Quick reminder for fanfic writers both on here and ESPECIALLY on AO3…
If your main character has a name and described appearance, DO NOT use the character x reader tag. Like…seriously.
That is an OC. Use the “x oc” or “x original character” tag. Stop using the “x reader” tag. It will not give you more reach because people looking through the “x reader” tag aren’t going to read it. Three guesses why.
You are also making the filtering system null and void, which is harmful ESPECIALLY for archival sites like ao3 where the tags and filtering system are specifically there to make things easier. It’s basic fandom etiquette guys. Common sense and consideration for others. It won’t kill you to tag things correctly.
(mdni, sexual content, 18+, if you dont like it just block.)
mean simon, silver chain, messy blonde hair, bully, college au, tiny skirts, vibrator, Senior, simon x reader fanfic.
Simon is known for that rude, arrogant behaviour in college. He radiates a "don't care" attitude that feels less like laziness and more like a threat. a thin silver chain around his neck under his black hoodie. He will bully you if you get in his way, He is mean when he needs to be and its not pleasant.
So, when the new session of college starts. you show up at the college as a fresher. You were here to start a new beginning. But unfortunately you mouthed off your senior, Simon Riley just cause he called you names. Ever since then, you both have been fighting like cats and dogs. Trying to get on each other's nerves every time you get in the name of revenge.
It was almost comical, the way you tried to glare at him with those wide, doe-like eyes, furrowing your brows to look tough. But to Simon, you just came off as an adorable, scrunched-up little bunny, all fluff and no bite. The height difference between you two was glaringly obvious, he towered over your petite frame like a shadow swallowing the light.
You were hustling down the crowded hallway, your short plaid skirt swishing against your thighs, arms loaded with textbooks and your notebook clutched tight. Your mind was laser-focused on cramming for the upcoming bio exam, scribbling last-minute notes as you walked.
Then, out of nowhere, you slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Books flew everywhere, and you tumbled backward, landing hard on your butt with a sharp yelp. Rubbing your sore backside, you looked up—and there he was. Not a wall, but Simon, the cocky senior bully. His piercing hazel eyes gazed down at you lazily, a smug smirk tugging at his full lips. He didn't offer a hand or an apology, he just stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you scramble.
Heat flooded your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and rage. How dare he? You shot him a death glare, snatched up your scattered notes, and stormed off without a single word, your hips swaying defiantly in that tiny skirt.
Next day during class time, you somehow managed to sneak into his dorm, walking inside you didn't see anything out of the box, the room was simple but a bit dull. There it was his wardrobe opposite to the side of his bed, your hands made it to the its doors, pulling it. It was filled with his clothes and stuff.
Now started your real plan, you made a mess in his room by throwing out everything from that wardrobe.Soon it was a clothes mess on the floor with you standing on top of it, just when you were about to leave. The door swings, revealing simon standing there. Your heartbeat increased, thinking about getting caught. beads of sweat forming on your forehead.
Simon entered noticing the clothes mess on the floor he gets suprised, but when he sees you standing on top of that in a tiny thing you called skirt, his expression changes from anger to a predator's when a prey walks right into his palm.
"oh my, looks like you were having quite a fun in my room while i was gone". His steps heavy as he dropped his bag down on the floor. "You know i dont mind you sneaking into my room. but creating a mess like that, that aint nice now is it, bunny?" You back away a bit, all that courage and bravery far gone now replaced by fear and nervousness. "I d-dint.. mean to..", your voice barely making it out. "Oh you didn't? But the mess beneath your feet says different. Dont lie to me bunny, i'm not gonna do anything." he says before letting out a deep chuckle.
he definitely did things- like how he got your wrists pressed behind your back with his rough calloused hand. he took a vibrator, coating it in lube from his nightstand before pushing his hand down your panties, pressing it against your slick folds. You gasped as he pushed it inside, the cool silicone stretching you just enough to tease.
taking the little remote of that vibrator in his hand he sat down down on a chair in front of that mess in a man spread position with his meaty thighs pressed down.
"Good girl," he purred, pocketing the remote. "Now, clean that . Every sock, every shirt. And if you drop anything... well" he presses the remote, and you let out a whimper at the sudden fasten vibration between your thighs.
"Go on lovie, you created the mess. You gonna clean it up one by one." He ordered in his gruff voice with a smirk on his face. He loves seeing those teary doe eyes all puffy, with those pillowy lips all red from continuous biting to keep down the whimpering moans threating to leave your lips.
You are trying your best to pick up the clothes but the vibrations acting on your core is making it difficult to even think straight. Bending down to grab a shirt, you nearly moaned aloud as the vibrations shifted, rubbing your clit indirectly.
His sweats tented obviously, his thick cock straining against the fabric. "Hurry it up, lovie, work those pretty lil hands faster for me yeah, sweet girl?" he drawled, voice dripping with mockery as he thumbed the remote, cranking the intensity higher. The sudden surge made your knees buckle, the toy pulsing relentlessly against your wet pulsating cunt.
"m-mh.. please," you gasped, clutching a pair of his boxers, your voice breathy and broken. The vibrations were building pressure in your core, your pussy clenching around the intruder. Juices trickled down your thigh, soaking into your skirt, making a damp patch on it. "I c-can't... it's too much..." You whine out in that little voice of yours.
He laughed, low and filthy, adjusting himself through his sweats. "Too much? Bunny, we're just getting started. Look at you, dripping like a needy whore just from a little buzz. Bet you'd cream yourself even if I just spit on that needy little cunt." He ramped it up again, the toy whirring wildly, forcing a choked sob from your throat as you straightened up, legs quivering
You pushed through, gathering the last of the mess. By the time you finished, stacking the everything inside the wardrobe, you were a wreck: teary-eyed, overstimulated, barely standing. Your skirt was hiked up from all the bending, exposing your bare ass and the faint outline of the toy nestled in your soaked pussy.
As you stood there barely holding up, he walked up to you. "you act like such a good girl when being put in your place, bunny" he whispered down in your ear. "maybe i should do that often, what do you think', sweet girl?" he grins eyeing down at my messed up face.
Before you could let out a sentence, his fingers dipped between your legs, hooking the vibrator and pulling it free with a lewd, wet plop that echoed in the quiet room. The sudden emptiness made you gasp, your pussy clenching around nothing as cool air hit your soaked folds.
He brought the toy to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to lap at the glistening silicone, licking the wet juices off his fingers tasting fuck she tastes so sweet .
You couldn't stand another second under his gaze those piercing eyes stripping you bare all over again. Yanking your skirt down haphazardly, you bolted for the door, heart pounding, legs still shaky from the edging torment.
"And next time, think twice before pulling that bratty shit" he called after you, his chuckle deep and mocking, sending a shiver down your spine. "Or I'll bend you over and fuck the lesson into you myself, alright, bunny?"
all this your gave your cheeks a bright crimson colour. You stepped out, slamming the door shut behind you.
Inside, Simon shook his head, a soft possessive chuckle rumbling from his chest as he pocketed the toy. Such a cute little doll, he murmured to the empty room, adjusting his still-hard cock in his sweats. Can't wait to break her in properly.
synopsis: You die completely at random and wake up in the manhwa you were reading… as the villainous wife of the Duke of the North, no less. The same woman who spent the last six months giving her husband the cold shoulder, ruining their marriage, and basically speedrunning her own execution.
Now you have exactly one job: fix this disaster of a relationship before your husband decides to finish what the original plot started.
a\n: longest fic i’ve written so far. nearly lost my mind, almost scrapped it entirely, questioned every life choice that led me here, but somehow, against all odds… it’s done. so glad its over LOL
You died while reading a manhwa.
One moment you were curled up in bed at 3 a.m., a blanket pulled up to your chin, the only light in your dark room coming from your phone screen. Your eyes were glued to the latest chapter of The Duke’s Black Heart, thumb hovering over the final panel as frustration and reluctant longing twisted in your chest. The illustration was breathtakingly brutal: Duke Ryomen Sukuna standing tall amid swirling snow, pink hair tousled by the wind, crimson eyes empty of mercy, black tattoos stark against his skin as he looked down at the broken body of his wife.
The page loaded one last time. The panel filled your screen. Then your vision blurred, the room spun violently, and everything went black. No pain. No final breath. Just sudden, heavy nothing.
And then you woke up somewhere else.
Cold air rushes into your lungs, sharp and biting. Your eyes flutter open slowly, lashes feeling unusually heavy. You’re lying in a massive four-poster bed, the canopy above you made of thick crimson velvet that drapes down like heavy curtains. The silk sheets beneath you are cool and slippery against your skin in a way that feels far too expensive, far too unfamiliar. Thick blankets weighted with fur press down on your body, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and aged iron. Your limbs feel wrong — too slender, too delicate. When you lift your hands, they are smaller, with smooth palms and perfectly manicured nails that catch the dim morning light filtering through tall, frost-laced windows.
You push yourself up into a sitting position. The silk nightgown slips off one shoulder. A large, ornately framed mirror stands across the room, reflecting the lavish bedchamber: dark wood furniture, heavy tapestries on the walls, a fireplace crackling faintly in the corner. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone that sends a shiver racing up your spine.
You turn toward the mirror.
The face staring back at you is not your own. It is strikingly beautiful in a refined, aristocratic way that feels both alien and intimidating.
You have transmigrated.
You are now the villainess.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna’s wife of exactly six months.
The realization slams into you like ice water. Memories that don’t belong to you flood your mind in vivid, unrelenting flashes. The forced marriage ceremony under the Emperor’s decree. The wedding night where her body had lain stiff and unresponsive beneath his, silent tears tracking down her cheeks as she called him a beast under her breath and swore she would never allow him to touch her again. Six agonizing months of total, deliberate silence: never speaking a single word directly to him, never sharing his table, never sharing his bed. Only curt notes passed through servants, hidden schemes whispered to outsiders, and a cold, hateful distance that grew sharper every day. Sukuna’s contempt had hardened into something lethal.
In the original story, he kills her. Publicly. Brutally. Before the year is out — dragging her into the courtyard and ending her life with the same large, scarred hands you’ve fantasized about for months.
And now I’m her.
Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.
The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.
“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”
You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”
The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”
The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”
You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”
The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.
Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”
They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.
They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.
The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.
There he is.
Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.
You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.
His knife stops mid-cut.
The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.
Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.
You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”
The words hang in the air.
Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.
“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”
He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.
“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”
Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.
You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.
This is going to be so much harder than I thought.
But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.
The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.
By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.
You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.
Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.
A gruff “Come in” came from inside.
You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.
The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.
Then his crimson eyes flicked up.
The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.
You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.
“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”
He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.
“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”
His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.
“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.
Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.
“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.
“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”
He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.
You didn’t argue.
You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.
Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.
That went badly.
You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.
Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.
You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?
If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.
You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?
It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.
You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.
The next morning arrived quietly.
You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.
You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.
You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.
About an hour later, the door opened.
Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.
For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.
“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”
You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.
“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”
Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.
“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”
You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”
He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”
You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”
Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.
“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”
But he didn’t ask you to leave.
You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.
It wasn’t much.
But it also wasn’t outright rejection.
You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.
Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.
“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”
You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.
“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”
The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.
You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”
Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.
“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”
He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.
“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.
You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.
This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.
But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.
You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.
Tomorrow it is.
The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.
You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.
You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.
They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.
You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.
“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.
“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.
A firm knock sounded at the door.
“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.
You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.
Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.
His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.
“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.
“I said I would,” you replied simply.
He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.
You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.
As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.
“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”
You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”
Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.
The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.
When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.
Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.
“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.
You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.
“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”
The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.
The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.
You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.
Tonight was different.
Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.
A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.
“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”
Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”
The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”
You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.
“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”
“I thought she hated him…”
“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”
Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.
Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.
For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.
“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”
You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”
His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”
“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”
Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.
A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.
“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.
“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”
Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”
You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.
Suddenly, you were alone.
You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.
A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.
“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”
You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.
“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”
His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”
Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”
The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.
Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”
You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Sukuna.
His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.
Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.
“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”
Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”
You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.
Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”
Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.
“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”
Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.
He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”
The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.
You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.
“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”
He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”
His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.
“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”
You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”
Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.
“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”
His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.
Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.
“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”
His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.
The music swelled again around you.
Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.
“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”
Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.
He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.
“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”
You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”
The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.
As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”
Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.
“Sukuna…” you started softly.
He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.
“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”
The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.
When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.
“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”
He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.
The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.
Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.
The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.
By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.
When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.
He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.
When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.
“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”
He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.
You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.
“Wait…”
Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.
You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"
The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.
Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.
“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”
He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.
“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.
Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.
The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.
Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.
“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”
He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”
He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.
The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.
His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.
Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.
“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”
He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.
“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.
He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.
You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.
Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.
You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.
For a long second he just stared.
Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.
“Come here,” he said, voice low.
You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.
You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.
The silence was heavy.
“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”
He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”
Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.
The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.
Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.
“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”
He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.
Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.
For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.
Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.
He didn’t pull away immediately.
“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”
You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.
“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.
Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.
He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.
“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”
Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”
Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.
God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.
He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”
You didn’t make him wait long.
You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.
“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”
A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.
Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.
The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.
Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.
“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”
You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.
There was no point in holding back anymore.
“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”
Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Bullshit.”
The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.
“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”
You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.
“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.
“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”
You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.
“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”
His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.
“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”
His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.
“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”
The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.
Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.
You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.
“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.
“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”
His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.
“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.
Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.
“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”
He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.
“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”
His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.
Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.
“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”
You didn’t hesitate any longer.
Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.
Then he took control.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.
You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.
“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”
He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.
“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”
He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.
Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.
“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”
You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.
“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”
His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.
You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.
He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”
One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.
“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”
He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.
He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.
“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”
He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.
The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.
You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.
“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”
He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”
His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.
It snapped.
You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.
He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.
“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.
He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.
“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”
His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.
“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”
You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.
Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.
“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”
He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.
You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.
Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.
He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.
“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”
He pushed forward slowly.
The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.
Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.
“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”
He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.
You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”
He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.
“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”
He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.
You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.
Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.
“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.
“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”
A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.
“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.
You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.
“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”
“Good girl.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.
The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.
“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”
The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.
“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”
“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”
It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.
Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”
He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.
“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”
Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.
Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”
He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.
Sukuna went feral.
He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.
You were cockdrunk almost immediately.
Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.
“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.
He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.
“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”
You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.
“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.
Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.
“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”
You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”
Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.
He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.
“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.
Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.
“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.
He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.
“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”
He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.
You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.
Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”
You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”
He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”
He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.
You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.
Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.
“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”
He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.
Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.
But he didn’t let go.
a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
synopsis: Sukuna doesn’t fall for people,he wins them, then gets bored. Frat king, reckless, used to easy victories, he notices you because you’re different,too quiet, too soft, too unaware of how pretty you actually are. So he turns it into a game,slipping into your days, earning your trust, getting you comfortable… until getting you is easy. And when he finally does, he leaves like he always does.
Only this time,you don’t chase. You don’t fight. You just… disappear,And for the first time, Sukuna realizes—he’s not done with you.Even if you’re done with him.
so will he learn to live with it… or do whatever it takes to make it right?
Wc. : around 4k
Warnings: angst, emotional damage,harsh words, insecurity, confrontation, sukuna being INSUFFERABLE , regret arc starting, regret(but not redemption yet), sukuna has unknown feelings.
Chap 1 , 2
It didn’t hit him all at once, perhaps,that would’ve been easier.
Something sharp, something obvious ,something he could’ve named and dismissed just as quickly.
This wasn’t that.
It had a slow drag to it.
At first, it just felt like irritation.
The kind that settled under his skin without reason, without direction. Conversations dragged longer than they should have. Laughter sounded off-too loud, too hollow. The usual routine slipped back into place, but it didn’t fit the way it used to.
Something about it felt so wrong.
Sukuna ignored it. Of course he did.
He went back to the parties.
Back to the noise, the drinks, the bodies pressed too close, hands reaching for him like they always did. It should’ve been easy. It had always been easy.
It wasn’t.
A girl laughed against his shoulder one night, her hand sliding up his arm,like usual.
He didn’t react or lean in , didnt even pull her closer.
Because all he could think about was-you.
Its not like he wanted to, you were just there, at the back of his mind all the time…but slowly seeping in to consume it entirely.
The way you used to look at him.
The way your hands had held onto him like you meant it.
The way your voice softened when you spoke, like you were still deciding if you were allowed to.
It didn’t sit right.None of it did.
He pulled away, Abrupt enough that the girl noticed.
Annoyed enough that she said something, not that he heard it.
Because something else had already taken over.
Your face.
That moment.
The way your expression had changed-not all at once,but slowly, like something had dimmed behind your eyes before he even realized what he’d said.
“You’re not all that.”
The words came back clearer now. Everytime it came to his mind, it was like he’s reliving that moment.
Sukuna exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening.
It shouldn’t matter.
It didn’t matter.
So why—
He pushed the thought down immediately.
Didn’t let it finish.
Didn’t let it form into something he’d have to look at properly.
Because that wasn’t him.
He was not one to regret something or dwell on it, much less go back.
And yet
He found himself looking.
Not consciously ,at least not at first.
Just small things.
Walking into class and scanning the room before he even registered he was doing it. Pausing in the hallway a second too long. Taking a different route across campus without thinking, one that passed by places you used to be.
You weren’t there.
Not in class,in the library, nowhere.
It didn’t make sense.
You had been there every day.
Predictable.
Easy to find.
I’ll And now…Nothing.
Like you had just-left.
Something in his chest tightened,maybe not hurt, but something …like a pin pricking at his heart time to time.
Just enough to notice.
He didn’t like it.
The feeling lingered longer than it should have.Stayed where it wasn’t supposed to.
That night, he didn’t go to a party.
No reason,no excuse.He just… didn’t.
The next day, he showed up to class early.
That wasn’t normal.
He sat in his usual seat, posture loose, expression unchanged,but there was something off about it. Something restless beneath the surface.
His eyes moved to the door. Once. Then again.
You didn’t walk in.He told himself it didn’t matter.
It didn’t.
Still—he stayed until the lecture started.
And then until it ended…then longer than that.
Just in case.You didn’t show.
By the end of the week, it had stopped being subtle.
He wasn’t at parties.Wasn’t entertaining anyone.Wasn’t doing anything he usually did.
The frat noticed.
“Man, what’s with you?” Gojo asked one night, leaning against the doorway, watching him like this was something worth commenting on.
Sukuna didn’t look up.
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, you look like nothing,” Gojo snorted. “You’ve been off all week.”
From the other side, Geto hummed quietly.
“Let him be. He’ll figure it out eventually.”
Sukuna’s gaze flickered up at that. Sharp.
“Figure what out?”
Geto met his eyes, something knowing in the way he held the look.
“Exactly.”Silence.
Sukuna scoffed lightly, looking away again.
“Don’t start.”
But something about that stayed with him
Because for a second—it felt like they knew something he didn’t.
And that pissed him off more than anything else.
He thought about asking Shoko. Just once.
The thought came and went quickly.
Because the last time he’d seen her—
the way she’d looked at him
Cold.
Sharp.
Like she already knew.
Like if she said anything, it wouldn’t be something he wanted to hear.
So he didn’t.
Didn’t ask or look,or go back.
But it didn’t stop.Nothing stopped it.
Not the distance, distraction or time he thought would stop it.
Because every time he closed his eyes,
There you were.
Sukuna didn’t know what to do with something he couldn’t get rid of.
——
He hears your name before he realizes he’s listening.
Mentioned in a casual conversation,meant to be something in the passing.
“…she hasn’t been showing up, right?”
A shrug.
Yeah. Haven’t seen her all week.”
“Shoko said she might take a break or something.”
A break? He thinks
From what?
His grip tightens slightly around the cup in his hand, just enough for the plastic to bend under the pressure.
No one notices how restless it makes him in the moment to even get a hint of you.
The conversation moves on, but he doesn’t.
It shouldn’t matter.
People leave,disappear, change routines all the time.
You weren’t-
Just anyone.
Sukuna exhales sharply, setting the cup down harder than he needs to.
He doesn’t acknowledge anyone around him.
He’s just too….Annoyed? yeah,that’s what it is, Just annoyance.
That you’re not where you’re supposed to be.
That things don’t line up the way they did before.
That something changed but it didn’t change back.
He goes out that night,like he always does, its all the same, music,girls, party.
At first he lets it happen,
Someone hands him a cup before he even asks, and a girl presses up against him, saying something.He’s not bothered,Because his attention is somewhere else.
It irritates him.
The girl shifts closer, closer than she needs to be.
And suddenly it’s too much and he’s just…done.He pushes her away.
This…is not it.
…That’s new.
Everything else, he can drown out, but not this.
Then before he can stop it or bury it, it had already hit him,harshly.
It was her.
The realisation didn’t unfold, it just hit him, right in his chest.
No. He thinks. This is not how it’s supposed to be.
Everything he said that night,it comes back to him, ringing in his ears.And his words for the first time , sound wrong. Not clever or dismissive, just wrong.
He hates the feeling in his chest, because that tells him that this means something.
He exhales sharply, turning away, pushing through the crowd without another word, without another glance.
The noise follows him out.
But it doesn’t reach him.
Because now,
There’s only one thing left.
One realization.
One problem he can’t ignore anymore.
You’re gone.
And for the first time,
Sukuna wants to fix something he broke.
——
It happens on a day he isn’t looking for you.
He’s cutting across campus, steps slow, unfocused, no real direction behind them. It’s become a habit,moving without thinking, ending up places he doesn’t remember deciding to go.
Then he stops. Not consciously.
Just dead in his tracks.
Because you’re there across the hallway, half turned, Talking to someone.
He doesn’t notice that he’s not breathing.
Because something about you…is wrong.
It takes him a moment to figure it, you look the same, same face, same posture, same way of standing, hands losely gathered together, talking low enough that he can’t hear from the distance.
But somethings missing, and its easy to overlook, he would have , if he wasn’t paying attention to you before, but he did.
He knew the way your eyes used to hold light when you spoke. The way your expressions shifted too quickly sometimes, like you forgot to guard them in time. The way you looked at people- at him, like you were still deciding if you were allowed to.
That’s gone, not in a way that its hidden or replaced, its just gone.
Your face is calm.
Composed.
Careful…like always.
Even when you nod, even when your lips curve slightly in response to something the other person says,it doesn’t reach your eyes the way it used to.
It doesn’t soften you.
It just sits there.
Sukuna’s chest tightens, so hard that it feels heavy.
His breath catches,
and this time, he feels it.
Feels the way it stutters, the way his body reacts before his mind can catch up.
Because this isn’t what he expected.
He thought—
No.
He didn’t think.
That was the problem.
His jaw tightens, gaze fixed on you longer than it should be, longer than he allows himself to admit.
You don’t look around.Don’t scan the space.
You’re just… there.
Existing, without him.But not untouched.That’s what settles in.
You didn’t move on.
You changed.
And he knows,
He knows exactly when.
The memory hits without warning.
Your face.
That moment.
The way your expression had dimmed, quietly, almost politely, like you were trying not to let it show too much.
The words echo again.
But now,They sound different.
Not dismissive.
Final.
Sukuna exhales slowly, something tightening deeper in his chest, something unfamiliar and unwelcome settling where nothing used to stay.
This isn’t irritation or distraction,something he can walk away from and forget.
This is consequences.
And now he can see them, Standing right in front of him.
Quiet. Composed.Dimmed.
Because of him.
He doesn’t move forward or call out for you, because for the first time he hesitates, and this- hesitation feels worse than anything.
——
The first time he tries he doesn’t plan it. At least that’s what he tells himself.
He just moves without much thought, like if he gave it a thought he won’t do it at all.
You’re there. And it irritates him.
It irritates him that you can just be there, and exist as if nothing-
Or
Not nothing, but… like he doesn’t matter.
Sukuna stops a few feet away.
Close enough now for you to have noticed,
But you don’t
His jaw tightens.
“…You’re hard to find lately.”
Then you turn.
Your eyes meet his.
And for a second,
something in his chest shifts.
Because you’re looking at him finally.
But it doesn’t feel like before.There’s no hesitation,No softness,No quiet curiosity.
Just-
recognition.Flat.
“Wasn’t trying to be found.”
Your voice is even.Calm.
Like this conversation doesn’t matter.
Sukuna exhales slowly, something tightening under his ribs.
“Yeah,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can tell.”
You want to go away, away from this situation, but you stay, facing him.
Sukuna shifts slightly, weight uneven for the first time in a long time.
“…you’ve been skipping class lately.”
You blink.
“I haven’t.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“I was there.”
Everything you say is short and direct.
No space for him to push further.
He does anyway.
“You changed seats.”
A small pause.
“It’s a free classroom.”
Again, you reply, just direct.
Like you’re not going to give him anything more than he asks for.
Like he has to earn even this much now.
That twists something in him.
“Why?”
The question slips out before he can stop it.
You tilt your head slightly.
“Why what?”
“Why’d you—” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Why’d you move?”
There’s a beat.
You look at him properly this time.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”The words land softly.
Sukuna stills.
Because that’s…his line.
That’s what he said.That’s what he made it.
And now,it’s yours.
“That’s not—”
He stops before he says anything else,
Because he doesn’t know how to finish it.
Because whatever he says next won’t sound right.
You wait, in a way that says that youre not expectant.
that’s worse than if you had interrupted him.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says finally.
The words feel unfamiliar and heavy,
Like they don’t belong in his mouth.
You don’t react immediately.
Then you just nod. “Okay.”
With the same flat acceptance as if you don’t want to question him, as if it didn’t matter enough to ask.
He takes a step closer , its not aggressive, but instinctive.
“Don’t just say that.”
You don’t move.
“Say what?”
“Like that,” he mutters, frustration slipping through now. “Like it’s-like it’s nothing.”
You hold his gaze and it has something,
Something which is not soft, but heavy.
“You said it was nothing.”
It lands clean, with no emotion or accusations, but just as a fact.
And suddenly,he hears it properly.
Not from himself but from you.
Sukuna exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again, slower this time, like he’s trying to ground himself.
“That’s not what I meant.”
You don’t argue, you just look at him.
And this time there’s a flicker in your eyes,not entirely of hurt but , of tiredness.
“Then what did you mean?”
The question is simple.
But it hits harder than anything else.
Because he doesn’t have an answer.
Because whatever this is,he hasn’t named it,doesn’t want to.
He knows naming it would mean something he’s not ready to admit.
“I don’t know,” he says finally.
that’s the first honest thing he’s said.
It sounds worse than everything else.
Your expression doesn’t change.
But something in your posture shifts.
Like that confirms something.
“Okay,” you say again , and then you step back , without stopping.
Sukuna watches you go, he doesn’t reach out or call after you, Because something in his chest feels heavy enough to hold him in place.
And that feels worse than losing you, because now he knows that it’s his fault.
———
The second time he catches you after this,
He doesn’t mean to wait.He just ends up there ,outside your class.Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, like it’s nothing.
Its not nothing.
His eyes keep flicking to the door.
Every time it opens.
Every time someone walks out.
It’s irritating.This isn’t him.
He doesn’t want to wait, and yet he does.
When you finally step out,he notices immediately.
“…Hey.”
It slips out quieter than usual.
You pause at his voice and turn.
All that he’s met with is recognition,nothing more.
Sukuna pushes off the wall.Closes the distance.
“You leaving already?”
“I have another class.”
Of course.
He doesn’t move.
“…Walk with me.”
You hesitate, Just for a second.
“…Okay.”
You walk with him, but there’s space between you now.
“…You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I’ve just been busy” you say , calm and flat.
He exhales.
“Thats not what this is.”
You glance at him.
“What is it then?”
He doesn’t answer.
“…You’re acting different,” he says instead.
“Yeah.”
No explanation.That throws him off.
“…Why?”
you speak after a second.
“Because I listened to you.”
It lands quietly.
“You said it didn’t matter,” you add.
“So I stopped acting like it did.”
Something in his chest twists.
“That’s not what I meant.”
You nod.
“I know.”
Thats worse,Because you don’t ask for more, you just let it go.
He slows , but you dont.
“…Don’t do that,” he mutters.
You stop.
“Do what?”
“Act like it’s just—over.”
You look at him.
“What else is there to do?”
He has nothing to say.
“…It wasn’t nothing,” he says finally.
You hold his gaze.
“ That’s not what you said.”
That line again.That wall again.
You step back.
“I have class,” you say and you just leave.
He doesn’t follow you, but he feels it slipping, he knows its getting out of his control, he doesn’t know how to stop it, and maybe he’ll let it slip, for you.
——
The third time he’s not waiting, not watching from a distance or pretending that its accidental.
He finds you.
And when you try to walk past him—
he stops you.
“Wait.”
You don’t.
So he steps in front of you.
Close enough that you have to stop.
For a second,neither of you says anything.
Then,you look up at him.
And there’s something in your eyes now, and its sharp.
“What?” you ask ,No hesitation.No warmth.
Sukuna exhales, already off, already restless.
“Can you just—” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening. “Stop walking away from me.”
you let out a quiet breath.
“You didn’t have a problem walking away from me.”
It lands clean.
Sukuna steps closer.
“I didn’t—”
“You did.”
You cut him off immediately.
And this time,you don’t hold back.
“You got what you wanted,” you continue, voice steady but tighter now. “You got close, you made it easy for me to trust you, and then you left like it was nothing.”
