Summary: What happens Fwb!Peter with spiking arachnid hormones sees you with another man
Warnings: Smut(18+) mdni, possessive behavior, drinking, mentions of fights, manhandling, degradation, reader is drunk.
Fwb!Peter who had disappeared after your fight. It wasn’t your intension to bring up his letter. You had accidentally found it in his drawer inside a coffee cup while looking for your missing earring.
You had no right to be upset. He didn’t have any emotional obligations to you, wasn’t that how it was supposed to be anyways?
You weren’t his responsibility, you weren’t someone he owed an explanation to; you were just supposed to be the one place he could use to escape without having to worry about anything.
No matter how long you had paced circles in the living room, cleaning the same spots over and over again trying to get rid of the hurt, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
At the end, you had decided never to speak about it.
Telling him you had read his deeply personal letter to the love of his life wasn’t an option. Besides the fact that he still had the letter was a good sign. It meant that he hadn’t given it to her. It meant that he was not in contact with MJ and that was all you needed.
But watching him walk in that evening with two cups of coffee from the same café, from mj’s café had destroyed all resolve you had spent all day building.
“Do you still love her?” the words rolled off your lips before you could stop them.
Peter knew who you were talking about. It also wasn’t difficult to figure out how you found out. Knuckles whitening, he turned to face you.
He had looked at you with disgust and disbelief. He couldn’t believe you would betray his trust like that; how could you intrude on the very last piece of MJ he was allowed to keep?
What followed was an ugly fight full of bitter accusations and shouts over tears until he decided he had enough of you and stormed out shutting the door behind him in a loud rattling bang.
Fwb!Peter who wouldn’t pick up your calls, who didn’t read your texts. No matter how hard you tried to apologize he just wouldn’t let you; it was like he had suddenly decided that you were not worth his time, like he was done with you for good.
Guilt and regret were mixing venomously inside you. You never should have found that letter. You never should have said anything to Peter. Memories of that night haunted you, soiling every thought you had, following you everywhere you went.
Deciding to drown in alcohol induced amnesia you walked in the first frat party you could spot.
The music was so loud it rolled off the walls. The beats pulsed down your spine in their rhythm as you stood leaning against the corner you picked the moment you entered. Red cups were scattered in every hand. The crowd laughed and danced as if relaxing more and more with every passing second.
You couldn’t have felt more out of place if you tried
The guy who approached you had spent the last twenty minutes talking about the recent updates in his favorite video game.
Maybe under different circumstances you would have actually been interested in what he had to say. Maybe he wouldn’t be a faceless man hurling words like higher pixels and better ping and you wouldn’t be having a hard time remembering his name or how he ended up here.
A decent person would have politely excused themselves from the one sided conversation and left. But you couldn’t do that. Not when you could still picture the look of disgust on Peter’s face.
You desperately needed the distraction. Without thinking much, in the deafening crowd you leaned in to whisper in the guy’s ear, asking him to bring a refill. Before you could finish the sentence cold fingers snaked around your elbow and jerked you off your spot.
When you turned and saw Peter’s face, you thought you were hallucinating. Had the drinks finally caught up to you? Was this just your life now? Pathetically thinking of Peter even when you were wasted?
With every passing second that he didn’t vanish you assured it really was him. You tried to release your arm but he wouldn't budge, an irritable glare etched on his face, as if the situation was so obviously beyond him he couldn't even bring himself to say anything.
Peter was here, standing right next to you refusing to let go of your arm. Everything instantly dissolved in an unfocused blur around you. You wanted to reach up and trace a finger along his eyebrow. You had spent the last two weeks wishing for a chance to see his pretty face again. There was so much you wanted to say.
Before you could start your apologies, you were being pulled away from the scene towards the stairs.
Fwb!Peter who couldn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like something was taking control over him. He couldn’t even remember why he was walking in this party when there was so much he had to do.
But when he saw you corned along with some guy, making no efforts to push him off, it was like something had snapped.
Watching you lean into his ear, he could feel the anger pulsating and boiling his blood. He didn’t think twice before crossing over and snatching you physically off of that man who clearly wanted nothing more than to get inside your pants.
Fwb!Peter who pushed you inside the first empty room he could find. You knew this was your chance to say everything you had in your mind before he decided to shut you out of his life again.
“I really shouldn’t have read your letter, I should have left it alone. I’m so sorry Peter” You blurted out. When he stayed silent you continued.
“You were right; we shouldn’t care about what the other person does. What you do with other people is none of my business, it was wrong of me interrupt.”
His nose flared. “Is that what was happening out there?” the words spat out like the taste of it nauseated him.
Confused you shook your head “No what?”
He started slowly walking towards you “Did I interrupt you guys? Would you be here with him instead of me if I hadn’t walked in and stopped you?”
Animosity waved off with every livid step he took. Alarmed by his sudden behavior, you started pacing back in defense till you hit the wall. “Peter I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smiled when had you positively cornered he asked in mock whisper “Now you want to play dumb. Is that how you got his attention by playing the lost little whore?”
Heat flooded your cheeks. Gone was the sunny warmth radiating Peter who had helped you with your jammed car door the first time you met him. Heart hammering in your ribs, you placed a hesitant palm on his chest half hoping it would stop him.
“Two weeks and you’re running off with the first man that talks to you. I mean I knew you were needy but acting like this?” His breath fanned the shell of your ear, hoarse voice shooting straight down your spine.
Impatience colored his eyes black when you didn’t respond. He bent down till his teeth grazed the smooth skin of you neck and sucked on the familiar spot. Hovering there with his lips brushing near your collarbone he murmured a quiet I missed you so much.
Fwb!Peter who clawed the base of your skull, pushing your face as deep as he could into his face like he could finally breathe.
Fwb!Peter who frantically lifts you on his hips against the wall. “I know you want someone to catch us like this.”
Fwb!Peter who clamps your mouth with his hand, every thrust making it difficult to be quiet. “I missed this”
Fwb!Peter who takes his sweet time as if wanting to memorize every micro second with you.
Fwb!Peter who kisses your forehead when he is done and makes a mental promise to never let you go again. He won’t make that mistake ever again; even if you get on your knees and start begging.
divider by: @cafekitsune & @strangergraphics & @uzmacchiato
word count: 3.9k
synopsis: Forced into a political marriage, you and Ser Gwayne Hightower can’t stand each other. What begins as a war of sharp tongues and spiteful jealousy slowly unravels into an all-consuming obsession, proving there’s a very fine line between hatred and desire.
warnings: enemies to lovers, jealousy, arranged marriage
As a Targaryen, you were accustomed to getting your way—or fire and blooding your way through those who stood in your path. Yet, here you were, bound by a political decree to marry Ser Gwayne Hightower. A man whose pristine armour matched his equally pristine, frustratingly smug attitude.
The feeling was entirely mutual. From the moment the betrothal was announced, your interactions consisted of sharp glares, venomous masked insults disguised as courtly pleasantries, and a profound, simmering hatred.
Gwayne Hightower was everything you detested: impeccably groomed, insufferably dutiful, and fiercely loyal to a faction that viewed your family as an existential threat. He thought you a reckless, arrogant dragon; you thought him a rigid, sanctimonious knight.
When your hands were joined before the High Septon in the Great Sept, your skin crawled beneath the heavy silk of your gown, the ceremonial ribbons feeling less like a holy union and more like iron shackles. Later, at the wedding feast, when he leaned in to press an obligatory kiss against your cheek, his lips were ice. His jaw was clenched so tightly you genuinely wondered if his teeth might shatter under the strain of his compliance.
"Try to smile, my lady," Gwayne murmured smoothly through a fixed, public grin. His breath was warm against your ear, a stark contrast to his chilling demeanour, even as the lords of the realm raised their goblets in a roaring toast to your long life together. "The court is watching, and you look as though you've just been served a cup of nightshade."
"I would prefer the nightshade," you shot back, keeping your own smile perfectly, deceptively radiant for the court. "At least it would kill me quickly, rather than boring me to death over a lifetime."
Even once the bedding ceremony was announced, the two of you flatly refused to participate. When the drunken lords and giggling handmaidens finally shoved you both into your marital chambers and barred the heavy oak doors from the outside, the festive atmosphere vanished instantly, replaced by a suffocating silence.
The massive canopy bed sat heavily in the center of the room, lit by dozens of flickering candles. Gwayne stood near the edge of it, his hand hovering awkwardly near the fastenings of his breeches, his green eyes cold and tightly guarded.
You didn't give him the chance to speak.
"If you take that cock out, I will cut it off," you hissed, your voice dropping dangerously as you stood rigidly in your rumpled wedding shift. "I want no part of your seed infecting me."
Gwayne’s jaw went slack for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening in sheer shock before narrowing into slits of pure fury. Slowly, he let his hands drop to his sides, taking a single, step toward you.
"Infecting you?" he repeated, his voice pitching up at your sheer audacity. The polite, courtly knight was gone; in his place was a man whose patience had been stripped entirely raw. "You speak as though my blood is a disease, my lady, when it is your house that carries the plague of madness to the realm.”
He leaned down slightly, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "Rest assured, I have absolutely no desire to plant my seed in a field as barren and venomous as you. You want no part of me? The feeling is entirely mutual. I would rather couple with a pit of vipers."
"Then we are agreed," you spat, refusing to back down an inch, your eyes flashing with Targaryen fire.
You turned on your heel, violently ripping the heavy furs off the mattress and flinging them toward the far corner of the room. “You can take the settee.”
“I will not,” he growled, refusing to be displaced from his own quarters by a defiant dragon. “These are our shared chambers, and I will not sleep on the floor like a dog to appease your arrogance.”
You huffed, climbing onto the mattress and pulling the remaining silks up to your chin. “Then ensure you stay on your side. If any part of you crosses the center line, you will find that part missing by morning.”
Gwayne let out a harsh, dry laugh, watching you adjust the pillows with furious, aggressive movements. "A charming threat for a bride on her wedding night. Truly, the Seven have blessed me with a fortunate match."
