#alone…but at the same thing they are so tiny and just follow their hearts which happens to tell them to eat everything important to me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anadiasmount · 18 days

Note

u and jude being in the same friend group and ur all together on a trip, though jude has been in love with you since day one and on the first night there u two sleep together, leaving u confused and wishing for more knowing things couldn’t be the same after the special night <3

no one knows - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: request above!

wc: 2.5k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: hii!! ik i said this would be posted sooner but i got sidetracked (what’s new… also don't hate me i didn't proof read...) ANYWAYS... this does contain small bit of smut so minors dni! like always hope you enjoy 🤍

the soft waves of the hammock you laid on rocked slowly as you stared out into the almost night sky. the different shades of orange now purple and blue, tiny star appearing in the distance, waves hitting the shore making the whole atmosphere just at peace. it was a king day of travel, having missed your first flight due to a delay on the train.

you had arrived last, but it didn’t matter because you were finally with your friends, wanting to make most of the trip you had planned. you changed into a knitted crème color swimsuit, loving how it fit and hugged your figure, accentuating your curves and pushing up your cleavage just right.

everyone inside was asleep, but you couldn’t go to sleep without wanting to watch the night fall. you loved the beach, the smell, the feel of sand, how your hair went to its natural state, and the feeling of freedom. you quickly got distracted by the click of the door opening, footsteps approaching where you were.

“hi,” you squeak as you see jude lean against the palm tree pole, shirtless and wearing similar shorts as your bathing suit. “you okay? you were the last to arrive and your here alone,” jude asked softly not being able to hold back the gulp at how dreamingly your body looked under this ray and light.

“i’m okay… just can’t sleep for some reason,” you stifle a small laugh, “plus i haven’t seen a view like this in so long, i just wanted too see it, i mean take a look.” jude obliged, looking around in a daze at how the night sky looked now. “yeah you’re right… i feel at ease,” jude nodded.

“how come you’re still up? is everything okay with you?” you sat up, propping your elbow and the back of your hand resting on your temple, your full attention on jude. you couldn’t deny but feel a tad bit confused he was here. jude never really spoke to you an when he did it was short and simple. so you wouldn’t be surprised if he made small talk and left.

“jet leg i guess? you’d think after all the constant travel i’d be used to it but it’s always difficult to fall asleep after a long flight for me,” jude explained taking a seat on the wood chair that was by the balcony. you hummed in response, your hand dragging up from your thigh to your hip letting it rest.

you sensed he wanted to tell you more, his fingers tapping against his massive and toned thighs, his eyes adverting from you to the sea. jude wasn’t shy, quite the opposite, and he knew in this moment it was now or never. “do i make you nervous?” you ask slyly, standing and walking over to him. you hated feeling awkward and left out around him, and you needed to know the reason behind it.

jude was a complete different person in his games, in public, around your friends, yet, he treats you so differently which threw you off the edge. jude roamed your eyes from your tanned shiny legs, your curved torso and bust, his heart stammering against his chest as you looked so willingly and utterly beautiful. “or do you just hate me?”

“hate you? why would i hate you?”

“don’t know… you tell me. it’s like this every time we’re around each other. the tension? you can’t even look into my face? you barely speak a word to me? if i’ve done something to offend you, let me know so i can apologize,” you spoke dearly, following his exact movements by roaming your eyes on his figure. legs spread out begging to be touch, abs defined, with veins adorning his arms. jude was fucked, all he could think about was you in this damn bathing suit and the silly theory you made in your head.

hate you? that’s impossible.

“what if i told you it was the opposite? what if i told you i’m infatuated by you?” jude looked up, standing and over towering you, your gaze shifted from confident to shy. your eyes lowering as jude looked down at you. “that when i’m around you all i can think about is you. how you look, smile, talk and walk, smell… it’s so infuriating to be this madly in love with you and not being able to do a thing about it…” jude confessed, drawing the air out of your lungs, like the wind that breezed the night sea.

“i feel like you’re lying to me…” you couldn’t help but say. a hesitance of insecurity, and that’s there’s absolutely no way this man was in love or was confessing any sort of feelings when actions proved otherwise. “why would i lie to you hm? i’m being completely truthful here y/n,” god the way he said your name had you trembling your knees. “you can’t be jude. we’re so different-”

“that’s what you think, and it’s all in your head. tell me this second you don’t feel it? the magnitude sensation for me to approach you? i can see it in your pretty face darling. now it’s you who can’t even look at me? or yet talk,” jude inches closer to you, seeing your chest rapidly raise up and down.

“you’re everything to me… i’ve had to resist myself because i have no idea if you feel the same way. i’d rather love you from a distance than be embarrassed and you not liking me back…” jude traced with his fingertips along your forearm. “don’t you see it? everything i’ve done it’s because of you… i wouldn’t be here if you weren’t y/n. i just want you…” his pleading and vulnerability in his voice had you gulping a response.

“let me show it to you hm? how you make me feel… how you deserved to be treated,” you nodded feeling the heat rise in you. the familiar desire to be wanted, appreciated, touched by a man like jude. “please jude…” you said in a small whimper, looking up where jude had a hungry gazed, lips slightly open. “show me-”

you remembered how cool the wall was when he hit your back against it, kissing you deeply, so messy and hot. how his hands traveled from your side and around your spine, gripping your ass as he ran his tongue down from your jaw and pulse point. you could feel everything, how big jude was, how hot his skin was to your touch, how desperate the need was.

he had dragged you to his room, his lips never leaving yours any second. it was so vivid in your head, how your back pressed against his chest, how his fingers slowly traced your abdomen down to inside your bottoms, his fingers covered by you slick coat, adding the bit-test of pressure on you clit rubbing it in small circles. all you could focus on was the determination and how hot he looked like this.

jude untied the bows from your bottoms, freeing you completely. he felt like he would die any second, this was real and no turning back. he could’ve watched you all night like this. so sensitive with the smallest touch.the familiar burn in your tummy when he sunk into you with a forceful thrust, hips curling and rocking to pleasure waves of emotions, the heat between your legs as he talked you through it all. the flicker in his eyes when you moaned and begged his name, how your nails scratched against his back asking for more and more.

