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some-bunniii · 3 months

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Lucifer meeting an artist reader

・❥ The King of Hell admires your paintings

x: reader is g/n :) no use of pronouns or y/n

warnings: some raunchy details of your painting & mild swearing

When you arrived in Hell, the first thing you did was scream.

Where were you? Why was it so hot? What happened to your bed?!

“You’re in Hell, kid.” A blue bat-faced man had broke the news, as you stood helpless and confused on the street.

Hell? Like, demons and dark satanic magic kind of Hell?

That couldn’t be right. Were you that bad of a person to deserve such a fate? Did the few times you passed the Salvation Army donation bucket without dropping a coin damn you to this place?

Your death was fuzzy, a trail of shattered memories that could only give you bits and pieces of your final days. Did you go quickly in your sleep? Maybe, you hit your head so hard it caused you some kind of post-death amnesia?

Whatever had happened, you were here now with no way out.

During your first few days scouring for answers, you began to notice that Hell had an eerie similarity to life above ground. There were clubs, casinos, concerts. Heck, even TV! Sure, the things broadcasted were dark and sometimes disgusting.. but at least you had something to watch.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all? At least, compared to being thrown into dark, fiery pits for all of eternity like some cruel game of sink or swim.

Minus the people, of course. Most of them were pretty bad. Your first day watching a man get shot in the chest and lines of cocaine across tables in a diner made you decide to stay away from the streets of the city.

Which meant you had to get busy making a life for yourself. It started with working odd jobs as a bartender or a bell-hopper. You’d scrap together enough money to head to the nearest art supply store, and fill your bag with paints and charcoal pencils.

“You an artist or something?” The clerk had asked you as she scanned your items, taking note of your vast amount of diverse tools you were slowly collecting every time you stopped by.

“I usually paint, but yes, I used to do all kinds of mediums professionally when I was.. alive,” You had whispered that last part out with a pang of sadness, the reality of your situation still a fresh wound in your mind.

You had found an ad for an art studio, ran by a demon named Alexandre. You had showed him a few of your pieces, some pretty landscapes, a rendition of the Starry Night Sky which you had replaced the backdrop to be Pentagram city instead of whatever little village it was originally, and a self portrait.

“You got talent, i’ll give you that,” He had hummed, as his eyes scanned your paintings with intrigue, “But the subject? Not really what we’re looking for.”

“What do you mean?” You had asked, confusion evident in your voice.

“We’re in Hell, demons ain’t into pretty ponies and happy, little trees. They want more— eh how do i put this — sinful behavior?”

“Like…?”

“Like tits or anything that can be turned into a kink. They like blood and guts, and dead people splayed around. Dead angels too. Stuff like that.”

Tits? Dead people? You didn’t have much practice with that! At least not enough to make a career out of it.

But you had agreed anyway, this was your only shot. You stayed up late into the night, sometimes even into the early mornings, perfecting your skill when it came to much more risqué visuals. You would buy stacks of pornograohic magazines, flipping through for poses to memorize.

Slowly, you began to master the craft, and your time at the studio increased as you finally settled into life in Hell.

All you had to do was churn out painting after pastel after acrylic in the little cramped room you now called home. Alexandre would then take your pieces and sell them to the highest bidder. You’d get a percentage of the commission, using the money for whatever necessary.

Seeing as you could be mugged at literally any point in time, or anywhere for that matter, you made sure to keep a large sum of cash locked away in a double-bolted safe.

“You know Ozzie’s, that club down in the Lust Ring?” Alexandre had approached you one day, excitement in his eyes.

You shook your head as you sat behind the easel, your brush an inch from the canvas.

“Run by Asmodeus, one of the literal seven deadly sins?”

You shook your head once more.

“Fuck, you still have a lot to learn. Well, he really likes your art. He wants to buy a bunch of paintings for his club, and he’ll drop a shit ton of cash too. Ya think you can handle it?”

Your eyes had widened when he told you the exact price this sin guy was willing to pay. You had jumped from your seat, shaking his hand in profuse thanks, before scurrying off to gather more supplies.

And for a time, that’s how it went. You’d sell your steamiest paintings to Asmodeus, and other private commissions you took one after the other.

Apparently, your painting hung up in Ozzie’s was getting a lot of attention. Especially from a certain spider demon named Angel Dust.

After hearing Charlie’s decision to look for another member of their staff— someone who’d be in charge of decorating the premise with promises of love and tranquility up in Heaven— Angel Dust had taken a few snaps of your work with his phone, before showing it to Vaggie and Charlie. He had complimented your work, claiming it was ‘the best’ oil paintings he’d ever seen.

Although, in his line of work, he probably hadn’t seen many to compare yours so.

“ls this what we want in our hotel?" Vaggie had asked, motioning to a woman on the canvas that was drenched in sweat and white fluid, her private parts exposed to the audience as she posed suggestively on a stripper pole.

To which Charlie has responded, "I think it's... unique! You can definitely see she knows how to, um, really bring the scene to life! l'm sure she'll be open to creating our vision!"

Your phone had rung one night, with a voice on the other end begging you to come to her hotel and at least hear her offer for a new job.

Which lead you to the Hazbin Hotel, a slightly run down building that obviously needed more work. Inside and out.

“Oh my gosh! Hi there! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! it’s such a pleasure to meet you!”

“Thanks.. but I don’t see many guests around.” You had told her, your eyes darting around the lobby as you absorbed your surroundings.

“Well, we’re still trying to get our name out there. We’re not just any hotel, we’re a hotel set on redeeming sinners!” She exclaimed with pride.

“Redeem?” You had asked her, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.

She shook her head vigorously, “This hotel.. it’s going to be amazing! We’re going to turn Sinners into well.. non-sinners! They’ll be rehabilitated, and have morals! And honor! Heaven won’t be able to do anything but welcome them as angels!”

This idea had sounded a little far-fetched when you first heard it.

“You’ll be in charge of making art that reflects such views! Something that will make Sinners go, ‘Wow! Now that’s where I want to go!’”

“What’s in it for me?” You had asked.

“Well you’ll have your own room, and your own little studio too! I’m sure it’s much bigger than the one you already have. Plus we have a bar, and good company!”

You turned your head to the small crowd of demons a few feet away. A pornstar, a gambler, a snake guy with weird little walking eggs, and a really creepy man in a red coat that shot you a wide smile with eyes that seemed to stare right through your soul.

This was good company?

You contemplated her words, thinking deeply. Did you really need to leave the studio you were already a part of? You already had a room and place to paint, anyway.

Charlie must have noticed your hesitation to accept before quickly adding,

“Anddd you can sell your pieces here too! Plus, you can keep a hundred percent of the earnings.”

You perked up at that, the money made from your art would be... all yours? And, you’d get a breather from the drawing people having sex? That didn’t sound so bad after all!

“Deal!” You had reached out a hand, shaking hers with delight.

It had taken you a day or two to map out the interior of the hotel and figure out what could go where. You began to slowly brainstorm, what could make a sinner stare at a canvas and want to redeem themselves?

During your time on earth, you studied many artists through history. Most notably however, were those from the Renaissance. You remembered walking through the Sistine Chapel when you were younger,

staring at awe of the paintings of winged angels and heavenly skies.

You perked at that thought. That was it! The inspiration for your paintings, an ethereal perspective on what one would find in heaven. The feelings of bliss and care-free joy.

You spent your first few days in an undisturbed area of the hotel, it was a large room on the farthest side of the lobby. It must’ve been a guest room at one point, but other than a bed and few cushions that the ‘Radio Demon’ had placed for you, it was empty.

It was quiet enough that you could sit there, undisturbed, as you drew upon your memories and vast knowledge of histories in art as you slowly began to bring your ideas to life. Slowly, the room also took form into being yours, personal knick-knacks and stacks upon stacks of blank canvases waiting to bring your visions to life.

At the end of every day, you'd come out with your hands covered in charcoal and paint, your hard work on full display.

You had even grown closer to the other residents in the hotel, beginning to see them as more than their initial appearance. Even Alastor, who still kind of gave you the creeps, you had regarded as someone you could speak to without hesitation.

You’d sit on the couches with Angel Dust, drowning in popcorn as you watched whatever was on TV for the night. Sometimes, you’d sit with Husk at the bar as you listened to his stories from his days at the casino and as an Overlord.

It was there, when Charlie had summoned the courage to call her father, Lucifer, the King of Hell, to come visit the hotel and decide on getting her that meeting with the higher powers in Heaven.

Upon hearing about Lucifer's impending visit, you felta mixture of nerves and excitement. You've heardstories about him-his charisma, his power--but you never expected to meet him, let alone showcase your art to him. Would he even like them? He's no doubt seen much more beautiful sights.

As preparations for Lucifer's visit got more chaotic by the minute, you found yourself back in your Atelier, quickly cleaning up your room and berating yourself for any little mistakes you found in your paintings. Each stroke of the brush carried with it a sense of urgency, a desire to impress not just your friends at the hotel, but also the King of Hell himself.

The current piece you were working on was your most intense one yet. It depicted that of an almost nude man, flying high in the skies. His back was faced towards you, his face hidden from view. He was faced towards the sun, which bathed him in a warm glow. Arms outstretched, knees curled in, it seemed as if the angel was going to give the sun a large bear-hug.

It wasn’t until you heard loud commotion in the lobby did you realize Lucifer had arrived. Quickly dropping the brush you were holding, you sneaked down the stairs and quickly neared the archway of the lobby.

Peaking your head out, you canned the large room. Until your eyes locked in a pale figure. Lucifer.

He was beautiful, definitely held the looks of an angel that fell from heaven. His light blonde hair curled elegantly around his face. The candles from the chandelier above basked him in an ethereal glow, as though he could replace the sun itself. Just like the angel from your painting.

His eyes reminded you mostly of a snake. Calculating and cold, but holding so much wisdom and depth. There was a slight sadness there as well, as though itate at him slowly, consuming his soul. It was masked incredibly well though, and you only caught a glimpse before it disappeared.

His attitude toward his daughter made your heartmelt, it was obvious he cared about her in the way heacted and spoke to Charlie, even if his absence didn't speak so fondly of him.

As Lucifer and Alastor butted heads, you quickly scurried back to your room. You had hoped to finish your work-in-progress by the time he arrived, but the struggle to get those damn angel wings to be anatomically correct was a pain.

You hurriedly continued your work, trying to calm your nerves by busying yourself with the painting in front of you.

Charlie's voice broke you out of your concentration soon after, multiple footsteps closing in on where your room lay. You shot up from your seat, and stood up straight, ready to meet the man of the hour.

You couldn't help but feel a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension as they approached your make-shift gallery.

Charlie, Vaggie, and— wow, he looked so much better up close— Lucifer stepped through the doorway.

“Dad, this is the newest addition to our staff! They are in charge of helping to inspire our future guests through the power of art!" Charlie proclaimed with glee, pulling you by the arm towards her father.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. I apologize for being so messy, I was just finishing up another painting." You had greeted him softly.

"Don't worry, you look great," He assured, a gleam in his eyes, "and the pleasure is all mine, anyone who is willing to help my little girl is someone worth meeting,"

You stood there for a moment. Unsure of where to go next, before you felt a slight nudge from Charlie that pulled you back to reality, "Why don't we take a look at your paintings? I promise you, Dad, they are amazing!" She squealed softly.

Beckoning Lucifer forward, you took him through each painting. You described your feelings for each piece, and what made you choose them for the hotel.

You rambled on and on, and Lucifer never said anything, he just listened as you spoke.

Which made you nervous, what was he thinking? Did he like them, or was he just waiting for you to stop talking so he could quickly escape to something of more interest to him? The thought made sweat dribble down your forehead.

To your surprise, Lucifer's reaction to your art was not what you expected. Instead of dismissing it as mere frivolity, he studied each piece with genuine interest, his expression thoughtful and contemplative.

He mostly stayed quiet, but once in awhile would throw in a joke here and there if he noticed anything of interest in the paintings.

His goofy nature that you caught onto watching him earlier was barely evident though, unlike when he was trying to impress his daughter.

After finishing the small tour, you turned to him in anticipation. Your hands nervously rubbing together, as you shot a glance to Charlie, and she gave you an uncertain look. You both held the same question in your gaze: What is he thinking?

"These paintings.." Lucifer began, his voice low and melodic, "Are different than most i've seen down here, not just some scandalous display, but with real meaning. They evoke emotions long buried, memories of a time before.. all this."

His words caught you off guard, and you found yourself nodding in agreement, unable to tear your gaze away from his intense eyes.

The one he was staring at in particular was a recreation of The Garden of Eden by Jan Breghal, a painting that depicted the place where humanity was birthed, and where it fell.

“Does it look like.. how you remembered?" You had asked slowly, if anyone could validate the truth in your work, it would be him.

"Actually, this is much prettier. The real deal doesn't do your painting justice," He replied, "It was so boring, just green on green."

Also," He added, "An unfortunate lack of ducks. Humanity should be grateful that I got them out of that forest, so they could see something actually worthwhile.. and with ducks."

You giggled softly at his words, have you ever met someone that seemed to love ducks as much as him?

As Lucifer continued to explore the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered on certain paintings, his fingers tracing the delicate lines with reverence. It was as if he saw something in your art that no one else did, something profound and personal.

Perhaps your choice of baby-faced angels, and ethereal landscapes brought back memories of his time in Heaven. Hopefully, that wasn't a bad thing.

When Lucifer finally turned to you, his gaze softened, a hint of something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. "You have a rare gift," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To create beauty in a place like this... it's truly remarkable."

He looked at you for a moment, before a smile crept onto his lips. He was Lucifer, he knew exactly what you meant. It's what drove him to manipulate Eve to eat from the Tree of Life in the first place.

Was he finally getting a glimpse of the good free will brought to humanity? Was there actually meaning in his past actions that sent him to the depths of Hell?

His gaze narrowed in on the canvas behind you, and he slipped past you. "What is this?" He asked with intrigue, pointing towards your unfinished painting.

“My final piece. I've been working on it for days, but I just can't get the wings right.. believe it or not, i've never actually seen angel wings in person." You said that last bit as a joke.

His smile sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For the King of Hell, it was surprisingly warm, and kind.

Then an idea struck you, but you tried to desperately to push it down. Except it seemed like the only time you could ask someone with angel wings to let you use them as a reference. How many fallen angels were in Hell, anyway?

"I'm so sorry if this is out of line, but. could I, um, borrow you for a little bit? I've just been having trouble drawing the wings correctly and you, well, have them?”

His eyes widened, and his chest puffed slightly at your question. He shot you a toothy grin, “Paint me? Why didn't you mention that earlier?! I have the perfect figure for such a thing.”

Behind him, Charlie rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips. You smiled too, you should've known he'd have no problem with it, he was the embodiment of pride after all.

He plopped down on a stool before you, and removed his overcoat. Beneath what seemed to be a red and white gatsby vest that hugged his frame perfectly. Jeez, he was almost too good looking.

He stretched out his large wings, folding the otherfour behind him, only revealing the two much largerones. They were breathtaking, truly. They looked so fluffy too!

You guided him on the exact position you needed them to be in, before making your way to the canvas and getting to work.

Assuring the group you only needed to get a visual on the canvas, the actual work you would do on your own. Slowly, you traced the frame of his wings, etching out the soft lines of his feathers and the curvatures of its form.

You could only imagine how soft those feathers were and what it would be like to curl around them like a pillo-

You shook your head to rid those thoughts. Why were you thinking such things about Lucifer like that? It's not like he would even want to let you go anywhere near him or his wings.

Would he?

You continued your painting, trying not to meet his gaze as you would occasionally peak your head from behind the large canvas to get another good look at his wings.

There was a moment when you two did lock eyes, and he sent a half-lidded smirk in your direction. Thankfully the large object between you two helped hide your growing blush. He was obviously just trying to get you worked up, you assured yourself. Just like he did with Alastor. In a different way, of course.

"This reminds me of when Charlie was younger" Lucifer began, filling the silence, "We sat for a good few hours trying to get a family portrait painted and she would just not sit still!”

“Dad.. please, not right now." Charlie growled out in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. Vaggie only smiled beside her, listening intently as Lucifer filled everyone in on her younger years.

“lt got to the point where I had to summon her favorite toy to get her to stop squirming, everything was smooth sailing after that.

"And what was her favorite toy?" You inquired softly behind the canvas

“A rubber duck! Like the ones you play with in the bath? She could not get enough of it whenever it squeaked. One time the squeaker broke, and I went to my workshop and crafted her a magical one that meowed instead! Haha!"

Okay, this family really has a thing for ducks!

“She hated it, but that only inspired me to keep making more. Sometimes, we'd sit together on the work bench, and I would just come up with ideas like confetti-spitting, or color changing ducks. She wasn't too good at speaking at that time, so every time she'd laugh that was my clue that she liked it!"

It was sweet, the way he rambled about his daughter. He never spoke of himself or his accomplishments, despite embodying the sin of pride. It was almost like his only pride was his best creation, Charlie.

He continued, the room full of jokes and laughter, even from Vaggie, regarding Charlie's life as a youngling. You listened intently to his stories, his voice dripping with amusement as he recounted story after story.

lt was so sappy and you loved it. Which made you grumble quietly to yourself, why did you have to have a thing for DILFS?! Concentrate on the painting!

After a moment, Lucifer's eyes turned back to the paintings around him, his gaze scanning each painting once more. "I've noticed that you seem to have a repetition in your work.. not that that's a bad thing!" He quickly corrected.

“But in all of your paintings featuring angels, there's always a swan swimming or resting nearby. Do they hold any significance, or are they just a passion for you?"

You looked up from the canvas, and also traced the angelic figures across the room. He was right, with the images of the divine beings also came the appearance of the large, white water fowl. Lying lazily beside the angels, or swimming across pools of water as the care-free beings danced and frolicked.

You contemplated for a moment, before speaking truthfully.

“I just think Swans are elegant and ethereal creatures. They embody the purest of souls, untouched by the taint of sin that consumes the world, just like how their feathers remain untouched from the waters they glide on"

Lucifer's eyes lit up slightly, drinking up your words.

“Plus," You continue, "they mate for life, and allow themselves to just.. decay once their significant other departs from the world. It's very romantic, and love is one of the purest emotions in the world."

Lucifer wasn't looking at you when your eyes met his again, his stare was far off. Past the room entirely, as your words echoed through him. There it was again, the glimpse of sadness that he tried to hide so painfully well.

“Does such love like that exist?," he murmured so softly you had to strain your ears.

There was a few moments of deathly silence before Charlie piped up, asking her father something about heaven. You tried to listen, but your mind was stuck on his words. Lucifer was in heaven once, and he still didn't fully believe in such things?

If there weren't others in the room, perhaps you would’ve asked him.

It took a few more minutes before you were able to wrap up fully, but you had no regrets of asking this man for help, the angel on the canvas actually looked like he had wings, not just stumps of white tuft.

You got up from your seat and walked towards him, noticing that Charlie and her girlfriend were not present anymore. It was just you and Lucifer in theroom now.

“Well, thank you, Your Majesty. You really helped me out here, and it'll go a long way to make the hotel look even better"

“Please, call me Lucifer. The formalities are only for subjects, not friends," he replied, "l did really enjoy getting to see your paintings, you are quite a phenomenal artist. I wasn't lying when I said your work was different from the rest. If only you were around for those family portraits."

You were so taken aback by his praise that you only shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. Even though, coming from the King of Hell, it was.

Glancing behind him, you saw Charlie and Vaggie whispering to each other in the hallway outside of the door. You assumed they probably wanted to finish up so they could get him to agree to the meeting with Heaven.

lgnoring his previous statement of formalities— he was the king, you thought, you weren't going to just pat him on the back and say 'see ya! —you lowered your head and bent down to curtsy, just like you were taught when you were younger, placing your hand slightly in front of you.

Usually, you'd use that hand to shake or grasp the other person's, but it felt wrong to treat this powerful angel like any other man.

Suddenly, you felt the soft touch of fingers gliding across your hand. In confusion, you looked up at those golden eyes and that charming smile. Trying to get a glimpse of what he was thinking.

His hand gripped yours gently, and with a bow of his own, lowered his lips, and pressed a soft kiss your knuckles.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you feared to blink, soaking in his beauty for as long as you could before he had the chance to pull away. You wanted to say something, but your tongue was refusing to work as your mouth opened and closed silently.

When he finally released your hand, he adjusted his hat and turned towards the door. Leaving you standing there, your face burning hot

He cleared his throat, and turned his head slightly, his eye catching yours. A playful smile dancing on his lips.

“l look forward to our next portrait together, hopefully where I am the motivation behind your strokes. Not just these dull wings."

And with his words hanging in the air, you were left alone, with the growing itch to press your face into a pillow and squeal.

——————

awww man, my first fic! I was trying to make this more dating-centric, but i couldn’t stop writing for their first meeting and it got too long haha! If y’all like this one enough, i’ll make a dating version!

let me know what you think 🙏 i reallyyyy appreciate all comments and criticisms!!

wonderful art i commissioned by DawnDrawnS on twitter! <3

#Hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hellverse #OOC Lucifer?#He just ain’t as goofy #But I HC he’s only like that around Charlie :)#fanfiction #writing

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 4 months

Text

PREY

PAIRING: Hunter!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Werewolf!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s blood on your hands again.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Intense gore, body horror, death, mutilation, weapons, firearms, knives, intended harm, violence, blood, descriptions of wounds, angst, fluff, protective!Simon, religious mentions, period time standards for men/women (1700s), etc.

A/N: The first of my reverse AUs is finally here! Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The tale of the Werewolf extends back to around 2100 BC. It was written in The Epic of Gilgamesh, scored into a clay tablet by hands long buried—a corpse forever still in the earth so deep, the bones have yet to be found by greedy eyes. Perhaps the oldest surviving story in human history, and there is still a passage that bleeds into stories hundreds of thousands of years later.

In such, Gilgamesh, a man on the search for immortality, rejects a woman for the reason of turning her previous husband into a wolf.

“You have loved the shepherd of the flock; he made meal-cake for you day after day, he killed kids for your sake. You struck and turned him into a wolf, now his own herd-boys chase him away, his own hounds worry his flanks…”

And then, the tales spread, changed, through history and through spoken words of caution. Like water trickling from a well, down the shape of the wooden bucket delving deeper and deeper into a pit of age—of caution.

“The Beast of Gévaudan. Man-eater.” Through France

“He has a wolf-head, you know? Tall thing—short brown hair all over him.” Through Scotland

“Beware the man that changes shape under the full moon.” England.

Now, in the late seventeenth century, it all comes to a head. Even the people in 2100 BC knew that someone who changes into a wolf, or some bastard-like imitation of one, was very much real; it is very much an affliction that overtakes sense and reason. A curse.

Transferable down to the saliva of one entering your bloodstream.

You must never get within the beast’s sights.

—

There’s blood on your hands again.

Hunched over, your body quivers, and the bareness of your flesh in the moonlight is of little concern to you—trapped in a fetal position while the chilled wind howls.

Howls.

“Get out of my head.” Your fingers grasp at your scalp, pulling; ripping. A sob jaggedly slashes your throat open. “Please,” you rattle in a fast breath, the grass snapping as you writhe. “Get out of my head.”

It had happened once more, and you can’t remember any of it.

The forest is deathly still. No birds sing their songs—no breeze moves the long grass, patches trampled down around you as if a beast had staggered into the small clearing you’re lying in. Maybe it had. There are shadows that listen to your quiet panic, the low whines and gasping quivers of your throat; from behind the trees that speak in the way that only they could. The deep night creeps into you, and the moonlight bathing your flesh doesn’t push back the terror in your bloodstream.

Your body burns like you’ve broken every bone twice over, and judging by the blood stuck in between every line and dip of your skin, to anyone walking past, the analogy could be very real. Fingers flexing and bending, you try to force out the venom inside of your head with desperation befitting a dying dog, spine visible out of the skin of your back as you sob all the harder.

You tried to stop it—you had; you always do. But, just like every month when the full moon mocks you with its silver-hued face, it never works.

It never works.

Your eyes stare at nothing as you lay here, in this place of grass, blood, and bile, of corruption as deep as a vile sin of flesh. It came over you like a wave, fingers trapping your throat and bearing it to the caress of fangs. There were different names for it here, miles from your village and the terrified eyes that search the tree line; names coming from the hunters and their black deeds.

Shapeshifter.

Demon spawn.

Werewolf.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you shove the side of your head into the ground, pushing the torn earth away from the cuts of long claws. Tears flood the dirt until it’s wet and muddy, pushing the crimson stains on your skin away in long streaks. “It hurts, God, please, it hurts.”

The sound of your hysterics rises and falls in the stillness—the inactivity of fearful birds and beasts wondering if your fangs would rip from your gums and your claws would tear from your fingertips. Fur along your body the color of which leads to stories of their own spreading far and wide.

The White Wolf. The Specter of St. Francis’ Village. A hound from Hell.

More pale than snow, and sharper seen than a knife or blade through the black trees. Even if the memories of your shifts were fuzzy at best, there were flashes of those who’d seen your gargantuan form from the confines of their stone-cut homes. Those wide eyes. Yelling—screaming; sprays of blood as heads were separated from bodies—

“Stop!” You scream, your legs kicking out as your toes scrape the grass. “It’s not me! It’s not!”

There’s a call of alarm from deep within the woods, the flash of torches and bellow of hunting dogs. They’re running you down, you’d forgotten that in the depths of your breaking mind and body, and by the time your elongated limbs had set themselves back into a more human-like appearance, your spine cracking at every vertebrae, it had slipped your thoughts entirely. It always took you a long time to understand what had happened after…everything.

But even now, the shouts of the hunt are pointless to the visceral breaking of your consciousness, stuck between leaving bloodlust and knowledge of horror. There’s flesh in your teeth, and you wail before your fingers drag down your face, cupping over your ears. In the back of your skull, the panting of dogged breath echoes; running, blood, blood, blood. It’s a dance of fangs, of pale fur, staining every inch and flooding the back of your mouth. Drinking it down like water.

Flesh—lovely, disgusting, flesh rent and torn to the bone with smacking gums belonging to a square snout.

Who had you killed this time?

By the time the dogs had tracked your scent to your curled body, it was already too late.

“Here!” Male voices shift in and out on the backs of crows, hard and cruel. “It’s here!”

“Get the dogs on it!”

“It’s not me,” you mutter incessantly, not truly understanding what you’re saying as hounds burst through the bushes, all snapping teeth and slobbering tongues your eyes widen in an instant. Panting, your jaw clenches; long whines move your throat.

“What…?” Blinking quickly, the dogs surround you—having to be at least ten of them on their nimble legs and thin tails. Everything is distant to you; separated. A knife could be driven through your heart, and you wouldn’t even realize it until minutes later, bleeding out on the grass.

The hounds are afraid of you.

They dart forward and balk back, your scent driving them up a wall until rabid slobber drips from their maws. Torchlight pulls through the trees—quicker now, running. Fangs nick your shoulder and you yell, shoving up to your backside as the world swirls, shuffling away as the dogs snarl. Their eyes are red-huen. Drunk off fear and order.

Your head darts and shifts, blood dripping off your chin to travel down the flesh of your stomach and navel—so much crimson that the whites of your eyes are violent under the moon. Hands slipping over the wet grass, your face pulls and slackens in delirious confusion as you try to stand but fail. You cry out in sharp pain, and the dogs go wild in their kill circle, nearly attacking one another in anticipation.

You glance down and see the black crossbow bolt sticking out of your thigh.

The scent of wolfsbane in the air only then becomes clear to you, and the realization is slow. Wolfsbane—you’d been told about it by the village priest. It makes beasts of the night dumb and weak; minds unclear.

In a moment of clarity, the reason behind your incurable hysteria becomes clear.

Lungs heaving and eyes far-off, the hunting party bursts through to where you stay, and you look up in animalistic fear. Figures dip and slip into one another, faces becoming demons as the visages melt into twos and threes. You yell out, sniffling and sobbing, trying to back up until the hounds grapple onto your shoulder and rip a chuck out of your arm. Screaming, your hand moves back, shoving at its snout before hands staple themselves to your wrist.

“No!” You wail, injured leg dragging as you’re forced back into a heavy chest. Hot breath fans against your neck as multiple grips pull and touch you—shackling you down with rope and chains. Your throat screams itself raw, kicking and struggling futility. “Let go!”

You’re too weak—too drugged off wolfsbane and blood loss. Rotting teeth move across the canvas of a smeared painting, you can’t focus beyond the riot of your heart inside of your ribs.

Grubby hands snap under your chin, digging into your flesh as you cry, not able to move as the restraints are tightened. A silver muzzle is slapped over your jaw. Dark eyes shimmer as you rage—aggravating the bolt wound until fresh blood forms a puddle on the ground, which the dogs lick their lips at.

“Look at that,” a low, lust-filled voice eases out, and hands around your body tightening as you squirm, head spinning. Silver and wolfsbane. Your eyes snap to fight the sudden flood of fuzzy heaviness in your body. “Pretty little Hell-Beast, eh? Almost seems a bit strange to have the Spector be her. Think that hunter shot the right bitch?”

“Course,” another grunt, a hand grabs the top of your head, jerking it up as your head lulls along with the force. You can barely focus on the words being said. “He isn’t a fuckin’ twat. Killed a werewolf in the next village over, too. Heard he skinned the fucker and took its head for his mantlepiece—just like the vampire skull he wears.” A pause. The dogs are still barking—echoing out in the trees. You can’t feel your legs. “Isn’t that right, Hunter?!”

A shout is sent into trees as your panic breeds with the drug, eyelids drooping as your head is snapped and moved by your hair. Your buggy eyes don’t focus on the man until he steps into the torchlight, the crowd parting for him as the metal of your chains drags and clinks together.

It’s as if the very blackness of night takes human form.

The man, the Hunter, is tall—very tall. He looms like an aloof animal over most of the others here with his dark boots and his black hood, and yet, under the fabric, there is no whisper of his face.

Only the upper visage of a pure white skull, and two long, needle-pointed teeth where canines should be.

“Ghost,” one of the men laughs, groping at your bleeding thigh before you shriek, muffled from behind the muzzle, and weakly kicked out. “Good shot, Mate. Right in the meat of the thing. Gave a good trail for the hounds.”

Ghost blinks slowly, grunting under his breath as the large crossbow in his hands is shifted. He stays silent as your visible pulse hurries on as if you were a rabbit and not a wolf, watching from under the cover of his hood. The darkness of his clothes is blue in the moon—silver buttons down the length of a loose shirt and pants stuffed into boots. The hood is attached to a jacket, which itself extends down to his knees and sways lightly with every shift. The silent resting of weapons and tools is not lost to anyone.

Belt of filled vials and large knives; a firearm over his back, and two pistols hidden on either thigh. That crossbow was still in his hands.

Brown eyes openly dig into your soul, dead as a corpse, and your voice whines as your thigh is finally released with a laugh. Your vision blacks and comes back a moment later as you try to breathe from behind the muzzle, gasping. That skull on his face…you don’t like it. It scares you.

And the Hunter only continues to watch numbly as his wide shoulders stay stationary.

“Get the cage!” Someone roars, and you flinch, shrinking until a dog with short fur comes and nips at your ankles, the man holding you grinning sharply as you sob and shake.

“C’mon—expected more of a fight from you, Spector. Getting bullied by dogs, now? Ain’t that a twist of fate, then. Bet this devil’s whore can’t even walk with all that wolfsbane in ‘er, eh?”

A grumble of chuckles as the rattle of metal is in the distance. You grow more fearful, mind flashing to a burning stake and the trials you’d seen in village after village. No—no they can’t put you in a cage; they can’t put you on trial.

They’re going to make it hurt.

“Say we try it out.” A shadow comes closer and grabs you by the arm, ruthlessly shoving you to the ground. You cry out as your spine meets the earth, arms and legs kept under chains that tangle and screech in their metallic way. The rope that holds the muzzle pulls against your neck until you can’t breathe except in ragged wheezes.

“Go on,” they taunt, some holding back the rampaging dogs just to watch you flail and shimmy. Your face grows hot as you struggle to sit up—shaking so violently you can’t focus on anything but the quiver. “Put on a show for us, Beasty!”

Death would be better than this.

Tears hit the ground as the cage is finally brought into view, the men all groaning and annoyed that you hadn’t even attempted a forced shift or a desperate run into the trees.

Ghost’s fingers, you notice from the side of your blurring eye, tighten minutely around the body of his weapon. You do not doubt that he’s wondering if it would be easier to just put a bolt through your eye right now.

“Get it loaded up,” the Hunter’s voice is accented and gravel-like. As if rotting wood is being peeled back and scraped along gravel, he stares at you for a long moment and then glances at the dogs. “And get those fucking mutts under control.”

“Which one?” Is the low-blow joke, and the ruckus of loud amusement that follows makes you want to die.

It’s not your fault, how do you tell them that? It’s not your fault.

Your throat bobs in an attempt to speak, but you can’t move your jaw from behind the restraint of your face—held tight to you as the men come back over and grapple for you again. The priest was right, wolfsbane makes werewolves sluggish.

You can do nothing as you’re ruthlessly dropped into a silver cage, borrowed, no doubt, from the Vatican itself, and christened with holy water. But it was a funny thing, really, and the dark humor wasn’t lost to you even like this. There was nothing godly about this contraption.

Locked in, you shove yourself immediately into a corner and hunch over, grasping at your thigh as the bolt still leaks fluid in a long trail over the ground. The pain is so great in your head, that the physical agony is little—a bullet wound to a sliver.

Your temple slams into the metal, smacking into it as your eyes shove themselves closed.

Head hurts—hurts. I can’t think. Can’t think. It’s humming, my skull is breaking open.

Bile pools in the back of your throat, but the muzzle keeps it in, leaving you gagging as the cage is lifted with a grunt and carried by long poles; back to St. Francis' Village, no doubt, but you can’t…focus.

“Think you might ‘ave given her too much, then, Hunter,” one calls, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as the crowd follows after the panicking quarry. The large man only gives him a look from the side of his eye and the villager pulls away immediately, awkwardly chuckling before hurrying off after the others.

Brown eyes watch your bare body hunch and spasm, pupils wide as you’re carted off.

He’d been generous with the wolfsbane, truth be told. He’d expected you to be…Ghost’s dark brows pull in from behind his grim mask…he’d expected you to be different.

Humming under his breath, the Hunter watches the torches disappear into the trees and lets his gaze linger on you.

There was something…off.

Blinking, he turns, eyes studying the place where they’d found you with sharp attention that misses nothing—not even the birds that come back to settle into the trees again. Large boots shift through the grass, and as he’s re-settling the crossbow in his hands, his eyes find something glinting.

Watching, Ghost takes another step and brings his body to the item in the grass, hidden, before he kneels. Digging with large digits, the Hunter’s hands loop through the chain of a necklace, dragging it through the torn earth until he can gaze at it fully under the light of the moon.

Blinking in slight surprise, Ghost finds the body of a silver bullet hanging from the confines of a leather strap. Brown eyes shifting to look over his shoulder, the man listens to the cheers and merriment of the hunting party mutely. A simmering understanding brews in his gut. It’s only one that you could know from years of experience doing just as he had—hunting and being hunted in turn with a knowledge of all things dark and unholy.

It could never be easy, could it?

A low grunt later, the man sighs out a deep, “Fucking hell,” and moves to slowly stand, slinking back into the darkness.

—

They kept you in the cage and set it on display in the middle of town for days.

Shivering now from the cold more than the wolfsbane, you stay collapsed into yourself as people come past to poke and prod at you—even sticking knives into the slits of the cage and digging them into you like an animal until your flesh was marked and brutalized.

You don’t remember what it’s like to not be bloody.

The bolt wound was festering; infected. You dare not touch it, because the pain only makes you want to vomit, and if you do, you’ll most likely suffocate on your own bile before the trial ever happens.

Yet, on the fourth night of this, as your eyelids flutter and your body grows weaker, a shadow comes to visit.

“You weren’t born one.” It isn’t a question, but the sudden voice makes you startle.

Eyes locking onto Ghosts’, your mind flies with fear—thinking that perhaps there’s more abuse that you’ll be put through. But no…the man has no weapons on him tonight. Only a long knife at his belt. The mask stays.

You stare, unable to speak as your fingers twitch.

Grunting, Ghost’s head tilts, gaze moving up and down as you curl in tighter around yourself. A cold breeze rips through the square, and your eyes clench closed with breaking will. When you open them again, the Hunter is kneeling by the cage, and holding up something in his hand loosely.

“You going to behave if I take that muzzle off?” You nearly gasped at the hanging image of your necklace—a silver bullet on a leather strap; that dark and heavy thing usually kept around your neck. A reminder.

After a moment of wide-eyed staring, you nod quickly to his question, a desperate, pleading thing without the need to utter words. Please, you want to scream at him, take it off.

Ghost’s eyes are as dark as a mound of dirt, sharply intelligent and filled with an unflinching reality. He doesn’t care what you are, and he won’t until you speak to him and let him judge your character far before any courtroom can. The man knows what a lie is better than any priest.

“Good,” he says curtly, accent far more deep as he thinks, re-capturing the bullet in his palm and standing before he shuffles it into his pocket.

You can’t help the anxiety as Ghost moves forward, loping to the side of the cage with the side of his eyes on you incessantly. It’s obvious how his other hand lays limp on the hilt of his blade that, with only one wrong move, you’d feel the chill of the edge with no time at all.

But the temptation of getting this muzzle off was too good to ruin, and so, you stay as still as you’re able as crows call in the distance and the deadness of the town leaks into your blood.

Ghost moves his free hand and orders, blankly, “Closer.”

You hesitate, body tight before you drag your face closer to the bars, angling it parallel with the metal so the tight bind on the back can be taken up. The fear can be smelt the second your eyes have to break contact with his with the turn of your head—neither of you trusts the other.

Ghost hums under his breath at the sight of your broken body coming farther into the open light of the moon, the whites of your eyes all the more visible from under the slathering of blood and tears. He hadn’t been absent to witness the abuse you’d been put through, even if the coin from his successful hunt was feeding him at the inn, a small window allowed the tight view of your torment at the hands of the people you’d once lived around.

But the reality was that you’d killed people—scores of them—and yet the worst part of it was that he wasn’t sure if you even knew that.

It took four nights for him to break his only rule: never get involved after the job’s done.

But the hunch he had was too important to ignore.

Large fingers latch onto the knot at the base of your skull through the cage itself, Ghost grunting at the sight ahead of him. The rope had been gradually chafing over your flesh, peeling back hair and skin until only the bloody meat was left—Simon had to wonder if the people of this village even wanted you alive for the trial or not at this rate. You’d be dead by tomorrow if that infected bolt at your thigh wasn’t taken care of.

Despite himself, a part of his chest tightens at the sight of the thing sticking out of your leg, dripping a yellowish puss. It had been a good shot, and he had overcoated the bolt in wolfsbane.

Ghost hadn’t expected you to be so susceptible to it—most werewolves only got slower, but you…you seemed to have a stronger reaction. He files that fact away and tilts his masked face to the side.

Grasping at his blade, the sound of a knife being slipped out of a sheath makes you startle, jerking your head back and shoving away even as your muffed whine of pain falls out. Ghost momentarily readies himself for an attack, but the way you force your mangled body to the opposite corner has him grumbling out a hard, “Easy.”

The Hunter raises the blade, watching you with unblinking eyes. Your body shakes; panting. It was like calming a feral dog.

“You want the thing off or not? Have to cut it.” Once more, the man rises and walks over, boots almost silent over the small raised platform the cage had been set on like a trophy, you inside are comparable to the golden coins that greedy eyes touch and run their dirty hands over.

Your mind is a troubled thing as you watch this Hunter and his crude knife come closer, kneeling again, and motioning with two fingers to shift your head.

“Out ‘ere,” Ghost says, brown eyes not letting you guess anything about his true motives. “Don’t have time to fuck around. Guards’ll make a round soon and I’d rather not get caught wide-eyed.”

Your brows pull in, hands clenching and unclenching in your lap as goosebumps travel the length of every limb. You were tired—hungry and thirsty; there were open wounds that burned with infection and ones that were crusted over with dirt and grime. You can’t feel your toes, and the tips of your fingers have long since gone numb.

The thought of getting this muzzle off was like the promise of heaven being dangled in front of your nose. Your hesitation this time is far longer than the first, moonlight glinting off the visible blade in Ghost’s hand as he stares. That mask holds death.

The hood is gone from him—only that pale bone left and sewn into dark, dark, fabric. The sharpness of the teeth leaves your throat bobbing in a nervous swallow as your head carefully shifts to rest on the bars. Bending, you present the knot once more and try not to focus on the way Ghost’s attention is fully on your expanding lungs; the pulse that is seen through the meat of your neck.

But he says nothing before his fingers once more grasp the rope and the tip of the knife slips up. You don’t even feel it before the sudden slackening of the muzzle, and then the thing slips from your face before it slaps the bottom of the cage with a dull thump.

The first thing you do is vomit.

Spine pulling in, your body jerks as the bile that had been in the back of your throat rockets out, restrained hands slapping the ground as the acidic concoction leaks from between your torn lips. Face on fire, you choke and retch for what seems like minutes before you can finally breathe in the damp air—the innate shame and disgust rolling through as you cough raggedly.

It’s only after you’d forgotten the man kneeling outside that he seems to remind you of his presence with a grumble.

“Breathe. It’s no use if you can’t speak to me.”

A weak, quivering glare comes across your eyes, saliva dripping off your chin as your tongue moves to lick at your lips. But the brown gaze is as immovable as stone. Finding it pointless, your hands come up and delicately touch the base of your skull, only making you flinch when the fresh blood pools down and over your neck, licking at your shoulders. Tiny droplets fall to hit the metal one at a time.

Ghost’s fingers twitch as he puts the knife away.

“Who bit you?” You stare at him, hands falling before your wrists rub at the aggravated skin of your jaw. He shifts his head, voice slow but heavy. “Speak.”

“...I’m not a dog,” your voice is scratchy, hoarse. You send a small glance his way, mouth open and nostrils flaring in an attempt to bring in the oxygen you’d been lacking.

“Really?” A hidden eyebrow is slowly raised. “Hell, coulda fooled me.”

“Damn you,” you whisper, not meeting his gaze as you shuffle back. The crossbow bolt catches on one of the cage’s bars and you bite on your lip to stop the shrill yell that threatens to exit. Head moving, you lightly slam your skull into the wall in pain.

Breath hitched, you clench your trembling jaw tight.

“Speak or don’t,” Ghost grunts, and he makes a move to stand. “Your funeral.”