He marched over to the opposite side of the bed, ripping off his heavy, embroidered doublet and threw it to the floor, betraying just how deeply you had gotten under his skin. He climbed into the bed fully dressed in his linen undershirt and trousers, turning his back to you.
"Goodnight, wife," he bit out into the darkness.
"Go to the seven hells, husband," you bit back, staring at the canopy above as the candles slowly burned down to ash.
The first weeks of marriage were a silent war of attrition. You occupied opposite sides of the massive chambers assigned to you, speaking only when absolute necessity demanded it. In public, you traded barbed pleasantries; in private, you weaponized a freezing, unyielding silence. But hatred is an exhausting emotion to sustain in isolation. Soon, the cold resentment turned into something far more volatile.
It started innocently enough. Gwayne was down in the training yard, unarmored but sweating through his training shirt as he ran through gruelling sword drills with the City Watch. He was, infuriatingly, a spectacular warrior—fluid, powerful, and possessing a sort of grace that made it impossible to look away. You watched from the shaded gallery above, purposely sitting beside a handsome young knight of the Kingsguard.
You knew Gwayne had noticed you. From below, his jaw clenched as you laughed a little too loudly at a joke the young knight made. Testing the waters, you leaned in closer to the Kingsguard, letting your hand rest conspicuously on his silver armoured forearm.
Below, Gwayne completely missed a parry. His opponent’s blunt training sword struck his shoulder with a heavy, echoing thwack. He didn't even flinch. Instead, his green eyes locked onto yours from across the yard with a burning intensity. The polite facade cracked, replaced by a dark scowl that promised retribution.
Two nights later, at a grand feast hosted by the Queen, Gwayne executed his counter-move. He spent the entire evening in a candlelit alcove, attentively pouring wine for a beautiful, doe-eyed lady-in-waiting from the Reach. He laughed—a genuine, amused sound you had never once heard him utter in your presence—and leaned in close to whisper something that made the maiden blush furiously and swat at his chest.
A sharp, hot spike of irritation flared in your gut. You didn't care for him, you reminded yourself. You hated him. But the sheer audacity of him flaunting another woman in front of the entire court—in front of you—was a direct insult to your Targaryen blood.
You immediately retaliated by inviting a charming stormlander lordling to dance, pressing closer to him than decorum allowed. Across the crowded hall, you caught Gwayne’s gaze. His grip tightened around his silver goblet so fiercely that his knuckles turned stark white.
From that moment on, the silent treatment was replaced by a silent war. Over the next few weeks, the animosity didn't vanish— it simply began to change. the Red Keep became a chessboard of manufactured jealousy.
If Gwayne spent an afternoon openly escorting a beautiful lady of House Tyrell through the godswood, handing her a winter rose with a theatrical bow, you would ensure he saw you the next morning at the tilting grounds. You would be draped over the gallery railing, tying your silk favour around the lance of a dashing young Royce, ensuring you were caught perfectly in the sunlight.
To formal dinners where you knew he would be seated directly across from you, you began wearing gowns with daringly low necklines, only to spend the entire evening conversing exclusively with the eligible lords to your left and right. In response, he would return from the training yards dripping with sweat, purposely unbuttoning his linen shirt to expose the damp line of his chest while recounting, in vivid detail, the flattering compliments paid to him by the highborn maidens in the gardens.
It was madness. It was childish. It was the only time either of you felt truly alive. The original hatred had evaporated, replaced by a thick, suffocating tension that left you both breathless and constantly on edge. You were playing with fire, forgetting that while dragons thrive in the heat, Hightowers were the ones who lit the beacons.
The explosion finally came on a stormy night, deep within the belly of the castle.
You had spent the evening at a private supper, deliberately sitting next to a dashing southern lord who had spent the night praising your beauty. Gwayne had sat directly across from you, acting as a silent, brooding sentinel. His grip remained white-knuckled around his goblet, his entire posture radiating pure, unadulterated malice.
When you finally returned to your shared chambers, the heavy oak door had barely clicked shut before the storm broke inside.
"He was practically drooling into your wine," Gwayne snarled, ripping off his heavy velvet cloak and hurling it onto a chair. The polished, courtly knight was gone; in his place was a man possessed by a seething fury.
"Who, Lord Lannister?” you asked airily, unpinning your heavy collar with practiced indifference, though your heart was hammering frantically against your ribs. "I found him delightfully attentive. A refreshing change from the sour company I am usually forced to keep."
"Attentive?" Gwayne strode across the room, his boots thudding ominously against the stone floor. He stopped mere inches from you, looming over you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "He was looking at you as if he wanted to tear that gown off your back. And you let him. You smiled at him. You touched his arm."
"And what if I did?" you challenged, tilting your chin up as your Targaryen pride flared to match his rage. "Are you going to forbid me? You, who spent the entirety of yesterday afternoon letting Lady Tarly press her favours into your hand? I saw the way you looked at her, Gwayne. Don't play the wounded husband with me."
"I don't give a damn about Lady Tarly!" Gwayne roared, the sheer volume of his voice making the candles flicker.
"Then why do it?!" you screamed back, finally losing your grip on your composure. The weeks of built-up tension, the longing disguised as spite, the agonizing game—it all came crashing down in a single torrent. "Why look at them? Why smile at them? Why do everything in your power to drive me mad?!"
"Because you were already driving me mad!" Gwayne yelled, reaching out to grab your upper arms. His grip was firm and unyielding, but careful not to hurt you. His green eyes were wild, dilated, searching yours with a desperate sort of need "From the moment we wed, you looked at me like I was dirt beneath your shoe. I wanted to see you look at me. I wanted to see you care! Even if it was anger, even if it was jealousy—I needed to know I could affect you the way you affect me!"
The admission hung heavily in the air, sudden and shocking. The storm outside lashed violently against the stained-glass windows, but inside, the silence was deafening.
"You..." you breathed, your voice instantly losing all its venom, leaving only a raw, exposed vulnerability. "You want to affect me?"
"You have no idea," Gwayne whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly, breathless register. His gaze dropped to your lips, his hands trembling slightly where they held your arms. "You sit there, so proud, so beautiful, looking at everyone in this wretched castle but your own husband. It's torture. I hate it. I hate how much I want you."
The last string of your restraint snapped.
You closed the distance between you, fisting your hands into the heavy, embroidered lapels of his doublet and hauling him down into a collision of lips and teeth. It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it a surrender; it was a physical extension of the brutal war you two had been waging on for weeks. It was fierce, bruising, and born of a desperate, mutual starvation.
Gwayne let out a low, ragged groan against your mouth. His arms wrapped around your waist like iron bands, lifting you completely off your feet and slamming you back against the heavy, reinforced oak of the chamber door. The impact jolted through your spine, but the pain only fuelled the fire. You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips, anchoring him to you, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you, your fingers tangling into the thick waves of his auburn hair.
His hands were everywhere now, stripped of all chivalric restraint. They tore at the intricate laces of your gown, bruising the soft skin of your hips, tracing the elegant curve of your spine with a frantic, possessive urgency that demanded a lifetime of retribution for the weeks of forced distance. He kissed you as if he were trying to consume you from the inside out, to brand his name into your very soul, and you answered him with an equal, fiery Valyrian ferocity, biting his lower lip until you tasted the faint, copper tang of blood between you.
"You are mine," Gwayne growled against your throat, his voice a primal promise as his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin right above your collarbone, marking you and making you arch into his broad chest with a gasping, breathless sob. "Tell me. Say it."
"I am yours," you gasped, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, your heart frantic, your mind finally clear of any future schemes. You pulled his face back up to yours, your eyes flashing with a warning fire. “And you are mine, Gwayne. If you ever look at another woman like that again, I will burn this whole keep to ash."
Gwayne pulled back just enough to look at you, a dark, breathless, utterly ruined smile breaking across his handsome face. The green of his eyes was bright with a dangerous, triumphant fire.
"Let it burn," he whispered against your lips, and carried you to the bed.
Inside the marital chambers, the aftermath of the storm lay scattered across the floor—shredded silk, a discarded doublet, torn laces, and the heavy scent of crushed winter roses and sweat.
When you and Gwayne finally emerged into the outer corridors the following afternoon, the transformation was staggering. The icy distance that had defined your marriage for weeks had vanished, replaced by an atmosphere of mutual possession. You did not walk a step apart as you usually did, maintaining the stiff, courtly boundaries of rival factions. Instead, Gwayne’s large hand was wrapped firmly around your waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown and keeping you flush against his side as if daring the world—or his own family—to try and wedge itself between the two of you.
But it was the physical evidence that truly set the whispers ablaze.
The court of King's Landing was a nest of vipers, trained to notice the slightest shift in a lord's posture or the subtle tear in a lady’s sleeve. Today, they didn't even have to look closely; the signs of your mutual destruction were proudly on display. Gwayne, usually the very picture of immaculate, highborn decorum, wore a high-collared doublet that failed spectacularly to hide the deep, purple bruises blooming high on the side of his neck. The illusion of his pristine nature was shattered further because you had playfully, yet possessively forced him to undo the top two buttons of his attire before leaving your chambers, making the marks impossible to miss. His lower lip was slightly swollen, bearing the faint, dark split from where you had bit him in the heat of your desire.
You fared no better, and you made absolutely no attempt to hide it. You had deliberately chosen a Targaryen-red gown with a wider, daring neckline, exposing the trail of marks and the faint, dark shadows of his handprints on the pale skin of your collarbone and shoulders.
The way you walked, slow and languid, spoke of a physical exhaustion that had absolutely nothing to do with sleep. Every lord, lady, and sycophant you passed in the gallery looked, widened their eyes in sheer shock, and quickly looked away under Gwayne's fiercely protective, lethal glare. The court was accustomed to seeing the two of you trade icy daggers with your eyes; they were entirely unprepared for the unified defiance that now radiated from your joined forms.
As you neared the small council chamber, a familiar figure stepped out from the shadow of a carved archway. It was Lady Tarly. She was dressed in a gown of soft, maidenly blue, holding a small silk handkerchief she had undoubtedly intended to offer Gwayne as a favour for the upcoming afternoon drills. Her face was bright with a practiced, flirtatious smile—a smile that died the absolute second her eyes landed on your husband.