Sukuna’s jaw tightens.
“That’s not—”
“You don’t get to say that.”
Your voice isn’t loud , But it cuts.
“You don’t get to come back now and act like it meant something when you were the one who decided it didn’t.”
He doesn’t have a response.
Because you’re right.
“You’re the same as everyone else,” you go on. “Actually—worse.”
His brows pull together.
“Worse?” he repeats.
“Yes.”
You step closer now.
Eyes locked on his.
“Because t least they don’t pretend.”
That goes straight to his chest.
“You knew exactly what you were doing,” you continue. “Showing up everywhere, making it feel like it was real,like I wasn’t just another girl to you.”
Your breath stutters,just slightly,but you don’t stop.
“And I believed you.”
There it is,the line that’s been following him.
But this time,it’s heavier.Angrier.
“Do you even realize how messed up that is?” you ask. “Or do you just go around doing this to people and not think about it?”
Sukuna doesn’t answer.
Because he can’t.
Because everything you’re saying,is exactly what he’s been trying not to look at.
“You walk around like nothing touches you,” you continue, quieter now. “Drinking, partying, girls all over you—like none of it means anything.”
Your eyes don’t leave his.
“Like people don’t mean anything “
The knot in his chest tightens.
“You don’t care about anything but yourself,” you say.
There’s no hesitation in your words, No softness.
Just truth.
“And the worst part is…” your voice drops slightly, “I still thought there was something real in you”
There it is, that’s what he’s been avoiding.
“I saw you,” you say. “Not whatever this is—you.”
“And you proved me wrong.”
The silence between you is thick.
Because there’s nothing left to defend.
Nothing left to deny.
For the first time,he has nowhere to stand.
“I know,” he says.
The words are rough and unsteady.
“I know.”
You don’t respond.
Because knowing doesn’t fix anything.
“And I—” he exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, something breaking through now, something unfiltered. “I didn’t think you’d-”
He stops.
Because that sounds worse out loud.
Your brows furrow.
“Didn’t think I’d what?”
Sukuna looks at you.Really looks.
He doesn’t dodge it.
“…Believe me,” he says.
Its odd and heavy coming from him,because that’s the truth,thats what he knew you would and he used it.
Your expression shifts into something quieter.
“Exactly,” you say.
Sukuna exhales, he can’t push the feeling in his chest anymore.
“I messed it up,” he says again.
There’s no control left in it.
“I know I did,” he continues, voice lower, rougher. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have—”
He stops.
Because now, he’s remembering it properly, not how he said it but how you heard it.
His breath falters.
“I shouldn’t have looked at you like that,” he adds, quieter.
That’s new.That’s real.
You don’t interrupt.
That makes it worse.
“Just—” he exhales, pacing slightly now, restless, like he can’t stay still inside this anymore. “Don’t act like it didn’t matter.”
You blink.
“It mattered,” you say softly. Like he’s been wanting to hear.
“That’s why I’m done.”
The words land gently.
But they hit harder than anything else.
He can’t do anything but just be still.
that’s not something he can push against.
Not something he can argue.
Not something he can fix with words.
“…Don’t,” he says, quieter now.
It’s not a command, it’s pleading.
You look at him.
And for a second,there’s something there.
Not forgiveness, not yet.
But not nothing either.
“You don’t get to come back just because you feel bad now,” you say.
You’re saying it, the things he didn’t want to accept.
“You didn’t care when it mattered,So don’t act like you do now.”
Sukuna swallows.
This is where he loses….or changes.
He doesn’t argue , Doesn’t deflect.
He just stands there,and takes it.
You look at him for a long moment.
Then you speak.
And its not rushed, Just… steady.
“You know what the worst part is?”
Sukuna listens quietly
Because your tone isn’t angry.
It’s calm.
Too calm.
“I knew,” you continue. “I knew you were like that.”
His brows pull together slightly.
“I knew you drank too much. I knew you didn’t take anything seriously. I knew the way people talked about you.” Each word lands slower than the last.
“And I still—” you pause, breath catching just slightly, “I still thought you were different with me.
His expression is scrunched , like he remembers clearly, how you looked that day when he said those things.
“I thought,” you go on, quieter now, “maybe you just don’t care about everyone… but you care about something.”
A pause.
“Or someone.”
The silence stretches.
“And that’s on me,” you add.
That throws him.
Because you’re not blaming him.Not completely.
“I let myself believe it,” you say. “I let myself get comfortable. I let myself trust you.”
just for a second your gaze flickers , before it steadies again.
“And you proved me right for a while.”
Sukuna exhales slowly.
Everything you’re saying feels worse than if you had just screamed at him, accused him, because it reminds him of how real this is.
“And then you said that,” you finish.
Simple.No dramatics. Just final.
“And I realized I was the only one who thought any of it meant something.”
Then there’s just silence, heavy and unavoidable.
———
With that you leave,
Your words stay with him,
Not what you said.
Not how you said it.
But maybe the fact that you don’t look back.
Sukuna stands there longer than he should.Long enough for the hallway to empty,for the noise around him to come back.
None of it gets to him, because your words stay exactly where you put them.
“You don’t care about anything but yourself.”
He exhales, It doesn’t come out steady,
For once he’s not trying to prove you wrong, but figure out if you’re right.
But what he’s sure of is,
This time,
it wasn’t about winning.It was about not losing you like that again.
note: OMG, this one took me a bit, i didn’t want to ruin the characters just to rush the angst , and to be fair he needed to SUFFER, he better fix what he did, let me know your thoughts so i know if you’re interested in a pt3 <3🤭
18+ sharing your warmth with caleb.
size difference. pet names. breeding. use of gravity evol.
“You can’t feel me at all?” you ask again, your fingers stroking up his forearm. It’s still hard to believe his arm is not entirely his anymore – that they’d modified it. It still felt like him – like he always had: warm and strong and yours.
He watches the meandering path you make up his arm, fingers ghosting over his skin. “Not like this,” he answers in a whisper.
It wasn’t right. They’d taken part of him from you. It makes you angry.
He hisses as you pinch the skin at his elbow.
Then, he smiles. “So cruel.”
His smile drops off his lips as you intertwine your fingers with his. “I hate them,” you mutter, bringing his hand towards your lips. You hold him there, a breath away, knowing he can’t feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.
He’d held your own hands like this just the day before, warming them with his hot breath and shoving them into his pockets before they could turn to ice again.
He’s reminded of the same thing; he’s having the same thought. You see it in his eyes as he pulls your intertwined hands towards his own lips now. “I won’t always be able to tell if your hands are cold,” he says. “Not unless you always walk on my left… unless you hold my left hand.” He pauses, eyes moving from your joined hands to look back at you. “Will you do that for me, Pips?” He asks. “So I know when you’re cold?”
“I can just tell you.”
He smiles again, squeezing your hand a little. “Can I trust you to tell me?”
You frown slightly.
He laughs.
“On my left, then,” he says, decision made.
It’s a familiar end. His decisions were hard to shift once he’d made them. He was hard to steer. Still, you would always try.
You readjust your position on his lap, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs.
“Would you tell me if you were cold?” you ask.
He tilts his head, his hair falling across his forehead.
You know the answer before you’d asked. But it wasn’t about getting an answer. You were attempting to make a point: the same point you’d been trying to make for months now – since he’d come back.
You tug your hand from his and place your hands on his chest, pressing him back into the pillows propped up against the headboard. Answer me, you threaten silently.
“Why would I?” he asks as his right hand settles on your hip, like you might need help just to stay perched in his lap – like you could fall and he needed to be ready to catch you.
“So I can help you, like you would help me,” you answer.
His lips part, then close. He looks to the side, out into the snowy night, then back at you. “I’m never cold.”
In the past, you might’ve huffed and crawled off him – left him there to stew in his own stubborn refusal to admit to a completely human weakness. Instead, you cup his cheek with your palm, gentle, “Don’t tell childish lies. We’re adults now, you know.”
He smiles softly – a slight curve of his lips that seems to soften his eyes, too.
“I can warm you when you’re cold,” you whisper, quiet, unwilling to risk scaring the softness away.
He blinks. His eyes drop to the hand at your hip. He’s quiet.
You wait.
Then, “What if I can’t feel your warmth?” he asks, so quiet you almost can’t make out the words.
You take a shallow breath, and then you lean forward into him, pressing your chest up against his. Your face rests comfortably against his shoulder — warm breath ghosting over his neck. “You can feel me everywhere else,” you remind him. Everywhere but his right arm.
His fingers press into your hip, and then his hand drops away.
Retreating.
You turn your head a little and press your lips to his skin, just in the crook of his neck.
He freezes.
Retreat paused.
“Right?” you prod, lips brushing against his warm skin as you speak. “You can feel it here?”
He takes in a shaky breath, and you’re sure he’s about to lift you off him, say something to lighten to mood, distract you like he always does: retreat again.
You part your lips and exhale against his skin, “It’s warm, yeah?” you ask, determined.
You swear, just for a second, that you feel the brush of his hand at your back, but it’s gone before you can be sure of it. He’s still, apart from that, until, finally, “Yeah,” he breathes.
Victory.
You know it, just in that little word. He wasn’t backing away; retreating.
He was giving in.
You take in a few shallow breaths, shaken by the prospect of him finally surrendering. Then, gently, you press your lips to his neck in a kiss. “You’ll tell me then?” you ask. “You’ll tell me when you're cold?”
His hand presses to your lower back, you’re sure this time. It’s heavy and unwavering. “So you can warm me?” he asks in return, his voice far less steady than his hand at your back.
“Mm,” you hum, moving your head side to side a little so your lips graze his skin in the spot you kissed him.
“All right,” he breathes.
“Promise?”
He’s silent, unmoving.
You hook your finger into the collar of his t-shirt and pull it down slightly, enough that you can press your lips to his collarbone. “Promise,” you prod, never moving far enough away that your lips aren’t touching him. Always touching. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re cold.”
His head moves a little, chin dipping. Then, like an afterthought, he speaks, “Yes. Yeah. I’ll tell you. Promise.”
Then his hand presses into you harder, like he’s trying to close the little gap between your bodies.
You resist for a moment, then give in, letting him press you up against him.
You’re forced to lift your head from his neck as you readjust; forced to meet his eyes.
His pupils nearly engulf his purple irises entirely, darkness swarming and mixing with the softness that still hasn’t left. That’s how he was these days, you ponder as he looks back at you: soft and comfort and all those things that made him so familiar, but also, dark – cold, unpredictable, different – someone capable of igniting fear in a crowd of uniformed men.
“It makes me feel greedy,” he says, pulling you from the swirling in his eyes.
You blink, “Greedy?”
“Just thinking about it,” he clarifies. “You’re so warm that I…” His eyes dip to your lips as he speaks, short little glances that wouldn’t be so noticeable if they weren’t so frequent – if he didn’t linger there the more he looked, like the act of looking away was wearing him down. “I might… take it all. I might never stop. I might want it all and never ever stop.”
You squirm a little, just slightly, an involuntary almost roll of your hips. “That’s okay. You’ve been cold for a long time, yeah? You need lots and lots of … of warming up.”
He nods, but it looks a little uncontrolled, like he wasn’t thinking much about answering you at all. It’s a lazy kind of nod; distracted.
Lazy. Kind of like the way you begin to roll your hips.
He doesn’t look away as you roll against him, transfixed there as your breathing slowly shifts into deeper, unsteady, puffs of air between parted lips.
You can feel his hesitation, like breaking himself from his frozen trance might make it all stop – as if he were in a dream.
“Am I warm here?” you ask on a shaky exhale, rolling your hips with a little force this time – pressing your heated centre into him.
Then you’re still, captured by the invisible force you’ve always known as his evol. It holds you there as his hand snakes up your back, a firm warmth that shifts the fabric of your shirt a little with it as it goes. It only stops when he reaches the back of your head. There he holds you, fingers tangled in your hair. You blink. His gravity releases you, and he falls forward – his forehead pressing against your own.
His breath mixes with your own as he holds you there, waiting on his response.
“That’s where you’re warmest,” he says, finally. “There,” he closes the gaps between your lips a little more. It almost tickles, the ghost of him – so close. “And here.”
Then he’s on you, delving into your mouth in a way that leaves no room for escape. His hand holds you to him as he takes and takes and takes, tongue’s dancing and spit making a mess down to your chin.
Your hips move on their own.
You grind into him as you consume each other, assisted a little when his other hand presses into your lower back.
Warm.
It’s all you’re thinking.
You’re so warm. He’s so warm. His warm hands holding you close; his warm chest pressed to yours; his warm thighs underneath you; his hot tongue, slick against yours.
An embarrassing sound slips from your throat. You pull away, gasping in much-needed air as his eyes flick across your face.
His fingers twitch against your back.
You shiver.
His hand, at the back of your head, drifts down to cradle your cheek.
It’s his left hand.
His thumb brushes against your skin in gentle strokes.
“I’m cold,” he says.
You shiver again. It’s not from the temperature. The truth is, it’s not cold at all. His apartment might even be a little warmer than most people would find comfortable. He kept it that way for you, especially on winter nights like this: the ones you felt a little harsher than he ever did.
“You are?” you question, bringing your hand up to his cheek, mirroring him.
Warm. His cheek is soft and radiating heat to match the red flush of his skin.
He nods, looking suddenly a little like a wounded puppy. You could almost swear his lower lip, wet from your kisses, was protruding a little… almost like a pout.
You press against him, chest to chest, as if there was any space left to close between you. “Even after…” you pause. “But I thought that was my warmest part?” you question, reaching up to touch your lips with your fingers.
His eyes drop and linger there, watching where you touch your mouth. Then, “Yeah, it is. You’re so warm there. So, so warm,” he says, distracted.
You wrap your arms around his neck. His arms fall to your waist, wrapping around you tight.
“But you’re still cold?” you ask.
His eyes flutter closed. One shaky breath. Two. They open again. “Greedy,” he breathes. “I told you, yeah?”
Your cunt pulses between your legs, hot and sensitive. “Maybe…” you drift off, distracted by the increasingly desperate urge to shift a little to the side and press down directly onto his firm thigh. “Maybe you need to use both.” Your voice is breathy. It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so distracted.
“Both?”
Your lashes flutter as you fight closing your eyes and giving into temptation. “Both my warmest places,” you whisper.
His fingers press into your waist, and then, he’s pulling you down, firm, into his lap. “I need to use both?” he asks, breathy.
You nod. “I’m warm there, I promise.”
He looks between your eyes and his head drops back a little, eyes closing, before he catches himself. He rocks forward again, keeping you close. “Yeah?” he breathes.
“So warm,” you say with another nod, your voice taking on a desperate, pleading, sort of tone. “Hot. It’s hot. I’ll warm you up, Caleb. I promise. I’ll keep you warm.”
His lips nearly brush yours when he speaks, “Yeah, baby? I might need to stay inside, though. You might have to keep me in there so I can stay nice and warm, yeah? Is that okay?”
You nod. It’s a little frantic, as desperate as your pleading.
When his lips press to yours again, you’re vaguely aware of movement elsewhere, of him using a combination of his evol and his hands to lift you just enough to shove his pants down his legs a little and resettle you in his lap, one less layer between you.
You nibble at his lower lip as his warm fingers play with your flimsy shorts, slowly, lazily, snaking their way into one of the legs. You gasp into his mouth, jolting at the tickle of his fingers as they brush over your underwear, over your throbbing cunt.
“I can feel it,” he says as he sucks in shallow breaths. “I can feel how warm you are.”
You blink at him, incapable of saying anything at all – focused instead on catching your breath.
He continues, warm fingers brushing lightly back and forth against the cotton between your legs, “Right here,” he breathes. “Hm? Right here, yeah?”
Your lips part, and close, and part again. Then, you nod.
Your world tips. He lifts you and lowers you onto the pillows before tugging you backwards against his chest – flush against his body, each of you lying on your sides. His breath is warm on your neck when he speaks, “I should check,” he says. “Just to be sure.”
It’s easier to speak like this, with your eyes on the snow falling though the window, instead of looking at him. “How?” you ask, a little crack in your voice.
His palm moves to your lower stomach, settles there a moment, then presses, forcing you right back against him. “You’ve gotta be close,” he says, his voice taking on the tone he’s always used when he was helping you study, gentle, patient – listen closely, it says, I’ll help you. “Just like this,” he continues. His hand leaves your stomach. He shifts a little. Then, his finger sneaks back through the leg of your flimsy pyjama shorts, forcing them to rise up right around the tops of your thighs until they’re basically a second layer of underwear. “We’ll leave these on for now, okay?”
You nod, nonverbal.
He tugs your underwear a little. You have no idea what for, distracted by the pulsing between your legs.
Then, heat, soft. His cock slips beneath your underwear, and in one smooth motion, slips along your sensitive cunt, skin to skin.
You whimper, twist towards him, and grip his bicep – stunned by the sudden reality of feeling him like this, pressed hotly against you. You’re sharply aware of the wetness he finds there; of the way you’ve been leaking for him.
His hand moves back to your stomach, holding you steady. “Just like this,” he breathes. You can’t see his eyes like this, twisted back towards him just enough that he can take your lips in his.
You whimper into his mouth again, unable to stop your hips from rocking back and forth. You take him with you as you rock – his cock trapped in your underwear.
You can’t get enough friction. He’s hot, and he’s hard, and you desperately want to reach down and press him against your cunt harder, so you can grind against the length of him like you did to a pillow when you were younger. As it was, you were pushing closer and closer to something almost painful.
You whimper and whine against his lips as he laps at you, making his own sounds – each one triggering a tightening of your walls, empty and desperate. Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
It’s an internal mantra that eventually seeps out of you in a pathetic, murmured, incomprehensible whine.
He separates from you enough to mutter, “What?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly overwhelmed without the distraction of his lips.
“What was that?” he asks again.
Your eyes flutter open, “I’m so empty.” It’s a pathetic sort of sound, the way those words slip out of you. But it was hard to be embarrassed when his pretty brows were twisting up and his lips were falling open and – “Fuck,” he breathes.
His hips roll into you, a satisfying pressure that has you gasping and gripping onto the arm that holds your waist.
“Say that again,” he groans into your neck. “Tell me how it feels inside.”
“So empty,” you answer, pressing back into him – bodies aligned perfectly now you’re twisted back to face the window. “All empty inside.”
“Yeah?” His cock slips against your slick hole, soft and warm. “Here?” he asks. He rocks against you as he mumbles into your neck, breath hot against your skin. “You all empty, pretty girl? Just here? Just for me?”
He could be saying anything. You nod, hardly hearing his words, just rocking back to meet the roll of his hips. “For you… for you,” you mutter breathlessly.
His hand slips beneath your shirt, pressing to your lower stomach. His breath ghosts behind your ear, and then he whispers as close to your ear as he can get, “Here?” His hand presses firm, right where that emptiness hurts most.
The sound that leaves you could be a cry. It’s a squeaky, broken sound.
The weight of his evol settles over you, a comforting weight that holds you still, preventing you from rocking against him. Then he’s rolling his hips back a little, just enough that his leaking tip prods at your swollen entrance. He plays with you like that, rocking in tiny movements – prodding over and over and over.
“Your hot little mouth isn’t your warmest spot, baby,” he says, still holding you still. “It’s right here,” he breathes, stilling prodding at your twitching hole, “Right between your soft thighs. Where I can’t see. Where no one can see.” His hot breath hits your neck as he speaks; as you hopelessly fight the weight preventing you from pushing back into him. “You’ll let me see, won’t you?” he continues, wrapping his arms around you fully.
“Caleb,” you whine, desperate.
“Mm? What’s wrong, baby?”
“Let me go. Please. Let me–”
“Why? Will you be a good girl? Or are you going to try and take me inside? Hm? You being greedy?”
“Inside,” you answer without thought, too desperate to do anything but say exactly what your mind is screaming. “Inside.”
“Mm,” he hums, nibbling at your earlobe. “That’s what I thought. Naughty girl.”
He shifts his hips back a little, taking away the only thing keeping you sane. “No,” you whimper.
Caleb kisses at your neck, wet, lazy kisses that feel a lot like how he was kissing your lips earlier, but then he sucks. It comes with noises. Wet, messy noises.
“Let me go,” you cry. “Let me–”
The weight lifts. He lets you go. You shift backwards, forcing his length along your cunt, over and over – an uncontrolled type of movement resulting from the build up of desperate need.
Then you catch the tip of him. You can’t reach down between your legs with the way he’s wrapped around you. You’re forced to roll your hips and try and guide him inside. His hand drop to your hip, preventing you, just as you get close. It’s too much. You’re at the end. And just when you’re about to break, he rolls you over onto your belly, his body covering you completely. He seems bigger like this – so big the world seems to disappear.
“Okay, okay,” he says in that way that so often makes you want to stamp your foot or punch him in the gut – a tone of voice that usually makes you feel like a baby having a tantrum. Not now, though. Now, it’s sweet relief.
His big hands reach down and drag your shorts down your legs, then your messy underwear, soaked through.
Then, his leaking tip finds you again, right where you’re desperate to take him inside. He prods a little, feeling the way you attempt to suck him inside, slick and warm. “You can be greedy now,” he whispers, letting his tip nestle at your twitching cunt as you grind back against him, trying to push onto him. “You can be greedy with me, baby.”
He sinks inside, letting you suck and clench around him with a pathetic sort of broken cry.
It’s not without suffering all of his own. You feel the vibration of the sound he makes into your neck. It sounds like he’s in pain – like maybe it’s too much.
You’re suffering together as you pulse around his heavy cock, twitching where it’s buried deep inside.
“Warm,” he mumbles, lips pressed to your neck. “Oh, fuck.”
You clench around him.
He whimpers.
“Warming you up,” you mutter, feeling very much out of your mind – like maybe you’ve forgotten how to string words together to make a sentence.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s right. Keeping me warm. Pretty little pussy. So warm.”
Your responding hum sounds more like a squeak.
His arms tighten around you, warming you in his own way – his body heavy all over you.
“Gonna keep you like this,” he mutters, hips starting to grind a little, hardly pulling out at all, just pressing you into the mattress over and over. “Can I keep you like this? Hm? Keep you under me, fucked full, fucked… so full.” His palm shifts to your belly, right where he’s buried. “Here,” he groans, then bites at your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Right where you’re warmest, yeah?”
“Mm,” you hum, gripping the sheets in your hands, desperate for something to hold onto.
It’s not until he’s pulling out and dropping his hips back into you that you speak again, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hips smacking against you loudly with each drop – shoving you into the mattress. “Don’t leave,” you sob. “Ple-please, don’t stop.”
His harm loops around your front, draped across your collarbones, holding you firmly beneath him. “Greedy girl,” he says, breathless. It sounds like praise. “It’s okay,” he says with a soft kiss to your neck. “Need to stay inside. Gotta stay warm. We’ll get you nice and full, yeah? Full of hot cum? Hm?”
“Okay,” you agree with a sob.
His responding, “Okay,” sounds like a sigh. “Yeah, nice and full. And we’ve gotta keep it there. Gotta stay inside.” His hips snap against you a little faster, a little less time pressed heavy and still at the end of each drop. “Until I’m hard again,” he continues between shallow breaths. “Until I can fuck you with it.” He sucks at your throat. “That okay? Can I breed my pretty girl? Hm? Get you all messy?”
You’re not sure you’ve ever been capable of speech in your life. It’s gone. Your lips part and you can’t make anything come out apart from a tiny, broken, call of his name.
“You can do it,” he coos. “Say it for me, baby. Tell me I can fill your little belly with cum. Tell me I can make you nice and warm inside.”
One of his hands finds your jaw, then his finger is pressing between your lips, like he’s trying to help you get the words out.
“Yes, please,” you manage. It’s small and pathetic and a little muffled by his finger in your mouth.
He shudders, his entire body suddenly a little heavier over you. It’s still then, all tension and weight. The next time he moves, it’s the pad of his finger pressing against your tongue. “Gonna give you everything.” His finger presses into your mouth in tandem with his cock deep inside you. That’s how he fucks you, pressing inside each of your warmest places, where he belongs.
If you enjoy my work please follow, reblog and/or comment! I like interacting with you all! It also helps other people find my work.💙
Please note that this is an 18+ space. Minors do not interact. This is for your safety and mine.
I will block ageless and blank blogs as I see them. You have been warned.
Full Length Stories
Would It Be Enough?
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish X OC (Emma)
Completed
20 chapters - 166k Words
Keeping Lines Blurry
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick X OC (Olivia)
Completed
18 Chapters - 136k Words
Ex Husband Price
John Price X Reader
Completed
6 Chapters - 23.9k words
Happy Holidays, John Price
John Price X Reader
Completed
8 Chapters - 20.2k words
'Tis The Damn Season
Simon Riley x Reader
Completed
5 Chapters - 19.5k words
A Reason to Try
Alex Keller X OC (Madeline)
On hiatus
18 Chapters - 128.3k Words
Lifeline
Poly 141 x OC (Celeste)
In Progress
16 Chapters - 83.6k
Sáwel-Dreór
Omegaverse AU (Poly 141 x Female Reader)
In Progress
7 Chapters - 26.5k
Older CIA Alex
Alex Keller x Reader
In Progress
4 Chapters - 14.6k words
Short Stories/One Shots/Challenges
Chest Candy
Soap X Ghost
From GlitteryPirateDuck "SoapItUp" prompt challenge
Completed
One Shot - 2.2k Words
Go...Don't Go
Captain MacTavish X Reader
From GlitteryPirateDuck "SoapItUp" prompt challenge
Completed
One Shot - 2.4k Words
One More Time
Soap X Ghost
Completed
One Shot - 2.9k Words
A Bouquet of Oleander
Alejandro Vargas X Reader
From GlitteryPirateDuck "Amor a Alejandro" prompt challenge
Completed
One Shot - 2k words
Body Heat
Ghost X Reader
From GlitteryPirateDuck "#GhostChallenge"
Completed
One Shot - 2.8k words
Best Laid Plans
141 X Reader
From GlitteryPirateDuck #CoDVacationMode
Ongoing - 4.3k Words
Watch List
Alex Keller X Reader
Completed
One Shot - 474
His New God
Soap X Reader
Completed
One Shot - 2,515
Late Night Call
Ghost X Reader X Soap
Completed
One Shot - 1,574
Don't Worry Darling
Ghost X Reader X 141
Completed
One Shot - 1,717
50 Word Challenge
Alex - Zombie AU
Soap - Distraction for a rescue
Random Drabbles
Alex x Reader - Alex surveilles you
Poly 141 X Reader - Corporate office
Soap X Reader X Ghost - Rooftop voyeurism
Alex X Reader - Airport pickup
Price X Reader - Mission during a blackout
Gaz X Reader - Gaz is a smoker
GIF Challenge
Sun & Water - Gaz x Reader
Short & Sweet - 141 x Reader
Come Home - Soap x Reader
Other Woman - Price x Reader
Car Ride - Price X Reader
Nameless Challenge from The-Californicationist
Homecoming - Reader X Mystery 141 Guy
Linen & Lace - Reader X Mystery 141 Guy
COD Men In Different Scenarios
Naptime
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
A Few Minutes Before You're Missed
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Sick Day
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Protecting You
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Possessive
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
First date
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Body Paint
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Requests
COD Men Reacting To You Calling Them Husband
Requested by @/ahopelesspedantic
Featuring: Alex Keller, Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Soap Shares Your Video
Requested by Anonymous
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Expanding on section of "you have a few minutes before you're missed"
Featuring: Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
What Lies Beneath
Requested by Anonymous
Featuring: Gaz, Price, Soap & Ghost
Lightning Strikes Twice
Requested by @/haurasha
Featuring: Gaz & Soap
Friends Show Up For Friends
Request by @/haurasha
Featuring: Gaz
Other
Writing Inspiration for Keeping Lines Blurry
Six Month Mark on AO3
Keeping Lines Blurry Fanart Part 1 & Part 2- by @ahopelesspedantic
Spotify Writing Playlist
Current WIPs
I do not consent to:
Translations (if you ask, we can talk).
Posting my stuff elsewhere without proper links.
Screenshotting pictures/printing my writing if it’s not for your personal reading.
My work being put into AI.
If anyone sees my work elsewhere (without links) and it’s not posted under my name please let me know. Do not steal my work. Any of the above, or variations of the above, is stealing.
Please share direct links to my work if you want to pass it along!!! I am totally fine with that. Stealing is a whole other issue.
it was just an off-handed comment when you saw he was about to leave the room without it. it’s true: the hat was cute, but it was also quite silly in your eyes, which was why you called it stupid. all in good nature, of course!
you really didn’t think much of it, and so you were confused when law closed the ajar door of his office and walked back to your spot in the sofa beside his desk. his eyebrow was raised and he had a small smile on his lips, though, you weren’t sure if it was because he thought you were funny or maybe he didn’t like it.
you found out quick enough.
“ah—it—mhmmf!” your cries were muffled as he continued pressing your face against the chair, his cock hitting deep inside of you over and over from behind. “it was just a joke!” you slurred, drool escaping your lips due to the position you were in.