A spark of fear stabs you as he begins to shift, and you can’t explain why. Perhaps it was because it was the first conversation you can remember having lately that wasn’t one-sided or on the edge of a blade.

“W-wait,” you stutter, blinking through the blood. The Hunter doesn’t slow, and then he’s on his feet and fixing the gloves over his fingers, flexing his hands before his foot begins to pivot—

“Please, don’t go,” your voice is thin and pleading, echoing through the street. “I’ll answer your questions, any of them you want,” the sentence cracks through a dry throat, tears welling. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.”

Ghost had half of his body turned away before it went rigid; the side of his dead eyes flash to you, swirling with specs of moonlit silver. A hunter and a werewolf lock gazes, great beasts respectively brought together in seconds that seep into slow minutes of delicate need.

Knowledge and company. Understanding and a horrible fellowship.

The Hunter’s eyes twitch in their ever-narrow resting place, glancing away before he mutely moves back to where he was before.

He wastes no time.

“Who bloody bit you?”

You stifle a pathetic sigh of great relief, taking company with a man who had shot you not days before. Yet the ability to speak and be heard was a commodity that was dimming each and every day.

“It was already fully turned,” you speak quickly, tongue tripping. “A big wolf—a gray one with eyes like the sky.”

Ghost glares to the side. Gray? There were no contracts for gray werewolves with blue eyes in the area. Only you—only Specter. The next question is just as stiff.

“When?”

“Three years ago,” your lips move. “Only three years, I promise.” Brown eyes narrow slowly, fingers tapping the fabric of his pants once before he makes a noise in the back of his throat. Ghost’s jaw clenches, mind working through the hoops that need to be jumped.

To you, the questions might seem pointless, but to a hunter, they were important—very important. Werewolves who are born afflicted with this moon-drunkenness are different from those turned by a bite. Not only are shifts from turned werewolves more violent, more deadly, but they rarely know their own actions from that of the frenzy under their skin; those that are born as such are rarely out of control, unlike your faction.

The only question now was if Ghost could condemn you to death when it was obvious your human form was entirely different and you had no semblance of an idea of what was going on. Was it even his problem to care about? Even looking at you now, the man blinked away from cuts and inflicted injuries—the muzzle on the ground.

The blood and the bolt.

He’d known it had been a foolish play to bring all of those townsfolk with him on this hunt but he needed their knowledge of the terrain; he hadn’t passed through St. Francis’ before. At the time, Ghost hadn’t been averse to assistance as long as he got the job done in his own fashion: capture or kill, the contract had stated. Rarely was he known for capture.

Maybe, deep down, he’d known something was already wrong about this.

“Show me it,” the Hunter grunts, staring you down, a deep anticipation growing in his bones. He had to make sure you weren’t lying.

You lick your lips, face pulling with every twitch and sway of your form. The black at the edges of your vision was coming back, and you blinked quickly, chains dragging before you shifted your back with a quivering breath. The punctures were difficult to see through all of the gore, but Ghost made do as he grabbed at the waterskin at his waist and the rag hanging from his belt.

Flooding the fabric in the lukewarm water, he hums out a firm, “Don’t move. Cleanin’ it,” before you feel the press of the rag to your back.

Gasping lightly, you almost jerk away before the sensation becomes a nearly welcomed one—the drag and slight scrape of rough material. Your averted eyes dip lower, staring at nothing as your heart momentarily slows to a normal pace. Ghost cleans the areas where the swell of scar tissue is the most obvious, and, one by one, the violent groves spread out like a slash of paint over canvas. Along the left side of your waist, the blood gives way to a dented ‘v’ shape of healed punctures. Deep, dragging; a point to where your side was almost ripped away before it broke off swiftly.

Ghost’s dark eyes fight the need to widen, and that hidden blankness stays.

A great gray wolf with blue eyes…

His mask tilts, head shifting as his gaze moves slowly. Gloved fingers twitch to touch them, moving in an almost examining way that befits a surgeon and not a decapitator. Your breath is held in the back of your throat, but you sag nearly entirely into the bars of the cage, growing more unsteady by the second.

The scent of infection is so strong it makes your head burn, and you’re overtaken by it as Ghost’s presence suddenly disappears.

You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before you understand that you’re alone again, but when your limp neck finally turns to wonder where your silent captor is, you are greeted with nothing but moonlight. Blinking through the sludge behind your eyes, the sinking in your gut was stark and sudden—like a knife dragging itself from gullet to navel.

But all you offer is a light whine as more blood moves to cover the places where Ghost’s rag had just cleaned. You were scared of him, no doubt. A hunter through and through down to the vampiric skull on his face and the shroud of death at every inch of his form.

He’d shot you and drugged you with wolfsbane. Found your necklace.

So why had he talked to you?

Your head is too muddled for this, too delicate. Like the crimson under your nails, it dries and flakes off of your brain as the lack of distraction breeds stored agony. There wasn’t anything left to focus on besides the upcoming trial, your death, and the pain that doesn’t let you sleep except for now, on the brink of not rest but unconsciousness.

And at the sound of a key being slotted into the silver of your cage’s door, only then does your body slump with the weight of doom.

You don’t even feel the hand that grasps at your ankle.

—

The sway of the horse makes your teeth clatter with every clop of hooves.

Your conscience mostly comes and goes, only staying in thin seconds where you feel the press of clean bandages on your afflicted flesh and the tipping of warm broth into your mouth. Grass under your head.

Blankets being shuffled over your clothed body when you shiver.

When you’re finally able to speak, when the horse is moving along and hands keep your back stuck to a strong chest, it’s a low, garbled, “Ow.”

Ghost barely blinks down to your head as it slumps to the gait of his horse, glancing before his attention returns to the thin forest trail ahead of him. You’d made noises in your sleep often enough—this was no different except for the fact he felt your shoulders flex.

Slowing the horse with a pull on the reins, the dappled mare settles to a walk.

“You up, then?” Ghost hums, his hand around your waist tightening as you groan under your breath. “Good. Thought I was dragging a corpse—would have wasted my bandages.”

Your eyes shudder as they open into the light, having to focus on moving them before the sting of the sun makes them water. But you do, and then the confusion outweighs the numb stinging of tended wounds.

Head shifting, you look behind you slowly with wide eyes as the horse under both of you snorts.

Brown eyes watch you before a dark brow twitches upward. “What is it?”

You just blink, mouth slightly open.

“Where…am I?”

“Forest.” Ghost states matter-of-factly.

If you had the energy to glare, you would have. Seeing that nothing will get the man into a proper conversation—he was a brick wall even now—you look down at yourself and land on the scarred forearm that keeps you secure on the saddle. Ghost’s gloves were still on, but the sleeve of his dark shirt had ridden back to his upper forearm, and in the wake of pale skin, you find the black ink of all manner of warfare.

Werewolf skulls; vampire fangs and fire. The slash of inkish chains with skeletons.

Your lips thin, your senses slowly becoming your friend again as you stare at the snarling face of a needle-hewn wolf. Eyes tightening as the horse moves to the left, your body follows the reactive action before Ghost’s pressure tightens once more, visibly veins behind the pale flesh. You move on, seeing the thin tunic and pants over your body—feeling under that, the bind of wrappings with the scents of mashed yarrow leaves in the fabric.

They’d been re-applied recently, too.

“Stay still unless you want to re-open them,” Ghost utters, eyes scanning the trees for unseen threats. It was midday by now, the sun high above the trees watching the both of you on your trek to seemingly nowhere. “We’re far enough away, but I want more distance before I take the time to close them fully.”

“The trial,” your arm moves up, fingers grazing the side of your nose before it falls back down. Ghost can feel the air heat with unease. “The…the cage?”

“Trial was two days ago,” he draws, thighs shifting over the saddle. “Give or take.”

The confession isn’t as shocking now that you have woken up here, but the lack of remembrance on your part of that time startles you. It’s a blank slate—just like the aftermath of your shifts. You don’t like not knowing.

The next question comes out with a haggard cough, sweat dripping off your nose. “Why?”

“You’re going to tell me ‘bout the werewolf that made you,” the Hunter grunts. “And you can’t speak if you’re lit up like a pig on a spit. Took you the night we met in the square.”

Through it all, Ghost barely looks at you—always his attention keeps to the trees and the shadows that linger; seeming to listen. He knows more than anyone that they do.

The horse continues on, your pain surfaces again, and with a shuddering breath, you fall into a fitful sleep once more. The arm around your body tightens, and the warmth it lends is accented when Ghost’s shifting gaze glances at the top of your head. He wears an expression he can’t name yet.

When the throws of fever pull their curtains back for the last time, it shows you the slats of the attic above your head, wood polished and clean as the heat of fire moves over your body. Pulling a large inhalation of air into your lungs, you blink softly as if clearing away cobwebs with a broom—willing sense to return in the few seconds it had flown away.

The furs are warm.

In the village, you weren’t anyone of standing. A simple woman—unwed, and, thus, unimportant due to the era the world sees itself in. It wasn’t all bad…namely, it hid your affliction far longer than you could have hoped it did. You had a small piece of family land passed down to you on the edge of the village, and that was where you stayed. Nothing fancy; a hearth, a large, single-room property with a garden and a well. You were known to keep sheep, a fact that had caused perhaps a few hysterical chuckling fits when, every full moon, one or two went missing, but it gave you the ability to accumulate money and, more importantly, an alibi.

Who would suspect a werewolf to own sheep?

But this home already had a more detached feel to it—something removed. The air was sterile, somehow. Groaning, your face tightens before you rise to the palms of your hands, muscles quivering to keep the strength your stubbornness gives to them. Half-vertical, you turn and study the area.

Square, the four walls are stone with mortar and clay to keep the rounded blobs together. You’re on the ground floor, a staircase to the far right while the bed is stuck into the left corner; a nightstand sitting void of all except a single chamber-wick holding an unused candle. A sturdy table with one wooden chair, a stone fireplace set into the same wall the headboard is level with, and a large oak door.

There are runes written on it.

You can’t make sense of what they mean, but when you see them, your tiny-pupiled eyes slip to the rest, all placed at windows or near some point of entry—unassuming things until you realize why they were red in color.

Your shoulders tighten, and whatever bit of magic moves through your skin lets your nose pull to the scent of human blood.

You clear your throat and look away, licking your lips with a dry tongue. Moving your toes under the two bear furs that rest at your abdomen, you notice the lack of earth-shattering pain that accompanies it, and, shifting a hesitant hand, you grab the edge and push it back a bit farther.

Bandages with perfect ties meet you, void of any crimson staining.

Truth be told, you expected more of a Hunter’s home—skulls; trophies. The town always spoke of burnt bodies strung up on crosses that mark the property of those in this profession, a ward and a sign of grim hope. Vampires mostly, wasting away in the brutal sun. Others as well. Werewolf fur and witch bones shoved in blessed boxes.

This place is almost normal, you think, thighs shifting over the dip of the bed as your finger runs the white wrappings where the bolt should be. Your mind dares not go to how he got the thing out of you, and at the stretch of sutures, you take your curious grip off of it entirely.

Looking around once more, your brows furrowed tightly.

Where was the man? The hunter responsible for your current predicament? Ghost. With his vampire skull mask and his black attire—a hellhound with dark ink and intentions. More importantly…

Why were you still alive?

Your memories come back slowly as you stand, bare feet moving to the floor as the tunic over your upper half falls to your knees at the verticality of your spine. They creak a bit, the bones, at the ability to stand fully upwards and not be impaired by bars of silver. A strength seeps through you slowly.

In the deafening silence, you clear your throat tinily and lightly itch at the clean flesh at the back of your neck where the muzzle sat; rubbed raw now scabbed and healing with the spread of natural oil balms. Taking in a slow breath, you step forward with a heavy limp and watch the door, glancing at locked trunks and cupboards, eyes blinking. Your muscles ached, but the sting only served as a way to remind you that you were still here—living. Few in your position were granted second chances.

You’re about to study the runes at the door when you’re called to with the creak of the stairs in your left ear.

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Your head snaps over, blinking quickly.

Ghost carries the leather holders of his twin pistols in one hand, the bodies of the weapons in them hanging as he comes to ground level one step at a time. Brown eyes glance over through the confines of his skeletal face-covering as he walks to the table, placing down the items.

“Keeps the spirits out—smudge ‘em and the house gets haunted,” he grunts. “Rather not bleed myself again to get the runes copied.”

You stare in mild shock, sound sparking from the back of your throat. “...Right.”

Side-eyeing the markings, you shiver and step back from the door, silent as Ghost seems to focus on his task at hand—looking over his weapons.

Large hands running the metal and wood, the pistols in his grip shift as the drying light of the day streams in through the curtains of the windows. He touches them intimately, knowing every grove and dip until he tilts one and rubs away a slash of dirt from the barrel with his bare thumb.

You quickly turn awkward, looking down at yourself and the bareness of your lower legs. It wasn’t lost to you that the man was the reason you were in this situation in the first place.

“You shot me,” you grumble—not unlike someone who had a knife to their throat.

“Affirmative,” Ghost says nonchalantly. You get a slow, blank glance and nothing more.

“Have you drugged me?” You ask, heart speeding up. There wasn’t anywhere to go—not without an escape plan and with Ghost in front of you.

“Wolfsbane?” The Hunter shifts his thighs, boots moving over the hardwood. “Negative. Not yet.”

“Yet?” An attitude seeps in, lips thinning.

Ghost sighs under his breath, slipping the pistols back into their holsters. “Forgetting about how we met, Love?”

“No,” you huff. “Not really.”

“Perfect.” Eyelids pull down slightly. “Don’t.” Ghost nods his head to the table's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sit.”

“I told you I’m not a—” A sharp, numb look makes your snappy reply stall itself, and you stand there for more than a minute before you find the pointlessness of this.

You limp forward and sit in the chair.

Looping your arms around your waist, you glare to the side as your skin crawls at the unblinking eyes that stare. Ghost rolls his shoulders, tilting his head.

“What do you know about the werewolf that bit you beyond appearance?”

“Nothing,” you chuckle hopelessly, moving a finger in confusion. “I…I don’t know why you’re asking me about it—it’s not like I had a conversation with him.”

The Hunter blinks at your sudden confidence, unable to separate your form now from the one in the cage; blubbering ceaselessly in a grassy clearing. But lesser pains always bring out someone's true colors. As long as you told him what he needed to know.

Ghost explains with a sheen of dull annoyance. “Every turned werewolf holds a connection to the one that bit them. It’s pack mentality.” At your blank look, his brows pull in, the mask shifting. “You telling me you’ve never come back into contact?”

“...No?” Your lips dip. “For three years I’ve been by myself with this.”

Brown digs into your face, a small sheen of confusion slipping in to tighten them, around his biceps, Ghost’s fingers twitch.

You lick your lips, speaking up in the impending silence. “I don’t remember anything after I turn. Is that normal?”

“For you?” He mutters, still not taking his eyes off of you. “Yes.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going to happen,” you shrug. “But at the very least I want to try and understand why I’m like this.” You open and close your mouth for a moment. “Before you kill me, anyways.”

“If I wanted you dead,” Ghost grunts through a half-amused tilt of his head. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “...You would be.”

“‘Capture or kill,’” you huff. You’d seen the flyers; heard from word of mouth. “Right.” You sigh. “They’ll track you down, you know. They’re not going to just let you take me.”

“They won’t make it through the forest. Bastards would get lost on the trail.” The Hunter moves until he can grasp the waterskin from the counter, dragging it over with his hand. He tosses it to the main table in your direction after he comes back over, and you hesitantly reach forward and pull the top off. Ghost changes the subject back to his studies of your condition closely. Dark eyes slip down your front as your lips part to take up the liquid. “Before your shift, tell me what you see.”

Your throat bobs as you drink the water, thirsty as it soothes your dry mouth. You hum, but the inquiry makes your hair rise. Your arm wipes at your mouth as you lower the waterskin, a small thankfulness in your heart. “It’s less of what I see and more of what I hear and smell—blood; metal. River water. I…” Your chest tightens. “I feel my bones breaking and I hear howling mixing with whispers.”

“Whispers?” Ghost leans, eyes alighting with dim interest. “What’re they saying?”

“I try to block it out,” you whisper, not exactly answering. “Makes it go faster.”

A long nothingness ensues.

The impending night grows deeper, and then Ghost finally speaks again after you begin to shift with unease. He nods firmly, tilting his head as if it’s already been decided.

“Next full moon, you’re going to listen to them.”

Your horrified face snaps up. It’s a moment of stuttering before you force out a heavy, “What? No!”

He’s already turned, moving back over to the stairs and placing one foot on the steps.

“Ghost!” You yell, face devoid of blood.

He side-eyes you. “Go back to bed. You’re dead on your feet.”

And then the same man who shot you in the thigh with little remorse disappears into the attic.

—

The Hunter was a strange beast.

The days the two of you spent together were mostly silent—left with tight stares and tense shoulders. Clipped sentences.

Ghost, for what it was worth, gave you space in this small house; as much as you could get. He kept himself up above while you stayed on ground level keeping yourself occupied. You’d gotten spare trousers and socks, a jacket, and the bed was practically yours with how your scent rolled off of it now. Yet, you had never been permitted to go outside.

You’d seen the land from the windows—careful of the runes, of course, and it wasn’t anything… ghastly. A vegetable garden, a single-stall stable with a dappled mare, and a beaten-down trail out the front.

No livestock.

No bodies.

It was only when you had become ever more curious about your lupine curse that you braved the stairs to the attic—one week into the impromptu stay. It’s funny due to the fact that Ghost had never said that you couldn’t go up there sooner.

You stand now in the flat room with a sloping roof and find the man making bullets. It’s a long table, parallel to the walls in the center of the room; dark and covered in all manner of books and tomes. Grimoires tied up and locked. Racks of weapons with markings and blessings tied to sheets of ribbon…it was something you’d never seen before.

Studying it now, the contents were a dark fascination.

Ghost fiddles with his silver shell, mixing in gunpowder into the hollowness. He doesn’t speak until you do, but he knows you’re there.

“Tell me more about werewolves,” you speak through the air, and he waits before answering. “The ones who are born with it.”

“Rare,” Ghost comments, and you’re stuck by how willing he is to tell you about this. He puts down his bullet and picks up another. “Harder to find, even harder to kill. Unlike you, they know what goes on when they’re running ‘round. Fuckin’ nightmare to pick up the pieces—bloodbath.” You thin your lips. “Not all of ‘em are murderous, but they’re unpredictable. Can’t help but make packs.”

“Instinct,” you murmur, coming a bit closer. Ghost pauses, looking at you before huffing in the form of a gruff ‘yes.’ Your wondering continues. “But why am I alone then?”

“That’s the question,” the hunter says slowly. “Need to figure out why.” Brown eyes slowly move to you. “‘Fore more people end up dead. Or turned.”

“Can I,” you stop at the table, standing opposite the man. “Can I turn people, too?”

“No,” is all you’re given. Ghost’s eyes glint. “And I’d rather you didn’t bite on me to try.”

Your face heats.

Your attention focuses for a while on how he works—prepares for something unseen. He’d said he’d kept you alive to help him find the one who bit you, but he’d also cleaned your infected injuries, bandaged you, and fed you. Kept you warm. Safe. It was far more than could be said about your village.

However, it was strange how Ghost’s stark muteness was something that you found in the darker hours, a small comfort. When the moon was coming in from the windows, and you hid from its rays as if being stalked down, he once found you sleeping under the bed on the floor because of it.

He never said anything, just offered you a silent hand and helped you back out with a slow blink and a tilt of his head.

There was a distrust, obviously, but there was also an unspoken nearness. No one would make any sense of it—you couldn’t either. It was like a wolf and a raven; something built on hesitence but necessity. You didn’t like Ghost’s mask or his brutalist profession of shooting his wolfsbane-coated bolts, and he didn’t like that once a month you turned into a rampaging werewolf.

Comparable things, really.

But even here, in this workshop in his attic, you saw the need for this—for hunters. If you couldn’t stop yourself, there came a time when you had to be stopped. Truth be told, you expected it to be a quick and final end. Maybe that was just a foolish hope.

A silver bullet would have always been your final song, you believed. Perhaps the very one that had once swung from around your neck; the one you’d never taken off until now.

But then, perhaps that would have been your own brutalist profession.

“Thank you,” you nod. Ghost pauses, fingers stained with gunpowder. He blinks at the bullet in his hand as you continue. “I know you don’t care about anything beyond your work, but if you hadn’t gotten me out of that cage they would have burned me alive. Skinned me.” Your tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have been kind. Job or not…thank you for getting me out of there.”

“I shot you,” he utters, voice gravel. Ghost seemed confused.

Your lips flick. “I never said I forgave you for that part.”

A smooth chuckle wafts out over the attic and your own softly mirrors. Your head tilts somewhat quizzically. “But, about that…did you mean to put so much wolfsbane on it?”

Ghost shakes his head, grumbling. A small sense of honesty leaks out. “...Expected you to be bigger.”

You blink, and then, a few seconds later, a loud snort echoes like a ringing bell.

The Hunter's unimpressed look only leads you to find him all the more enjoyable. “Shut it. Fuckin’ hell.”

A hand is waved from your party, dismissing the harsh snap. “Sorry, sorry.” You puff out amused air. “Spector not up to your expectations?”

Ghost nearly rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t mind your company, at the very least he knew he needed to keep an eye on you for any potentially forced shifts or hostile attitude. What he hadn’t expected was to find you so…different from your muzzled counterpart, your shared physical inhabitant.

He could almost call you endearing if he wasn’t so numb to the sight and scent of reality.

“Sightings were far between,” Ghost grunts. “Here-say. I took an educated guess—better to put something like you out of commission than drag my way out of a forest without legs.”

“No apology?” You try, tilting your head.

“None,” is the drawn response. “I don’t have regrets. You’re alive.”

Your fingers touch the outside of one of his journals, tracing the bumps and grooves of age and wear. You hum, but don’t reply. Most of your pains have been pushed back now, even if you still weren’t up to full strength. Food and rest helped, but the anxiety that perpetuated only lengthened the healing process.

When you can’t trust even yourself under the drunkenness of the moon, it only makes your fear of the sun worse. Everything made you afraid—most of all your mind; most of all, the future.

“Why do you want to find the werewolf that turned me?” You have to speak this, have to push. Your curiosity demands it.

Ghost puts the bullet down and grabs a rag from his belt, mask turning to look your way as he brushes off his hands. He pauses, looming with that gargantuan height—natural intimidation in the span of his chest and the trunk that makes up his front. You find yourself in his shadow as he rubs at his fingers with the rag, taking it away and slotting it back into his belt a moment later.

The man’s heat leaks into your body as he blinks over, glancing your form up and down in a single look; keeping a respectful distance but still making his attentions known.

He stares. “If it keeps biting people, there won’t be any villages left to take up contracts from.”

“Money?” You frown.

“Principle,” Ghost counters, chest rising and falling steadily. “There needs to be a middle ground. Too many feral werewolves, too few people. Cut off the head.”

“Ominous,” your form turns to his, itching at the back of your head again—the scabbing skin. “If what you said was true, how do you know the thing isn’t already dead? If it hasn’t tried to get to me, what was the point of making me?”

“Because you hadn’t left St. Francis’ by the time I put a bolt in you.” Ghost grumbles, rubbing a hand on his bicep, itching above the fabric of his tunic. He stretches with a grunt—and you see his shirt ride up and the pale skin underneath. You gawk for a moment at the length of scars and brutal muscle.

“Charming,” you dryly utter, stuttering in a brief second of pulling back your senses, but the Hunter continues on, ignoring you.

“That was where you were turned—your territory. You stayed because your leader is still close by waiting.” Legs shift, and all of a sudden, a body is over you, hands are on the base of your skull, pushing your own away as brown eyes dig into the injury you pick at.

Your breath hitches, tensing for a second as your spine straightens. You watch widely from the corner of your eye as Ghost runs a careful hand over the flesh. He puffs a breath, chest moving in a grunt that is both commonplace and expected, yet the brush of his chest to your shoulder is not.

You restrain a shiver, nostrils moving to the overwhelming swell of leather and gunpowder. Bone fragments; the tang of whiskey.

His skin as he runs a thumb over the edge of your wound.

“It’ll start cracking.” Ghost utters, and through his fabric, you feel the brush of speech. “Have to apply more balm. Stop messing with it unless you want stitches soon.”

It takes a moment more of his surgical study and a small clearing of your throat before you can speak. Your mind changes the subject for you.

“So…if my bite can’t turn anyone,” you breathe, nearly sagging as Ghost’s fingers catch in your hair, shifting it under his attention to get a better look. He listens, you know. He wasn’t good at talking, but he always listened. “Why did they muzzle me?”

For a brief instance, you think you feel the Hunter’s fingers jerk a tiny amount—some reactionary muscle twitch that leads your body to still.

Ghost can’t say why he did that, though perhaps it was the sudden flash of the injuries that he’d wrapped on the road back to his property that went over his eyelids. Or the cage—your pleading face aching for whatever small sliver of brutish company you can get.

The silver bullet that he still had in his pocket, attached to that leather cord. He knew the purpose; the intent. Just as he knew the scrape of scabbing under his fingertips.

“Control,” he grumbles, and it’s all he’ll say.

Your burning face is somewhat down-turned, letting him do as he must, study what he can. He hadn’t made any moves to endanger you, and besides the upcoming full moon, there was nothing here that screamed imminent danger. Danger as a general, yes, of course. You were a werewolf in a hunter’s home—it would always be…your eyes flutter when his fingertips drag over your scalp…it would always be danger….dangerous.

Ghost doesn’t think you notice it, but your eyes are drooping.

He watches after the slight shock wears off, a tiny smirk flickering the hidden skin of his lips after he realizes the reason. If you had a tail, he’d assume it would be moving in a soft arch by now.

The man was mildly amused at that, and before he moved away fully, he had to stop himself from uttering a sarcastic, ‘like that, then?’

He had to remind himself not to get attached to whatever…this was. He was using you as bait, as some key to his problem. Not a companion. The distance here had to be firm and heavy-handed.

“The balm is down in my packs,” he grunts, leaving just as his name implied before you had the chance to gather your bearings and the lack of caressing heat. You startle back to the attic room, eyes wide and face loose before Ghost’s retreating footsteps echo on the stairs. “Don’t bloody use it all, then.”

The front door opens and closes with a pull of weighted wood.

—

“I can’t do this,” you mutter, pacing alone in the middle of the night down in the living room

The full moon was tomorrow.

“I can’t do it,” you itch at the back of your head, peeling at the nearly healed flesh harshly. Your nails dig into the soft tissue, drilling like a knife. A bead of blood slips around your fingers, but it doesn't stop you.

It’s late—late enough to know that Ghost should be asleep by now. For days, the paranoia, just like always, builds until you are nearly as mute as your Hunter. No more curiously searching his attic; no more questions about his job or how he got into this business. Brown eyes had been lingering more as the days went by, this strange companionship growing. You knew, in his own way, he was…worried.

So silent, even he had been getting noticeably uneasy. Shifting legs and quick glances. Nights where you hid under the bed from the moon until lunch came around, Ghost speaking as easily as he could to try and coax you out to no avail. You, a feral dog with white-rimmed eyes.

At supper, only hours before this panicked pacing, you had told something to Ghost that made him double-take.

“If I can’t stop it…I need you to shoot me. In the head.”

He’d never answered, but his eyes seemed to get ever-sharper as the hours continued on. More tense. Ansty.

But…that was his job, wasn’t it?

“Can’t do it,” you murmur. Blood slips down your wrist. “It isn’t right—”

“Spector?” Ghost’s voice had become so familiar to you that the only thing that made your heart skyrocket was the sudden call of it. Your gasp is sharp from behind a panted breath, hand flinching away from the crater you were steadily digging in your skull. A long string of blood trails into the air as your fingers jerk away, and it’s only then that you notice the deep pangs of pain.

Your eyes shudder for a second as Ghost’s form makes it to ground level. He comes over slowly, attention staying on the way the moonlight makes the crimson stains glint from the dripping line seeping into the sleeve of your tunic. He blinks, and you both stand.

The man’s skeletal adornment was missing, though the fabric under remained. A loose sleep shirt and pants, stained by the rays of night.

“Let me see,” he sighs under his breath, a tiny rasp telling of the sleep he’d been awoken from.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter. He doesn’t seem to care, grabbing your wrist and pulling the limb away as his body takes up presence behind you.

“Was already awake,” Ghost grunts, eyes narrowing in hidden worry. You calm down a bit at that, one less problem to worry yourself about.

The Hunter, quietly, leaves for a second and grabs his pouch near the door. With a muffled command, he nods to the bed until you’re backing up and hitting the back of your knees off of it, sitting.

Ghost lights the candle on the nightstand and opens his belongings with stiff glances your way. He noticeably doesn’t ask why you’ve harmed yourself like this.

“I can’t,” you say it like a plea for help. “Ghost, I can’t do it again.”

Hands fiddle with clean bandages and take out his waterskin. The man douses a rag with the liquid and comes over, shifting onto the bed and lightly turning you so your back is to him—legs half hanging off.

The hard press of cold water makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip.

“It hurts,” you push out. Ghost knows you’re not talking about the newly opened wound.

“Breathe,” he says to you, seeing the way your sides expand with heavy lungs. Brown eyes flutter from the push of his large hand to the warmth of your shaking flesh. “Tell me about your home, yeah? Heard you lived in your own place.”

The question makes you double-take.

He’s asking me that? Here? Now? Hours away from perhaps another catastrophe?

Yet, you can’t help the slippage of your tongue as Ghost’s fingers rub into your scalp. The rag is lessened, and, soon, the material is rubbed gently over the sore itch of weeping skin. You fight a whimper and reply with an addled mind.

“It…it’s quiet. Calm. I always keep the candles going because I don’t like the dark.” Ghost works quietly and quickly.

“There,” he grunts, glancing at the flickering light of the candle he lit. He’d have to remember that. “And?”

“I kept sheep.”

He pauses, and, without meaning to, a soft scoff bounces off the confines of his chest. It catches your attention far better than a bullet could. Ghost shifts a needle and thread out of his gathering of items, taking away his limbs only for the short while it takes him to loop the two together.

“How many?” The masked man asks, amusement gone just as quickly as it had come.

“Only a handful,” you whisper. Your mouth opens and closes, glancing over your shoulder as the candle-light spills out over the room; casting shadows over Ghost’s face, catching on his long eyelashes. Those browns of his glint like tree trunks covered in dew.

“Please,” your words are muffled. Eyes wide and fearful, there isn’t anything that can console you on this. “You need to kill me.”

There was a dichotomy to you—a violent thing. You didn’t want to die, no, you feared it heavily, more than the moon, but the truth was that you couldn’t keep going through this. The unknowing. The breaking bones, the blinding pain. The understanding that nothing that you do can stop it.

“It hurts, Ghost,” your breath stutters. “More than taking off a limb, more than slicing yourself open and ripping out your intestines—it burns more than the light of the moon.”

The Hunter listens through all of it. He sits, he stares, and he hides the brimming sense of concern behind his dead eyes.

With a pulling of his eyebrows, Ghost’s free hand moves upwards and grabs your chin. Freezing, you study this phenomenon from over your shoulder, face on fire with eyes wide to the pale skin visible to your view. You hadn’t realized until now, but this was the most you’d seen of the man’s face.

You could make out the point of his crooked nose—the strength of his jaw under the form-fitting fabric. Cheekbones and the heaviness of his brows. Wisps of hair. He had eyes like a cat, you had to admit; something sly about them despite the numbness that seemed to extend bone-deep.

But his hands had been kind to you.

Firmly, Ghost’s fingers run your flesh, and he blinks softly before a low sound echoes in his throat. He pushes carefully on your jaw and shifts your head back forward so he can help you. When he lets go, your heart quivers in your breast

“I’m ‘ere,” he mutters, and you feel the first stitch enter the thin flesh of your head. You take down deep breaths, focusing on the scrape of his fingertips and not the point of the needle. Ghost can understand the fear of it—of pain. It’s instinct. He tilts his head and pushes out, “I can only ask for one full moon from you, yeah? No more. I just need one.”

“And if I can’t find the werewolf?” Your voice vibrates with emotion, staring down at your hands as Ghost’s chest brushes your spine. The scent of him was addling your brain; the rub and slide of his hands.

The Hunter’s jaw clenches softly. “...Then I let you go.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting, but anything from the time you’d gotten a bolt through the thigh was unknown territory, and, like a dog without a leash, you’d run into it. Your brows furrow, blood oozing down your neck before Ghost’s grip shifts to place the rag back again, swiping away firmly.

“Go?” He nods, but you can’t see it. “But what about the hunt?”

“I can manage.” The stitching pauses. The air is broken up nearly a full minute later. “You’re not evil.” Before they start up again as if nothing was uttered aloud.

The confession makes the sting in the back of your eyes start up again—a strong thing of confusion and vulnerability. Ghost continues his task, pulling together your skin one suture at a time until the injury is fully closed; clean.

“Chin,” he lowly states, and you allow him to tap your jaw, shifting it up so the wrappings can loop above your ear and over your forehead—securing them.

Even far after the blood has seeped through, the two of you stay.

—

Come morning, you already feel wrong.

Your body stays in bed, shaking—sweating. A large pain flairs in your chest over and over like a pulsing well in the earth, skin twitching with the spread of blood. Ghost sits beside the bed all the while, having dragged over his chair. He leans back into it, one arm over the side, hanging with the thing ever so often moving to rub at the back of his neck.

You don’t think he’s moved since he brought it over last night; since he got another candle to stick into the holder—push back the dark. To watch, to study, or just to stave off your rising anxiety is another question.

It’s only after the fourth time you try to rip at the stitches at the base of your skull that he finally grabs your hand and holds it silently. Now, his thumb moves over your knuckles—his gloves back on.

At noon, he tries to suggest eating.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks.

“No,” you say instantly, sweat dripping over your temple, your body partially buried under blankets. “No, I’ll just throw it up.”

Brown eyes glint. “Just one bite?”

Your mouth is already salivating—thoughts of wet flesh and blood in the forefront until you whine and shove your face into the pillow; panting heavily.

Whispers dance in the shell of your ears.

I’m here.

“Go away,” you whisper quickly to them.

Ghost pauses, hesitating. After a moment, his thighs tense with the action of movement, thinking you’re speaking to him. Something swirls in his chest, but he starts to stand nonetheless.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” Both of your hands latch onto the Hunter’s wrist, fear a needle stuck in your gaze. “No, not you. Stay, please.”

A silver cage covered in blood slides across Ghost’s slightly shocked look, but he only licks at the corner of his mouth and slowly leans back once more.

“Not going anywhere,” he says, accent dipping. “Tell me what you’re hearing, yeah?”

His hand slips back into yours, and he presses into your pulse softly, counting. The sun continues across the sky.

“I don’t like how it sounds,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s wrong.”

“Focus,” Ghost breathes, looming closer. His grip squeezes once. “It can’t hurt you.”

You shiver, eyes tightly closed as tears burn the back of your nose. “It’s howling.”

A suddenly gloveless hand spreads up your cheek, resting there and pushing back the sweat that pools. It’s calloused—scarred. You whine, head spinning.

I’m waiting.

Find me.

“I don’t want to,” you utter under your breath, words an amalgamation of slurring gasps.

“Spector,” Ghost calls, head moving closer. “Eh.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” your hurried panic is similar to a mind overdosing on wolfsbane. “Gotta go away—gotta get out—”

“Spec!” The Hunter’s quick bark makes your eyes pop open, and you lock instantly with brown orbs.

They’re tight, unblinking just as always. They offer just a few moments of clarity.

Ghost holds your head still while the rest of you shivers with cold sweats, you can hear the blood inside of his veins; his heart pumping. The scent of his skin was addicting to the point of memorization on the airwaves. You watch, gulping down breaths as your throat bobs.

Eyes dart you up and down, fingers spreading out to offer what little comfort he can. The man wonders if he’s completely in over his head.

Ghost pulls his face-covering up to his nose, and your heart skips beats at the sight of ravaged skin and stubble, scars spreading out like your own. Long ones, short ones, burn marks, and hyperpigmentation. He wasn’t pretty, but he was real.

Oh, he was real.

His grip on you strengthens until all you can focus on is him.

Ghost blinks, and you see his lips move. The gravel of his voice was never more clear. “Fucking hell, keep that head on, okay? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here. I’ve got you.” He sighs out a low breath, thumb running your undereye as the small dribbles of tears begin to sneak out. Ghost murmurs. “I’ve bloody got you, alright? Let it happen—we can figure it out.”

He’d grown fond of you over the course of a month. You were curious; not pushingly so. Honest. Good. You’d been dealt a bitter hand, and damn him if his stone heart wasn’t stretched thin at the raw fear on your face. This wasn’t your fault, but he needed to find who turned you and stop them before it got any more out of control than it already was. If more unstable werewolves went running through the woods, there wouldn’t be anyone left in the territory alive.

“When you turn,” Ghost says as clearly as he’s able. “Go. Don’t fight it. I’ll find you.”

“Promise?” You ask, a weak flicker coming to your lips—eyes vulnerable.

Ghost nods once, and it’s all you need. “I’ll find you,” he repeats. “Doubt me?”

“No,” you ease, clearing your throat. “But…one more thing?”

“Anything,” the Hunter instantly says.

“Just don’t shoot me in the thigh again.”

When the claws start protruding from your nailbeds hours later, you’re bolting to the door with only one last glance at the Hunter and his half-pulled-up mask. Booted feet hitting the wood as he stands, he lets you go even as his thighs tense in a need to run after you. Patience was his beast to tame, but it seemed to have left him in the form of a woman disappearing into the tree line.

There is companionship in broken things.

Your body slips into the forest just as the creak of your bones begins to shift and bend. You fall into a heap, hearing the gargling of marrow under your skin like a call to sea. An urge grows to infect you; a feral need to run and hide. Biting back a shrill scream, a hoarse yell escapes instead—flesh rippling as your mouth opens, fangs breaking the supple mushiness of your gums as blood floods like a river.

Find me.

“Ghost,” you whisper, hands snapping to your head. “Ghost, please.”

Your bullet, you want your silver bullet.

A rabid scream rips from your throat, and back in the house, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists as he glares at the open door. He growls under his breath, eyes tightening in a certain type of anger that brews in his gut. The nights your shuffling woke his light slumber were more common than when you hadn’t, and every utterance was clearly heard to his ears. It had become a curse to him—how you’d met.

A regret was seeping in, a care, and now, as he forces himself to back up and head into the attic, Ghost clenches his jaw tightly. So unaffected by the horror of monsters, he was now at a loss of sense for this growth of feelings.

He wasn’t dull, he knew that some of the contracts he took marked him as a tool and not a person of stable mind. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and he would continue to do them for no other reason than they were the orders he was given.

But you had broken a piece of that off of him, somehow, someway, your face had seared itself into his retinas—speared him at the brutality that your community had treated you with. The muzzle. It was cruel, and while Ghost was precisely that, there was a limit.

He did his job, and that was that. Anything after wasn’t his problem.

You became his job, and the one who turned you was an add-on. Maybe if he justified it to himself, he could understand his actions better.

But he was already sprinting to grab his gear when the first howl shattered the night.

—

A white beast prowls the forest.

It stands on two legs, but it isn’t human—isn’t natural. It’s taller than a grown man is; snout pulled back in a soundless snarl that puts dogs to shame with rows of teeth so sharp, they look like pale knives. Its feet—large, splayed—soundlessly skate the ground until clawed fingers slam to the earth.

A nose inhales the scent above the dirt, tongue lulling as a shaggy tail lays limp behind a curved spine. In between the erect ears, under the thick skull of the werewolf, the rolling bumps of a brain spark. A pull.

Find me.

Your eyes are tiny black dots—and they blink once before you rise once more. A great growl moves inside of your chest, the large collection of hair around your neck standing on end.

I’m waiting.

But there’s something that keeps you here—standing in the grass as the moon shines atop your head, your fur nearly glowing even with the stain of bloody injuries. The remains of clothes are about a meter away; only strips of what was.

Your gaze looks over your shoulder, and your gargantuan frame lumbers backward until you can stoop to them—nose once more sniffing with your arms reaching.

Your fingers twitch, blackened claws digging through the ground as a near purr echoes in your throat. The scythe-like additions card across the strips.

Gunpowder.

Leather.

Whiskey.

Something you can’t quite name, but feel drawn to despite the tightening noose at your throat. There was something there you can’t focus on…something that you need.

Your drooling jaws snap, saliva coating the fangs until they drip off one at a time to stain the grass. Body shifting, your head lowers until your wolf-ish visage rubs against the fabric, licking at the sides of your gums as delicate grumbles slip out of your mouth.

A far-off howl leaves your frame freezing.

Eyes slipping back into the feral-inhumanity of a wild animal, your body jolts up, gaze to the forest trees and the rustling of bushes. The swell of rain on the clouds is in the back of your nose, and the previous attraction to the ripped clothes is lost as simply as it had come.

You were being summoned.

Ears twitching, the entirety of your body refuses to move to the sound; tensed and ready to spring on anything that moves if only to let off the spike of anger at the lack of control. The pull grows stronger, and it feels like something is trying to drag you away into the wilds.

This was the sensation you were always trying to fight—the one that led to the aggression; the hunt. You knew that if you followed that howl, whatever was left of your human sense would be gone entirely before you could stop it.

Yet, this time, there’s a nagging need to find the owner, and you can’t remember why.

Your large head tilts, feet spaced as the curve of your spine grows more aggressive—hunching forward as you snarl at nothing, claws shaking as your fur is more bristly than sleek.

Like pure white spikes.

In the back of your head, a thin sliver of a memory slips in. Fingers on the back of your head, caressing calluses and dark, dark, eyes. Clean bandages and gentle touches.

I’ll find you.

If the side of your vision picked up the shadow shifting from far off into the trees, your curled lip never turned that way. If your nose twitched to the heavy weight of a man’s sweat, it never shifted to point as a mutt would to the rustling bush.

Your body bolts after the resounding echo of a wolf’s howl, and it’s no later that Ghost slips after your clawed prints to follow.

—

Crossbow in hand, the hunter’s mask gleams in the darkness, his pale eyes twinkling. Bending down, he glazes at the long pushing tracks of your form—seeing the spray of dirt to the side and the broken branches. Ghost blinks, shoulders tense before he swiftly stands and continues on. The firearms at his thighs lightly rattle, and the bolts in his crossbow are already laced with wolfsbane; silver tips smelt a week ago.

He passes a river with only a single glance at the tossed rocks from the bed, sloshing through the water as the bottoms of his pants get weighed down. Ghost’s mind is on one thing only: make sure this plan won’t get you killed.