“you belong to me… don’t you forget that y/n…” he kissed you sloppy, pushing one last thrust and spilling into you. it wasn’t just one round, he made sure to take you against the wall, balcony, shower, and the small couch in his room, in many positions too. he wanted to savor the moment like he imagined. this was way better than his dreams and thoughts in his head. you were so tight, so wet, very much made exactly for him.

the heavy weight on top you made you wake up early. you were used to waking up this early, but not with a hot body on top of you. with one eye barely open you looked at the digital clock, showing just before 7am, the whole house quiet. you looked around before your eyes landed on a sleepy jude, tucked between your arm and head nuzzled into your neck.

your heart raced, not being able to control your confused and guilty emotions. last night was real then? not a sick dream in your head or a movie, it had happened here in his room. “oh shit…” you whispered, chest sinking down as your controlled your breathing. you had to get out, feeling a tad stuck and rushed in space. this wasn’t supposed to happen… even though it felt so right. so meant to be.

you had managed to sneak jude to his back without waking him up. his lips pursed and brown drawn in, breathing heavy. you changed quickly back to your bikini, leaving the room how you had remembered. you ran a hand against your hair, the need to throw water in your face to cool the warmth in your cheeks. you weren’t used to this. you never did one night stands or had friends with benefits relationships. if that’s even what it was.

you couldn’t help but think maybe jude was lying to just get into your pants. you had seen how jude was like when around other woman. but you weren’t other woman. you we’re y/n. the shy but outgoing, smart but naive, and overly patient y/n. you didn’t want it be like them, or seen like them either. all you could think of was him. his brown eyes and stupid gentlemen demeanor.

you avoided him anywhere he was or walked in. the only way you could escape and let go of things was this. you weren’t used to this and didn’t have much experience so you did what you were best at which was ignore jude. but even your friends had noticed you were off and that there was a glow to you. drawing attention from everyone and the person who caused it all.

a small part of you did have a twinge of faith… what if he wasn’t lying? what if everything he proved to you last night was exactly how he felt? what if he was madly in love with you? that you were the woman of his dreams? that it wasn’t just sex and there was raw emotions included?

the ghost feeling against your back made you shiver, realizing it was jude who stood behind you, locking you with both arms extending out to cage you in as you cut up fruit. “you left me this morning,” jude spoke into your ear, feeling your weight shift from one foot to another. “i didn’t want anyone to catch us,” you say shaky, making up a lie knowing part of it was true.

“you’re lying to me…”

“am not. let me go… i-i-i need to bring this outside.”

“you are darling, you think i didn’t notice? you can’t even look at me without talking to me, and you’ve ignored me the whole day thinking i haven’t realized that,” jude let you go but followed behind you speaking a little louder. “lower your voice! i haven’t said anything to anyone!” you hiss, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the pool room. “what is it you want from me?” you say pleading.

“i want you! i thought i made that clear last night. not just with sex, but with my confession? before we fell asleep? don’t tell me you forgot that,” you shook your head. “i’m just having trouble to process all this, jude… i feel like we’re making a huge mistake…”

“to whom? to our friends? or to you?” jude asked sincerely. you always seemed to put them first over yourself and jude noticed that. “why would it be a mistake? if at the end of the day what we have is real…”

“jude it’s been one night together between us! look at us now! i can’t risk our group falling if we don’t work out jude! it’s not fair to them, to me and you!” you tried to reason but jude shook his head. he stood up from where he leaned, his broad frame over towering yours again.

“why are you so adamant we won’t work? we’ve barely been given a shot here! you’re overthinking it y/n. they don’t have to know a single thing pretty girl, not unless you don’t want them too.but for once think of what you want and your heart desires. not what your friends say. forget them and for once think about yourself,” jude spoke, grabbing your hands.

“i want us to work more than anything y/n. i’m not lying to you and have never gave you the reason either. i’m a good man y/n. just let me in here,” he poked your heart, seeing a sad smile appear on your face. “we can’t be so quick to judge without even trying! why is it so hard to do that? i just want to be with you, i’ve suffered enough as it is already,” jude was pleading, wanting to do anything to keep you here with him.

“and if we do and i lose you jude? people have walked in and straight out of my life. what if we try and it’s going so well just for us to part? i can’t handle losing someone else i love,” you whimper, tears of exhaustion and pain let out. “imagine me now and then? i’ve always thought what’s best for myself and i’m just confused jude… why me?” your voice sounded strained and from another dimension.

“why not you? you’re perfect y/n. anyone who thinks other wise must have been dropped into their head. you have everything that makes me so drawn to you… your eyes… your smile… your way of being… your hair… your everything. you’re everything i want and i’m willing to prove that to you however you ask. just let me be the man you need pretty girl…” jude rested his forehead against yours, his thumb stroking your jaw as you began to fall deeper into this new wave and world with him.

“no one knows. just me and you jude,” you kissed him feverently. the aching burn in your chest as he kissed you with such devotion and power. you shivered beneath him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulled him closer. jude let out a small groan gripping your hips and pushing you to his lower body. there was no self-control here, no professionalism. he quickly became your favorite taste, and feeling. just two humans brought together in the most correct and soulmate way.

two humans who had no idea what was ahead of them.

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham smut

437 notes · View notes

scoutswritingcorner · 1 month

Text

Lost And Found

PLATONIC Father!Alastor x Gn!Child!Reader

TW:Susan.

A/N: PART TWO OF TOO LATE!! Credits to the Amazing Anon for the prompt and @aboyscriminalrecord FOR THE AMAZING ART!! AUNTIE ROSIE IS WHAT I LIVE FOR

First Prompt, Second Prompt

Rosie was walking through Cannibal Town when she first met you. Standing in the middle of the road, shaking like a leaf as you cried your little heart out. She couldn’t leave a small thing like you alone, so she walked over watching as the smaller ears littered with small little dots fell back on your head. A little doe lost in the scary world, where were your parents?