“oh, yeah?” he asked, voice breathy and laced with sarcasm. he fisted your hair in one hand and pulled you back roughly against his chest. “well, it wasn’t very funny to me.”
you couldn’t make out anything else except his name as he continued thrusting hard in and out of your gushing cunt, and you were vaguely aware that you were dripping and staining the velvet seat below. you’d already came twice at that point, the first one—embarassingly—being due to his long, slender fingers.
“law! law! what, now you can’t say anythin’ else?” he mocked, his other hand was rubbing circles on your clit relentlessly, making you jolt and shake because of the overstimulation, to which he just laughed at right over your ear. “c’mon, baby, let me hear you crack a joke again.”
he pulled his fingers away making you whine, then you felt him move a little, his grip on your hair loosening. you took that chance to breathe and that’s when you felt his hat drop on the top your head.
“let’s see how many orgasms i can get out of you while you’re wearing my cute little stupid hat, hm?”
You feel it before you even settle—his stomach mouth opens again beneath you, wide and wet and starving, tongue snaking up between your legs like it remembers the shape of your cunt. It flicks up, impatient, like it missed you.
You arch your back instinctively, but his lower hands are already on you—one shoving your hips down, the other spreading your ass to give that greedy tongue everything it wants. Your face is flushed against his chest, sticky with his earlier cum, but you moan loud when the tongue starts lapping at you again, deeper, messier, wetter than before.
And he’s still jacking off.
You can feel the sharp tug of his movements above you—his two top hands, each wrapped around a thick dick, stroking furiously as he watches your body twitch over his mouth. His groans echo through his stomach, vibrating your pussy like a toy.
“You’re fuckin’ sick, y’know that?” he pants, grinning down at you, veins in his neck popping from effort. “Bent over my tongue while I beat my dick like a slut.”
You sob into his skin, but your hips won’t stop rocking. You’re grinding back against that monstrous tongue now, messy and reckless, while it slathers you in hot spit, thrusting in and out of you with obscene sounds.
“Ohhh, that’s it—ride it like a good little toy,” he snarls. “You feel that? My stomach’s fuckin’ moaning for you. Dripping. Bet you’d let me fuck you with it if I had a dick there too.”
Your whole body spasms. That should sound horrifying, disgusting—but your mind’s gone fuzzy with overstimulation and the only thing that comes out is a wrecked little whimper.
“Goddamn,” he groans, both his cocks twitching, leaking as he fists them faster. “You’re squeezin’ my tongue like you wanna make it cum. You want me to shoot all over your back again, don’t you?”
You nod frantically, cunt fluttering.
He laughs—low and dark. Then he leans over you, one hand still jerking himself, the other gripping your ass as the stomach tongue fucks into you harder.
“You’re not gettin’ off this thing ‘til I see you shake. Squirt on it.”
Your moans turn into screams. Your body trembles. Your slick gushes out in waves down his waiting tongue—
And then Sukuna explodes above you, twin streams of hot cum shooting across your back and thighs, while he growls your name through gritted teeth like he’s branding it into your soul!
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students, with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds that this was a purely sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ Fratboy!Sukuna FWB Series ]
[ PAIRING ] — fratboy!sukuna x f!reader (college au)
[ TAGS ] — 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. fwb. angst. hurt/comfort. slow burn. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family trauma. tags will be updated as series continues.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
✮ ch 1 || how it all started
✮ ch 2 || miss me already?
✮ ch 3 || coming soon
✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line
✮ pt 2 — shoko/utahime make u doubt your fwb label so now you’re desperate to prove them wrong
✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time
✮ pt 4 — his brothers visit unexpectedly
✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna
✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you
✮ pt 7 — halloween special. scare actor!sukuna
✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮
✮ ask tag ✮ music tag ♪ ✮ tiktok tag
[INFO] — parts vs chapters: chapters is the actual series and is connected. parts exist in the same universe but is separate all dabbles that are not connected to each other or the chapters . [ they can be read separately. ]
series taglist CLOSED ✮ age should be visible on your blog.
taglist is only for chps not parts — (art by @/to00fu, dividers by @/cursed-carmine)
something is wrong with john price. but finding you fixes everything. for him, at least. for simon riley, you change everything. you turn his life upside down.
warnings: werewolf au (readers personality is very pink), mated mates, poly
john price x reader x simon riley
prev
you were warm, that was the first thing you registered. too warm to be outside in that little hole you'd dug for yourself. your fists clenched something soft and warm.
stirring, but not awake enough to rub the soft material against your cheek. you were hardly aware of the voices as you felt more of the material against your skin, realising just how scratchy it actually was.
and then, you opened your eyes.
he loomed over you, skull mask on his face. a balaclava, just like they used to wear. you didn't take in much else before you screamed.
desperately, you tried to get away. he stood and you became more and more terrified. you scrambled off of the sofa, your back meeting the hard floor with a thud!
“hey, hey, hey.” deep voice, arms around you. they lifted you from the floor, helped you to your shaking legs.
you turned, claws out, before the person could stop you. your claw met their cheek, cutting deep enough and with enough force to penetrate the skin and draw blood.
but he had no reaction. he didn't grab his cheek, where you'd cut across his beard. instead, he grabbed your wrists, holding you still as he stared at you.
his pretty eyes had no effect on you as he stared at you. without the use of your claws, you tried to kick out, but he held you firm. “easy, puppy,” he said, squeezing your wrists. “you're safe here.”
your eyes were wide as you stared at him. the panic seizing your heart was enough to put you on the floor. but the way he had you, held your wrists so tightly, but not hurting you, kept you upright.
“you're okay,” he mumbled. subconsciously, your shoulders relaxed. “I've got you.”
your legs shook as you whimpered. your throat was tight, words struggling to leave your throat. but you got it out, your entire body trembling. “who are you?” you managed, words shaking with every syllable.
his expression softened. “my name is john,” he said gently. for such a big man, everything he was doing was so damn gentle. he nodded to the man behind you. “that over there is simon.”
you turned your head, caught a glimpse of the balaclava. immediately, you tried to get away, stumbled into john. you were lucky you didn't piss yourself with fear.
“im gonna help you,” he said.
“why?”
a heartbreaking sound. a simple word, three letters, on syllable, but john felt that thing nestled in his chest break. “oh, sweetheart,” he mumbled, helping you to the floor. he still kept hold of you, and you didn't squirm away when he pulled you closer. “im gonna get you something to eat an’ drink. an’ then you can have a nice hot shower. how does that sound?”
maybe it was the sound of his voice, maybe it was the way he smelled. in reality, you didn't know what made you stand with him. his arm stayed around you as he led you to the counter.
a biscuit and a couple of crisps sat on a place. a glass of water sat beside it. he reached for the water first and lifted it to your lips. “here,” he said as you took it from him and gulped it down.
you moved onto the food, wolfing it down. it hadn't hit you how hungry you were until you were eating. your escape had taken so much out of you, you were left barely standing. what little food you had consumed before crawling under the fence and into that badger hole had done little to sustain you.
more, you wanted to say. john could see it in your eyes. but they had little else to offer you in the rec room.
“gonna get you in the shower and see what I can scrounge up,” he mumbled as he began leading you out of the room.
for the first time in so many years, that voice in the back of your head wasn't telling you not to trust him. you glanced at the other man in the room as john led you past.
“john,” you said, just to say it, just to feel the way it rolled from your tongue.
“yeah, sweetheart?”
but you said nothing more. john didn't push, just led you to his bedroom.
so many different smells. it was nearly enough to choke you. and the smells were pleasant, at least when compared to what you were used to. pleasant, but overwhelming. you held your breath until john pushed open a door and led you into a room.
him. the entire room smelled like him. a nice smell, one you wouldn't mind rolling in until you were utterly covered with it. no blanket on the bed, but you knew it was back on the sofa.
“just through ‘ere, Pup,” he mumbled and pushed open the bathroom door.
a small bathroom, more of a wet room. a toilet, a sink and a shower. you glanced at yourself in the mirror and quickly looked away. not the girl you remembered from all those years ago.
john left you with the shower heating up and a towel hanging from the back of the door. you stripped off your clothes, too small and covered in stains. mud and and blood and all sorts of other nasty stuff. you didn't want to think about it.
the water wasn't quite hot when you climbed under the gentle spray. but it heated up, washing away the dirt and grime. you grabbed his body wash, unscented, and began scrubbing.
turns out, the body wash was she shampoo. and the conditioner. your lip curled as you squirted some into your hand and scrubbed it into your scalp.
you watched the mud and blood that stained your hair disappear down the drain. cathartic in its own way.
stepping out of the bathroom, clothes waited for you on the bed. warm and oversized, but they smelt incredible. just like john.
the door should have been easy to open. just pull it and let yourself in. but you stood there, staring. unable to take those small steps, pull open that door and let yourself out.
the handle turned and the door opened. your heart thunder, feet backing you up until you hit the wall.
but then you saw him. john, just john. your body relaxed as he approached with the blanket and a glass of water. “how was your shower, pup?” he asked you, passing you the water.
you sipped it, your shoulders raising in a shrug as john laid the blanket over the bed. “y’ can stay in my bed tonight, pup. ‘m gonna sleep on the sofa.”
you appreciated it, you really did. you kept hold of the water as he prepared the bed. “‘f you need anythin’, I'm outside,” he said. “door has a lock, I'll come and get you f’ breakfast.”
breakfast. you perked up visibly at the word. john bit back a chuckle as you stepped away from the wall. “thank you,” you mumbled, gulping down half of the water.
as soon as he left, you locked the door and climbed into bed.
***
“what're ye doin’, lt?” johnny asked as he came to sit beside simon.
simon didn't reply. he sat against the wall opposite johns bedroom door, legs up and knees spread slightly. he rested his forearms against his knees, head against the wall.
“don't know, soap,” he answered honestly, voice monotone.
johnny shuffled a little closer. “it's her, in'it?” he asked.
simon didn't respond.
“yer on edge ‘cause price is on edge,” johnny reasoned, nodding his head like this was fact.
simon didn't respond.
he sat out there long enough for kyle to disappear into his room. john was on the sofa, but simon knew he wasn't sleeping. tossing and turning with you in the other room.
johnny fell asleep against simons shoulder. he stiffened up, but the pack omega didn't shift. a low growl started in his throat, but he held it back.
you. he knew you. not in any capacity that you would know; for years you'd been nothing but a passing smell stuck in his memory.
he didn't even see you that night. but he heard your growl. higher in pitch and more violent than what he'd heard that evening. but it was undeniably you.
you didn't belong in that dingy underground fight club. simon could tell that by your smell. but he'd had a mission back then. he'd pushed your sweet scent to one side, practically forgotten about it.
but it was always there.
your screams were familiar, too. at first, simon thought it was part of his imagination, his memory rearing its ugly head.
but then john came running.
taglist (tagging everyone that commented, lemme know if you don't want to be tagged!): @pearldaisy @meowmeowyoongles @pat-m @thefirstbrat @eyehartart
After a long time in the darkness, you finally saw light.
Hi, again I had another idea in my head and decided to write, I did what I could but it turned out pretty good, not the best but it's getting better, thanks for reading tho.
and again there will be no continuation of this part, this is just a draft.
Being revised!
warnings: description of torture, tongues being ripped out, sensitive content, please read with that in mind.
You didn't even remember how long you had been in the darkness; everything seemed blurry.
days? weeks? months? You didn't know; you only remembered your name because of your kidnappers.
They made a point of reminding you of your name. With each torture, you were reminded of why you were suffering, for whom you were suffering.
y/n Wayne, that was your name,and at every moment, they reminded you.
suffering because of other people's mistakes, people who don't even remember your existence, petty people who do whatever they want without caring about the consequences.
How did you end up in this dark, wet place?
You remember celebrating; you had just finished high school and already had a good job that allowed you to leave the Wayne Mansion. At the end of the night, when your friends had already left, you decided to walk a little to clear your mind and think about your future.
And then that's when they appeared. You didn't have time to see their faces. A cloth was placed over your nose, and everything went dark. A few hours later, you woke up tied to a chair in a dark room with only a light above your head.
And that's when the torture began: punches, slaps, kicks, broken fingers, but the worst torture they could give you was yet to come.
After a long time giving unsatisfactory answers to your kidnappers, one of them lost his head and, with a not-so-clean knife, cut your tongue out.
Your head throbbed, your vision was blurry due to the lack of light, your whole body ached, you didn't even try to get up anymore, and you wouldn't be able to anyway.
You scream in pain, and one of the men stops the guy who was cutting out your tongue, something about you losing too much blood and ending up dying, and they need you alive, that's what you managed to understand before you blacked out due to the pain.
After some hours you woke up.
In the moments you spend in that room, you wonder what the others were doing; you were sure they hadn't even noticed you were gone, they already don't care about you when you're at the mansion, why would they care about you now?
Of course, that's what you thought.
At Wayne Mansion, chaos had already spread. Everyone was preparing to go after the people who kidnapped you. They found out about your kidnapping after Alfred mentioned your lack of response to the messages he sent you, and your friends warned Alfred that you didn't respond to their messages either.
Everyone was confused. Were you already living alone? Where were you living? And why was Alfred the only one who had your contact information?
They didn't have any answers, but they knew they had to bring you back home.
After hours on the computer and on the streets of Gotham, they finally found the place where you could be. They entered the abandoned building without ceremony, knocking down everyone who crossed their path, and then they arrived where you were, breaking down the door with a strong kick. Jason was the first to enter, and everyone made a face of disgust at the conditions of the room.
Jason comes closer and gently touches your hair.
and in the corner of the room, a figure lying in blood, still without moving, they approach slowly,and see that It was you, with your empty, half-open eyes, your mouth stained with blood and saliva, and your breathing shallow.
You hadn't noticed their presence, your ears were ringing,you saw a light hitting the wall, and felt a gentle touch on your head, then you got scared and started screaming, trying to beg not to be hurt again, trying to make gestures of mercy to have at least some time to recover.
strange sounds came out of your throat, for lack of your tongue, you could not formulate words. They understood what had happened to you, and they just wanted to get you out of there.
Jason tried to pick you up, but Bruce was faster. With all the kindness in the world, he lifted you into a bridal position and took you out of the room, taking you home.
When you arrived at the mansion, the process was painful, trying to give you a bath, trying to take care of your wounds, and giving you medication. You didn't move; you just let the others do what they wanted with empty eyes and no tongue to answer their questions. But you still felt pain, and little tears ran down your cheeks.
Everyone was in a panic, trying to understand the reasons why you were kidnapped and the atrocities you went through while they were looking for you.
Bruce was sitting on the side of your bed. He didn't eat or answer his other children's questions; he wondered how he could have let this happen to you.
Why wasn't he more present? Why didn't he pay more attention to you?
How did the kidnappers know that you were the only one who couldn't defend yourself?
So many unanswered questions, he held your hand with a tenderness you had never felt before.
He promised himself that he would find whoever did this to you, and he would protect you from all evil in this world, and your brothers would spend more time with you from now on. Of course, they don't want their little sibling getting hurt again, so now all eyes are on you.
cw: dubcon if you squint, all the smut shit, breeding kink and pregnancy is insinuated but not confirmed, simon w a belly because it's what i want and deserve. for the FDK's, assume there's an implant in ya arm. )
You don't belong here.
That much is obvious the first time you stand at the end of the field, sneakers sinking into mud that hadn't looked this deep on the walk up. The farmhouse is in front of you— old wood, chipped white paint, the kind of place that looked cozier on the postcards you might receive for Christmas, but here, it feels too big, too empty, when you're standing in its yard alone.
Still, it's yours now. Inherited from a relative you rarely talked to; the deed shoved into your hands even though you don't know a fucking thing about tending soil or keeping animals, and now, you're the hesitant owner of twenty acres of stubborn, murky ground, a creaky barn, and a house that needed more love than you knew how to give. You weren't naive— you knew damn well you had no clue how to farm— but a part of you believed in the fantasy anyway. That you could trade traffic for trees, the concrete jungle for open fields. That you could learn as you went, like people do in stories.
The land, however, doesn't care about your optimism.
The tractor won't start— it doesn't even cough. The chicken coop smells like something died in it, and the hand saw you picked up at the feed store, after googling how to cut wood like an idiot, isn't doing more than blistering your palms.
You've cried twice. Once in the barn, when the roof leaked straight into the feed bags you'd just bought, and once in the kitchen, when the sink gave a groan and spat rust into the dishwater. The feed turned to mush, the water still ran rusty if you didn't let it bleed first, and what stared back on the reflection of your kitchen window looked every inch the fool who thought their life would become a Hallmark movie.
By the third day, your body aches in ways you didn't know it could. Your thighs are sore from trudging through mud that clings like wet cement, your shoulders burn from hauling feed, and your palms are raw from gripping tools you barely know how to use. Your first ever attempt at splitting wood ended with the axe bouncing off the log and nearly catching your shin. Sweat stings your eyes even though the air's cool, and suddenly you feel like laughing, half hysterical, half furious. The laugh sticks in your throat when you hear it, a solid thud, rhythmic, like the sound of a heartbeat. It was coming from the tree line that marked the far end of your property.
This is the first time you see him.
He's built like the logs he's splitting, broad and solid. Shirtless too, despite the chill, steam coming off his skin. Scarred shoulders and forearms bunch and flex with each swing of his axe. The curls at the crown of his head catch the sunlight, damp and wild from sweat, strands springing in different directions across his forehead. No hat shields him from the wind; his ears are ruddy, matching the sharp tip of his broad nose. His breath clouds the air in short bursts, but he doesn't seem to care.
He doesn't look up right away, keeps at it unhurried, like he's done this a thousand times before, and when he finally does pause, it's not because of you— the log gives, the split clean, the wood halved nearly to his boots. Only then does he straighten while rolling his shoulders back. His gaze flicks to you like a weight, as heavy as the axe he leans against the tree trunk. The silver marks running along the edges of his chest, the heaviness of his middle, and the strain of his denims over the swell of his thighs is staggering.
There's no comfort in his expression— dark eyes blunt and hard-edged, rooted in earth, his mouth set in a flat line, and then— oh. His mouth moves.
"What?" he grunts. Well, pardon me. You splutter, stepping back too fast, and your glove snags on the loose post of the fence. The wire catches, jerks your arm, and you stumble forward, nearly pitching into the dirt. An awkward shuffle is what keeps you upright, and your cheeks burn furiously when you realize how ridiculous you must look, tripping over a fence post.
Suddenly, his hand is on yours, casually untangling your glove from the wire. You hadn't even heard him approach— no crunch of leaves, no squelch in the dirt. For a man his size, he moves like fog.
The heat of him hits first— radiating off him like the open mouth of a hearth, the scent of him follows close behind: Woodsmoke, sweat, tobacco. Not the sweet kind from a pipe, just dry and bitter. Makes the back of your throat prickle.
He frees your hand like it's a chore, like pulling burrs off a dog's fur, and not a kindness from one neighbor to another. When he steps back, you don't wait, tucking your tail in and bolting; sneakers slipping in the mud, breath stuck in your throat. You don't look back either, just make for the porch like it's a finish line, pride in tatters behind you. The door sticks when you shove it open, the house greeting you with its usual chill. You kick off your shoes too hard, one skidding across the floor and smacking against the cabinet, and glance down— the hole in your brand new glove is small but ragged, and there's a scratch blooming red beneath it. Great. Perfect.
The antiseptic makes the cut sear when you dab on it with a cotton ball, the sting making your eyes water. The scratch isn't deep, but it's angry. Thin, red, and pulsing as if it was trying to remind you of every mistake you've made since stepping foot on this wretched land. You press harder than necessary, watching the skin blanch around it, trying to erase the moment with pressure alone.
Tossing your other glove onto the counter, it lands with a wet slap, and you lean against the sink, knuckles bled white and stare out the window. The field stretches wide and indifferent, and this time you don't cry, don't curse. You just stand there, unraveling, slowly, quietly, like a thread pulled from a hem. And you could pack up, sure. Sell the place, pretend it never happened. But then what? There's no backup plan. Just the same city with a job that chewed you up and spat you out, the same overpriced rent, the same noise that never fucking stops.
You'd rather rot in the dirt than go back and hear your friends say I told you so.
Besides, spite is cheaper than therapy.
---
The town's not much. Just a handful of crooked streets blended together, the kind of place where the gas station doubles as a bait shop and the post office closes early on Fridays because nobody's in a rush. The diner still has a jukebox that eats quarters and a waitress who calls everyone "hon", whether she likes you or not. There's a church, a feed store, a hardware shop that smells like sawdust, and a bar that pretends it's not open before noon.
Everyone knows everyone. And if they don't know you, then they know about you. (Hard not to when your car is the only one that skids on gravel.) You're the one that got saddled with the plot that has a rusted windmill that folk use as a landmark when giving directions.
You're the only one parked crooked outside of the grocery store, the only one asking where the boxed mac and cheese is.
It smells like dust and citrus cleaner in here, the kind that clings to the floor and never quite masks the scent of old produce. You're halfway through reading the handwriting on a box of eggs when the woman behind the counter leans in, elbows on the register, voice low, private.
"You settling in alright?" You give her a cautious nod. "Must be quite the change, coming from the city." A shrug is all you manage. "Well, bless you." She says it like benediction. Like you're going to need all the luck you can scrape together. Your gaze drifts past her shoulder to the corkboard on the wall, where handwritten flyers are pinned: lawnmower repair, free kittens, bible study potluck, Thursday at 7. You hope she doesn't expect you there. You're not a fan of churches and green bean casserole.
She glances out the window, where the hills roll out.
"You seem like a nice girl," she says. "Steer clear of that one."
You blink. Who?
Another voice chimes in from the canned goods aisle— an older man with a cart full of beans and dog food. "Simon Riley," he says like the word itself tastes bitter. "Lives out past the tree line. Big feller. Quiet. Keeps to himself."
The woman nods, "Used to be military, or something like it. Nobody really knows. He's not trouble, exactly, but he's not neighborly either. Doesn't take kindly to folks pokin' around."
Oh. The neighbor whose land backs up against yours. The one you’ve heard about in passing— mean as sin and just as ugly, lives alone, doesn't wave. You think of the way he freed your hand, his fingers careful but not kind. Now you know his name. Simon.
You thank them, pay for your groceries, and step out into the sun with a warning tucked between the receipt and the bruised apples you didn't mean to buy. The bell above the store door tinkles behind you, its little jingle out of step with the knot tightening in your stomach.
The outside air smells of motor oil and hay, a mix you might not ever get used to, and the gravel lot radiates heat through your shoes. The bag digs into the crook of your arm as you fumble with the keys, and when the car starts, the engine coughs before catching, the sound ricocheting too loud in the small parking lot. A woman in a straw hat looks up from her truck bed from across the street, and the same older man pushes his cart past, eyes flicking toward you. The road out of town stretches straight and bare, the fields rolling out, some with cattle and others with horses.
By the time you hit the bend that curves toward your land, the sun's dipped lower, sky streaked with the last embers of fading light, casting long shadows over where your boundary brushes his. He's there, of course he is. A massive figure against the gold of the field, broad back bent over something you can't quite see.
Whatever, not your business.
You park crooked again, the tires crunching over the loose stone in your driveway and sit there for a beat longer than necessary, fingers curled tight around the steering wheel. Simon still doesn't move, still bent over something, or maybe nothing. You don't look long enough to find out.
The groceries are heavier than it should be, the boxed mac and cheese pressing against your hip as you shoulder the door open. The porch shifts under your weight, same as always, and the screen door slaps shut behind you. You unpack slowly— eggs into the fridge, careful not to jostle the cracked one. Apples into a gaudy ornate bowl. The coffee joins its expired cousin in the cabinet, and the crackers go into the drawer that sticks unless you tug it right.
The house creaks in response, settling around you like an old dog curling up at your feet. You flick off the kitchen light and pad down the hallway, the floorboards groaning under each step. The bedroom is cool, the sheets still stiff from the last wash, and the window rattles faintly in its frame.
You change in the dark, tugging off your jeans and hoodie, slipping into a shirt that smells like detergent and not much else. The mattress still feels unfamiliar beneath you, the ceiling above blank. Silver filters through the window, and you watch shadows creep along the wall.
Outside, the windmill moans once, long and low, and the porch creaks once. The thought that it could've been deliberate makes your pulse thrum in your ears. You aren't sure if it's fear, anticipation, or some stupid pull you can't name.
Sleep comes slow, but it comes.
---
It slips again— your grip, your temper, the last thread of patience you've been nursing since spilling the coffee you made at sunrise. The latch to the chicken coop jerks sideways, the wire snags, and the gate swings wide in mockery. Muttering something sharp under your breath, you tug at the wire with stiff fingers. It bites back, slicing another thin line across your knuckle. You let out a hiss, more out of frustration than pain, and sit back on your heels, breath fogging in the cold.
Then you feel it, the shift, the pressure of someone watching. You turn around and Simon's already pushing off the fence and walking closer, boots sinking steady into the dirt. Up close, he's so much worse— his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, damp with sweat and dust, clinging to the curve of his belly and the thick roll of his arms. He crouches beside you, bare hands thick-knuckled and scarred, and they move with the kind of ease that makes you feel like a child playing house.
You sit there, useless, and can't help but notice the small details: the faint scars along his forearms, the way the collar of his shirt rubs at the crease of his neck, the set of his jaw when he considers a problem. None of it invites intimacy, and yet, your thoughts keep lingering there, in that cozy space where observation and curiosity brush against something sharper.
Simon threads the wire, tightens the hinge, and tests the swing, and you watch the gate behave for him like it never did for you.
"Y'shouldn't be strugglin' with tha," he says finally.
"I—uh, it's tricky," you manage, fiddling with the drawstring of your hoodie. "I've uh, never really done this before."
He glances at you briefly, eyes narrowing at the scratch on your hand, and his jaw tightens, muscles ticking under the skin, but he doesn't say any more. He just shakes his head once and goes back to his property, dust rising faintly around his boots with each step.
It was the first of many things he fixes for you. When you can't manage your firewood pile before a harsh front, he shows up without asking, stacking it neatly by your porch. Not just stacked, aligned. Tight rows, bark facing out. You open the door to thank him, voice stiff with the effort, and he just nods, mutters, "S'nothin."
Then the fence. You woke one morning to find the rotten posts ripped out and new ones driven in, straight and deep into soft earth. You hadn't made any calls. But there he was, out in the early light, hammer swinging with brutal efficiency. You stand at the window, coffee cooling in your hand, rehearsing what you'll say. That he can't just show up. That you'll be damned if you pay him for something you didn't ask for.
But when you step outside, you don't say any of it.
Instead, you leave a jug of fresh lemonade and a sandwich on the porch rail. Not because you owe him. Not because you're grateful. It's reciprocity. Basic decency. A gesture to balance the ledger. He doesn't touch them at first. Keeps working like the offering doesn't exist. You go back inside, pretend not to watch, and later, the sandwich is gone, save the tomato slice. The jug's half-empty, the wax paper folded neatly, tucked under the rail.
No tomatoes, got it.
(And the one time you do sort of ask for help, it's because the sunroom has a wall that's gone soft with water damage, half-rotted, and you'd assumed he'd offer tools, or a second set of hands, but Simon does nothing in halves. You're barely able to register what he means by stand back before he lowers his shoulder, squares his stance, and throws every ounce of his brutal weight forward. The sound is catastrophic— wood splinters, plaster cracks— and he stumbles through the wreckage, boots crunching over broken plaster, insulation clinging to his shirt as he pulls down the rest with his bare hands. Sun'll come in better now, he says. No, yeah, sure.)
It becomes a rhythm. Not quite a routine, but close enough that you notice it when the days feel stretched and raw. He fixes things you can't, and you leave things behind— food, drink, once a pack of smokes you found at the bottom of a drawer. He never comments, never asks. But he never leaves anything behind either, except for the absence of whatever you put out. It's like leaving offerings on a shrine to a god you're not sure you believe in.
The gate closes without complaint now. The new fence stands straighter, stronger. The woodpile remains high, always replenished. You don't have to ask, and he doesn't offer. There's only the cycle: you wake to find something mended or replaced, and by noon you leave something out for him.
At first, it was functional: a sandwich— peanut butter and jelly, ham and cheese, a BLT (hold the tomato), and something to wash it down with. Then, one morning, you set down a slice of pie you baked from a boxed mix that tasted faintly like cardboard. You'd hesitated to leave it, but when you checked outside at sundown, the plate was scraped clean, the fork in the middle. Bent slightly, like he'd eaten standing right there.
From there, the rhythm grew teeth.
He started appearing when you were outside. Not always close, barely ever speaking, but present. Working his field while you sat on the porch with a basket of beans to snap. Hauling hay when you hung laundry. He's there the day you plant a sad little patch of herbs— your hands deep in dirt, his eyes half on the seedlings, half on you.
When snow finally falls, it comes heavy, the kind that bends branches, and your boots aren't meant for it. Your sneakers are long ruined by the time you dig a path to the chicken coop, and your fingers are numb inside your gloves. The latch sticks, and the muttered threat of eating the fucking chickens is swallowed by the wind— and then Simon's there, the hood of his jacket pulled low but not enough to hide the shadow of his jaw.