The bolts aren’t for you—the silver bullets aren’t for you.

He grunts under his breath, the dark woods casting phantoms over the ground. The Hunter’s legs shift through tall grass, and he carries himself with the ingrained confidence a man of his station requires. If he were anything less than a monster himself, he would have died ages ago. Ghost shoots and lets others come up with the questions, but he could never be called dumb.

Seeing what fast glimpse he had of your shifted form after the last time, he was struck by how erratic it acted. Snapping head, twitching ears, and roving eyes. If he didn’t know any better, Ghost would have called it rabid.

Yet, your actions with his borrowed shirt were…body-stilling, to say the least about it. It had made his gut swirl.

“Give me a trail,” Ghost utters to himself, brown eyes still picking up the dash you’d taken. His agile feet splash through a puddle, the beginnings of raindrops hitting his head.

The man grabs at his hood and pulls it up stiffly, frowning under his mask.

Rain would wash away the tracks.

“C’mon, Love,” he grinds out, body hunched. “Leavin’ me to do the dirty work, eh?”

It’s too quiet—even a collection of minutes later of hard hiking, the trees barely move. There aren’t any birds; no animals beyond the black bodies of crows in the far-up branches, waiting, watching with obsidian eyes that don’t blink.

Ghost isn’t off-put, but the length of his strides gets far tinier, carefully stepping over twigs and rocks like a soldier at war. Then again, he was at war. And if he was caught unawares, there wouldn’t be a bullet to pull out of his side, but, instead, a chunk missing.

His ears were almost ringing from how hard he was focusing.

Brown eyes shift from one area to another, and then, suddenly as if a deer, he freezes.

Ghost’s body winds up, fingers twitching from the stark trigger discipline of his crossbow downward instantaneously. No one but him can explain what just happened, but he knows when he has to listen instead of act. Stuck in a clearing not unlike the place he’s first met you, his feet rest shoulder width apart and his eyes stare blankly into the trees ahead.

Your tracks end here.

From behind him, just as the large raindrops slap the side of his bone-ed visage, the small crack of a twig makes his ears twitch.

A low snarl sets his hair on end.

Looking over his shoulder, Ghost is met with the same color that he’d become so accustomed to in a full month completely blacked out. Void. Lifeless to anything besides rage and bloodlust.

Your white fur was infected with dirt, blood, and leaves—a mosaic of ferality ingrained into your body; pale fangs snapping. The beast slips through the treeline, slapping a veined hand into the soggy earth.

Ghost only watches, eyes a mystery.

His finger shifts over the trigger, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates.

The man looks into your glinting orbs, the dripping saliva on your lulling tongue as your esophagus pants for breath. One hesitation, he always knew, would mean death. One mess-up.

You’d asked him to end it, he shouldn’t feel remorse, guilt, perhaps—he was still human, despite his appearance, but remorse was deeper. It left wounds that were harder to lick clean again.

…So why isn’t he sending a bolt into your forehead?

Ghost remembers the times he’d found you under the bed, your shaking, and the way you hadn’t allowed him to change your bandages the first few weeks you’d stayed with him; didn’t want him to touch you. The nightmares and the small smile you’d gain when he’d spew his dark, sarcastic words as if this was a joke. How you’d always thank him under your breath for the food he’d give you, hunted by his own hand.

A silver cage. Crimson blood. The sight of your pleading eyes when you’d told him to shoot you.

Maybe the two of you were far more alike than he’d dare to admit. And he currently won’t, not even on his deathbed. Not even now.

Ghost watches, and he waits.

He can’t do it.

Your body slinks closer, stalking with the sound of anger, nearly rib-shaking in its volume. Ghost’s jaw clenches, and his body shifts to face yours head-on. At the sight of the crossbow, your snarl turns into an air-biting rage, saliva flying through the rain.

“Spector,” he keeps his voice low, even. The sight he’d seen as you smelled his clothes had to mean something. Ghost tilts his head, moving out a hand from the side of his weapon in an appeasement gesture. “I’m not going to shoot you. We have a job to complete…get those fangs away.”

He wonders if ordering you around will even work. You had told him before—you’re not a mutt. Ghost agrees. No mutt was the size of a fucking boulder.

The werewolf’s claws drag—goring the mud as if a pig to tear apart.

“Spector,” the Hunter tries again. But something’s different about his tone; he drops it, letting it pull on a softer string. “I’m here to end this. We’re here to end this.” He blinks and lowers the crossbow completely. “Breathe. The night can’t last forever.” A breeze whips the trees. “I made you a promise.”

There’s a second, he thinks, where he can see something shift in your gaze, pupils slightly widening above the deluge that wets down your fur into a sopping mess that hangs off muscle.

“That’s a girl,” Ghost grunts, taking a small step closer. “Never told you,” he utters, eyes locked with yours. He sees your nose twitch minutely. “But if we get this right, Spec, there’ll be no more painful shifts, hear me?”

Your dog-ish mouth is closed, hanging off every word as Ghost comes even closer.

“I kill this bastard,” the hunter breathes, gloved hand still outstretched, nearing closer to the near-silver of your form. “The moon’ll have no claim on you. She’ll let you off the leash, Little Wolf. You get to decide when it happens.”

He thinks he has you now, back to some state of recognition in the addled brain that tries to see him as prey; as competition. Ghost’s fingers are close enough to almost touch you, but just before he can brush his gloves over your wet fur, your mouth opens in a display of untamed challenge. Your growl is enough to make the man unconsciously reach for his pistol, and in the time it takes him to realize the fault of it, you’ve already rampaged forward with an unhinged jaw.

Ghost’s eyes widen, taking a quick step back.

Your legs push off, and you shove the hunter out of the way just before the fangs of an immense beast can clamp down on him, your own finding the shoulder of gray, thick fur.

Fighting as wolves do, Ghost only needs a moment to recover and get to his feet, though the sight in front of him can rival any that he’d seen before. His crossbow clatters a few feet away, sending the bolt off into the trees with a metallic ‘twang’.

The two werewolves roll around the pouring clearing, snapping teeth and rending claws drawing blood that’s deep enough to swim in to the green grass. White and gray meld together—blue eyes like a knife to Ghost’s chest when he takes it in from between the sound of tearing fur.

“Bloody fucking…” the man trails, staggering as his palms slap to the pistols at his side. He blinks, shouting in more of a bark than even a dog could imitate. “Spector!”

The wolves pull and rip the other to shreds, flesh torn and limbs grasping for purchase. Bodies are slammed to the ground before getting tossed to the side, fangs flashing in the moonlight. Ghost watches crimson stain your fur a pinkish-red.

He can’t get a good shot.

The werewolf that turned you sinks its claws into your sides, dragging them downwards as you yowl, eyes tiny with aggression before your jaws connect with its snout, biting down with more force than a horse’s hooves. The monster screams—a garbed thing of fangs and saliva.

Just as easily as it called you here to it, as it stalked your Hunter, it bashes your body back into the earth and takes you by the scruff of your neck. Eyes wide in that lupine way, you lock on Ghost’s profile before your body is lifted, and tossed away violently.

Spine slamming into a tree, you hear the cracking and bending of your bones in your ears just after you hear the sharp shout from the man in the clearing, body dropping to a heap into the grass and mud. Angled head flopping back and forth, black infests the edges of your vision, coughing up blood that seeps from between your gums and slips down the back of your esophagus. Fur and flesh are stuck at the base of your throat.

Whining, your limbs drag and pull futility, eyes flooded over with crimson and fogged by rain. A great roar worries the air, sending long shivers over your spine as you try to rise to your limbs, a five-fingered hand slamming you back down.

Just before the fangs can clamp your throat, two great booms burst through the forest.

The wolf atop you reels back, great bellow escaping its throat when you can finally drag your head to look over. This beast was clawing at its chest, shaking its large head in an arch to try and dispel the shock of having two silver bullets entering its back—the gray head snapped around to Ghost, who held his twin pistols aloft with eyes burning with anger from behind his mask. An avatar of vengeance; a bringer of death.

The orbs inside of your sockets widened, nose twitching wildly as you bleat a quick warning bark.

Blue-Eyes rises, body far larger than yours would ever grow to be—on two feet more powerful looking than a bricklayer many years into his craft; tall enough to reach to the sides of black-shingled homes and pull itself up. Ghost takes one look and growls under his breath, knowing there would be no time to reload the weapons in his hands.

So he drops them and pulls slowly at the cruel blade in his belt until the gleam winks in the low light like a curved smile. Setting it in his hands, the small flicker of a sharp smirk on his lips is lost to you.

Yet, there isn’t a chance for some brawl between two beasts—there’s only the flash of pale fur and the final crunch of a body hitting the ground.

You bury your fangs into the wolf’s neck; the one responsible for all of your pain and torment spanning years of isolation. You feel the body seize as it drops, the last remnants of a dying brain trying to fight the inevitable nothingness that ensues, and, you only hold on the harder, the bloodlust seeping back in with every drop of life pooling into your locked jaw.

Your throat releases tiny growls of pleasure, biting a bit to make sure there wasn’t a sliver of a chance that something living was walking away from this scene.

Ghost pauses, and in the back of his head, he knows he should stop you. Brown eyes see the animalistic sheen of enjoyment at a fresh kill, the way you pull at the flesh until chucks peel away from a gurgling wolf. Even when the thing is long dead and the rain still slaps the earth, you barely let go until you get a hold of the meat and tear with a backward jerk of your snout.

“Love,” the Hunter sheathes his knife, taking a step forward. The blood was pooling under your body. How many of those were treatable? He had to know. “Let me see what’s—”

The eyes that lock on him are not yours.

Up to your ears, the entirety of your face was awash with the stain of life, dripping off the whiskers at your cheeks; your chin.

Before he can utter another word, he finds himself on his back with a snapping snout right in front of his face, two dead eyes staring deeply into his own. Ghost sucks down a quick breath, hand snapping to the large wrist shoving down on his chest.

He pants out, gravel accent far more deep than it was before.

“Easy, Spector. Easy. Eh—focus on me.” Your tongue licks at your fangs, body shaking. Ghost pushes out, “That’s it, then. It’s over, yeah? You did it; let's pack it up and head back home.” He grunts. “Recon even dogs get cold in weather like this—the bed’s waiting. Get a nice fire going.”

Ghost sees your face move closer, and his hand minutely shifts to the vial of wolfsbane on his belt. It wouldn’t kill you, but it could put you out of commission until your body shifted back into its proper form. He could carry you back—that wouldn’t be a problem at all.

But he was worried about your injuries. Even now the droplets of blood roll off of you faster than the water can.

Too much.

Brown eyes crease, darting a look down.

“Fuck,” he growls, seeing the carnage and the open meat. “Sweetheart, we need to get you checked out—you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”

He can see the conflict; the internal fight.

Your mouth moves with fast pants, claws stuttering over his gear futilely. You blink rapidly, shaking your large head in fast increments with small snarls.

“C’mon,” Ghost says slowly, fingers looping the vial. “Keep listening. Know my voice is utter shite, but only you can tell me it.”

Your head drops to his chest just as the wolfsbane is popped open, and, for whatever reason, Ghost pauses. He waits.

You take a long inhale of his gear—of the leather and the gunpowder, and just before the Hunter can dump the vial over your skin, the long blackish claw on your finger loops the bottom portion of the fabric under his bone attachment.

The man’s breath hitches as you let it rest along his nose bridge…holding it there as you drag your head upwards as if it were an impossible chore. Your mouth dribbles out gore to his cheeks, but the Hunter stares upwards into your eyes as they soften in a lupine way.

Inexplicably, you let out a bone-rattling sigh and slump into oblivion.

—

Come morning, you sleep under the spread of large fur blankets—clean bandages over your bare frame as the man has tended to you for hours. He mutters for you to slip your arms into a spare shirt after he finds your eyes open, not uncomfortable by your nakedness, though he wants you yourself to be at ease.

His brown eyes are creased, and you can’t remember what you’ve done.

You comply with small grunts and moans; more sore and cut up than you can recall ever feeling as a large tunic is slipped over your head by scarred hands.

Gunpowder.

“What did I—?”

“You finished the job,” he says, sparing you a glance as he shifts back with his eyes averting themselves from your visible legs. The sun seeps in through the windows. “It’s morning.”

You blink slowly, and the man eases you back down into the furs.

“I’m tired,” your voice yawns out—weak and brittle like the hope you’d had that this plan of his would work. Eyes half-closed, they blink at the hunter with a soft kind of care that you can’t remember showing before. Whatever pain medicine he’d given you, it was working. The underlying itch was still as strong as ever, though.

“Tired is good,” Ghost nods slowly, standing still until he crosses his arms and sets his feet. He’s in a fresh shirt and pants. There’s blood under his fingernails; traces smeared over his flesh. “Means you accomplished something.”

“Don’t think that’s entirely true,” you breathe. A pause. “...Why is your mask like that?”

It was half pulled up—showing off his lower jaw and the stubble. The scars that you already have memorized. Ghost shrugs, blinking those dead eyes of his.

“Ah,” he grumbles. “Forgot. Here.”

He reaches up and slips the thing off in one motion. Your loose brain takes a moment to realize the entire face you’re staring into, but the second it does, the image is engraved into your mind forever. You make a noise in the back of your throat.

“Better, Little Wolf?”

“W—” Your lips stutter, new sutures pulling tight. “Why would you…?”

“Hungry?” Ghost asks, quickly changing the subject. “Know you like that venison that I caught.”

“No,” you breathe. “No, I’m not…I’m tired, Ghost. My head hurts.”

A hand sweeps over your forehead, staying as you sag into it with a hum and a fluttering of your eyes.

“Bloodloss,” the Hunter murmurs. “Normal. Go back to sleep; take however long you need. I’ll be here.”

The bond between the two of you has strengthened to that of a silver rope.

“Stay,” you plead under your breath, already slipping back into nothingness with no promise to wake up again soon. “Hold me, Ghost?”

“Simon,” he grunts to only himself, knowing that the words are lost to you. Perhaps that makes him all the more eager to share it with you when you’re better. “Stay still.”

It wasn’t like you could protest.

The broad man slips in, shifting the furs until you’re covered back up and your forehead is to his chest—keeping himself closest to the door where the runes still sit in their bloody glory. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear them humming him a tune.

No song was better to him than the one of your breath at this very moment. Alive. Moving. There were many times in the night that he thought...hm.

“Better, then?” The dry tease slips out.

A kiss to the side of his mouth is what he gets in answer, and he doesn't say a peep more until he knows you’re back in the clutches of a dream—a good one, he knows, because he watches your expressions like a loyal guard dog would.

Ghost, Simon, rests his lips on the top of your head, and in a delicate murmur, eases, “You did good, Love.”

There was much to do, but for now, all he had to do was hold you a little bit tighter and let his stone heart beat a little bit faster.

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tiredmamaissy · 4 months

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode IV

Seed of Life

This is @zestys-stuff 's OC. All credits to this character goes to this beautiful, talented artist. Thank you again for allowing me to explore and create with him!

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, angst, early pregnancy smut (will be forewarned before it happens), daddy daughter drama, Ralak being little rough because reader won’t stop teasing him, Ralak literally has blue balls, ball play, blowjob, brief thigh fucking, likely incorrect na’vi, teacher/student dynamics/roleplay, p in v, quickie, squirting, masturbation, dirty talk, sexual tension, age gap

Disclaimer: This chapter entails pregnancy and sexual intimacy during early pregnancy. I include a warning directly before the smut happens in the case that you want to indulge in this chapter but aren’t necessarily up for the pregnancy smut.

Word Count: 10k sorry

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: thank you guys for always being so patient with me. i love yall too the moon and back <3 happy holidays and a happy new year! also, I’ve realised that I unintentionally decided that Kiri is not involved in this series (i dunno honestly, it’s just occuring to me that I’ve never really mentioned her before and it feels difficult to incorporate her at this point i suppose). It seems like we (reader) have taken her place in this au in regards to being jakes adopted ‘babygirl’ (nothing else though—no superpowers or anything loool).

Synopsis: After telling Ralak that he's going to be a father, the reality dawns on you that you need to break the news to your own father.

<- Previous -> Next

This pregnancy shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, honestly. How could you not be? After such a breeding it would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant. Yet the news wasn’t quite sinking in, even when Tsireya looked at you with wide eyes and spelled it out for you. But now that you’re walking towards the tsahìk, you’re faced with reality and it begins to sink in as you count each step you take.

Forty-two…

The words that rolled off the tarsem’s tongue echo in your skull.

Forty-three…

Etching themselves into the bone, leaving you with no space to deny the truth.

Forty-four…

“You are with child.”

The ringing in your ears stops as your vision refocuses on the stone cold expression of the Tsahìk. Her voice is unfaltering and clear as it delivers the news to your ears a second time. Bowing to the taller woman, you sweep three fingers away from your forehead and turn your heel to walk away. But before you can take two steps she announces something that makes your ears stand tall.

“A boy.”

Her two harshly spoken words strike through your chest, a sinking feeling now brewing in the pit of your stomach. You stop dead in your tracks and lift your head that was once tilted down to your feet. Things become even more real, having you force down a wad of your spit to keep your vision from splitting again. You’re barely able to use your voice—your mouth partially open and your tongue rolling from the churn of your tummy.

“Thank you, Ronal.” You manage to squeak a decibel or two over a whisper, dropping your head again to lock your stare to your feet before fleeing the now-crowding scene. You overhear the people murmuring the news as you scurry away to your marui pod.

‘The forest girl expects the firstborn of the village’s best warrior’;

‘She won’t make it out alive!’;

‘Did you hear? She will birth the first of a new kind. A kind with demon blood’.

If your legs could go any quicker, they would.

A child grows in your womb now. A child for the man you love—Ralak. The man who deserves it most. You’re scared and excited all at once. Proud to bear a son for such a notable and fearsome man. But afraid of how your family will take to the news.

This was your first month of being a mated pair, and you’ve already succumbed to your most primordial instinct to mate. And with what everyone is already whispering, you’re scared of much more than that. Is what they say true? Is this a risky thing? Will he be teased for being different? Will he be rejected from the clan?

Does Ralak… even want this?

You both hadn’t even sat down and spoken about the possible consequences of such a cosmic event—your synced cycles. What if he hadn’t meant all the things he said? Or if he really just couldn’t prevent the things that he did during his rut? How would he react if that were the case?

Your mind is running at a hundred clicks an hour and your nerves are wringing your stomach that it takes the hot sand spilling through the cracks of your toes to make you realise that you’re already home.

And there he is, in all his glory.

Doing nothing other than sharpening his damn spear. Sitting on his knees, leaned back with his flexed abs and gathered brows, concentrating on his task—blissfully unaware of the gossip spreading throughout the clan. The sight brings serenity to the white noise in your head, leaving nothing but the crash of the waves and the splash of the ilus off in the distance. I

Ralak’s ears twitch as he senses your presence, but he remains focused on the stroke of his whetstone against the blade. He can feel your apprehension from where he sits, and he can already tell what you’re here for. Yet he chooses to keep his appearance no less than stoic, but not enough to be intimidating.

“Tanhì.” He hums low enough that you strain to hear him.

“I need to speak with you.” You utter, wetting your dry lips with a quick swipe of your tongue. You stand there fidgeting with your fingers as you await a reply from your husband. It’s almost mortifying how silent this man can actually be. You see the slight tilt of his head and his ear perk up to listen closely. Taking this as your cue to speak, you try to find the words to say.

How do I say this?

Ralak is a simple man, perhaps it’s better to give it to him straight. An easy, ‘I carry your unborn son’, would do, right? You begin to gnaw on the dry skin on your bottom lip as you think. But his silence is really getting to you today. How can he sit there so… unbothered? Not even a glance thrown your way or an eyelash batted. Maybe you should just spit it out — ‘you got me pregnant’.

“Hm?” He lets out a muffled grunt, swiping the whetstone against the spearhead. It sounds innocent. Like he’s just immersed in a task and couldn’t quite bring himself to completely stop.

“We no longer need to prepare for my heat.” You blurt out, not even knowing where the words came from. You witness his spine straighten and him quickly stilling his movements.

Little did you know his heart gallops at the speed of a direhorse, thumping wildly between his ribs as he prepares himself to finally hear you utter the words. Oh, how he had been waiting for your sweet voice to sing the news. But he realises that you seem to need an extra push to say them.

“And why is that?” Ralak husks, still unmoving.

You wait for him to turn around. To look your way. Something.

But… nothing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ralaks heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. A grin spreads from ear to ear, so strong and wide that if you were really paying attention you would have caught the way his ears stand at full height.

But you were too busy fighting the bubble of the blood in your thumping heart, trying to keep your frustration to a minimum. You had expected more. For him to turn around, at the very least. All you could hear was the da-dump and the silence between you two. Until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Perhaps it’s all the hushed chatter from earlier or maybe it’s just the new surge of hormones and out-of-whack pheromones but you can’t help the burn of your eyes as they fill with tears.

“So w-what? Not even a glance my way? You knock me up and have nothing to s-say for it?” You choke back your heated tears of frustration, Ralak now huffing a vehement sigh. “You’re not even surprised, or—” Your blubbering is cut short by your husband's quick movement.

Ralak instantaneously brings himself to his feet and storms over to you, towering over your petite frame. Now he’s peering down at you, dark, smouldering eyes holding the most intimidating gaze with you as he closes the distance between your bodies. He’s still damp from seeing to the ilus this morning that when your chest touches his cold, bare stomach, it hardens your nipples into stiff peaks.

“Surprised?” He rasps, his large hand flying to your lower stomach, gently pressing into it. Heaving shoulders slowing as he steadies his breathing, Ralak lowers his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear—

“Do you not think I had every intention of putting this baby inside of you?”

Hearing this spoken in such an assertive tone sends shivers up your spine—Ralak knows exactly how to handle you and your… sensitivity. He always has. Your tail sways uncontrollably behind you, earning a well concealed smirk from the giant before you. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of you, but now—oh, now he has a new favourite part of you.

Your soon-to-be swelling belly.

“I have known.” He admits through a whisper, smoothing his entire palm over your budding womb, planting a quick kiss on your temple. “Your scent… it has changed, tanhì.”

“What?” You whisper, almost pulling away from his tender touches to look at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted to hear you say it. I have been waiting… to hear you say it.” He’s the one to pull away this time, looking you deeply in the eyes. His free hand raises, using his thumb to wipe away a tear seeping from the corner of your eye. “Please. Do not cry.”

You don’t even know what to say. Yet again, Ralak leaves you speechless—with trembling lips and a swelling throat.

“And you are actually eating the payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] I cook.”

“What?” You snort, letting loose a sudden, nasally giggle. You drop your smile and try to fix a serious expression on your face. “What do you mean? I always eat your payoang niktsyey [fish wraps]”

Ralak laughs, his three fingers tucking hair behind your ear, “I see you throw them to the ilus, tanhì. I am no fool.”

You laugh again, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, sniffling when the uncontrollable giggling fit ends. “It seems that our son enjoys your cooking, ‘lak.” You bubbler with a wobbly smile, blinking harshly to clear your vision.

Ralaks eyes bulge as they frantically search yours—a beaming smile spreading across his lips, his pointed teeth on full display. “Son?” He exhales softly, his left brow bone jumping ever so slightly.

All you can do is nod, letting your wobbly smile morph into a grin. The tears come back like they never left, twice as much and even hotter than before. You swear you see Ralaks eyes gloss over too, glistering in the sunlight.

Ralak sinks to his knees, coming face to face with your soft tummy.

“My prrnen [baby]. My ‘evengan [son; boy child]. It is your sempu [daddy].” He whispers, heated lips slightly pressed against your silken skin. Chin tucked to your chest, you watch in awe, straining to listen to his hushed whispers. “I have wanted you for so long.”

Hearing that—oh, how hearing that makes you feel. You feel warm inside, your heart so full all your earlier fears melt away. Ralak looks up at you, azure blue eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration—gratitude and admiration.

“My sweet tanhì. You have made me the man I have always wanted to be.” He croons at you, planting a long, soft kiss on your stomach—eyes still locked with yours. “And I thank you for that. Nìt’iluke [forever; never-endingly]”

And just like that, the butterflies you felt when you first laid eyes on this man come rushing in, flapping their wings at full force.

“I am your mate.” You sputter out a little, tiny sob. “It’s what I-I am supposed to do.”

Ralak stands up, holding eye contact with you the entire way.

“You owe me nothing. It is an honour that you carry my unborn, y/n.” His hand leaves your stomach to grasp your hand, intertwining his thickset fingers with yours. “You will be a nawm [great] mother.”

“And you will be the best father.” You choke back your sobs, struggling to get your words out. A comfortable silence passes, where you both immerse yourselves into one another’s touch. Until Ralak witnesses your expression morph into something of worry.

“What is it?” He asks in a hushed voice, keeping his tone calm and cool.

“Speaking of… fathers.” The column of your throat undulates when you gulp hard, “How will I tell mine?”

Ralak swallows, too. The thought had crossed his mind a few times over the past week. He saw the answer as simple – tell him. Ralak holds a lot of respect for your father, looking up at him as a superior given his status and skill as a warrior. And although he’s slightly intimidated by your father, Ralak sees this respect as mutual—therefore, it should be returned. Surely, this will go smoothly if you both remain polite.

Right?

“We tell him. Together.” Ralak grasps your hand once more, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his heavy accent shining through now that he’s high on emotions, “I keep you safe. Both of you.”

——

Both you and Ralak make your way down the shore towards the webbing of overlapping mangrove roots. Though you insisted on breaking the news to your family by yourself, he was adamant that he accompanies you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your father lashing out on Ralak, especially in front of the others. You tried to explain that to him, but he simply shook his head and tightened the clasp of his saya (knife sheath) on his hip.

You make the trek by foot, wanting a little more time to think about what you were going to say, and he ensured to stay right behind you. Quite literally—looming behind you like some sort of bodyguard. Every na’vi you pass are quick to avert their gaze elsewhere when they see the giant you have as a shadow. They tried not to look to begin with, but it was a rare sight to see you two so close together among the clan.

Their hushed whispers are kept to an absolute minimum but Ralak hears them nonetheless. It doesn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least. It used to bother him before he had met you—hearing the chatter of the gossip about his voluntary six year celibacy despite being the chief’s right hand man. And now that the murmurs entail nothing but his relationship with you, he could care less.

But then he hears the indistinct mumble about the babe budding in your womb. It’s something along the lines of ‘it being some demon hybrid’. The comment alone has Ralak screeching to a halt, his head snapping in the direction of a stocky, young warrior in training. One that Tonowari had relentlessly urged Ralak to teach until he begrudgingly gave him a couple combat lessons.

Ralak’s eyes narrow and sharpen, snapping down to shoot a threatening leer down at him. That's all it took for the stumpy na’vi to drop his head in shame and scurry away with his younger companions.

Sensing that Ralak is no longer on your tail, you turn around, half-expecting him to be five steps behind. Instead, he’s right where you left him, with a reassuring smile and an extended hand gesturing you to ‘continue’. You return a light hearted smile and spin around, taking another step towards your family marui.

——

“To what do we owe the visit?” Neteyam smiles as he greets you at the marui door, arms splayed out for a hug. You smile and slump into your brother, allowing him to envelope you in a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks, sis.”

“Because we haven’t.” Lo’ak adds, lurking behind his bigger brother, arms crossed over his chest with a grin on his face.

“Hey Lo’.” You say in a low voice, smiling at him as you let go of your big brother. Ralak silently stands at the marui door, head awkwardly tilted in an attempt to fit himself in such a tight space.

“Hey, sissy.” Lo’ak throws an arm around your neck, patting your shoulder a few times as he walks you further inside and away from Ralak. “What’s up with the shadow?” He doesn’t even try to quieten his voice as he nudges his chin in your husband's direction.

You force a little laugh, unwrapping his arm from around your neck so you can inch away back to your ‘shadow’. You back up until you bump into his solid build, making a muffled thump when you collide. He steadies you by the shoulders, lidded eyes flicking down to check that you’re okay. He can sense your nervousness.

“I–we… have something to tell you guys.” You begin, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s everyone else?”

Lo’ak’s eyes squint, brows furrowing as the gears in his brain grind twice as fast to figure out what you could possibly be calling a family meeting for. “No fucking way. Already?” He blurts out when he finally puts two and two together. Your eyes widen when they dart over to him, catching sight of the shit eating grin plastered to his face.

Fuck, is this skxawng going to spoil it for me? You think to yourself, apparently loud enough for Ralak to hear. He squeezes your shoulders before sliding his hands down the full length of your arms and letting go. “Mawey [calm].” He breathes, his head still hanging low. You look behind you, tilting your head up to meet his comforting gaze.

“Hey, babygirl.” Jake’s voice snaps your attention back down, having you look your father in the eye. His smile is as wide as his arms as he approaches you for a hug.

“Dad. Hey.” You whisper, returning the hug and snuggling into his chest. You bask in the moment, lingering onto how things are now—before you drop the bomb on him.

“I missed ya.” Jake chuckles, rubbing your back. He finally lifts his head and sees your ‘shadow’ hovering a little closer than needed. “Jeez, let her breathe, boy. She’s just huggin’ her old man.” Ralak keeps his head hung and takes a small but noticeable step back. Jake gives you a quick peck on the head as he begins to pull away. “What have ya’ been up—”

Jake cuts himself short, leaning back in to smell your hair. His eyebrows gather when he recognizes the familiar scent. Neytiri has smelled similarly a few times before. Jake grinds his teeth, scrunched brows and narrow eyes giving away his current state of mind. His hands slide down your arms, gripping then as he looks you dead in the eye. “Y/n. You got somethin’ to tell me?”

“Dad–” You swallow down the knot in your throat, already getting choked up.

Jake's lips purse into a thin line as his death-stare immediately averts to Ralak. And for what feels like an eternity, nothing but silence fills the room. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Jakes eyeing Ralak down whilst Ralaks stare is locked on the way he’s holding you.

You glance over at your brothers. One’s obviously got it figured out, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. And one is completely clueless—poor thing. You look back at your father who is now seething, leer averted back to you as he exerts all his energy into being patient.

“What’s going on? Guys?” Neteyam breaks the silence with a worried tone to his voice. His eyes bounce from person to person, until they land on his brother.

“He knocked her up.” Lo’aks whispers harshly, not even trying to be discreet. Neteyams brows raise and now he is, too, staring at you. You feel all the blood drain from your face and suddenly you’re extremely light in the head.

Mortified is an understatement.

Everyone is clearly waiting for you to confirm it. But you’re having such a difficult time saying the two silly little words. The pressure is on now, you could even see Ralak straining to hold his tongue. You finally muster up a cowardly nod, and immediately your fathers grip intensifies, squeezing your arms firm and tight. He’s looking down at you with eyes of disbelief and somewhat disappointment, frantically searching yours to see if this is really the truth. You let loose a low hiss, wincing when you feel the pinch of his grip.

Not even another second passes when you hear the slap of your husband’s large hands grabbing ahold of your father’s wrists.

“She is pregnant.”

A deep, but low growl rips from Ralaks chest. In other words, ‘never lay your hands on a pregnant woman’. Ralak dwarfs Jake as he inches in a little closer, grasping his wrists just firm enough to send this message.

“Yeah. Got it, bud.” Jake returns a growl through his teeth and tightened lips. He shifts his position slightly, eyes flicking down to acknowledge what his son in law is trying to get across. Nonetheless, Jake stands his ground. “Get your hands off me.”

Ralak tries to regain his composure, but his protective instincts have just about gone haywire. The urge to protect has never been so intense before. It’s like his soul knows that there’s just more to protect.

More at stake.

Ralak looks down at your fathers hands once more, silently making his point clear. He holds eye contact with Toruk makto whilst he remains unmoving.

“Lak…” You squeak a warning to your husband, who only flutters his jaw as a response. Lo’ak and Neteyam are on edge, both concerned that their father has a grip on you, but even more so that Ralak has a grip on their father. They watch intently, trying to decipher if and when they need to intervene.

To everyone’s surprise, Jake exhales harshly through his nose and gently pulls away from you, but wrenches his wrists away from Ralak’s grasp. “Sorry, kid.” Jake spits an apology, readjusting his position to be directly in front of Ralak. “Care to explain how this happened so damn quick?”

“Dad!” You shout in disbelief, wedging yourself back in between the two.

“You know what? Don’t even answer that.” Jake snaps.

“You know you are really no one to talk! Where’s mom? Mom!” You go on the tips of your toes, leaning from side to side to look for her behind both the two male na’vi.

“‘xcuse me?” Jake purposely blocks your view by bobbing his head wherever yours goes. “I am still your father and you will not speak to me that—” Jake steps to the left to avoid Ralak and walk towards you. Ralak quickly adjusts himself to be the wall between you and your father, not allowing Jake the chance to even finish his sentence. Ralak is now looking down at Jake with a stoic expression, trying his best not to come off intimidating or challenging in any way.

All to no avail.

“You got a problem with me, boy?” Jake grumbles through his clenched jaw, getting in Ralaks face now.

“No. Only keeping my word, sir.” Ralak simply responds.

Jakes brought back to the very moment he made Ralak give him his word. His word that he’d never let a thing happen to his baby girl. The night you completed your iknimaya. The night he granted Ralak the permission to mate with you.

The night Ralak took your virginity.

Jake stalls for a few seconds, taken aback by Ralaks behaviour but a little impressed at the same time. Jake's expression softens upon realizing that Ralak is just protecting his mate—just as he does Neytiri, especially during her pregnancies.

But there’s no way in hell that Jake will be the first one to back down here.

“Mom!” You call for her once more, hoping that she’ll swoop in and save the day.

Neytiri rushes in, hand on her hip where she keeps her dagger sheathed—worry and concern etched into her features. She analyses the situation, taking in the scene of her own mate standing face to face with yours. She glances over at you, seeing the panic in your eyes and the hand on your stomach that you didn’t even know you had placed there. Slowly walking up to the two male na’vi, she places a firm hand on her mates chest, pushing him away from Ralak. “Ma’ Jake. What is happening here?”

Jake’s pressing his lips firmly together, not wanting to say the words. He shakes his head a little, huffing through his nostrils before placing a hand on his hip. His other hand extends in your direction, as if he were pointing out the obvious. Yet he remains choked up and speechless, his hand falling to his thigh as he gives up.

Finally, he mumbles, “Go on. Tell her.”

Neytiri looks back at you, eyes trailing back down to your hand that’s mindlessly resting on your stomach as she awaits for your answer. You feel the burn of her eyes, yanking away your hand when it becomes too much. Being the daughter of Mo’at, a tsahik, Neytiri needed nothing more than a quick glance and sniff to know what’s going on. “Is this true?”

“Yes, mom. It is true. I am.” You say in a defeated tone of voice. Ralak shifts himself, settling close beside you now rather than in front of you. He always had an even greater respect for your mother.

Neytiri’s expression only grows softer, until there's no trace of concern left in her face. Her smile is downturned but her eyes are bright, glistening with joy as she pulls you in for a warm embrace.

“It is a blessing from Eywa, my child.”

She pulls away from you, now looking over to Ralak. Neytiri lays a gentle hand on Ralaks upper bicep, “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations] .” Ralak signs ‘I see you’ to his mother in law, exchanging a light hearted smile with her.

It was no secret that Neytiri longed to be a grandmother. Her days of children are over now, although she was expecting her eldest, Neteyam, to give her a grandchild first. But Ralak — Ralak is a remarkable, mighty warrior and hunter. The olo’eyktans right hand man, and undoubtedly the best fisherman in the village.

In fact, Ralak was one of the first people Neytiri took a liking to after she adjusted to the way of water. She always felt that he was a good suitor for her daughter.

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s barely been two months!” Jake scoffs, shaking his head.

“And a day for us, Jake.” Neytiri tries her best to keep a calm, but firm voice. “They are a mated pair, they are having a family now. It is Eywa’s will.”

Jake quiets himself, reflecting on his harsh ways. He sighs, loudly. His eyes finally glance down to what everyone in the room has been looking at, now staring at your protective hand that mindlessly lay over your womb once again. He grits his teeth, averting his stare to the ground, eyeing the charred wood of the fire pit. His tongue clicks as he parts his lips, muttering—

“I know… I know, alright? She’s just—” He looks up at Neytiri, then Ralak, and then you. “She’s my babygirl.”

It’s his way of saying, ‘I just want to protect my family.’

“Dad. I am but—but I’m not your baby anymore. I’m not a kid.” You croak, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him. “Your grandson is the new baby of this family.”

Jake tries to fight the way his eyebrows scrunch together, it was like hearing about the news of his firstborn son all over again. He exhales slowly, nodding his head and extending his arms to hold you. His warmth envelopes you completely, leaving no room for any cold or harsh thoughts and feelings to linger.

“You keep ‘em safe.” Jake's chin presses into the crown of your head as he mutters the words to Ralak. Ralak had always had a hard time understanding Jake's native slang, but this he understood— loud and clear.

“Always.” Ralak answers firmly.

Your safety has been, is and will always be his number one priority.

Jake nods once, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go fully. “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations], you two.”

“Thank you, dad.” You smile whilst Ralak bows his head. Neteyam and Lo’ak finally come over for their hugs, making a comment of their own as they release you from their grasps.

“I’m gonna teach him everything I know.” Lo’aks grin is unnerving and a little sinister, giving away the trouble that he’s already trying to get your son into.

“Please don’t.” You joke back with your brother, even though you’re being dead serious.

Neteyam jabs an elbow into his brother's rib cage, disciplining him for his mischief. “Agh — do not worry, Uncle TeTe will keep him in check.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” You say softly with a smile on your face, “‘Uncle TeTe’. I like that.”

“Hey, don’t forget about ‘Uncle Lo’Lo’.” Lo’ak chimes in.

“Eh. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? What do you think, lak?” You jester, looking up at him to be met with a slight smirk.

“Very… hiyìk [strange; funny].” Ralaks smirk pulls at his lips a little more. “But, at least it is not ‘ak’-ak’.”

You swear you hear a little chuckle from everyone in the room. All except Lo’ak, who is staring at Ralak with a deadpan expression, arms crossed defensively over his chest. It feels like an eternity passes until Lo’ak finally booms with laughter, extending his arm out to Ralak, who gaily reciprocates and meets Lo’aks’ with a smack.

“I like this bodyguard of yours, y/n. He actually has a sense of humour.”

You let loose a scoff and roll your eyes, about ready to wrap this whole thing up and lie down in bed. It’s seemingly obvious, seeing that everyone is giving you space as they take note of your restless body language and bowed shoulders.

“If you are tired, you should rest.” Neytiri advises, just as you feel Ralaks hand tuck under your arm to support your weight. “Your body is working hard right now.”

“Yeah, mom. I think I need to lie down for a little.” You mumble, leaning into your mate a little more.

Your family practically ushers you out, encouraging you to get some rest and to get off your feet. Ralak walks close to you on the way home, keeping with the pace you set to the tee — only intervening with a hand to your hip when necessary.

And when you finally slump into bed, your eyelids flutter shut before Ralak can settle himself beside you.

——smut warning——

You rouse to Ralak drawing the curtain of your marui, blocking out the orange hue of the last eclipse. It dawns on you that you’ve slept out most of the day. You didn’t even realise you were so tired to begin with.

“You should have woken me earlier. I slept out the day.” You mumble, sitting up in bed and lightly kicking off the sheets.

Ralak turns around, surprised that you’re awake. He curses himself under his breath; he was hoping to keep you sleeping by drawing the curtains but instead he did the opposite.

“You needed to rest.” He says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You have been more tired recently.”

“Yeah?” You snort, “…and what else have I been, sir know-it-all?”

Ralak chuckles, his eyes falling to your stomach. “…a little more hungry.”

You smile a little, remembering his fish wrap comment from earlier.

But then you witness his half-lidded eyes glaze over with something of… wanton. It takes a second to realise that they’re no longer staring at your belly. They’re staring at your tewng [loincloth]. More specifically, the mound imprinting it.

It’s the way your pussy is being so tightly squeezed by the thin cloth covering it. It’s the one thing that Ralak can’t help himself from indulging in admiring. Then his eyes snap away, unexpectedly meeting yours. The stare he’s giving you has your thighs rubbing together and your lower tummy tingling.

“…a little more tempting.” His voice is thick like honey, laced with lust and arousal.

In every way. From the way you fill out your top more, to your scent—you’re becoming more

irresistible the farther along you progress. Your heart beats a little harder between your ribs as you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. His lecherous gaze is fixed, blue eyes piercing into yours. It’s been too long since he’s been inside you that it aches.

But he’s been patient.

Especially since the day he figured out you were pregnant. With the way you smelt he found it hard to keep his distance at times but nonetheless, he did it. But the truth is that you haven’t had penetrative sex since your cycles synced.

To be clear, he took care of you just fine.

Tending to your needs whenever you initiated intimacy with him but he never took it further than his fingers and mouth. After seeing you so battered by his own hands he found it hard to put you in a position that could garner a similar result again.

For a while, he lost trust within himself.

That he no longer had the capacity for self control. Not only did he feel like he didn’t deserve it, but he never expected you to return the pleasure either. He had already taken you on his own terms. Repeatedly.

Ruthlessly.

So when you ate one to many of his payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] — when the new earthiness of your scent wafted past his nose — he knew. He knew it stuck. He knew your womb swelled with his child as each day passed. And the urge to protect only swelled with it.

He became even more gentle with you. Handling you with care when your skin softened and your hips became a little fuller. Ensuring he had excess when he cooked. Weaving an extra thick blanket for you to sleep with when he was off on duty with Tonowari.

It ached most when he’d come home just to see it kicked off onto the floor, with you on your stomach and your leg propped up just right. Your loincloth would always shift to the side, just enough to expose plump folds that innocently peek through the seam of the thin fabric. Fuck, it more than ached. It made him tender. Throbbing in his own tewng.

Just like now.

He dares not to break the steady, intent stare. Or else he may steal another glance at the softness between your thighs. But he can see in your eyes that you feel similarly. You always give him that look before doing something ‘troublesome’. You break eye contact first, your eyes now landing on his tewng.

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little when you catch sight of the growing, thick bulge in his loincloth. Your gaze locks onto it, taking in every detail. From the thick stripes on his thighs to the way the twine of his loincloth is cutting into his v-lines. You can even see the outline of the crown of his cock.

His stomach rises and falls from his uneven breathing, and his abs pop out one by one as he leans further back—supporting his torso with his arms behind his back. He was never shy about his body, and he certainly isn’t now.