She crouched down and held out her hands, “Hi there Little one,” She started watching you look around before moving closer towards her as a few people stopped to watch. Your little hooves clicking on the asphalt of the road as your hands held onto hers. You felt safe with her, the same feeling of safety that you associated with your papa and grandma, she was safe? But where was your papa? You wanted to see him again.

~~~

You lost track of how long you’ve been with Auntie Rosie but it’s been fun! You get to run around the town and play with other kids which was something that you could never really do because of how sick you were. It wasn’t until an older lady with a weird looking scarf came out and started yelling at your group that you got upset.

You weren’t near her garden! You were on the opposite side of the road! You huffed and turned to ignore her, you couldn’t go back to Auntie Rosie cause she said she was having an old friend over and you weren’t supposed to meddle in adult business but you didn’t want to play with an old lady that was yelling at you. So you walked back towards Auntie Rosie’s store, as the old lady followed you yelling even more.

Rosie got a surprise when she watched as Susan walked in, yelling at her about the little child she was taking care of. She sent Alastor an apologetic glance that he had waved off as he stared at Susan, who was yelling about how their clothes were dirty and how they were too close to her garden. As she finally got Susan to calm down, which took a lot of time, the sound of small hooves on the tiled floor caught her attention and then a soft sounding, “Papa?” echoed throughout the room. The room fell silent as she looked over to see you hiding behind the counter as you stared at Alastor.

Alastor’s head snapped towards the sound before his hands started to shake as he stared down at you. What were you doing down in hell? You were supposed to be up in Heaven with his Mama. He stood up as Rosie looked at him but he didn’t pay no mind as he slowly walked over watching as your eyes lit up and you smiled at him. He was silent for too long as he crouched down to your height, “Hello little fawn,” He whispered out trying to hold back the tears as you ran forward and hugged his arm, little tail wagging a mile a minute.

He carefully picked your tinier body up, it still felt light as it did when you died and he cursed at himself for it. Your arms moved to wrap around his neck as you talked all about Rosie and the new friends you had made in the town, he buried his face into your hair, careful of the tiny ears on your head as he silently cried. He was happy he had you back in his arms after all of this time but then he blamed himself, dragging his child down into hell with him? What kind of Father did that?

A soft hand was placed on his shoulder and he glanced up to see Rosie smiling at him. “I’ll go make some more tea,” She whispered as he looked back down at you, his little fawn. He’d do it right this time, he’ll protect you from everything that dared put you in harm's way and he’ll try to find a way to put you in heaven with his Mama. You didn’t belong down here with him.

He’d worry about that later. Right now he just wanted to hold you in his arms for just a moment longer.

Taglist: @misty-melody, @littledolly2345

A/N: ANON IF YOUR SEEING THIS I HOPE ITS LIVING UP TO YOUR IDEA!! ALSO HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYS!!!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #platonic

508 notes · View notes

helluvapoison · 3 months

Text

Feelings

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

imagine being a fallen angel and experiencing hunger for the first time

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

“Ow— Ow! Lucifer!” You screeched.

It takes him less than half a second to materialize before you. Demonic and beautiful just how the stories described him to be. Six ivory wings with crimson feathers stretched out to be your shield. His horns stretched tall, tail whipping to and fro and his honed teeth bared for the threat he couldn’t see. As a predator would asses the situation, Lucifer’s eyes, a blazing blood red, searched the area only to find you alone.

But.. you sounded hurt.

With hesitance, his features slowly ebbed away.

“What—“ He spun in a circle once more as if he was missing something. “What‘s happening? What is it?”

“I-I don’t know? It— ow!”

Suddenly you doubled over, clutching your stomach.

Lucifer was on one knee to keep your face in view, still furious at the oversight that escaped him and irrationally worried whatever it was would take you away from him. His hands hovered over your arms but didn’t dare touch. He looked every bit as terrified as you did. With no enemy to slay, he was left in the same darkness as well.

Neither of you would know what to do if you couldn’t explain.

Drawing in a shaking gasp, you muttered, “I don’t understand, it-it hurts.”

“Where? Where does it hurt? I can help you, just tell me.”

You only clutched your stomach tighter. The pain was unlike when you fell but remained just as intense. The thought of this being your new normal was paralyzing. How could anyone live this way? How would you survive? How did Lucifer?

“Your—“ Lucifer sighed heavily, shutting his eyes and allowing a weak smile to tug at one corner of his mouth. Relief. “I see. Ok, don’t worry. You’re ok, darling. I can fix this easy-peasy! You’re hungry.”

“What is that?”

His face scrunched tight as he looked for the words in the air, “It’s… It’s famine? You know, like in the mortal realm? But just here.”

He pointed at your stomach before rising to his feet. The look on your face when he stepped away was a dagger to his heart.

Don’t leave me alone, he swore your eyes begged him.

Perhaps he merely saw his own reflection in them.

Debating on waiting for you to follow (which he would’ve done; he would’ve waited for eternity) or bolting to grab something, Lucifer chose the latter.

Leaving you was hard enough as it stands— and it wasn’t getting any easier— but he would find a way to do both. One problem at a time.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” He reassured, “Ok?”

You’d reply was weak and uncertain. It twisted the blade lodged in his heart.

“Ok.”

He’s never moved so fast in his fucking life.

If he had time he would’ve made you something nicer from scratch. Lucifer used to love making breakfast. If he had time he would’ve had his cooks prepare a 7 course meal. If he had time he would’ve had you sample as many dishes as you could stand to find one you like. If he had time he would’ve sat with you and found out your favorite foods. He’d find a way to recreate them in Hell.

If he had noticed, you wouldn’t be hurting at all.

But there was no time for any of that. Not for if’s and definitely not for a pity party.

Lucifer returned before you with a blue-ish pastry that almost looked like a muffin. Almost… Not really. You glanced at him once to find a tiny, calm smile that put your worries back to bed before they could rise. If you could trust anyone down here, you knew it would be him.

Since you refused to release your hold on yourself, afraid your stomach would collapse, Lucifer took it upon himself to lift the pastry to your mouth. You hoped your hesitance was overlooked. He certainly didn’t comment on it.

It didn’t taste like anything. Specifically, it didn’t taste bad so your reluctance was overruled by hunger. You took the blob from Lucifer and ate slowly though you wanted to inhale the damn thing.

“I have these when I forget to eat too. They’ll do the job alright. Give it a few minutes to work his magic and— presto! We’ll get you some real food.”

“How could you possibly forget to eat when it feels like this?” You said through a mouthful of whatever-this-was.

“It get’s easier,” Lucifer let a breath of a laugh out, shaking his head. His mirth faded slowly yet simultaneously suddenly. “I’m sorry I let this happen. I didn’t—“ He squints, blinks and sighs, defeated, “I should’ve remembered this.”

You tilted your head, “This?”

“The first time I experienced… everything, I guess. Hunger was one of them,” Deep in thought, Lucifer tapped his chin, “Not the worst of them but the first time was pretty awful.”

Your eyes bulged out of your head slightly, “There’s more?”

Lucifer groaned in agreement, sharing in your horror.

“There’s a lot more.” Looking at you he realized his mistake and corrected it too late, “B-But I’m here! I went through it all so I’ll have all the answers for you!” His hands took your own, squeezing them, “You don’t have to do this alone. Ok?”

You squeezed his hands back.

“Ok.”

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ have this idea i had for my oc but i made it enjoyable for all! this might become a series, we’ll see

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #lucifer morningstar headcanon #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #poiboiwrites

702 notes · View notes

urdepressedslut · 9 months

Text

Feels So Right ❝part two❞

♡ Pairing: Dbf!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Ever since Bucky showed you how good things could feel, you need him to show you more.