You startle so bad you nearly drop the bucket in your hands. He doesn't say anything, just takes it from you, thick fingers brushing yours, heat even through your gloves. He ducks into the coop like it's his, tending to the feed and water.
You hover at the door, biting down on questions that feel too big in your mouth. When he's done, he doesn't hand the bucket back, just tips his chin toward your house, gruff, "Inside. Your lips are discolored."
Simon, you've come to notice, times himself into your hours.
The locals have noticed too. They notice everything in this backwater ass town.
It'd been subtle at first. The man who never showed his face in town unless he absolutely had to— the one who bought bulk feed once a season, grunted at the cashier and left— suddenly had reason to drive in more often. And each time, he drove because your car "wasn't worth piss on the highway".
The first time, you didn't even notice how people looked at you. You were too busy staring at the rows of canned peaches, trying to figure out why the labels looked different from what they did in the city. When you reached for one on the top shelf and almost knocked the display over, his one hand was at your back, steadying you, the other curling around the can like it was nothing.
You hadn't thought anything of it then.
But the cashier did. The woman stocking the bread did.
And in a town like this, where gossip travels faster than cell service, that gesture didn't go unnoticed.
By the next visit, the air had changed. You walked in beside him, and conversations in the store paused mid-sentence. Smiles tightened. The woman at the register went quiet the second she saw him standing close enough to reach you, but not close enough to touch. She didn't even greet you this time, just scanned the groceries quick, her eyes flicking between you and him.
Simon never said anything, but he carried the basket. Paid in cash. Held the door.
All of them knew.
All except for the milk boy— sweet-faced, all of twenty-something, fresh out of school— starts to show up at your door every other morning after signing up for their delivery service. Cheerful, chatty, hands you a crate of glass bottles that clinks gently as you brace the weight. He tells you about his mother's peach trees, about the new calf that came too early but survived. You like the normalcy, the friendliness.
Simon doesn't.
You don't hear him come up behind you. You never do.
The milk boy is mid-sentence, bright eyes and an easy grin, when Simon's arms close in around you, reaching for the crate. Your fingers are still curled around the handle when his hand closes over it, and his grip dwarfs yours. Your shoulder brushes his thickened middle, your head not even clearing his collarbone. You could tuck yourself into the space between his arms and still have room.
The crate lifts like it weighs nothing, but you know it doesn't. You struggled with it just two days ago. But in his hands, it's just another thing to take off yours. The milk boy's voice is thinner when he says that he'll see you next week, and all Simon gives him is a grunt, a dismissal.
And maybe that should’ve been the moment that everything shifts. But it wasn’t.
It came later— when the sky cracked open and thunder rolled over the fields. You'd been out for too long, checking the shed roof before the rain came. You are halfway up the ladder, fingers cold and slick against the metal, when a hand clamps around your ankle, and the strength in it makes your knees nearly buckle.
"What the fuck are you doin' out 'ere?," his voice cuts through the wind, sharp and rough. "Get back inside— now."
The ladder screeches beneath you, unsteady, and for a split second, you're not sure if you're going to fall or be dragged. You look down and he's halfway up the ladder, one hand on your ankle, the other braced against the rung below. His face is rain-slicked and hard-set, jaw locked in that way that makes his cheekbones stand out sharper than usual. The water clings to him, dripping from his brow, tracing the furrow between his eyes, dripping from the edge of his nose.
His eyes are the worst of it. Not wild, not pleading, just furious.
Not the kind that burns hot and fast, but the kind that simmers, the kind that corrects.
Simon yanks you down.
His hand slides from your ankle to your waist and pulls you down like it's nothing; too easy, too practiced. Your boots scrape against the rungs, the ladder trembles, and then he jumps.
The drop isn’t far, but it’s fast. Sudden. Your breath leaves you in a jag as the ground rushes up, and then his boots hit the earth with a blow that rattles your spine. He doesn’t stumble with the extra weight, doesn’t sway. Then, before you can speak, before you can twist and wriggle in protest, he shifts— grabbing you higher, flipping your body with far too much ease, and throwing you over his shoulder like you’re nothing more than a bundle of kindling he’s hauling home.
Your hands fist the back of his shirt instinctively, knuckles white against the soaked fabric. It clings to him, stretched tight across the broad plane of his back, rain dripping from the hem as he strides toward the house with a single-minded purpose.
Simon tracks mud straight across your porch and through your house, leaving thick, wet prints across your clean floors— mud and rain trailing behind him like a second presence. He doesn’t put you down until you’re inside, when the walls close around you, and he peels the wet coat from your shoulders himself, hands moving rough and fast, but they don’t hesitate. They never hesitate.
The flannel comes next, pulled from a bag you hadn’t seen him bring in. It’s thick, worn soft at the edges, smells like him. He doesn’t give it to you; he puts it on you. One arm is shoved through, then the other, like he’s dressing a child too stubborn to do it themselves. The fabric swallows you— too big, too warm, sleeves hanging long past your wrists— and he tugs the buttons closed with the kind of care that almost feels violent.
“Looks better on ya,” he mutters, tugging the buttons closed, “looks right.”
His fingers linger at the last button, thick knuckles brushing your sternum, and when you finally find your voice, it comes out shaking. “You—”
“You tracked mud into my house.”
It’s not what you meant to say, but it’s what comes out, small, brittle, absurd against the sheer gravity of him. Simon bends until your back hits the wall, his large hands settling heavy at your waist, thumbs pressing into your soft stomach. His curls are soaked, flattened and heavy against his scalp, rainwater trailing down the buzzed edge of his neck, dripping into the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t care.” He rumbles, eyes flicking to the side of your throat where your pulse flutters like a tell. “I’ll drag ‘alf the field through this fuckin’ door if it means you’re inside when the sky turns.” You want to protest, say something practical, something sharp, something about how of course he doesn’t care, you’re the one who has to clean it up, but you can’t, not with his breath ghosting the corner of your jaw. He tilts his head, rainwater still beading in his lashes. “You don’t get it, do ya? Everythin’ I’ve done, haulin’ logs you couldn’t lift, fixed the roof you feared would cave in— ain’t ‘cause I’ve nothin’ better to do.”
Your fingers twitch at your sides, wanting to push him back, wanting to stay exactly where he’s holding you.
“The world’s simple, love. Hard hands do hard work. Yours are for the home, for rockin’ a cradle, not haulin’ seed. That’s the way of it.”
Simon’s mouth slants, and it’s not a smile. His hand leaves your waist only to catch your wrist, dragging your palm up against the plane of his chest, the relentless beat beneath his rips burning your skin like a brand. “I keep ya warm. You keep me fed. I keep this place workin’ so you don’t ‘ave to.”
You open your mouth even though your words are caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, but he’s not done.
“Y'want somethin’ to do? Mind the housework. Sweep the floors. Keep the porch tidy. I’ll do the rest. I’ll do everythin’ else.”
The storm slams its fists against the roof, the wind howling like it’s trying to claw its way inside, but Simon doesn’t glance toward the noise. His focus is on you— on the way your breath trembles, on the way your pulse kicks beneath the delicate skin of your wrist. He leans closer, no hurry in the way he moves, but the tension in the air makes your own muscles coil, ready to react.
"I said— everything else is mine to tend. Y'hear me?"
You nod, shaky, the movement barely a twitch, and that's all he needs, because he drops to his knees on the wet boards, dragging you with him until your back slides down the wall. "Your pulse kicks in your throat, too fast, too high, but when the heat of him crowds close, you can't stop him. Don't even want to.
Your jeans are still on, clinging damp to your thighs, but Simon's got no patience for barriers. He tears at the button with one rough twist of his wrist; the sharp pop lost under the thunder. The zipper follows in a slow drag, teeth grinding apart, and before you can blink, he's tugging— down, down, denim rasping over your hips, over your thighs. You lift instinctively, a half-second of cooperation you can't take back, and he doesn't miss it. His eyes flash up, catching yours, something satisfied yet so hungry burning there.
"Tha's it," he rasps. "Now you're listenin'."
Simon doesn't bother getting them all the way off, one shoe still hooked, a pant leg twisted around your knee. It doesn't matter. He's already back between your thighs, shoving them open with the weight of his shoulders. His mouth finds you, hot and slick, and your head slams back against the wall with a cry that feels ripped from your chest.
The pace is merciless. He licks you open with slow, leaden drags of his tongue, then sucks sharp and sudden until your knees quake. His hands are iron at your hips, holding you down, forcing you to take every pull of his greedy mouth, every grind of his tongue against the bundle of nerves that has you shaking apart.
You whimper, a high, desperate sound, and his growl rattles your teeth as your thighs tremble, threatening to close snug around his head. "Nice 'n open, sweet'eart, take wha' I give ya." One knee hooks just enough to tilt you toward him, keeping you spread, and you arch into him, fisting his damp curls. This earns you another ruthless suck, a dizzying roll of his tongue that has you choking down a sob. Simon laps at your pussy like it's the only meal worth taking in a lifetime of starvation. His nose grinds against your swollen clit, the scrape of stubble raw between your legs.
He doesn't stop when release finally hits you— violent, ruining, your hips riding his face, your vision white-hot. He doesn't let you shy away, doesn't let you twist free; he holds you down and drinks it all, devouring every last burst of pleasure like it's what he's owed.
Only when you're slumped on the floor, panting and syrupy, does he look at you. His mouth glistens, his jaw rough and wet, slick beading on his chin. Simon wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then presses his mouth over yours, teeth grazing, tongue pushing past your lips. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was a taking. When he pulls back, it's not clean. A thin, glistening strand of spit stretches from his mouth to yours, delicate, catching the light. It sways for a moment, suspended in the hush, then snaps with a soft, wet pop.
"Taste how sweet ya are?"
Every nerve is still buzzing with the aftershocks when he scoops you up, palms under your thighs, carrying you toward the bedroom, kicking the door closed, and setting you down on the bed with a roughness that rattles the frame. He peels off the rest of your damp clothes away with a single-minded intensity.
"Look at ya," he mutters, scorching gaze sweeping over your bare skin— he looks at you like he's a man with a sweet tooth looking for a cavity. His callused fingers trail down your belly, spreading over it wide and presses down until you start to squirm.
"Pretty little thing."
He tugs his shirt off in one go, and you drink in the scratches of moonlight on his pecs, the inner curve of his bicep— where his skin pulled taut, unable to keep up with him— and drag your eyes down to his treasure trail, a shade darker than the hair on his head. One hand works the button of his jeans open, while the other snakes lower, curling over your slick, thumb dragging along your slit, and you whine, hips bucking up.
And then you see the flash of him, thick, heavy— his length already straining, pulsing, impatient, eager. Simon catches the flicker of hesitation in your eyes because he mumbles a gentle, "Easy. You can take it." This stirs something in your chest, bright and hot, a fire that coils tight and refuses to be ignored. You snap at him, asking him if he can— if he can, you know, with his older age and achy back, that you've heard the way he grunts to tie his work boots.
Simon smacks your pussy, and you arch off the bed, knees knocking together before he forces them apart again. "Oh, poppet," he coos, "I'm gonna take it."
He positions himself, the blunt head of him nudging against your wet heat. "Relax," he coaxes, his hands resting on your knees. "You'll stretch for me jus' fine."
The first push steals your breath, your body clenching tight around him as he sinks in deeper, thicker. "Gotta let me in, love." He rolls his hips, once, and you can feel something inside snag, tight and hot, and he does it again, this time filling you the rest of the way, every inch of him stretching you taut and full.
From here each thrust is brutal, heavy, each one shoving you further up the bed. Your body strains under him, his pace rough and deep, the wet, sticky sound of your pussy generous, slick smearing along him. You can't move, can't breathe, can't think past him. His teeth graze your jaw, your chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. "This perfect little cunt— fuck."
A sob spills from your lips when he grinds his hips down, pushing impossibly deeper. He hisses at the feel, sweat dripping from his brow and onto your chest.
"Tha's it, fuck," His hand splays over your belly again. "Feel tha'?" The drag back of his cock burns, and the push in pinches. "Tha's me. All the way inside, deep enough to leave somethin' behind."
Your breath hitches. "Sim—"
"Shh." He bends, mouth hot against your ear. "Soon, You'll be carryin' me," he thrusts sharp, hard enough to make the bed creak, "carryin' us."
He wrenches himself back, the sudden pull leaves your pussy clenching around nothing, then with a quick, jerky motion, he flips you over onto your hands and knees. The change of the angle drives you forward, chest to mattress, palms scraping for purchase, and before your mind can catch up, he slides back in. You can feel his stomach— thickened by routine, by the meals you made— firm against your ass, a slight press of muscle and flesh that's almost bruising in its intensity.
Your protest tangled in a moan as his cock fills you with the kind of weight that presses you down, and your fingers tangle into the sheets, legs shaking under the merciless rhythm of him fucking you.
"I'll fuck you full. Deep. Fuck, you take me so good," your ass smarts from the smack he gives it, "might keep fillin' you 'til it sticks." He drags a hand up your spine, nails grazing. "Tha's wha' a man does for 'is wife."
"Tha's wha' I'll do for mine."
Simon doesn't fuck you like he's chasing his release, he fucks you like he's chasing yours, like he's determined to wring every broken noise out of you until you choke on it. Your slick drips and clings, tracing down from your swollen folds down over the soft skin of your inner thighs, slipping between the crease where your leg meets the bed.
His balls, heavy and taut beneath him, catch the heat and slick, coating him in your arousal. You can feel the way it sticks to him as he pounds into you, making him wetter, more slippery. The sticky friction pulls you apart and together at the same time.
Your body trembles, muscles tightening around him as your heat pools deep and molten, tears welling in the corners of your eyes as his pace turn punishing, borderline violent.
"There it is," he snarls, voice breaking as he drives you higher, the words as filthy as his thrusts. "Clench down on me. Milk me, make it messy. Don't wanna waste a drop."
The thought— terrifying, consuming, intoxicating— burns through you as he drives harder, faster, the sharp edge of his control slipping, and the fire is unbearable. Your pussy clamps down, reflexive, desperate, and you feel it snap— a shuddering release that rattles through your body. Your back arches and hands claw at the sheets as wave after wave of heat pulses down, dripping around him, coating him in your release. Your cry is raw, ragged, a mix of pleasure and desperation, and he grits his teeth, dragging it out, making sure he feels every tremor of your orgasm.
Your climax finally begins to ebb, leaving you raw and utterly spent when he groans, low and guttural, as his hips jerk, his cock swelling so thick this time it does hurt, and then he's pulsing inside you, feeling the heat bloom, thick and molten. His hands dig into your hips, holding you in place as he presses down heavier with every pulse, chest hot against your back, each pant rough, until he slows, still buried inside you.
Simon doesn't move immediately; he stays pressed against your back, chest heavy over yours, his arms curled near your head. His breathing is uneven and harsh, then slowly evening out as the aftershocks fade. You can feel the warmth of him radiating into your sweat-slick skin, the residual mess clinging where he still rests inside you. Your own breaths slow even if your pulse is still tight. His head drops, curls brushing the back of your neck, and you feel the rough, dry scrape of his stubble against your shoulder. A soft exhale escapes him, a low rumble, almost a sigh, and he nuzzles into the space between your shoulder blades.
Your eyes slip closed, the damp weight of your blanket pressing softly over you, and the world outside— the storm, the land, the day— shrinks into nothing, leaving only this, leaving only him. And then, finally, with a soft sigh that mingles with yours, you're swallowed entirely, drifting into sleep.
---
The storm had passed, but the air still smelled of wet earth and old wood. Pale light seeps through the cracks of your curtains. You woke sore everywhere, thighs burning when you moved, and the faint smell of him still clinging to your skin.
Simon was already up. You heard the heavy scrape of a chair, the quiet creak of floorboards. When you padded out the room, rubbing your arms to stave off the chill, you saw him at your table, shirtless, broad back hunched as he cleaned mud off his boots with intentional strokes.
He didn't look at you right away. Just kept working, quiet, steady. Then he speaks, voice deep.
"You'll wanna take it easy today."
You swallowed, tugging his oversized flannel tighter around yourself. "What?" you ask, voice hoarse from sleep and last night.
Now he looks over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping you, lingering at your stomach before they meet yours. "Best not push yourself today," he says simply. "Yesterday took a lot from you. Ain't no shame in stayin' in'."
You're not too keen on finding out what he's on about, but that's how it starts.
You'd tried putting your boots on, to head outside and look at the chickens, but Simon's shadow filled the doorway before you could even lace them. One glance down at your hands fumbling with the strings and his jaw set tight.
"Take those off," he said. Not unkind, just firm.
"Simon, the chickens—"
"No." He reaches down, pulling your shoe clean off your foot with little effort. You almost yelped when he hoisted you up in his arms, carrying you back inside. He sets you down gently, but the look in his eyes was steel. "No."
You aren't to lift, aren't to carry, aren't to sweat under the sun. Instead, he presses a different work into you— kneading dough at the kitchen table, stitching torn shirts he brings you, all the while, he looks at you like he's waiting for something to show. That something is settling. That it's taking.
And Simon simply walks away as if the matter was settled. And for him, it is. The scrape of the door and the heavy tread of his footsteps fade, leaving you along with the smell of bread baking warm in the air and the quiet echo of his claim hanging in the air— less a suggestion and more a vow.
Summary: Neteyam is in trouble. There‘s a human in his home, a human female. And she smells dangerously close to something she certainly wasn’t. Sometimes she couldn’t ever be. An omega.
Warnings: explicit smut, enemies to lovers, p in v, omegaverse, knotting, biting, bite marking, fated mates, pheromones, extreme scent kink, scent marking, dom/sub, dirty talk, humiliation, oral (fem receiving), fingering, size kink, belly bulge, teasing, bullying, praise and degradation, alien biology, masturbation, complicated emotions and inner turmoils from both sides, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, slight dub con warning, squirting, mentions of blood & blood consumption (it’s literally just a drop)
On the list of things that were not supposed to happen, finding a stranger in his home ranked astonishingly high.
And this, this was definitely not supposed to happen. There was a human in his home, a human female. And she smelled dangerously close to something she certainly wasn’t. Sometimes she couldn’t ever be.
An omega.
This could only mean trouble.
On an instant, Neteyam’s instincts sharpened, a flicker of unease rippling through him. He kept his distance, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to move into your embrace. Your foreign scent enveloped him. It wrapped around him like a rope, pulling him closer, yet he managed to remain frozen in place. He was still standing in the doorway of his kelku [home], but he could already smell you on every surface of his home. This was impossible.
The alpha in him purrs at the sweetness of it, a sound he barely has time to bite down.
Your scent was soft but unmistakable, curling around him like a beckoning call, stirring something primitive and unwanted in the back of his mind. His teeth clenched. This cannot be happening.
Neteyam feels the tingle from his nostrils on every breath he takes, all the way down to his knees that had grown weaker by the second. It was strange. Warmth suddenly blossoms in his chest and his head feels clouded. It’s the most enticing scent he has ever had the pleasure of smelling in his whole life. The strange feeling has already settled in and took roots deep within his mind and soul before he could even realize its meaning. It was the scent of a potential mate, the scent that meant you were chosen for him by eywa herself. Fertile and compatible. A perfect little omega to match the alpha in him, served to him on a silver platter.
And Neteyam hates it.
He‘s only been away for a month, and already there is someone occupying his personal space. His father had informed him about the new human refugees his clan had granted shelter. That with the amount of new people arriving, there was also a pressing need to make sacrifices for the greater good.
As he had approached high camp upon his arrival, he had seen all the new makeshift tents lined up in haphazard rows, the smell of smoke from cooking fires mingling with the crisp morning air and the sound of the sky people’s tongue mixing with that of his own people. A clear sign that the olo’eyktan had indeed followed through on his decision.
"There's just not enough room for everyone," his father had explained before he’d left, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. "We have to share what we have. It’s the only way to survive." But this didn't make it any easier for him. This whole time, he thought his kelku had been out of the question. It was his sanctuary, a place where he could retreat after long days, where he could think and relax without interruption. Now, it was a shared space, and with it came the inevitable loss of privacy and peace.
And the worst part?
The worst part was, that not only did he had to share his home with an unknown stranger, but with a human of all things. A human woman. One, that had his mating instincts going rampant by the first whiff of her scent invading his nostrils. It clung to the air like a whisper of danger, warm and sweet, with the unmistakable undertone of something primal, something that did not belong here.
The very thought made his skin crawl. He had spent years harboring a deep-seated disdain for humans, viewing them as arrogant and reckless creatures, incapable of understanding the delicate balance of nature that his own people revered. Their brashness, their greed, and their insatiable curiosity that caused nothing but damage, destruction and misery were all traits he found utterly repugnant.
The dim glow of the bioluminescent lanterns flickered across your face. You were a small thing, even for a human. Your skin marked with smudges of dirt and faint scars. As he peered through the narrow opening of his tent, he watched you bustling about, your hair cascading in waves as you unpacked a basket of freshly picked fruits. You moved with an energy he found both perplexing and infuriating, humming a tune that grated on his nerves. To Neteyam, your very presence was a violation, an intrusion into the sanctity of his personal space and his life.
Your clothing was dull, black and grey, a stark contrast to the bright and colorful tones of his own attire, which he wore with pride, a reflection of his heritage. The fabric of human clothing clings to your form, shifting every time you reached for something, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of annoyance at how carefree you appeared, as if the weight of your circumstances didn’t burden you at all. As if you didn’t even feel what he felt in that very moment.
Logically, Neteyam knew that this was the case. That it wasn’t possible for a human to feel the same bond. That the sky people didn’t possess any equivalent to the mating bonds, scent glands and the instincts that came with it. And that you weren’t truly an omega. It was just not possible, not part of your biology. This must all be just an unfortunate coincidence. But that didn’t make it any less unfair.
Neteyam watched as you knelt to arrange some things out of a backpack, the way you smiled at the small trinkets you pulled from it, a camera, a book. To him, each item was a reminder of the world he had tried to distance himself from. It didn’t belong here. And you, you were too bright, too alive, and it made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar mix of anger and something else he refused to acknowledge.
Neteyam had never wanted to coexist with humans, much less share a roof with one. And now here you were, and eywa was trying to signal to him that you were meant to be his. His instincts told him that he should claim you. Mark you. Breed you. And as the reality of his situation sank in, he crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his jaw set in a grim line. He would endure this arrangement, he told himself. But he would do so on his own terms, keeping his distance and maintaining the cold walls he'd built around himself. And he would not entertain any of these mating instincts for even a second longer than necessary. For Neteyam, this was not just an inconvenience; it was a challenge to his very identity, and he would not back down so easily.
But then he had entered his kelku, and all color had drained from his face at the moment you turned to look at him. When he’d stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, the smell grew more potent, teasing at the edges of his control. His instincts flared in warning, urging him on.
The mating pull, one he thought was strictly reserved for his own kind, was stronger than he anticipated.
And your scent— a blend of spineberry fruit and something he couldn't quite place, something warm and inviting that made him crave proximity. It was intoxicating, a siren call that resonated deep within his being, awakening instincts he thought he'd only ever feel for a woman of the people. One, he simply hadn’t met yet. Not you, definitely not you.
He didn't understand it. Did all humans produce this kind of intense scent? He'd always been fine around the hundreds of humans he could smell just right outside his home. Although the sky people’s natural scent was rather unpleasant in their own way, it never bothered him that much before.
And he'd never been frenzied for it, desperate to smell it, taste it, feel it, have it cover his skin until it masked his own damn scent.
This was already fraying his nerves.
He liked being in control of his desires, of himself, until he decided to let his instincts as an alpha take control. But this? This he wasn't accustomed to, this he didn't know how to navigate, and he knew for sure that he didn't particularly liked it.
Neteyam fought to maintain his composure, but the way you turned to look at him, curiosity mingling with caution, sent a surge of warmth through his chest. Your eyes, bright and expressive, seemed to recognize something in him that he was only beginning to understand. It was as if you were a mirror reflecting desires he had buried deep beneath layers of duty and restraint.
"You're not supposed to be here," he managed to utter, his voice a low growl, betraying the turmoil within him. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if eywa herself conspired to bring you together, like metal to a magnet, a flower to light.
"Uhm… hi?" You say, "Who a–"
"This is my home. And you are not supposed to be here," he cuts in, a little more harsh than he originally intended and you unintentionally straighten up at his voice, which nearly drives him mad. "I believe it’s best you find a different place to stay."
Your brows then furrow for a second, before they raise and a gentle smile crosses your features.
"Oh, you must be Neteyam! Your father has told me you would be on a mission for a couple of weeks and it would be no problem if–" You start, but Neteyam couldn’t even hear you anymore.
His neck already ached from staring down at you, but he wouldn't crouch. He'd bend for no one, especially not a little human wrapped in lush curves who couldn’t even grasp the situation you were in.
His fingertips tingled with the urge to grab your smaller frame and just bend you over the next best surface, so he balled them into fists at his sides. These urges are unnatural, for eywas sake! He should not entertain these fantasies about a woman –a human, he just met mere seconds ago, but the longer he stood in your presence, the harder it got for him to keep his thoughts clean and his mind clear.
With a groan of annoyance, he turned on his heels and left a dumbstruck human standing behind in his kelku [home].
This couldn’t be happening. He had to get rid of you before more words could even be exchanged. He wanted nothing to do with you.
Making his way through the crowded space of high camp, Neteyam was practically steaming.
Taking in the sight of the new arrivals of refugees mingling with familiar faces, he noticed they were weary and worn, eyes downcast as the new humans adjusted to the reality of their new life. Deep down, his heart ached for them; he understood their plight, but he couldn't shake the feeling of resentment that bubbled beneath the surface. It felt like an encroachment, a violation of his personal territory, and he found himself wishing for a moment of solitude, one that was no longer possible in this crowded, bustling community.
As he stepped closer, he could hear the laughter of the new occupants, children playing, voices rising in excitement. It was a reminder that while his world was becoming more populated, his own space was becoming increasingly confined. Helping the humans that was one thing. But being forced to live with one? His father had to understand that this was not something he was willing to do. Especially not now that every step away from his home, away from you, hurt like needles on the soles of his feet. Eywa, this mating bond was already getting on his nerves.
"Oh great mother, Neteyam. You will get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that."
After their grandmother’s passing, Kiri was the one to take over the place of the tsahìk, now occupying the healers tent for most of the day to check in on every new face that had joined the clan. And while Neteyam was proud of his sister for her accomplishments, he wasn’t any less annoyed by her teasing. Still, a request to the olo’eyktan was also a request to the tsahìk. And one day, they would rule together as brother and sister.
Neteyam’s frown deepened at Kiri’s comment, though her lighthearted tone did little to ease the tension knotting his shoulders. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the healer’s tent, grinding herbs into a paste with practiced ease. The air smelled of fresh poultices and burning sage, a scent that always reminded him of their grandmother.
"You’re awfully cheerful today," he muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against one of the wooden support beams.
Kiri smirked, her golden eyes glinting mischievously. "Someone has to be, with you moping around like a lost nantang." She glanced up at him, her expression softening slightly. "What’s wrong, brother? You’re wound tighter than a strung bow."
"The human needs to be moved," Neteyam demands and he can’t help but notice the childish tone in his request.
Kiri gives a hearty laugh at that.
"So, I see you have met your new roommate." His sister sounds amused and smug and by eywa he should’ve known that Kiri was probably more responsible for this than his father.
"We aren’t roommates, Kiri. Remove her, find somewhere else where she can live," he grits his teeth, then opens his mouth again, but before he can protest further, the covers of the healers tent swing open and the olo’eyktan steps inside. Both siblings bow their heads in greeting.
"That's not happening, boy. We are low on space, and your tent is big enough for two." He says, his tone dismissive, yet there’s a comforting smile on the corner of his lips as he places a hand on his eldest sons shoulder, before moving around and handing something over at Kiri. A list, perhaps of the new refugees and the medical care they will require.
Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “She can’t stay with me,” he said firmly, trying to keep his voice steady.
Jake raised an eyebrow, his expression calm but stern. “And where do you suggest she goes, Neteyam? Every tent is already full, and the last thing we need is for someone to catch wind of my own son kicking a refugee out of his tent. A tent that is entirely too big for just one person, mind you."
Neteyam opened his mouth to argue, but the look in his father’s eyes silenced him. It wasn’t just a command; it was a reminder of the responsibility that came with being olo’eyktan in training.
"Yes, sir," he muttered reluctantly, his fists tightening at his sides.
He knows the cramped conditions are just part of their current situation, but he can’t keep his thoughts from the human woman rummaging through his things and filling his home with her sickening sweet scent. It makes the hair on the nape of his neck stand on edge. How was he supposed to ever face her again if he was barely able to breathe, let alone suppress his mating urges around her?
Kiri smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort, as she called after him, "You’ll survive, brother. She’s just a human, how much trouble can she be?"
Neteyam exited in silence, only shooting her a last glare, as he closed the fabric of the tent.
Oh, sister, he thought. You have no idea…
Neteyam had never prayed for so long, nor with such perseverance. He desperately needed guidance but, for the first time in his life, he had received none. And he was ashamed that just as his anger, his desire for the strange human female had not abated either.