“Then, why do you resist me?” Though it's a question, it doesn’t sound like one when the words drip off your lips. Your voice is soft and feigned with innocence, yet you're shuffling to get on all fours to crawl over to him. You truthfully don’t care for the answer, you knew that it would be the same old song—‘he doesn’t want to hurt you’.

“I hurt you.” He says coldly—simply, glancing at the fading scar on your shoulder as you settle yourself on your knees beside him. He watches as your hand finds purchase on his knee, and slides up his thigh. “And now that you are with child… I—haah”. He’s cut short with a shaky breath and slight jolt when you cup his bulge with a bit of force. He looks down at your hand, dainty and slender, barely grasping half of what’s under his tewng.

“You worry about me too much.” You mumble, more focused on the speed at which his cock pulses at. “Yet still, never yourself.” You feel around, sliding your palm up and down its length, earning a rough exhale from Ralak in return. His lidded eyes dart back over to you, taking in the sight of you almost bent over his lap.

“That so?” His voice is thick and gruff.

“Mhm. ‘m always telling you that, aren’t I?” You hum softly, slowly moving your hand further down between his legs, firmly cupping his balls. They’re heavy in your hand, hot to the touch and—

Eywa.

“They’re swollen.” You whisper breathlessly, your glossy eyes meeting him with concern. They dart back to his crotch, your hand now fumbling with the twine of his tewng, hurriedly trying to unravel the knot to get the suffocating fabric off him.

“‘tis fine.” He winces as he spits out the words, watching you pinch him a little while struggling with the taut material.

Ignoring his words, you continue with your task, a bit more gently now. And when the knot comes undone, the twine falls off his hips and the tewng loosens with it. You tug it off him and see that they’re not only puffed up but also darker in colour. They’re firm and pulled close to his body, perfectly round and stripes well-defined.

Shamefully, it turns you on to see his balls so full.

Just the thought of them being so swollen with his seed that they’re aching and throbbing to empty themselves inside you—fuck, it’s making your teeth grit. You sit back into the dip of your feet and stare as your breathing becomes heavier. The more you look the more you realize that they’re pulling tighter and tighter towards his core. You look up at him, a little surprised. Your arousal is etched into your features and it’s more than obvious in your body language. You want to know how they’d feel in your mouth. How they’d taste.

If they’d even fit.

Without another passing second you bend over his lap, tail high in the air and legs spread—the overpowering scent of your arousal filling the air. You shove your face between his thighs, inhaling deeply his musky scent. You let out a breath of desire, one that sounds nothing short of pleasure and satisfaction. He smells too good. You can’t help yourself but give his firm balls a quick, kitten lick. The giant above you holds back his chuckle, finding your behaviour cute and honestly a little amusing. Feeling like the butt of a joke, you firmly grasp his length and tug it upwards, causing his balls to pull even tighter.

“Y/n.” He hisses your name, adjusting his legs to rid himself of the strained feeling. You wet your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, and press your cheek against them. They’re hot—heating up a degree higher the more you tease him. Just as you pull your cheek away and manage to fit one of them into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head, balling your hair into his fist.

“You need not to—” your tail curls and the tip of it tickles against his chest, “—haah…do this.” Ralak huffs out a sigh of frustration it seems, looking down at you with somewhat of a predatory leer. You pop off with a pwah, catching your breath and turning your head.

You both share an intent stare with one another, one that feels more challenging than anything. He’s insistent that he’s undeserving of this, and you’re insistent that he must be taken care of. His grip loosens on your hair, until he lets you go completely.

“Shh…shh.” You shush him, eyes narrowing as they remain locked onto him. You slowly slide off the bed one leg at a time, sinking to your knees and settling yourself between his legs—now looking up at him with doe-eyes. The sight before you has your heart palpitating, just like the sight of your face so close to his cock has his jaw clenching.

Ralak quiets himself by locking his jaw, waiting patiently to see how this unfolds. It’s the first he’s seen you in this position, on your knees, between his. His cock twitches in excitement as clear, thick beads of precum begin to roll down its length. You swallow thickly at the sight, wrapping your dainty fingers around its girth to pull it close to your flushed lips.

Ralaks ears flutter and his eyelids grow heavy, his chest heaving as he shifts his weight to the palms of his hands—sitting up.

You open your mouth, strings of your saliva connecting your lips together. They break when you lower your head, taking the mushroomy, glistening head of his cock into your mouth. It’s mostly sweet, and a little salty too. The corners of your mouth sting as you accommodate his thickness, and you struggle to open your jaw wide enough to take him further into your mouth.

His head dips forward, eyes slamming shut when he feels your wet, warm tongue press against the underside of his cockhead. His hand flies to your head again, gently cupping the back of your skull as he lets out a strained breath.

Muffled noises vibrate through your nose as you swipe your tongue side to side against his head. It throbs against your tongue each time it hits that sensitive spot right down the middle. You suckle and swipe at the same time, using your hands to pump the rest of his length until you're grunting and snorting for air. You come up, gasping to fill your lungs.

His hand quickly slides from the back of your head to cup the swell of your cheek. His calloused thumb swipes at a bead of saliva rolling down your chin and pops it back into your mouth. “What are you doing, my tanhì?” He whispers the rhetorical question, ensuring his voice is calm and gentle. It sounds as if he’s given up—given in.

Without answering, you take him back into your mouth, locking your jaw once you open it as wide as you possibly can. You stick your tongue out as far as it’ll go and look up at him with eyes that begin to water. He looks down at you with a concerned expression, which morphs into one of astonishment. Your head goes lower and lower, taking inch after inch of his cock down your throat.

The tears in your eyes finally spill over, and your nose begins to burn. Half of his length is down your throat and you can barely breathe, but the more his face grimaces from how good you feel around him, the more of him you urge yourself to take. You hold onto his hips, using them as leverage to shove more of him down your throat.

“Hnng. Easy.” He groans roughly, pushing back against your shoves. “You are pregnaaah—mmn, you will make yourself sick, tanhì.”

Lifting your hand from his hip, you smack away his hand and take him full hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making it bulge. You stop for a second, slowly inhaling through your nose to focus on not gagging. You try moving the back of your tongue, slowly stroking the rest of his length with your hand.

“Ah, shit.” He exhales shakily, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. He looks focused, like he’s concentrating on not cumming down your throat right then and there. Lips parted slightly, each breath he takes becomes louder and more raggedy. His thigh muscles tense up and his legs spread a little more, his hand finding its own way to the base of your kuru.

Chest swelling with pride, you begin to bob your head and coat his cock with your sticky spit. The more slippery it gets the harder he has to fight back his choked grunts. The grip he has on your kuru is tightening, as if he were preparing himself to pry you off his cock before he fills your throat.

Suddenly, his head sinks back and his jaw clenches—hard. You could feel it. The way his cock twitches. The way it’s heating up. The way it’s swelling in your mouth. Gurgled noises are escaping past his lips, and he purses them tightly together in attempts to keep himself quiet. His core flexes, and his hips start to stutter. His whole body jolts from how sensitive he’s getting, and finally he thrusts into your mouth, the pointed tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat.

You silently gag as his hips stammer into you and he’s fucking your throat in frenzied little movements. He’s trying his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can.m, but your throat is so soft and tight around him. You swallow around his cock as you try to take a breath and suddenly his erratic movements still.

“Y/n.” He lets loose a dying groan as his head slumps forward and his inebriated eyes struggle to open.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His voice is gravelly and thick with restraint. You love to see him like this—hear him like this. You can’t help the wandering hand that’s making its way down to your soaked tewng. You try to touch yourself through the fabric, but have a hard time finding your clit with it covered like this. Exasperated, you shove your hand under the band of your loincloth and use all four fingers to rub sloppy circles into your puffy clit.

Ralak is too immersed into this to even take note of your desperation. He’s too desperate himself. And if you don’t stop now, he really won’t be able to help himself. He begins tugging you by your queue, trying to pry you away from him. With each hasty swipe of your fingers you suck a little harder, as if you were trying to match your pleasure with your mates’. He pulls at your kuru even harder but you’re unbudging, firmly holding the base of his cock as you relentlessly suckle on the most sensitive part of his tip.

“Stop.” He growls out of breath, finally looking down just to be tipped close to the edge by the sight below him. You look dumb and fucked out with his cock stuffed in your mouth, broken moans vibrating against his length as you franticly touch yourself.

Finally, he yanks you off him with one swift, hard tug, his cock slapping his stomach when it pops out of your mouth. You land on your behind, legs spreading wide open as your fingers work away at your now throbbing clit.

“Why? Can’t handle it?” You taunt him between pants and breathy, hoarse moans. Rather than answering he looks down at you with a cocked brow, kuru still in hand. Both of you stare at one another, shoulders and chests violently heaving as you both pant for air. He’s raw and pulsing, twitching from the heartbeat in the crown of his cock.

It's suspended mid air, jumping from how insanely aroused he’s left himself. Sticky beads of precum constantly roll down his shaft, one after the next and his balls are throbbing too. You get back on your knees and lunge for his cock again, tongue darting out to have another taste. He pulls you back, his hand still having a firm grasp of your kuru.

“Is this what you are like when you have been bred?” Ralak huffs, a little taken aback by your lewd behaviour. His gaze shifts to your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “So desperate.” Your silence has his brows scrunching together and him yanking your head back so you’re looking up at him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you to your knees with him—his hung cock swaying directly in your face.

A smug little smile pulls at your lips when you realise you’re riling him up. You witness his jawbone flutter, his ears laying flat against his skull. He just wants to stuff his cock back down your throat to teach you a lesson. Instead he shoves your face into his crotch, your nose burying itself into the space between his cock and balls. He holds you there for a few seconds, just long enough that when he finally pulls you away you suck in a tiny gasp of air.

Ralak sighs a low, lengthy breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He can’t understand how such a little thing can be so feisty. To act as if he couldn’t pin you down and take you without a scuffle. Truthfully it only makes him even harder. It only further proves that you are really the woman for him.

Slowly bringing you to your feet, he keeps your face pressed to his body so that your bottom lip drags along his torso as you make your way up. Your hand is still stuffed inside your tewng, slick fingers working hard to find their way back to your clit. With his free hand he grabs a hold of your hip, and steadily backs you up against the wall.

When your back hits the wall, a shaky breath is expelled from your lungs. He lets go of your kuru and rips your hand from your tewng. He then wedges his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clit, making it flutter uncontrollably. His movements are quick but gentle, filled with purpose and desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours as he searches them, his face just inches away from yours.

“Answer me, little one.” He whispers into your mouth.

“Yes.” Your answer is breathy and short.

Ralak heaves a heavy sigh.

“I am trying to be gentle…” He speaks the words through gritted teeth, using both hands on your hips to spin you around to face the wall. He lowers his head until his lips graze against the tip of your ear. “…but you make it so hard for me.” He growls, using the perfect amount of force to pin you against the wall with his body. His large hand swiftly moves to your lower stomach, cupping it to act as a protective barrier between the wall and your budding womb.

“No need to be. I can handle you just fine.” Your lips are pressed tight to your teeth, face flush against the smooth surface, making it hard for you to speak clearly. “Pregnant or not.”

Ralak chuckles.

“Is that right?” He speaks in an almost condescending tone, hurriedly tugging down your loincloth just enough to get access to your cunt. Without warning, he bends his knees a little to align your pelvises and then shoves his cock between your slickened, warm folds. “Oh tanhì, you are soaked.” His voice quiets down into a hushed whisper, “All from sucking my cock?”

A mewl splits your lips just as all the blood rushes to your face, staining it a bright pink. Your pussy clenches around nothingness only causing more of your slick to ooze on his cock. Your breath turns shaky, tail swishing wildly behind you. You can’t move even if you wanted to. He’s got you pinned down, quickly reminding you of his strength. And had it not been for his hand on your abdomen you would be completely plastered to the wall and taken on his terms.

“Tsk-tsk…Have you no shame?” Ralak tuts, holding you still. “Or must I give you a lesson on self-restraint?”

Despite his cockiness you can sense the urgency in his body language and in his voice. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter, as his cock slides back and forth between your pussy lips. His own desperation. The desire to be inside you. The need for release.

“Go on then, karyu.” You moan softly, causing his grip on you to loosen for a millisecond. Hearing that name brings a feeling of nostalgia. Of lust. You push back into him, your slippery hole trying to suck him inside with a few quick movements of your pelvis. “But I know you’ve been desperate… desperate to fuck your numeyu.”

“Oh, little one.” His chuckle is dark and depraved, his protective hand stiffening as if he were preparing it for what's to come. “Yet you are trying your hardest to take me inside you.” He licks your ear lobe to tip, whispering, “so cute.”

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You mutter under your breath, steadying your feet to ground yourself.

Ralaks ears flicker and stand tall, then immediately lay flat to his head—his brow cocking in astonishment. His smirk grows wider, the heat in his chest spreading to his extremities. Now that pushes him over the edge.

“Say that again, numeyu.” He challenges you in a growl, angling his hips so his weeping cockhead prods at your entrance. He ensures not to let the buck of his hips win, keeping you empty and yearning.

“Haah… afraid to take what’s yours.” You purr, rising to the tips of your toes to try sink him inside you. “Fnawe’tu—”

Smack.

The sound of his swollen balls making contact with your puffy clit is almost as loud as your broken gasp. You smile open mouthed as he holds his position balls deep inside you, firmly pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. He’s grinding his back teeth, digging his chin into your shoulder to quell the rumble of his chest from how tight you’re squeezing his cock.

You whine from the fullness of him stuffed inside your cunt, his unmoving hips sending a clear message of dominance. He’s hunched over you, body weight pinning you mercilessly against the wall, hand over your womb to keep your unborn safe—as promised. Still being gentle enough.

But you want him to lose it.

To fuck into you like he were in rut again. To use your pussy like a fucktoy to satiate his own greed and self pleasure. He deserves that much, for being such a competent and loving man to you. Yet it seems the only way to bring that out of him is to play dirty.

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You repeat shakily.

Smack.

Another deep and hard thrust into your sloppy cunt. He lets loose the rumble in his chest this time, bearing his canines and putting most of his weight on you now. Lips pressed tightly together, your whimper is muffled and outright pathetic, pinched brows giving away the pleasure rippling through you. Still, he remains unmoving, undeniably making it clear who has the most leverage here. But that doesn’t really matter to you—you’re getting what you want, one way or another.

Right?

“Voìk si, little one [behave].” Ralak hisses, fighting the inner conflict within him.

“Haa—” Your laugh that follows is a little sinister, open mouthed and smug. Hands pressing into the wall you push off its surface, sinking him deeper inside you. “No.”

“Alright.” His voice is husky, thick with confidence and temperance.

With a rough, quick tug, his cock slips out of you with a squelch, hanging freely between his legs. Your slick mixed with his precum slowly dribbling off his tip and onto the floor between your pointed feet. You fall to the flat of your feet, panting and whining from the sudden emptiness.

“W-Wait.” You squeak, hastily getting back on the tips of your toes to stuff him inside you again. “Please.”

“What was that?” Ralak asks, voiced feigned with innocence. “A little louder.”

“Please.” You barely whisper, backing up on him.

“Come now, tanhì.” His hand slips from your hip to grip his cock. Giving it a few strokes he teases your cunt with his cockhead and you instinctively shimmy down. Hips snapping back to prevent you from taking him inside, he dips his head so his mouth is next to your ear and husks, “You can do better than that.”

“Please!” You moan loudly in desperation, reaching down to your knees to unfetter yourself from your tewng [loincloth].

“Please, what?” Ralak spits the last word through pursed lips, ready to give you exactly what you want if you just ask for it nicely.

“Please put it back inside.” You beg pathetically, finally getting the knot of your tewng undone. “Please, fuck me.”

“Ahh, there’s my good girl.” Ralak praises you with a grin, sinking his cock into your warmth at a leisurely pace. His breathing stutters for every inch that penetrates you. “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck.” You moan in relief, spreading your legs wider. He’s tamed you and he knows it. “No.”

“No…?” Ralak says it like a question, hissing when he bottoms out in your cunt.

“No, karyu.” You answer coyly, voice faltering from the pressure of his cockhead pushing into your cervix.

“Agh—haah” Ralak lets out a gruff grunt in response, his hips now snapping back and forth out of his control. He’s huffing and puffing next to your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you in a frenzy of need. Swollen balls repeatedly slapping against your clit, it’s almost impossible to hold back the gurgled noises escaping your throat.

“Fuck—so—fuckin’—deep—fuck.” The curses are punched out of you as he relentlessly smacks into you again and again.

“Lì’fyaz [language.]” Ralak chides in a growl, hand slipping down to pull back the hood of your clit—taut.

The continuous sting of your clit has your legs shaking and the way his cockhead is repeatedly stimulating your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s almost too much all at once yet you yearn for more. Your cunt clamps down around him, especially when the tension becomes so tight you feel your stomach double-knot. Ralak hums when you tighten around him, only making him rut harder into you.

Pulling back, he glances down at you sucking him in, your tail curled tight to your back and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy. He can see just how tight you are as your pussy walls grip his girth mercilessly. And with the protective hand on your abdomen, he can feel each thrust against the palm of his hand. It makes his chest swell with pride—

You carry his child yet still take him so well.

“Oeÿa tsantu [my good girl]” Ralak slips into his native tongue, panting in an accent as thick as tree sap. “Oeÿa numeyutsyìp [my little student]”

Ralaks cock heats up inside you, heating your core along with it. It’s the same familiar sensation you feel before he provides you with your release. The feeling that keeps your eyes squeezed shut and breath shallow. He knows your close and slows his thrusts like he usually does, fucking you a little harder rather than faster, angling his pelvis so he’s right in your swelling g-spot.

Your hands fly behind you, grasping at whatever’s available as your orgasm washes through you. You gush all over your thighs, cum dribbling down your legs to your feet, some spattering on Ralak as he fucks and holds you through your high. It’s sudden and uncontrollable, leaving you sputtering out nonsense and your legs shaking violently beneath you.

“There it is. Good muntxate [wife].” Ralak huffs with a smirk, relishing in the quick, feverish flutter of your cunt on his cock. His voice is shaky from his uneven rhythm now that he can finally allow himself to finish too. “Love—hng—when you cum for me, you—ahh, haah—know that?”

He begins grinding to you, shoving you further into the wall as he focuses on his own climax. He uses his feet to kick your legs closed, and pulls out of you, stuffing himself between your thighs. He’s groaning and growling, hunched over you with bent knees and flushed, flattened ears. Skin slapping against skin, he humps at your thighs, thick cock sliding back and forth over your still pulsing clit.

His cockhead continuously pokes out between your folds, tip oozing and oozing with precum. Both his hands fly to your hips, gripping them with force as his thrusts become almost violent. You struggle to keep yourself standing as his hips smack into you repeatedly, your body jolting with each thrust. He gives you one last, harsh thrust, holding you still against him as you feel his cock throb wildly between your thighs. You look down to see his huge load shoot out in thick, white ropes. He’s grumbling behind you, giving your thighs an extra few uncontrollable thrusts as he peaks in his high.

Finally you fall to the flat of your feet, his arms instantly snaking around your waist to support your weight entirely.

“I told you no taunting, tanhì.” He’s referring to the time he opened up about his first rut, “Next time, you ask nicely. Tslam? [Understand?]” Ralak says breathlessly.

“Sran, oeÿa karyu. tslolam. [Yes, my teacher. I understand].” You blubber, fucked out and jaded.

——

1K notes · View notes

mamayan · 4 months

Text

Yandere! Dark Fae King x Darling! Changeling (Part 2)

Part 1 (Here)

cw: NSFW • Sub! Reader • Dom! Yandere • Dark/Yandere Themes • Gore/Death • Monster Fucking • Fae • Kidnapping/Imprisonment • Dubcon • Fem! Darling • Dumbification • Praise • Overstimulation • Pheromone Drugging/Aphrodisiac • Manipulation • Breeding

A/N: Upon multiple requests and asks, I’ve decided to expand and make a part 2 for Avarice and Darling’s story. Enjoy♥️

“Freak!”

“You should be ashamed to be alive! When your own sister died, how dare you appear here!”

“Jinx.”

“I hope you die worse than she. Poor soul…”

You snapped out of it when he finally left again. The nightmares of your past seemingly haunting you as the death of so many rested on your shoulders.

Your fault. It was always your fault, wasn’t it? That’s what you were after all. A jinx.

Ava… he haunted you more than anything. His eyes so dull as of late but you couldn’t find it in yourself to assure him of forgiveness you did not want to give. You’d said horrible things to him though, when he’d confessed to killing your entire village due to your pressuring. He killed your family, or at least, the only family you knew. He killed the women and children, the old and innocent. Ava had no discretion when it came to slaughtering humans.

“Of course I love you! You’re my little sister, why are you asking me such a silly question so late?” Your human sister had looked so befuddled when you’d questioned her love for you. It must’ve been a rebellious phase, for she raised you and your younger human siblings much like a mother should’ve. The mother which birthed your siblings and the child swapped for you had lost herself to alcohol and gambling, her husband and your father too loyal to leave her despite the pit she began to dig for the entire family.

Your fault.

“Come eat. This sickness of her’s seems to be affecting us all. Father shall return with a fresh kill, I’ll make a stew. You like deer stew right?” You hated it but nodded anyway, your sister’s cooking so awful it even made your father’s eyes water but… “I do. I love it… and I love you too.” You’d replied, and it was the warmest moment you remember in that small wooden house.

You’d picked your nail beds bloody, eyes numbly staring at the broken skin and wondering why it wasn’t telling you the right answer. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave, even if you wanted to, and that was the problem. You didn’t want to leave Ava, because aside from your deceased sister, he was the closest living creature to your heart. He owned part of your soul now too, but you could feel him in you too. It wasn’t one sided, and while Ava certainly was full of cruelty, you knew him capable of care. He cared for you, his people and subjects, and his kingdom.

So why did he do it? Harm so many? Oddest of all, why did he abhor humans to much? He wouldn’t answer anything you asked, merely stating it was a necessity, that they needed to die, or be cleansed as he’d phrased it. You had loved a human dearly though, her memory still filling you with the familiar taste of warmth and overcooked venison. She was not a sister by blood but through life and trust.

Would Ava have killed her too?

You could only wonder endless dark halls of a castle you never saw an exit to. The windows revealing what appeared to be an entire kingdom below, built into a forest much like in tales of your childhood. This was a community, one which you now shared responsibility to help grow and flourish.

You didn’t feel like you were home though.

“Look at me.”

He’s impossible to ignore.

“I will force you if I must.”

You turn, giving the barest of glances upward, head forced to tilt completely back to meet his dark golden eyes. He, in all his immortal and frightening glory, looks tired. You admit it makes something within you ache to see it, but you aren’t ignorant to the fact that you look tired as well.

“You are not sorry at all… are you?” His lips press tight, eyes narrowing a fraction as he cocks his head, a few dark curls spilling like waves to follow the movement. He stalks closer like a predator, and even now, when you know he intends no physical harm to you, it raises your instincts to run. His towering form lowers to the floor where you’ve seated yourself, endless marble surrounding you in an empty ball room, the enormous glass window you’ve opened allowing fresh air in.

“Do you wish me to apologize for eliminating those vile creatures… or for upsetting you?” He cracks a rueful smile, teeth all sharp edges and eyes hardened by your distance. “If it is the latter little flower, then I sincerely am apologetic, I never wished to upset you.” You can tell he’s sincere, see it even, but something still nagged at you that wouldn’t leave.

“Ava…” his full attention is trained on you, “Why do you hate them? What did they do to you?”

His wings shift as he settles himself fully on the ground with you. An image unbefitting of a King yet also suiting him as he leans back on his palms and directs his gaze at the tall ceiling above.

You liked the sight of moonlight bathing him more than candle.

“I thought I loved a human once.”

You flinch, despite knowing it must’ve been so long ago, it stung nevertheless. He twitches, as if to move towards you before he stops himself and settles again, talons scraping along the floor as he continues.

“That human used my youth and ignorance against me and destroyed my entire existence for a time. I lost my position as a rightful heir and prince, lost my home and family, and lost my freedom. I stayed alone a very long time little Faery,” his gaze slides to you, glowing molten gold in rage as he remembers. “All alone, because I did the one thing no Faery is allowed to do, the most forbidden art which exists amongst our kind, all for one measly deceitful human.” His lips pull back in a grimace, even as you crawl a little closer.

He likes that your gaze is upon him again, filled with that familiar compassion and empathy he adores. He just loathes it is directed at him because of his disgusting past.

He watches as your tongue dips out to lick your lips, eyes filled with curiosity as you sit beside him, close enough to nearly touch yet not quite.

“What was it?”

“I granted them access to the Tree of Life. The tree which gave birth to all Faery kind.” His expression turns mocking, jaded as he seems to recall with perfect memory. “I had been ready to pluck the stars from the sky for that filthy ungrateful thing, and they dared to use me to gain eternal life by drinking from the tree’s fountain.”

He sees the look of astonishment and horror, clearly upset as realization dawns. It was said the Tree of Life would die if touched by human hands, destroying all of Faery kind should it occur. If it was true or not was unknown.

“…they touched it…?” You broke the dense silence first, curling your limbs around yourself as you feel the itch of your wings notify you of the awkward arch you’ve made with your spine.

Ava barks a dry laugh, dark amusement sparking in his eyes despite the serious story.

“Of course not little flower. My younger sister killed them before they could dare, becoming a hero for all Faery alike for protecting the race against a treacherous prince and a foul greedy human.”

He’s amuses himself with watching you through a small handheld mirror. Decorated in gold and jewels, the delicate ornate trinket has a spell cast to view his target at will.

You were asleep, tired from the seamstresses which had fussed so long over your dresses and you, face peaceful as you rest on the large expanse of his bed.

You sleep where he awoke this morning. Curled into the spot like you’re attempting to reclaim any warmth left over from his own slumber.

“You’re making quite a disgusting face, your majesty~” his eyes narrow as his mood sours in an instant.

“Leave witch.” He hisses, undisguised displeasure painting his sharp features as they scrunch in revolution.

“Make me faery,” a lithe feminine voice hisses back, his eyes finally lifting to acknowledge the vermillion haired woman which had appeared before him. “What has you making such a warm expression? I nearly lost my breakfast seeing it.” She glides more than walks, shamelessly spreading the floor length fur coat wrapped around her open, sitting on the arm chair of his throne.

“And your presence is going to make me gouge your eyes out and feed them to my hounds,” he flashes an equally unfriendly smile, the air becoming volatile towards the witch.

“Don’t act as if I wish to be here anymore than you wish it. You were the one who requested my potion.”

“Your potion not your presence.”

Dark eyes roll with a flutter, her red painted lip curling in disdain as she snaps her fingers, a small wooden box appearing in her palm.

“It cannot be delivered frivolously faery, or so you trust your servants so deeply?” He doesn’t answer.

She laughs, handing the box over with a smile as he pulls out a silver dagger and plunges it into his forearm.

Gold leaks from the wound, the witch quickly frowning and removing an empty vial to collect the liquid.

“Don’t be wasteful now, your blood is in high demand amongst my coven. It’s an incredibly binding agent.”

“Silence or I will bind your tongue for all eternity.”

“As if you could.” She cackles, vanished and gone before his talons could sink into her throat.

The box rests in his free hand. His distaste for the witches strong, but he admits they create the most potent and stable magical concoctions. They’re good in business too. He notes she didn’t allow a single drop of blood to go to waste before his wound sealed and closed.

“Drink for me, petal.”

You look lovely. Dressed lavishly in the finest silks and slowly becoming more confident in your true appearance. You no longer sit before the mirror and grimace, instead you play absently with your wings, more accepting as time continues.

He would rather just take you by force.

This method somewhat feeling beneath him, but in the end, he was already a wicked monster. What was this compared to his true nature?

You still curl or turn away when he touches you, less trusting of him now and though you should be, he finds it irritating. He wants to feel you melt against him again, blink your pretty eyes up at him and whisper his name with your kiss bitten lips.

You eye the delicate glass cup warily.

His clawed hand holding the pretty pink clear cup was nearly comical. He could tell by the quirk of your lip which you quickly tempered to avoid his detection. He caught it all though, still hoping he’s not forced to make you drink it. Though he doesn’t mind the act, pouring the drink in his mouth and laying his lips over your own to create a seal.

You take the cup gingerly with both hands, licking your lips as you bring it close to sniff.

“What is it…?” You look confused, nose scrunching up adorably, and he finds he wishes to kiss you there.

He’s forced to stay where he is though, aware you will wiggle and run if he touches you.

“Tea, made from milk, honey, and dried fruits.”

“It smells sweet…” you still eye him with mistrust, but you take a sip anyway, eyes lighting up as you take another. “It’s very good,” you’re not immune to bribery, “Thank you.”

For just a short moment, he feels his chest warm and a genuine smile grace his lips.

“You’re welcome, little flower. Thank you as well.”

“Huh?” You’ve finished the tea. “What for…?” His smile grows as you tilt your head in confusion.

“For being so foolish.”

You’re burning from the inside out. Tears and drool soaking your face and the bed as you cry out again.

“Why?” Digging your nails into the fabric, you find the texture appalling compared to usual, too rough and cold. “Ava…” you struggle to breathe, chest heaving as perspiration clings to you like a second skin. “It hurts…” you were fading into a blur of dizziness as your lower belly cramped again, more wetness coating your inner thighs.

“Shh…” he coos, ignoring your weak flinch as he slides his long tongue from your chin to your cheek, drinking your tears as his chest rumbles like a giant cat. “Do you need something sweet girl? Use your words.” He murmurs, groaning as he sees the amount of fluid you’ve leaked, your pussy swollen and glistening as you buck your hips and whine.

“Mean—!” He chuckles at your accusation, smiling shamelessly as he continues his chaste kisses against your skin.

“To you, petal? No, mean would be if I left you like this, no release for your poor little body.” He threatens, ignoring your silent pleas and body language for him to touch you more, keeping just enough distance to have you clawing at him to come back. “I’m nice though, I’m going to kindly fill your womb and make it all better.” It’s like a demon whispering in your ear as you writhe beneath him. His large frame cages you though, presses down on you as your bare chests connect and you can feel the thundering in his rib cage through your own. “Are you going to be good and let me breed you, little feary?”

You can’t think. Not when the promise of something hot and big going inside you, stretching you out like your body is begging for now. You nod, mind already gone as your clouded eyes connect with his own. You look high, pupils blown as he brings two fingers to his lips, opening his mouth and breaking off two of his sharp claws to blunt them.

“Spread your legs.” You obey, pliant body opening at his commands as he uses his fingers to dig into your slick gooey hole. He delights in your moans and reactions, hips moving for more friction as he fucks your tight entrance loose enough to take his cock inside you. “That’s it, petal, you don’t need to think anymore. Let go for me,” he murmurs, kissing you gently, tongue melting into your mouth while he digs his fingers up and rubs until you’re coming around his digits.

He pulls them out slowly, eyes drifting down to catch the sticky wet mess you’ve made and the jump of his cock in response. He laughs, deeply to his core as he brings them to his lips and lets you watch him clean them, blissed out expression marred with tears from pleasure and pain.

“You’re mine. For eternity, you will be always be mine.” His eyes are wild, something frightening entering them as he laughs, face so pleased and enamored you feel the urgent sense to crawl away from him, to run. “There is no escaping me. No where you can go that I won’t find you.” You feel too weak and sluggish to move, to even fight back, as his dark hand wraps around your neck, magic and gold swimming beneath his flesh. He feels warm, hotter than even you and your feverish mind. “I am no longer a patient a male, no longer content to wait and watch for results. You deny me, your mate, for humans which wanted to sacrifice you to a false deity, planned to rape and defile you,” he’s squeezing tighter, not cutting off air but blood flow instead as your mind becomes fluffy and unfocused. He speaks directly into your ear, the pointed tip curling down as he settles himself between your thighs. “They wanted to burn you, did you know? They called you a jinx, hated you, only wished you harm and destruction in the most vile and painful ways… and yet you still choose them?” He looks mad, smile filled with malicious intent and eyes glittering like jewels.

You speak with what little focus you have left…

“My sister…loved me.”

His smile falls, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

“Always…she loved me.”

He shakes his head, disapproval clear. “You think she loved you. Humans aren’t capable of love, my sweet flower.”

“You’re wrong…” he halts, watching as you weakly claw at his hold on your neck. “She loved me..! I know she did! You’re wrong! Take it back!” You cough as he releases your throat completely, eyes wide as you look at him with burning resentment even so deep under the influence of an aphrodisiac.

“I love you, but you,” you look filled with hurt, “you don’t love me.”

He’s shocked into silence as you seethe beneath him, face firm and eyes resolute as you declare his feelings for you.

He snarls, snapping his teeth at you, rage filling him as his wings spread out and magic and malice fill the air.

“I am not afraid to punish you, petal. I will not tolerate disrespect—,”

“Neither will I!” Even in tears, shaking as you are, he shifts back, the overwhelming force of your emotions startling him. “You treat me as if I am not worthy of respect, as if I’m not worthy to be listened to. You aren’t—,” you heave for air, struggling to draw in enough oxygen as you whirl on him, “—asking me. For anything. You just take…”

He’s silent, body frozen and tense as he watches you.

“Was it all a lie… when you said you’d be my friend? I thought faery couldn’t lie,” you’re in tears once more, sorrow endlessly streaming down your cheeks.

“No, don’t cry like that,” he feels oddly sick seeing you so upset like this. His frame once more curling around you, but to simply wrap you in the blanket and bring you to his chest. “We are friends, mates, I do not lie.” He whispers, cradling your body to his chest, trying to urge you to look at him.

“Friends don’t sneak away and do things that they know I wouldn’t like,” you calm after a while, swollen tear streaked face turned into his chest while he pets your hair.

He knows it must be painful, still under the effects of the drug he’d given you. His touch helping ease some of the heat.

“Okay. Okay, I was wrong, I…,” his teeth bare as he forces it past his lips, “I apologize…for not respecting your wishes…,” it makes him want to tear one of his hearts out and crush it. His hatred for humans no less despite his apology.

You look hopeful though, eyes returning some of the light he adores within you.

He’ll apologize everyday if he’s allowed to see that.

“Oh gods…!”

He’s trying to kill you. He must be.

You can’t struggle away though, no escape in sight, and true to his word Ava has filled your womb over and over again. You’re delirious on the pleasure, the second his heavy cock had entered you the earlier burning pain subsided into mind numbing euphoria. Each powerful snap of his hips has your body jolting upward, one large palm wrapped around your neck keeping you anchored. You could feel every vein and inch searing into you, eyes going in and out of focus on him face as he heaves for air and fucks you into another orgasm.

“Please, more, I need more—!” You’re reduced to a tearful mess, wantonly begging for his seed as he grimaces and fills you up again, balls drawing up tight as your cunt ripples around his length.

His face is ruined, eyes more red than gold as his pupils remain blown out, thick lashes holding a small cluster of tears as he licks his lips and continues his ravenous pace inside you. His hair clings to his face and horns, black curls damp with sweat and your cum, taking on a nearly purple hue. He wears a delirious expression like you, drugged out into oblivion as you both pant and moan as the heat devours you.

He’d felt badly for drugging you, especially as you writhed and cried in pain. His solution had not been to find the witch he’d bought the elixir from though.

He’d simply drank the remaining fluid while smiling mischievously.

“Let’s just fall into complete depravity petal,” he’d said, before your world went in and out of darkness. Only the scent of sugar and spices dominated your brain, and the feeling of fullness and completion each time he spilled his load within you.

“Are you ready for another sweet faery?” He knew you couldn’t answer, knew that words were too far away for your cotton filled mind to conjure. He asks anyway, drawing your hips off the bed, leaving your upper body limp on the soaked silks while he bounces you on and off his cock. “I’ve always known it is hard for Fae to conceive.” He speaks with a slur, as if it is liquor intoxicating him and not a lustful spell. He laughs as you cum around him, moan so breathy it appears like a silent scream as your back arches higher. “I have a good feeling it will not apply to us.” He nods, slamming down to the hilt as he collapses on you while he comes too, nose buried in your collar bone as he humps out his remaining seed and presses deep to ensure it stays.

“I think your little cunt likes being bred, gripping me so tightly so I can’t leave it,” he huffs, breathing labored as he sees you’ve lost consciousness again.

“Looks who’s mean now…” he murmurs tiredly, but his smile is fresh as he licks up your sweat and tears, cock already hardening again as blood swims in his ears like a river.

“I can’t anymore—!” It’s a squeal and a whine mixed, as Ava grunts against your throat.

“Can’t what, petal?” He asks rhetorically, humming as he slowly rolls your hardened nipple between two clawed fingers. His free hand between your legs, messily rubbing your clit as he works his cock inside you. His thrusts are no longer as violent or heavy as they were two days prior when he’d taken the drug, but his body still howled to press you flat and fill you up. To mark his mate up for all to see.

You look divine to him, too weary to even bite him anymore, nails broken from scratching at his back and arms when he’d blacked out and taken you too roughly. Even still, you looked beautiful, skin less sweat soaked and more simply damp, his care to ensure you drank water paying off in between rounds of riding him.

“I think your cunt has finally relaxed,” he teases, enjoying the sloppy squelching which echoes as he drives into you, your pussy indeed finally accepting it’s fate to be subjected to his cock for eternity. “Your womb has dropped too,” his hand stops torturing your clit to press on your lower belly, purring as you weakly complain.

“Let me rest…”

“No. I took the drug later than you, so it’s still in effect for me.” He chuckles, merrily still using your exhausted body. “Just a little more sweet girl, be good for me,” he moans, head falling back as his eyes close in bliss, cock twitching once again to fill you up.

“I truly am…with child?” His eyes are as wide as your own, cradling you close away from the vermillion haired woman who sneers at Ava.

Rolling her eyes, she nods, fingers pressed to her temples as if her mind is aching.

“Yes. You are with child, as I’ve confirmed four times already. Congratulations little Queen, you managed to love the unlovable.”

“Watch your tone and words witch,”

“My race is not an insult you foul monster—!”

They halt as you giggle, features radiant as you smile and hold your hands over your belly.

“A baby!” Ava is stricken at your delight, throat closing as something sweet tickles him inside. Your floral scent warmer these days, his keen hearing picking up on the second beating of a heart quickly.

“Yes,” he nods, like a love sick dog he grins and answers each time your repeat it in amazement.

The witch truly feels revolted to her core, but wordlessly leaves a book for new faery parents. Leaving without thanks as the happy family gushes over the good news.

As if the disgusting King didn’t know how powerful an aphrodisiac and fertility drug he used on his mate was.

She shrugs, teleporting away to her coven to return to work, minutely pitying the poor faery captured by the dark Fae.

They’re the only fae that can lie after all.

Dividers/@cafekistune

#Fae #Dark Fae King #Yandere Fae #Yandere Fae x Fem! Darling #yandere x darling #male yandere x fem darling #Dark fae king x changeling reader #part 2 #faecore #yancore #monster smut #faery smut #fae smut #yandere smut

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urlocalfeiner · 1 year

Note

heyyy :) I was wondering if I could request a neteyam x reader fic where there is a miscommunication and neteyum hears a rumor about the reader finding a mate and he gets upset and jealous (I think there was an error with the last message I sent sorry 😭😭) but thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you’re doing well!!

why him if not i- neteyam sully

pairing: neteyam sully x omatikaya!fem! reader

warnings: swearing, jealousy, protective neteyam, mentions of mating, neteyam fighting over you, kissing, fluff

masterlist!

A/N: i really liked this request!- since you didn't give me too much info i took a bit of creative liberty with this it but i hope you like it! please feel free to send in more requests on neteyam! i also don't really know how to feel about this 😭- sorry if it's bad.

neteyam was often jealous when it came to other boys around you, he hated it when other na'vi men would flirt with you or make you smile like he does. no, you and neteyam hadn't expressed your feelings to one another but it was quite obvious with the frequent touching, flirting and always being around each other. most of the clan was waiting upon the day neteyam would announce you were mated- and so were the two of you.

neteyam had been walking through the village when he heard a group of na'vi talking, he was going to just walk past but he stopped when he heard your name being spoken. neteyam thought the group were talking bad about you, and was going to step in and tell them all off for doing so. but as he listened closely to what they were saying, they were in fact not talking bad about you but you being mated with someone, his ears perked up with curiousity as he listened in. "did you hear, y/n and karait have mated." "i know, it's sorta weird. i thought her and neteyam were a thing, obviously not." "y/n and karait are adorable though, i saw him picking flowers for her this morning."

neteyam scrunched up his face, you and karait? mated? there was no way that you and him were mated, you would've told him. neteyam knew better than to believe the words of other people, he walked away from the group in search for you to tell you about the crazy rumours until he was stopped by lo'ak who ran up to him. "bro, have you heard?"

“what?”

“y/n and karait are apparently mated.” lo’ak said, he couldn’t believe it either.

neteyam rolled his eyes, not believing him. “it’s just rumours, y/n would’ve told me.”

“i thought the same thing, right? and then i saw them together and he was like all over her.” lo’ak told him, neteyam felt a pit form in his stomach at his brothers words. “you missed your chance bro.”

neteyam stood there taking it in,“shut up.” he stormed away, he really had missed his chance with you. he waited too long.

the rest of the day neteyam had been in a bad mood, he kept on hearing people in the clan talking about you and your new ‘mate’. to say he was jealous would be an understatement. and he couldn’t help but feel hurt as well, he was almost sure you had reciprocated his feelings. that’s what he got for letting his feelings get in the way. the feeling he got was sickening when he imagined you mating with another, them getting to please you and make you feel loved- it was all suppose to be him.

neteyam was drawing back his bow, ready to take a kill- but all he could think about was you, he wasn’t his usual focused self like he was all the time. he let go of the string letting the arrow fly towards his target, missing. he barely ever misses kills. his father noticed his son’s odd behaviour, taking notice of how his mind seemed to be in another place. “what’s wrong?” jake asked making neteyam turn to him.

“nothing.” he grumbled setting down his bow, his answer so obviously not being the truth.

“sit down.” jake instructed patting the spot next to him on the log.

neteyam did as he was told and sat down next to his father, “now, are you going to tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours, son?”

neteyam’s angry expression turning into one of hurt as his father repeated his question. “i-i don’t even know.” he sighed looking down at his hands, “it’s just…” he paused wondering if he should tell his dad why he was actually upset. “it’s y/n.” he confessed.

jake hummed, knowing the two had feelings did one another. “what about her.”

“she’s been mated with someone else.” it hurt neteyam to even say the words out loud, his heart feeling like it had been clenched. speaking it out loud he felt incredibly stupid, you could mate with whoever you wanted to. he always had a lingering thought in the back of his mind that you may not choose him to be your mate- he just never really considered that it may become true.

jake furrowed his eyebrows, he had not been aware of a new mated pair in the clan. and he- like everyone else- was sure that you and neteyam would become mates. his face softened for his son, feeling bad for the situation at hand. “have you spoken to her about it?”