Lady Tarly’s hands flew to her mouth, the blue silk fluttering uselessly between her trembling fingers. Her wide eyes darted from the deep, unmistakable bruise on Gwayne’s neck to his swollen, split lip, her expression a mix of genuine horror and mounting panic. To an outside observer unversed in the language of the flesh, he looked as if a wild animal had savaged him in the dark, and she looked as though she were about to call for a maester, the City Watch, or the Kingsguard itself.
She gasped in shock, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “Ser Gwayne, by the Mother... what happened? Are you alright? Who did this to you?”
Before Gwayne could even open his mouth to offer a courtly redirection, you stepped forward, tightening your grip on his bicep. The heavy fabric of his sleeve bunched under your fingers, an unyielding, territorial hold that drew Lady Tarly’s panicked gaze straight to you.
"Ser Gwayne is perfectly well, Lady Tarly," you said, your voice dripping with a smooth, lethal satisfaction. You leaned heavily into his side, ensuring the low, daring neckline of your Targaryen-red gown shifted just enough to give the young maiden a flawless, unhindered view of the dark, possessive marks and handprints decorating your own neck and collarbone. "In fact, I don't think my husband has ever been in better spirits. Or better hands."
"My wife speaks the truth, my lady," Gwayne murmured, his tone rougher and deeper than usual, a lingering remnant of the night's exhausting passions. He covered your hand with his own, his large fingers locking yours against his arm, cementing the unified front. "I assure you, I am entirely unharmed. Though... I admit the dragons of House Targaryen are far more feral than the histories lead one to believe."
Lady Tarly’s gaze flicked rapidly between the two of you, the scandalous pieces finally clicking together in her mind with the force of a sudden blow. The colour drained from her cheeks, replacing her initial shock with a burning, mortified blush as she realized exactly what—and who—had left those violent, passionate marks. The pristine, gallant Hightower knight she had been trying to court for weeks had been thoroughly, aggressively claimed.
“Was there something you needed from my husband?" you purred, the word husband leaving your lips like a final, devastating claim of possession.
Gwayne didn't even glance at the Tarly girl. His gaze was fixed entirely on you, his jaw relaxing into a dark, smugly satisfied grin as he felt the fierce, protective grip of your fingers on his arm. He loved it. The realization that you were actively, publicly marking your territory sent an intoxicating thrill straight through him.
Lady Tarly’s gaze flicked from your grip on his arm, up to the dark marks on Gwayne's neck and then yours, and finally to the unmistakable, lethal look in your eyes. The colour drained from her cheeks, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her handkerchief.
"I... I merely wished to ask Ser Gwayne if he required a new favour for the tourney grounds, Your Grace," she stammered, her voice losing all its previous confidence, shrinking under the suffocating weight of your stare.
Gwayne’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb stroking the back of your knuckles as he finally looked at her. "That is most kind of you, Lady Tarly," he said, his voice deep, rough, and entirely devoid of the polite warmth he had used to tease her just days before. "But I have already been thoroughly provided for. My wife has made it explicitly clear that I am to wear no one's colours but her own from this day forth."
He leaned down slightly, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the crown of your hair, his eyes never leaving the disgraced lady-in-waiting.
"In fact," Gwayne murmured, his eyes shifting back to you, burning with the very same fire that had consumed your chambers the night before, "I doubt I shall have the energy for the training yards today at all. My lady wife keeps a very demanding schedule."
"I... I see," she stammered, stepping back into the shadows of the archway, her eyes dropping to the floor. "Forgive me, Your Grace, Ser Gwayne. I did not mean to intrude upon... your morning."
"No intrusion at all," you replied, offering her a sweet, razor-sharp smile that promised absolute ruin if she ever dared to look his way again. "But if you'll excuse us, the Small Council awaits. And after that, my husband requires a great deal of my personal attention to heal from his... recent exertions."
Lady Tarly offered a hasty, deeply embarrassed curtsy, murmuring a fractured excuse before turning on her heel and practically fleeing down the corridor, her silks rustling loudly in the quiet hall.
You watched her go, a small, triumphant smirk curving your lips as you tasted the sweet thrill of total victory. But before you could fully savour it, Gwayne stopped walking. With a sudden, fluid movement, he turned his body, using his broad shoulders to trap you against the cold stone wall of the gallery, effectively shielding you both from the main thoroughfare behind a heavy, ancient Targaryen tapestry.
"Satisfied?" he whispered, his breath hot and ragged against your cheek as his eyes tracked the rapid, telltale rise and fall of your chest. The smugness was back, but it was laced with a deep, breathless hunger.
"For now," you countered, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. Your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his tunic, resting right over the steady, frantic beating of his heart. "Feral, am I? Is that what you're telling the court, Ser Gwayne?"
"Utterly," Gwayne breathed, his thumb tracing the elegant curve of your jaw before resting right over the racing pulse at your throat. "And I have absolutely no intention of ever letting you be tamed."
SYPNOSIS: Seeing another hero being handsy after saving you.
Characters: Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian.
- Dick Grayson.
Oh boy was he mad yet happy about it. Surprisingly he wasn't surprised that some other hero was actively pinning over you, I mean you're a catch... A catch thrown directly at him and he does not like people who can't understand that.
He doesn't tell the guy that you and him are (almost) a thing, rather he almost find it entertaining watching someone else ramble about you, it's like listening to his own thoughts just he's alot more poetic, according to himself.
Was it mean? Yes. Does he care? a little, it does get annoying when he tries too hard to impress you... As if he himself never done that before...
Dick wasn't overly possessive, especially when you two aren't together (yet), afterall there was nothing to be that jealous about.
He's Nightwing and Dick Grayson, he's handsome, a total catch, charming... he already have a good enough relationship with you as dick and Nightwing. Compared to the other guy who is just a guy... Nothing to worry about.
That was until he saw the same guy saving you from some thug.
It's wrong of him to be sulking when that guy did indeed save you, but that was supposed to be his save... Not that guy or whatever his hero name was.
Dick watched from the corner his eyes glaring at the guy. His right hand was on your waist, he found it ridiculous, and your smile, that was supposed to be his smile not meant for the other hero.
Next time you got in trouble you better bet that Nightwing will be there before you even knew you were in trouble.
Well that next time came surprisingly early.
The thug didn't even have time to threaten you for your valuable, he was on the ground before he could open his mouth.
" You alright? "
Giving you that smile that he totally didn't practice for... look at how smug he is just for beating the other guy(hero) who isn't even supposed to be patrolling near the place. (Yes... he did some research and found out about the other hero's routine... It's still a fair game)
You were beyond alright, the guy didn't even have time to rob you, he was only able to size you up before he drop on the ground.
" I supposed, you can't rely on most heros since they aren't here yet , thank God im here... From now on, you can rely on me... only me "
Dick is itching to mention the other guy... but he mustn't, there was no reason to be jelous of some guy who likes you... not like the guy will ever have a chance with you or anything.
From there on he gives no opportunities for others (especially that guy) to save you, afterall you have him. You might not know but Nightwing is your hero and the public... But specifically yours from that point onwards.
The other guy? He won't give him a chance to get close to you now.
Sometimes it feels like Dick can see the future on how fast he appeared when you're in danger. You need to carry heavy stuff? Nightwing is here. Thugs are about to approach you? What are you talking about... Nightwing took them out, etc etc.
What a man he is when he's jealous and playing the petty game. If the other guy can think he can save you faster than he could? he better think twice because he just created a super human with ultra instinct in saving you... Just because he wanted to prove something that no one even knows is happening except himself...
Bruce was force to help Dick... Well his version of help is just doing his job, i.e when Batman saved you he now tells you that it's behalf of Nightwing, a lie but Dick is not losing the game... that only he participated in.
He expect kisses at times. When you kiss his cheek after he save you he'll make sure to stare right into the other guy's eyes with that smug smile... and act like nothing happened.
his hand's on your waist and making sure that the guy saw you to, inorder to make him understand that whatever he was dreaming about with you, should stay as a dream.
Afterall he's Dick Grayson. There is no competing with him.
- Jason Todd.
To whoever made him jealous... im praying for you on behalf of everyone.
Jason doesn't like it when others tries to do shit he doesn't like. Example being, trying to play hero to the girl he was openly courting.
Jason cared about you deeply, your safety was always first in his life. But when someone used that as an excuse to get close to you? They should be happy he isn't as crazy as he was before...
When he saw the hero hands on your waist he doesn't hesitate... Why should he hesitate when his girl is being grabbed by some dude in a latex and a cheap mask.
" Hands off her. "
His voice was demanding and possessive, his helmet was concealing his pissed off face and his hands were on his guns... He was making sure that the guy knew that he wasn't playing around.
" I just saved her "
The hero bite back, which is an idiotic move.
" Do you want a treat? ya' dog. I said hands off her. Now. "
Jason is scary when hes jealous, he's happy that you're safe but he's not happy about the guy wondering hands on your body. Just because he's a hero and he saved you doesn't mean he can touch you like that.
He knows that the guy was taking advantage of the situation, feeling you with his hands... It's disgusting. He won't tolerate it...
The guy comply at the end, only an idiot would openly fight with Red Hood.
After the hero was forced to leave by Red Hoods men he checked up on you. But before he could leave Jason told him something he didn't hear...
" If I see you touching her or any other women like that, I'll break all your fingers one by one... Until you learn respect and to keep your filthy hands to yourself. "
Jason doesn't play around and everyone knows that. That wasn't a threat that was a fun fact future edition.
He was more than happy to take care of a hero that takes advantage of people, just because he saved them.
When the guy left he made sure to comfort you. Standing infront of you and offering you a gun like it's nothing, I mean it's Red Hood... you can ask for any gun and he'll probably have it.
You're under the protection of Jason meaning his gang members are obligated to protect you from anything. Jason rather protect you himself, having to rely on hero's doesn't work always, it's temporary protection.
The guy doesn't dare to patrol near your location anymore, Jason almost shot some sense into him after he saw him near you... He's a straightforward guy afterall...