♡ Warnings: smut, language, fluff, oral (fem receiving), rimming, fingering, petnames like a lot of them hehe,

part one ✧ main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+ ONLY

It had been weeks since you and Bucky’s heated moment. Still you could feel his touch on your skin, you could still feel the pleasant buzz he had left behind. All in all, you craved him now that you had gotten a taste.

The week nights had been spent with your hand down your panties, playing with yourself just as he had taught you— but you couldn’t find relief. Your hand didn’t feel the same as his— you didn’t know how to pleasure yourself like he could. How he knew your body better than you did, was beyond you.

Truthfully, you didn’t want to try and get yourself off— you just wanted him to take care of you. Soothe the aches you felt within your body, places he had yet to touch. Your skin burned for him, and you were almost positive that no one else could put out the flames except for him.

It went beyond just his touch. He made you feel so safe— so protected in his hold. You trusted him with your life and didn’t think you’d ever find someone you felt more comfortable to be around. All his touches, all his strokes of your body were so soft— so gentle in the way he was slowly undoing you. It wasn’t like the guys you had tried to be with before, where their needs were always before yours.

No, Bucky didn’t even express his needs— didn’t even mention them. He put you before anything else, making sure you felt good without the discomfort of owing him. There was no catch— just his desire to make you feel incredibly good. It was as easy as breathing being with him. Although it had only happened once— you wanted there to be more “lessons.”

Your Dad Steve had gone out of town for a business trip, and he of course trusted you enough to leave you home alone. You were responsible and respected him and the house well. No need for a babysitter considering you were in your 20’s.

Little did your dad know— you had invited Bucky over. You may had gone a little overboard with your text message to him. You told him it was urgent, and of course Bucky had freaked out and was speeding over to the house.

That’s where you found yourself jumping up at the sound of fast knocking at the door. You held your hand over your heart and wandered to the door, opening it to reveal a slightly sweaty and disheveled Bucky.

“Everything alright?” He asked, furrowing his brows at the way your face was calm.

He had read the text right… right?

“Yeah I probably shouldn’t of worded the text like that— sorry!” You giggled, and immediately Bucky was relaxing.

He shook his head while giving you a tiny smirk.

“Got me worked up over nothing.” He chuckled, running a hand through his messy hair.

You opened the door wider and stepped aside.

“Wanna come in?” You offered.

He smiled and stepped forward into the house, passing by your small frame. He loved the way he towered over you, and the way it got you all flustered.

“Sure doll.” He whispered, walking further into the kitchen leaving you at the door.

His scent wafted into your face, filling your senses with his deep minty pine smell. It was so intoxicating, you felt dizzy with the deep breath in. You quickly closed the door— locking it before following him into the kitchen.

You weren’t surprised to find him rummaging through Steve’s alcohol, which was basically his as well. Your dad only ever drank when Bucky was around.

As he was pouring himself a glass, it gave you time to really get a good look at him. You found your mouth watering at the sight, biting your lip as your eyes traveled up and down his figure. The brown plaid jacket fit him well, making him look extra handsome. His stubble looked just as it had last time, very clean— evident that he took very good care of himself and his appearance. His jeans hugged him just right in every area— overall he just looked so good.

“It’s rude to stare honey.” His voice broke you out of your trance.

You felt your cheeks get hot from being caught staring, you hadn’t meant to— but you couldn’t help it either.

“Sorry it’s just… you look good.” You admitted.

Bucky gazed down at you from across the island. Tipping his glass back, letting the burn travel down his throat. He knew you were just as starving for him as he was for you— and he knew he shouldn’t be doing this with his friends daughter. But he had a hard couple of weeks without you.

He fucked his hand nearly every night, trying to imagine your sweet sounds— and him being the one pulling them from you.

He let his eyes wander over your form, taking in your short sleeping shorts— your thin tank that did little to hide your tits. He almost growled, the way you were taunting him— the way you were teasing him with the way your nipples poked through your tank. The way your ass peaked out from the bottom of your shorts.

“(Y/n), why did you invite me over?” He asked lowly, filling his glass back up while you shuffled closer to him around the island.

You shrugged and tried to play dumb.

“Didn’t wanna be alone.” You told him.

“You sure it’s not because of something else?” He hinted.

You held his gaze, trying your best to read him— but he was good at keeping a poker face. You scooted closer.

“Maybe…” You started, taking another step closer. “Maybe I need you to teach me something.”

He lowered his gaze to his glass, raising it to his lips to tip back— his throat burning deliciously. Could he really deny you— he was already so deep in this pit that was you.

“Oh is that right?” He growled.

You nodded and took another step closer, his form towering over you more the closer you got, it had you excited and squeezing your thighs together.

Bucky noticed.

“You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel that good.” You whispered, “I wanna feel it again.”

He clenched his jaw, forcing his arms to stay either resting on the island or at his sides.

“Then you should try what I showed you.” He told you, pushing the glass away and twisting the cap back on the bottle.

You shook your head, a small frown lining your face.

“Doesn’t feel the same… I like it when it’s you.” You admitted.

Bucky took a deep breath in, your scent filling his senses and it was so lethal— he almost felt high off of it. You looked so good below him, your mock innocent eyes staring up at him, your lip jutting out into a pout. You were killing his self control— if he had any left.

“My dad won’t know— it’s okay.” You added.

That fueled the fire, the mere mention of how forbidden this was only made him want you that much more— and he wondered what had twisted him to think like that. He should stop now— head home.

But instead, he stepped forward, pressing his body against yours. Self control was no more.

“What are you doing to me baby?” He whispered, letting his hands rest of your shoulders, running all the way down your arms.

You didn’t have time to prepare yourself before he was hoisting you up by your legs, placing you on top of the island. He situated himself in between your thighs, pulling you forcefully into his chest. Your barely clothed core pushing up against his bulge.

You let out a gasp, your arms looping around his neck instinctively. You couldn’t stop yourself from grinding against his bulge, the jeans creating delicious friction to your aching clit.

He held his arms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tightly against him. He chuckled, his eyes hooded and dark watching you hump him like a cat in heat.

“Oh honey, you poor thing.” He cooed, cradling your jaw with one of his hands. “So desperate.”

You whined when his hands stop your movements, watching him step away from you. But you didn’t have long to complain when you saw him lower his body down— his head lining up with your crotch.

“Don’t worry baby— I’ll teach you something new.” He teased, wasting no time and pulling your shorts down, throwing them to the side.

He nearly moaned when he glanced back to find out you weren’t wearing any panties. Your core was exposed, puffy and dripping.

You felt hot under his stare, your core aching almost painfully as he just looked at it. You shifted your hips closer to him.

He glanced up to you with dark eyes, his pupils blown out with lust.

“So pretty sweetheart,” He snuck his hand closer, letting his thumb brush from your slit to your clit. “So wet for me.”

You jumped from his touch, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head when he continued circling his thumb around your clit.

"Ohhh... Buckyy..." You moaned breathlessly, your hips jutting up to push his fingers harder against you.

He yanked your legs up, forcing you to lean back with your legs up— exposing your core further. This new angle gave him a great view of your little puckered hole. His eyes darkened and he couldn’t help himself— so he leaned forward and gave your little hole a lick.

You gasped from the new feeling, never had been touched there— it was oddly pleasant, and the way he kept circling your bud while giving your hole kitten licks was heavenly.

He smiled in between licks, his stubble scratching the inside of your ass.