“no, i don’t know if i can. i’ll look stupid.” he fiddled with his 4 fingers. “and what will it do if i do speak to her about it? it’s not like she’s going to stop being mates with karait.”

jake sighed putting a hand on neteyam’s back comfortly. “there are many other women in the clan to be your mate.”

he gagged internally at the thought, being mates with anyone but you?- no. neteyam ran his hands down his face frustratingly ”there is no other like her though.”

“well, maybe not. but there are many others that would be a great tsahìk and if you have them a chance maybe you could come to like them.” jake was trying to make him feel better, but was doing the opposite.

“no- you don’t get it. i don’t want any other woman in the clan- i want y/n! she’s perfect an-and everything i have ever wanted, she was suppose to be my tsahìk. i-if my mate is not her, then i do not want a one. i’m so stupid, i messed everything up! i waited too long and now she is with a stupid skxawng.” his father was taken aback by neteyam’s sudden out burst, but he got it. neteyam too was surprised by his own burst of emotion. “sorry.” before jake could say something more neteyam got up from the log, grabbing his bow. “i’m going to head back, sorry for wasting your time.”

the trip back was horrible, he was left with only himself and his thoughts- they were mostly about how stupid he was. he was passing through some trees when he heard a laugh that was all to familiar, it always made his heart flutter- it was your laugh. he followed the direct in which it had came from. you were sitting on the grass weaving something, whilst humming a beautiful tune.

neteyam started to move back quietly but stepped on a twig that made a loud snap making your ears perk up- smiling at his presence. “i know you’re there, nete.”

“hi….” he came out of the bushes, revealing himself. you expected him to sit down but he just stood there. looking at you even made his heart hurt, the fact you would never be his.

you looked up at him, “do you want to sit with me?” neteyam nodded slowly sitting down next to to, watching as your hands worked on a basket. you noticed something was off with him the second he sat down, he usually sits close to you- but currently he left a huge gap between the two of you.

a silence fell over the two of you- which you couldn’t decide if it was a comfortable or awkward silence- until neteyam chose to break it by clearly his throat. “so, karait?”

“what about him?” you asked not taking your eyes off the basket, you were curious as to why he was asking about him- you were completely unaware of all the rumours going around about the two of you.

neteyam was getting a bit angry, what did you mean- what about him? he was your mate. you couldn't even tell your best friend. "you know what i mean."

you drew your eyes from the basket to meet his own, "am i suppose to?.." karait was your friend, and if you were being honest you found him kind of annoying. he was always following you around, clinging to you.

neteyam scoffed, shaking his head. "i don't get it- why wouldn't you tell me?" you grew confused, what was he talking about- and why was he getting mad at you? he noticed your confused expression. "don't act like you don't know."

"i don't know what you're talking about, nete" you put the basket down on the ground, removing your hands from it- your full attention now on neteyam.

"what does he do?" he asked, what did karait have that he didn't. "does he treat you good?- does he pick you flowers? is he a good hunter- does he spend lots of time with you- is that it?"

"karait?" oh eywa, did neteyam hate the sound of another's on your tongue.

"yes, him!" it came out harsher then he had intended it to, "what does he have, tell me."

"uh.." you started to grow slightly uncomfortable under neteyam's harsh gaze, you had never seen neteyam raise his voice before- besides when he was shouting at lo'ak. "he's nice, i guess?"

neteyam's jaw clenched, "he's nice, you guess? that's it? he's nice?"

"he's quite good with a bow?" why was he asking so much about karait, you were so confused. "i don't know what you want me to say." you laughed.

"i just want to hear it from you, just tell me the truth. i already know." he was hurt, you were laughing. how were you so unbothered by this, he had everything karait had if not more. why did you choose him, why did you string him along all this time just to go off with another?

"nete, i-"

"what does he have that i don't?" his eyes were filled with hurt and betrayal, and they were directed right at you. "were all those things you told me lies? all the promises you made to me?"

"everything i've told you is the truth. what is going on with you neteyam?" why couldn't he just tell you what he was talking about? had you missed something?

"what's going on with me?- what's going with you?" he took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. "were you trying to spare my feelings, is that why you didn't tell me?"

before you could answer another voice appeared. "y/n!- i knew i would find you here...." karait appeared coming from the same direct neteyam had minutes ago, trailing off as he saw neteyam sitting down with you. he looked between the two of you, he could sense the thick tension between you and neteyam. "uh- sorry, am i interrupting something?.."

"karait-" you were about to tell him to go away, he really couldn't have came at a worse time- could he? he always managed to pop up randomly- it was weird how he knew were you were everyday. before you could tell him to go away though, someone beat you to it.

neteyam's hands formed into a tight fist, jaw clenching tighter at karait's arrival. he stood up angrily, narrowing his eyes dangerously at karait. "yes, you are. you've interrupted a lot actually."

karait looked around confused at neteyam's harsh tone. neteyam looked down to what the na'vi was holding in his hand, flowers- your favourite ones. the ones he always got for you. "look man, i'll just come back later- it's fine." he began to turn around to head back.

"no you're not."

karait stopped, turning back around and met neteyam's gaze. "excuse me?"

your eyes widened, "neteyam." you whispered harshly, to tell him to stop but he ignored you.

neteyam took a step forward, standing tall trying to intimidate karait as he stood taller than him by a couple of inches. "you heard me, you're not going to come back later."

kariat chuckled, "i don't think that's really your decision." he then turned to looked at you. you were still sitting down on the grass, you looked like you were so lost- because you were. "do you want me to come back later, y/n?"

"uh-" for the third time today neteyam cut you off- which you were getting extremely annoyed at- moving to stand in front of you. blocking kariat's view of you, standing protectively. you sighed rolling your eyes- but you would be lying if you said you didn't find him being protective extremely attractive.

"don't talk to her."

kariat smirked as he suddenly realised why neteyam was being like this- he liked you, just like he did. kariat narrowed his eyes not breaking eye contact with neteyam. taking a step forward, as he stood up straight mimicking neteyam's body language. "yeah? what are you gonna do about it- she's not your mate."

neteyam hissed, baring his sharp fangs dangerously at kariat challenging him. kariat hissed back standing his ground. you thought kariat was extremely dumb, challenging turuk maktos son. you stood up quickly off the ground, putting your hand on neteyam's shoulder from behind him trying to pull him back but he didn't budge. "neteyam- what are you doing!" you thought he was just being ridiculous at this point.

"i've got this, y/n." he replied turning to look at you then turned back to kariat, speaking so he could hear him. "gonna show this skxqwng what a real man is." kariat hissed in reply.

"now is not the time to compare dick sizes, nete!" you whisper yelled over his shoulder at him gritting your teeth frustratedly, still trying to pull him back. you came into the forest to peacefully weave a basket for hunting, not to watch two na'vi fight.

"oh yeah? now is the perfect time to." you sighed frustratedly, you knew he wouldn't back down. neteyam was usually not the one to get into fights-but if it involved someone he loved, he wouldn't hesitate to knock some sense into a na'vi.

"don't try and protect him, y/n. this skxqwng is asking for it." kariat spat, you weren't trying to protect neteyam from him. he was one to the best warriors in the clan- if not the best. you were trying to protect him from neteyam, but kariat was the one asking for it now.

"i told you before, don't talk to her!" neteyam growled venom laced through his words, he turned his head slightly to you, his tone completely changing to a soft loving whisper. "go sit down y/n and finish off that beautiful basket, i don't want you getting hurt." you removed your hand hesitantly from his shoulder and slowly moved away picking up your half woven basket and went to go sit down on a log not far away from them.

neteyam watched a you sat down and turned back to kariat, "i know what this is all about, you heard everyone talking didn't you?" kariat smirked at him. "thought i would tell everyone, so i didn't have to when it actually happened."

neteyam's blood boiled, the two of you weren't even mates. he had gotten worked up over nothing and had gotten mad at you, and told everyone you were his. oh, he was gonna get it. with one final hiss neteyam charged at him, throwing a hard punch to kariat's nose making him fall back- neteyam wasn't going to hold back, he had been holding in his anger all day and kariat was going to be the one to get it all.

kariat stumbled back, regaining himself throwing a punch at neteyam, landing on his jaw. neteyam stumbled back and reached up towards his lips swiping one finger across it, looking back down to his finger seeing blood on it. he smirked as he looked back up to kariat who had a bruise forming on his nose already. all of kariats confidence washed away quickly, being replaced with fear as neteyam threw multiple punches at him- landing a hit every single time.

you winced looking at kariat's bloodied face from neteyam's hits, kariat did not look too good. neteyam kneed him in the stomach then threw kariat onto the grass harshly, they were only a few seconds into the fight and kariat already wanted to withdraw from it. neteyam bent down and got right in the na’vis face, “if you even so as go near y/n again, i’ll do worse than this. and you better go back and tell everyone that you and y/n are not mated, understand?” he didn’t responded. “i said, do you understand.”

“ye-yes.”

neteyam was about to hit him again when he felt a hand pulling him back, “okay, that’s enough neteyam. i think you’ve proved your point.” you looked down at kariat who sent you a thankful look. neteyam sighed as he got up sending one last glare at kariat- who pounced up quickly and limped away, scared that neteyam would do more. as soon as he left you turned to neteyam, “okay, now. care to explain to me what just happened?”

“oh uh..” neteyam trailed off, he didn’t really know what to say. “i didn’t like him?”

you gave him a blank look, obviously not believing him. “right.” you shook your head, rolling your eyes. “i’m leaving.” you went to turn around but by a firm grip on your hand.

“he told the whole clan that you two had mated.” your eyes widened in shock, everyone in the clan thought you and kariat were mates? oh eywa. “and- and i was mad and hurt because i…” he trailed off.

“because you?..” you asked softly wanting him to finish off his sentence.

neteyam met your eyes and gulped. “because.. i wanted you to be my mate.” your mouth fell agape, you could feel a smile starting to form on your lips. “i’m sorry for believing everyone and not asking you before and getting mad at you earlier, i should’ve never raised my voice at you. i was just really hurt and jealous that you chose someone else, i know it’s no excuse though and- you can choose whoever you want to be your mate, because you can obviously choose anyone-” he rambled on until you stopped him by crashing your lips on his, he was taken back a bit but quickly returned the kiss. his whole soul had been longing to meet your lips, to kiss every inch of you.

the two of you broke the kiss, neteyam cursed himself for needing to breath- he didn’t want to ever stop kissing you. “for being the smartest person i know you really are dumb aren’t you?” you chuckled, neteyam still speechless from the kiss. “do you really ever think i’d choose anyone over you, nete? it’s always been you.”

he grinned widely like a child who had just had his first clean kill, “can i please kiss you again?”

#neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #avatar way of water #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #way of water #kiri sully #jake sully #neteyam sully x reader #sully family

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silkjade · 3 months

Text

SPARKS AMIDST THE SNOW

scaramouche x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, second chance romance ⤀ synopsis: he meets you again for the first time since erasing himself from irminsul, and new hope flickers in the barren cold. a/n: for the best reading experience, pls think of the outro to all too well (10 min version) while u read this !

when scaramouche inevitably accompanies the golden haired traveller on their journey to snezhnaya, the last thing he expected was a pit stop in your little village on the outskirts of the capital. and although his puppet body does not shrink in the face of this nation's biting cold, his skin burns under the curious, yet cautious, gaze of those once familiar to him.

he keeps his head down, dipping his hat so that its large brim might hide his visage, eager to avoid any unwarranted attention. still, his eyes cannot help but wander and his heart, imaginary as it may be, cannot help but wonder.

were you well? the last he'd seen of you, he had promised to return a god—one who would whisk you away from the barren cold of snezhnaya to live out your days in glory as his mortal consort. but for all that had transpired, and then that fateful traipse beneath the irminsul, he's now no more than just another stranger passing through—fleeting as the falling snow, just another memory to be buried in the desolate stillness of winter.

he cares not for the stars in the sky, yet somehow they still dictate that his traveling companions would task him with purchasing commodities, of course from your family's stall. he's long grown out of his naivety; knows that in this infinite realm of possibilities, there’d always be the chance of meeting you again, slim as it may be. if it really came to, he had been prepared to let you live your life, free of him this time around, but it seems this world has its own twisted sense of humor, for he cannot tear his eyes from the ring that sits upon your finger.

"that ring. where did you get it?" he's never been one for small talk, but the biting curiosity rivals that of the wind, as it chips away at his exterior. he keeps his tone even, ignoring the multitude of emotions whirring in his head, though irritation clearly seems to buzz the loudest.

it should have been impossible that a ring he'd forged with his own hands should still exist, but as the fate of this world has yet to reflect that… if he hadn't given you the ring, then how? or perhaps even who... the cold, gunmetal glint laughs in his face as your swift fingers wrap up his purchase.

the stranger's question takes you by surprise, and you look up, taken aback by the intensity of his indigo gaze—beautiful, and bitter, and so blatantly familiar, yet you cannot quite figure out why.

your village is nowhere near the main road, so it isn't often that you'd host any foreign guests; even if you did, you're sure you'd remember if someone like that were to ever have passed through. nevertheless, you flex your fingers, pulled out of your thoughts by his impatient sigh.

"I'm not sure. I've had it ever since I could remember."

you're the same as he remembers, he thinks. a rose amidst the snow, with frost resting in your hair and on the curls of your lashes. out of habit, he takes your hand, inspecting the ring at a closer proximity.

'how rude,' you think. and yet your hand in his, feels comfortable, and warm, and right. like an electric charge drawing two magnets home to the other. it’d be blasphemy to pull away, but you manage to do so anyway, furrowing your brows at his boldness, the frown on your lips more so a reflection of your confusion, rather than displeasure.

“if you wanted to look, you could’ve just asked,” you mumble, as you slip the ring off your finger, offering it to him in the palm of your hand.

the detailed metalwork, the particular branding imprinted in the iron… there’s no denying the influence of the raiden gokaden, though it was perhaps, a subconscious decision made from muscle memory. in hindsight, he thinks that, in the moment, he must have felt—still feels—that same overwhelming affection that came as second nature to kabukimono. after all, it was forged as a promise of his love, and there’s no question about it when, hidden beneath his clothes, its pair hangs on a chain around his neck.

"it’s made with excellent craftsmanship," he boasts, "any merchant worth their weight, would give you a good price for it." he figures you might as well get something out of it, and a piece like this, though meaningless now, is still sure to last you until at least the next winter.

but a stubborn pout is painted across your snow-kissed features. "absolutely not! it’s actually quite dear to me, you know..."

scaramouche scoffs at the irony. ‘why?’ he wants to ask. he is not foolish enough to believe himself an exception from the rules of this world; not when he's already convinced himself to give up on chasing the impossible. still, here you are, turning destiny on its head—his heart, right within reach.

“it can’t be that dear, if you’d so willingly hand it off to a stranger.” his face reveals nothing, though he cannot say the same for the bile that rises in his throat. he crosses his arms, a brow raised in skepticism. "how do you know I won't run off with it right now?"

“I don’t,” you start, “so I suppose you could call it a leap of faith.”

“or a doomed attempt at flight,” he counters. “you’d leave something so precious up to fate?”

you ponder for a moment as to why you feel so drawn to this stranger, why this back and forth comes so easily, why you seem to somehow just trust him.

"we don’t get many visitors here,” you start, “and as fate should have it, the day we do, it happens to be someone as interesting as you. that must count for something, no?”

the realist he’s learned to embody rolls his eyes at such ridiculous notions: your blind optimism… putting such faith in these false stars…. but the tenderness he had buried begs to differ, planting roots between the cavities of his chest, sprouting until it breaks through the surface.

he takes a further study of the intricate details, the careful inazuman script engraved on its body. ‘my heart,’ he had wrote.

scaramouche dips his head as his fingers close a fist around the piece, the large brim of his hat hiding the fondness glimmering in his eyes, and the ghostly smile settling on his lips. he does not cringe as he recalls the lingering remnants of kabukimono's innocence: stubbornly deluding himself to believe that his hollowed chest was naught for his natural lack of a heart, but because fate had dictated you to be its keeper.

perhaps the warmth of sumeru had indeed rubbed off on him—melted the frost that crawled upon and tore his skin, whilst teaching him to hope again, not for anyone else’s sake, but for his own. what was that vahumana saying? it’s difficult for people to truly understand themselves—and as much as he’d like to disagree, judging by his current predicament, he knows he cannot.

“have you ever considered that this ring might be one half of a pair?” he tosses it in the air, nonchalantly, as if he were merely flipping a coin, catching it mid-way before you have the chance to swipe it back.

“what do you suppose fate would have to say about that?”

it’s almost impossible to tell whether he’s truly genuine in his queries, but the mischievous gleam in his bright eyes, and the smug look on his face, seem to nullify any regards you may have had. your brows twitch in vexation. was he not just here to buy provisions? and yet he toys with you so…

“well if that were the case, then it would be between me and whoever owns the other half,” you huff, reaching over once again in an attempt to snatch back your belonging, only to miss by mere seconds thanks to a quick slight of his hand.

breathing out something between a chuckle and a scoff, scaramouche tugs at the thin chain around his neck, hard enough for it to snap right off, and toss in your direction.

"a leap of faith," he says plainly. it lands in the palms of your hands: a ring, near identical. 'my soul' it reads. if he lacked a heart, then it could only have been forged from his soul.

a flurry of questions swarm in your head, as you stare at his ring. you want to ask him why and how, but he's already pivoted away, the tassels of his hat barely missing you by inches, as he quickly grabs his purchase.

“who are you,” you manage to blurt out, calling out to him, and asking him to wait, so he might answer these questions he’s planted in your heart, but he only bids you farewell with a lazy wave of his hand.

though there's nothing he'd like more than to hear the sweet song of his name falling from your lips, he's learned it best to leave the past where it belongs. once he's settled his scores... then he'll get his second chance with you—he'll make sure of it, vowing to come back for you, not as kunikuzushi who you had once known him, but he hopes you might one day be able to love him as he is, as well.

‘my soul.’ your new ring reads. you shake your head, pursing your lips at the mysterious wanderer, wondering if you’d ever see him again, but a gust of wind blows your way—not a prickling cold as you’re used to, but a warm summer breeze that seems to caress your cheeks oh so sweetly.

perhaps it's only in your head, but you swear the wind seems to carry the whisper of a name in its flurry. 'and don't you forget it,' it seems to say.

a/n2: pleaseeee associate this with the outro of all too well (10 min version) like imagine the camera slow panning out amidst the falling snow, to the hopes of another chance together (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄‸o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) anyways, tysm for reading, reblogs/feedback vry much appreciated ♡

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #astronetwrk #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #scaramouche drabble #scaramouche x reader fluff #genshin impact

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obsessive-valentine · 5 months

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Yandere!Barbarian X GN!Reader Headcanons

You find yourself in the clutches of a barbarian, but maybe it isn’t as bad as you thought. (Mention of him braiding your hair)

Yandere barbarian who kidnapped you during a raid on your village, maybe he had his eyes on you for sometime, maybe he pitted you, maybe it was a spur of the moment after seeing your adorable face. Whatever it was you were pulled up onto his horse that seemed as wide as it was tall, no doubt bred for trampling though towns, however the size of the barbarian could have tricked you into thinking it was a normal sized horse.

He was unusually tall and strong, the fur pelts used as clothing added to his mass making him look like a cruel god. He didn’t even speak word as he pulled you up on the horse by the wrist, continuing the raid until the clan was satisfied then regrouping before trekking back the way they came.

Yandere barbarian who only days after your kidnapping, and the day of returning to their camp, demands a nightlong celebration -akin to a wedding- and dresses you up for a feast. He seems to not care about your kicking and screaming, verbal protests and crying, he continues to dress you and place a handmade headpiece a bit to harshly onto your head.

Throughout the night he makes sure you eat plenty and never part from his side a strong hand always on your waist or arm. He then presents you with some gifts, a well maintained pelt blanket, some lavish jewellery obviously stolen and a wolf-dog pup “he will grow strong to protect you when I’m not there” he said softly placing the puppy into your lap searching for a satisfaction or peace from you for just for a moment.

Yandere barbarian who is a bit rough and very terrifying, but when he’s interacting with you he’s uncharacteristically subdued. Like how’s he shouts, pushes and roughly laughs with the clan but will turn to you and whisper in your ear and laugh more with his eyes than his chest.

Yandere barbarian who doesn’t expect anything from you, he brought you here so he will provide everything with no cost. He was a bit hurt but understanding when you thought he was looking for something sexual when he actually just wanted to tuck you in properly for the cold night ahead. He hardly had time for fooling around before so he’s not sexually devious by nature so it’s no big deal to him and by no means a priority.

Yandere barbarian who catches himself neatening up the tent you both share to impress you- or admiring dainty little crafts, you’ve made to occupy yourself, taking such care to not fumble and ruin them with his large rough hands. The same gentleness comes out when he braids your hair, he always careful to not tug unlike when he does his own it’s always rushed and therefore rough.

#x reader #Yandere barbarian #yandere #yandere oc #barbarian

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dabisbratz · 1 year

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PENANCE — leon s. kennedy x male reader

w.c: 5.1k

౨ৎ . . . warning: light bondage/restraints, fucking on a cross, argument, bottom reader, mixed praise/degradation, leons corny one-liners, impulsive reader, fingering, spit, finger sucking, oral sex, improper use of guns, “make-up” sex (kinda), standing mating press, dirty talk, sir kink, leon’s weak pull-out game, readers genitalia undisclosed, clothed sex, d/s understones, two (2) spanks, phone sex (kinda?)

The last lingering days of winter sit at the very edge of the night, the top of the inveterate day, like the ever-ticking clock resting upon the wall that inches deeper into the midnight sky with its turning. The taste of regret lingers in the air, bitter and sour and pungent, assaulting the senses of any passerby and residents.

So overpowering, in fact, it’s plagued the plagued, drew them straight to you as you ran through the dingy village. Your combat boots slipped through the mud, clingy and riddled with a thick, musty smell that clasped itself to your clothes. The air was thick with fog, an impenetrable layer of milky grays that made it almost impossible to see through, and the gun glued to your hand felt like a cold, heavy brick.

Your mission was simple enough— accompany your superior while he secured ‘Baby Eagle’, make yourself unknown.

Tread carefully.

Your knife— secured by a leather scabbard wrapped around the swell of your thigh— remained cold and sharp. You thought there’d be no use for it— no close encounters.

Tread carefully.

You’d managed to run through the heart of the village, conjuring up quite the mob, full of pitchforks and flames, full of ashes and debris that danced in the air. It burned your lungs more than the running, lit the charcoal fire in the pit of your stomach as you ran until you couldn’t anymore— and your partner was out of sight.

Tread carefully.

Leon told you to stick beside him. Follow closely behind and he’d cover you, as long as you covered him. But you just couldn’t help yourself— the blood rushing through your veins and your heart pumping in your ears— you panicked. You ran. Stupidly, selfishly, you ran. You’d broken the dam and left Leon to pick up the pieces.

The last thing you’d heard before slamming the mass of your body into a wooden door was the gruff scream of your name, Leon, who you knew was more than capable of making it out just fine. That wasn’t the issue, no— it was your recklessness, your brief disregard for his advisory or guiding hand— it was your impulsiveness to run straight into danger.

He’d specifically told you not to on the way there. Stick by his side and you’d be okay— not that you’re incapable—just inexperienced. No strays— none of the sort. No catching any, no following any, no becoming any.

So now you have to pay for your mistakes.

You’re sprawled on the cross like a two-page spread, skin sheen and wet with what you assume is sweat— and dirt sticks to the slickness of your forehead. The pitter patter of rain against the poorly ventilated windowsill lingers, and the dirty glass trembles with loneliness. You can certainly attest to that, with your arms bound above your head and tied up in rusty chains. There’s no one here but you and your thoughts, your increasingly darkening veins and swimming mind.

You don’t remember who chained you up— perhaps the crafty residents of the village with much more intelligence than you’d like to admit, especially considering their predicament. But you do remember the injection of something cold and foreign. Something that absolutely should not be in your body. It doesn’t hurt, though, it’s not uncomfortable. And the wetness of the air bothers your head much more than the injection, if it’s bothering you at all.

It’s more a minor inconvenience than anything, aesthetically.

Perhaps it’s immunity, or maybe just inattentiveness. You’d have to tell Leon about it later, if you ever get to see him again.

You can’t help but think of him, his opalescent skin that travels for miles, the small quirk to his pink lips when he’s reveling in pride, the bleached-blond bundles of hair that sit perfectly atop his head. Like a crown— like a halo. The piercing blue of his eyes, cold as the arctic as he stares right through you. The deep pool of his pupils that dilate and constrict when sunlight hits them just right. . . The swell of his biceps when he crosses his arms, bulging and spilling over his closed fists. His hands, rough and scarred. Gloved and airbrushed with leather gloves that stop just before his knuckles, hiding the veins and muscles of his hands that stream down his wrists like a steady river.

It’s almost like you can hear him, the assertiveness of his voice that reverberates in your ears. Like he’s next to you again, wrapping his large hand around your wrist and maneuvering it into the right position for combat— the thickness of his voice as he notes aloud, “Keep it like this or you’ll hurt yourself.”

This whole time he’s been your keeper, steering you through the village with one hand secured around the handle of his gun and the other cradling the nape of your neck.

(“I got it.” You’d muttered, shaking off the heat of his large palm. There was something calculating in his eyes, and his long, dark eyelashes batted against the prominent curve of his cheekbone.

Your pistol rested in your hand, barely a scratch across its metal surface. You were still a bit slow at reloading, but you got the job done.

“As long as I’m here, I’m sure you do.)

You want to laugh about it now, pitifully, because the chains around your wrists are nowhere near as warm. Just as domineering, maybe, but not comforting in the slightest. It’s embarrassing to admit how often you’d thought about it— his comfort, late hours in the night filled with his voice, his hands, his touch.

Heat pools in your abdomen, swimming down your navel and spreading between your thighs. Now isn’t the time— not that you could take care of anything if you wanted to— You’ve been stripped of everything— just not in the way you want.

There’s a quiet rustle of the leaves, barely audible with the echoing pews of the church, but you hear it. That walking pattern. . . stepstep… step… stepstep’ only belongs to one person, and you feel relief pushing down your shoulders.

“Jesus...”

“Leon,” Breathy like a prayer, your hands clench into fists as you strain against the rusty chains. His figure grows, stalking forward with swaying shoulders that look broader than ever, and his nude lips are pulled tight into a snarl. His eyebrows— full and straight, pinch together with what you assume is anger, and a familiar crease forms between them. “I can explain.”

His shoulders bounce, as if he’s let out a sour chuckle, and there’s a slight shake to his head as he carries himself up the steps to free you. Quite the hero, you can’t bring yourself to stare into his eyes for too long as he scours your body for injuries. Nothing major— nothing he can’t help with, and his blue eyes settle on your face for much longer than he’d like to admit. There’s a soft haze to his furious eyes, the fire behind them dampening as his mind slowly realizes you’re alright for now.

You’re alive.

“Oh, I'm sure you can,” He quips, circling around the contraption you’re chained to. It almost feels primal, his intense gaze taking you in from every angle as he walks forward to trace his fingertips along your wrists. He’s gentle, though, feathery light as he gives an experimental tug to the metal. “And you will. So you better start talking.”

A small breath of relief escapes your freshly parted lips as it’s pulled away, and Leon doesn’t miss the indents freshly engraved into your skin. His frown deepens, but the cool leather of his fingerless gloves feel much more soothing than the chains.

You don’t mind it as much as he does.

A dagger of shame shoots through your chest, beating and writhing against the confines of your rib cage. Your tongue is tied, excuses dying in your throat as you stare at Leon’s five-fingered grip on your wrist. It’s tightening, his nails digging into your wrist ever so slightly, though you already have no chance at escape. You figure it’s meant to ground you, not hurt you.

“It’d be a lot easier if I were free,” You’re stalling, not all that uncomfortable as Leon turns his head in the direction of your face, his head tilted downward and his breath lightly fanning your neck. Warm. “…Leon? Wanna help a guy out, or…”

A characteristic clench to his jaw has the words dying on your tongue, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, he’s seething.

“Pull something like this again and those things won’t be the only ones after your head.” The warmth of his large chest against yours leaves just as it arrives, and he’s tilting his neck to really get a good look at you. Trying to get his point across, you suppose, with steely, gunmetal blue eyes. You can’t help but waver, irises stinging as you turn your attention to your bound wrists. Part of you wants to roll your eyes.

That just won’t do.

Leon sucks his teeth, gripping your jaw with restrained strength so you’re actually looking at him now, and whatever excuse you’ve created dissipates immediately. The look in his eyes—territorial, maybe?—has you at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch his pink tongue dart over his bottom lip.

Whatever he’s thinking about, you don’t like it, because he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other with his hands on his hips. His face is pensive, but you can still feel the heat of his anger radiating off his skin. Even from a distance. “Shoot the chains or something.”

“Sure, let me accidentally graze you with a shotgun shell while I’m at it.” More bite than he’d intended, Leon loosens the straps to his body armor and lets it hit the ground with a small thud. You blink, eyelashes beating against your cheeks as you blink away surprise.

“Leon—”

“Shh, I don’t give a damn. You could’ve died. Seriously, what were you thinking?” His hair sways, violent and angry and overprotective. “Don’t go running off like that again, you understand?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m a grown man—” Irritation bubbles in your throat— did he just shush you?

“Damn right you’re not. And I’m not your father. Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?”

“I had it under control.” You both know you’re lying through your teeth, but Leon wants to really drive his point home. He nods, noncommittal, snaking his arm around your waist and down the small of your back to unzip the pocket attached to your utility belt. He pulls out your gun, which remains heavy and shiny with disuse.

“Yeah? Under control with no bullets?” He aims the gun at a large mosaic of a stained window, and pulls the trigger with no hesitation. There’s nothing but a click, then resounding silence as he slowly releases the trigger, one hand secured over his knuckles while the other grips the pistol's handle.

“Lee, c’mon, we have stuff to do,” You sound whiny and borderline pathetic. You almost expect him to tell you to ‘use the magic word’, but he’s too busy pressing the pad of his thumb against your lips. His finger tastes vaguely of salt and leather, and you fight the urge to open your mouth and suck on it. “…Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re begging for. The ache in your wrists feels dull and distant, and you can’t help but press the tip of your tongue against the flat underside of his thumb. You watch his pupils blow wide, pink creeping up his neck and pooling around the shells of his ears.

“Okay.” He breathes, broad shoulders melting ever so slightly as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth, taking in every curve and contour of lips as you wrap them around his thumb. It fills your mouth with ease, caressing the flat surface of your tongue with slow, circular strokes. You want more. “Yeah— okay. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Sir.” You try to sound more snarky and annoyed than anything, but it’s hard when you’re deepthroating another man’s finger. You sputter around his thumb, can barely form a coherent sentence with it pressing into your mouth like this— but Leon seems to catch on anyway, chuckling humorlessly to himself. Stubborn boy.

There’s a warning pat to your cheek, and suddenly you’re back in that training facility. Dimly lit and nearly empty, save for some equipment and workout machines— save for you and Leon, who kept his hands relaxed as you punched him square in the palm.

It was Leon who was told to take you in, show you the ropes, and he’d done so with a sly remark and a curt nod. It flew over your head at first, whatever he was implying, but you were slowly starting to get it now.

(“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me. Time to break in the fresh meat, then.”)

Only a few months ago, you’d been recruited into special forces, and there was something special about you. Something untapped and not yet tainted— there was still a genuine curve to your lips when you smiled, a sparkle in your eyes as you spoke. Charm was written all over your face, boyish and giddy and eager. You’d reminded Leon a bit of himself back in 1998, full of potential but laced with undeniable naivety.

And, truthfully, he liked you. Likes you, even, because of it. You remind him of who he used to be— why he’s here— to serve and protect. And if he’s being honest, he wants to protect you.

Even if it means putting you back in your place.

Breaking you in.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I understand, Sir.” You’ve lost some bass in your voice, and it comes out shaky and cracked. You don’t have time to dwell on it now, how pathetic you sound, because Leon’s expression is nothing short of prideful. Your breath hitches in your throat, stuck in your larynx as you want the blond take in a sharp breath. He likes the title.

“Atta boy.” His eyelids are blanketed, heavy as he stares down at your lips with the remnants of a lazy smile. His— your — gun is still in his hand, but with him closing the distance between the two of you, it’s pressed against your collarbone.

You can’t help it; the opportunity is right there, and you find yourself leaning forward to press your tongue flat against the slide of the pistol.

“Playing a dangerous game, pretty.” Leon rasps, but taps the barrel of the gun against your tongue anyway. It’s slick with your spit, shiny and wet and he has to resist the urge to suck on it too. To taste you. “Yeeaah, just like that. There you go.”

It’s like you’ve learned nothing.

With a low grunt, Leon pushes the gun deeper into your mouth, using his left hand to hold onto the nape of your neck and keep you still. Asshole.

Ever the brat, you furrow your brows and thrash against your restraints.

“You can take it,” He hushes you, using that voice he has reserved for hostages or targets, all gentle and sweet. It’s hushed, barely a whisper, but it makes your brain foggy anyway. You can take it. “Give me your mouth. You can do that for me, can’t you? Say ‘yes sir’.”

You try, hard as you can, whining around the barrel of the gun with tears springing in your eyes. It’s hot and heavy now, like some sort of makeshift dildo, but you know the real thing would feel better. Warmer, stickier, curved and veiny. Thick on your tongue and pulsing, salty and sweet and long.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ. Holy shit,” He’s fucking your throat, sliding the metal into your mouth as far as it can go. It’d be much better if it were his cock instead, so big and so deep, leaving a bulge as he grinds it into your mouth. You’d take it like a champ too, eager and greedy. “Breathe.”

“Sir,” You gurgle, drool running down your chin and coating your skin until Leon pulls the pistol away and inspects it.

You watch him part his lips, previously pulled into a frown, to suck along the barrel of the gun and lap up your spit. There’s remnants of mint and saliva, fresh and sour when combined with the metal of the pistol. “Shit—Leo.”

“Tastes good. Did you take my gum?” He hums, witty as ever. It’s a passing comment, one you can’t help but laugh at, and the man seems to appreciate it. Even if he doesn’t exactly say that. He doesn’t give you much time to laugh, instead opts to connect his lips with yours. Finally, you moan into his mouth, much sweeter and pliant than before. You can’t stay mad at him.

“That’s all you needed, huh. Just a few sweet words, a couple kisses… If I’d known that I would’ve done that months ago.”

Only because you’re so needy, though. Your hips buck into the air, grinding against the space between your hips as your heart slams against your chest. You want more— need more, and the ache between your thighs is enough to prove it. You whimper, high in your throat and full of frustration.

“You really like hearing yourself talk.” You can’t take yourself seriously, not like this, but you say it anyway with nothing but the intent to get fucked stupid. You don’t doubt his capabilities, not with the way Leon’s staring at you. Predatory and ready, like he expected you to say that, his large hand gripping his cock through his tightening pants. You swallow hard, sensing some kind of mistake, and manage to gulp down your pride in the process. If you were someone else you’d be scared, running away from his anger with your tail between your legs. But you’re not.

“You just can’t wait, that it? Over here humping my leg like a damn dog, and now you have something to say? What, because your little hole gets frustrated when it’s been empty for too long?”

You’re squirming within seconds, struggling to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist. Even after dropping his armor he’s wearing too many clothes, too many layers that separate your skin from his. You can’t exactly take your shirt off, not without ripping it straight down the middle, but your lower half is free rein.

“Spoiled brat,” It’s something the blond registers too, because his big hands are hastily unbuttoning your pants and tugging them down your thighs, trailing behind with the gentle scrape of his fingernails. “Remind me the only way to keep you quiet is stuffing your holes.”

He’ll be able to see you much better like this, kneeling in front of your position on the cross to really see you. The clenching of your hole, empty and needy, the trail of lube gushing from it just as he hopes to, the shiny slickness covering your inner thighs. He wants to bury his face in it, fuck you on his tongue till you’re downright ruined, fucked-out and plaint. Maybe it’s in your nature to drift off, have your brain cut off from an orgasm (or two..or three) until you’re malleable enough to listen.

Your words are stuck in your throat, choked up and wobbly as his fingers relentlessly press into that special bundle of nerves. You feel like a slut, with Leon’s fingers twisting and pounding away, his newfound grip on your thighs so tight you’re gasping, crying out and squealing. He’s still careful, applying just the right amount of strength to keep you still.

“We don’t have much time,” His breath is hot against your entrance, and it can’t help but flutter with his mouth so close. Leon’s face contorts, softening as he licks a fat, wet stripe alongside it. “Wish I could keep you on my tongue. But you won’t mind something bigger, yeah?”

There’s nothing for you to hold onto as his fingers poke and prod at your hole, rubbing smooth, slow circles around the entrance. You want to wrap your arms around him, grip his shirt like iron and stifle your moans with it— but you’re chained. Leon pauses to stick his thumb in his mouth— the same one previously pressed against your own—and brings it down to you, pushing into your hole with ease. The thought of an indirect kiss has you spreading your thighs, lifting a leg just barely above Leon’s shoulder. Maybe you’re easy— maybe a kiss is all you need. Maybe it’s just because it’s Leon.

“Damn. Feel so fucking good on my fingers, baby,” He purrs, his voice melting in your ears. “Keep it up and I’ll see if I can promote you to Special Forces’ personal fuckhole.”

His fingers are wet and thick, you’re not sure how he’d managed to lubricate them so well, maybe he kept some in those extra storage pockets of his, but whatever it is…feels good. Slick and warm, almost feels like he’s fucking a fresh load of cum into you. The thought has you mewling, hands furled into tight fists as you struggle to stay upright.

With an unending stream of pitiful noises, your mouth pools with saliva that starts to dribble from the part of your pouty lips, and you instinctively spread your legs wide. It’s far from gross, the messiness of your drool catching on your chin and trailing down your clothed chest. It’s hot— you’ve gone braindead from his fingers alone, and he’s barely even started. You’re wailing, more wet and hiccupy sobs than moans, and tears stream down your handsome face in response. It’s just too much: too big, too deep, too warm, too wet.

You can’t do anything but take in the digits, slick and warming up by the minute until they curl, deep and thick. Your eyes roll back in your head as Leon keeps an iron hold between your thighs, rubbing and rubbing at your front and—and oh, you’re so close. You’re so close it hurts, the pit of your stomach filling with light and your toes curling deliciously. You have nothing to grab at, nowhere to hold, nothing to keep you stable as you lul your head to and fro. You sound delirious, and you must look just as bad.

“Ohh, m’gonna—”

“Brace yourself,” He mumbles, gloved hands running up the back of your thighs until he’s lifting your lower body off the cross and placing your knees on his shoulders. It’s intimate, personal and close as he lets out a breathy moan in response to the perfect fit of your hips against his own. “I’ll be gentle, sweetheart. For the most part.”

The blond is still clothed, and it’s hard to gauge his reaction of your naked lower-half grinding against his pulsating erection, with his hair partly shielding his pretty face. But you can imagine it, his pink licorice-twist lips divorced and blush high on his cheeks as his precum mixes with yours, sloppy and soaking the front of his inky combat pants.

You whine, wiggling your hips and kicking out your feet like some sort of brat, a completely wordless attempt at telling him to strip. You know there’s tears streaming down your face, just when you think you’ve taken a step forward you discover you’d taken two steps back.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Like molten lava, Leon’s voice grows deeper by the second. He’s pushing your legs further forward, bending you in half until your legs burn and he’s sandwiched indubitably close. You’re glad you stretched before this, because he’s got you bent like a pretzel— like some sort of cheap whore, and there’s no escape. “Your new mission is to take it and look pretty, don’t complain now. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” You feel yourself nodding from a distance, frantic and erratic despite the strong grip he’s got on your chin. You can feel him twitching beneath you, his cock jumping in his pants as he traps you with his weight alone and unbuckles his utility belt. It drops to the floor, loud and heavy, but it’s nothing compared to the obscene sound of his cock slapping against your skin. He’s unzipped his fly— still clothed, almost like he’s emphasizing his power over you. “Yeah, I— yes, Sir.”

“Open,” It’s not a suggestion, as he’s already rutting his hips against the warmth of your skin and snaking one arm around your waist. The other goes to your mouth, wet and ready, pries it further open so your pink tongue is on display. Leon gathers a glob of spit, but rather than your mouth it reaches your cheek, wet and sticky. Leon’s aim is better than anyone you’ve ever known— so it’s deliberate. “Good boy. Use your manners.”

You swallow anyway, desperate pants obstructed as you stick your tongue out further for more. “Thank you, Sir. For— for your spit.”

Leon sinks in with a loud whine as you clench around the fat head of his dick, whining and gasping, fighting your orgasm off with everything you’ve got. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his fat, lubed up cock nestling into your hole— but it feels good, indescribable and finally plugging you full. It’s hard to hear anything he’s saying behind the loud squelching of his cock slipping inside, that and your own sounds, but you try anyway. He’s filling you till you’re ready to burst at the seams, pressing his weight against your body so you can clamp down and take him completely, no questions asked.

“F-huck, I can’t… Please, please, you’re so,” You’re on fire, his cock curving up just right as your pillowy walls flutter around his intrusion. Right there, electricity sparks inside you and your eyes roll back with the pinch of your eyebrows. “So deep.”

“Yeah?” The blond laughs, breathless and high off the feeling of your velvety walls constricting around him— clenching so perfectly, so hot and slick with rhythmic pulses along his veiny shaft. His hand travels to press on your navel, and he can feel himself sliding in and out, in and out. “Feel it right here?”

You do. And his hand pressing against it isn’t much help, you can’t focus on anything other than his cock. Your wrists are achy, almost as much as your hole, straining against the chains that you still have yet to break from. But it makes it better, you’re open and free for Leon’s use. Just a hole—to be filled, used, fucked. And, yeah, maybe you are. Maybe you want that, being used by Leon and his strong arms, manhandled into any position he wants.

“Yeah, in my— in my stomach.” You sound so cute, sniffling on his dick with every bounce and thrust forward, occasionally thrashing against your restraints. Leon coos, right in your ear and echoing in the pews. Much like the sound of your skin slapping against his, deep and fast thrusts like he’s pounding the brat out of you.

"God, should’ve had you like this all the time, drunk on cock,” You’re twitching, pulsing and convulsing around Leon’s cock, the fabric of his combat pants rubbing against your front. “Just like that, there you go, honey. Don’t run, let me watch my pretty hole swallow this cock.”