He had poured his heart into his prayer, kneeling for hours, baring his soul, confessing his anger, his confusion, his fear. Yet, nothing. No visions. No warmth. No sign. Just the endless hum of the the tree‘s invisible energy, its bioluminescent tendrils swaying softly in the gentle breeze.
It was well after eclipse before Neteyam was able to calm himself enough to set foot back into his own home, but when he did, all his praying and meditating was for nothing.
The whole tent smelled like you. You weren’t even here and he was thankful for whatever it was that you were up to, as long as it kept you away from him. Yet there's an aching emptiness that fills the space. It annoys him, the strength of the bond that is already connecting his soul to yours and Neteyam swallows hard, forcing himself to breathe through the tightness in his chest.
When he moves to the center of his tent, he finds several of your belongings mindlessly tossed to the floor and other corners. Great mother help him. You’re messy.
He clenches his jaw, surveying the chaos that has swiftly invaded what was once his orderly sanctuary. A pile of shirts lies crumpled in a heap next to his neatly arranged bedroll, and a couple of books, their spines cracked and pages dog-eared, lay sprawled across the floor as if they had been abandoned mid-thought.
His heart sinks further as he steps over a pair of shoes that are haphazardly kicked off, one facing east and the other west, like they were in a fight with each other. The sight of it sends a prickling annoyance through him, and he fights the urge to scream. How could someone be so careless?
His meticulous nature clashes violently with the chaos you’ve introduced. He can almost hear his mother’s voice in his head, reminding him of the importance of keeping things tidy, of respecting one's space.
He strides toward the mess, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Each step feels heavy as he navigates through discarded items. He picks up a shirt, the fabric soft and wrinkled, and scowls. It’s almost as if it’s mocking him, smelling so much like you, reminding him of your carefree spirit that he resents.
He tosses the shirt in a pile he’d started for your things, a silent declaration that this is your responsibility, not his. It’s infuriating, how you can just live in chaos without a second thought. So typical for a human.
Neteyam grumbles, shaking his head as he scans the room once more, his irritation boiling just below the surface.
He knows he shouldn’t be this angry, but the mess feels like an invasion, a disruption of his carefully curated life. He prides himself on cleanliness and order, being the one with a plan that thinks ahead– and you already feel like a wild storm tearing through his carefully built walls.
He exhales slowly, trying to regain his composure. "You need to clean this up," he says aloud, even though you’re not here to hear him. It’s more of a plea than a command, a desperate wish for balance in his life once again. The thought of having to confront you about it fills him with dread, but he knows he can’t let this go on.
As he picks up another book, he can’t help but notice that there is one area where you scent seems strongest.
Involuntary, Neteyam feels himself being pulled to the space where his bedroll lays.
With flaring nostrils he takes in the rumpled sheets that show clear signs of you having slept in his bed during his absence. He would have to change them, he thought. Lifting them up and holding them to his nose, a pleasant shudder runs up his spine. And then, to his surprise, all anger suddenly melts into something else. It burns hot under his skin in the same way though.
Allowing himself to give in with the promise that this is a one-time deal, and then he will avoid you altogether, Neteyam strips off his clothes and climbs under the covers.
He’s so bone-tired exhausted from his travels, but your light floral scent drifts around him, causing his mind to go hazy again. You’re like a drug.
Neteyam hates the feeling of having no control over myself. This is all so new to him. He’s strong willed and determined, and he never. Never before, has let himself get this affected by a woman before. But here he is, completely thrown off balance by your scent, let alone the thought of you in his bed.
Kiri knew exactly what she was doing by putting you with him…
He remembers the countless hours spent training, honing his skills as a warrior, preparing to defend his home and his family and one day taking up the role as olo’eyktan. Yet, now that you wandered into his life, all that preparation seems trivial. He feels like a kid again, caught off guard by the flutter of emotions he thought he had long mastered.
Neteyam shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He can’t afford to lose himself in any fantasies. You’re not his mate. Not an omega. Can’t be. There is too much at stake, too many responsibilities to shoulder, a clan to lead. And you’re too… too human. Weak and fragile and surely this must’ve been a mistake. Even eywa could make them, right? But the more he fights it, the more he feels the pull.
Soaking his heated skin in your scent, he tosses and turns in his bed, until he physically can’t hold still any longer. His fingers card through his braids, blunt nails scraping his skin before he runs a hand down his throat and over his chest. His heart is a beating drum underneath his ribs and he lets his hands wander further down, over his abs and past the low dip of his navel. Goosebumps raise all over his skin and his breath hitches when he wraps a hand around his pulsing cock. He’s hard and aching already. Fisting the sheets with his other, he pulls them to his core and envelopes his length in the fabric that smells so much like you.
Fuck. This is wrong. So wrong.
Squeezing the tip of his cock, where it turns from blue into a faint hue of purple, he forces the very first droplets of pre-cum to form and spill over his knuckles. It soaks the sheets wrapped around his base and he groans. There’s a tightness, a warmth that swells inside him and it gets even worse when he inhales deeply, your scent fills his nostrils and he bites down on his lip to hold in a moan.
He begins to pump his length with hard, fast movements, imagining it's you on his cock. It’s a mouth watering image in front of his minds eye. Your smaller form on top of him, your back arched, your hips rolling. And Neteyam, rolling right back, on his elbows, mouthing your throat, your collar bone, feeling the way you would squeeze around his length as you ride him. You’re probably so damn tight, it would drive him out of his skin. A look of pure bliss on your stupid annoying face as he meets your rhythm with hungry thrusts of his own, your heavy breasts bouncing near his mouth. Neteyam imagines his large hands toying with your pink pert nipples and touching every surface of your soft human skin, a thought that's so strangely arousing to think about that even more beads of pre-cum begin to drip down the bulbous head of his cock.
Stroking himself faster, he imagines running his tongue along your skin, imagines how rich it would taste of you. It’s such a perverted fantasy, so shamefully dirty that the sheer thought of voicing those fantasies makes his cock throb so hard that his breath catches in his throat.
He‘s certainly no virgin, but the image of you that Neteyam has conjured is too much for him. Having your scent envelop him was a mistake, but he cannot stop himself now as he pumps his hand faster. Gritting his teeth, a low whine keening at the back of his throat, he feels his release getting closer, and his canine begin to ache, begging to bite and claim. His knot swells and throbs, so he kneads the tissue of flesh with his other hand.
Just a few hard, fast paced strokes later and his seed soaks the sheet wrapped around his cock in thick spurts. Neteyam groans a deep sound of pleasure followed by a low growl, squeezing his eyes shut. He‘s gripping his throbbing length as he empties himself to the thought of your tear streaked, well-fucked expression and the fantasy of soaking your mouth, cunt and every hole in your body with his cum. Eywa, how he wished he could do this, instead of these fabrics that could only mirror your scent and not your warmth and possible tightness.
Neteyams breath comes out ragged and heavy, but it’s the only noise in his dark, empty home.
Once post-clarity hits him, he’s more than just appalled with myself. The sheets are cold and sticky, his skin flushed with sweat. And he just fist fucked himself to the image of a human that he barely knows, one he so very rudely shooed out of his home before you could even introduce yourself. The human that made his mating instincts loose control. And on top of that, you’re utterly clueless and completely unaware that you’ve just been the center of his deprived thoughts and perverted fantasies.
How much more shameful could he be?
— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —
Your new roommate hates you. Fucking great.
You don’t even know how exactly you did it. Usually, it took people an approximate time spent with you to start disliking all your odd little quirks. But with Neteyam, it was instantaneous.
That night when you had come home, you really thought he had cooled down. God, how you had hoped this was the case. You thought he’d just given you attitude that day because he was tired from his travels and just surprised at finding a stranger –an alien on top of that, in his home. But no.
You had barely stepped foot into the shared space of your new home when his golden eyes flicked over you, narrowing just slightly, but enough to make your stomach twist.
The introductions were awkward and brief. Neteyam, tall, graceful, and exuding a quiet confidence, made it painfully clear that he wasn’t thrilled to be saddled with a roommate, especially not you.
He made it very clear that even with your temporary living situation, you and him would have to continue to live separate lives. That this wasn’t the beginning of new friendship or bond or whatever fairy tail story you had imagined.
And so far, he made sure to keep that promise.
He didn’t even engage in much conversation with you. Not after the brief discussion of him offering up his freshly made bed and telling you to shut up about it, nor after waking up and sitting in silence as you munched on the fruit you had picked yesterday morning. He didn’t even say his goodbye as he stomped out of the door shortly after breakfast. God, you’ve never met a man this moody before.
Day after day, the tension lingered. Every attempt to spark a conversation was met with clipped responses, if not outright silence. Occasionally, you tried to be friendly, throwing out a casual "Hey" or “How was your day?” but the responses were always short, barely above a whispered grumble and the question was never returned to you, not even out of politeness. He moved around the tent with the precision of someone who was avoiding you on purpose.
It was maddening.
You couldn’t even pinpoint what you’d done to warrant the hostility. Was it the way you unpacked? The music you played? The way you dressed? The moment your stomach growled too loud during dinner? It was like walking on eggshells. Eggshells that Neteyam seemed perfectly content to leave scattered in your path.
Not to mention, you definitely took notice of the amount of time he cleaned and wiped every surface you had touched and immediately went to wash the blanket and pillow you had used throughout the night right after you woke. It was as if he was disgusted by you, your presence and possibly even your odd human scent and didn’t even bother to hide it, if his facial expressions were anything to go by.
Every little thing you did seemed to annoy Neteyam, and he wasn’t shy about showing it.
One morning, you accidentally spilled a bit of water while pouring yourself a cup. Before you could even reach for a piece of fabric, Neteyam was already there, snatching it from your hands with an exasperated sigh.
"Do you even know how to clean up after yourself?" he muttered, wiping away the water with the precision of someone scrubbing away a toxic spill.
"I was about to—", you began, but he’d cut you off with a dismissive wave.
"Next time, don’t wait. This isn’t your personal mess hall."
Then there was the time you struggled to carry a heavy crate of supplies into your shared home. You hadn’t realized how bulky it would be, and the weight threw you off balance. Neteyam stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching as you wobbled under the strain.
"A ittle help?" You gasped, hopeful.
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You brought it in. You can finish the job."
You nearly dropped the crate, your arms trembling, but he didn’t so much as budge to assist. Only when you managed to get it to the table did he speak again. "Maybe next time, you’ll think ahead."
And then there were the lectures. Oh, how he loved those.
The lectures were almost a ritual by now, as inevitable as sunrise and more often than not the only form of communication that took place between the two of you. Neteyam seemed to delight in every opportunity to remind you how little you knew about his world, how pathetic you were in his eyes and how your human ways were a constant source of irritation.
One evening, you’d returned from a walk with dirt smudged on your boots. The moment you stepped inside, Neteyam froze, his eyes flicking to the floor, where a few small clumps of dirt had fallen on the neatly woven floor. He had let out a slow, deliberate breath, as though summoning every ounce of patience in his body.
"Do you humans have no respect for the spaces you occupy?" He’d said, voice low but sharp, gesturing to the floor.
"Relax, I was going to clean it up," you muttered, bending to grab a cloth. But he wasn’t done.
"That’s not the point,” he continued, crossing his arms. "You should’ve removed your boots outside. You’re careless. Always acting without thinking."
Another time, you tried to cook dinner, thinking it might ease some of the tension. You’d gathered ingredients from the clan, carefully following a recipe you thought would impress him. But the second Neteyam walked in, he wrinkled his nose and stopped dead in his tracks.
"What are you doing?" He demanded, striding over to the fire place.
"Making dinner?" You said, genuinely confused by his tone and what you did wrong this time.
Then he had picked up one of the roots you’d been slicing and held it up like it was evidence in a trial. "This is meant to be boiled, not roasted," he said, his voice heavy with disdain. "Do you know how much time it takes to grow something like this? You’re ruining it."
"I thought it’d taste better roasted—"
"You thought?" He interrupted, his laugh humorless. "Next time, leave the thinking to someone who knows what they’re doing."
Even when you tried to immerse yourself in his culture, it was never enough. Once, you’d spent hours trying to weave a simple loincloth after watching his sister craft them with such skill. When you proudly wore your finished work, his unwanted comment was less than encouraging.
"The weave is too loose. It won’t last a day in the wild."
By the time he finished lecturing you about how to properly tension each strand and pointing out all the mistakes you’ve made, your excitement had long since deflated.
Even something as small as choosing food became an ordeal. You once grabbed a fruit you hadn’t seen before, eager to try it, but Neteyam snatched it from your hands.
"That’s not for you," he said curtly.
"Why? Is it poisonous or something?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, but it’s not meant for clumsy hands that don’t appreciate what they’re holding."
It was like this constantly: a relentless barrage of scorn and thinly veiled disdain. Every interaction felt like a reminder that you didn’t belong here, and Neteyam seemed determined to make sure you never forgot it.
It wasn’t an active kind of dark loathing that cripples the soul that you felt for him –that kind of hatred was firmly reserved for bastards like your ex-boss. Ardmore and Neteyam had nothing in common, thank God for small mercies. You still didn’t know him very well, but at least Neteyam didn’t manipulate or scheme. His disdain for you, while constant, was at least straightforward.
Neteyam wasn’t cruel, not in the ways that truly scarred. His criticism, though sharp, lacked malice. It was more like he was delivering a harsh truth he believed you needed to hear. It didn’t make it easier to stomach, but at least you knew where you stood. With Ardmore, every word had been a calculated move, every kind gesture laced with a hidden blade. Neteyam’s hostility, on the other hand, was raw and honest, if infuriating.
Still, that didn’t mean living with him was easy.
He still embodied every single trait that you quietly despise. Already you could tell that he was as uptight, arrogant and entitled as only the son of a chief could be, his ego weighted more than he did, and, to cap it all, he was a goddamn perfectionist.
You found yourself clenching your fists and biting your tongue more often than not, the snarky retorts dying on your lips because you knew they’d only escalate things. Instead, you bottled it up, letting it simmer until it came out in small, petty ways. Leaving tools or clothes scattered around after Neteyam’s meticulous cleaning, or humming an annoying tune just loud enough for him to hear. Nothing too obvious, just enough to scratch the itch of rebellion.
It didn’t seem to bother him any more than anything else you did, though, which was even more frustrating. Most of the time, when Neteyam wasn’t lecturing or humiliating you, he was just bluntly ignoring your very existence. He didn’t even pretend to know you as you walked past each other in the village. It was like living with a ghost— one that was very much alive and very much an asshole.
Well, from what you’ve heard, it was understandable that your social skills might suffer if you’ve dedicated your entire existence to relentless training and working out, while simultaneously fighting in a war between two species. Meanwhile everyone else your age gets to have a childhood and experience normal teenager stuff before they enter adulthood.
If you’d spent your formative years with the weight of an entire clan’s expectations on your shoulders, constantly preparing for life-or-death situations, you’d probably be a little tightly wound too. Still, it didn’t excuse him treating you like an annoying bug buzzing around his otherwise orderly existence.
Poor guy was in his late twenties and so uptight, you‘d be surprised if he’s ever been laid before. Not with that attitude, though. And you’d actually believe that to be true, if it weren’t for the scene that was currently playing out in front of you.
Whoever this guy was, this was not the Neteyam you knew.
For hours now, he sat in the center of a lively gathering around a fireplace, a confident smile on his lips and an easy laugh spilling freely from him, as he effortlessly engaged with everyone around him.
They were celebrating the return of their golden child. The brats been away for a month and the whole clan was throwing him a party. Unbelievable.
All night, the people had been flocked to him, their faces beaming with admiration as they congratulated him on the success of his recent mission.
Women in the clan seemed particularly drawn to him, their eyes sparkling with interest as they playfully flirted and tossed compliments his way. Some of them had even leaned just a bit closer throughout the conversation as he told them stories of his travels, their hands brushing his arms and occasionally holding onto his biceps as their shrill laughter made your ears ring.
And god, that grin of his as he was practically showering in all the attention he was given, yet pretending to be nothing but a humble saint. Ugh. He‘s so full of himself, you thought as you scrunched your nose in disgust.
You stood awkwardly at the edge of the gathering, nursing a drink and watching the scene unfold. This version of Neteyam, the charismatic, charming leader who seemed to light up the entire space, was a complete stranger to you. His stern, uptight exterior was nowhere to be found.
Neteyam’s gaze then flicked towards you, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second before he recovered.
Not just an asshole, but arrogant as well. You could tell by the way his eyes scanned the crowd every once in a while, stopping just to peak in your direction as if he wanted to know that you were seeing him, seeing the way he was loved and adored by all and everyone, before he adverted his gaze completely and continued his conversation as if you didn’t even exist.
Lifting your mask up to empty yet another cup of whatever this liquor was called, your body gave a little shiver in response to the fuzzy feeling running down your throat and filling your stomach with warmth.
As you observed the scene, it became increasingly difficult to reconcile this charismatic figure with the rude guy you were to call your new roommate. Neteyam was not just popular; they were obsessed with him. He was genuinely loved and adored by his clan, their excitement to have him back made that much clear. But the way they rallied around him made it evident that he was more than just a cornerstone of their community. Neteyam was their golden child, the best, the one they put all their hopes into, the one that was wanted and desired.
Of course he would despise your kind. Neteyam, the na‘vi in general, they were beautiful, elegant and yet strong and seemingly flawless beings. And you, you were an intruder of his home, destroying every sense of peace these beings had ever known.
And having to witness such a different side of him, while knowing just how cold and rude he could be towards you, sparked a wave of jealousy deep within you. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you watched him charm everyone around him, their faces lighting up in his presence while you stood off to the side, feeling invisible. It was hard not to compare yourself to them, so effortlessly engaging and carefree, while you struggled to even get a smile or a kind word from him.
All you wanted was to make friends, to feel included in the joy and laughter that surrounded Neteyam. But instead, there was a chasm between you and him, one that seemed to grow wider as you watched him bask in the adoration of the crowd. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness creeping in. Why did he have to be so wonderful to everyone else while being so dismissive towards you?
It felt unfair that you were trying so hard to fit in, to find your place among the clan, while he seemed to effortlessly command the attention and affection of everyone around him. You took another sip from your cup, the warmth of the liquor doing little to soothe the ache in your chest.
As the laughter and music continued to swirl around you, you felt a mix of envy and loneliness wash over you. You wanted to be part of that world, to share in the joy and camaraderie, but instead, you felt like a shadow lurking at the edge of the celebration. And with every moment that passed, the distance between you and Neteyam felt like an insurmountable wall, leaving you wondering if you would ever break through.
— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —
It’s not fair.
Everywhere he goes, it seems you’re already there to torture him with your presence alone.
He feels your shadow before he sees you, the faint ripple of your existence pressing against his every nerve. He’s not sure if it’s hatred or obsession, or if there’s a difference anymore.
Even at his own damn celebration, he can hardly focus on the words being spoken around him. All he can think about is you, sitting there on the opposite site of the big fire and watching him through the flames. His mind is playing tricks on him, flooding his thoughts with possible what-if‘s.
You’re sitting there all alone, what if another male approaches you? What if you drink too much of the swoa [intoxicating beverage] and can’t find home? It’s a pretty strong liquor and you’re such a tiny thing. You’ve had way too much of it already and he should excuse himself and get up to stop you, but no. He can’t do that.
For days he‘s been trying to avoid you, and he doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose, but you’ve already made this much harder for him than it needed to be. He just wants to keep his distance, but it seems like you’re everywhere. Your scent is calling to him, your voice is driving him insane, your name in other people’s mouths makes him jealous beyond belief. How is he supposed to get his mating instincts under control when everything you do is going straight under his skin? How is he supposed to get anything done when you’re all he can think about?
"Just a little more and there’s a hole in the side of her face, bro."
"What?" Neteyams head whips around so fast, his brother and the annoying human equivalent of him both snort a chuckle that make his brows furrow in irritation. Shoving a bright pink berry between his lips, Lo‘ak tips his chin in your direction and mumbles, "You’re staring at her again."
"I‘m not staring." He defends, although too quick to make it sound truly believable.
"Of course you’re not," his younger brother sighs and then, after a moment, "So when are you finally going to talk to her, huh? One more of these drinks and she’s not going to remember much of it, so better be quick."
"I‘m not–" Neteyam begins, then pauses and takes a deep breath that relaxes his shoulders, before he starts over. "I don’t plan on talking to her. We‘re merely roommates for the time being because she is in need of shelter and that is all. She’s annoying and messy and she reeks of human." He shakes his head and scrunched his nose as if to demonstrate his distaste of the little demon.
"Let me just pretend I didn’t hear that," Spider casually chimed in, which he expertly ignored. Not that the blonde minded. He just shrugged and bit down a playful grin, being used to Neteyams tendency to dislike his race.
"She’s actually pretty nice if you’d just gave her a chance." Lo‘ak nudged his side, giving him a sympathetic smile.
One of Neteyams brows raised as he glanced sideways at his younger brother. "How would you know?"
"Who do you think was showing her around while you were gone and told her not to touch your shit or you’d loose your mind, Mr. always-tidy-and-perfect?" Both, Lo‘ak and Spider, laughed at the truth of his words, while he had barely anything to even smile about.
Neteyam had a hard time listening at all since the conversation had even begun. All he could focus on was the anger that clenched in his gut as he watched you from afar, carelessly downing another cup of very strong swoa [intoxicating beverage]. Your cheeks had began taking up a warm rosy color that only added to his worry and the suspicion that you were more than just tipsy by now.
"She was even looking forward on meeting you. Before you decided on being a complete dick to her, I mean." Lo‘ak unknowingly added more fuel to the fire that already burned hot in his veins.
"Hm," Neteyam only grunts his acknowledgement, grinding his teeth. "My point still stands. I tolerate her because I must. And the sooner we will build more room for the refugees, the better. I can’t wait to get rid of her and her- her human scent and her human things littering my home!" His voice has grown louder and angrier the more he thought of you, the more he thought about the irreversible bond that he tried so hard to ignore.
"Oh, great." A look is exchanged between the two brothers of whom one Neteyam wouldn’t even consider his family’s pet, yet his younger siblings seemed to be very fond of. Spider suddenly moved to stand, straightening his loincloth and fastening the bow string that sat across his chest.
Lo‘aks mischievous smile sends the hair on the nape of his neck raising and Neteyam suspiciously squints his eyes at him. Lo’ak then clears his throat and asks, "so, you don’t mind that Spider is going to take his chance at–"
"Fuck that." He stands so abruptly, two pair of eyes immediately land on him, all words dying on his brothers tongue. "You," he points at Spider who had barely made it one step forward, "sit back down."
"Yes, sir," the vrrtep [demon] chuckles, then holds his hands up in surrender before he does as he’s told.
The leaves crunch angrily under his feet as Neteyam stomps over to you. He doesn’t know why his brothers teasing suddenly drives him so out of his skin. Why the thought of Spider talking to you makes his blood boil and his head pound in anger. It’s so untypical for him. He‘s never been so short tempered and possessiv of someone. Let alone someone he doesn’t even want!
But Neteyam's steps falter as someone unexpectedly steps into his path, blocking his direct approach to you. He lets out an irritated grunt, his brow furrowing in frustration as he looks at the individual in his way.
"Ah, Neteyam, my boy."
It’s Akwey, former olo’eyktan of the Olangi Clan. A significant portion of his clan did not survive the great war from before Neteyam was even born. In the aftermath of the battle, the surviving members of the Olangi clan found refuge and integration with the Omatikaya. Akwey is still a well respected member of the clan, a friend and ally of his father and part of the council of elders, therefore it wouldn’t be wise to just sent him off. Even if Neteyam wanted to do nothing more than to rush past him.
"It's good to see you back. Tell me, how did your mission to the southern borders fare? Were you successful in your endeavors?"
Neteyam, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected topic of conversation, paused before responding. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he realized the elder's intention to engage in light conversation rather than delve into deeper matters.
But even has he told Akwey about his recent travels, sharing lighthearted laughs and friendly words with his fathers old friend, he couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering over his shoulder to where you were seated. Or was, to be more specific. During his conversation, you had managed to leave, although stumbling and on unsteady feet, in the direction of the forest.
Neteyam knew that this couldn’t be the direction you intended to take, because the way to your shared home was the exact opposite way.
With all possible respect and an apology that wasn’t as sincere as he tried to make it sound, he finally managed to make his escape and end this conversation in favor of rushing after you. With a smile on his lips and a proud clasp to his shoulder he was excused and Neteyams feet quickly carried him away from Akwey, away from the clearing, the celebration and the rest of the clan.
Although his sense of smell was keen and he would’ve easily been able to track your footsteps through the forest, he didn’t had to walk far to find you.
There, on a moss covered log, you sit. The sound of a sniffle pierced his heart as he slowly approached, your head shooting up and your shoulder tensing under his gaze before he could even open his mouth to speak.
"W-What?", you bark at him, the defensive and downright aggressive tone in your voice taking him by surprise, "if you want to lecture me or anything, I don’t want to hear it."
I don’t, he thinks, but choose to stay silent. He prefers to just stand and listen, see what the drunk version of you would do if you had already decided to be so bold with him.
"Stop staring at me!" You balled your fist at your sides, anger and frustration clearly written all over your face. "G-God, yes, I know I must look so pathetic to you right now…" He thinks about agreeing, but bites his tongue instead. "I bet the golden child himself has never been so em-embarrassingly drunk before, r-right?" You throw your arms up as you gestured wildly.
A chuckle almost escapes him, but before you can take notice, you’re already standing, ready to continue your journey to wherever you thought this path would lead you. Your legs however had other plans. Tipping over your own clumsy feet, you barely manage to keep yourself upright.
'Drunk' really was an underestimation, he realized.
Neteyams hands almost instinctively reached out to steady you, but you swatted them away like a stubborn child that insisted that it didn’t need any help.
"Leave me alone, Neteyam… I can take perfect care of myself!" What a very fitting statement to his previous thoughts.
"Home‘s the other way." He says ever so nonchalantly, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. He would never admit it out loud, but the blush of embarrassment that was now evident on your cheeks and even your collarbone was a very satisfying view.
"I- I know that," you stammered and great mother you couldn’t have been more obvious if you tried.
Raising a brow, Neteyam decided to play into your embarrassment, teasing you further just for the fun of it. "Oh, do you?" He asked, a playful smile grazing his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. His tail curled behind his back in excitement.
"You’re s-so full of yourself!" You nearly exploded as you plopped back down, sounding more childish than ever. "All week you’ve been ignoring me, treating me like i don’t even exist and now you decide is the time to come and talk to me again? Why? Just so you can look down at me and laugh? Because the dumb little human got too drunk?"
Yes.
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want to make sure you find back home without injuring yourself, skxawng [idiot/moron]." That was at least partly the truth.
Your shoulders relaxed a bit at this. "Wait. Really?"
"Just because you and me aren’t friends doesn’t mean you’re any less of a responsibility to me," Neteyam explained as he stared down at you. "You live in my home and my father would skin me alive if anything were to happen to you."
Not to mention the uncomfortable feeling of unease that gnawed at his very being at the thought of you wandering around at night all alone. As much as he wanted to hide it, Neteyam had this strong urge to protect you. To care for you, how any alpha would do for his mate. But he would rather fight a palulukan with his bare hands than tell you that.
To his surprise, you let your head fall back and give a heartfelt laugh. "I‘m not your responsibility, Sully."
Sully. You’ve called him that before and Neteyam has never taken the sound of his own family name with a grain of salt before. But he simply prefers to hear his name coming out your mouth, his own and not his family’s.
"Unfortunately, you are," Neteyam then sighs under his breath.
"Oh, spare me", you roll your eyes at him at that, before you begin with your second attempt on getting away from him. "I mean it, I can walk by myself."
But the moment you manage to stand up straight without stumbling, he demonstratively pushes you back down with just a single finger against your chest. You easily fall back onto your bottom with a soft thud.
"No you can’t," he says.
"This is–", a breathy laugh escapes you, much to his surprise, "this is ridiculous." More giggles burst out of you the longer you seem to think about it, until you’re full on laughing and clutching your stomach. Neteyam just stands there, arms crossed and brows raised high and he‘s worried you might’ve consumed more than just liquor. Knowing Lo‘ak and Spider, he wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had given you any 'ampirikx root [kava] just for the fun of it. That stuff would knock you into next week, no doubt. But not even these two knuckleheads would be stupid enough to do something like this to you. Not when Neteyam had been watching you like a hawk all night.
Once your laughter had finally settled down and you had lifted your mask up for a terrifying second to wipe your tears away, you glance back up at him with a sigh.
"Good, now what, genius? Do you really want to keep me here in the forest until I sober up?" You ask with a hint of humor.
"Of course not," he shakes his head and then takes a step forward. "How do you want me to carry you?"
"Carry me? Are you serious?" You laugh, until you realize that his expression hadn’t changed and Neteyam was, in fact, completely serious.
In that moment, something shifted. A playful smile crept back onto your lips, but this time it was different. Your eyes sparked with what looked dangerously close to mischief and leaning in slightly, you then asked, "Well, how do you want to carry me?“
By the tone in your voice, it wasn’t hard to forget that you were still pretty much drunk. Unfortunately and up to this point, Neteyam had almost forgotten. Forgotten or repressed, one could argue about that.