Jason doesn't tolerate anything that disturb or threaten you. He came from nothing, have everything and lost everything... Now that he was settled in life for once not even a dust won't fly pass him...
For once in his life he felt alive again, after years of torture he managed to feel the same way as he used to when he was Robin for the first months...
Whoever tried to do shit to you must be the dumbest person cause Jason will handle them by himself, which is worser than hell.
- Tim Drake.
He's uncomfortable, jealous and his hand's were itching to dig some dirt on the guy.
Tim does get jealous easily, probably because he wasn't good at making move or initiating since he is unsure about your feelings for him so everyone is a potential barrier in his journey to get with you.
At first when he heard your name from the guy he was uncomfortable and jealous, he doesn't say anything but everyone knows that Red Robin likes you.
It's obvious for the other hero's, Tim always saved you, prioritize you in recusing missions, blushes when you get abit physical and become extremely sharp around you.
Tim doesn't speak up because, truth be told... He doesn't want to restrict you from meeting someone better but that doesn't mean he isn't jealous at all.
But when he saw the guy being handsy after saving you, he wasn't going to listen to that philosophy he created anymore.
The other guy hand's were on your back, way too low for his liking. It wasn't like you hurt your legs and need support, you were completely fine. you seem uncomfortable as well.
Tim immediately walks towards you two, he wasn't even trying to hide how pissed off he was. Kon was thrilled on the other hand, just extremely entertained and happy to see Tim pissed off at someone.
" You're fine right? "
His attention was on you first, his jealousy was over boiling but he needs to be rational and take care of you first and out his feelings aside.
When you told him yes, his gaze turned sharp upon acknowledging the other guy, which startled him enough to take his hands off you entirely.
Tim gently grab your hand and guide you behind him, his eyes still not leaving the other guy.
" Super-boy, take them to the medic... Don't leave their side until I said so. "
Tim was beyond pissed off, you've never seen him this mad but God was he trying to suppress his expression.
" Gotcha! "
Kon didn't waste time and assist you towards the medic on duty, not without giving Tim the green light to beat the guy on his behalf.
The other hero on the other hand tried leaving, he knew Tim was about to kill him with that expression.
" Stay put. Your behaviour was highly inappropriate... Care to explain? "
As much as he hate to be this kind, he can't just start berating the guy without questions...
The guy stayed put, muttering some excuses about not realising his behaviour and that was it, Tim now has a reason to use his brain for its intended purpose.
" Stay away from her from now. That is, if you still want to hold onto your title as a respected hero "
Tim contemplated about it... He thinks it's too far, but when he realised that the guy felt no remorse and was simply using his title as a way to feel you.
Red Robin is a hero, he could never ruin the guy's life. Tim was just some guy with a company... He wasn't a hero, so he could ruin his life.
Digging into other's business is way too easy, he found some dirt on the guy within a few minutes of searching...
The light of the computer immersed him, every click show's him just exactly who the guy was... Even a rookie could dig enough dirt to threaten him.
After a week of preparation, the guy was wiped out. He wasn't dead exactly, he retired... Saying that he was fed up of saving people and not because a certain person was pulling strings.
- Damian Wayne.
He doesn't fuck around. It's common sense to never messed with people Damian cared about, especially you.
Damian never admitted about liking you to anyone except Dick, seeking for some advice from him and Alfred at times.
But everyone in the hero work who worked alongside him knew that there was something between you and Robin.
It would be a lie tp say that he doesn't treat you better compared to others. Even as Robin and especially as Damian.
It was as if you were specifically protected by Robin, no thugs or criminal wanted to messed with you especially after dealing with the demon son himself.
He's ruthless compared to others, doesn't fuck around, straightforward with his intentions in teaching lessons and his possessiveness towards you was as glaring as the sun.
Not only is Damian protecting you Superboy is involved too ( Jon ). Jon is you and Damian's biggest supporter, he knows about Damian big crush on you and is activity trying his best to be a wingman... Much to Damian's dismay.
When he saw the guy hand's on your waist for a while he doesn't hesitate to approach you two with his usual face, just that his eyes were on fire starting at nothing else but the guy's hands on your waist.
Damian doesn't need to talk, his presence alone was enough to scare the guy but not enough for him to let go.
Damian was the one to yank the guy's hand off you and pulling you towards him, he was much taller than the guy so he was looking down on him.
" What's... your problem? "
The guy still wanting to keep up his image asked trying to sound brave.
" My problem? Is that you can't keep your filthy hands off her. My solution, cutting your hands off "
Damian answered truthfully, lifting his katana from the saya to show that he was not kidding around and actually thinking about cutting the guy's hands for touching you.
Damian doesn't care about anything else now, he was itching to beat some sense or go though with his word.
He won't tolerate buffoons with behaviour problem, the league taught him to protect what he value even if it means bloodshed and thankfully Bruce taught him to hesitate and think... If Bruce didn't taught him that, it'll be a bloody mess by now.
" Let's calm down everyone...! I'll handle him myself "
Thankfully Jon appeared and put himself between the guy and Damian, forcefully pushing Damian's Katana back into the saya.
With a scoff Damian also decided to not go through with his plan. He rather not go through the process of explaining and having to clean his katana again.
Tho he did ask Jon for a favour. The poor guy was hung on the Billboard by Jon for atleast an hour... Before Jon helped him down.
Tho for you it was entertaining more than anything, you didn't knew Damian's identity as Robin and only knew that Robin stood up for you.
Later when you met Damian and not as Robin just as Damian you couldn't help but ramble about what happened.
" Beloved, you shouldn't be so easily impressed... it's embarrassing "
sokka x reader (gn!reader [fem. leaning]) [getting together, mild crack, fluff, jealousy, confessions, first kiss]
summary: you and sokka are both very affectionate people, and there isn't anything wrong with that. a conversation with aang shifts your perspective, and for some reason, you think avoiding sokka will do wonders for your relationship. spoiler alert: it doesn't.
warnings: probably some fem!terms, jealousy, mild arguments, reader avoiding sokka, tame sexual joke(s), maybe ooc (i haven't written for avatar in a LONG while), reader is fucking stupid, oblivious reader, misunderstandings, maybe spelling errors, no use of y/n, second person
word count: 7.6k (yo..flip that around....)
note: i've always been a sokka girl.. HE'S SO BAD i haven't watched the movie i'm waiting for actual release but oughhh ignore any canon inconsistencies because of that i wrote this in likeee one day i love him i am working on my other fics i swear ALSO i will take requests for avatar...... just make sure to check over the rules okay enjoy baiii
Yours and Sokka’s relationship was platonic.
Very platonic. As platonic as it could possibly get. So platonic, in fact, that you had never even thought of dating him or anything silly like that.
(Well. Maybe that last part was kind of a lie. But it had only been once or twice, back when you were stupid teens trying to figure out how to save the world.)
You, personally, thought that it was obvious.
Apparently, it wasn’t.
“I’m pooped.” Sokka sighs loudly, leaning heavily on your back as he peers over to glance down at Toph, who stood before you, crossing her arms.
“What distinguished vocabulary you possess.” You reply, smiling lightly as you reach up and pat blindly at his arm.
“Thanks. I try.”
“Oh, I can tell.”
“Can you?”
“Of course.”
He hums happily. “I appreciate it.”
Toph clears her throat loudly. You turn your attention back to her quickly, an apologetic tone in your voice.
“Sorry, Toph. What were we talking about?”
“Nothing important.” Her eyes narrow slightly as she stares right at you, although not quite at your eyes. “Sokka.”
“Toph. Wonderful to see you, as always.”
“Can’t say the same.” She replies, deadpan. For a moment, Sokka jostles against your back, an offended noise leaving his lips before you lightly jab an elbow into his side. He gets it after a moment.
“Ah!” He perks up, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you quickly. “Ha! I get it! Good one, Toph! Real knee-slapper!”
Toph lets the faintest smirk appear on her face.
“I’m sure we all got it.” She says, leaning back on her heels. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I say hi to my friends?” Sokka tilts his head, his cheek brushing against your ear. “Is that a crime, Toph? Am I going to get arrested?”
“It’s a crime when it’s the two of you.”
“Huh?” You raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Everything.”
You turn back to exchange a look with Sokka, who shrugs back at you, just as, if not more, confused.
“Okay.” Both of you say in unison as you look back at her.
“Ugh. Don’t do that. That’s weird.”
“Well, I wasn’t lying when I said I was just stopping by to say hi.” Sokka stretches, taking a step back from you. You miss the warmth that came with him. “Got things to do, people to see, yada yada.”
“I’m sure you do.” Toph responds, raising an eyebrow. “But with all of your impending duties, you just had to come say hello?”
“How could I not? I heard very familiar voices and I couldn’t resist.” Sokka’s hand finds its way to your cheek, pinching it lightly and tugging before letting it go. He knows better than to try that with Toph. He learned the hard way.
“Oh, we know what you can’t resist.” Toph cackles. You don’t get it. You turn to Sokka, a questioning look on your face, but once again, he looks just as clueless.
“Uh…sure.” He smiles, patting your cheek where he’d just pulled.
You laugh softly, swatting away his hand. “Aww, well, we appreciate it.”
“I don’t.” Toph interrupts.
“You definitely do. I can feel it in your bones.” Sokka declares confidently.
“My bones?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve developed bone bending. I can detect what you truly feel. Of course, I’ve always had this ability. Say goodbye to being used as a lie detector, Toph. I’m the new big deal, and heart rate won’t matter this time. This is all in the bones. You can’t fake bones.”
“Bone bending, huh? Enlighten me.” You grin, shifting your weight onto one leg as you turn to focus your attention on him.
“I’d love to.” Sokka beams back. “Now, this all started way back when—”
“Well, I’m sure you’d love to, but weren’t you just plagued with ‘things to do and people to see’?” Toph cuts in.
Sokka looks thoughtful suddenly, like it had slipped his mind completely. “You’re totally right. Bone bending just gets me so distracted. I’m very passionate about it, you see. It’s kind of my whole thing.”
You snort, shaking your head. Sokka looks utterly delighted as he takes a few more steps backward.
“Alright, see you guys later. Don’t miss me too much.”