His— oh. Yeah, you suppose, it’s his hole to fuck, to kiss, to use. Since day one, really, when you’d spent your first night after meeting him knuckles deep. It’s incomparable to his own, longer and thicker, faster and better. So, yes, your hole is his, and his alone. You nod. babbling in his ears and wriggling in his arms. You’re his. The implication behind it has your heart stuttering, hammering in your chest as butterflies beat against your tummy.

Oh— You’re cumming.

“Shit, sweetheart. Knew you were a slut.”

“I don’ wanna— I can’t—” You let out an array of desperate, hysterical cries around Leon’s long, airbrushed pink cock, thighs and chest heaving and trembling, and arching off the wooden cross. It takes you a moment to form a complete sentence. “Don’t wanna.. st—op.”

“Yeah, yeah..” Leon nods against your neck, burying his face into the warm skin. His hair tickles your throat, soft and silky. “I won't. We won’t. I got you.”

His big palm cracks against the swell of your ass, loud and echoing in the church. Your core tightens, knees tightening on his shoulders as you cum. Hard and fast, you can barely register the squeals being ripped from your throat. Not over the slapping, the spanking, the—

The crackle of Leon’s radio, loud and blaring in his earpiece.

“Hold on.” Tears spill over your glassy eyes.

“Wh— No! Sir, you—“

“Hey. Don’t ‘no’ me. I’m right here, just sit pretty for me and take it,” He moans, emphasizing his words with a sharp snap to his hips. Your toes curl, searing white pleasure sparking in your stomach as Leon responds to the radio comms. You’re overstimulated, sparks of sensitivity striking through you with every quick thrust. “There you go, such a good boy. . .”

“Condor one to Roost,” He replies, sparing you a gentle glance while your legs lock behind his neck. The blond doesn’t let up once, honey locks bouncing as you cry on his dick. “What?”

“…Very funny. . .” Whatever Hunnigan said must’ve been spot on, because a low growl rumbles in his chest and his balls are tightening against your skin. Blotches of pink bloom in his neck, probably following down his wide shoulders— if only he weren’t clothed.

“Goddamn, you’re gonna make me cum, yeah, wish I could fuck it into you. Next time,” It’s deliciously obscene, the sounds of Leon’s cock reaming your hole like his life depends on it. His voice is barely above a whisper, so quiet but full in your ears. “Next time, we’ll make your pretty hole all messy with my cum. Yeah?”

Leon’s hips stutter, his deep thrusts growing shallow and messy as lube and precum froths between your warm skin. You can feel it all, the way his cock jumps and as he cums, missing a beat before pulling out to spurt the rest on your tummy. Thick and hot, it’s starting to cool on your shirt before he can move to wipe it away. Before he can end the call.

“He’s fine. We’ll have Baby Eagle home in time for dinner. Right, rookie?”

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loaksky · 1 year

Text

— 𝘨𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳

the lowdown — neytiri’s his first love, but you’re his forever…he swears.

the who — jake sully x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — 3.2k

the tags & warnings — possible language, she fell first / he fell harder, first love / last love, arguable tension

the notes — based on this request ! ideally this takes place before anyone dies & everyone is happy :)

masterlist

You and Jake have always been a sticky situation.

Because it didn’t always start with the two of you. At first, he had eyes for someone else, could only bear the thought of being with one person in the whole of Pandora, and that came in the form of the clan’s most important daughter. And you watched from the outskirts, watched as lessons in life turned into lessons of love.

To be frank, you don’t know when the adoration started, when the feelings began to bloom. Your heart was arid territory, but the seeds were planted and the roots were festering.

Maybe it was his dedication to the people, spirit one with the village. He was allegiant to Pandora down to every last blade of grass, every leaf, every insect. And he was kind, offered his heart and full efforts to every endeavor.

You admired him silently, learned to love him quietly, even as the passion between him and Neytiri swelled until it was ready to burst.

You hadn’t really realized that he’d noticed you until one day nestled among the trees.

“Is this where you disappear to everyday?”

Your neck swivels so hard, you almost get whiplash. The project you’re working on, another satchel to replace your own, bunched tight in your fists as your eyes scan the expanse of forest floor wildly.

Jake stands a few meters below, hand resting casually on the hilt of the dagger strapped across his broadening chest.

All that sounds in the quiet between you is the bobbing of your throat as you swallow, eyes wide and unblinking.

“You don’t really talk much, do you?”

You suppose you don’t, not when you’re used to blending into the edges, spending your days lounging around village grounds and finding odd and ends to tend to.

“Nothing?” Jake presses, weight shifting as he peers up at you.

“Not everyday,” is your only response, still unmoving from your perch on the branch.

Jake only nods, conversation coming to a painfully quick lull.

“What are you up to?” he prods, shifting again.

“A bag.”

Your cheeks are warm under his unrelenting gaze, mouth dry because you’ve spent months admiring him from afar, watching him slowly meld into becoming one of the people.

“A bag,” he repeats.

You nod.

He lets out a puff of air that sounds an awful like a humorless laugh and he scratches the back of his neck. He’s folding his cards first this time around, unsure of how to trod such uncertain territory with you.

“See you around, ________,” he says, giving you a playful salute as he peels away.

Your heart skips as he saunters off, timbre of his voice sweet around your name.

Jake continues to find you in that spot often.

Graduated from holding brief conversations from different elevations to propping against adjacent branches enjoying your company, he comes to find out that you're awfully shy.

Painfully so. But when he makes you laugh, and you timidly smile with full heart, he feels your facade crumbling.

And as chance meetings after duties turn into promises, you can’t help but wonder what's changed. Every moment with you means a moment unspent with his lover. It makes equal parts pride and dread swell in the pit of your stomach.

Whispers about him ripple through the village, that he’s learning quickly, catching onto the way of the people with great ease. There’s talk of a ceremony, of accepting him as one. It makes something sour, bitter, curdle inside of you in the ugliest way possible.

Because a ceremony means selection and selection means solidifying the relationship he has with the leader’s daughter. It means no more limbo and the time you’ve spent trying to guard your wanting heart is shot to shit.

It considerably dampens your mood, something that takes Jake a mere glance over your body language to read.

“Something’s bothering you,” he observes, head tilting to the side.

You bite the inside of your lip, eyes golden and gooey. They’re the only thing that betrays the stoic expression that colors the carve of your jaw and the curve of your cheekbones.

It takes every ounce of effort to not visibly melt at the way you carry yourself.

He doesn’t know when it started with you, how you could have possibly caught his attention when all you did was wash out in the background, bleed through the edges. But you had. Had captured his attention enough for him to second guess such a fleeting barrage of emotions when it came to the future tsahik.

Neytiri was a force to be reckoned with, but you were a gentle gust of embracing wind. Jake didn’t feel any pressure with you, didn’t feel like he was wearing the skin of someone else. He felt like him.

“Our time will end,” is all you say.

It takes him a moment, but he notices the slick of your lashes, the almost imperceptible hiccup.

His five-fingered hand cradles your chin, and for the briefest of breaths, you want to ease away, want to put as much distance as you could between you and the very one who has the power to nurture and shatter your heart all the same. But something glimmers like liquid gold in Jake’s eyes and you crumple.

“Why is that?” he whispers. “What makes you say so?”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” you ask.

There is no malice in your tone, only a lingering thread of defeat.

“Far from it,” Jake answers, nudging you to meet his gaze when your eyes flicker away. “You are the most intelligent and capable person I know.”

Your breath hitches and you swallow down a petulant rebuttal.

“I hear what they say about you, Jake Sully,” you say lightly. “They want to make you one of us.”

A gentle smile twitches upon his lips, something triumphant flickering over his features.

“You against it?” he asks, eyebrows quirking.

You shake your head, fingers wrapping around his wrist to guide his hand from your face. When you try to pull away, he threads your digits together, tugging you so that you shift closer to him.

“You do great things for the Omatikaya,” you say. “They are very proud of you.”

“Are you?” he presses.

“Am I what?” you ask, voice caught in your throat.

Jake draws you impossibly closer. You can make out the constellations of blemishes on his face, the smattering of glowing freckles across the expanse of his muscled chest.

“Are you proud of me?” he wonders.

It’s a loaded question, one that makes a shiver rip down your spine and your cheeks to warm.

Of course you were proud of him. You’d watched him from afar for far too long, had seen every accomplishment, every failure. Had seen the spectrum of his emotions, every jubilant moment and bouts of discouragement.

“Yes,” you answer simply. “Very.”

The smile that cracks the lush of his mouth makes you swallow hard.

“Good,” he hums. “I’m glad.”

He’s searching your face, eyes glazed as he takes in all of you before him. The silence is thick, pierceable by the bluntest of edges. When you show no intentions of breaking the quiet, Jake speaks again.

“Now tell me,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. “Why is our time ending?”

Your lips purse and something like annoyance shutters over your pretty face.

“The tsahik’s daughter has made her intentions with you very clear,” you say, trying to sweeten the acidic words on your tongue. “You cannot waste anymore moments with the likes of me.”

Jake bites back the widening of his smile, but he can’t help it, not when this encounter solidifies every suspicion he’s had about you and him.

“You’re right,” he says simply. “Neytiri’s asked her parents for their blessing for us.”

You try not to let the disdain cloud your features, try to tamp down the twitch of your frown, but you can’t get anything past him, not when Jake’s favorite subject to study is you.

“I’m sure they are delighted,” you respond, making a move to peel your fingers from his.

Your chest is tightening and your vision is clouding.

His grip squeezes and the film of tears that sheen your eyes makes his heart go soft.

“They do approve,” he adds, pausing to pick his next words carefully. “But…”

Your gaze flicks to meet his again, heart stuttering when you find that his gaze hasn't left your form. His eyes are mapping every one of your features, pausing a moment too long on your lips.

Your cheeks blaze.

“But?” you fill.

“I refused,” he replies thoughtfully.

He could laugh, the way your lips part, brow bones shooting up as your eyes blow wide.

“Why would you–”

“My heart belongs to someone else,” he finally admits. “It has for a long time and it was stupid of me to think that I could ignore it.”

“Oh—” Your breath hitches.

“But I can only act on my heart if she’ll have me,” he says, searching your eyes.

“Do you think she—”

Jake breathes out a laugh, tugs you so that your front presses against his, close enough to feel the fan of his breath against your lips, to smell the delicious spice of bathing herbs clinging to his balmy skin.

“You’re torturing me here,” he groans, throwing his head back.

You see the way his Adam's apple bobs and you fidget in your seat.

“I—”

“Jesus Christ, love, put me out of my misery and tell me you’ll have me, please.”

You only manage a noise of surprise before his hand cups the back of your neck to guide you forward, lips pressing desperately against yours. His mouth is warm and when he leans into you, you taste the sweetness of berries on his tongue.

His hands wander, gliding over the smooth expanse of your flesh like he’s committing every curve and edge of your body to his memory.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper breathlessly. “What about Neytiri? She… She loves you.”

Jake’s dazed, disoriented because the taste of you makes him far more delirious than he’d expected.

He presses his forehead against your own.

“She’s got nothing on you, angel.”

Everything shifts on its axis after that, but there’s one thing in particular that remains—the seed of doubt that had rooted that sunny day under the canopy of the jungle’s oversized leaves.

Perhaps you’re being cynical, a little paranoid, but Jake’s yet to claim you before Ewya despite officially becoming one with the people. And you could stomach it, the idea that maybe he’s just prioritizing a smooth shift into life with the clan, but lately he’s been sneaking around, blowing you off.

You don’t want to give that niggling feeling of insecurity any stock, not when he’s so lovely to you when you two are intertwined, but you happen upon them by chance and you feel stupid. It was silly, really, to expect Jake to cut ties so abruptly when his fickle heart used to all but thrum for the future tsahik.

They laugh on the embankment, sitting a little too close for comfort.You want to look away, tell yourself that you’re being too much, but he hesitantly tucks a braid behind her ear and your breath hitches in tandem with hers.

You can’t force yourself to expel the breath in your lungs, eyes locked on their figures like your pupils are tethered.

You wish you didn’t stick around, wish you’d just continue on in ignorance, because as Jake leans to give Neytiri a closer look at whatever he’s toying with in his hands, the distance starts closing between them.

They look like they belong together, two bodies that perfectly fuse.

“Oh—” You hadn’t meant to make a sound, wanted to escape quietly, but just as easily as the breadth between the two of them had closed, a chasm forms between their lithe bodies.

“________?” he calls, voice layered with alarm.

You turn on your heel, pushing through the curling foliage with blurring vision.

“Hey, ________, wait!” he calls out, feet splashing from the water as he climbs from where he’d been sitting with his ankles plunged beneath the surface.

When his footfalls fast approach and his fingers wrap around the width of your forearm, you quickly dash away the pooling tears before turning to face him head on.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers, cupping your rounded cheeks in his palms.

His fingertips glide down the length of your neck, brushing over your shoulders as he examines you.

You shake your head quickly, forcing down the insecurity that bubbles hot like magma under your burning skin.

“Nothing,” you say, clearing your throat before finally meeting his worried gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he sighs, pushing the hair from your face to take a better look. “It’s just me, ________. You can tell me the truth.”

You lick your drying lips before gently breaking away from him.

“It’s nothing, Jake,” you reassure him with a small smile. “I’m just being silly.”

He opens his mouth to protest, taking a step towards you.

“Jake Sully!” Tsu’tey’s voice thunders through the forest as he claps a hand down on his comrade’s shoulder.

Jake turns a warning eye towards him, mutters that now isn’t the time as he swats his hands away, but when he turns to face you, you’re gone.

You feel guilty.

Guilty because you fear that you’ve blown things way out of proportion, guilty because Jake’s reserved to giving you your space after another failed attempt at coaxing you from your shell. And infinitely so because he holds you close, when your breathing is steady and you drift in and out of sleep. You hear him, like the gentlest of lullabies.

I love you.

It haunts you, those three words. And you guess you’re no better than him. The weight of solidifying your union before Ewya is a heavy one, Jake knows this. But such human words weigh the same to him. And you know that to hear such a lofty sentiment rasp from your soft voice is all he could ever want.

“He is at his wit’s end, you know?”

You pause your laundering, allowing your loincloths and woven tops to sink back to the shallow bed of the river. When you crane your neck to find the source of the voice, you’re surprised to find Neytiri leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree.

Your response is delayed.

“...Huh?”

“Jake,” she says simply, and your cheeks warm. “You worry him.”

You turn back to your chore, spine stiffening when something rustles and Neytiri moves to sit next to you.

“May I?” she asks, reaching for one of your intricately beaded tops.

“Okay,” you whisper, unable to meet her sharp gaze.

“I was hurt when he denied my parent’s blessing,” she says casually, like the thought alone doesn’t make your heart ache for the tsahik’s daughter. You can’t help it. “But I wasn’t surprised.”

Your head snaps up, meeting her eyes reluctantly.

“When I first brought him back to the village,” she says, wringing the corded fabric. “You caught his eye, but you didn’t even glance his way.”

And truthfully, you hadn’t. Dreamwalkers were trouble and you had no intention of ever crossing paths with him. But then you began to see more and more of him, began to feel the weight of his presence on the village and you couldn’t help but give into the fall.

“He started asking about you,” she laughs quietly. “Every time he’d see you. Said that you never paid him any mind no matter how close he got.”

You roll your lips nervously, watching the way she reaches for another one of your garments and washes with increasing frustration. You almost miss the tears welling in her eyes.

“I wished for so long that he would let it go, let you go, but you have a hold on him, ________,” she rasps.

You blink in disbelief, shaky fingers reaching to touch her own.

Her face tilts towards yours and her grip on the fabric loosens.

“Jake Sully is a good man,” she whispers. “Don’t waste something good because you are scared. It will not only be a disservice to him or me, but yourself.”

You swallow, nodding slowly.

“I’m–” you take in a shuddering breath as your head bows. “I’m sorry.”

A wet hand comes up to your cheek.

“Don’t be sorry,” Neytiri coos. “Just be grateful. Be fearless. It is Eywa’s will.”

Jake almost thinks you’re a vision when he sees you making quick strides towards him. He breaks away from the circle of villagers just as you press yourself into his chest and those not privy to his relationship with you watch with widened eyes.

“Hi,” he breathes, combing his fingers through your hair. “Hi.”

You don’t say anything, arms looping around the narrow of his waist as he throws an apologetic look over his shoulder and walks the two of you towards a quiet area outside of the circle.

“Everything alright?” he asks, trying to peel you away from where you’ve buried your face in his chest.

You mumble something unintelligible, something that makes his ears prick hard to hear, but your cheeks are hot and you aren’t sure if you can handle seeing his softened eyes as you utter the words.

“What?” he asks, pulling away enough to see the flush across your face.

“Said Iloveyou,” you murmur.

He freezes, like his brain is short circuiting when he pieces the words together.

“What?”

You steel your nerves, suck a deep breath into your lungs, and find his sunny eyes.

“I love you, Jake,” you say shakily. “I love you and—”

The laugh that leaves him is giddy and you have half the nerve to melt, but he’s kissing you for the first time since that day in the forest and you’re putty in his hands.

“Wow,” he whispers when you break away to stand on your tiptoes and wind your arms around his neck. “I didn’t think…”

You’re kissing him again, fervently, like you’re trying to make up for lost time and he can’t help the tickling behind his navel or the heat that starts from his toes and burns all the way up his chest.

Your skin is plush under the pads of his wandering hands and those three words, spoken into the hum of the surrounding jungle is all the confirmation that he needs that it’s you and him forever.

“Wait, wait,” he sighs breathlessly. “I have–”

A hand snakes between your bodies, fingers digging into the pouch strapped across his broad chest.

You watch with viscous eyes as he pulls what looks to be a gilded ring, tiny in circumference. Two pieces of thin vine cord through either side, beaded with pearlescent stones and smooth gems.

“I…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck as you fall back on the heels of your feet, arms loosening from around his neck to give him the room to hold it up to you. “It’s one of the only things I care about from Earth.”

Your browbones twitch.

“The ring’s been in my family for a while,” he says gently. “But it’s probably too small and I know that Na’vi don’t wear things on their fingers and–”

“It’s beautiful, Jake,” you say softly, palm pressing against his chest.

He grins, sliding the heirloom up your wrist to rest snugly around the flesh of your bicep.

“Perfect,” he murmurs to himself.

And when your eyes swing from the gift to meet his gaze, you find him already staring down at you tenderly.

“I don’t…” you trail off, suddenly shy under such intensity. “I don’t have anything for you.”

Jake barks out a laugh, corner of his lips quirking up in a lopsided smile as he cups your face in his hands and brings his forehead to yours.

“Don’t need to give me anything,” he says quickly, breaths warm and lips a hairsbreadth from your own. “Just tell me you love me again, that’s enough.”

Your face is indescribably warm under his cool touch.

“And maybe another kiss,” he adds coyly, then a hand skims over the small of your back, dangerously close to your tail. “Or more…if you want.”

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @junieswrlds , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @neteyamo , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @theycallmesia , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon , @sanfransolomitatm , @lovedbychoi

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully fluff #avatar #avatar way of water #atwow #avatar the movie #avatar the way of water #avatar 2

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sunandsstars · 1 year

Text

YAWNETU

CHAPTER 6

Tonowari x Ronal x Na’vi!Reader

Summary: With her arrival in Awa’atlu, reader seeks to find a sanctuary for her family, one that she may find in two particular individuals Warnings: Implications of racism/Drowning, Mentions of childbirth/Uncaring of health/Abuse Word count: 3.2k

A/N: here’s the anticipated chapter 6! thank you so much for all the support guys! love you all

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Village life started early. Many of the Omaticayan adults were already awake and beginning their morning chores of hunting, cooking and cleaning. Laughter of the children flowed through the air and it made them smile, happy to see them alive and bubbly after the terrible war not that long ago.

Neytiri was always up before her husband, being used to the bright morning light and loud chatter of her people. Jake however, not so much, the man tossed and clung to his mate, silently begging her to stay in bed, rubbing her big stomach tenderly. The warrior patted his hand and lifted it off her, getting out of the hammock to start the day. She sighed when her eyes caught the empty one across the hut, ___ must be up already.

She wanted to speak to her, make up for all that she has done, perhaps Neytiri will make a bracelet with Sylwanin’s beads. The same ones that she pulled off her mate in the heat of the moment. The Na’vi knew ___ swept them up and kept them amongst her things, she just had to find them.

Neytiri walked to the other side of the hut, crouching down and surveying the area, trying to find a basket or pouch, anything that might hold the beads. She lifted the hammock slightly to see underneath and noted its coldness, ___ must have been awake for longer than she thought. Seeing that there was nothing, the tsakarem stood tall and sighed. Where could they be?

A shuffle behind her made her ears twitch and a big groan sounded around the home, Jake stretched his body and got out of bed, walking up to his mate and kissing her cheek. “What are you thinking about?” his eyes were shut as he basked in the morning glow.

“An apology” Neytiri whispered, “I want to remake the bracelet that I broke”. Her ears tipped down in shame, she had no right to do what she did, it was childish and unbecoming of a future Tsahìk. She should not have done this to her dearest friend and supposed mate.

Jake’s eyes opened and he hummed but froze when he took in the sight before them, “Neytiri, I do not think you should worry about that now - shit!” he backed away to run out of the hut, climbing down the tree as fast as he could.

The woman stared after him in confusion and looked to where he did, a frown instantly forming on her face. How could she have not seen this sooner? Half of ___’s things were gone, some clothes, blankets and the dried food they kept up here. Neytiri felt dread in the pit of her stomach and she held a hand to her mouth, silent tears welling in her eyes.

___ was gone.

The waves were calm since she arrived past the forest and out to sea, the Na’vi was thankful that Eywa was kind to her on the journey. If the weather was harsh she was not sure if she would have survived, the ocean was a very different place than the forest she grew up in.

It was an eight hour flight, including two one hour stops, to the reefs and ___ was jittering with nerves the whole way. She did not know what awaited her, if the Metkayina were kind and willing to take her and her boys in. She has heard about the unkindness of some Na’vi clans in stories as a child, ones that kept her awake at night, parents always used them to threaten their children into good behaviour. She could only hope these people were the opposite.

In the distance ___ noted the water turning a more lighter blue, the large creatures in the deep ocean starting to thin out and disappear the closer she got to the village Mo’at has talked to her about. In her viewpoint was an island, huge trees reaching out to touch the water and tide pools scattered around the edges of the reef. It was a beautiful sight, the air carrying a salty scent and warm breeze, warming herself as she was soon to land.

She was here.

Her ikran shrieked, notifying the strangers who looked up from their chores in the pools, whooping and diving into the waters to get closer to their village. A horn blew into the air, alarming her and the babies who squirmed in their mothers warm embrace. It was a warning signal, one that she was familiar with and was used against large predators from the forest.

They flew through Awa’atlu, ___ looking around at the different Na’vi in slight wonder, never having seen any like them before. They were a light blue, almost green, the same colour as the water below them and she noted their tails, thicker and fin-like. Tìlor swooped closer to the homes that rested above the water, finding a place to land his aching wings.

The ikran dropped onto one of the beaches, screeching out into the morning, shaking his head and chittering at the strangers who surrounded them. The Omaticayan on his back slipped off gracefully, slightly shaky legs carrying her towards the front of the people who stared at her with curious eyes, confused on what brought her here. Soft murmuring and chatter was carried out amongst the Metkayinans, questions bouncing back and forth between them.

“What is happening here?” a strong voice boomed across the people, immediately some parted to make way for the Olo’eyktan, dressed in colourful clothes and carrying a large spear, behind him a large creature splashed away, hissing. It was Tonowari, she remembered, a fearsome leader and great hunter, or so she was told by Mo’at. The tall Na’vi man sauntered up to her, copying her as she dipped in greeting, hands coming up to their foreheads in respect. “You are from the forest. What brings you and your little ones here, alone?” he questioned, eyeing the boys strapped to her body with a soft look.

___ gulped, shying away slightly. Tonowari was large and intimidating, but his aura radiated kindness, blue eyes only looking at her in curiosity not resentment. “I came to seek uturu, Olo’eyktan”

“Uturu?” a feminine voice shouted out, strong and unwavering. A women walked up to them, handing a child over to the closest person next to her. She was obviously Tsahìk, dressed in the classic forehead charm and excessive clothing. Again ___ dipped in respect, babies babbling at the constant movement their mother created. “Why?”

Ronal walked in circles around the forest Na’vi, touching her tail and gripping one of her arms, eyeing the boys as she did so. She was finding her soul, trying to seek her spirit and talk to Eywa through the interaction. “I have no place among my people, I- I had to get away from them”

“You are outcast?”

“I chose to be” ___ sighed out, eyes dropping slightly from both fatigue and the memories of Jake and Neytiri. “Toruk Makto is not as kind as the stories” Ronal quickly grabbed Sylwaì’s little arm, eyes squinting at the lack of fins.

“These babies will be slow in the water” she looked at her mate “they will have a hard time keeping up” Tonowari just stared at her and sighed, eyes flitting to their own son, Ao’nung, who has just been born a few weeks ago. He had every right to turn them away, to say no, but it was not the right thing to do, not with those babies on the line.

Ronal turned back to ___’s twins, blinking at their exposed kuru’s and purplish skin, they could not have been older than a day or two. The tsahìk clicked her tongue and walked back to her mate to stand beside him, heart heavy with the thought of this poor mother being cast out from her home, they both came to an agreement.

“We will provide you with a home to live in, food to eat and the Tsahìk will care for your recovery. You will find your role here in the clan once you are ready and my people will teach you the way of water” The clan leader raised his arms and voice, giving the statement to his clan who showed no objections. Despite the oddness of her arrival and questions still being unanswered, they will welcome her small family with love.

“Irayo Tonowari, Ronal” ___ thanked them and tipped her head, watching a smile grace the man’s face while their shaman curtly nodded.

“Let us help you with your bags, you must be exhausted” two Metkayina hunters sauntered up to the ikran, careful to not irritate the graceful beast and took off the woven bags on his back, walking in the direction of an empty marui.

It was peaceful here, ___ noted. The sounds of the forest were no more but instead was replaced with calm waves and the noises of oceanic creatures. Her marui was placed above the surface of the reef just like the rest, but was at the front of the village. She had the perfect view of the vast sea and a better sight of the planet and moon in front of them in the sky, much clearer than when she lived with trees obscuring above her.

Sylwaì and Syatxì babbled in her arms, grasping her woven top with pinching hands. She smiled down at them with love, a heavy weight disappearing from her heart.

They were safe.

Her family away from the cruelty of Toruk Makto and his wife, Palulukan Makto, ‘rider of fear’ she mused, ‘fitting’. A rustle was heard behind her where the entrance to her hut was, her ears swivelled and her head followed, wanting to see who it is.

“Oel ngati kameie, ___” Ronal strolled inside, basket on one hip and baby strapped to her chest. The boy looking around curiously, like he has never seen a marui in his small life before.

___ greeted her back formally, twisting away from the large opening she dangled her feet from and scooting more inside her home, watching as the Tsahìk sat down next to her, sorting out the various items in her basket. “You have just given life to your children, srane?” when the bluer Na’vi nodded the other sighed and tutted “I assume you have had no time to heal properly, I will help you with applying salves to sooth your aches”

“Thank you, I was in a rush to leave the forest, I did not think about my own health or comfort on my travels” Sylwaì turned his little head to the stranger and blinked his wide yellow eyes, looking down to see other baby and reaching for him. For someone who was just born not long ago, he was already growing so fast.

Ronal smiled at him and unstrapped Ao’nung, happy to let him loose while she worked on the Omaticayan. ___ sighed as she did the same to her eldest twin, stroking Syatxì as he clung to her. They worked together in silence, ___ helping in whenever she could, using her knowledge that Mo’at taught her to use ointments on herself.

The paler woman dusted off her hands and nodded at her handiwork, looking the other in her eyes, admiring the flecks of yellow, never having seen it before in a Na’vi. Ronal has heard stories of others, different tribes and races from her father, but she did not anticipate meeting one in her life. “What has happened that caused you to leave the forest?”

The question caught ___ off guard and she paused, eyes wide and slightly watering. Memories rushing back to her, the broken bracelet, the verbal abuse, the beatings she had endured…

Before she could give an answer a loud coo and a splash echoed through the marui and immediately both women looked towards where one of the babies fell out the open space in the wall. Ronal chuckled when she took in the panicked look on ___’s face, “is- is he okay?! Tsahìk?!” she put Syatxì down and crawled to the edge of the hut, about to jump into the deep waters to save the baby when she was stopped by a finned hand.

“Ao’nung will be fine, Metkayina babies learn to swim as soon as they are born, look - he is floating up to the surface” the woman pointed out, seeing her son bob up and grin a gummy smile at his mother. Ronal used her stomach as leverage as she leaned down and scooped him up, shaking her head and tutting him.

___ merely blinked, surprised, “in Omaticaya we learn to climb the trees. As babies we are strapped to our parents as they go through the forest and sometimes we roam by ourselves…but seeing this, it is different”

“you will learn, as will your two sons, who are both the same age? Babies born at the same time are rare, you are blessed by our great mother”

“Srane, I was lucky with them” ___ kissed the top of their heads, mirroring their little smiles. Ronal repeated the question she asked earlier before being interrupted, as a Tsahìk she must learn why a stranger must insist on residing with her people. Are the sky people back? Is that why she abandoned the forest? But Eywa has said the danger has passed.

“Kehe, te tawtute are gone forever, but like I have said, Toruk Makto, Jake Sully, he is not as noble as Na’vi may think” ___ trailed off, not wanting to go into great detail. Ronal simply hummed, she will not push her, but one day she will get a proper story.

A yip called outside from in the waters, one that the Tsahìk was familiar with, immediately she leaned her head outside the hole in the marui and saw her mate on top of his tsurak, waving at the two women. “You will join us for the communal breakfast, yes? The people have decided that they want to get to know you and your babies” Tonowari grinned when ___ stared at the clan leaders, flabbergasted.

“I do not understand, why do they want to learn about us?”

“You are new, they are curious, the women are also enamoured by the cuteness of your children” Ronal rolled her eyes at the thought of all the older ladies about to swarm them so early in the day but could not deny that the partial reason she came was to see them too. “Afterwards we must get you acquainted with the water, the sooner the better”

“Will we be alright to?” ___ wanted to make sure that her and the babies health was okay before doing any extraneous activities. The other woman nodded and smiled, standing up and grabbing her son, passing him to his father who moved closer to the home.

“I must take my leave and help prepare breakfast, I have left you some clothes over there, ones more fitting for our waters, come to the beach when you are ready”

The Olo’eyktan did not lie when he said the women were excited to see the twins. As soon as she wandered down to the beach she was swarmed, Metkayina cooing at the tiny blue babies who squealed happily with the attention.

“They will be strong hunters. I can feel it” one of the elderly stated, admiring the strong physique of Sylwaì. ___ only chuckled as her tail flicked, her eldest boy was as chubby as they come, she did not think the physique was all that strong yet.

“Srane, they will have good mates too. Ones that will provide many grandchildren” another tickled one of the boys wriggling feet.

“Ma Sa’nu!” a Metkayinan swatted her older mother at the prospect, flushing purple in embarrassment and apologising to the twins mother who grinned.

“I hope they will not start any time soon, they are fresh out the womb Itxaì” Ronal strolled through the chattering Na’vi, nodding in greeting to the aforementioned woman and her daughter. “Come, we must get you some food. I trust you are hungry after your journey?”

With that que ___’s stomach rumbled, now it was her time to flush in embarrassment. Tail tucked between her legs and ears flat to her skull. The Na’vi in close proximity chuckled while they wondered across the beach for some breakfast.

Tonowari sat with some of his hunting men, talking about where they will go for next weeks trip. The man looked up and grinned at his wife and new clan member, bouncing Ao’nung on his knee who burbled at one of the men. ‘Already such a strong talker’, he mused. “Sit here, the sand is warm and would be enjoyable for your boys”

Having already fed the twins earlier ___ put them down without hesitation, sighing when the wrap came undone and her back ached a little less. Ronal grabbed a large leaf to pile some fish on, handing it over and watching amused as it was scarfed, “you act like you have never eaten payoang before”

“We have fish in the rivers, but they are never like this” the dark Na’vi wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes stuck on the rest of the seafood and fruit in the pile in front of them.

“Take however much you want”

She did not have to be told twice.

Tonowari let his son roam a little on the sands, watching him as the baby crawled slightly to the others, grinning in amusement at his sons curiosity. “Your children will have a good life here, we have many occupations for them, large waters to swim in, many Na’vi to befriend, they will never be alone or unfulfilled. Neither will you”

___’s tail swished against the sand, curling and disrupting the stillness of the tiny rocks, it was the complete opposite to the Metkayinans, who’s tails slapped the sand and could not twist like hers, “Thank you. You have been welcoming to us, I will do what is needed to contribute”

“And you will” Ronal piped up from beside her, grabbing her own pieces of fruit, “but in due time. Now, do you know how to swim?”

___ blinked, yes she could, she has learnt with the rivers in the forests. As she nodded the other woman observed her, eyes glancing up and down ___’s thin body. “Forget what you know. We will start anew, you must learn to breathe”

“But I am breathing. Am I not?”

“Kehe, she means from here” Tonowari chuckled and placed his hand onto his stomach and sucked in some air, chest puffing and back straightening, “to live like us you must breathe like us in the water”

“And my sons-?”

“Will be taken care of” the Tsahìk interrupted, reassuring the newcomer, she was sure that the elders of the clan would not mind caring for the twins for a couple hours today, they are too young to learn breathing techniques that they were not born to do “we start when the sun is at its peak. For now you must eat”

___ had a feeling that today will be challenging, she was in a new environment and must erase her teachings of the forest to replace with the way of water. But she will get through it.

She has to.

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#*ੈ✩‧₊˚ yawnetu #avatar the way of water #x reader #avatar x reader #atwow #ronal and tonowari #jake and neytiri #metkayina #twin babies #atwow x reader

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swordgrace · 1 month

Note

Okay I know you've already written "vampire eating out reader who's 'on the rag'" (to quote Paul) BUT... Can we have one with Astarion? 😩

𖣊 pairing — astarion x fem!human!reader.

FORMAT: drabble — requested.

WORD COUNT: 3.5K.

WARNINGS: SMUT! (mdni), period sex, bloodplay, blood drinking, oral sex (f!receiving), cunnilingus, praise kink, hair pulling, fingering (f!receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, unspoken feelings, astarion gives mad head (I don’t make the rules)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Well, here we are, back to my vampire obsession. I’m so addicted to Baldur’s Gate right now that it’s insane. I had so much fun writing this! This is also my first time writing for Astarion, so feedback is definitely appreciated! I’m hoping to write so much more of him! Thank you all for the support! ❤️

A distant, whistling breeze swept across the tall strands of sungrass, rustling against the threadbare canvas of your tent. It was shoddy lodging at best — certainly not a paradise. Gale and Astarion could afford such luxurious accommodations, but you were left to your own devices. You even envied Lae’zel’s tent, and it wasn’t much better than yours.

Crackling waves of dulled pain continued to ripple throughout the pit of your stomach, a familiar tightening and seizing of muscles that left you restless. Sometimes, humanity could be a horrible thing — you were a slave to your own basic bodily functions.

Shadowheart had bluntly broached the subject of menstruation with you earlier in the day — offered you rags to keep yourself clean. It was embarrassing, admittedly — you wanted to try and keep it all discreet.

Being underprepared for this scenario left you flustered and embarrassed, but you were thankful for her assistance, wariness aside.

Your newfound band of parasite-toting compatriots were becoming the closest thing to family that you had, but there were some you trusted more than others. You often regarded Shadowheart with a healthy dose of skepticism, but she’d been helpful enough.

Glittering rays of silvery moonlight struck through the worn spots on your tent, pooling across your form as you tossed yet again, hands folding together atop your stomach. The dying embers of the campfire dissipated out of existence — the world was dormant.

Sleep eluded you, replaced by the toils of your monthly blood moon that frustrated you to no end.

Halsin was generous enough to concoct an herbal poultice that was supposed to help, but one swig of the earthen liquid, and you were spitting it right back out into the dirt. Much to your dismay, you would be left to endure your cycle in its raw state, no remedies.

The gentle ambiance of swaying grass and the buzz of nature at dusk served as your atmosphere, accompanied by your deep breaths and occasional stifled groans. You rolled over, form awkwardly contorted on your side in an attempt to find some relief.

Your evening clothes were made of thistledown and spidersilk, far more comfortable than the linen-sewn rags you’d been trekking in for the last few weeks. It was all courtesy of a fashionable Drow you’d met in a village in the Underdark.

Your gaze fixated on the low, dimmed glow of a flickering lantern situated in your quarters, sitting soundly alongside your backpack. Orange light danced within the colorful glass, producing minuscule refractions that became a worthwhile distraction.

A fluttering of cloth tore your attention away from the luminous object, and you directed your gaze toward the agape flap of your tent.

Two glittering rubies peered down at you, sanguine hues dancing with a peculiar sheen amongst a canvas of smooth, marblesque flesh. The black ties of his silken nightshirt were left unkept, sleeves pulled toward the crooks of his pale elbows.

Astarion’s vampirism was something you’d become intimately acquainted with.

Perhaps it wasn’t your brightest move, letting him feed from you — but you had no qualms or regrets. Beneath the facade of allure and arrogance, Astarion wasn’t all bad. In the many moments you’d shared of allowing him to drink, you’d learned more, little by little.

“Astarion,” You exhaled, wondering why he’d come to you at this particular hour. He’d fed not long ago — from a nearby stag, and not you. He was ethereal beneath the moonlight, all lean and akin to a statue, living perfection as he lingered within the entryway of your tent. “Is everything alright?”

A sardonic huff escaped him, followed by a familiar tilt of his head, ivory curls swaying with his movements. “I could ask you the very same, darling.” He mused. “It seems that you cannot sleep.”

You swallowed the lump within your throat, sitting up enough within your bedroll to face him fully. “No,” You didn’t want to shower Astarion with the grisly details of your womanly cycle. It was of little importance. “Halsin’s awful concoction left a bad taste in my mouth.”

Astarion hummed, senses attuned to you — truthfully, he could smell you from across the camp.

That familiar siren’s song of blood echoed his name — your blood, above all. He wasn’t above lecherous thoughts, especially when it came to the likes of you. His solution to your little problem was unorthodox — Astarion wondered if you would be open to it.

“Was it that mess of an elixir that left you restless, or perhaps something else?” The pale Elf inquired, noticing the little flickers of realization settling into your features. “I have quite the keen sense of smell, you know. Your predicament is rather obvious.”

As your lips fell apart, Astarion chuckled — it was a rich sound, deep from within the confines of his chest. Embarrassment rippled through you, spreading like a wildfire throughout your body. Tendrils of heat crept along the back of your neck.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” You mumbled, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Is it bothering you?” You hadn’t considered that your blood might’ve had an adverse effect on the vampire spawn, but he dismissed your concerns with a simple wave.

Astarion stepped inside, dropping the burlap flap as it fluttered back into place. His flesh was a beautiful shade, encapsulated by the flickering glow of lantern light as he stood before you. “No,” He clicked his tongue. “I do have a solution to your predicament — with my own assistance, of course.”

Confusion settled into your countenance — Astarion wasn’t necessarily shocked by this, either. You were a delicate little human, a sweet, pious creature that he intended to ravish when opportunity presented itself — such as now.

He drank in your innocence, feeding from your piety as if it were your lifeblood. It was easy to charm you, let you slip into his intricately-spun web of seduction, but in reality, he found himself becoming soft on you.

What a horrid thing — soft on you.

Yet, Astarion couldn’t help himself. Your presence was soothing, providing a warmth that even enveloped his own icy heart. You never asked him for anything — you never used him. He wanted you all the more for it, desired to keep you for himself.

“How could you help me with this?” You questioned, assuming that he had some remedy for you that countered Halsin’s. Anything would do — you were becoming desperate for a solution.

Something shifted in Astarion’s eyes — his gaze became hooded, glazed with some indiscernible notion that caused your stomach to swirl with uncertainty. Your breath hitched within your throat when his cold digits swept across your cheek.

“In a way that I know best,” He crooned, thumb gingerly sweeping along the curve of your jawline. “You would lay back and let me taste you.” Astarion’s suggestion struck you as unorthodox and crude — and you nearly gasped at the insinuation of his words.

“You don’t mean it.” You countered, shivering beneath the icy bite of his embrace. Your flesh felt like scorched earth, blistering with a fever that you couldn’t sweat out — and your remedy, your cure — he stood before you like an ethereal god.

Astarion chuckled, head canting to one side. “I do, darling,” He uttered, voice dropping to a delicious octave that seemed to curl around you like a vice, spreading to parts of you that you never thought possible. “It would be mutually beneficial, I assure you.”

A guttural whimper of sheer want coalesced within the depths of your throat, goosebumps dancing across your spine as you contemplated. It felt so intimate — if you were to go through with it, the lines of your relationship with Astarion would be blurred completely.

The desire for relief and for him outweighed logic, and you exhaled, eyes silently pleading with him for his touch. Astarion was enticed — admittedly, he wanted to taste you, bloodied or not.

“If you are worried about the mess, you needn’t trouble yourself, my sweet.” Astarion mused, pearlescent fangs glinting in the low light. “I will take care of you.” Something about his tone made you shudder, wanting nothing more than to give yourself to him — every fiber, every piece.

His growing fondness for you was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. He hungered for your blood and he yearned for you — a naive human that he initially cared little for. Now, he was enthralled, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“I’ll let you,” You whispered, voice barely above a shrewd whisper as you watched his expression blossom into one of sheer desire. Those crimson hues raked over you, devouring you without action, leaving you a mess, surrendering to him willingly. “Please.”

“How kind of you,” Astarion hummed, sinking onto his knees as his palm spread across the swell of your hip. “I wonder if you taste just as sweet as you look.” His honeyed purr dripped with a warm reassurance, all wrought with want as he eased you down onto your back.

A fire burned within your belly, demanding to be extinguished as you settled down onto the many layers of a tough leather bedroll and feathered blanket. Astarion loomed like a hungering predator as he slipped between your legs, throat hoarse with the sting of thirst.

His cold hands pried at your silken nightshirt, gingerly lifting the fabric towards your chest as it bunched up just beneath your breasts. A wave of cool, brusque night air licked across your stomach, but the sudden presence of Astarion’s lips made you tense up.