But then he thought back to his brothers words about you most likely not being able to remember the night going by the amount of liquor you’ve had throughout the celebration. Taking another step closer to you, Neteyams tongue swiped over his bottom lip, the temptation too strong to resist and so he decided to be bold and playful with you just this once. Just because he could and because the consequences were barely to none existent. You would most likely forget about this conversation by tomorrow.
"I want to throw you over my shoulder and spank your ass so hard you can’t sit straight for a week, because you got so drunk and then decided to be a brat about it. That is how." The grin on his lips was a dangerous one and he took his sweet time to let this new information soak in.
For a moment you looked too stunned to speak or even move at all, but then the intoxicated blush deepened on your cheeks and you began to grin.
"Then why don’t you?"
Neteyam scoffs and half smiles at this. Clearly drunk.
"Alright, let’s get you home before you get any more insufferable."
"Oh is that a smile? You can smile?" And for the first time you laughed so lightheartedly around him, it made goosebumps break out all over his skin. Rolling his eyes, he grumbled, "Don’t get used to it." And then kneeled down enough for you to wrap your arms around his neck so he could carry you bridal style.
The walk to his kelku was longer than Neteyam remembered. Part of the reason for that was probably the human in his arms that normally didn’t even look in his direction, let alone speak to him for more than necessary, but was now drunkenly rambling all the way back home without a break.
The words "go to bed" were probably muttered with too much annoyance, but Neteyam was entirely too tired to care.
However, his luscious little walking nightmare had the audacity to remain frozen in place. When he quirked a brow at you, wondering why you didn’t just turn around and leave, you asked,
"Can you help me with that? Your sister has helped me put it on but the knots are so complicated and I don’t want to accidentally rip it."
Sweeping your hair over your shoulder you then turned your back to him, exposing smooth skin and the backside of the neatly woven top that Kiri had made for you. Or with you, to be exact. His sister was a great teacher and Neteyam had to thank her one day for coming up with a design so fitting for a human like you and at the same time curse her for being the reason you wore something so revealing when you normally hid all your skin beneath layers and layers of fabric.
There’s a small knot that sits on the nape of your neck and one that sits just below your shoulder blades. They’re bound tightly, but Neteyams fingers are skilled enough. When the first one opens, the fabric on your front loosen drastically, but you don’t make a move to hold it together.
Neteyam gulps.
This was a dangerous game. He could just lean to the side and he’d get a glimpse of your sideboob.
His hands are colder than your skin, and he waits for you to complain when he traces the burning line of your shoulder up to your neck. You break out in goosebumps where his fingers were, but don’t say anything. His hands are just there, with a mind of their own, sliding from your shoulders to holding onto your hips and then skimming further to untie the next knot.
When he loosens that last knot, the top flutters nearly silently to the ground in front of your feet. Your breathing comes out heavier, chest raising and falling, and eywa he would be an idiot to not take advantage of it.
His hands begin to wander before he could make the decision to do so, roaming from your hips to your front. They carefully run over the softness of your belly, up to your ribcage, until he feels the swell of your breasts.
A shiver courses through you like electricity, but you remain quiet.
Neteyam considers stepping back and take his leave. That would be the right thing to do. He knows he should not take this any further or he’d be unable to resist you ever again.
But when he retracts his hands, immediate mourning the loss of your warmth, you do something unexpected. On slow, still unsteady feet, you turn around to face him. You had to crane your neck all the way up to look at him. The sight of your bare chest and the flush that spread from your cheeks all the way down to your pretty nipples was enough to hypnotize him to the point he didn’t even realize you had lifted your arms and unclasped your mask.
Sucking in a breath, you took it upon yourself to raise to your tiptoes and pull him into a kiss with a hand on his neck.
Neteyam blinks, stunned.
Your lips are so incredibly soft, so easy to melt into, and when your warm wet tongue swipes over his bottom lip to beg for entry, he can’t stop himself from kissing you back just as fiercely. The taste of you is something straight out of every alphas dream. It’s sweet and delicious and you’re so warm and pliant. When Neteyam wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you in tight, you use that last bit of breath to give him a soft little moan. And that’s when his mind went blank.
You have to force and shove him back in order to swipe your mask back on, giggling at the shameless display of his desperation. He was making a fool out of himself, but every instinct inside him told him to bend you over and force his knot into you until your belly would swell.
One of his hands slipped to your ass so he could grip it, knead it, just fucking hold the perfect thing, as he brought the other to your waist to make sure you couldn't escape him.
A whiff of your scent invaded his nostrils and Neteyam was sure by the look on your face that his pupils must’ve been fully blown by now.
Suddenly, Neteyam wanted every strand of hair, every bit of flesh, every drop of blood, every cell, every fibre that belonged to that little human that got on his nerves every waking minute of the day. He wanted to greedily consume it and have you consume him in return.
The hair on the nape of his neck raised as a shiver ran through him, and the thought of showing his desires so outrageous and obvious to you drove him mad. All that he worked so hard for over the past few weeks was for nothing in this very moment.
Neteyam was so ready to blast you for being such a messy, annoying, weak and dumb little human, but it was like these primal urges to mate you completely overtook his ability to think rationally. Because he opens his mouth to put an end to this and shoo you away, but ends up shoving your mask back up and kissing you instead.
Your eyes fly open when he jams his mouth against yours, then flutter closed again when you melt against him. He's rough with you, tangling a handful of your hair in his hand and biting you lip just enough to make your exhale jaggedly.
He‘s so angry at you. For what exactly, he can’t even tell at this point. He‘s angry because you taste so fucking good. He‘s angry because his cock is hard and aching for you beneath his loincloth, pressing desperately against your stomach. He‘s angry at himself too, for showing this weakness to a human he despises. For loosing this battle against his own will so soon.
"In case you needed a reminder," Neteyam mutters, narrowing in on your swollen bottom lip as you pulled your mask down again, breathing heavily. "I'm not going to be nice to you."
You don’t respond to that, but you do touch your bitten lip with the tip of your tongue in a way that makes him inexplicably want to run his tongue over it. Or the tip of his cock. So he does. The mask nearly goes flying again and his tongue is back in your mouth, biting and kissing and sucking. You’re squirming against him, needy little sounds escaping you while he presses your body against his, walking you backwards to the other room.
He can’t think when his lips are on you, but every time you put your mask back on to inhale some much needed air, Neteyam halfway wonders what the hell he's doing making out with you, and whether he ought to be seriously thinking about if that's a good idea and if he's really dropped his standards so low.
Even though Neteyam only had a reasonable amount of swea at the gathering earlier, the slight mix of liquor combined with the intoxicating feeling of arousal was making his thoughts run in slow-mo, but then crowd up and shove each other for attention. But one thing comes to mind, more important than the others. He sighs, and braces a hand against your hip to push himself away from your lips.
"How much have you had to drink?" He asks, his tone stern.
"I'm fine," you tell him, albeit slurring enough to remind him that you were, in fact, not.
Neteyam knows you’ve had enough. You’re tiny and probably get drunk just from smelling the cups passed to you.
"I‘m serious." It's paining him to be this responsible, which he hopes you know as he holds you hot and bothered at arm's length. "We are not doing this if you are too drunk. If you regret this in the morning it’ll be my fault."
"I don't think you actually care." There's a tiny, weird smirk on your face, a challenge, your voice even but your gaze uneven and filled with lust.
"I do," he says, inhaling deeply. Your aroma distorts his ability to make the right choice. "Actually, you don't know anything about me, tawtute [human]."
"Yeah?" You tilt you head as you gaze up at him and Neteyams spine straightens as he feels your hand, dainty fingers running over the outline of his cock. "But I know you want this. And I’m offering it to you. Pinky promise I won’t regret it in the morning." You giggle softly at your little joke, even more so when you seem to realize you’re the only one in the room that actually has a pinky.
Neteyam rolls his eyes at that. "Fine," he grumbles, then gives you a little push that throws you off balance, but you land softly on his bed made of different fabrics and soft fur.
You might not, but maybe I will.
The little show of blunt teeth is quickly wiped from your face once Neteyam kneels between your legs. He pushes your thighs apart rather roughly to make room for himself there and your eyes widen as they watch him move with so much confidence. The sound of a low purr coming from deep within his chest makes you bite down on your bottom lip and Neteyam narrows his eyes on you.
This had to be a one time thing. There was absolutely no way for him to not mate you right here and right now. He knew that once he was buried inside that tiny cunt, his urges as an alpha would force him to knot that human that smelled so much like the perfect little omega for him. He would accidentally break you. And then he would mark and bind himself to a woman that belonged to a species Neteyam despised more than anything in his life? No. He had to be stronger than this. And there had to be another way to relieve this burning hunger deep inside of him.
"Lift your hips for me, sevin tawtute [pretty human]" he commanded, voice low and husky. Submissive as you were, you did as you were told, and Neteyam hooked his fingers under the cords that held your loincloth together around your hips and pulled it down.
It takes no convincing or sweet talk for you to coyly let your thighs fall open, revealing your pretty pretty cunt to him. Neteyam swallows thickly at the sight.
Lifting his hands to spread your glistening lips he’s met with the cutest shade of pink he‘s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes upon. And you’re so wet. Salvia pools in his mouth like a dam ready to burst and he wipes his tongue over the pointy tips of his canine. That would be a feast.
Neteyam is still holding you open with his thumbs as he leans down to kiss the little nub that sits on top of your slit. Your thighs jerk and your breath comes out hitched. He looks up at you through his eyelashes as he licks the first stripe all the way up from your slit, his tongue curling gently over your clit. You’re so sensitive, and the knowledge feels so fucking good it almost hurts.
A low hum leaves his throat at the first taste of your honey-like arousal on his tongue. He doesn’t know what’s sweeter, your scent or your taste. Either way, it wakes something primal in him. Something that makes him want to consume you whole. To bite and mark and breed and claim. His tail thrashes vividly behind him and you give a little yelp as Neteyam moves his hands from your thighs to the back of your knees and folds you in half. With your ass now high in the air and your knees on either side of your face, you’re perfectly presented to him. A dinner ready to eat.
"I could smell you getting wet earlier, you know" he says lowly. "I just didn't know if you'd do anything about it."
Neteyam watches you swallow thickly, legs splaying wider automatically to give him better access. His words make your skin flush with pleasure and Neteyam makes a low, feral noise when your hips jerk up into his touch, goosebumps spreading all over your skin from his hot breath against your folds.
"Are you – glad I did?" You manage.
He scoffs, like the answer is so obvious, but he can’t give you that satisfaction.
"I’d hold onto something if I were you."
"H-Huh?"
His tongue swipes again, parting your folds revealing all those sweet spots he plans to assault and you moan when his tongue suddenly pushes past your slippery entrance. He‘s so much bigger than you, his tongue easily able to fill you out and curl just right.
Neteyams face is practically shoved between your thighs, leaving no room for you to wriggle away, even as he switches between all consuming licks and hungry kisses to your clit. Your hands are fisted in the furs underneath your back, gripping so hard your knuckles are turning white.
You taste divine. Delicious. Made to be addictive, because that’s what you are. And he is dizzy with it.
Part of him wants to drop his hands to his cock, to take away the ache spreading through his gut at the taste of you, at the sound of your breathing, low and ragged and laced with only the ghost of a moan. But that would mean taking his hands from you and he won’t do that, not when he’s desperate to get you closer, to suck at you until you scream your voice hoarse on his name.
His mouth is so full of you, tongue so deep inside. Eywa, he might loose himself right then and there.
Your arousal comes in waves, enough to make him swallow some of it down and Neteyam moans, actually moans, at the warmth spreading through him at that.
Pulling his tongue out of you in a slow, languid glide elicit a wonderful whimper out of you. He glances up at those soft looking lips of yours, bitten raw by the force of your blunt teeth in order to keep these sounds from escaping.
"You’re so messy," he says, thick and hot between heavy breaths. One of his hands moves to your core, fingers running through the filthy mess of spit and slick. With your clit caught between the slippery digits he rub and nudges against it, giving it torturous little taps that make your hips jerk and your cunt clench. "Such a wet, messy girl."
You look up at him through your lashes, eyes half lidded and so full of lust it nearly kills him. Your lips are parted on heavy breaths and you look so soft and vulnerable, so ready to be claimed. He needs to occupy his mind with something, needs to shove down these instincts because this isn’t the road he’s willing to take.
"Tell me how it feels," Neteyam says, pressing a sloppy kiss to your core. "Tell me what my tongue feels like inside of you, little omega."
For a split second, your eyebrows furrow, but then all tension melts away when his tongue glides into you again. You exhale a moan, eyes slipping shut as you let the pleasure overtake all your senses.
"Feels good," you tells him softly, followed by a moan, "Feels so good."
Neteyam skims his hand over the back of your thigh, and then his fingers are trailing along your slit. He holds you open and rubs slick, callused fingertips against your clit. "That feel good too?"
"Yes," you whimper when he starts licking at you right there, his tongue sliding between his own fingers, and fuck, he can feel you almost come right there. You don’t even know which part of him is touching you where, his fingers, his tongue, even his chin and nose is smothered against you. "Yes, fuck."
"You gonna come like this?"
"Yeah," you breathe. "Yeah, I'm gonna come. Neteyam, you’re gonna make me come!"
"I never thought I’d hear you say that," he murmurs with a grin, kissing the inside of your thigh before moving back to the price. "But I like the sound of it. Can you say it again, paskalin [honey]?"
Nodding hastily, you barely managed to get your voice to work, the noise merely sounding like a long whine, "I‘m- I‘m gonna come!"
And then your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a wild thanator. Your spine arches and Neteyam has to hold you steady as you come, whispering filthy things against your cunt that you could barely hear over the cries you couldn't hold in even if you tried.
Neteyams eyes flicker up from between your legs and he fucks you through this orgasm just like that, his eyes never leaving yours. He doesn't stop licking at you, takes your clit into his mouth and sucks hard, and you keep coming, head thrown back against the furs.
"Fuck, you don't even know," Neteyam says, kissing and making out with your cunt in between words. His fingers are rubbing your clit gently where his mouth is still busy elsewhere, even as you come down from your orgasm. "You don't even know how gorgeous you are when you come, how hot you make me."
He sucks at you sharply, making the heat in your belly spike, and then moves to slide his digits inside you. When he starts to fuck you on his fingers, nice and deep, it feels like you’re burning from the inside out, and your whole body tenses and twitches.
"Still so needy," he purrs dangerously, "You’re just as greedy at the rest of your kind. Always begging for more, even if your little cunt is already stuffed–", one more finger slides into you, "–full."
Your breath cuts off sharply when he curls his fingers just right, the rhythm of his tongue returning to steady and persistent strokes. He's lapping at you, wet and rough and hard and before you can think it through, you reach up and grip at his hair, holding his face up against your body as everything throbs and flies right over the edge.
When you come again, you can't even control your own body anymore. Moaning shamelessly, you let Neteyam hold you as you sob and shudder and burst into a million pieces. Even as you come down from it, he still licks at you gently, and your whole body jumps when he presses a soft kiss to your clit before he withdraws his fingers from your oversensitive entrance.
Neteyams chin and cheeks are glistening when he pulls back. Another little shiver runs through you when you catch sight of it, and he reaches up to rub some of the slickness off with the back of his hand, hitting you with the full, warm weight of his gaze as he does it.
Even after your breathing has evened out, you just stay like that for a beat, lost to everything but how good it feels. Your eyes seem even more dazed than before, pupils so blown they looked nearly fully black to him. Neteyam is impossible gentle as he lays your thighs back down, biting down a groan at the way they shake from the intensity of your orgasms.
You make a whined sound of protest when he moves you, hands reaching out to pull him in, lips seeking him out as if you had completely forgotten about the mask that sits over your face.
"Shh, I’ve got you," he coos as he tugs you under the furs, ignoring the painful throb of his neglected cock as he watches your eyes flutter closed. He just sits there for a heartbeat longer, just to make sure, but before he could get up, fingers reach out and halfway curl around his wrist. You tug at his arm weakly, and Neteyam bites his tongue hard.
He knows what you want. It should be pathetic, the way you try to pull him in under the covers. The way you seek out his proximity.
And he, he wants to fucking break something for being so reckless, so careless and downright selfish. He sits there for at least ten more minutes, tasting you on his lips, until his head clears enough for him to finally wriggle free and get up from his spot next to you.
You’re long gone and sound asleep as he exits the tent. The cold morning air makes his skin prickle like tiny needles raining down on his skin. But this is nothing against the throbbing pain of his temples as realization dawns in on him.
Neteyam is in trouble.
— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —
Despite recent events and the unpleasant headache he had woken up with on this morning, the following days had been a success for Neteyam.
The little human had flitted through his mind as soon as his eyes had opened in the morning, but he'd forced all thoughts of you away.
A meeting with the council of elders, discussing the the newly admitted refugees and which tasks they could take on in the clan to be of help forced him to think of you again, but this time it was for practical reasons.
He'd then spent a few hours sparring with Tarsem. After choosing to fight younger warriors in order to give them some controlled practice with a seasoned opponent, a well-matched tussle with his close friend had been welcomed.
Feeling a bit calmer, they'd walked together to met Nakul, the skittish male who keeps watch of the weather, confirming the forecasted storm and the rainy season that would likely follow after weeks of humidity. A good sign. The gatherer of his clan would be pleased to hear the news.
Now that the new Taronyus [hunters] had completed their iknimaya, they'd also had a lengthy conversation with his father, the olo’eyktan, about finalizing new squads that would accompany them on their next raid.
Neteyam had argued heatedly that the young Karsam should fill the vacant spot in a front line squad. His father had disagreed, feeling the boy was still too soft when directing his ikran, but he'd deferred to his judgment in the end. Neteyam had trained most of these men and women himself, owning him the upper hand of judgement in this discussion.
After this, he’d held hours with Kiri, who'd relayed the complaints of the people to him along with recommendations on how to fix things, since the olo’eyktan had given him the honor to. Neteyam had approved or denied as he‘d seen fit and earned a considerable amount of backlash from his sister, as always.
The days had dragged on, but at least he was busy.
He'd spoken and listened and decreed and delivered messages to his father until his eyes ached and his lips felt chapped and dry. The next, he‘d occupied himself with the participation of his brothers hunting party. A day and a half later, Neteyam had pierced his arrow through enough meat, had set and retrieved enough traps and caught enough game, he could easily nourish his own clan and another, and still have enough meat left for the next two moons.
And in all that busyness, Neteyam had managed to only think of you a handful of times.
And yet...
And yet it only takes one step inside his kelku, one swift inhale of your scent. His own biology had dictated that it was only a matter of time before he gave in. And time was running out for him here.
A small pathetic part of him was hoping you’d be here, at home, waiting. Deep down, Neteyam knew you would be furious. Vicious even. Not only had he left, but he hadn’t returned for a significant amount of time.
The moment he crossed the threshold of his kelku, the familiar scent of you wrapped around him like a suffocating vine. It was maddening, this ache in his chest that pulsed with every breath. He hated how easily you infiltrated his thoughts, how your moans, your sweet voice still echoed in his mind. It was infuriating, this obsession.
He hated the way you made him feel, how your mere existence could bring him to his knees. He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why couldn’t he just forget you? Why couldn’t he just push you out of his mind like he had pushed away so many others? But the truth was, he had tried, and failing at that endeavor only fueled his anger.
The silence of the kelku echoed back at him, each moment stretching painfully. You were not there, and the emptiness gnawed at him. He needed to find you, to see you, even if it filled him with rage. Even if it was just for a small moment of him looking down at you and you looking up at him, spitting words of venom to each other before ignoring each others existence once again.
His heart raced as he turned abruptly, the decision made without fully understanding why he felt so compelled.
He needed to find you, just to hear how angry you are at him. How insufferable you could be. Just so he could continue to hate and try to forget about you.
But deep down, he knew that wasn’t possible. The anger you stirred in him was merely a reflection of the passion that still lingered, refusing to fade. With each step he took, memories flooded back—your glare, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief, the sharpness of your words that could cut him to the bone yet felt like a balm to his soul.
With every step, his thoughts spiraled deeper into conflict. He loathed you for taking up space in his mind, yet the thought of you being out there, away from him, also stirred something protective in him.
After what felt like an eternity of searching outside of the camp, he caught a glimpse of movement through the trees. As he drew closer, the sight of you harvesting fruit filled him with a mix of relief and irritation. There you were, graceful and focused, oblivious to the storm that raged inside him.
"What are you doing out here?" He finally called out, his voice cutting through the air.
You turned to face him, and in that moment, all the chaos within him stilled. The sight of you, the very woman he claimed to despise, seemed to unravel the knots of his frustration, replacing them with a profound yearning he could no longer deny.
And fuck, it hurt so much more to see that look on your face now. That look that told him to go to hell, that look that was such a clear indication of your hatred for him. And it felt good, this pain. It reminded him of the trouble he was in.
— ✩⋆｡‧₊˚⭑˚₊‧｡⋆✩ —
Neteyam was out of his mind.
During his three days absence, he must’ve hit his head somewhere out there in the depths of the forest. This was the only explanation you could come up with to excuse this absurdity.
"What are you doing out here?" The question alone was enough to drop your basket to the floor, not caring for the way the fruits just fell and rolled around, as you spun on your heels and left, shoulders tense and hands balled into fists, visibly steaming with irritation.
You were sure if you'd started having this conversation just standing there, looking at him, you would have begun calming by now. But you were moving, and it was making you far more stubborn than usual. And it certainly helped you not loosing your own mind.
This asshole. This dumb, annoying, big blue asshole and the audacity of him.
First, he‘d spent a week planting this seed of mutual hatred deep within your soul, only to discover that he could tolerate you enough to bend you like a lawn chair and eat you out like a starving god —just to leave and disappear for three fucking days, making you feel like absolute shit.
"Someone help me understand this menace of a man before I loose my sanity," you muttered under your breath as you stomped away. Never in your life had you experienced such a terrible swing of emotions within only a week. One day he makes you hate him and then the other he makes you feel like you could enjoy his company, just to ruin it all again.
Three days you had spent alone, wondering what the hell had happened between you both. You replayed the fragments of this night over and over in your head, but it gave you no answer.
And now he was seeking you out with the audacity to ask what you were doing. As if he had any claim on you and any saying of when and where and how you could occupy your time.
He hasn't even said sorry yet! It should have been the first thing coming out of his mouth. Sorry for leaving you like you’re nothing but a piece of meat I can stick my tongue in.
That thought only fueled your anger.
"So, if that's how it's going to be," your brows narrowed as you lifted your jutting chin. The flames of spite swelled in your chest and then burst out of your mouth like you were a fire-spitting dragon. "If you're just using me whenever you see fit and then leave and not return for a long time… then I'll go find someone else to live with! You’ve been trying to get rid of me since the beginning and if that’s your way to scare me off, congratulations. You definitely won this."
You couldn’t even look at him. Couldn’t even acknowledge the way his eyes were wide as he listened to your furious voice. Obviously you were pretty pissy about that. You'd offered yourself to him, legs open and pussy bared, and he'd chosen to leave. No aftercare, no nothing. That rejection had left a stinging sensation in your chest ever since...
Neteyam was suddenly in front of you, facing you while also blocking your path. His shoulders were tense, arms crossed and head tilted. "Excuse me?"
Rolling your eyes, you expertly ducked around him and the trees next to him while lifting your chin higher. At this point, your nose was almost pointing towards the sky like some snooty princess, but you couldn’t care less.
"I don't do that with just anyone you know," you spouted, which was the absolute truth. "And I’m sick of this. Of you. The way you treat me. If you don’t want me to live with you, fine. There are plenty of people in the village who would be happy to spent time with me and who are willing to give me shelter and I’d be so much happier with them. Actually, I'm going there right now to do just that."
The moment Neteyam was in action, you stopped talking.
He was in front of you again, blocking your path, but this time, his brows were scrunched together tightly, his shoulders broad and spine straight to make himself look even taller. Not that he needed to, considering that you barely reached to his middle. But now, now Neteyam was towering over you with an angry glare, like he had any right to do so.
"No," he snarled, ears flattening against his head.
"No?" You laughed with your eyes bowing in humour. "Did you just tell me what to do?"
"I did. And don’t you dare walk any further."
Your eyebrows nearly shot up to your hairline at this. For a moment, it’s just the two of you staring at each other, before you step to the side to go around him, shaking your head in disbelief.
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Sully. That’s not how this works. You wanted me to move out since the day we’ve met. So that’s what I’m going to do."
You received no warning before you were suddenly upside down. With a squeal, you were tossed over Neteyams shoulder. Your legs were flailing, yet he carried you like you weighted nothing to him.
"Put me down!" You demanded with a yell.
Your immediate response was to reach up and claw at him or pull at his braid, but Neteyam had wisely, whether by accident or not, trapped your arms between his shoulder and your chest so you were unable to move them at all. With his arm secure over your back, you were tied to him as he marched down the path that lead back to your shared home.
"If that is your intention today, finding somewhere else to live, then you will not be permitted to go," he growled and you could feel his arm tighten around you.
The fact his voice was a reverberating bass of anger sent a shiver down your spine –one, that had your insides clenching with warmth. You even felt it against your stomach pressed over his shoulder as it radiated through you. Neteyam was mad. Big mad.
As he walked, you could feel his fingers digging into your side from where he held you around your hips, as well as the side of your thigh where he held your legs down so you couldn’t kick him. And there was a constant growl emitting from him, laced with angry muttering of words you couldn’t quite hear.
"I said put me down!" You screamed, trying your best to thrash against him. For a fleeting moment you even thought you had succeeded, his grip on you momentarily loosened, but then you were flipped onto your feet and pushed right through the doorway. Stumbling, you turned and took a few steps backwards into the tent, just to see that he proceeded to block your exit.
Neteyams eyes were darker than usual, and just like everything else about him, they looked threatening.
"You will stay," he demanded.
"You can't keep me in here," you stomped a food down, glaring right back at the tall na‘vi in front of you.
If he wanted you to stay, then he shouldn't have left you for at all, especially not after you’ve finally decided to trust him and look over the difficulties you’ve had in the beginning.
And you also hated being told what to do.
So you did the only thing you could. When Neteyam lowered his head to pinch the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a minute to calm his rapid breathing, you ran.
You were half surprised by yourself when you managed to actually rush past him without being snatched, though you only made it three more steps before you were tackled to your front.
The air was practically punched out of your lungs when you landed in the soft grass and you both groaned in unison.
There was no opportunity to move when Neteyam laid down on top of you and curled his arms around you. He caged you in with his own body, locked your arms to your sides, and only gave your legs just the minutest freedom to kick. Pressed against you like this, you noted that he was hot, almost like his body was filled with lava and his angry quaking seemed to worsen to the point it even shook you.
"G-Get off of me you ass!" You ground out.
"Great mother, you’re insufferable!" Neteyam cursed sharply, his mouth entirely too close to your ear. "Stop running from me," he warned slowly and punctuated.
A gasp burst out of you when he yanked you back to your feet. With a hand on each of your shoulders, he walked you back, but just as you were about to step through the entrance, you stilled. Clearly, Neteyam was having none of that, so he pushed his chest against your back and urged you forward. Before he could make you walk another step, you placed your feet on each tree that secured the tents entrance to keep yourself out, despite his aggressive pushing.
This, too, didn't work for very long. Neteyam was cursing under his breath as he pushed harder, until you had to move your legs or he'd snap your damn knees with his pushing.
"Neteyam. Let. Me. Go.", you grumbled, "I need to go to the village!"
Screw what you had said before. You actually had things to do there today. You’ve planned to trade the fruit you’d picked earlier for other stuff that you desperately needed. And he couldn’t keep you here forever! This was madness.
Regardless, Neteyam finally shoved both of you through the doorway and before you knew it, he'd crossed through the tent and shoved your front against the small table that stood next to the fire place. The one, that you bought into his home while he was gone. The one he refused to sit on or use at all.
And now he pinned you down with his entire body on this very table. One hand slapped against the table's surface right next to your head, while the other curled underneath your body and wrapped underneath your jaw.
"Quiet," he snapped, and only then you realised he'd clamped your mouth shut.
For a long while, he just held you tightly. The heat coming off him was intense, but now that there was a pause, you could feel how hard, heavy, and fast his heart was beating as it thumped against your shoulder blade. At first you still tried to wriggle to get free, but eventually settled when you knew there was no point. You were trapped beneath him, and since you were forced to breathe only through your nose, you kept taking in his heady, mouth watering scent. You lungs swelled in delight, only to quiver out your breaths. In a way, it calmed you as much as it made your heart beat faster.
You never noticed Neteyam smelled so good. Like pine and fresh grass. He smelled like the outside, nature itself, but there was a tang to it, something you couldn’t quite put a name on.
"I’m very angry at you right now," he finally exhaled on a breath.
Leaning on his elbow, his free hand came up so he could undo the button of his cummerbund. You heard the material shift as it slipped to the ground.
"Never run from me again, little tawtute [human] especially when I am..." There’s a weighty pause, as if he was deciding whether or not he should continue whatever he was going to say. You could tell he’d decided against it by the way he cleared his throat and started over. "I’m not always in control of myself when I’m around you. And if you run from me, it only makes me want to catch you. It’s in my blood."