“We’ll try not to.” You reply happily. He puts a hand to his lips and loudly blows a kiss to the two of you, spinning on his heel and happily whistling something off-tune.
“I can’t stand you two.” Toph complains as Sokka leaves. You know that her volume is always loud enough for everyone around to hear. Sokka turns his head back, just barely, to stick out his tongue.
“Jealous!” He calls, and then he’s gone. You laugh and wave at his back as he goes.
“What?” You ask as you look back towards Toph, whose expression can be described as nothing but disgusted. “What?”
She scrunches her nose, fanning under it like she’s trying to get rid of a painful odor. “I would say ‘you know what’, but you don’t, which is what makes this worse.”
You blink. Okay. Vague. Thank you, Toph.
“I hate lovebirds.” She continues, walking forward. As she passes you, she hits your arm. In turn, you wrap your other arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to her head.
“Get well soon?” You try as she playfully shoves you off.
“I should be saying that.”
As she goes, she mumbles something about idiot boys and idiot girls that she surpassed in intellectual ability. You didn’t dare to doubt her.
Recently, she’s been doing things like that. Unclear words that could rival proverbs of ancient past and riddles that would make anyone’s head spin. Sickened looks and scoffs and odd comments. And it was only when you and Sokka would interact.
Weird.
You didn’t think there was anything to warrant the behavior, but Toph was a little difficult to understand sometimes, so you didn’t really think much of it.
And then Zuko would flash weird looks when Sokka would wrap an arm around your shoulder and Katara would stare when you leaned against him.
Which was also weird.
Everyone had their own lives, now that you’d all grown up. You weren’t a bunch of (pre-)teens worrying about the fate of the world anymore. You had more normal but tiresome responsibilities, which meant not seeing each other as often.
But the times you were all together, all you would get were funny looks.
And you weren’t stupid. You knew that it was for a reason, but you truly couldn’t understand why.
So, of course, you decided to consult your beloved friend who would never keep you from the truth.
The Avatar himself.
“Aang! Hey, Aang!” You call, waving wildly at the retreating flash of yellow and orange you know and love.
Aang stops in his tracks, turning around with a thousand-watt smile already lighting up his face.
“Gee, you’re excited!” He notes, grabbing your forearms as you slow to a stop in front of him. “What could I have done to deserve that?”
Sometimes, you catch a glimpse of the little boy you’d met all those years ago. It’s the same with Toph. It melts your heart and makes you sad, knowing how quickly time slipped by, how tall and strong and wonderful the kids you knew got.
“I need advice. Help. A talk. Whatever.” You shake your head.
“What’s going on?” Aang’s eyebrows furrow slightly as he glances down at you. “Nothing bad’s happened, right?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” You correct, rubbing at your cheek lightly.
The two of you sit down on a nearby bench, your foot tapping against the ground quickly. You slam a hand down on your knee to make it stop. Aang raises an eyebrow.
“Okay. Uh…why is everyone acting funny?”
Aang thinks about it for a moment. “They are? Who’s everyone?”
“Toph. Zuko. Toph. Katara. Toph. Have I mentioned Toph?”
“No, I don’t think you have.”
After a beat, the two of you erupt into giggles. It feels oddly childish for how old you are now, but it feels good to relax.
“Seriously, though.” You clear your throat. “They just keep saying weird things and casting judgmental looks. Have I secretly been declared the enemy of all?”
“Not that I know of?” Aang shrugs, leaning back against the back of the bench. “Do they just…always do it?”
“Always? No, no. It’s…it’s only when Sokka’s around.”
Aang freezes. His eyes widen slightly and his lips pull back into a faint grimace, but you’re too busy letting your words take over to notice.
“And I don’t even get it at all! What could possibly be the reason for all the funny behavior, huh? It’s not like Sokka and I have been acting differently. If anything, I think we’ve been acting the exact same this whole time. As normal as we possibly could be. I haven’t said or done anything out of the ordinary, not that I know of, so whatever warrants this has to be—”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Aang raises his hands, cutting you off. “I think I see the frustration.”
“Do you?” You ask, exasperated. You slump back against the bench.
“Definitely.”
The look on his face looks strained, like he’s trying to hold back an awfully pained expression. It only makes your worries worse.
“What?” You ask desperately. “Don’t beat around the bush like Toph does. I’ll cry.”
“You won’t cry.” Aang says simply. “Uh…where to start…”
That’s a terrible beginning to an explanation. That means there’s a lot to go over and you were in some deep trouble.
You wait not-so-patiently for him to continue.
“Sokka…and…you…” He begins slowly, clasping his hands, “are very…close.”
“...yes.” You nod back just as slowly. “Aren’t we all?”
“Well…yeah. But there are different levels of being close.”
“Sure.” You agree. “Like you and Katara.”
“Right! Like me and Katara.”
“Right. So the problem is…?”
Aang bites the inside of his cheek. “The problem is…that you and Sokka are very close.”
“You said that already!” You complain. “What’s so wrong with that!”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just that we…are…wondering…about…the extent…of your relationship!”
The pauses he includes almost make you want to strangle the words out of him. Instead, you take a deep breath and try to collect your thoughts. The extent of your relationship? There’s only one thing you can come up with to explain that.
“We’re not fucking.”
“I didn’t say you were!” Aang cries, a faint hue of red dusting his cheeks like he wasn’t the one to insinuate that.
“Then what were you saying?”
“I was saying that maybe you and Sokka are a little closer than everyone else is!”
“I…guess?” Your eyebrows knit together. “Not really, though, right?”
“Ehh…” Aang trails off, glancing away.
“What?” You pry, leaning forward. “Say it. I won’t say anything.”
“Ehh…” He repeats, turning his head completely around.
“Aang!” You grab his face and snap it back around. “Stop avoiding the topic!”
“I’m just trying to think about how to word this!”
“Just say it straight up! I won’t say anything!”
He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like ‘you will’ but you ignore it for his actual input instead.
“Let’s see…okay. You’re very…comfortable around Sokka, right?”
“I’m comfortable around everyone.” You respond.
“That’s different.”
“No it’s not. I’m the same with everyone. Aren’t I?” You try to think back on it.
“I’d say you’re a bit more affectionate with Sokka.”
“Affectionate how?”
“Well…you know…the basics.”
“Such as…?”
Aang clears his throat. “Uh…you guys hug a lot?”
“I hug everyone. That’s not weird. You hug everyone. Is it weird to hug people, Aang?”
“No!” Aang shakes his head. “Hugging isn’t abnormal. But you kiss him, too.”
“On the cheek. There’s nothing wrong with kissing people on the cheek, or anywhere else.” You cross your arms. “I kiss everyone, too. I kiss you on the cheek. I kiss Katara on the cheek. And Zuko and Toph.”
Aang runs a hand down the side of his face. “Right. You do.”
“I do. So, what’s the problem?”
“It’s just that…you…kiss Sokka on the cheek like I kiss Katara on the cheek.” He snaps his fingers, leaning forward once he’s made the connection.
“Uh…” You close your eyes, picturing the four of you side by side. “But you and Katara are together.”
“Yes…” Aang nods supportively.
“Sokka and I aren’t together.”
“Right…”
“So how would I kiss him that way if we’re not together?”
“Exactly!” Aang claps. “You’re close to him in a way that Katara and I are close, except you aren’t together.”
It takes a moment for you to realize what he’s getting at. Once you do, your entire body seems to heat up.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” You shake your head so hard you might rattle your brain. “So—you’re saying that everyone is acting weird because Sokka and I act like we’re a thing?”
“Basically?”
“But we’re not!”
“You could be?” Aang tries. “I mean, do you want to be with Sokka?”
Loaded question. Your mind shortcircuits, your heart skipping a beat as the idea firmly plants itself in your head. You and Sokka? You and Sokka?
It’s not like it was a completely foreign idea. You see where Aang’s coming from, but also, that’s Sokka. Sokka, who’s been the same with you since the day you met. Sokka, who’s been by your side for years and never said a word about it. Sokka, who you’ve watched get and lose partners over the span of your journey together.
He wasn’t ugly. Quite the opposite, really. You could admire that without having a silly crush on him.
But…but you did like him. Kind of a lot. That didn’t mean it had to be in that way.
Still…you did get a lot happier when he was around. And you were more comfortable with his presence and letting him place a hand on you or an arm around you. You’d let anyone do that, but you suppose that maybe you wouldn’t be as ecstatic and content with it if it had been Katara or Toph instead.
Those were feelings, though. Normal feelings. You think. You’re not quite sure, actually. So what were all the weird looks for then? Did the others find your relationship odd, or did they…
“Honestly…everyone thought you guys were dating.” Aang cuts off your train of thoughts as if reading your mind. “I mean, that’s just what it looks like.”
“For how long?”
“Huh…I don’t know. It’s looked like you’ve been dating for years.”
“Years?” You repeat increduously. It can’t have been that long that the two of you had been…ugh. This was hurting your head. You still hadn’t answered Aang’s question.
I mean, do you want to be with Sokka?
What would that entail, anyway? With what Aang’s saying, nothing would change. Except the presence of actual kisses, and maybe waking up with him, and living together and—
Okay. That got too real too fast. Your face flushes and you turn away slightly. Aang—alert, lovely, and too observant for his (your) own good, Aang—catches on instantly.
“You do!” He cries, overjoyed. “You do want to be with him!”
You shake your head quickly, but he enthusiastically points at your leg. “Look at that speed! You only do that when you’re really nervous!”
True to his word, your leg was bouncing at the speed of light. You slam both of your hands down on your knee to make it stop, your eyes wide.
“Not so loud!” You hush him, despite the fact that you were probably being just as loud.
“Sorry, sorry!” He whispers, leaning in to grin at you. “But you do like him!”
“I…maybe?” The roar of emotions in your heart implied a more honest sentiment.
“You do. So…talk to him.”
“I can’t just talk to him.”
“Sure you can! He’d get it.”
“How would you know? He thinks this is all normal.”
“No way he does. Sokka’s not that stupid.”
“Does that mean I was stupid for thinking so?”