He made sure to touch you — caress your supple frame wherever he could. Despite his one-track mind, Astarion wanted to make you feel good. Those practiced digits of his slipped across your ribcage, dragging down toward your abdomen.

“I’ve dreamed of this, coveted this,” He murmured into your flesh, kissing his way toward your weeping cunt. Nimble digits caressed their way to the waistband of your undergarments, tugging them down and away from your body. “Your sweet flesh, your body beneath mine, crying my name from your lips.”

None of this felt real — your head was spinning, mind deliriously dizzy with a newfound desire. You couldn’t discern if his confession was genuine or simply a ploy to subdue you. Truthfully, you didn’t care either way.

Astarion hummed again, nose brushing along the supple skin of your thigh. “Astarion,” You mewled, unable to keep from saying his name. “I—I …” You babbled, savoring the sensation of his mouth on your skin.

You felt his body quiver with a gentle chuckle as he inhaled a gust of your intoxicating scent. It was your distinct perfume intermingled with that of blood — the twang of coppery menses that he intended on consuming.

Even when prone between your thighs, Astarion exuded a rather domineering aura, icy lips peppering a string of kisses against your inner thigh. He wanted nothing more than to bite — indulge himself in your sanguine ichor. The scent between your legs invited him in, instead.

As crimson wept from your core, the vampiric Elf moved forward, skilled tongue languidly dragging across your aching cunt. He shivered when your cruor fell upon his mouth, a taste of your blood that he so desired.

His palms settled themselves atop your plush hips, hooking underneath your legs. He pressed into your flesh, gripping you tightly as he held you firmly in-place. Astarion could feel the visceral, unrestrained way in which your body reacted to him, twitching and shuddering, thighs flexing.

“How delicious,” Astarion purred, voice dropping to a sultry octave. It stroked every recess of your mind, setting your nerves ablaze, making your stomach churn with a wave of butterflies. “My sweetest pet.” He uttered, licking at any drop of scarlet.

Flushed and flustered, arousal pooled between your legs, intermingled with that of your menses. One of your hands haplessly fisted the feather blanket, the other roaming towards that crown of ivory curls. A low, bemused growl tore past his throat when you gripped his tresses.

If anything, it simply encouraged Astarion, whose greed knew no boundaries. He eagerly lapped at your cunt, tongue tracing across your slit. You felt the little twang of relief that he offered, and you were beyond grateful. You felt the desire to reciprocate — if he let you.

It became increasingly difficult to stifle your pleasured mewls and moans, back beginning to arch slightly off of your bedroll. His continued string of lascivious praise and salacious comments made your flesh turn hot, begging for a release of any kind.

The dull burn within his throat was quelled, soothed by your cruor. Astarion was eager, delighting in your pretty noises and the way your body gave into him. He greedily lapped at the sticky menses trickling from your core, lips twitching into a smirk.

His crown of ivory curls felt like Githyanki silk beneath your fingertips, and for a moment, you peered down — you needed to sate your curiosity.

The mere sight of Astarion, coiled and poised like a lithe predator, wedged between your thighs sent you reeling. He could detect your beseeching gaze, and without pause, those vermilion hues flickered to hold your stare.

Instinctively, your body shivered, goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. You watched in silent reverence as the broad flat of Astarion’s tongue lapped at your cunt, showering your clit in newfound affection. A stray curl fell across his temples — he was beautiful.

A strangled gasp escaped you, and you fell flat once more, fingers seizing up within his tresses. Astarion’s form rumbled with subtle laughter as he keened forward, mouth suckling on that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your reaction was well worth it.

“Astarion,” You cried, thighs rattling like leaves upon a swaying tree. You wanted to thank him over and over again for this — the tight waves of aching pain had subsided. “Gods, I — Feels so good.” A pleasured moan tore past your lips once more.

A sliver of you feared waking the others, potentially alerting the camp to your nightly accolades. You didn’t want to allow your worry to fester, hips rocking forward when his tongue embraced your cunt once more.

One hand traveled from the curve of your hip to the apex of your thighs, two fingers stroking over your weeping entrance. You gasped, soothed by Astarion’s soft laughter as he lifted his head slightly. “So sensitive.” He purred, lips stained in a glistening layer of crimson. He kissed the inside of your knee.

Heat rolled through you in pleasant waves as pangs of ecstasy gripped you. Seeing Astarion’s bloodied mouth made you shiver, only wanting him to continue, bring you to climax. He sank two digits into your cunt, tongue dutifully returning to lap at your clit.

If you were to perish now, you’d die happy and within the throes of your own ecstasy — with a pale, Elvish deity between your thighs.

You’d wanted him for some time, and to finally drown yourself in his affections — it almost didn’t feel real. The practiced, needy lap of his tongue brought you back to reality, making your hips lurch forward once more. Those digits of his gently pistoned in and out of your cunt, ensuring a level of softness.

Rivulets of your menses coated his fingers, much to his delight. Astarion was relentless, driven in his quest to simultaneously feed and soothe your blood moon pains. His perfectly-timed movements of his fingers worked in-tandem with his mouth, tongue flicking from your clit to your weeping core.

A white-hot pleasure blistered through you, beginning to mount into your encroaching release. Your climax was close, stomach swirling with molten heat, body feeling as if it could simply float away.

“A—Astarion,” You whimpered, desperate to get rid of your nightshirt. The coolness of dusk could not alleviate the pure heat you felt now. A shrill cry left your lips when he withdrew his fingers, simply exchanging them for his tongue as he dragged you closer. “Astarion!”

His name felt like an incantation upon your tongue — it was a sultry, desperate plea for him. The Elf thoroughly reveled in your innocuous cries, wanting to hear you chant his name like a prayer. It felt so genuine, affection intermingled with desire.

Astarion’s gaze lingered on you, chest heaving, flesh glistening with a sheen of perspiration, countenance contorted into sheer ecstasy. There was something rapturous in his eyes — you couldn’t see it, but it was certainly present.

A low hum of approval escaped him when you absentmindedly tugged on his curls again, and he rewarded you with a barrage of his tongue. It was a greedy assault on your cunt as the vampire spawn drank from the source, inhaling a gust of your scent.

“Such a pretty voice, darling,” Astarion uttered, and you soared underneath his reverent praise. You were prepared to burst, body tensing, like a blossom unfurling within the sunlight. “You taste delightful.” He knew what it would do to you — he reveled in it.

You shivered, feeling his nose brush along your thigh as he kissed at the skin there, teeth teasing and grazing along your sensitive flesh. He returned to your core once more, lapping at your oozing cunt with glee — and that seemed to be enough for you.

Everything seemed to spin in circles, head fuzzy and body sinking into sheer bliss. Pleasure washed over you in hot, visceral waves as you were brought to your climax, hips tilting upward as you came.

The coil within your stomach snapped, muscles relaxed — the uncomfortable pain had subsided. Even if the relief would be fleeting, you were beyond grateful to Astarion for assisting you. You came to, flushed and flustered, sitting up enough to see Astarion finishing up.

He emerged from between your legs, tongue languidly lashing across his pearlescent fangs and lips. Speckles of crimson were splattered across his chin, but you nearly collapsed at the sight of him sucking on his fingers.

Whatever mess you made, Astarion had cleaned it all away — he never spilled a drop. “That, ah …” What did you say? “Thank you for doing this, Astarion. I don’t know what else to say.” You confessed.

Astarion chuckled, head canting to one side. “Speechless, are we? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve left someone in such a state.” He crooned, and before he could move to stand, you reached for his arm, coaxing him back.

“Don’t ever feel obligated to do this,” You mumbled, somewhat embarrassed at the sight of your cruor on his chin. Sheepishly, you swiped it away with your thumb — but he caught it. “I feel like I didn’t do anything in return.”

Instead, the pale Elf held your wrist, ruby hues drinking you in, picking you apart. Astarion remained hushed for a moment as he considered his words, lips quirking into an abnormally tender smirk. “You did return the favor, darling. Your blood is tribute enough.”

Your breath hitched within your throat, but you didn’t protest, gaze subtly absorbing his porcelain features. He was gorgeous — you often felt inferior in his presence, shadowed by his timeless beauty. You smiled at him, fingers reaching to squeeze at his hand. The gesture was unexpected for him, but he made no comment.

“Thank you. I do feel better,” You cleared your throat, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Did you mean what you said, about coveting me and dreaming about this?” For your own peace of mind, you wanted to know where you stood with Astarion.

He should’ve known that you’d ask.

Astarion hummed, neglecting to disclose the truth about how he felt towards you. Part of him was fearful of the implications, of what it could mean — he felt unworthy of you and your piety. “Of course,” He uttered, voice dropping into a more alluring octave. “I would not mind indulging in this again.”

Part of you deflated — intimacy wasn’t the only thing you wanted from Astarion. You wanted his heart. It gave you something to think on, but for now, you were simply content to enjoy his company, lewd or otherwise.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You murmured, visibly sheepish as you glanced back towards your bedroll. “I should try and sleep, I think.” You nearly asked if he wanted to stay with you, but fear and insecurity gripped you in that moment.

“I should hope that your rest is much more productive.” Astarion smirked, pressing a feather-light kiss against your knuckles before rising to his feet. Sharing your bed didn’t seem prudent — for him, it would only make his feelings for you worse.

A soft laugh bubbled forth from your lips before you pulled your clothes back into place, descending onto the feathered blanket. “Goodnight, Astarion.” You exhaled, watching him as he slipped towards the burlap flap of your shoddy tent.

“Rest well, my sweet.” Astarion hummed, and like a shadow, he disappeared into the star-speckled gloom of the night.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader

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teyums · 1 year

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His Secret Admirer (Part Three) - Neteyam x fem na’vi reader

part one | part two | part four | bonus chapter

wc: 4.3k

a/n: here is the well awaited pt 3, I didn’t know it could get more angst-y than it already has but boy I was wrong. the next part will be the final part to the series, prepare for sh!t to go down y’allll 😗

contains: soft + angsty neteyam, lots of emotions so buckle up fr, some language (not much at all), familial conflict

“~~” resembles a time skip or a POV change

Neteyam rarely got angry. But after witnessing Eyiti purposely say what she did to hurt your feelings, he felt anger bubble deep in the pit of his stomach. He so badly wanted to chase after you as he watched you walk away, but he couldn’t risk having her run to tell her parents that the olo’eyktan’s son had disrespected her. This was what he faced on the daily, people holding his future over his head with no regard of how high he had to jump just to get it back. He was trying his hardest to keep his parents in a good mood, so when he would tell them about you they would be less inclined to deny his pleas and actually hear him out. If he went after you, it would squash all of his hopes of ever being yours. He whipped his head around to face the unapologetic girl in front of him, not being able to conceal his repugnance.

“Why did you do that?” He spoke through gritted teeth, jerking his arm away to remove her grimy mitt from his skin. “I did not promise you anything. My parents do not speak for me.” He brushed his arm, trying to expunge the feeling of her touch.

“Oh, but I think they do ‘Teyam.” She cooed with a pout that was far from genuine to shield the smug that lied behind her lips. “They said you’d talk to my parents, so that’s what you’re going to do. Unless, you want me to go and tell my father about your little girlfriend. And now that I think about it, I don’t even think I heard your parents mention her. Is that allowed?” She already knew the answer, her question was only a threat.

Everything began to add up in his mind. Why her behavior would change so suddenly- trying her hardest to gain his attention conveniently at the time you would come around. He had never once felt the urge to injure a woman, and he still didn’t, but he was definitely tempted to tag Kiri in on this conversation and support whatever method of action she chose to take.

He wished he could have told you in that moment that being her date was never his idea. But he was just as stunned, it hadn’t even been brought up to him before Eyiti revealed the information in front of the two of you. There his parents went again, making decisions for him knowing he would have no choice but to follow through. His heart felt like it had been stomped on, even more so at the thought of how badly you were hurting right now. He had no intention of leading you on, and you probably hated him for doing just that, even if it were accidental. In fact, he planned on agreeing to the Ikran ride, taking the two of you somewhere you wouldn’t be disturbed and asking you to be his date to the festival. But everything went to shit, like usual.

He exhaled sharply, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that would have this brat running to make his life more of a living hell than it was already becoming. He dodged Eyiti’s attempt at grabbing his hand to lead him along, shooting her a piercing glare. If looks could kill, the village would be planning her funeral right about now. “I can walk just fine on my own. And stop calling me that.”

He entered her family’s home with as much respect as he could muster, grudgingly taking a seat once realizing his parents had already arrived. There was nothing he could do to stall this any longer. He kept his stare avoidant, anything to distract him from the conversation at hand. There was a drastic amount of space between him and Eyiti on the mat, which Jake had not failed to realize. The voices around him sounded like they were underwater as he tuned them out. He toyed with the intricate details on his armband while they spoke, all he could think about was how this was the last place he wanted to be. His mind was anywhere else but here. The image of you talking with Ta’olu reappeared in his mind like clockwork, regardless of how many times he tried to erase it.

“Neteyam?” Neytiri’s voice repeated for the third time, sending him a warning glance once noticing he was out of it before she proceeded. “Do you agree with the date chosen for your ceremony?”

No, absolutely not. He didn’t agree with the date chosen, he didn’t even agree with the woman chosen.

Eyiti never paid him mind years ago until the day she found out what he would grow up to be. She looked at him like a piece of meat and he knew it. Not that he ever craved her attention; when she would speak he would simply imagine she was someone else. You were the only girl in the clan who saw him for who he truly was. Just a man wanting to fall in love like everybody else. Was that so bad?

Neteyam abruptly rose up from where he sat and cleared his throat, effectively cutting the conversation short with an unexpected answer. “I am sorry, I refuse to mate with Eyiti. I will only accompany her to the festival, as that has been promised by my parents. But no one other than me will have a say in who will have my heart.”

The mouths of everyone in the room fell to the floor but Neteyam stood strong on his declaration, excusing himself from the conversation and walking out of the tent- leaving Eyiti as stunned and embarrassed as she had made you feel earlier. Jake and Neytiri immediately rose to go after him, apologizing for his change of behavior as much as they could while her parents consoled their daughter who was now sobbing dramatically.

He didn’t want to accompany her to the festival at all, but declining her as a mate, and forcing his parents to meet someone new all in one day was probably not the best idea. His plan was to show up with Eyiti, then ditch her in roughly ten minutes after her parents saw them together, slip out unnoticed and find you. He’d have to get Tuk in on the plan to serve as a distraction, which shouldn’t be too difficult for him. Neteyam was a stickler for being a gentleman, but he couldn’t care less about that witch’s feelings.

His legs were sent into a slight run-walk as Jake forced him into their family home by the back of his neck. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair before turning around to face his father who was nearly red in the face, already knowing what was next to come.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have any idea how much you’ve embarrassed us? Our entire family? In front of the parents of the woman who is supposed to be your mate?” He yelled a string of questions, his finger pointed out of their tent to clarify exactly what he was referring to. His eldest son stood unamused. Silent and withdrawn. His physical body was here, but his mental was somewhere unknown. His head was turned to the side, his face not even so much as flinching at his father’s words. He simply laughed to himself, dropping his head towards the floor and mumbling incomprehensible sentences to himself.

“And what are you laughing at? Which part of this is funny to you?” Neytiri chimed in, looking at him with such disbelief it would have hurt his feelings, had he found the will to care. There was no more approval he strived to seek from his parents.

“Answer your mother when she’s speaking to you, boy.” Jake growled, Neteyam’s ears perking up.

“I am not a boy.” His eyes shot up, challenging his father with zero hesitation in his tone. Neteyam had it to his wits end with his parents trying to control every aspect of his life. Elder or not, he was no longer going to let them have a say in who he chose to love or how he chose to live his life. “You heard what I said.” His accent was apparent. “I will not mate with that woman. And I will not apologize for loving another, my heart belongs to [Y/n].” He stated strongly, lifting his chin to indicate confidence in his decision.

Neytiri blinked in astonishment, her voice sputtering while she tried to find a way to continue the conversation with words instead of knocking him over his head. “And what makes you think we will allow you to mate with someone we do not know? Someone we have not deemed fit for you? This girl will be Tsahik, Neteyam!” She hissed.

This. This was the issue. His parents were so concerned about status in the clan that they let it overshadow their own son’s right to happiness.

“I have tried so many times to tell you! She is special, I swear it. You guys won’t listen to me.” He extended his hands to the pair in a pleading motion, his voice growing louder with each word he spoke and a slight crack in his pitch giving away how much this was all starting to affect him. “Dad wasn’t even one of the people when the two of you mated, it went against everything the clan knows. You cannot judge me. And I couldn’t care less about this stupid title. You can give it to Lo’ak, for all I care.” He spat, leaving them right where they stood and storming out of their home.

He was right, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Jake wasn’t a real na’vi when he first arrived, he was an avatar driver with an aborted mission. Neytiri was promised to another, but went against her parents and mated with him anyway. They both went against the rules because their love for each other was so strong, just as he was now. How could his own parents blame him for wanting to find true love just as they did?

“Neteyam!” Neytiri gasped, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth and tears forming in her eyes.

Jake immediately turned to comfort her, pulling her into a firm hug and rubbing her back. “He doesn’t mean that, I know he doesn’t. He’s just upset, I’ll talk to him.” He held her as she cried into his chest, wanting to go after Neteyam but knowing he couldn’t leave his wife alone after what had transpired.

By the time Jake had soothed Neytiri and ran out after his son, he had already set out into the air on his Ikran without another word spoken.

Neteyam soared through the purple-tinted sky aimlessly, allowing the bond with the animal to reach deep into his heart and figure out where to take him. He winced at the thought of how he had addressed his mother, the look on her face after what he said. He was fed up and couldn’t stand to argue any longer, his voice was not being heard no matter how loud he spoke and it had pushed him well over the edge. By the time he realized what he was saying, it was too late to take it back and the damage had already been done. He felt the innate urge to turn around, to run to his mother and apologize. But he was tired of doing the right thing all the time. For once in his life he just wanted to be able to make a mistake like everybody else could without it seeming like the end of the world.

His father’s voice calling his name could be heard through the speaker connected to the neckpiece they all wore for communication. He curled his lips in annoyance, hooked two fingers under the band and snapped it off his neck with ease. He pitched it into the air without another thought, letting it fall to the ground below him. He had no idea where it landed and he couldn’t care less. He didn’t want to be bothered anymore.

He allowed the wind to flow through his braids, the cold, crisp air hitting his cheek and helping in keeping him grounded. After what felt like a short journey, his Ikran slowed and prepared to land in the open field by the Tree of Voices- a place for prayers to be heard. He eyed the giant willow tree, ignoring the heavy weight in his chest. He dismounted from the bird, gently pulling his braid to break tsaheylu and smoothing a hand up its rough back, followed by a tender pat to calm its spirit. He hadn’t been here since his parents brought him to visit the ancestors, when he was younger. There had been nothing he wanted enough to call upon Eywa for, and his duties rendered him far more busy than he had expected, which left almost no time for a casual visit.

He trailed a hand along the delicate, elongated tendrils of the tree as he walked- taking a brief looking around to make sure he was alone before he slowly lowered himself to the ground. He reached over his shoulder to pull the long braid from behind his back, taking hold of one of the tree’s branches in his other hand. He watched closely as his queue reached for the branch, wrapping itself around and making the connection that would allow Eywa to hear his pleas. He could feel the intense spiritual energy coarse through his veins, allowing him to let his guard down.

His head lowered and his eyes came to a close. He had so much to say but didn’t know how to phrase it, didn’t know how to start. Neteyam was not familiar in asking for things, let alone help. He was always made to do everything himself, made to figure it out on his own like a true leader. Every moment in his life boiled down to preparation for what was yet to come, so much that he didn’t even know how to handle the emotions that would arise in the present. He was constantly running, motivation carrying him forward. But now he questioned the purpose of the race entirely. Had he ever stopped to ask himself if this was what he wanted?

“Eywa, I have come to you to ask for help, if you’ll have me.” He started, his voice merely a whisper as he continued. “I don’t know what to do.”

Going against his parents was ultimately going against everything he knew. It felt wrong. Forbidden. But giving up on his feelings for you felt even worse. At this point he didn’t care what would happen, he’d bare with having his potential title stripped from him if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with you by his side.

His eyes shut tightly in attempt to stop the tears he dreaded welcoming. His throat burned and a lump began to form that felt nearly impossible to swallow. He didn’t want to cry, not after he had tried so hard not to. He hadn’t in years, and he knew if he allowed himself to break down in this moment it would only lead to bringing up every other emotion he had succeeded in bottling up for so long.

Neteyam’s shoulders began to shudder and he shook his head in resistance at the shiver that struck through his body, but ultimately failed at putting up a fight. A sob finally erupted from his trembling lips and he brought his free hand up to shield his face, as if he were afraid someone would see him in such a vulnerable state. He sat in the bioluminescent flora around him, simply allowing himself to cry, something he hadn’t been able to do in years. The pressure of being the perfect son had finally gotten to him. He was aware from time that it was slowly creeping up, taking an immense toll on his mental health and he tried his best to outrun it. A slight miscalculation on his end, you can never outrun the inevitable. He had never expected it to break him down in such a way, his body physically feeling weak and hopeless. He was completely conflicted, knowing it was always best to follow his heart but it went against his coding to disappoint his parents.

He felt the presence of Eywa and his ancestors calm him, the pace of his breathing gradually returned to normal and the beating of his heart followed soon after. He wiped his face dry with the backside of his hand, regaining his composure while gathering the will to carry on with his prayer. “I have never asked anything of you until now, because nothing has ever meant more to me than this. Until I met her, I hadn’t known the true meaning of happiness, what it felt like to be alive. And now, we’ve found our way back into each other’s lives and I cannot let her go. Not again.” He felt an ache deep in his chest, fearful that even saying these words out loud would turn them into reality.

“I fear that I have disappointed my parents greatly. I said some things I am not proud of, and I am not sure if I can take back the damage they have caused.” He sighed, his eyes opening and his head raising to peer at the sky above him. “I know she is special. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it, deep in my bones.” With his hand placed over his chest, it balled into a fist against his skin and he begged with everything he had left in him.