When you attempted to turn your head side to side so you could free your jaw and speak, he clamped his hand even tighter. It felt like your teeth would grind together into dust if he pushed any harder.
His hand spanned your entire mouth and jaw to the point his fingertips reached behind your ears.
Your eyes narrowed into a glare.
The more he spoke, the calmer he seemed to become, but you knew that was just on the surface. He chuckled darkly at your angry expression, but his voice had finally reverted back to normal.
"Don’t look at me like that. You have no idea what I have had to deal with over the past few weeks." Unable to gasp, the noise that came out of you sounded like a stifled mewl when his fingers ran over the side of your hip, down the side of your bottom, and then down your thigh.
"With your scent all over my home. The thought of you sleeping in my bed." He exhaled deeply, like the words pained him. "For eywas sake, you even used my cleansing oils to clean yourself… You’re driving me crazy, woman, and then you expect me to act reasonable?" Neteyam scoffs.
He didn't need to move his body at all to reach down to your boots and slip them off, even when you tried to evade him. One thud followed another. Then he opened and slipped your belt and with it, all of your little bags from your body, showing you he wouldn't be reasoned with in his decision to keep you here.
"And then you’re acting so damn careless, getting drunk and letting the scent of your arousal drift through the air like you’re begging for it," he whispered. "For me."
Then his hand slipped underneath you. He clawed off each button of your blouse, before he yanked it off and tossed it to the ground. A shiver ran through you at that.
"I could’ve claimed you that night, you know? Could’ve marked you as mine. Could’ve forced my knot into you until you were full of me, locked us tightly together so there would be nowhere to run from me anymore. But I didn’t. And now you’re throwing a fit, because of what? Because you think I don’t want you?"
You stilled completely, your eyes widening. All of your anger suddenly deflated out of you, and you tried to turn or even shake your head, but were given no room to do so. Confusion was making itself known on your face. You didn’t understand a word of what he was talking about.
"Little vrrtep [demon]," Neteyam purred next to your ear, before you could muffle anything against the palm that was still clasped over your mouth. "I want nothing more than to fuck you. To make you mine."
The gasp that left you was barely audible. Suddenly, you felt like molten wax in his hold. One of his hands was now gliding over your bare skin, along the curve of your spine until it reached the clasp of your bra. Neteyam was toying with the flimsy fabric, until skilled fingers unhooked the fastener and pulled your bra away to discard it somewhere behind him. Now that your naked chest was pressed against the cool wooden table, you could feel your nipples tighten and you hissed at the contact.
"Not even three days worth of space between us is enough to calm myself down. My head is so fucking full of you and I’m sick of it. I don’t know why or how this is even possible, but not one omega I’ve ever encountered in my life has had a scent so potent as yours. You’re calling for me, constantly, and don’t even realize it."
Now that your upper half was free of any fabric, Neteyam forcibly tilted your head to the side so he could bury his nose into your hair and the side of your throat. He was so close, smelling you as though he'd waited an eternity to do so. Then he gave a large exhale as he parted his lips around your ear, making the strands of your hairline stand on end in reaction to the wrapping of heat as his tongue slid along your earlobe.
"However," he growled lowly, fangs grazing your ear, "Now that I have tasted you, made you come on my tongue, have heard your sweet little moans…" Your pussy clenched not only at the memory, but also at him reciting it. "I don’t know if I can hold back any longer. There’s only so much I can take."
Your heart was beating inhumanly fast now. So fast and so hard, you feared he could hear it, could feel it beating against your chest and the table below. Liquid heat pooled in your abdomen at the low whispers of his words.
"But if you don’t want my touch," he continued, as he raked his dull fingernails down your spine, making you shudder. "If you don’t want me…" Your eyelids fluttered against your will when you felt his callused palms and fingertips gliding over the small of your back. "Then I will no longer touch you. But you will stay, so I can protect you. You may not be a true omega, but as an alpha it’s still my responsibility to protect you."
My alpha? Your brows furrowed at this. But then you remembered the times when Neteyam referred to you as an omega. When he told you about the effect your scent had on him. And then it clicked. Despite not even being the same species as he was, Neteyam was convinced that you must be the human equivalent of an omega. Therefore he thought… He thought that you were meant to be his.
That is why he‘s so angry.
Not only were you an intruder of his personal space, but a constant temptation walking around right under his nose. You were the embodiment of a species he despises, and his own instincts were betraying him to the point he felt confusing attraction towards you.
Snapped out of your thoughts, you couldn't help arching your back, a heavy exhale leaving through your nose when he dug his fingers under the waistline of your pants.
"Don't think for a moment that I can't smell your growing arousal, tawtute [human]. I was hoping to come back here and have the freedom to touch you," he stated as he slipped his tongue over his canine. "So, choose your answer wisely because I won’t ask again. Do you want me to touch you?"
The tension around your jaw finally loosened. By now, you must’ve almost forgotten the way your own voice sounded. There was only his voice in your head.
This domineering, possessive side of Neteyam was turning your gut inside out, making it flutter and quiver. Your nipples were already hard and aching as they pressed firmly against the table you laid upon.
Surprisingly, you already knew your answer. Every cell in your body was screaming and begging for him to finally touch you. All morals thrown right out of the window, all anger vanished. You just needed him. But you were too stunned to speak, stunned that you were in this position, that you were being caged by his entire massive body while being asked this one simple, yet entirely too complicated question. Never in your life had you ever expected to be overpowered or at another's mercy in this kind of way. Especially not with Neteyam being the one.
And you fucking loved it.
"Yes," you whispered.
Your answer earned you a low groan, almost a purr, and your eyes clenched shut as he undressed you from your pants in one swift motion. He'd been holding the waistline in preparation of your answer, and by the cool breeze on your backside, your underwear too.
The cold air battled with the heat swirling off him, and you didn't even know which one caused you to shiver this time.
Gliding his warm palm across your hips, Neteyam slid it down the side of your bottom, over your thigh and almost to your knee. You let out a breathy noice at the tickling sensation.
At the sound you let out, he glided the tips of his fingernails over the sensitive flesh on the backs of your thighs. This time, you let out a quiet mewl, and your back arched further as you were finally given freedom to do so. When his hand skimmed down your thigh, down to the back of your knee, you gave a yelp when Neteyam suddenly lifted your leg and placed your knee on top of the table. If it weren’t for his hips shoving you against the edge, you would’ve lost your balance over this.
Now that you were standing on tip toes, Neteyam chuckled, then bend forward enough so he could freely lick at the side of your neck from behind, causing a tremor and more soft noises to leave you. A wave of goosebumps rose across your body. His tongue was rough like any human tongue, but longer, flat, and so wet.
"Wh- why didn’t you just say something sooner?" You managed on a breathy whisper. "Why didn’t you just tell me?"
He was still grasping your jaw, but loosely now.
"How was I supposed to know that?" he rumbled, his other hand coming up to glide over your ass. "After the way I treated you, how was i supposed to know you would just give yourself to me?"
"I thought…" You stopped for a moment to hold your breath as his hand squeezed the inside of your thigh, then wandered up, up, up until you could feel the heat of his skin nearly touching your core. "I thought you hated me."
"You are quite annoying," Neteyam chuckled.
"And you still haven’t apologized!"
Against the table, your hands curled into fists when his thumb slid against the outside of your folds, going back and forth but never dipping between your lips.
"Apologize? Paskalin [honey], I was merely protecting you."
The way his fingers moved, purposefully avoiding all the spots you wanted him to touch, had your insides spasming.
You licked your lips, your breathing so heavy now you’ve barely had enough air in your mask to speak, "F-From who?"
Another deep purr vibrated against your back as his fingers finally, mercifully, slid between your folds. You eagerly spread your thighs apart when he pressed against your clit. A hiss escaped you as he began circling the little nub, the feeling so overwhelming you nearly forgot about your question.
With a grin he whispered, "from me."
And then he played with your clit in a similar way to how he'd touched it with his tongue. Slow, tight circles at first, and then faster, barely touching it directly but moving around all those sensitive nerves until your knees were trembling.
"You’re so wet," he commented, his tone rumbling with satisfaction. The circular motion he made had your hips going in the opposite direction, hoping to aid him, or perhaps yourself. He went the other way, and so did your hips. Then he moved away completely, going lower to dab at your entrance. "But you're dripping here, paskalin [honey]."
"Neteyam," you quietly moaned when he pressed inside you.
You didn't know how many fingers he pushed in, but it felt like at least the thickness of two of your own. You tried to press back onto them, wanting him deeper despite feeling he was as deep as he could go. He curled and thrusted them to make room, and then your breath hitched when another finger speared you, stretching your pussy.
"You’re tight, tawtute [human]."
Then he split his fingers, scissoring you, and a sucking sound came from your cunt because of how slick you were. He relaxed his fingers and slowly thrusted them again, grazing an amazing spot inside that had warmth spreading throughout your entire body. Any tension within you died at that moment.
You started bucking back into his hand and he split his fingers again, only so he could make room to press an additional one in.
That made you wince, especially when it seemed he had trouble pushing it in. Your inner walls were stretching far wider than you’d ever had them before, and it burned.
"Not so many," you groaned, trying to get your body to forcibly relax rather than tighten. It was like he was trying to shove his whole hand in there!
"I won’t fit inside you," Neteyam breathed heavily, "You can barely take three of my fingers."
Only three!? You tried to look down to see for yourself, but with your body pressed against the table, you weren’t able to see much.
Neteyam pressed the flat of his nose against your ear, and you heard his deep breaths, felt them. It made the side of your whole face tingle. But then you gasped when he suddenly shoved that third finger all the way in.
"Wait!" You squeaked.
God, were you thankful he stopped thrusting them and decided to just let them sit inside you. It stung and you felt so incredibly full.
Shit. Could you really only take three? And you knew that if he decided to move right now, it would only start hurting more. Already your pussy was giving an uncomfortable throb. The last time he'd done this to you, you‘d been soft, slick and relaxed from his tongue. You just weren’t ready to take this much yet.
"You want this just as much as I do, but how are you supposed to take me like this?" Neteyam sighed. "I‘m not the problem here. You’re the one who‘s too tiny, even for a human."
"H-Hey! I just need to adjust," you said, undoubtedly a little offended by what he’d said.
"Paskalin [honey]," he exhaled a long breath, so close to your skin it made goosebumps raise in the wake of the warm air he blew across your neck. "If we fuck, I won’t be able to hold back. I will knot you and it will hurt. And I don’t want to hurt you."
But I really want him inside me.
You swallowed dryly as frustration made your lips feel like sandpaper and constricted your throat. Blinking away tears, you shook your head. God damnit, you couldn’t cry over something like this! You needed to man up.
"Then I don’t want you to hold back," you said, your voice suddenly hoarse with desperation. "Last time you said you wouldn’t be nice to me. So don’t."
You wanted wanted him. Really wanted him.
You wanted his annoying personality, his attitude, his teasing words. You wanted to tear down these walls to get to his warmth that he kept so reserved and claim it all for yourself. And most of all, you wanted to feel his cock. You wanted to know what that knot thing was that he was constantly talking about and you wanted him trusting into you, over and over. You wanted to be his. His to love, to claim, even to hate and definitely to fuck.
Carefully, like he knew he needed to be slow, he removed his fingers from you, which caused you to whine.
"That was because last time I wasn’t trying to make you mine. I was selfish, stilling my own hunger." And then he pushed them back inside you, fast and harsh. This time, the burning stretch was a welcoming sensation, because it meant you were loosening up for him. Taking a shuddering breath, you tried to relax.
"I don’t care… Just- Just fuck me," you whimpered. And then Neteyam began to thrust these fingers. Slowly at first, until there was a smooth, slick slide –in and out, in and out. The pain slowly eased the more he moved them inside you and the satisfying groan that rumbled in his chest was the sweetest compliment you’ve heard from him so far.
"I lied, you know?" His fingers curled, then spread just the tiniest bit with the limited space there was and you let out a wanton moan at that. "I‘m not just going to claim you tonight, little one. When I’m done marking you as mine, after I knotted you and sealed the bond, I will thoroughly fuck you. Every single one of your holes, until all that attitude is gone."
"You c-can try," you weakly grinned back at him. That grin however was quickly wiped from your face when Neteyam thrusted his fingers just a bit deeper inside you. You could feel them wriggle, pushing against a soft spongey spot that nearly made your knees give out underneath you.
"Oh I will," he chuckled.
"But I… I think you secretly love it," you muttered, "You love when I’m annoying you, don’t you?"
"I like a challenge."
You couldn’t help but smile like an idiot at his words that were surprisingly soft, yet sounded so dangerous it made heat creep up your cheeks. The hand that had been holding your throat and your jaw then carefully slid down your chest, slowly enough it made you realize that from now on you had to hold your own head up if you didn’t want to land face first against the table. Skimming past the valley of your breasts and down your abdomen, Neteyams digits quickly locate your pleasure spots and the throbbing clit that had just been waiting for him.
He runs his fingertips over the slippery button and you moan, giving in to the weight of your head to let your cheek rest against the table. The surface is cool against your heated skin and it feels so good.
You feel yourself relax further, all muscles melting in his hold as he plays you like an instrument. His fingers continue to thrust into you, just a little deeper, a little faster, harder.
His lips press against your shoulders, then down along your spine ever so softly.
"Spread your legs," he whispers against your skin, and then when you do, "More."
Just as he pulls his digits from your dripping cunt, you suck in a sharp breath. Suddenly you feel so empty and hollow, and you whine when he takes too long to slip out of his loincloth.
"Impatient little human," Neteyam muses with a chuckle. You can’t really see much of him from your current position, but you still manage to catch a glimpse of him over your shoulder.
And god, Neteyam is so damn handsome. No matter how much you had tried to deny it, he really was one pretty bastard. His long braids were falling over board shoulders, beads clicking together as he moved closer. Neteyams face was entirely focused on the task at hand, his chest heaving in deep breaths. His lean body bend over you, one hand holding the subtle flesh of your bottom, while the other guided his cock to your entrance. You could feel his tail and the tickling hairs at the bottom of it, as it wrapped itself around your thigh, holding you to him.
And then you felt his tip, smooth and wet with pre-cum, nudging between your lips and pressing against your opening.
"Mawey [clam.] Relax for me, sevin [pretty]" Neteyam said, his thumb drawing comforting circles onto your skin. You didn’t even realize you were tensing up until he uttered these words and immediately, your shoulders loosened up as you exhaled a deep breath. "Good girl," he purred, making the words sound like honey. "And now, now I need you to say it."
Swallowing thickly you ask, "S-Say what?"
"That you want it. Not my cock or my knot. Me. Say that you want me, just as much as I want you, you insufferable little omega," he explained with a chuckle.
All the while, the tip of his cock was teasing you, rubbing back and forth from your clit to your opening. Ever so slowly, Neteyam was pushing forward, barely inside you, just to then retreat and continue this delicious torture.
Because of this, his words took longer to register in your pleasure clouded mind than you would like to admit.
Neteyam wanted you to choose him as well.
Softly, so softly it made his breath stop, you spoke, "I want you. Neteyam, I want you so bad. Just please…"
In an pathetic attempt to get him closer, you arched your back and pushed back against him. His tip barely nudged against your entrance before it slipped away, everything simply too slick to get him where you needed him most.
"Yeah?" Neteyam chuckles as he watches you wriggle around. "For someone who claimed to dislike me so much, you beg so pretty for me."
"S-Shut up," you let out in a frustrated groan.
He grins. "I want you too, paskalin [honey]. You’re gonna let me in?" The tip of him suddenly stops it’s slippery glide right at your core and you feel a controlled pressure right there. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you find Neteyams hand back around the base of him, holding himself steady.
You nod frantically.
When he pushes in, you can’t help but hold your breath. The stretch is intense. Your toes begin to curl as he pushes against your body, easing his way ever so slowly. You could feel the tension in your bones, everything but as relaxed as you had promised him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhaled deeply when Neteyam stopped.
"It’s okay, I know, little omega. I‘ll help distract you from the pain," he whispered into your ear, kissing the soft shell. "It‘s necessary, but you might not like how I will do it."
His words send a shiver down your spine.
Nodding, you whisper back, "It’s okay, whatever it is, I can take it."
Neteyam then tilted your head to the side, bearing your neck to him, and leaned in to lick a teasing stripe over the skin where shoulder met throat. You shuddered beneath him and then a moan turned into a hiss as you felt the tips of his fangs puncture your flesh. In all honesty, you didn’t expect him to actually fucking bite you. But then again, the feeling of it was almost euphoric.
So euphoric, you hadn’t even realized that your hips went wider, changing to accommodate him rather than pushing him away. Your inner walls not only pulled taut but stretched, yet not in an uncomfortable way. It was almost painless, but you could feel yourself growing so unbelievably full you knew you'd never experienced anything like it every again.
When Neteyam released your throat, his tongue lapped over the wound to collect the slowing trickle of blood. His salvia seemed to seal the wound quickly, only leaving the faintest mark there, rather than a fresh wound.
"This one was for the pain," Neteyam purred. "Now feel me ease inside you, tawtute [human]. Feel me stretching you out."
And stretching you he did. The thick head of his cock finally popped inside, and the rest of his glide suddenly seemed easier. But what greeted your sensitive entrance were his little bumps and ridges near the base that tickled as each one went in, giving him this wonderous texture that made your eyes roll all the way back in your head.
Behind you, Neteyam growled lowly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and against the curve of your shoulder.
"F-Fuck!" You gasped as suddenly his teeth were closing in on your skin again. This time, it was into your neck. It didn’t hurt, but surprised you all the same.
Neteyam was obviously relishing in the keening whine that fell from your lips at the pressure on your skin, if his throbbing cock was anything to go by.
"This one was purely for myself,“ Neteyam said, grinning as he kissed the mark that spread warmth all over your right side. "Because you’ve been such a pain in my ass these past few weeks."
More warmth was spreading, but in a dark flush over your cheeks. "Asshole," you mumbled sheepishly.
The next time his canine punctured your skin, a downright shamefully erotic moan left your lips. Neteyam was biting down on your neck, right below your ear were you were most sensitive, causing all the hair on your body to stand up straight. This time it felt like he was savoring it, basking in the feeling of leaving his mark on you. You felt his little suckles, determined to make this one the most prominent and visible. When he finally detached himself, licking and kissing over the wound to seal it, a pleasant huff of air blew over your salvia slicked skin.
"And this is, so everyone knows who you belong to."
"Oh my fucking God," you moaned, your body shivering and shuddering in bliss, even more so the deeper he went. Thanks to all the biting, you barely noticed how far he’d pushed inside you, until now. Jesus Christ, you basically felt your insides pushing away to let him go further, and further, and further.
"Good girl," he rumbled with a purr, an actual purr that vibrated against your back. He licked at the back of your neck all the way to your ear before swirling his tongue against it. "You're taking my cock so well for me."
You could feel your abdomen pressing against the table by being pushed from the inside. His cock was gouging its way in. It rubbed your most tender place, every inch and every vein grazing it and nearly making you go cross-eyed. Looking down on yourself, you could see the visible bump where his cock was nestled deep inside you and that sight alone was enough to make your brain short circuit.
"I-I'm going to come," you rasped, eyes rolling back little by little as you blinked wildly. "I'm going to–"
Neteyam pulled back before he was even seated all the way so he could thrust forward quickly and go just that little bit deeper. It aided you, this strange way of being stretched, pushing you suddenly and violently into bliss.
All you could do in this very moment was clamp down on him, squeez him– screaming as you came around his cock. So he did it again. You felt your own cheek sliding against the table's surface with every movement as he pulled back so he could dig deeper. And then again and again, heightening your orgasm until you were squirming beneath him, trying to flee from him and get him closer all the same.
Lubed with your cum, he was then finally seated as far as he could go, his hips flush agains your backside. Neteyam gave a low groan at that.
"You came just from me filling you, little tawtute." He chuckled deeply.
The humiliation of his words and the fact that they were true made your face feel hot, but you were too languid to bite back at him. You were so relaxed, your body moved like you were nothing but a doll for him to play with as he suddenly yanked you from the table with his hand on your throat.
Something thin and long wrapped around your knee then, holding it against the table. A brief peek down told you it was his tail. One of his hands wrapped around the thigh of your other leg. They kept you supported with your legs spread apart as he lifted you, his forearm keeping your back glued to his stomach and the back of your head to his chest.
"Is this what you wanted, hm?" Neteyam asked, "A cock the size of your forearm deep inside your snug, hungry little cunt?" Your breath hitched. "You just needed your alpha to take care of you, isn’t that right? Someone you could submit to. To fuck you nice and deep and make you come soo good."
What was meant as an eye roll to tease his big ego, quickly turns into a lustful flutter of your eyelids and a sultry moaned "oh god" when Neteyam began to shallowly thrust into you from this position.
Filled to brim, you felt so tiny against him, pierced by his massive length as it slid in and out of you with ease. The hand that had been holding your thigh moved in sensual ways, all the way up to your stomach.
Neteyam lowered his face next to yours so he could lick across your jaw from behind as he whispered, "you’re so full of me, I can feel it here."
And because you still hadn't answered him, he slowly withdrew. It was purposeful. It had to be with how far he came back, showing you every inch he'd given you until the flared rim of his cockhead came out of you. The wider thickness of it spread your lips even further.
Your already pink face, heated with arousal, deepened in colour.
In all honesty, you expected him to come back in just as slowly. You expected him to be nice, just this once. Oh, what you fool you could be when you were on the verge of yet another orgasm.
Instead, he shoved in fast and hard, using his hold on your body to push you back against him even harder, deeper. "Well?"
"Y-Yes! Fuck!" You screeched, not only to answer him but to spur him on. "I wanted your cock inside me so badly!"
His purr started back up, and you gave yourself over to this, to him, as he stayed deep, while rocking his hips with subtle thrusts.
His hand came away from supporting your throat, but your own grasping hands on his arms kept you to him as he caressed both of your breasts with his rough palm.
His thumb would play with one stiffened nipple, flicking it up and down before going to the other. Then he would pet both breasts with every part of his palm, his blunt nails gliding over you to give a sharp but pleasurable sensation.
All the while, the thrusts that had started as deep, hard and subtle, quickly turned faster, until you were sure you would loose your vision if you‘d kept your eyes open for any longer. Letting them roll back into your skull freely allowed you to relax further in his hold, until your whole body was moving with him, barely able to withstand the strength his hips.
"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed every time his tip hammered against your cervix.
"Such a foul mouth you have on you. We’ll have to change that, my sweet omega," Neteyam said behind you, his displeased tone palpable without having to see the look on his face. "I’d rather hear you moan my name, let everyone know who is inside you."
Your body was doing the best it could to accommodate his impossible size, but the faster he thrusted into you, the more he whispered these filthy things into your ears, the more soaked you grew, until the wet squelch of him entering you nearly toned out your own thoughts. It was filthy and shameful, and it felt so fucking good. Screw his damn ego, with the pace and vigor Neteyam was pounding your poor pussy, you would get his name tattooed on your forehead if that’s what it would take for him to keep going.
"Teyam," you moaned, "Teyam, Tey. F-Fuck!"
"Hmm not my name, vrrtep [demon]." When he realized your head was weakly falling forward he supported it once more by cupping a hand under your jaw and keeping you pinned to him. "Or is that a new name for me?" He chuckled deeply. "One you'll give me when I'm inside you, fucking you?"
Then he pounded harder, faster, his hand on your thigh moving, pushing you back and forth along with his thrusts. He wasn't being gentle at all. It was hard, and the heat all around and inside you had you losing your mind.
His scent, his sounds, his body, it completely dissolved you of strength, making your mind go blank and your body feel like warm honey.
Your head lazily fell to the side in his palm. You didn't even know when you‘d started coming around his cock, but your pussy suddenly tensed and spasmed, your thighs dancing in twitches alongside it. The cry that left your throat was so strong it was silent, your lungs seizing with the overwhelming power of your orgasm.
To have something so alien, something so big and strong and feral slamming into you. You’ve never been so turned on before, and it burned even hotter when Neteyam didn’t stop throughout it all. He was riding out your orgasm until the next one was only mere seconds away.
"I…. I…," you stuttered, unable to form any kind of coherent sentence.
"Yes?" Neteyams voice was rough next to your ear, his breath tickling your oversensitive skin. The hand that wasn’t occupied with holding your head up skimmed between your thighs and began to rub your clit in small circles, the action alone enough to threaten your brain to overheat, but at the same time letting a burst of energy surge through your whole body that straightened your spine and gave your tongue enough strength to move.
"I‘m gonna come again!" The words came out in a rushed whine, sounding as if you couldn’t quite believe them yourself. The humiliating chuckle coming from behind you would’ve annoyed you beyond words if you could muster the strength to do so, but it only left you wondering when the fuck did you begin to find the sound of it so incredibly sexy?
You could feel the orgasm beginning to happen, and it was the very best kind, the kind where you have five seconds of awareness before it all rushes over you, five seconds or ten, and nothing on earth can stop it now. You feel the clench of your orgasm lock round his cock, and he keeps moving, faster, faster, and– oh!
"Then come, little tawtute," Neteyam grinned, and coming you did. Before you could say anything more, a wail and then a surprised gasp left you when a small fountain of hot, wet arousal shot out between your thighs, coating the inside of your legs and the table in front of you with pearls of liquid.
"That's it. That's a good little omega," Neteyam groaned as he watched you come. He gave a heavy shudder, one that had you jiggling in his embrace. "Fuck, that feels so damn good, smells so damn good."
What’s happening is entirely out of your control, it's beautiful and primal and new and Neteyam‘s taking it in, greedily, seemingly loving to watch your pleasure.
When you open your eyes you’re surprised to find you‘re still in his home. The orgasm was so intense, you were sure you‘d travelled to a different dimension. Looking down, his hand is also still there, wet with cum and rubbing your clit until it burns so good and your thighs spasm again. You feel drugged. Everything is in a haze and your skin is hot and prickling and Neteyam‘s still fucking you.
But his thrusts are different now. Harder, with a sense of purpose and urgency. It took your overheated brain a long moment to register that he was trying to push something inside you. Something that sat on the base of his cock, something that wasn’t there before. Not that you remembered much in your current state.
Suddenly, you felt yourself lifted in the air. A weak little squeak was all you could manage as Neteyam positioned your tired legs to hang over his forearms. Thankful you didn’t had to stand any longer, you let your head fall back against his chest. However, your relief doesn’t last for long when he continued to lower you back on his thick cock.
"It‘ll be easier for you like this," Neteyam said with grunt, shoving himself all the way inside, until not an inch of your gummy walls were left untouched.
"T-Teyam," you coaxed weakly, your own voice bouncing with the way he moved your whole body up and down on his length.
"Shh, it’s okay," he cooed, barely sounding coherent and slightly breathless himself. "You‘re such a good girl, such a perfect little omega. You’ll take my knot so good."
His knot? So that’s what this was, that bundle of flesh and muscle on the base of his cock. It seemed to inflate the closer Neteyam got to his release, and you felt it throb, as if begging to be inside you with every time he pushed that knot against your entrance.
The sound of his hips slapping against yours grew louder as he moved with more intensity, determined to get the damned thing inside of you.
And then it just, slipped inside. It sinks past the slippery wet entrance of your cunt easier than you would’ve thought it would. Behind you, Neteyam moans and then his hips buck up and he holds you right there, not an inch of space keeping your hips separated.
You don’t even realize that anything's different at first. Neteyam‘s still inside of you, but it's nice. It still feels good, not uncomfortable at all. That was it?
You’re both breathing heavily, and your hips move, jerking in surprise when Neteyam swells some more, then starts thrusting again, a gentle rocking motion that would be soothing under almost any other circumstances.
Your own features became murky through bubbling tears. You’re overstimulated, overstretched and overwhelmed. Suddenly, it’s all too much.
"Neteyam, what–" You start.
"Told you I‘m gonna knot you," he says, the words muffled against your shoulder before Neteyam bites you again, this time without warning.
You whole body jerks in his hold and you moan, pussy clenching around his cock as it pulsates inside you. And then you feel it, that stretch. It’s new and uncomfortable at first, so you begin to squirm, but Neteyam is stronger. He holds you still and steady, and you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut and feel every inch of his knot as it expands further inside you. It grows until it’s nearing painful, adding to the bulge of your stomach. You feel so full.
Neteyam continues to swell and it drags noises out of you that you’ve never even heard before. Just when you’re about to complain about any discomfort, the swelling seems to stop.
It’s done. He has knotted me.
"Great mother," he rasps, his breath uneven and shaky. "Wanted to knot you so badly. Fuck my way inside of you so hard you couldn't ever get me out. You feel so good like this. All mine."
The words barely make any sense to you in your current state of mind, but his voice is all roughed edged desire and you cling to it. "F-fuck, yes," you slur and arch up, whining in the back of your throat when Neteyams length throbs heavily inside you, his knot hot and heavy and pulsating.
"Eywa, you like this, don’t you?" He asks, and the shock tinged with awe has you blinking your eyes open blearily. It’s almost embarrassing, these needy little sounds of "hmh", alongside your frantic nodding, but it’s enough of a confirmation that finally tips Neteyam over the edge.
