nothing but one of your husband's shirts and your undergarments you couldn’t find it in yourself to combat the heat. Grabbing the side of the mattress and your bedside-table, you heave yourself off the bed, reaching for your thin silk robe.

You failed to notice the dark figure in the corner of your room. 

Shuffling over to the other side of the room you go to feel around the box of matches off one of the bookshelves, to relight the lamp on your side-table. Once you find what you’re looking for, you turn on your heel right as lightning strikes and lights up the room. It was for only a moment, but that split-second of light was all you needed to see the man standing in the corner of the room closest to your door. You almost think it’s your husband playing a trick on you, but the rational part of your brain understands that Vlad would never do that to you, especially in your current condition. With the man so close to the door you surely can’t run, so you do the only other thing you could think of.

Scream and hope your husband or a guard hears you in time.

You didn’t even register how loud your scream was, your body going into fight or flight mode the second the man lunges forwards. You bolt as quickly as you could to your Husbands’ side of the bed to grab a dagger he keeps next to him off his side-table. You turn to stab your assailant as he reaches to grab you. He clutches your wrist faster than you could keep up with, pushing it back and trying to twist your own wrist towards you. Crying out as it reaches an angle it shouldn’t, you propel your knee forward into his groin which gives you enough time to run around the other side of the bed and towards the door, reveling in his groan of pain.

As you work your way past the bed you feel the air around the back of your head shift and the next sound you hear is that of your window breaking. Ignoring the glass that flies all over the room, you crank open your bedroom door, screaming at the top of your lungs for help as you try to begin to make your way down the spiral staircase. It’s only when you hear voices shouting from below do you feel a hand wrap its way around the back of your neck, yanking you back up the stairs. You’re dragged through your room and brought to where your window once was, glass shards digging into your feet. Lightning strikes once more as you’re flipped around, back leaning out into the rainy abyss, and you’re able to get a better glimpse of your attacker.

It’s the man from your wedding. 

Right as you reach this epiphany the door to your room slams open, your husband entering. He calls your name, hand lifting in the air and weakly falling back. “Don’t do this Gabriel,” he pleads, “Please let go of my wife.” The mystery man, Gabriel, pushes you further, your back bending at an awkward angle out and into the chilling rain. “I’m sorry,” your assailant murmurs, “But you broke the oath.” 

And with that, he pushes you out the window. 

You can’t tell if that sound is you screaming or if it’s the wind rushing past your head. Your hair whips around your face as rain projectiles onto you like tiny bullets. The last thing you see is your Husband leaning out the window, gazing at you in defeated sorrow, and a gloved hand coming around, plunging a dagger into his chest. 

You’re not quite sure how you die. Whether your body slammed onto the hard ground hundreds of feet below your bedroom, or if you land in the Arges. All you remember is that brief bit of searing pain,

And then everything went dark. 

~

Originally posted December 2nd, 2021.

[dearwalker]

this bucky with this steve

[when-all-the-world-is-asleep]

@navybrat817 @biteofcherry

is this you two? :P