“Please, allow them to see her the way I do.”

~~~

Had it not been for your mother that day, you don’t know what you would’ve done. The walk back to your tent was unforgiving as you tried to hide the tears that were forming once more, not out of sorrow, but of pure disgust. The speed in which you declined Ta’olu’s invitation was utterly comical. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t consider it for a second, but all the faith you had in his proposal died as soon as you found out he was only inviting you to make the same girl he ditched you for in the past, jealous. You wished you hadn’t even stopped to give him the time of day because the whole encounter only made you feel worse.

You pushed through the fabric that served as a doorway to your home and crossed the distance that separated you from your mother, sinking to your knees and tears flowing from your eyes when she wrapped her arms around you without question. “I’m too late, Mama.” You hiccuped. Your tears felt like acid on your cheeks and it hurt to even speak. You hated crying, especially over something like this. The entire process of being upset, realizing your emotions, then having to find an outlet to rid them- revolted you.

“What happened?” Your mother looked down at you, her eyebrows furrowed with concern and a hint of apprehension. Her head moved to the side with an understanding sigh when your crying picked up at the nature of her question, resting her cheek against the top of your head and stroking your hair. She quietly shushed you, rubbing your back to aid in comfort. Your fervent emotions shrouded your will to elaborate.

You sniffled, inhaling a pathetically shaky breath and forcing your voice to come together and make words after a bit. “I’m too late. He’s found someone else.” Saying it out loud to her made it all the more real. You couldn’t stop your heart from clenching when you admitted the truth to her. In all your years of loving him, your mother had never had you come to her with anything he had done that wasn’t positive.

She slowly pulled away from your embrace, but only to look into your eyes as you spoke. She needed to make sure for herself that she was hearing this correctly. “No… How? The two of you were just together only two days ago.” She sounded as dumbfounded as you felt.

“Eyiti,” You shook your head, wiping the tears that had fallen without your permission off your face with the heel of your hand, annoyed at the fact that more appeared no matter how hard you tried to settle yourself. “She’s his date to the festival tomorrow. He’s probably talking to her parents about it right now.” Your voice got quieter, your shoulders slumping down as you sulked and studied the palms of your hands- staring at the lines etched into your skin as a getaway from your feelings.

Your eyes shot up when you heard your mother breath out a sigh, it almost sounded like she was *relieved*. She quickly geared up to explain once the expression on your face became one of slight betrayal and confusion.

She shook her head and laughed quietly, “There is still time, [Y/n]. Her being his date does not mean they are promised to one another. But it very well could, if you do not take your chance tomorrow.” She used her thumbs to clean the tears that had rolled down the side of your face, cupping it in her hands afterwards. “Did you bring what is needed?” Her eyes were soft and seeing her calm expression somehow helped you in doing the same.

“Yes, I…” You blinked to clear your vision, opening your mouth to speak but settling for a nod of your head. The small bag was brought around to your front, holding it open so she could see inside.

A grin from her was all that was required to strike you with the ambition you didn’t know you had left.

Your fingers were sore to the touch and swollen after hours of carving the marbles and stones you had found into small beads. The process was intricate and painstaking. It required delicate hands and utmost patience. Had you tried to speed up the process you were at risk of cracking the material directly in half, rendering it useless. And after doing just that almost three times while trying to rush through, you had absolutely no more room for error.

You used a thin twine to weave the beads together, crocheting intricate rows of stitches between the material to hold it together, making a clasp that would be easy for him to take on and off on his own. Your mom had taught you how to make jewelry and garments years ago, you eventually surpassed her in skill. You hadn’t the desire or need to make something for a while, but the talent you possessed remained. You constructed his gift with unbelievable precision, your eyes strained from barely taking time to blink. But you were still incredibly nervous that it wouldn’t be to his liking.

Unknown to you, Neteyam loved everything you did, even if it was as simple as breathing.

You couldn’t thank your mom enough for helping you with this. She had given you a deadpan look the tenth time you expressed gratitude, so you figured ten was a good number to settle on. You felt silly even asking, so you were more than appreciative that she had offered. At first, it was hard for you to understand why she had been so supportive. Then she explained to you that when she were head over heels for your father, she had no one to lean on but herself, not even her own mother. She was more than willing to help her daughter win over the one she loved, because all she wanted was to see you happy.

Eclipse had long passed, the sun tucking itself away after a job well done and the moon announcing its arrival with how the night now encapsulated the village. The necklace was finally complete. One could tell how much effort went into it just by looking at it, it was beautiful. The beads were varying shades of brown, orange, and red- Neteyam’s favorite colors to wear. You honestly had no idea why you decided on still making it, without even knowing how this whole thing would play out at that. There was a small part of you that feared it would go to waste after what you witnessed earlier, but there was an even bigger part of you that since rediscovered the hope you previously lost.

How dark it had become outside skated past you without notice until you finally looked up from the spot your eyes were locked on since this afternoon. The both of you had even skipped dinner just to make sure you finished in time for tomorrow.

“How are you even still sitting like this?” You collapsed backwards with a exhale of great fatigue, your eyes fluttering closed against your will and your back crying out in relief. You knew hunching over in the same exact spot would hurt, but you had no idea you’d come out of it feeling a hundred years older than you already were. “Do you think he will like it?” You mumbled, sleepiness hurriedly overtaking you.

By the time your mother turned to respond, an array of faint snores could be heard. Had you not been so exhausted, you would’ve awoken at the sound of her laughing due to your mouth hanging open obnoxiously. She smiled at you with nothing but endearment, gingerly lifting your head to slip a cushion under it and draping a light blanket over your body that was now curled into a fetal position- a mindless endeavor to seek warmth. She leaned down to kiss your temple, pushing a few braids from your face so they wouldn’t disrupt you. “He will love it.” She whispered.

a/n: y’all knew i wasn’t gonna make her accept Ta’olu’s invitation that’s toooo cliche for my liking 😭 also you literally have the best mom she’s so sweet

This chapter was so emotional to write omg! but can we talk ab the fact that Neteyam finally stood up to his parents about you, need a him in my life fr 💔

Please like + reblog if you can, it’s much appreciated! 💞

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#avatar 2 #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam fic #avatar way of water #neteyam x you #avatar fanfiction #neteyam x y/n #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fluff #neteyam avatar

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usetheeauthor · 4 months

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The Yandere Knight Wants Me As His Last Dying Wish 🥀 (MDNI +18)

(Teaser)

King’s Knight!Yandere!Coriolanus Snow x Nun!Virgin!Reader

A/N: This is kinda beauty and the beast inspired although really dark. But im currently working on it. Snow is going to be an absolute menace and simp for the reader.

Summary: Coriolanus isn’t too fond that the young nun, who once took care of him as a child during the dark days, has her attention taken away by others. An unhealthy obsession for you to belong to him and no one else plagues him and with the “flower lungs” a.k.a. Hanahaki disease shortening his lifespan and slowly deteriorating his mind, kidnapping you in what could possibly be his final days doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Tw/Warnings/Tags: SMUT like really filthy smut (its a surprise 🤭), age gap (coriolanus is 18-19, reader is late 20s), DUBCON/NONCON situations, some sejanus plith x reader, sort’ve adopted highbottom!reader, loss of virginity, dom!corio with some switching, corio has a mommy kink, extremely toxic yandere traits, blood and violence, graphic language

(Excerpt)

Coriolanus pinches the bloodied flower petal between his thumb and index finger, studying it profoundly. What an enigma the human body is. This single rose petal had been produced right from his own body. From his own bloodied mouth. At his fingertips rests his fate. Coriolanus knew it well. After all, it was the same curse that ate away at his grandfather then years later his father.

How could he have been so foolish to have let his guard down? To think for a second that he wouldn’t fall victim to the same disease that coursed through the veins of the men in the Snow family?

He could feel his rage burning so deeply within the pits of his stomach, he’s almost convinced he’ll spontaneously combust. Instead, he crushes the rose petal in a closed fist, eyes narrowing in you and Sejanus’s direction.

You don’t seem to understand the pain you’re putting him through. Or maybe…maybe it isn’t that you don’t understand but rather you don’t care! Despite all his best efforts to show you how much he cares, you turn your back on him! For village scum!

His condition is your doing! The underlining deformity will chip away at the perfect image he’d created for himself all because you couldn’t just stay loyal to him and only him. Now instead of focusing his time with Lucy Gray, Coriolanus’s physiological, biological—even mental—state is dependent on your compliance to remain his property. Even if it meant locking you away from the world, you will learn to accept that fact.

Hmm. Locking you away from the world? Actually… that thought sounds quite enticing. And you’d seldom reject any form of punishment if it is in your best interest to pay for your sins like a good little lamb should.

#coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader smut #tbosas fanfiction #hunger games fanfiction #yandere x reader #male yandere #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow x reader fluff #hunger games au #the ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #tom blyth characters #president snow

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theblueflower05 · 10 months

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Tizin(Entangled)| Part Three

A/N: Ah, and we’ve made it here! The first two chapters were like the worst kind of edging- I always just wanted them to be in love lol

Word Count: 11k(of almost pure smut. I’m sorry)

Warnings: Cursing. Talks of past trauma. Oral sex(female and male receiving), Penetrative Sex. Loss of virginity. Submissive Male. Femdom. Neteyam’s a munch.

Summary: In which Neteyam goes into heat, and makes it clear that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Omega Neteyam x Alpha Female Reader

<Part Two(previous)

>Part Four(next)

Series Masterlist

It’s never over,

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

It’s never over,

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

- Lover, You should come over. Jeff Buckley

Last Time:

“Ma Y/N” Neteyam calls to you clear and true. He’s chosen these words carefully, they don’t stick in his throat “I am yours if you’ll still have me”

Only then do you notice that the black Pearl necklace that you had strung together for him hangs around his throat.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A clear symbol of his acceptance of your courtship.

The crowd, chalked full of all members of the village-gathered close for the Iknimaya ceremony-, had gone still. Or maybe that was just him, his brain working too fast, not able to compute everyones movements as they fought to catch up with him.

Neteyam’s never been that scared before. His heart pounded in his ears like waves battering shore, his stomach queasy- a storm brewing inside of him. Hurricane levels of emotion stirring in his taut belly. He’d faced open battle, sprays of bullets and fire in the skies, with less fear in his chest.

Many things had happened at once.

Ronal’s outraged hiss.

Tonowari’s sway, as though he had taken a physical blow.

Gasp’s. Laughter. Shrill calls of protest. Neteyam can barely hear it over the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

He doesn't look, doesn't pay attention to any reaction but yours. Nothing matters but you, you in the sea of blue.

You're stunned, your pretty face slack with surprise. Ocean eyes wide and plush lips agape. He wishes he had been able to tell you, that night in the forest. That his feelings didnt come as such a surprise.

So Neteyam wait’s with bated breath- his heart in his throat but somehow also in his hands as he offers it to you- the entirety of Awa’atlu as his witness.

You could say no. You could reject him in front of everyone. Make him the village fool who had dared to declare his love for the next Olo’eykte.

The bold outsider.

Silly Omega.

Instead, a smile tugs at your lips and Neteyam lays his bleeding heart at your feet.

When he awakes, its to glittering rays of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds. For a moment, Neteyam feels the disorenation that he’d been accustomed to. The familiar confusion as he drifts back into the world of the living, the dream state left behind.

He still expects to come to in his family's keklu, the one he’d grown up in. The one he’d left behind deep in the Forest with the rest of his childhood.

He wonders if this odd vertigo will ever leave him. If he’ll ever rouse from slumber not missing the earthy smell of moss and leaves and greenery.

The shock of waking, especially for the first couple of months, used to be cruel. It was jarring, the home sickness. All consuming and miserable. He’d hid it well, as he does all things. But he wanted nothing more than to fly home on ikran back as fast as the wind would take him.

He wakes to golden rays of light- in a mauri that’s not his own.

And that familiar pang of homesickness doesn't threaten to choke him.

As he blinks sleep from his amber eyes, he takes in his surroundings. Acquainted to him now. Its decorated finely- clay pots with overflowing herbs. Finely beaded Sun catchers and windchimes that sway in the breeze. A sunken fire pit in the center that crackles. Woven rugs. Hung tapestries. A warm bed mat, piled high with quilts.

Home is a subjective word, Neteyams learned. To most it’s a place, a house. Four walls and a roof. To his father it’s his family; Neteyam himself. His siblings. His mother. To the Metkayina it’s the sea.

Neteyam has found his home-

It’s here. In your Mauri. In your arms.

You’re still peacefully asleep beside him. Your eyelashes kissing your high cheekbones. Your wild mane is everywhere. Spread out on the cushion you lay your head upon. On your face. On his. Strands of it tickle his nose.

You’re beautiful, always. But like this is something else. Soft and sleep warm and so close that he can trace the pattern of your Tahni.

Neteyam thanks the Great Mother for his affinity for early mornings- his internal clock had always been wound tight. An early bird, Jake had deemed him.

You’d sleep until deep in the afternoon if it was allowed.

Most days he’s awake before you, and he loves it. He loves these moments where he gets to watch you. Uninterrupted by responsibility or by your teasing- “What are you looking at me for, huh, Forest Boy?”

As if you don't know. As if he could pull his eyes away.

Greedily he feasts on the sight. You’re tucked in close, on your side, him on his back. Your arms and legs thrown around him, the delicious weight and feel of you pressing down on him. Keeping him cozy far better than any blanket ever could.

He takes his fill of this feeling. Of how content he is with you wrapped around him. Your cheek smushed to his shoulder. Your breath puffing on the side of his jaw.

It’s all so right.

It's bone deep.

He’d realized it the first night he’d spent with you. He belonged here, amongst your things.

Like your eclectic knick knacks and your plants and your well loved soup pot. He was yours. He thinks maybe he has been since the moment he touched down in Awa’atlu. Since the very first time he met your curious gaze. And it used to fucking terrify him. Because all he’s ever wanted was his anonymity and you’d taken all of him without even asking first.

That fear had turned to annoyance- and that annoyance into fondness because you. You are relentless and contagious and Tonowari should’ve known that Neteyam had no chance when the Olo’eyktan had assigned you as Neteyam’s karyu. Fondness had morphed into something else- something that lit his belly on fire and made his blood hot. It was no longer a crush, it was an obsession.

He’s obsessed with you.

He’s drowning in his feelings for you. In his need to be closer to you.

He’d crawl under your skin if he could. He’d crack open his ribs and place you in the center, right next to his heart. It was yours anyway. He’d given it to you. Didnt you want to feel it, bloody and beating in your hands?

No. No, that still wouldn't be close enough.

Neteyam thinks that maybe he’s going crazy.

And you just lay there. In his arms. Resting soundly.

He stews in it, in his head, while the sun climbs higher in the sky. You’ll need to wake soon. Your duties will call you out of bed, steal you from his embrace.

He holds on even tighter at the thought, his nose snuffling into the crown of your head. You smell so good. Bright like fruit and deep like petrichor. Its intoxicating, he breathes it in greedily. Your scent coats his nasal passages, drips in his throat. He can’t help it, he’s nuzzling at you, pawing at you.

In your sleep you turn from him. Desperate to stay in the land of dreams for just that much longer. You go from your side your your back, your legs still somehow tangled with his.

You’re perfectly on display for him now- hair fanning behind you like a halo. Your eyes are still closed and your lips are pursed in the cute way that only happens when you’re sleeping or pouting- he watches your heartbeat in your throat. Your pulse fluttering so near your scent gland. Your delicate clavicle.

You don't sleep with clothes on. There's no reason to, they’ll just tangle in the night. He’d embraced that habit of yours when he spends the night- it’s nice to wake up without his tweng twisted around his legs.

Your body is naked, all of that seemingly endless supple turquoise skin and the swirls of black ink that make up your tribal tattoos.

The only thing marring your bare skin is the courting that he’d made for you. Made of fresh water pearls iridescent shells and stones he’d brought from the forest- you hadn’t taken it off since he’d presented it to you

He can't look away from the curve of your tits and the nipples that top them. Soft from the warmth of your combined body heat. His teeth ache, he wants to chew on them.

Your smooth belly, your wide hips. The mound of your pussy.

Neteyam’s nostrils flare and saliva pools in his mouth.

It’s his greatest fixation, he thinks as he reaches out, his deft fingertips ghosting lightly over your skin. He really has no control over it- no matter how much he tries. Every day in your presence, every night in your bed, it just gets worse.

He grazes the stripes that adorn your arm, the underside of your breast, your naval. He’s memorized your patterns now. He’d know them in a sea of Na’vi. Would be able to point you out without needing to see your face.

Home is this moment, your scent mixing with his own. Your bed has become his nest. The quilts and cushions smell like blossoming romance. The beginning of something long and concrete.

Home is the way you feel under the pads of his fingers. The way you sigh in your sleep- your nose scrunching as you turn your head deeper into your pillow.

Home is between your thighs. Always hot and moist. Ever welcoming to him. An embrace from his dearest friend.

How had he gone all of those years without this?

Neteyam had always been an Omega with a healthy appetite. Even though he’d never acted on it, he’d wanted. Of course he had. He’d gone through his heats crying for a knot, and could be caught on multiple occasions staring at the female Alpha’s of the Omiticaya with longing gazes.

Now that he knows the heat and the comfort of your pussy, he’s sure he couldn't give it up even if he tried. It's silky to the touch, the folds unfurling with his feather light caress.

He wants to taste but knows that his tongue will surely wake you. So instead he just feels, lightly. Watches his own hand play between your thighs. It’s something you’re more than happy to let him do while you’re awake.

You’d be okay with it this way, wouldn't you? If he explored while you're sleeping…he really should've asked but he just can't wait. He’ll apologize later if he needs to.

A vision of you putting him on his knees and demanding he kiss at your feet in apology makes him bite his bottom lip hard to stifle a groan.

You get wet for him so easily and he feels so lucky.

Your pussy slicks up at his touch even in your sleep. It’s heady, it makes his cluttered head feel even heavier. It makes him feel like you’re his.

He doesn't mean to. Really he doesn't.

But his head goes from resting on the cushion next to yours. To resting in your neck, nose against your scent gland. And the moment he's getting your scent potent and right from the source any control he might have had is just gone. He’s under your spell, he’s drunk the potion that is your pheromones.

He’s circling your sticky clit a bit too roughly. His body curled around yours, his hips grinding into your side. His lips moving against your gland.

When you wake its with a breathy moan. Your lashes fluttering and your plush lips parted. Your fingers go tight around his wrist, the one that's between your legs.

“Teyam?” Your voice is groggy and sleep laden around his name. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

“Good morning, narlor(beautiful)” your tendency for pet names might be rubbing off on him a little bit. Plus, is it not true? Are you not the most beautiful woman he’s ever met? The title belongs to you.

He kisses on your scent gland. Then behind your ear.

“It is a good morning indeed” you purr, spreading your legs even further, pressing his hand even deeper into your cunt with your grip on his wrist “You’re so bad, Tey”

“Never that” he whispers, his sharp canine catching on your jaw. “Aren't I always good for you? Waking you up in the only way I know how. You’re a real pain in the morning, you know”

You giggle and its so sweet it makes his stomach hurt.

“Ah, so it's my fault that you can't keep your hands to yourself?” you’re very cheeky, even in those first moments awake.

Neteyam pecks the corner of your lips, before breathing his words into your grinning mouth “It’s all your fucking fault”

When he kisses you it's all tongue.

He wants to taste you, he licks into your mouth. Behind your teeth as his fingers plunge deep inside of you. You gasp and suck him inside, your hands coming up to fist his braids as his hips still grind. His dick rubbing against your bare hip, unsheathed- throbbing and wet and hard as stone.

It’s a needy thing. All too quick as he chases both of your releases. You ride his fingers until you’re squealing, never breaking the messy kiss and he comes with a grunt. Shooting off against your skin.

If he rubs the layer of his cum in before he lets you up to ready for the day, that’s his own prerogative. Scent marking has become a thing for him as of late. He doesn't pay it too much mind.

Neteyam just watches you hurry around your mauri.

You get dress, the plum tweng and twinkling shell top look perfect on you. You brush your waist length hair until it falls in uniform waves around your shoulders. It looks like an oil spill, all dark and shiny.

“Watcha staring at, sayrip(handsome)? Haven't you had enough for now?” You tease with a feline smile and knowing eyes as you catch him ogling you. He just rolls his own and gives you a half hearted hiss- before going and busying himself with making breakfast.

It’s domestic. It’s becoming his routine- his new norm.

Ever since that day on the beach where he had announced your relationship and his intentions to everyone, he spends most nights here.

They’ve begun to bleed into one and other. Has it already been over a month, just shy of two? How?

Time passes so fast when he’s with you. He loses track of it as he loses himself to you.

When you’re both dressed for the day, and eating a hot mix of grains and fruit, you reach over to trace along his side.

Neteyam had completed his rite, he was a fledged member of the tribe now. A hunter and known warrior. He’d gotten the markings to prove it. They were painful and slow healing on his tender skin but he’d taken it(with a flurry of curses during the hours of poke and stick)

Now there's sprawling black from his left hip to just under his armpit. A helluva place for his first marking. His father and Tonowari had both winced when he announced his desired placing, pointing at his ribs naively.

It’s all but healed, but still you fret over it. You’ve see infected tattoos before and they are not a pretty sight “I will go to my mother today, and ask her for more salve”

“No” Neteyam shakes his head at once “That’s not necessary, please don't. It feels fine”

Ronal had made her distaste for him known.

She had been the most outraged at his claim on you. Her eldest daughter. The next leader of the Metkayina. When you’d made it clear that you accepted Neteyam, you wanted him and returned his affections it had ended in a screaming match.

Both of you stubborn Alpha’s. Neither of you willing back down.

The pregnant Tsahik honestly scares him a little and he’s trying his best to win her respect, or at the very least, her blessing to be with you.

“You have spent years rejecting any and all suitors we have suggested and yet this boy offers himself to you and you accept? Without a second thought? He hasn't even properly courted you! It’s a disgrace!” Ronal had shouted and Neteyam felt like dirt because she didn't speak lies.

He should've been doing more, earlier. Instead of denying his feelings and bad mouthing you to his family.

He’d stood outside of your family’s large Mauri. Waiting for you. Listening to the conversation within, his tail hanging low between his legs.

“You have never ever suggested anyone that I wanted. Isn't it enough that I care for him and he cares about me in return? He’s the first person who's ever cared about me!” You’d wailed back “You've never given a shit about finding someone who actually cares about me for me and not for my title!”

Tonowari had broken the two of you up soon after that and you’d stormed out of the entrance with angry tears in your eyes.

It’s safe to say that the tension is still there and Neteyam is trying to keep his distance and keep the peace.

“My mother is Tshaik and takes her duty to the people seriously. You are one of the people now. She will heal you whether she wants to or not” You say simply but with finality. A challenge. You have been challenging Ronal ever since that day. Defending your precious relationship with tooth and nail.

He appreciates it- but feels no less guilty.

Neteyam just squeezes your hand, the one inspecting his all but healed tattoo “I will be fine, please. I think right now distance is for the best. I’ve told you I will have my mom or Tsireya look it over if it starts to lean towards infection, I promise”

You argue and he argues right back. In the end, it’s time that makes the decision.

Your father is outside, waiting for you. He greets the two of you with a smile and a nod. It was time to start rounds.

Tonowari is kind to Neteyam. He accepts the union, and has been trying to keep peace between you and Ronal.

You just sigh. Admitting defeat and get up, “Fine. Just don't be stupid and let someone know if it starts to feel hot again”

“I will. I was going to go home soon anyway. I need a change of clothes” It feels odd to call his parents mauri home. Again, he thinks of what that word means.

“You may as well bring your things over, you spend most of your time here anyways” The way you say it is conversational. Off hand. Factual. You’re fastening your shin guards as his brain is misfiring.

“...All of my things?” Neteyam asks, gobsmacked.

“Obviously. Aren't you tired of going back and forth? Seems exhausting to me. If you need help bringing it all- we can do it tonight if you’d like”

And is it that simple? That he suddenly lives with you? Permanently? Because you are acting as though it is.

“Um?-” Neteyam starts all so eloquently, words not coming out but your father is calling for you. You don't have time to decipher him.

“I will see you later, yes?” you reach for him, holding his face in your hands. He’s still reeling but nods all the same.

“Be a good boy today, won't you?”

You kiss him, a wet smack of a thing, before you’re gone.

And he’s sitting there. He’s pretty sure you just asked him to move in with you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It is.

Simple.

Neteyam doesn't have much; being uprooted from the forest had left him with barebones. When packing to flee, Jake had instructed them to keep it light.

Somehow you make sure that all of his belongings mesh perfectly with yours. His few woven tapestries line the walls of the mauri perfectly. His weapons are now stored with yours. You even set the teapot that he’s so fond of, the one with intricate carvings that his Grandmother had made, on display in the middle of the living area. Every morning you brew him strong beaned pekoe.

You are so good to him, and he isn't even officially yours.

…but he wants to be.

Neteyam thinks of it day in and out, a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

As he goes through the motions all he can think about is the way that he wants to be yours. Officially. He wants to wear your bite. The thought is dizzying and sizzles under his skin.

He knows that his heat is inching, creeping near. Has a gnawing feeling that it will arrive earlier than usual. He could blame these feelings on his hormones, on his natural cycle-

But in truth. You affect him more than his own body ever had. And considering how intense his season’s had always been, that was saying something.

He’d always been good at shoving this down, this part of himself. The neediness. The call of his inner Omega that screeched at the moons bi-annually. Heats had always been a nasty business for him- days of writhing in pain, desperate for a knot. Back in the forest Mo’at would drug him up. Teas and tinctures and salves, his body covered in herbs in an attempt to quell his raging hormones. His heats are strong, his grandmother had whispered when he was thirteen and lost to his first time. Strong heat, strong heart. Strong leader.

Funny, he felt anything but in those times of mindless need.

He’d try to warn you about them, about how he gets during his season, and you’d just giggled. Stroked his face and told him you couldn't wait. “I do enjoy a good challenge, I’m sure i’ll be able to keep up”

He wonders if you’ll be making jokes when both of you are in the thick of it. And then, he wonders what it will be like to have a partner.

And that thought is maddening.

Too big and obtuse in his brain, he cant think of anything but. Cant focus enough to be useful during his hunt. His bounty for the day is pitiful, nothing but a net of small fish. He’d down right missed a juvenile Naltusa(shark like creature), the aim was off. Lucky beast, He supposes it wasnt its day to return to Eywa.

Neteyam hauls the nets onto the shore with a few of his fellow hunters, a little quicker then normal. Fast hands and bulging biceps. He hopes he doesnt look as eager as he feels, all he wants to do is get back to the village. Back to you.

“Some days are more abundant then others, we can give it another try tomorrow. The tides should be on our side then, they’re very shifty in the warm season” Kenai’s a cheery Beta that Neteyam has come to grow fond of. Him and his mate Akemi are close friends of yours and they’ve taken him under their wing so to speak. He appreciates it.

“Naltusa meat is nasty sort, any way. Too tough- we’d be picking it out of our teeth for weeks.” Akemi adds. He’s a huge bulking mountain of a man and if Neteyam didn't know better he would have thought he was an Alpha. Instead, everything about Akemi is Beta soft, from his words to his pheromones.

“Even mighty warriors miss sometimes” his little brother shoves him with his shoulder good naturedly.

Lo’ak and Roxto surround them as well, neither with the markings of adulthood quite yet- if they wanted to attempt their own Iknimaya in the next cycle they figured it would be the best to ‘hands on train’. It's really an excuse for them to tag along, ride the waves. Catch a glimpse of the pretty girls that sway in the shallows, working on collecting from the crab traps.

Neteyam just grins good naturedly with a shrug “Gotta miss a couple times and give you the chance to catch up, don't I?”

A hunter who doesn't gut his own catch isn't much of a hunter at all, no matter the size of the bounty. Dirty work had never strayed Neteyam. Even though back in the forest the other hunters had jabbed about him being too pretty for it.

He listens to his companions chatter, content. His hands are moving, keeping busy. He doest add much to the conversation and that's okay.

He’d been an easy baby, Neytiri told the stories. Barely a peep, no crying or fussing. A quiet child, eager to escape into the thick trees whenever possible. Most had been impressed with his first kill, the fact that he'd accomplished it at such a young age. They grilled him, excited and envious then laughed at his answer. All he’d done is be silent.

The sun is so bright and strong on the isle’s, reflecting off the sea like a mirror. Even late in the afternoon when they return to the village.

Neteyam’s finally started to adjust to the intense rays but still, he longs for the damp sweet shade that came with the forest and its unbreachable canopy’s.There’s sweat beading from his hairline and down his back. He rubs at it with the back of his hand-

“Are you okay, my friend?” Akemi asks after Neteyam has stopped yet again to catch his breath.

“Fine, just hot”

“Don't worry, the storms in the evening will bring cooler weathers. You’ll have to hold our girl close though, she hates ‘em” Akemi grins as they walk along the spongy netted pathways.

“Why?” Neteyam inquires as they sidestep a group of giggling younglings and the Narisi’io(Nanny) that chases them “Is she scared of them?”

“Oh, she’s terrified” Akemi grins knowingly “She has been since we were little, but don't tell her I told you that. You know how she is, always pretending she has no fears. But a little thunder- Eywa forbid lightning, and she’s all but hiding under her bed mat”

Neteyam knows it's stupid but he’s almost jealous that Akemi knows all of this about you. He only wishes that he could’ve seen you, small and ornery. If he can only get in tales, then he’llgreedily take it “Really? She’s never told me that. Anything else I should know?”

Akemi laughs and leans into Neteyam’s space conspiratorially “I will tell you all you need to know- and most you don't. You’ll have to come by soon, spend the evening with us. My Kenai makes the most delicious shellfish stew, don't you, Tiwayn(love)?”

Kenai just chuckles and blushes as Akemi waxes poetic about the thick roux and mix of spices.

Neteyam smiles at the couple. He thinks he knows what that feels like now. To love someone so much that you want to sing their praises to anyone who will hear.

He spots you in the distance, like some sort of beacon. His eyes can find you in crowds so easily now, it's like his body has been rewired to hone in on yours.

You're just outside the big Mauri and he figures the meetings must be over. You stand in a group of elders and tribe leaders. You're smaller than most, your frame so easy to tower above, and yet you hold your own. Shoulders squared and head high. It makes something in his belly bloom. Pride, he thinks.

Yes, he understands Akemi’s need to tell everyone just how amazing he thinks his mate is.

Neteyam has a stupid smile on his face. He just knows that Lo’ak is two seconds away from making fun of him, as usual, for being undeniably whipped-

And Neteyam cant even deny it.

Sometimes, he doesn't like the way people look at you.

Most look at you with adoration, reverence and warmth. Some with heat and lust that makes his hackles rise. The occasional glance of exasperation because of your bold nature. He knows first hand what it’s like to feel all eyes on you, all the time. Knows that you mostly try to ignore it or are so used to it you no longer feel the stares.

There’s one member of the clan that looks at you in a way that makes Neteyams fingers itch for his tstal(dagger).

Vaeyu is everything Neteyam has come to know about Alpha’s and all that he hates. Tall and big and brooding, he uses his body like a weapon and his sharp words and condescending tone like a threat. And that would be enough for Neteyam to dislike him in general.

But.

Its the way that Vaeyu looks at you that cements Neteyam’s distaste for the Alpha.

All sharp and judgmental, or when Tonowari or anyone of importance is around; sickeningly sweet and perpetually bordering condescending.

Neteyam noticed it, even though he hasn't told anyone. The microaggressions. Vaeyu will take any and all chances to dig at you. They’re small things, conversational. He says it with that even voice- a smile on his face. What truly confuses Neteyam is the way that you react. He expects bloodshed; your sharp fangs and that dagger that you keep on your hip at all times go unused. You just…allow it.

Even now when the Alpha approaches you, you just seem to close up. Your arms folded over your chest and your jaw ticking as you grind your teeth. To anyone else it may seem normal. But he knows you.

“I fucking hate that guy” For a moment Neteyam thinks that he’s spoken his thoughts aloud, but the words had come in Akemi’s deep timbre. “I wish he’d just stay away from her.”

“Me too, he seems like a real dickhead” Lo’ak agrees, remembering when the Alpha had joined in on the teasing with Ao’nung and his lackies. The difference between them and him? Ao’nung was a juvenile who didnt know better. Vaeyu a fully fledged adult with a family. Cruelty and ignorance have different tastes.

Neteyam doesn't need to voice his distaste, it’s written all over his face.

There’s any so much he can take. You look so uncomfortable and that just will not do. His feet are carrying almost without his permission. He needs to protect his Alpha. Needs to make sure that you’re okay. There's really no other thoughts in his head, its like fuel.

“See you later, bro! Told you he’s down bad-“Lo’ak calls from behind him rolling his eyes at Neteyam when he gives the group a halfhearted wave.

Your eyes light up as they connect with his. Your whole body just relaxes, like a flower unfurling in the sunlight. “Neteyam, what’re you doing here, I thought you were hunting”

Neteyam’s arm goes around you and he can sense your slight shock. He isn’t a fan of public displays of affection and even though you insist that it’s okay, he knows you crave it.

As his hands rest on your soft warm skin he doesn't think he’ll ever be letting it go again. Fuck it, he cares not who sees.

Actually in this moment there's one person he actively wants to see.

He leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, but his eyes never leave Vaeyu’s. The Alpha is tall and obnoxiously broad, he likes letting it be known. Funny, the way Neteyam stands just as tall and never has to flaunt his size.

“All done for the day, I thought I’d come find you and see if you are as well. I hoped we could spend the afternoon together” Neteyam tells you and it’s half true.

It's not a hope. You’re done for the day whether you like it or not. “Are we done here?” he presses.

It’s not really you he’s speaking to.

Vaeyu’s eyes dance with fire. Anger at being challenged by an Omega…but something else. You cant into Neteyam’s touch, your arms going around his middle as you reach up to kiss at his jaw-

And, ah. Neteyam is able to identify that other emotion. Jealousy.

“Come, I am quite hungry. Are you going to feed me, Sayrip(handsome)?”

“Of course I am, come. Let's go back to our home” If Neteyam emphasizes the word our, it's because he’s not sure Vaeyu saw him move his things in the other day.

As the two of you walk away, backs turned, Neteyam shoots the Alpha one last look. His golden gaze sharp and cautioning as his long thin tail wraps around your upper thigh.

An obvious claim

Vaeyu looks away and Neteyam roars in victory. Internally, of course.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’s thrilled that you let him tug you along, past the Mauri. You dont question it as he leads you down onto the beach, away from the village and into the thick trees. You make him bold in a way that he never had been. You follow him deep into the bush. Trudging along beside him.

When the rocky cliff face come into view you start questioning again “Seriously, where are you taking me, Teyam?”

“I need you to trust me, and listen, very closely” Neteyam instructs, letting go of your hand to step closer to the rocks. He looks up, to the naked eye the wall of rock looks solid, vine covered and towering. “Stay behind me and make no sudden movements”

The chirp that leaves his mouth is sharp and shrill, followed by a chattering squawk. There is only moments between before it is returned.

Hidden atop the cliffs, the Sully family ikrans had made their new roost. The nesting grounds were high up and nearly in accessible- to anyone who couldn't climb that is. Usually he’d be happy to meet his mount well above the ground but he highly doubts you could make it up that high.

The screech that the beast lets out as she glides down, answering Neteyam’s call, is loud and shrill. Landing right in front of him, kicking up the forest sand beneath her great wings that she stretches ominously. Her jaws snap threateningly as she stands on her hind legs.

Neteyam can hear your fearful gasp from behind him.

“Nimwey” He sighs at the entire display and reaches out to push her mouth shut “Must you be such a brat?”

The ikran had always been so dramatic, such a show off. She actually had one of the most docile natures he’d ever seen in her kind. The point is only proven as she shoves her massive head into his chest- nearly knocking him over. His sweet old girl.

There is a disbelieved laugh behind him, certainly a little hysterical

“This is Nimwey, I have flown with her since I was thirteen” Neteyam speaks slowly, turning to you with his arms still full of scaled beast “She is very sweet but please. Approach slowly”

“Sweet? I am not sure of that…” you’re hesitant, feet rooted as you watch the entire scene. What is completely normal to Neteyam is so far beyond foreign to you.

He knows the feeling.

“I have wanted to introduce the two of you, but there has been no time. And she’s been nesting, haven't you momma?” Neteyam speaks to the ikran like one would a child and not a man eating winged predator. He connects his kuru to Atanzaw’s and the bond curls around him like an embrace.

“We share Tsaheylu, she will not hurt you” Neteyam reassures because Nimwey wouldnt. Not when she can feel for herself what he feels for you.

Your steps are slow and calculated as you approach and once your close enough he reaches for you, and with his hand cradling yours, leads you to press your palm against Nimwey’s side, “Feel her strong lungs, and her heartbeat. She is Eywa’s creation as all are, she’s not scary as she seems”

“She’s so beautiful” you whisper as you run your fingers along her scales. Nimwey is stunning, painted in shades of Azure and Emerald with shiny scales and iridescent wings.

“She is. Something the two of you have in common” Neteyam waxes poetic and the side eye that you and Nimwey shoot him is very insulting.

“I remember the day that you rode in on her. I had never seen anything like it- they don’t get this big here. I’d heard legends of ikran riders from far away lands but never thought I would live to see it” your tone is awe laced and it goes right to Neteyams head.

“Would you like to take a ride with me?” Neteyam had brought you here for this reason. He wants to take you, far away. If only for a bit.

“...You are serious?” You look at him, then at the ikran, then back at him.

“Don't you want to be apart of those legends? The great Metkayinan Olo’eykte who rode an ikran?” Neteyam grins as he says it. He knows your adventurous nature, knows that your need to experience and throw yourself head first into life will lead you to agreeing.

“Is it not dangerous?” You don't say no and he knows he’s already won, he squeezes your shoulder, gently disconnects from the bond, and goes to a nearby tree, climbing it quickly.

The Sullys had stashed their riding gear close, so that they could saddle their mounts in a hurry if need be.

“No more dangerous than swimming in the open ocean. At least in the sky there aren't Akula” Neteyam assures, returning with a large saddle and harness.

“In the water you can't fall to your death” You point out in a deadpan, watching him work. He’s quick and efficient as he is in most things as he bounds his ikran in her riding leathers.

“I would never let that happen” Neteyam reassures earnestly, he was one of the youngest riders to date, he feels more in control in the sky then on ground most times “You do not have to, of course. But I want to share this with you”

“Then take me on a ride, Forest boy.”

You look all too adorable as he slide’s Kiri’s riding visor down over your forehead. He wants to smush your face between his hands like you always do to him. He wishes he had his fathers human camera on him.

He mounts Nimwey carefully, can feel her through the bond. She wants to fly, it had been too long since they’d taken to the sky together.

“Come, Y/N” He pulls you up. In front of him, much to your distress. He want to be able to hold onto you, adjusts you on the saddle until you settle, back against his chest- his arms around you as he holds the reins. “Move with me, when I turn lean with it”

“Any other pointers?” you’re shifty and excited and it bleeds into him. Into the bond. Nimwey braces for flight.

“Don't close your eyes” He speaks it into your hair- before yipping out an ikran call, sending Nimwey into action.

Neteyam will never forget his first flight. The way it had felt to soar high above the clouds, the rush that came with the wind whipping through his braids. It is the most exhilarating experience that he can recall having, he had never felt more free.

Watching you getting to experience your own first is something special.

He wants to cement it somewhere deep in his brain, wants to share it with the Spirit Tree so that he can relive it over and over. He never wants to forget the smile on your face or the way your eyes sparkle with childlike wonder. Flying over the ocean is a beautiful experience, watching the water sparkle where the sun touches it is breathtaking- it brings tears to your eyes.

He takes you everywhere- far out, past Three Brothers Rock and up into the frothy misty clouds. The two of you soar around the isles, laughing and pointing out things you see- a flock of brightly colored Fkio. Fast leaping Naltusa that spin as they breach on cresting waves. The living breathing coral pulses just below the surface.

You like it the most when he flies fast, and banks against the wind. Your thrilled laughter and screams chime in his ears, not lost to the whooshing wind. An adrenaline junkie, his father had deemed you. Just like Lo’ak.

He never wants to come down, would be happy to spend the rest of his days in the air with only you and Zuli as his companions, but life has other plans.

The storms have started to roll in, the clouds ugly and bruised with perspiration. It’s only a matter of time before it starts to rain- when he tells you so you tighten in his arms. Going rigid. Fuck.

“We won't be able to make it back to the village in time, and flying in the rain is dangerous” He hollers apologetically- he couldn't have picked a mild sunny day to do this?

“We should seek cover- here. Head for the Cove of the Ancestors- there are many caves that we use for ceremonies, we can wait it out there” You instruct and Neteyam yanks gently on the reigns, leading Zuli to the instructed destination.

The Cove is breathtaking as ever, Neteyam had only just been allowed at the sacred space after he had passed his rights and earned his place as Metkayina. The Spirit Tree glows, bright and purple under the waves that are much gentler here, guarded by the high dome like cliff structures and floating rocks that protect the tree.

You lead him to the mouth of one of many caves, its big enough for Nimwey to fly straight in. It is good timing, the first fat drops of rain have just started to fall from the sky.

The cave is up high enough around that most of the waves can only lap at the entrance; there is a large fire pit in the middle and torches mounted on the walls. You scurry quickly around, eager to get a fire going.

“What is this place used for?” Neteyam wonders as he works on getting the torches lit.

When you speak your back is still turned to him as you spark flame to the big pit in the center “There are many like this littered along these lower cliffs, the people here to be close to Ranteg Utralti(Metkayina Spirit Tree). Mostly for prayer circles, fertility ceremonies, mating”

Neteyam’s lower belly swoops and his cheeks burn. “Ah, that makes sense…”

He goes through the motions that have been so ingrained in him, checks the perimeters and makes sure that all is secure before pressing the com on his neck. It’s staticy, the connection is rough due to the weather.

“Pathfinder to Devil Dog, comming in, over”

“I read you, Pathfinder. Where are you? This storm is wicked”

“I'm in a cave with Y/N, out near the Cove of the Ancestors, we’re safe and dry-We’re gonna wait it out here”

“Are you sure? If you need me to, I will come in for extraction”

“I am sure. We’ll head back as soon as its clear”

“Stay safe. Keep in contact”

“Roger that”

It is nice here, dry and warm from the fires. Lit by the flickering light of the torches and the glow of bioluminescent flora and fauna that grow on the walls. A soft moss that acts like a cushion covers the harsh rock floor.

Nimwey has left- the old girl doesn't care if it's wet. They’re near prime hunting grounds and from experience he knows the ikran does some of her best work in the rain. She’ll come back, with a full belly for her chicks, when he calls.

You’re near the back wall, lounged against a large rock, legs stretched in front of you and crossed over each other. You may look casual, but Neteyam can see the way that you keep anxiously eyeing the rain that falls in heavy sheets outside. He sits a few feet away, giving you distance if you so want it.

How had this gone so sideways? He just wanted some time with you, all to himself. And now here you we’re, stuck far away from home during a storm and it was completely his fault. This is why he’s never been impulsive, he sucks at it. Such an unlucky skxawng

“I am sorry” He whispers with a wince as he focuses on the fire. On the same day he’d learned you’re scared of storms, he’d flown you out into one.

“What for?” You ask, your big eyes turning to him. So confused and soft that it only makes him feel worse.

“I know you don't like storms, and somehow I got us stuck in one” he grumbles, a little embarrassed. He feels like a shit partner. What kind of Omega was he, leading you out into the wilderness with no food, nothing?

You just smile a little and scootch closer to him until you're pressed along the side of his body “You can't control the weather, Yawntu(my love). No need for apologies” you lean your head on his shoulder and he noses at your temple. Your hair is still all mused and messy from the flight “How did you know i'm afraid of storms?”

At that moment the cave lights up as a blinding flash of lightning strikes and splinters across the sky- followed by a ground shaking clap of thunder.

You jump, a gasp caught in your throat and Neteyam pulls into his lap, hugging you tight in his strong arms.

“I don't know, just a hunch” he teases after a moment, breaking up the tense moment. You laugh but it's forced and you’re stiff as a board. “Can I ask why they scare you so much?”

“What’s not to fear? They’re destructive and uncontrollable- we’re usually protected from the big ones, by the reef you know? But sometimes they slip through. Though far between its always flooding and chaos” you explain and huh, he guesses that makes sense.

Back in the forest he loved storms- but he had always endured them from the comfort of his family Keklu high in the trees, safe from floods and damage.

“This one will not last long, the clouds were low” He reassures in a low voice as he strokes the fly away hairs away from your face “It will pass before you know it, Yawntutsyip(little love)”

“I bet I seem pretty pathetic right now, huh? An Alpha who’s afraid of a little rain” You frame it as a joke, but there’s too much self-depreciation laced in.

“Not at all, it is normal to have fears. Tuk’s an Alpha and she’s scared of all kinds of things”

“She’s also seven years old!” You exclaim aghast at his horrible comparison and he sniggers, brushing your thick hair away from your shoulders so that he can press kisses there.

It’s easy to distract you.

The bubble of conversation that the two of you cocoon yourselves in feels safe and hospitable. It’s one of Neteyam’s favorite things; the way that he can just talk to you. About any and everything. He doesn't care what the subject is, he listens raptly to your words and the minutes fly by.

You end up shifting, lying on your sides, facing one another. Your chin is propped in your hand, elbow on the ground.

The council meeting today had been boring, mostly talks of village construction which he finds amusing that you have such a distaste for. When you mention Vaeyu and his desire for an expansion on his Mauri Neteyam scoffs. One of your dainty browbones raises in question.

“I just…do not like him. At all” Neteyam gripes.

“We can agree on that, but he has high rank so I’m forced to keep cordial with him” You sigh with a roll of your eyes “I fucking loathe politicks”

This is the opening that he’s been waiting for and his curiosity about Vaeuy bubbles to the surface “Do you know him well?”

“Well enough, his parents are close with mine”

“I see…” Neteyam drawls, and he should let the subject drop. Really, he knows. “Is there anything more?”

“Why? Has someone said something to you?” You sit up a bit and yeah. Yeah he knows that there is so much unsaid. “Has he?”

“No, but I have eyes. There’s some sort of history there. He’s extremely disrespectful to you and I’m not sure why- or why it is allowed” Once Neteyam starts it all flows out of him “I keep expecting you to break his jaw and you just allow it. I’m confused, is it just his rank? Because you outrank him in every sense of the word-”

“Neteyam” You sigh, but he keeps going.

“I know that Alpha’s have their own way of handling things that I don't care to understand-

“Neteyam, please”

It’s sharp and cuts his sentence off. He’s ticked off and down right jealous and you look suddenly very upset again.

“I do not ask about your past partners out of respect…and because it really doesn't matter who you were with before you met me” After a moment of tense silence, he chooses his words very carefully “You were with him, right?”

He expects you to get defensive like you have in the past. Maybe sassy. Put him in his place a little bit.

Instead you droop with shame.

“Yes” you admit and he frowns. It’s not that he’s disappointed in your sexual experience, the same as you aren't in his lack there of. But Vaeyu?

“I know what you’re thinking” you roll onto your back, staring at the glowing cave ceiling as you speak “Why that asshole?”

“Well…yeah” Neteyam replies so unsmoothly, he wants to face palm.

“My whole life has been planned out for me and I’ve learned to be okay with that. Really. The only thing I’ve ever wanted for my own is the chance to choose who I give my heart to” Neteyam knows the sentiment and stays quiet, giving you the space to speak.“Vaeyu was always older and his family was close to mine so he didn't treat me as just the chiefs daughter. I thought he might like me…for me”

The tale that you proceed to weave makes him sick to his stomach.

You had been young and naive and preyed upon by someone you trusted. Vaeyu touched you before you long before your Iknimaya and then dropped you when he’d been unable to get you to submit. Neteyam swears to the Great Mother that if he ever gets the chance, he’ll kill that motherfucker.

“I understand him, in a way,” you whisper, still not looking at Neteyam.

You cant see the way his face scrunches all the way up “And what fucking way is that?”

You bite your bottom lip hard and in the dim light, your eyes shine dangerously. “I’m…a lot . I can understand why someone would be hesitant to bond with me. I won't fool myself into thinking that I am everyone's ideal of a mate”

Neteyam’s chest seizes painfully and it feels like a part of him shatters hearing you speak about yourself in such ways. His poor sweetheart. He reaches out- he wants to dig his nails onto you and shake you because how could you think that you are anything less than magnificent?

Instead his fingers gently trace along your arms, before his hand settles on your chest. He presses his palm to the place above your heart.

“Oel ngati kameie” He says the words that his soul had known. Known since that very first one on one training session. He thinks that maybe he'd known before he was born. His past selves must have loved you, too.

You turn to look at him, tears creepingg down your cheeks “You don't have to…”

Neteyam had always thought that he was put on Eywa’eveng to be a good son. Brother. Hunter.

But now suspects that the All Mother may have created him to find you. And love you, wholly. To love every part of you that others had deemed undesirable.

“Oh baby,” He whispers the English endearment,

“Loving you is as easy for me as breathing. It’s not something I have to force myself to do. It is not a hardship. I’m sorry if anyone made you think differently”

His hand goes to your face, still with gentle touches, but you cup it in your own and press down firm, grounding you both. Your eyes are close, as though your bracing against coming impact.

“All I think about is bonding you. I want a life with you, Y/N” That is an understatement. He wants to wake up with you every morning. Wants to hunt with you. Wants to cook every meal. Wants to see you round with his children, wants to fill your shared Mauri to the brim with little ones that have your eyes and your wild streak “Let me show you”

When he lets go of you, it's so that he can reach behind himself and pull his thick shiny braid over his shoulder.

He offers his kuru to you. Because it’s yours already. Has been, just like the rest of him.

Your eyes follow his movements, widening as you realize what his intentions are. Just for a moment, before they go gentle and you reach for your own braid.

The two of you sit up, both propped on your shins. Kuru’s in hand, the lavender tendrils squirm. Reaching blindly in the dark, desperate for connection.

“Are you sure you’re ready,Neteyam, truly?” even then you have to question it and it makes his need to prove his dedication to you that much stronger“I don't want you to regret this”

“I want to be yours” Neteyam states simply because that is his truth. “I don't need a big ceremony, I couldn't care less about things like that, honestly . We’re here, at the Spirit Tree, in front of Eywa. That’s all that matters to me”

The distance between the tendrils is shortened, then closed. They twine together seamlessly, as though they had always meant to.

The bond is sealed and he can’t help but gasp.

He, as most Na'vi, had spent his life thinking about Tsaheylu. What would it be like to share the sacred bond with another? He’d imagined it, daydreamed about it when he got lonely. Listened to stories both scandalous and reverent.

Nothing could prepare him for the reality.

It’s all consuming and overwhelming, euphoria sings through his veins at being connected to you.

You and Neteyam blur.

Two souls into one being. He can feel you inside of him; your strong wild heart beats within his own chest now.

You collapse into each other: Neteyam slumps, leaning into you. Head falling into your bosom, his cheek smushed against your skin. You welcome him, wrap your arms around his neck, cradling him that much closer.

Why had no one told him it felt like this? He should’ve bonded with you the moment he met you. He wants to crawl under your skin and never come out.

“Yours” he slurs, still unable to open his eyes at the onslaught of intense stimulation “I’m finally yours”

Your joy is bright and eclectic, your love all consuming. He can feel the way that you want him. That you yearn for him. To you he is all things; strong and tender. He’s both the inky night with all of its danger and rough uncertainty and the soft gentle rays of first light during sunrise. He is nuanced and dynamic; you do not just see him as an Omgea. You see him as a person; your equal.

“And I am yours” Your voice echos in his head without you having to speak. “All of me, Neteyam. You can have everything”

His fingers trail along your turquoise skin, groping, taking handfuls of you. Your clothing is stripped, slow and revenant. He’s seen you before, gotten to suckle at your breast and taste your sweet cunt, but it feels different now. New. Every inch of bare skin is a revelation to him.

You’re less graceful than him, more hedonistic. It goes straight to his head, is undeniably sexy as you tug at his tweng roughly- yanking it off his body and manhandling him until he lies flat on his back.

“Fuck, Nete” you groan. He knows what he looks like, he can see himself through your eyes. Liked out on the cave floor, his braids sprawled around his head like a halo. His legs are open and his body lax. He’s the perfect picture of submission.

He’d only ever do this for you “You can have everything” he echo’s your words back to you.

Neteyams already rock hard, his cock peeking out from his puffy swollen slit. The sloppy pumps you give him are only precautionary really, making sure that he’s completely unsheathed before you mount him, your thick thighs spread wide, knees caging in his thin waist.

He can feel the warmth that radiates from your center, the apex of your body calling out to him. His hips rise, seeking it out and the tip of his cock spears through your wet pussy lips.

He hisses at the friction and you just smile, grabbing his girth and aiming it right at your pulsating hole “Slow my love, you’re bigger than anything I’ve ever taken”

His cock jumps in your hold and then you’re sinking down on him.

A crack of thunder rattles the cave but Neteyam doesn't hear it, not really. He feels like his head is underwater, his ears filled with fuzz as your body envelopes him. You take him all the way to the hilt, until your pussy kisses his smooth pubic bone.

There is no greater connection a Na’vi can have, he’s closer to you then he had ever been to anyone. Your kuru’s still connected in Tsaheylu- your bodies joined in harmony.

He can't look away from you, his tawny eyes are glued to your pretty face. Your brows are drawn tightly together, your nose scrunching as you pant. When you circle your hips he lets out a whine that's down right pathetic.

It’s like once the both of you get a taste of that friction, all rules are off.

The need for more is maddening, has you both wriggling and clashing. It’s not the sweet loving making that most think comes with the first time. Neteyam loses his virginity in a desperate frenzy.

He may be submissive, comfortable with being that for you now but he will never be passive. He chases not only his pleasure but yours. His hips snap, hard as they can, up and into you. Watching with his mouth hung open as you bounce atop of them in rough little jerks.

“Oh” you can't catch your breath around the trusts that knock the air from your lungs “G-g-great mother!”

He needs more leverage, needs you close. He reaches for the necklace he’d strung for you. So pretty around your throat, swaying in time with your heaving breaths, and tugs you down onto his wide chest, holding you painfully tight there as he continues to pound you from below.

With your face buried in his neck you have access to his sensitive gland, you worry it with your teeth for a moment “Neteyam- please, let me” you speak right into his skin

“Y/N” his voice is desperate and husky in your ear “Do it. Bite me, fucking knot me. Do it” Your fangs sink into his gland as your body locks around him tight and Neteyam goes limp. Literally. His secondary gender takes over completely. He’s been marked and knotted by his Alpha. He doesn't need to move, does not need to think.

He has you for that now. To take care of him.

He comes with a whine shooting off inside of you as you rhythmically pulse around him. He wants it to take- wants his cum to fill up your womb, to have a piece of him living inside you forever.

In the haze he can barely hold his head up, his arms and legs are useless and loose and your a heavy comforting weight above him. He’s too deep in the post-coital bliss to realize that the rain has slowed to a light drizzle or that the fire is close to being out.

You coo at him, rubbing him down with gentle massaging touches “You’re okay, Paskalin(honey). You did so well for me” you nuzzle at the side of his jaw.

Its quiet sept for the crackling of the dying fire and your sweet comforting hums for a while as the two of you lie in a mess of tangled limbs, still just basking in the connection. It takes him a ridiculous amount of time to formulate the thoughts in his head to words,

“Alpha?” he calls for you and you purr at the name.

“I think I’m going into heat”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam had been correct, of course. He could read the signs of his own body well enough. He’d managed to fly the two of you safely back to the village before he’d lost himself to his primal needs.

That was days ago, how many he doesn't know. All he knows is the eclipses come and go as the two of you barricade yourselves in your home. Your bed mat has been turned into a nest of blankets and quilts and cushions- it smells like your combined pheromones and feels like heaven.

The people celebrate the mating of their future chief joyously. Neteyam had proudly displayed his bloody neck, his long hair pulled back so that all could see the mark your canines had left on him.

The mauri is littered with gifs; baskets of fruit and folded leaf pockets full of sweet steamed meat. Jugs of water and juices and wines. Cakes and sweet rice in clay bowls.Tapestries and woven throws. Necklaces and bracelets.

The clan takes turns coming to the closed mouth of their Mauri and saying their prayers, leaving the gifts behind as an offering. As a token of good fortune.

The celebration drums haven't stopped and play in a constant rhythm that flows in through the windows.

Your families had checked in multiple times, leaving their own gifts. Jake and Neytiri had left a large blanket that they and Neteyam’s siblings had scented. The combined scents of love are palpable. He’d added it to the nest. His mother had helped him unbraid his hair before leaving, freeing his long inkky locks.

Your mother and father; Olo’eyktan and Tshaik had brought salves and tonics, medicines to get you through. Your mother kisses both of your heads as she sings a slow, soulful song. There is nothing to do but accept the mating, it had been performed at the Spirit Tree and bleeded by Eywa. Neteyam had almost cried when she patted his head before leaving. He hadn't realized just how desperately he wanted her approval.

His heats had always been dreaded miserable times. He’d dreadfully count down the days to them and then struggle through with only his hand and the potions his Grandmother brewed.

This one is so different from anything he knew. He spends his days doted upon. You spoil him rotten with hand fed bites of food and endless rounds of knotting. With sponge baths and massages.

If all heats were to be like this, he knows that he’d start to greet them with eagerness instead of dread.

He thought he knew about sex. Had spent months exploring with you in your secret spot in the forest; but holy fuck. He really hadn't known shit.

The two of you take each other in ways that Neteyam had not known existed. Hours of tantric love making that ends in him literally collapsing into slumber. Its rough and hard and slow and passionate and everything in between. He’s orgasmed so much that he’d lost count. He’d forgotten what it was like to wear clothes, to be without your touch.

He knows his heat is sadly weaning to an end. The fire in his blood has begun to cool, satiated by his Alpha.

…He still cant keeps his hands to himself.

Touching turns to kissing and kissing turns to you licking every inch of his sweaty bare body. Neteyam is squirmy and sore but lets you get at what you want, his thighs parting easy and wide so that you can slide between them head first.

Fucking Eywa. How had he lived without your mouth for twenty years of his life?

You’re so good with it; all fast talking and sweet kisses. He loves those plush petal like lips so very much.

Especially when they’re wrapped around his cock. You suckle him where he’s hard so perfectly, rubbing his length all over your face before taking it down your throat. Neteyam knows he wont last long, he never can when you do this…

Especially not when you begin to drift lower, mouthing at his sack, pulling at his ballls with careful little nips. Neteyam knots his long fingers in your long thick hair, his hips raising as you give his furled ass hole a wet open mouthed kiss.

It’s still swollen from your previous assault on it; you’d shoved him full so many times in the last week. He’d ridden your face and your fist and your tongue more times then he could count.

He’d never really played with himself there before you, couldn't get over the burn and awkward angle that came with his own fingers. But All Mother, you’re so good at this.

You suckle on the wrinkled skin, getting it all wet and messy and loose as possible with your tongue before you slide your fingers into his tight body. Neteyam groans and throws his head back so hard his neck hurts.

You’re so familiar with his insides now, its all to easy to find his sweet spot. That bundle of nerves hidden far inside that makes him scream every time you touch it.

“Please” Neteyam blubbers as you prod at him “Be gentle, Ma Muntxa(mate). I'm still so sore inside”

You snort, rolling your eyes meanly “You think I’m not? Should I keep my pussy away from you because you hurt it when you jack hammer into me like a man possessed?”

He just whines and clenches down on your dainty fingers.

“This hole is mine, Neteyam. It’s mine to do with what I please. If I want to lick it, fuck it. Spread it open and watch it flutter for me. I will, and you’ll let me, won't you sweet Omega?” You speak to him in a tone that’s all Alpha and it makes his core shake.

He’d always loathed being called by his designation, but he adores it when you call him your Omega now. He just bites at his lower lip and nods.

You’re finger fucking is slow and hard; a prostate masssage that leaves him shaking and gasping. His chest heaving so hard that his lungs hurt as you work him inside out. Internal orgasms feel different, they’re more intense and yet his body can push out multiple at a time.

You watch him dirty his own pretty striped belly over and over with his own milky cum.

By the time his third orgasm rocks through him his thighs are shaking and muscles are cramping up. He’s running away from your touch, his hips shifting away from the finger fucking at every turn. The oversensitivity has his ears twitching and tails whipping under him. All he can do is hold on for the ride.

“Enough” he begs for mercy, his tone high and whiny and nasally from the overstimulated tears escaping the corners of his eyes and rolling down his temples and into his hairline “I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I cant- I cant”

“Awe but look, baby. You just got fully hard again. You dont want to try to fuck me?” You chide with a tut of your tongue as you pull away from his groin. Wiping your messy mouth on the back of your arm as you pout.

How is he the one that is in heat, and he still can't manage to keep up with you? He gives a hysterical, non believing huff of laughter “I do not think I can. You broke me”

You rub his calf for a moment, getting that contracting knot out before sitting back on your haunches “I dont know, I think you’re underestimating yourself”

Your movements are so fluid, a taunting teasing dance for only his eyes as you arrange your body infront of him in a way that he never in his wildest imagination could’ve imagined.

You face away from him, on your hands and knees and then drop your chest low until the whole top half of your body is pressed against the bedding. Your ass is still high up in the air, jutting out in a clear offering. When your thick tail moves, revealing the plump slick lips of your cunt and the tiny tight ring of your asshole

Neteyam’s eyes almost fall out of his head.

You’re presenting. A move so submissive that most Alphas look down on it. Only Omegas and Betas present. What you’re doing for him is utterly unheard of.

You reach behind yourself, your small hand tugging at the thigh jiggle of your asscheek, spreading even further “It’s all yours, Neteyam. Come take care of me”

He groans, hie eyes rolling as he bites hard at his knuckle “What am I going to do with you, woman?”

But he’s already zeroing in, ready to give you exactly what you please.

“Love me forever” you suggest innocently with a giggle.

“Ay” Neteyam’s chest hurts, so heavy and full, with all of his feelings for you. How is he supposed to keep them contained in his body? He loves you like he’s never loved anything before “I think I’ll do just that”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This chapter was the most exhausting fucking thing i’ve ever writtem my GOD. Between the smut and all of the emotion? Yeah it almost took me out.

Do we like super long chapters? Or should I separate them into multiple little ones?

I def expressed some real feelings here through Y/N, that feeling of not being enough? Fucking painful and we’ve all been there.

I also hate rain and was the victim of flooding this year so that was a nice release lol.

Vaeyu is a creeper and better sleep with one eye OPEN.

Neteyam and Akemi are such a fun duo and I can't wait to explore them in the future.

PLEASE GIVE ME SOME FEED BACK ON THIS ONE GUYS. It mentally drained me and i need replenishment.

Next time we get to see her rut!

As usual I wanna thank my Omegaverse besties for keeping me sane and inspired! @cinetrix @tiredmamaissy @tru-blubelle @imperihoe @eywascall

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader smut #omega neteyam #omega neteyam x alpha reader #neteyam sully smut #omegaverse neteyam #mdni

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