He comes with a groan that’s so deep, you feel his whole chest vibrate against your back. You can’t help but moan as he fills you with his seed, hot and wet and sticky. Rope after rope, he pumps you full. He‘s not even thrusting, barely moving at all. Neteyam is just holding you down on his length while your pussy milks him dry, your inner walls flexing, clamping down and almost massaging his cock before you notice you’re coming as well. It’s weak and short lived, all your poor exhausted body can manage, but Neteyam savors every second of it.
His face is buried in the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent and occasionally rubbing and kissing the marks he’d left there earlier.
His orgasm seems to last forever, with little tremors going through his body, yet none of his cum goes to waste. Every last drop that’s emptied inside of you seems secured by knot, locking you together.
It leaves the both of you worn out and a little shaky, like any good orgasm, but so much more.
Moving seems difficult at first, but Neteyam is more skilled in moving with his knot buried than you thought he would be. You shove down the pang of jealousy creeping up your throat at that.
This position actually did seem the most advantageous though, especially now that he could easily lower your legs and lift you by the hips to carry you through the room and towards his bedroll, where he carefully laid down with you.
You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him considering wanting to be the big spoon afterwards when he had decided to bend you over the table earlier. What a gentleman he could be, if he really wanted something.
That thought, paired with his lips still kissing and nipping on the bite marks on your throat and shoulders bring you back to your earlier conversation.
"You know," you start with a grin, your voice still hoarse, "on earth we at least take each other out on a date before we call someone 'mine'.
Behind you, Neteyam goes still for a moment, before he exhales a breath.
"But you aren’t on earth," he mumbles absently as he pulls you tighter against him. The movement draws attention to the feeling of his knot that’s still filling you and the warmth of his cum that has no way of leaking out. It makes you shudder.
You felt a pang of sadness at his words, your shoulders slumping immediately at the thought of his usual cold demeanor returning so quickly. However, before you could even think of biting back at him, Neteyam adds, "But you can have your little date. I will take you out, tomorrow night."
Your smile is instantaneous and full of brightness that makes you feel warm inside and out. "Sounds good," you giggle as you rub your cold feet against his warm thighs.
"You can have anything you want, stubborn little human," Neteyam sighs, like the realization it pains him, but you can hear the grin on his face. "As long as I’m able to call you mine," he reminds.
"Anything, huh?" You tease. "Big words for someone who hasn’t even apologized yet for being such a dick to me."
Neteyam groans at your words and presses his forehead against the nape of your neck as if to escape this conversation altogether. "I really got myself in trouble with you, huh?"
summary: an arranged marriage is something you never wanted, but maybe your future husband isn’t all that bad… even if he’s a vampire.
warnings: pussy eating, squirting, smut, reader is insecure about her body(but Valentine reassures her)
He could smell death on her skin, something like decay and smoldering flesh. Her body was growing weaker by the day, and by god he could almost sense her life force draining from her.
Disease was like a wild beast, ravaging and devouring the bodies of whoever’s path it crossed. Unfortunately, while tending to a sickly child, she got caught in the middle of its quest, and was infected.
Valentine lived a solitary life, one that most would pity him for. Every day seemed to drag on and on, eternity looked grim.
When he met her, everything began to just… make sense. She was kind and a bit feisty, full of life and energy. Instead of dragging on, each day was new and ripe with adventure.
For a short period of time, it seemed like everything was going to be okay.
Then, a new disease began to spread through the land, killing off entire kingdoms and leaving both nobility and the common folk at death’s door.
No one was safe… not even her.
The first cough went unnoticed, Valentine simply continued to work as she placed a hand on her throat.
Strangely enough, she felt a bit weak and feverish that week, unable to do her daily tasks around the castle. Valentine spoiled her rotten and she took pride in being able to help him with his work while he was so busy… but now she could barely get out of bed.
Valentine was a scattered mess. He nearly collapsed when she started coughing up blood. Usually, vampires
would become overwhelmed by the scent of it, but her blood smelled like rotting flesh.
She was dying.
He tried everything he could to keep her alive. Various types of acupuncture, medicines, herbs, visits to the apothecary, nothing seemed to work on the vicious disease ravaging her body.
On a moonless night, he knelt by her beside, his undead heart aching as she spoke her final words.
“Don’t… cry…” she murmured, her skeletal hand caressing his cheek and wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I may die… but my love will… persist through it all…”
Choking on a sob, he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to be alone… I can’t stand it, I won’t let you go.”
She began to hum, carefully running your fingers through his soft locks. “Then I’ll come back… I promise. I’ll… find you…”
The clouds covering the moon moved out of the way for just a moment, letting its light shine on her face one last time.
“I love you, Valentine.”
With that, she drew her last breath.
It took several days for reality to set in. Valentine still came to her room every night, sat beside her slowly decaying corpse, and kissed her head.
“Goodnight, my dear.”
~
Darkness fell over the land, leaving you nothing to light your path. Everyone warned you to be home before nightfall, but you foolishly ventured on, wanting to gather more fresh herbs for dinner.
After all, you were out camping in such a nice cabin, why not take advantage of the change of scenery and eat something you gathered yourself?
Life in the city was hard, and you thought a change of pace would be nice. After all, in only a few months you were to be married off to someone you didn’t know.
‘Aren’t arranged marriages outdated?’ you thought to yourself as you forced your body to move forward.
Your father was wealthy and a bit distant, but you never thought he would marry you off to someone you hadn’t even met!
It was just supposed to be a walk to clear your head, to try and make sense of what your life was becoming.
Well, now you were lost in a dark and wintery forest with your phone dead and scarf blown away with the wind.
It was hard to see even your own two hands in the pitch blackness that surrounded you, and the only way you were able to move without tripping was to grab at trees as you passed by.
A part of you wanted to cry out for help, but knew that could possibly cause you more trouble than it was worth. After all, many predators lurked in the thick forest.
You didn’t want to come face to face with one.
Tears fell down your cheeks, and you struggled to keep yourself from giving in to the falling snow. If you just lied down, maybe you wouldn’t have to be so afraid anymore.
The soft white snow would cover you in a blanket, keeping you nice and comfortable through the rest of the winter until you thawed in the spring.
‘No, can’t have that. I’m sure some animals will dig up my corpse. They wouldn’t be able to have a proper funeral for them,’ you thought to yourself, puffs of white escaping your lips.
Though, as you continued on despite the wind tugging at your coat and your boots sinking deeper into the snow, it almost felt like something was guiding you.
When you turned towards the left, your worries eased and the wind was a little less harsh. You didn’t give it much thought, and continued to travel on the easier path.
Little did you know, fate was leading you somewhere you were supposed to be.
The cold nipped at your skin, your lungs struggling to breathe in the frosty air. All seemed hopeless…
Then, a light in the distance lit a fire under you. You forced your frozen feet to keep moving, trying your best to ignore the pain in your tingling limbs.
‘Just a few feet more…’ you thought to yourself, struggling to keep yourself from passing out. ‘Almost… there…’
Before you lost consciousness, you saw the source of the light. Someone was holding an old fashioned lamp, a beacon in the snow storm..
~
Waking up was a bit easier this time. Though the light spilling past the gap in the curtains hurt your eyes, you didn’t feel as uncomfortable and weak as before.
You sat up on your own, blinking the sleep away as you finally took in your surroundings.
“You’re awake,” a voice called out from a dark corner of the room. Focusing in, you were able to make out a pair of red eyes, instantly alerting your mind to potential danger.
Human beings didn’t have scarlet eyes, but your father had told you many tales of those who did. Hoping the creature didn’t realize you noticed, you nodded.
“Haven’t you been taught to speak? You seemed awfully talkative in your sleep. I could hear you whining from down the hall, you know.”
Your face burned, and before you could retort he emerged from the shadows.
“I see your fever is down. The nurse has been fretting over you day and night.”
The man had long white hair that cascaded down his shoulders and red eyes to match. He was disturbingly beautiful, like a painting that came to life. It wasn’t human, his features were almost uncannily perfect.
He didn’t bother to hide his fangs when he spoke. “(Name) (Last Name), correct? Quite the coincidence…”
“What do you mean?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t know, we haven't formally met,” he mused, at your confused expression.
Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who was this handsome stranger? Or yet, the better question…
“What are you?”
The man rolled his eyes, sitting on the foot of your bed. “Quite the rude question, isn’t it? I’m a vampire, is that what you wanted to hear?”
He stared down at you, his gaze cold and unenthusiastic. “More importantly, I’m your fiancé.”
It was too much to process at once. You read plenty of horror and romance novels about vampires, and he fit the description perfectly. The strangest part about the situation wasn’t that he was a vampire though.
“You’re Valentine? As in the man I’m ENGAGED TO-“
“The very same.”
Nothing about him seemed like good husband material. His eyes seemed empty and lifeless, like those of a porcelain doll, and he was so cold towards you, his future fiancé. Even when his eyes were on you, it seemed like he was barely paying attention to what you had to say!
“I won’t marry you, I just won’t!”
Valentine smiled, a first in the little time you had known him. Instead of it being warm and inviting, it sent shivers down your spine.
“Oh, really now? We’ll see about that.”
The window curtains opened just enough for you to peek out, his gloved hand avoiding the sunlight. The outside world was blanketed in a thick sheet of snow, and you looked on in horror when you realized it reached the window.
“We’ve been snowed in. You’ll be staying here for at least a week until the blizzard passes through.”
He turned, brushing off his suit pants before walking to the door. “Breakfast will be served at 7 am sharp. A servant will arrive here shortly to get you ready.”
The vampire paused in the doorway, hesitating a moment before turning back to look at you. “… and don’t try to leave, you’ll freeze to death in that snow.”
With that, he was gone and you were left alone to fume in your room while you waited for help to arrive.
~
You walked the halls of the manner, noticing the only lighting came from extravagant light fixtures that hung from the ceilings. There were no windows besides the one that had been in your room, and you could only assume that was to protect the master of the estate.
‘I can’t believe father married me off to a vampire…’ you thought to yourself as you were guided to the dining room. Your father promised you the man you were to be wed to would take care of you and give you the life you had always wanted, but you were beginning to doubt his words.
When you were being dressed by the older servant woman, you were able to see your body in the mirror more clearly than usual. Your fat belly, rolls, and little imperfections made you wince. There was no way Valentine had agreed to be your husband knowing what you looked like, perhaps he had sinister intentions in mind.
No one as beautiful as him would want you, vampire or not, so you kept up your guard. Despite your insecurities, you were a confident woman that refused to be bullied or tricked into some loveless marriage.
By the end of the week, you’d have him end this engagement and go back home to your lovely cats!
Valentine was waiting in the dining room, an empty plate sat in front of him. He sipped on a glass of what you wanted to assume was red wine, hsi eyes never leaving you.
“Took you longer than I expected. I don’t like to wait, I’ll have you know.”
You bristled at his words, sitting across from him. His eyes cut to the servants, who quickly scurried to the kitchen to bring out your breakfast.
“I will be busy through most of the day and night. I suppose you can call this a trial run for our married life,” he said, sipping on his wine before letting out a sigh.
“…”
You didn’t want to speak to him, not when he seemed so cold and unfeeling. Even if you didn’t want to be married to him, it almost hurt to know your potential future husband would have no affection for you whatsoever.
When you weren’t looking, his eyes softened ever so slightly, and he took in your full figure before his features returned to his neutral expression.
For just a split second, you thought you saw the faintest crinkle in the corner of his eyes, the look of someone who was incredibly fond of another.
You shook your head and ate silently. It was just your imagination, you weren’t even sure if vampires could love someone.
After breakfast, you walked back to your room, shutting yourself in before pulling a book from the bookcase and plopping onto your bed.
Valentine watched as you left, that softness returning as he contemplated whether to let himself fall in love with a mortal again.
~
Earlier that night, Valentine felt something stirring in his chest. His undead heart felt heavy, and even his cold body felt like it was on fire.
Valentine staggered down the endless halls, gripping the wall as his chest ached. Something was wrong, and in his heart he knew he had to do something to prevent a terrible tragedy.
One of his servants approached, brows furrowed. “Master, are you alright-“
“The door… open the door.”
He fell into the snow, nearly crawling as he tried his best to move with the unyielding pain coursing through his body. Had he been poisoned?
“Master… there’s a girl out in the snow!”
From that angle, both the servant and Valentine could see a young woman through the nearly blinding snow. You, however, could not see them.
The second he laid eyes on you, the pain melted away into bliss, spreading through his limbs and all the way to his heart.
“Get a lamp and tell the others to prepare a room.”
After you collapsed, Valentine carried you to the room and watched over you through the next several days as you battled a horrible fever.
He refused to partake in his usual meals, unable to leave your side for even a second.
“Could it really be her..?” Valentine questioned aloud, his fingertips brushing against your feverish cheek.
When you woke up in a daze, he was the one to slowly lower you back down and tend to your illness.
Although his undead heart felt heavy in his chest when he left your side, he knew that if you truly were who he thought you were… you’d be upset when you woke up.
He loved you more than anything, but stayed silent as he wiped the sweat from your brow and monitored your health.
Valentine didn’t want you to be in an unhappy marriage, where you had no choice in the matter… so if you couldn’t fall in love with a vampire, he wouldn’t make you stay.
He loved you enough to do that.
Part of him was also afraid. You were reborn as a mortal, a being that would never be able to live alongside him without becoming a vampire yourself.
What was he supposed to do when you died too? Valentine steeled himself, not wanting to get too close. He had to emotionally distance himself, or he’d end up distraught for centuries again.
Though, as you fell asleep after eating breakfast, Valentine couldn’t help but return to your room. You were laying across the bed, a few pages into the book you had been reading before you fell asleep. It seemed your fever had taken a lot out of you, and you were still exhausted.
He carefully tucked you under the thick comforter, leaning down to inhale your familiar scent before kissing your forehead.
His body ached to be closer to yours, to feel your warmth sink into his pale skin as it once did all those centuries ago. Valentine had taken on no other human bride, for there was no other human he loved as much as you.
When he retired to his bed chambers for the afternoon, he couldn’t help but grope the bulge in his pants, his cheeks flushed as he sat on the edge of his bed.
Your scent had driven him to the brink of insanity, it took everything in his body to leave your sleeping body alone.
He slowly stroked his cock, thinking of the small glimpse he got of your naked body as he changed you out of your soaking wet clothes.
The snow left you cold and wet, and he didn’t want you to get sick… but still, his eyes had fallen on your ample bosom and thick thighs. How he wished to reach out and touch what was his, what had always been his…
But he didn’t, and as he touched himself he imagined an alternative reality where he did. He imagined you waking up, smiling as he kissed and touched you…
The vampire came, panting softly as the shame started to set in.
Did he really deserve you?
~
You woke up to an empty room in the afternoon, your body aching from the awkward sleeping position, but otherwise you felt… fine. Your book was sitting on the nightstand nearby, a bookmark placed between the last pages you read.
Although you didn’t remember placing the bookmark, you chalked it up to your mind playing tricks on you.
“Lunch is ready, madam.”
The sound of your door opening hadn’t registered, but the voice of the maid who stepped in to fetch you had. You jumped in surprise, nearly falling over before catching yourself on the nightstand.
“A-alright… I understand.”
You didn’t see him during lunch, figuring Valentine was busy with his work he mentioned before. You only saw him again while you were exploring, passing through the labyrinth-like hallways to try and find something to entertain yourself with.
“Lost?”
He appeared behind you, almost as if he had been your shadow this entire time.
“F-fuck! I swear to god, everyone in this place is trying to give me a damn heart attack.”
The man chuckled, but for some reason getting any kind of reaction out of him felt strangely… good.
“My apologies, I was just curious as to why you were wandering about like a scared little rabbit and assumed you were lost.”
This made you puff out your cheeks. “I am in fact not lost, I’m just exploring. I can find my way just fine, thank you.”
He watched you open a random door, only to be greeted by a supply closet. When you turned to him with your face heated with embarrassment, he scoffed.
“I’m going to be your husband, you can ask me to show you around, you know. I don’t bite.”
Valentine pretended to not be hurt when you flinched at his words, and simply turned. “What is it you want to see?”
You recovered from your temporary fear of his fangs sinking into your throat and replied. “… do you have a library, by chance?”
“The biggest library you’ll ever see.”
Valentine was completely correct. An entire wing of his manor was dedicated to his vast collection of books, ranging from historical records to smutty romance novels.
You tried to avert your gaze from the more… erotic covers but he notices they caught your eye. “Interested? I have a good selection of romance novels. You can take whichever ones you’d like to read to your room and keep them.”
That was rather kind of him, and it confused you slightly. How could a man that was supposedly as cold as him allow a stranger to take books from a collection he so obviously adored?
The shelves were free of dust, some older books fixed with new bindings to keep them from falling apart. The vampire must have spent a lot of money on the upkeep of his novels, so why were you allowed to just keep any you so pleased?
“Master Valentine, the phone is working again.”
The two of you glanced up at the servant as he walked in, carrying a rotary phone. You weren’t sure if those even worked anymore, and you only used one before when your grandma was alive.
“Ah, thank you Francis. (Name)…”
He tilted his head towards the phone, his expression back to being neutral. “Call your father, talk to him about your thoughts on the marriage and… tell him you have my consent to end it if you must.”
His words left you standing there in a daze as he left the room to give you privacy. You blinked, trying to regain your composure before you took the phone.
“Father… it’s me, (Name).”
The man on the other line huffed. “I thought you went and run off somewhere. Good to see you’re with Valentine, as this is his number after all. Tell me, do you like your future husband?”
You weren’t exactly sure anymore. Regardless, you sighed and continued. “Father, I told you I don’t want to be in an arranged marriage, can’t you-“
“I didn’t say you had any choice in this, little girl,”
You froze at that, recognizing the belittling tone of his voice. Though you didn’t hate your father, he wasn’t someone you enjoyed being around because of how he treated you like a pawn for his business affairs.
“Without marrying into the Valentine family, our business will go under. He’s willing to make some trades and deals that will have us set for life and pay for your sisters’ college funds. I sent you to college, didn’t I? You wanna repay me by putting your father in debt?”
You didn’t reply, your face falling as he sighed on the other end. “Do whatever you have to do to make sure this marriage goes through, or don’t bother coming home.”
You handed the phone back to the servant, silently carrying your books to your room as you tried not to cry. It seemed like you truly had no other choice now. After being so adamant about not wanting to marry him, would Valentine still even want you?
I mean, who would? You didn’t even like yourself, with your fat thighs and tummy that was too big. What could you even offer him in return?
With a glance at the romance novels, you blinked before getting an idea. They were all aimed towards women like her, with plump female protagonists. Perhaps… he had a fetish of some sort?
You went to dinner with your plan in mind, wearing the elegant red dress provided to you by the servants. Perhaps you could seduce him…
Valentine’s eyes followed your figure as you walked into the dining room, with an expression you couldn’t quite read. His grip on silverware tightened to the point it bent in his grasp
“You look… nice.”
Your plan was working so far, but you had to remain coy for it to keep going. “Thank you, Valentine. I didn’t want to look like a mess if I’m eating with such an important man.”
His eyebrow raised, but he didn’t question your sudden change in attitude. Instead, he sipped his drink, his red eyes following the curvature of your body before landing on your plump thighs.
Soon, you finished eating and left, giving him a little smile before you did. It left him feeling confused and… oddly aroused.
~
Valentine leaned back in his chair, glancing at the portrait of his deceased lover that hung atop the fireplace in his office.
You looked just like her, the same hair, same eyes, and the exact same, perfect figure he had always adored.
In his time, women with soft, plump bodies were considered the beauty standard, and it hadn’t changed for him. His pants tightened as he thought of you in that red dress, how your fat tits were barely within the expensive fabric.
He wanted to see you in even finer clothing… and perhaps none at all.
‘No, I can’t think of her like that…’ he thought to himself, rubbing his temple. ‘I don’t want to get attached…’
As he began to start signing the endless paperwork on his desk, a knock on the door caught his attention. Valentine could already pick up your scent through the door, so he straightened himself up in an attempt to hide his erection.
“Come in.”
You stepped into his office, still dressed in that red dress, though your heels were gone. Instead, you walked towards him barefoot, your eyes on his.
“You seemed stressed today…” you murmured, walking behind his desk. Before he could ask what you were doing, you reached around his chair.
Your hand moved down his chest and under his suit jacket. His skin felt cold, and you hoped he could still get it up being undead and all.
“I can help you relax, you know? Take it… as an apology for being so rude.”
At this point, the only worth you could find in yourself was making use of your body, but in his eyes you were showing him affection and care.
Was it truly okay to relax while your hands worked to unbutton his pants? It had been so long since he felt the touch of a woman, and you were his love, his everything…
Valentine let out a shaky breath as his cock sprung forward, precum dribbling from his tip as your hand held onto his length. He hissed, holding onto your arm as you stroked him slowly.
“I… could be a good wife. I might not have the most experience, b-but I’ve read plenty of novels. I can make you feel good…” you murmured against his neck, your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and arousal.
Watching his chest rise and fall rapidly as he panted and moaned with each jerking motion made you feel a certain something… but you didn’t give in to it. You were here to pleasure him, that was it.
“A good wife, hmm?”
He sighed, his eyes half lidded as he looked back at you, noticing your warm cheeks and pouting lips. Oh, how he wanted to feel your lips on his while you jerked him off. Every single day he imagined something like this whole touching himself, desperate to feel his lover against him again.
He came in your hand, panting as your thumb blushed over his pink tip. You brought your cum soaked fingers to your lips, shyly licking the excess liquid away as you stepped back.
“… I hope you feel better now,” you murmured, glancing towards the door. You did what you were supposed to do, you got him off and now you should leave.
Part of you didn’t want to, but you turned towards the door anyways, unable to look him in the eye.
“Where are you going?”
You stopped when you felt his hand on your wrist, keeping you in place. “… I did what I was supposed to, and now I’m going to bed.”
“… supposed… to?”
Valentine's undead heart clenched in his chest. Did you think that all you were to him was something to use? You didn’t get understand his feelings for you.
“My father… he said I have no choice but to marry you. It’s… not that I don’t like you. I just…”
He watched as tears fell down your chubby cheeks. “I’m afraid you… won’t want someone like me.”
Without further warning, the vampire lifted you up and placed you on his desk. You blinked in surprise, your face heating up when he tore the expensive red fabric of your dress from your chubby frame.
“I guess I’ll have to show you then… I can be a good husband to you.”
He didn’t care anymore. Valentine loved you, and didn’t want to see you upset. He pried your thighs open, kissing down your soft belly, paying extra attention to the soft fat of your tummy before placing a kiss on your damp panties.
“V-Valentine, you don’t have t-“
His fangs scraped against your thigh, making you go quiet. “Shh, I’m going to make you feel good, alright?”
Your panties were tossed to the side so he could get to your bare cunt, his tongue immediately pushing inside of you. His fingers flicked your clit, and he looked up at you with pussy drunk eyes.
No one had ever touched you like this before, much less buried their head between your thighs! Your mind was already fuzzy with pleasure, and your clit twitched against his lips.
His fingers replaced his tongue so he could focus his mouth on your clit, and you could feel something building up in your belly with each curl of his digits.
You came once, but he wasn’t done. As you felt fireworks going off in your lower belly, he latched onto your clit and added another finger, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you through your orgasm.
Even when you touched yourself in the past, you had never felt such pleasure. Suddenly, you started to squirm, feeling embarrassed. “S-stop, I’m gonna-“
Your pussy gushed, squirting fluid all over his pale face. You just squirted for the first time, and on your betrothed of all people!
There was no time to be embarrassed, though. The vampire between your legs was too busy licking his glistening lips as he stroked his cock, ready to be inside of you.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this, my love. No idea at all…”
You were too blissed out to question his words. Valentine had no intention of telling you that you were his reincarnated love… at least not yet.
He pinned your wrists above your head, peppering kisses along your neck before biting down gently, marking you as his.
His cock pushed into you, the slick dripping from your cunt making it easy to begin moving immediately. This was heavenly to him, being inside of the woman he adored after thinking he’d never see you alive again. Nothing would take you away, he couldn’t bear it.
“You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” he said through muffled whimpers, his hands gripping the fat of your hips. “I can’t let you go… you’ll be my wife, I’ll t-take good care of you!”
He lapped the blood from your neck, groaning into your sweat covered skin as he felt you clench around him.
Valentine came inside of you, his body feeling warmth for the first time in centuries. This was how he was supposed to feel, absolutely in love.
Your future marriage was saved, and you now knew that Valentine was fond of you, though for now… you weren’t sure why.
As you laid next to him, he decided to love your human self without guilt.
After all, you said you’d always return to his side.
~
Note: Patreon and Kofi members got to read this first! Join either to help support me, and read all of my stories, there’s even some exclusive content 👀
Hey, this was on my mind these days, it's bad, I know, but I'm not a writer, so have mercy on me, please 🫤, it's not revised. Probably not making part 2, this is Just something that i was thinking.
Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries, slight angst, very small angst
Yandere! bat family x reader
Everything was blurry, your vision was shaking, you felt cold, lifeless, maybe that was your time to go.
No one would care anyway, they never did.
You felt shivers down your spine, and dry blood made your hair stick to your face grossly.
Now, you look at the mansion in front of you, you didn't remember what exactly happened, but you remember going out in the afternoon to clear your head, after all, it was your birthday, and again, none of them remembered, or maybe they did but didn't really care enough.
You were out until midnight, you know Gotham is not really safe at this time, but you didn't have time to think about that before you were dragged into a dark alley, and then darkness took over.
When you woke up the sun was coming up, the streets cold and empty, still in the dark alley, but now missing half your vision and belongings.
You didn't have training or superpowers to protect yourself, not even a pocket knife. Your eye wouldn't even open, your lips were busted, you felt immense pain in your head, and blood was running down your forehead.
Trying to stand up after getting the beating of your life wasn't easy. It took some time for you to gather your surroundings, standing on shaky legs, leaning against the walls, trying to get out of the alley.
The walk home was filled with a few strangers looking at you with shock, and some tried to talk to you but you just kept walking.
And there you are, standing in front of the Wayne mansion, deciding whether or not to enter.
Maybe someone was awake, you knew dick and Alfred were morning people, busy as they are.
With a deep breath, you walk in, trying not to make any sound, which is kinda hard considering your lack of vision.
Making your way up the stairs to your room, you can see blood staining the carpet on the ground, but you just don't give a flying fuck, one stained carpet is nothing in this house.
In your room, You Just took your jacket off and threw yourself in the bed, it's comfortable, Alfred made sure that your bed was just as good as the other rooms, at least he tried to make your room as cozy as possible, he didn't tell Bruce about the room renovation that he gave you, that was your birthday present, you cryed a lot, and he conforted you until you got out to take a break.
Your eyes closed, tiredness finally taking over your body. That's when the havoc started.
You didn't see dick standing in the living room, but he did see you, and he was freaking out. He followed you until you closed your door, he panicked, didn't know what to do, so he woke up the whole mansion. He got to Bruce's room first entering without knocking.
"Bruce wake up! y/n Just got home all bloody, and she looks like a walking corpse!"- That was enough to make the men wake up. At First, he was confused; he hadn't heard your name for a long time, and now this?
He scrambled out of bed, put on a robe, and ran to your bedroom. At this point, the whole house heard dick screaming, and everybody was getting out of their rooms.
"What the heck dick? It's too early for all this yelling", Damian was the first to complain and the others were going after Bruce to see what was happening.
Bruce, trying to keep everybody from making too much noise, entered your room with caution. Then he saw you lying in your bed, completely still, he walked to the side of the bed, taking a look at your face.
And right there he went through the 3 stages of grief.
He flipped you onto your back and checked your vitals, still alive, barely but still alive. He picked you up, minding the cut in your head, and ran out of the room to the infirmary in the Batcave.
Now everybody was panicking, Tim was holding Dick so he wouldn't get in Bruce's way, Damian was calling for Bruce, Cas and Barb were running and shouting about what to do and Duke was helping Bruce put the equipment in your arms and getting something to stop the bleeding, bruce's thoughts were overflowing with scenarios on what could have happened, but he wasn't stupid, none of them were, they knew what happened to you, you weren't like them, you didn't know how to fight, why this happened to you? That's the mystery.
Now you are being monitored while you were unconscious, they took turns to monitor you, while the guilt ate inside their body.
Dick, was the first to break, crying like a baby by your side, while Alfred patted his back.
"No one could have known that this was going to happen, Mr.Greyson." Of course, Alfred was consoling everybody, telling them that it wasn't their fault. How could they know? They didn't even know it was your birthday. Oh, that was a punch to the gut.
Even Bruce cried at that, and Alfred didn't apologise, no he just left the Batcave, left them with their guilt.
They couldn't even look at you without wincing, How were you alive? It was a miracle, maybe that was their Second chance to make things right with you.
You just got to rest now, and when you wake up, they will apologise, and make promises to you just so they can feel better about all that's happened.
How they missed everything, every birthday, every competition, and even your graduation, which Alfred was the only one to attend.
If you woke up that It's, but now they were totally focused on you, thats what you wanted right?