“Babydoll… no one ever touch you here?” He asked softly, rubbing his thumb back and fourth from your clit down to your slit, while he kept up his ministrations on your hole.

You shook your head, leaning back on your shaking arms. You could feel yourself clench over nothing, your core aching to be filled.

He gave your puckered hole a kiss before glancing up to you, a growl almost escaping at the pathetic, fucked out look you had on your face. He licked his lips as the layer of sweat coating your forehead.

“No one ever took the time to take care of you honey, but I’m going to— don’t you worry.” He promised, peppering kisses to your inner thighs while he circled your swollen bud.

You began to breathe heavily as his mouth got closer to your center, your heart beating in excitement.

“Just relax baby, gonna make you feel good.” He cooed.

With a nod from you, he was shoving his face into your cunt. Giving your pussy an open mouthed kiss, letting his tongue dart inside and feel around your walls— which had you crying out, instinctively trying to crawl away because it felt too good.

He used he free hand to press down on your stomach, forcing you to lay all the way down on the island. His strong arm kept you in place, leaving you no chance to run. Not that you wanted to.

“Gotta stay still babygirl.” He instructed.

You found it hard to stay still with his thumb rubbing faster of your clit, his tongue massaging your walls and slit so perfectly you felt dizzy. You had never had someone go down on you like this, and you wondered how you had gone this long without it— it felt too fucking good.

“Bucky— feels so good, please don’t stop!” You whined, your hips starting to grind against his face in attempt to chase your release quicker.

Bucky went feral at your whines, your pleas— it only spurred him on, starting to lick, kiss and suck at your cunt faster and harder.

He stopped his rubbing motions of your clit and snuck his hand down to your slit, lifting his mouth to insert two fingers. They slid in easily with how wet you were, and he could feel your walls clamping down on them. Had him growling at your whines.

“Oh… fuckkk…” You moaned out, gripping the island in a death grip, the coil tightening within you.

Bucky lowered his head back down and sucked hard onto your clit, watching your body jolt from the sensation.

He knew you were close.

You whimpered and couldn’t stop grinding your face into his face and onto his fingers— wishing them deeper.

He started moving his fingers in a come here motion and brushed against a spongey pad— causing your hips to jolt, your cries loud and echoing throughout the kitchen.

“There it is baby… want you to cum for me.” He cooed.

He kept sucking and rolling his tongue around your clit while brushing against your sweet spot repeatedly. The edges of your vision were hazy and dark, the coil nearly snapping.

“C’mon sweetheart— let go.” He whispered, licking up and down your clit quickly.

With one last stroke against your sweet spot, you were crying out, pathetic whines leaving your lips as your body twitched and jolted, no doubt having fallen off the island if he weren’t holding you down. Waves of ecstasy flowed within you, your entire body buzzing as he kept lazily stroking your walls, avoiding your sweet spot in order not to overstimulate you.

He peppered kisses to your pussy and inner thighs as you came down, every now and then hips twitching at every other kiss he’d place on your clit.

Your breathing was slowly coming back down, you stayed laying on the island— completely covered in sweat. You had a dumb weak smile on your face, your eyes fluttered shut from the intense pleasant buzz that filled your being. You almost felt like you were floating.

“You with me honey?” He joked, giving your sensitive bud one last kiss before raising up to his feet.

He gently pulled you up so you were sitting up now. He let out a tiny chuckle at your ducked out expression.

“(Y/n)?” He teased, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

You nodded and leaned into his touch, closing your eyes in contentment.

“I’m perfect.” You whispered, looping your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest.

His heart pulsed at the action, you looking so delicate and pure hugging him like a little monkey. The waves of pure bliss from your state were overwhelming, taking over all his senses— but it still couldn’t block out the guilt that came after.

“You’re a little cuddle bunny, aren’t ya?” He cooed, rubbing your back soothingly.

He didn’t hear a response, and if you did respond— he couldn’t hear it due to his mind getting lost in the what if’s. The guilt eating away at him.

He supposed he’d had fun until the moment came where he couldn’t anymore.

TAGLIST: @kmc1989 @hanihoney88 @potatothots @billy-reads @sebastiansstanswhore @silverfire13 @lilbabygirl @ghostofwinter @hereticdance @goldylions @marvelogic

let me know if i missed you on the taglist 💗

921 notes · View notes

babygirl-riley · 8 months

Text

The Riley’s

You surprise a new Riley in the family.

“He’s a four legged tracking machine.”

simon x reader guide

simon x reader family edition

Warnings: swearing and fluff

You couldn’t resist, you were alone for two months now. Which is pretty normal for how Simon’s job is. So you went to a couple of shelters, animal shelters. Originally it was to check out what type of dogs were out there. Simon and you talked about it before, that if there was a dog present that it would not be some small yappy one.

Simon hated the small dogs, thought they were to tiny and he could squash them by accident when walking around. Which was fair, he was a large man in stature. So just looking for ideas wasn’t suppose to have the end goal you got.

It was a loud shelter many dogs barking and howling. It broke your heart to see them, some were cowering in the corner others up against the fence. You would look at the names Sparky, Jack, Velma, Cupcake. Really odd names. However there was one that made you stop in your tracks.

Riley. You looked into the cage to find a German Shepard, at first he was cautious on when you stopped. Glaring and still. “He used to be a military dog actually,” The woman said behind you. “We might have to put him down soon cause he is getting aggressive.”

You smiled and turned to her. “Can I walk him?”

She stared at you for a minute and shook her head. “I don’t know he isn’t for sale.”

You chuckled. “No worries just one walk and if he snaps then don’t worry about it.”

The lady shrugged and walked to grab a leash. You turned back to the dog who still hasn’t moved. Just staring, you kneeled down and looked at him. Tried to read his eyes. Curious was behind them yet cautious at the same time. “Hey bud,” You whispered. “It’s alright, I’m here to take you home.”

The dog stared unsure before sitting down waiting until the door opened. You watched as the lady cautiously took the dog and handed the leash to you. You grabbed it and he walked with you, he was next to you the whole time. When you looked at him he would look away but when you didn’t he sniffed you.

It reminded you of Simon, cautious and curious. When you both started to date Simon was standoffish yet caring at the same time. You knew nothing of him until damn near 2 years of the relationship. Didn’t know his family was killed until marriage. You could tell how similar the personality between Simon and Riley really was. You guess that’s what the military can do to you. Give you horrible things to twist your mind into think no one is trusted.

Not once for the hour you were with him he was aggressive. You pulled the lady aside and talked about taking him home. She explained that he doesn’t like children or other pets. Luckily for him neither of those were there, she explained that the personality would come out and she expected for him to be back.

You negotiated and bought him, he followed you to the car, hopping in normally. The drive home was nice, he sat and watched the world go by. “Ya know your new dad is military,” You spoke looking over for Riley to be laying down. “You two will get along just fine.”

Riley was to himself a lot of the time, you would feed him and taking him for walks. He wasn’t loving at first until 2 weeks later. He would play with you and cuddle up to you when it was time for bed. Would growl if he felt someone was too close to you when walking. Eventually you tested to see how trained he was. Learned he knew the basic things but also knew how to do protection tricks.

Simon didn’t expect when he pulled home to hear a deep growl at the door when putting his keys in. He wanted to surprise you if being home early, Simon even checked if it was the right house. The growl was deep, a warning. It was dark out, late very very late. So maybe he was hearing things, it wasn’t until he heard you tell something to sit.

“Simon!” You yelled swinging in for a hug. He hugged you back but all he could see is that dog. The dog that was glaring at him for a moment.

“What’s that?”

You turned smiling before biting down on his lower lip. “So I got lonely,” You stated walking over to Riley petting his head. “I wasn’t going to buy a dog but something ironic happened.”