“I didn’t say that! I just meant that he’s probably having an epiphany right now, too.”
“Is he?” You raise an eyebrow. “And you would know that how?”
“Katara wanted to talk to him earlier.” He shrugs.
Crap. Okay. So the two of you were being cornered and told exactly what’s going on between you both. Definitely comforting.
“What do I do? Aang, guide me through this, now.” You lean in closer, eyes darting around like Sokka might pop out of any corner.
“Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s a stranger anymore. You’re never afraid to speak your feelings. So…just go for it.”
“That’s not clear enough!”
“It doesn’t have to be. Do you want this turning point of your life to be pre-planned and rehearsed?”
“I…guess not.”
“Exactly! It’ll be more authentic and successful if you just lead with your heart and go for it.”
“I can’t just do it now!”
“Then don’t. Sleep on it. Let yourself grasp the lines of your emotions, then ask to see him, and go!”
“What if he hates me for it? What if he really thinks that this was all friendly?”
“He won’t. Trust me.”
“How would you know?”
“You know who knows Sokka the best?”
It doesn’t take a second to reply. “Katara.”
“Exactly. Their sibling bond is really strong. And Katara is completely convinced that he really lo—likes you.” The stutter goes unnoticed.
“Are you sure about this?” You chew on your bottom lip. “What if everything gets messed up?”
“It won’t. I promise. Even if the impossible happens, you and Sokka have been friends too long to let this damage you in any way. It won’t change things.”
“I don’t know. This is pretty big.”
“Bigger than defeating the Fire Lord?”
You crack a smile. “Maybe not.”
“Definitely not.”
A long, deep breath mostly calms down your nerves. You nod slowly, leaning back and looking around.
“Okay. I’m going to…think about this. Sleep on it.”
“Good.” Aang nods back. After a moment, he looks back at you. “I think you guys would be really good together.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re like two halves of the same person. You’re both better and more complete together.”
“Aww, Aang. You’re so sweet.” You smile, pinching his cheek. He laughs softly and pushes your hand away.
“I’m serious. You’re one of my best friends. You deserve to be happy, and I think Sokka would help with that.”
You might actually cry now. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly. It takes less than a second for Aang to reciprocate, squeezing you so tightly you might lose your breath.
Neither of you say a word. You don’t need to.
After a few seconds of silence, Aang breaks it.
“Also, we’d pretty much basically be siblings if you two got marr—”
“Aang!”
—
You weren’t lying to him when you said that you’d actually think about it.
You did think about it. You slept on it that night and dreamt about it. You ate breakfast the next morning thinking about it. You worked and thought about it. You took a walk and thought about it. You talked to Zuko and thought about it.
In fact, it hadn’t left your mind once.
Because the moment the realization was planted in your brain, you weren’t able to let go at all.
You were lucky to not encounter Sokka for the majority of the day. You might have died if you did.
Now, the problem was that idea carried over into the next day. And the next day. And the next. Until it had been nearly a week since your eye-opening talk with Aang, and you had barely interacted properly with Sokka since.
It was stupid to think that no one would notice. It was kind of obvious.
Really obvious.
Toph and Sokka are sitting together and talking? Great! You’ll sit down next to Toph and let her lay her head on your lap while you let them mostly speak.
Katara and Sokka are walking together? Lovely! You’ll let Katara stand in the middle and act as a barrier while you try to grasp the overwhelming feelings he brings.
Everyone is hanging out after dinner? Fantastic! Zuko can take your weight as you lean against him and try not to fall asleep.
Aang, too smart for his own good, did not allow you to use him as a wall.
He caught you on day six, pulling you aside.
“So…what did we talk about?” Aang asked, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
“To talk to him, yeah, yeah. I’m thinking right now, okay? Can’t a person just think?”
“Not like this! You’re not even trying to act normal anymore.”
“Just give me a couple of more days. I’ll get there. Promise.”
You were now closing up on day seven, and you still had no idea what to do.
You wanted to talk to him about it. Of course you did. But the idea of actually having to face him and talk about something so personal felt so…weird. You just didn’t want to have to do it. Not now, at least.
Except you did want to talk to him. You didn’t know how, but you really did want to. You were good at talking, just going with the flow, so why did this mess you up so bad?
Ugh.
Night was falling, and you weren’t feeling any more tired than you had a couple of hours ago. You’re smart enough to know when you’re not going to get any sleep. So, obviously, you have to take a nighttime stroll instead to clear your head.
That would help. Walking always helped, even if you drowned in your own thoughts first before letting yourself be pulled out.
You all were staying in a relatively small village in a relatively large house together. Did that make it harder to avoid him? Yes. Did it make it more suspicious? Yes. Which is exactly why you should have gone out on a walk ages ago.
Well, you can’t change the past now.
It’s not too lively outside. Things are dying down, and most people are retreating to their homes after a long day of work. A couple of them greet you with tired smiles as you pass by, which you return with double the energy. Waves and calls of good night’s take up most of your initial excursion, leaving you no room to think until you get to the very edge of the village.
It’s quieter out there. The moon shines down on you, peeking through dark clouds that might bring about rain later. You’re not too sure about the forecast.
As you make your way along the perimeter, you try to gather your thoughts, you really do. They’re just as much of a jumbled mess as they were way back when you first figured out what the two of you truly were. Or, tried to figure out, at least.
What you do know is that you like Sokka. Like like, bordering onto actual love, which is a terrifying thought. How could you have been in love with him for all this time and not know? Scary. You’d like to stick to like like instead, just for now, just so that you don’t implode.
You don’t know if he likes you back. Aang swears on his life that he does. You want to believe him, but doubt always makes its presence known, no matter how much you try to push it down. You can’t force yourself to believe it, but you can try. For now, you’re just going to think about this logically.
He might like you back.
So…how to bring it up? Something tells you that ‘Hey Sokka, I talked with Aang and I realized that I’ve liked you for a while now, you should let me be your girlfriend’ won’t really work.
You could be really sappy about it and have a nice long speech prepared. Or you could go out on a whim and say something simple.
Neither sounds very appealing to you. You want something meaningful, but like Aang said, not forced. You want it to matter.
You don’t even notice the figure standing in front of you until you crash right into him, too focused on staring into nothingness. Apologies are already spilling from your lips.
“No, no, it’s okay.” The man reassures, grabbing your shoulders to stop you from tripping over yourself. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am. Sorry again. I’m totally fine. I really don’t know why I—sorry.” You respond, trying to shove down the embarrassment that comes with nearly knocking over a stranger you definitely should have seen coming.
“No harm done, promise.” He reassures. His hands have not yet left your shoulders, and when he notices that, he quickly drops them like he’s been burned. “You must have been deep in thought, huh?”
You offer a shrug, rubbing your arm. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Love troubles?” He asks. You startle, taking a step back. He laughs and tilts his head. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“I’m not that obvious. I’m not…am I?” You ask desperately, nearly hissing as you lean forward, your voice hushed in fear of someone else nearby overhearing.
The man offers you a comforting grin. “To me, maybe. I’m not too sure about anyone else.”
“So you know about love troubles.”
“Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not go accusing a guy without even asking his name!” The man raises his hands in surrender.
“Ah…you’re right. Sorry. May I have the name of the gentleman who I nearly knocked over?”
“Why, of course. I’m Lee.”
You do not believe that for a second, but Lee was a pretty popular name. You let him off the hook.
“Well, Lee. I suppose we’re both having our own love struggles.”
“Maybe we are.” He offers a one-armed shrug. “I think we’ll get past it.”
“I sure hope we do.”
It’s weird, the concept of mildly opening up to a guy you’ve never seen before and likely never will, but that’s also comforting. He’ll forget all about you at some point, and you him, so you won’t have to worry about gossip spreading. No one will care.
Before you can do something stupid like dump your entire life’s story on this guy, he speaks first.
“I think that you might have a name as well.” Lee asks, shifting his weight as he leans on his leg, a little closer.
“I might.” You joke.
“And that name is…?”
You open your mouth to reply, but when your name is said, it’s not your voice that responds.
It comes with a heavy arm around your shoulders, firmly planted behind your head, completely wrapping around your body. It comes with a warmth you’re very familiar with and a scent that can only be matched to one man you know.
“I’ve seriously been looking for you everywhere. I mean, I nearly had to start checking under everyone’s beds, and I don’t really want to know what I’d find under Zuko’s.”
Sokka.
Okay. Awkward. Lovely. You’re kind of afraid.
Lee looks a bit taken aback, his eyes widening. His gaze meets yours and he mouths ‘love?’ to you, to which you breathe out and nod.
Sokka catches this instantly.
“What was that?” He asks, squinting. “A secret code? That was weird.”
Lee coughs. “Uh…we were just talking.”
“Right.” Sokka nods, stretching out the vowel as he raises an eyebrow and looks between Lee and you under his arm. “Cool. Well, we’ll be going now, alright? Bye.”
He turns you right back around, his arm guiding your body and forcing you to follow after him. You turn your head back to look at Lee, who smiles at you. You look back front, then back at him again, to which he forms a heart with his hands and a thumbs up.
Your cheeks flush pink. Sokka’s free hand plants itself on the top of your head, swiveling it back to face your front.
“Why—are you blushing?” Sokka cuts himself off, sounding absolutely scandalized. He lifts up your face and appears to analyze it, his fingers grasping your jaw.
“No.” You deny pathetically.
“Holy bison, you are.” He shakes his head. “Hold on. What was going on back there? Who even was that? Why were you out so late? Was that your…your secret lover?”
His voice spikes in pitch, just like it would back when you were teens and his voice would crack. This was really embarrassing now.
“That was…not…my ‘secret lover’. I don’t have a ‘secret lover’.” You correct, reluctantly pulling his hand down. “I just went for a walk.”
“Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble upon a handsome guy down there and spark conversation.”
“That is exactly—a what guy?” You nearly shriek.
“Don’t act innocent. I can see right through your ruse.” Sokka’s arm does not loosen around your shoulders as you continue to walk.
“What ruse?”
“The one where you’re trying to convince me that you weren’t sneaking out to see a guy.”
“I wasn’t doing that.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“Walking.”
“Walking. Right. That didn’t look like walking.”
“Well, it was. Until I accidentally bumped into him.”
“Bumped into him!” His grip on your shoulder tightens. “I guess you stumbled right into his arms, too!”
“That did not happen.” You frown. “Why are you making stuff up?”
“I’m coming to plausible conclusions.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“You weren’t even there!”
“Exactly! Who knows what else went on before I got there? Did you exchange poetry? Recite haikus to the stars?”
“None of that happened!”
“Of course not. So I’m just supposed to believe that you haven’t been avoiding me and seeing some villager for the past week.”
Before you can try to refute his claims, he shushes you, his finger pressing against your lips.
“And don’t even try to deny the avoiding part. I’m not stupid. You can attempt to cover up seeing him, but you can’t pretend you haven’t been running away from me.”
His finger leaves your lips, and you fall silent. He was right. You were avoiding him, just not for the reason he thinks.
“I…was not…seeing Lee in the village.”
“But you were avoiding me.”
You chew on your bottom lip slowly. “It wasn’t avoiding.”
“It most certainly was.”
“I just wouldn’t call it that.”
“I would.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Well, then what would you call it?”
“...taking some time to myself?”
Sokka frowns. “Really? Of course, that doesn’t apply to Katara, or Toph, or Aang, or Zuko. Just me.”
Right. If anything, you had doubled your levels of affection with the rest of your friends. You swallow thickly, trying to find the words.
“Maybe I needed a bit of time from you.”
Why did you say that? Why would you say that? You can’t even try to take it back.
Sokka falls unusually silent. The only sound is the fall of your syncretized footsteps against the soft earth.
“Why?”
You barely hear it. You probably wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been listening for something, anything to leave his lips.
“Nothing important.” You were making some really bad decisions.
“It was important enough to give me up.”
“I didn’t give you up.”
“It sure feels like you did.”
You don’t have a response for that. Sokka sighs.
“Listen.” He starts, his fingers flexing against your shoulder. “I don’t care if you’re seeing…‘Lee’...in the village. That doesn’t matter to me. What—I’m talking right now, wait, you can defend yourself later—what matters to me is that you stopped finding me to find him.”
“That’s not what this is. You keep bringing Lee up, but he’s not the reason—”
“Then what?” Sokka interrupts, albeit not harshly. It’s soft when it shouldn’t be, which is why it stops your words despite the lack of violence in them. It just sounds…defeated.
What do you say now? That you have feelings for him and instead of dealing with them like an adult, you’re acting like a teenager with a crush that will never be reciprocated? That you’re practicing what it’ll feel like if he rejects you?
It’s stupid. You know he won’t do something drastic like lash out or insult you if you say something. You know he’s not like that. You know that you’re both better than that. But your mind just keeps jumping to all of these horrible ideas, and you have no idea what to believe and what not to.
You think that you should start with your heart.
“I talked to Aang a while ago.”
Sokka doesn’t say anything. He nods slowly, like its encouragement to keep going. You do.
“A week ago.” You continue. You know that he knows that’s when this whole thing started. “I wanted to know why Toph was acting so strange that day.”
“Yeah. That was weird.” He replies simply, his mind clearly elsewhere. You don’t know if that’s good or not.
“And…we talked.” You conclude, nodding along like you’d just revealed the secrets of the world.
Sokka waits for you to keep going. When you don’t he looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed.
“That’s it?” He scoffs. “That doesn’t explain anything! What did you talk about.”
“That’s private information.”
“So why would you tell me that?”
“I don’t know! That’s kind of what led to this whole thing, okay?”
Sokka takes a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, let’s start over.”
“Starting over. Got it.”
“You’re avoiding me.”
“If that’s the word we have to use.”
“It is. Something happened, and you’re avoiding me. Aang and you spoke about something, and you’re avoiding me.”
“...yeah.”
“Okay. So what was that ‘something’?”
There was no use trying to beat around it now. You need to man up and spit it out. That’s right. You’re a grown adult. You can face your feelings.
“We…are close, aren’t we?”
Sokka stiffens for a moment, but he nods. “Yeah. I’d say we’re pretty close.”
“More so than normal?”
“Uh…let’s define normal?”
“I don’t know. Like the way I am with…Toph?”
“Toph can’t be used as an example for normal.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, Sokka. Whatever. What I’m trying to say is…is that…Aang let me know that we’re…like him and Katara.”
“We are nothing like those losers.” Sokka puffs up his chest.
“Sokka.”
“Sorry. Continue.”
At least you know that he’s not really pissed at you. He wouldn’t joke around if he was. That’s a good sign.
“It means that everyone thinks we’re a thing.”
He stops in his tracks for the first time since your conversation began.
“A thing? Like a couple kind of thing?” He repeats, the disbelief coating his voice clearly.
“Yeah. Like a couple.”
“Huh.” His nose scrunches up. “So…you found that out…and you decided that you couldn’t be seen around me anymore lest Lee find out?”
“No!” You cry, swatting at him. “Stop bringing him up! I don’t even know him!”
“What am I supposed to think?” Sokka bites back.
“You’re supposed to believe me!”
“I’m trying!”
“It sure doesn’t seem like it!”
His arm finally drops from your shoulders as he covers his face and groans. “Okay. Fine! You don’t know who Lee is. I believe you. But you avoided me for some reason.”
“I told you the reason.”
“People think we’re a couple. You’re…embarrased, and you decide to stay away from me so that they don’t think that anymore.”
“That’s not it.”
“Well, that’s what I’m hearing right now.”
It’s your turn to cover your face and groan. “It’s not that part of it.”
“Then which part?”
“I’ll tell you if you stop asking questions.” You uncover your face just in time to catch him zipping his lips.
Is this it? Do you just say it straight up, now?
“I just…needed some time to think about the…extend of our relationship.” You breathe out. “That’s all.”
“So…you wanted to reflect on what we truly were.”
“Yeah.”
“And you came up with…?”
“I…don’t know.” You confess. “I don’t know.”
Sokka exhales slowly. Is that a bad sign? Maybe.
“We’re…friends.” He says.
“We are.” You repeat hollowly.
“Right. So…that’s cleared up, then.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.” You say before you can even think about it.
Sokka’s breath hitches. He stays silent for a moment. “Yeah. I didn’t think so, either.”
So you were both on the same page there. You agreed that there was more to it than friendship. That’s…good. Hopefully.
“Was it only because you needed to think about what we were?” Sokka asks.
“What?”
“You avoiding me. Was it just because of that?”
“I…yeah?”
“So it wasn’t that you…you hated the idea of being with me and had to distance yourself to stop the assumptions?”
“What? No! No, that wasn’t it at all. I just needed to think about it.”
Your outburst takes him by surprise. Once the words register, his raised eyebrows lower into an expression that looks more relieved than anything.
“Okay. Good to know.” He wets his lips. “And…and you’re being honest about that guy—”
“How many times do I have to say it?” You groan. “I don’t know him! I bumped into him and we spoke for a little bit. He has his own love troubles to navigate.”
You try to ignore the fact that you called what’s going on between you ‘love troubles’ so blatantly. You know he caught onto it. You know he knows that you know. Neither of you say anything about it.
It was kind of annoying, the way he just kept going back to Lee like he was—
Holy shit.
“Oh.” You say simply, turning to face him completely. “You’re…jealous. You’re jealous.”
“Wha—what?” Sokka splutters, taking a step back, his hands raised as he shakes his head vigorously. “Me? Jealous? Of that guy? No way!”
“You are!” You protest, taking a step forward to make up for the distance that he’s putting between you two. “That’s why you’re so pissy!”
“I’m not pissy!”
“You so are! I get it! I get it now! You’re so upset because I was with him!”
“I’m upset that you’re pretending to not know me anymore!”
“It’s doubled because of him!”
“So what?” Sokka turns it around suddenly, taking a step forward with a sudden surge of confidence. “Huh? So what if I was upset? I have a right to be! You start avoiding me, and then I go out for a walk to clear my head, and I find you all buddy-buddy with some random guy all alone at night, and what am I supposed to think of that, huh?”
You gape at him, but it’s obvious that he’s not done.
“The only thing I can think is that you’ve found a new guy to replace me or something, either as a friend or—or something more, and I haven’t even been able to have an actual conversation with just you in a week and here you are just all over this guy like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen and—ugh!”
A hand flies up to dig his fingers into his scalp. “Whatever. Whatever. Forget it. It’s stupid.”
His incoherent mumbles and pacing that leads him away from you snap you out of your stupor. “Wait. Wait! Sokka, hold on!”
Sokka stops, slowly turning around to face you.
“It’s…it’s not stupid. It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m the stupid one. I don’t know why I avoided you like that for so long. I should have just been straight up with you and done things like an adult. I’m sorry for making you feel like I was casting you aside or seeing someone else or anything along those lines. Really.”
The two of you are standing face to face, yours angled slightly upwards to meet his eyes. Sokka’s fists clench and unclench. Silence suffocates you until he closes his eyes and breathes out.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize or anything. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions and accusing you without just asking first.”
“I guess I still have some growing up to do.” You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly.
“I think we all do.” Sokka replies. “But that’s the fun of it.”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes.”
When you fall silent, it’s much less awkward this time. Still, you know that it’s not the end of your conversation.
“So…you were jealous.” You bring up again.
“Are you going to let that go anytime soon?”
“I’ll think about it.” You smile, but that’s not the reason you brought it up. “Why?”
“Why? Maybe because you were talking to a guy I didn’t know. Alone.”
“You called him handsome.”
“He kind of is. Alright, how was I supposed to feel seeing you talking to a handsome guy I don’t know all alone?”
“The others wouldn’t have reacted the same way.”
Sokka huffs. “No. They wouldn’t.”
“It’s different, then.”
“Yeah, it’s different with you. It’s always different with you.”
You stare at him with wide eyes. Sokka meets them for a moment, then grows flustered and turns away.
“I…I do like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” He mumbles.
“Like me? Or…like like.”
A quick hesitance. “The second one.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, huh.”