Simon watched as the dog scooted closer to you. Still cautious of him, Simon was just a big man, he rarely wore his mask at home. Takes it off in his truck unless he was extremely tired. “What is it?” He said again.

“His name is Riley.”

Simon was shocked, you were joking, there is no way his name was that. That would be very strange and interesting. “Really?”

You nodded and grabbed his dog tag and his name was engraved. He was a beautiful dog. He walked up to the dog, at first the dog froze then sniffed his hand. Simon let it do whatever as he growled lowly before walking away. You sucked in your lips. “He will get used to you.”

Simon hoped it would be awful to have a pet that tolerated him. For the couple of weeks he was there, Riley slowly got closer to him. Riley followed him everywhere, bathroom, back hard when mowing, on the side of his bed. All of it. Hell Riley would watch football with Simon.

Riley and Simon started to do more training. Taught him how to search, would hide little things of yours, eventually you as Riley searched. Slowly Riley would leave with Simon to the base, slowly would not be at home.

You rolled your eyes humorously. “He hated you.”

Simon scoffed. “He was shy.”

You laughed placing the noodles on each plate. You frowned. “You promise you both come back safe? Intact?”

Simon frowned as well. He knew how you felt when you both talked about what would Riley do, stay at home. That was your only thing, he didn’t need to go out and fight anymore. He did it when he was younger. However Riley has been anxious been doing things that Simon noticed that the other canines would do. Especially when they retired.

Price watched Simon and Riley together on the base. Riley was a good tracking dog and really good at attacking as well. So Price pulled Simon aside and asked how he felt about Riley joining 141. Simon said he would love to but he would have to ask the Misses.

At first you walked away from him, angry of course. Simon knew not to follow you, that he got you that upset to retreat to the bedroom. So he waited. Until you came out and asked what Riley would do. He explained that he would only go on missions that needed the enemy to be found. Capture or kill.

You would listen sit and made tea for both of you as you both negotiated on what would happen. You sighed again. “It would only be for those missions. Some I will know ahead some I won’t. Just like normally.” Simon explained holding her hands. “Ya seen him. He walks around the house like he needs something. He just got into the planets last week.” Simon explained.

You looked outside remembering him bringing in a whole bush of flowers. Dirt and a fucked up backyard. Riley would start destroying things after one paw of his stepped into the base. He wanted more. Needed more. More energy. You frowned looking down at Riley. Riley wagged his tail looking up at you.

“Dogs don’t need to fight the wars Si.” You whispered petting Riley.

Simon nodded his head. “I agree lovie, unfortunately he has already been trained it wouldn’t be his firs’. He would be a good asset.”

You watched as Riley licked your hand. Like he was reassuring you, like he was telling you it was fine. “Alright, only for those missions. But I next time Simon I am getting a yippy and you can’t do shit.”

Simon shook his head chuckling lowly. “No I don’t think so sweethear’”

Simon thought you were kidding but three months later, you brought home a tiniest dog. Yorkie of all dogs. Simon now knows not to take the dogs with him to base. Well Riley fell in love with the little bugger. Eventually Simon did as well having both dogs near him.

You came home from grocery shopping and while walking in you saw the dogs and him sleeping. Riley laid at the end of his feet while Hallie laid on his chest. You scoffed, pulling out your phone, clicking the picture. You smiled as you sent it to Price stating you will have a drug locator too.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #simon riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #call of duty mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost x reader #Spotify

1K notes · View notes

dreamywriter143 · 1 year

Text

Nihona

Status: Part One (1/3)

Parings: Neteyam x Reader (Step SiblingReader), Sully’s x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Angst, Romance, Fluff, Jealously, Forbidden Love Troupe, Step-Siblings, suggestive content!!, NSFW/MDNI (A small scene in this chapter) Masturbation, Slight exhibition/in a public place?, All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: Miréya and Neytiri have been best friends since birth. Miréya was always by her side, comforting her when she lost her sister and when the sky people attacked. Neytiri loved her as if she was her own sister. Loosing her was unbearable for her and Jake. What will happen when they take in what is left off her? Take care of her daughter who is completely alone in this world? How will she adapt to her new family?

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: Due to popular demand I'm continuing this mini series. This chapter does has suggestive content so please proceed with discretion. Also there are a lot of separate sections with tiny timeskips. Please bare with me😅 Other then that I hope you enjoy!

*Still under rough editing, please excuse any mistakes!*

__________________________________________

“Why are you avoiding me?” Neteyam finally managed to corner Y/n. Leaving her no route of escape. Y/n chews her lower lip nervously as her eyes dart around aimlessly. She made sure not to make eye contact with Neteyam knowing fully well it would make her heart feel weird again.

“What do you mean? Why would I avoid you?” Y/n shrugs, shuffling under his stare uncomfortably.

Neteyam gulps at her bruised lips, the product of her chewing them nervously. He couldn’t help but recall the events that left him breathless. That urged him to confront her which only got him to realize she was actively avoiding him.

“You’re barely around. You don’t come with me to training anymore and you don’t wanna accompany me on rides! Riding our Ikran’s together-” Neteyam gestures in the space between them. “-that’s our thing”

Y/n finally looks up, her breath hitched as she stared into his beautiful yellow hues. It was true that she had been avoiding him, but not for reasons he beat himself over, no. She was avoiding him due to her own revelation.

The reason why she felt so giddy near her older brother, the reason why she always followed him around and hated when girls their age would try to gain his attention. It was love, infatuation.

After the ‘practice’ kiss Y/n had realized, she loved him. She loved her own brother as a lover. As a potential mate. And that disturbed the girl in unimaginable ways. She knew Neteyam didn't feel the same, he even reminded her prior and after the kiss that it was a ‘practice’, that it had no meaning. But Y/n just couldn’t help it.

She began to contemplate her whole existence. Why was she born into a family where she fell head over heels for her brother? The connection she felt towards him, the tug she felt that always lured her into his embrace. It was as if fate was mocking her, being cruel to her. Why was she cursed?

She always felt like something was missing in her life. Never once did her parents, Jake and Neytiri, refer to Y/n as their ‘daughter’. Though they showered her with love, when anyone asked about her it was always Y/n this, Y/n that. Not how they would refer to Kiri. As their daughter.

This confused the girl which always left her empty. Luckily Neteyam was always there, always ready to hold her tight ensuring she was safe and secure. That she was loved. In Y/n’s eyes, falling for Neteyam was inevitable.

“No-I’m….I’m sorry Neteyam. I’ve been in a really weird headspace lately” Y/n admits, stepping closer to her brother. Neteyam immediately engulfs her into a bone crushing embrace as Y/n lets out a sigh of relief. She feels her entire body let loose, beginning to melt into the embrace as her senses filled with his comforting scent.

“Then tell me about it. Tell me what you feel. How you feel. I’ll always be here for you, Y/n. No matter what” Neteyam murmurs, his heart beating erratically at the fact he finally had her in his arms after being apart for what felt like forever.

Y/n pulls back, peering up at her brother who smiles down at her. His braids falling past his face as she gently brushed them aside. He loved how Neteyam kept his hair long, braided neatly and let loose. she ha told him on numerous occations how it framed his face beautifully.

“I don’t want to burden you”

“How could you? You are never a burden. I’m your brother, you are my responsibility.” Neteyam assures. Y/n’s eyes widened at his words, everything he said was true. She was foolish for loving him when he was the perfect brother to her. She realized then and there she would have to get over her childish crush. For her brother's sake.

“I’m sorry for keeping my distance Neteyam….forgive me?” Y/n asks timidly as Neteyam beams. He squeezes her tightly against him in pure glee.

“Of course baby sister!”

~~~~~~~~~~~6 Years Later~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n and Neteyam are both 19, turning 20 soon)

As the years flew by, Y/n and Neteyam’s bond only grew. In many ways more than one.

Neteyam grew to be a great warrior, training every day and achieving feats unimaginable and heavily admired by the tribe. He grew to be the definition of perfection, being nicknamed the ‘Prince of the Omatikaya’. He was widely admired and praised. The whole clan saw him as the perfect future leader as they marveled at his accomplishments.

Not only did he prove himself over the years but he grew to be quite handsome. Attracting many suitors along the way. None of which caught his attention, though many had tried.

Luckily Jake and Neytiri never pressured him to find a mate, but the clan did not forget. Many would approach him with requests, many older Na’vi offering their daughters for the privilege to be his mate which he always politely declined.

How could he? How could he even think about finding a mate when Y/n looked like that.

“Would you look at that~~~” No'eng, Neteyam’s friend whispers, his eyes trained on a certain female Na'vi.

Neteyam and his friend had been near the river gutting and cleaning the fish they had caught earlier in the day. Across them a few children jumped around in the water playfully.

Neteyam looks up, his pupils dilating as they land on the very person his best friend openly gawked at. Y/n giggles as she splashes some water towards Tuk who dogged just in the nick of time.

Over the years Y/n had also grown. Though Neteyam hoped and prayed his feelings would dissipate over the years growing alongside her, it didn't. She grew up to be beautiful. Her beauty and skills were admired amongst the clan.

She grew a few feet taller, still shorter than Neteyam and many other men. Her long locks reaching past her shoulders, always perfectly braided to her liking. Somehow always having beads and pearls that would always catch Neteyam's eyes.

And her body, Neteyam always felt himself get hot when he thought of that. He desperately tried not to notice her physical development, but the longer he stared. The more tempted he got. The deeper his desires became.

The way her bust grew, larger than many other female Na’vi but that much desirable. Neteyam often caught himself gazing at them, daydreaming about how they would feel against his hands. Her tiny waist that he knew would fit perfectly against his hands.

The list goes on and on.

She was perfect, she is perfect. Not just to Neteyam but to many other males. Something Neteyam hated.

“That's my sister No'eng, watch yourself” the sharpness in Neteyam’s tone causes the boy to quickly look away, apologizing quietly. It was well known that Neteyam protected all his siblings, especially Y/n. He made it his mission to keep everyone with lingering glances away, all because he knew what they meant.

Which is why he was that much more protective over her. No one was good enough for his sister, not even himself.

Neteyam’s ears twitched to the sound of Y/n’s laughter, it sounded so beautiful and serene. Neteyam glances over at his sister, a smile twitching along his lips. He watches how she gets splashed with water, claiming vengeance against Tuk who cowers away in mock fear.

Neteyam’s face heats up as his eyes zone on the droplets of water that cascaded down her body, past her neck and into the confines of her top that shifted amidst all her movement. He gulps as his eyes catch the delicious sight of her nipples under her top now that it stuck onto her after getting wet.

Clearing his throat loudly Neteyam forces his attention to the fish in hand. Ignoring the throbbing in between his legs.

~~~~~~

“N-Neteyam, we shouldn't” Y/n whispers, her eyes scrunched up in pleasure as she lays before her brother. His hands caged her in between them as he propped himself above her, his lips swipe along his lips as he tried to burn the image deep into his brain.

Y/n, sprawled underneath him with her hair spread out. Her face flush with embarrassment and lust, and her eyes dilated in desire. The same desire he felt shock through him,

“Fuck, I know nihona, I know. I just can't help myself” (Sweet) Neteyam whines, his tone laced with pain from holding himself back. He felt his resolve disappear the more he watched her tremble underneath him. How long he had wished for this, how long he dreamed of this. To have her so close, withering under his heated touch.

Neteyam slides his knee up along her inner thigh, coming in contact with her hot cunt that causes her to jolt in surprise. “O-oh! N-Neteyam '' Y/n moans, closing her eyes at the feeling of him rubbing against her soaked folds. Neteyam sighs out loud, feeling her essence soak through the fabric, his knee working along her pussy.

“Y-yes love. Say my name, just-l-like that” Neteyam gasps out. Who knew that Y/n gasping his name would sound so delicious? So addicting?

Neteyam leans down, brushing his nose up against her neck. Finding the optional spot to take in a deep breath as her scent invaded her senses. He swipes his tongue along her delicate skin as she whimpers at the new, but welcomed sensation.

“I need to be inside you, my nihona. P-please” Neteyam begs breathlessly. Unconsciously he bucks into the cot they were sprawled upon, seeking any sort of friction. Though every primal instinct in him wanted to take her no questions asked, he had to hear her admit to wanting it just as badly as him. Y/n shivers under him at his words.

“N-Neteyam. I-I”

Neteyam jolts awake, a thick layer of sweat drenching his body. Tiny gasps escape him as he looks around to his surroundings trying to get a grip of where he was. He tries to calm down his heart rate as his eyes take in what was around him.

He realizes he’s in his family tent, tucked away is his respective corner. It was a dream, it was a fantasy he dreamt of every day. Though he lived for his fantasies, it only proved to be a curse when he realized that's all it was. A fantasy. Feeling uncomfortable under his weaved cloth he pulls it over, gasping at the sight.

“Shit”

Neteyam curses under his breath seeing his member hard and already leaking from the dream he had. He had to take care of this, it didn’t seem to go down even after he realized he had a wet dream in the comfort of his own home with his family soundlessly asleep around him.

Just as Neteyam lifts his covers fully to silently get out of bed he hears the tiniest whimper from beside his cot, freezing at the sound he looks around the tent for any movement. His ears twitch and strain to listen to the sound only to be rewarded with a tiny moan.

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. His cock twitched once he realized what he was hearing.

“Hmm” Y/n whimpers out, shuffling around on her own cot. The sounds of her fingers working against her slick folds seem to echo through the tent.

Neteyam felt like he was already a terrible brother from having the dream he was enjoying so greatly. Now he felt horrible listening in on his sister's tiny cries as she pleasures herself. Why did he convince his parents to have their cots right next to each other?

Neteyam lays back down quietly, trying to ignore the sounds that seem to zone in on him. Her breathless whimpers, the squelching sounds of her juices as she desperately pumps in and out of her puffy cunt for a release.

Neteyam closes his eyes, his cock straining against his loincloth at her moans. He couldn't calm down now even if he wanted to. Not when she sounded so sensual.

After coming to the conclusion he couldn't do anything right now without being found out he was awake and hard, Neteyam reaches down to pull his loincloth to the side. He hisses as the cool air hits his hard cock as he wraps his fingers around the girthy shaft.

He spreads precum across the tip and along the length. Neteyam gently pumps along his member while closing his eyes at the feeling. Y/n’s moans only increase in intensity as she nears her peak, prompting Neteyam to pump his cock faster to cum the same time as her.

“F-fuck” Y/n whispers out. Neteyam bites back a moan that threatens to escape as he increases his speed.

That night Neteyam had the best orgasm he had in years, all while fucking himself to the sound of his little sister. Just as she pleasured herself not knowing her brother heard every moan, every whimper.