So…Aang was right. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but once it does, it becomes a complete mess. Your body performs about a hundred actions at once, including overheating, fidgeting fingers, rapid blinks, and nervous twitches.
“Are you going to say anything, or are you going to leave me hanging?” Sokka asks, his own nervousness concealed under a confident demeanor that you’ve long since been able to see through.
You nod, your lips parting. Here it is. This is your chance to say something, to tell him how you feel, how you want more and how you—
“I love you.”
…
You did not mean to say that. It was true, it always had been, and your heart had known that, which is why it took over instead of your brain. But you were supposed to start off slow and sweet, not jump straight into it.
Before you can even apologize for the way it made both of you freeze, Sokka’s lips parting in shock and yours quivering as if unable to take the recoil of the confession, he moves.
In an instant, his hands fly up to cup both sides of your face, his thumbs resting on your cheeks as he pulls you up to meet him halfway.
His lips are slightly chapped, contributing to a vague rough feeling that’s drowned out by the overall gentleness that comes with the kiss. It’s a simple press of lips to lips, his perfectly slotting in against yours. His hands stay firmly planted on your face, and your hands come up to rest on his chest in turn. You tilt your head slightly, but the moment you make a move, he snaps back.
His eyes are blown wide, a regretful expression on his face that scares you into believing that he’d realized that he didn’t actually like you or something. He backs up, his hands slowly falling from your face. “Crap. Sorry. Was that too soon? That was too soon. Sorry, I should have asked, I—”
You grab him by the collar of his shirt and tug him back down again. His hands shoot up, and then quickly find a place on your waist. In turn, you loop your arms around his neck. It’s not any more rushed than the last one. He’s savoring you with a gentleness you didn’t think you’d ever experience. He doesn’t push hard, just enough to make a imprint that you can’t easily get rid of.
This time, you pull back, making sure to keep your arms around him. His eyes flutter open and he looks at you. Differently. It’s fond, and while he’s looked at you like that before, there’s something so loving in the way his gaze softens that it practically turns you to mush.
“We could have done that a week ago.” He whispers to you.
“Guess we’ll have to make up for missed time.” You respond, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.
“I like the sound of that.” Sokka smiles, dipping down to steal another kiss.
BONUS
“So…were you lying when you said you didn’t care I was out with Lee?” You ask as you walk back to the house, Sokka’s arm wrapped tightly around your side.
“Oh, yeah. I was lying straight through my teeth. I was going to cry and everything.” He grins back, swooping down and pressing a quick kiss to your head as you cross the threshold.
As you turn, you hear something shatter. You jump slightly, your head swiveling to find the source as Sokka pulls you back and his shoulders tense.
“You…you did it!” Aang cries, a shattered glass at his feet. He sounds suspiciously on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe it!”
“You didn’t believe in me?” You tease, relaxing as you rest your head on Sokka’s shoulder.
“Not at all.” Aang jokes back. “But hey, I’m happy for you. Even if nothing’s really changed”
He was right. The only thing different about you guys was that you could kiss him on the lips. Still, it’s not like you’d want it any other way.
“I’m happy, too.” You reply with a soft smile. Sokka beams, grabbing your chin and kissing you again.
You don’t think he’d get bored of that anytime soon.
summary ! john gets possessive over you, ending in sex in his truck.
warnings ! literally no actual plot, all smut. mdni 18+ technically public sex but no one's around. overstim (slightly), odd positions because he's huge and you're in his truck lol. he's angry (giggles)
wc ! 1.3k
author's note ! ugh i need him so bad. so bad. so so bad.
to be added to my taglist.
The air in the truck was tense. Logan hadn't moved. Hadn't started the truck. Hadn't looked at you. The silence was crushing everything around you. Everyone had left by now, leaving you and him in his truck, alone in the arena parking lot.
He'd had a bad practice. A really, really shitty practice. All he wanted to do was take you home after that. But then he saw some douchebag flirting with you in the hallway. He dragged you away as quickly as he could, jaw clenched tight.
For a while, you didn't speak. You knew he needed time to cool down. But eventually it got too quiet for too long. "Baby—"
Logan inhaled sharply, eyes closing. You cut yourself off. He opened the door, getting out. You furrowed your brows, watching as he rounded the truck, opening your door. "Scoot," he said, his voice deep and rough and full of emotion.
You did as told, watching as he climbed in, slamming the door. Silently, he pulled you to him until you were on his lap, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he rested his head back against the back window.
He breathed out, eyes dark as they looked at you. You swallowed, feeling the arousal creeping up on you. You knew you shouldn't feel so turned on by him being like this, but you couldn't help it.
He yanked you closer, grinding your hips against his as he pulled you against him, burying his face in your neck. You moaned softly, clenching around nothing. He groaned at the feeling. His teeth nipped at your sensitive skin, his hands forcing your hips to grind against his once more.
He was hardening quickly under you.
Your hands dragged up his arms and into his hair, holding him close as you let him do what he wanted. "Fuck, you're so fuckin' good f'me," he groaned, sucking on your neck. Not soft and sensual like usual, but rough. Like he was trying to devour you.
He was.
His fingers slid inward, roughly squeezing your inner thighs, massaging them. You moaned softly, kissing his jaw, his stubble tickling your lips. He breathed out, relaxing slightly against the seat, continuing with your thighs.
He reached up, unbuttoning your shorts, slipping his fingers inside. "Mm, fuck," he breathed out as he felt you over your wet panties. He didn't move, just cupped your mound. Your hips jerked against his hand, trying to create friction.
He grabbed your hip with his other hand, stilling you. "No," he said. "Be a good girl and listen to me tonight, hmm?"
You bit your lip, burying your face in his neck. "Mhm," you hummed, licking over his pulse point.
He took his hand out of your pants, and you whined slightly from the loss of contact. He gripped your hips, manhandling you until you were beside him, lying down against the seats, your legs on his. He maneuvered so that he was facing you, his hands tugging your shorts down.
Your panties came next, then his sweats and boxers. It was slightly difficult in the confines of his truck, but neither of you cared.
He moved so he was hovering over you, leaning down and finally capturing your lips in his. His kiss wasn't sweet. It wasn't kind and soft. It was rough and hungry. His teeth nipped at your lip and his tongue invaded your mouth as he tried to devour you whole.
You moaned into the kiss, grasping his face as he ground his hips into yours, his cock rubbing up and down your slit.
"So fucking wet," he murmured into the kiss. He pulled back, resting on his knees as he looked down at you. His fingers slid through your slit, teasing your entrance, before two fingers slipped inside.
He wasn't patient. He was rough and fast like he needed this to ground himself. He groaned at the feel of you clenching around his fingers, and you gasped, a whimper leaving your lips as you tossed your head back.
His thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he fingered you. His eyes never left you, watching as your chest rose and fell and your back arched, hips bucking into his hand. He removed his hand from you quickly, forcing a whine from your lips.
"John," you whimpered, looking up at him.
His eyes were still dark, his jaw still tight. He moved back to hover over you, taking his cock in his hand and rubbing the tip over your clit. "You're mine, baby. I don't share," he told you, pushing the tip inside of you.
You moaned, eyes closing as he grabbed your legs and pushed them toward your chest. "I know," you whined out, nodding.
He smirked, shaking his head with a low chuckle. "Yeah?" He pushed in deeper, hard but not fast, giving you the time you needed to adjust to him. You bit your lip, and he groaned. He kissed your calf, teeth scraping skin gently. "So tight, baby."
His hips rocked forward more, until he was so deep you were already shaking, crying out softly. "F-fuck," you moaned.
"This pussy is mine, hm?" He started thrusting, deep and slow at first, letting you feel every drag of his cock against your walls. You moaned in response, but that wasn't enough for him. He grabbed your jaw, not hard, but with command. "Answer me, pretty girl."
You nodded. "Fuck- yes!" You cried out a little louder as his thrusts got faster, hitting that deep spot perfectly.
He hummed, leaning forward and resting his hand against the door to hold himself up as he started pounding into you. "All of you is mine. Got it? I'm not fucking playing. I will mark every part of your perfect body if I have to."
You whined, grasping at his hair and tugging to try and ground yourself. He groaned, kissing you deeply. "Fuck, fuck, do it," you sputtered into his mouth, your lips parting in loud moans as he continued to fuck you.
He thrust harder, head moving so that he could suck on your jaw. "Yeah?" he murmured into your skin. "Wanna show everyone that you're mine?"
You nodded frantically, feeling so full of him that you could barely think. He growled softly, teeth sinking into your jaw just enough to make you cry out as he fucked you with abandon. He pushed your legs further into your chest, forcing you to take more of him as he sucked on your neck.
The marks were deep and visible and he fucking loved knowing he was doing that to you. That you wanted him to do that to you. His hand came down, fingers rubbing your puffy clit roughly. "Squeezing me so good, baby. Fuck, you were made for me."
Every slide of his cock had you moaning, your legs shaking from the pressure. Every rub of your clit had you crying out, your back arched into him as you got closer. He hummed, feeling you start to pulse around him.
"There ya go, pretty girl. Let me feel you." He sucked harder on your neck, keeping his pace on your clit and in your pussy as you cried out, orgasm taking over.
Your hands grasped at his hair and shirt, legs shaking as you pulsed around him. He moaned, teeth nipping at skin as he continued fucking you. "O-oh, fuck. John, I can't—"
"You can. You will. Be my good girl."
You whimpered, overstimulation quickly starting to take over as he continued fucking you, his fingers never stopping on your clit. He was getting closer, his thrusts a little sloppier as he felt you continuing to squeeze his cock so good.
Your toes curled as your legs shook, another orgasm crashing over you much more powerfully than the last. Tears welled up in your eyes as you cried out, and that's all it took for him. Two more deep thrusts and he was spilling inside you, cock twitching as your pussy pulsed.
Slowly, he stopped, not pulling out but pulling his fingers away from your clit. He panted in time with your pants, kissing from your neck to your lips. "So good. You're so fucking good for me," he murmured into your lips.
You moaned, kissing him back deeply. "F-feel better?" you whined out, still sensitive.
He chuckled. "I don't know, maybe I need to do that again."