~~~~~~~

“Shit! Neteyam!” Y/n runs alongside Kiri as it had been announced that the war party had returned. Y/n caught a glimpse of her injured brother which only prompted her to push her legs faster, coming to stop right in front of him. Her fingers reach out to touch him to which he holds his hand up in protest.

Neteyam shakes his head as Y/n rolls her eyes, taking his arm into her hand as she examines the wounds and traces of blood.

“Y/n, Kiri, Will you please help your grandmother with the wounded, please?” Jake asks, briefly turning his attention away from lecturing his sons to his daughters who didn't seem that bothered by his harsh words.

“Our brother is wounded, dad” Kiri speaks up in annoyance, Y/n furrows her eyes on her brother's face who looks to be on the verge of tears. She seemed to drown out what her father was saying as all she could focus on was her dear brother.

After Jake tosses a few more words their way Neytiri orders Y/n to patch Neteyam up who agrees immediately, dragging the older male to their family tent. Upon entry they see Mo’at had all the ointment already set up and ready, but she was nowhere to be found. Not wanting to wait any longer Y/n pulls Neteyam to sit down on a mat while she plops down across him

Neteyam’s ears twitch nervously , he glances at his sister who hasn't uttered a single word. His eyes follow her as she gathers to ointment in her fingers, rubbing them together to warm up the paste. Feeling his ears drop at the lack of response, Neteyam clears his throat which causes Y/n to finally look at him. But not with the smile he had been waiting all day for.

“Is it that hard to follow orders?” Y/n hisses, her ears folded back showing she was actually worried for Neteyam despite her harsh tongue. Neteyam gulps at her words.

“You know how Lo’ak is, I was try-”

“You didn't try hard enough!” Y/n hisses. Tears began to form along her irises as she tried to hold them back.

“You promised me-you promised to be careful! You said you'd be careful for me!” Neteyam couldn’t help but frown. The morning of the raid, when Y/n brought him in for a tight hug, she made him promise to come back to her unscathed. He did promise. No wonder she is upset.

“You think I like seeing you like this? You think it pleases me to see someone I-my brother in pain?” Y/n stumbled over her words, her cheeks flushing when she realized she almost slipped up during her emotional rant. The whole time Neteyam stayed quiet. He deserved this, he should be protecting his sister. Not causing more stress for her like he did now.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me. How….how much I care” Y/n mumbles in defeat, wiping the stray tears that disobeyed her orders as they ran along her cheeks. Neteyam scoots closer to her, using his finger to lift her chin up to look into his awaiting eyes.

“I know, I’m a skxawng for making my sister worry. It won't happen again, I'll be extra careful I promise , I swear by Ewya-” Y/n smiles at his words, leaning her forehead against his. Neteyam ignored the stinging pain his wounds provided, relishing the moment when he felt her heat against him.

“-and I know how much you care. Because I care for you, I know how you feel” Neteyam whispers.

Y/n’s eyes widen as she stares at Neteyam. Her breath hitched at his words. “Y-you do?” she asks, her breath fanning against him.

Y/n leans closer to her brother, seeking more of his warmth. Though Neteyam’s eyes widened in slight fear at how close she got, he couldn't help but glance at her pouty lips. As if waiting for something, wanting something to brush up against.

Just as Neteyam feels himself lean closer, the sound of the tent flaps rustling causes the duo to jump apart from one another. They share a nervous glance as Mo’at walks in, her eyes tracing over them.

“You have not tended to his wounds yet?” She asks in slight annoyance as Y/n scurries to stand up. She felt her entire face flush at almost being caught at such a compromising position.

‘I almost kissed him! Kissed Neteyam!’

Y/n doesn’t dare look back at Neteyam as she walks to the entrance. “I-I’m sorry grandmother. I need some f-fresh air” Y/n says before quickly rushing out.

Mo’at sighs before walking to her grandson in disappointment. The entrance flutters open as Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider and Tuk rush in to be there for Neteyam.

Neteyam’s shoulders drop, his eyes training on the mat below him.

‘I fucked up’

~~~~~~

Y/n rushed to the only place she felt calm.

After many years she kept denying her feelings for her brother, always pretending like it didn’t exist even though her feelings only grew over the years. The only place she seemed to have a peace of mind was Vitraya Ramunong (Tree of Souls).

Where she went to express her feelings, pour them out as she surrounded herself with the warmth of her ancestors. Specifically two Na’vi, who always met with her when she connected to it. Two figures she has still yet to know the identity of.

“Y/n?” A sweet voice calls, Y/n whips around at the sound of the comforting voice. Her eyes welling with tears as the woman walks closer to her, her arms stretched wide as she pulls her in for an embrace.

“What’s wrong dear? Why are you upset?” The woman asks, her eyes looking down at the smaller girl who weeps freely in her arms. Y/n didn’t know the connection she had with this Na’vi, only that the woman brought her great comfort. And that she was always there when Y/n connected with the spirit tree. As if waiting for her.

“I-it’s…my feelings. I feel so conflicted. I feel…such a burden and disappointment!” Y/n admits , pulling back from her embrace. The woman smiles softly, pulling Y/n along with her to a large log . There sat a male, an older Na’vi man who smiled warmly at Y/n.

He pats the spot beside him as Y/n takes a seat. The woman following closely after,

“What feelings? Is it love?” The woman asks, reaching her hand to gently stroke Y/n’s locks. Y/n feels her shoulders relax, her sobs calming down at the action.

“I…I love him so much. I just don’t know why? Why can’t I stop? I can’t stop myself from feeling this way…I-I shouldn’t love him!” Y/n whispers. The man beside her chuckles, patting her back,

“And why not? Love is a beautiful thing, if you’ve loved him for this long, isn’t it worth fighting for?” The man asks, his eyes crinkled as he smiles wide.

“I can’t, it’s not that simple”

“Oh? Do tell?” The woman muses, her eyes shining with a knowing look.

“I-it’s Neteyam…..I love Neteyam” Y/n whimpers. She had previously told the man and woman about her family after she had visited many times before.

Y/n looked to her lap shame, she waited for the helpful Na’vi’s to wretch at her confession. Her feelings were taboo, wasn't it? But none came, instead the woman giggled bashfully.

“The best advice I could give you is to trust your feelings, trust your love for Neteyam. Love is sacred, you wouldn’t feel this strongly for him if it didn’t mean anything. Ewya has a way for everything, I’m sure Ewya has plans for you two” the woman says mysteriously.

Y/n feels herself smile to herself before turning to both the man and woman. “Thank you….I needed to hear that. I’ve been so confused lately….thank you both” Y/n whispers happily.

Y/n starts to feel herself slowly drift out of the connection. Realizing she was running out of time she frantically looks between the two.

“Who are you, why won’t you tell me who you are?” Y/n asks hurriedly. Feeling her connection weaver at a rapid pace.

“When you're ready” the man replies, patting her head just as she disappears. Once again now knowing who they truly were.

The man and woman look to one another with knowing looks.

“Our little girl has grown up so much,” the woman says softly, tearing up. The man pulled her for a tight embrace agreeing with her words.

“Yes, she's beautiful Mirèya”

~~~~~~

Neteyam searched for Y/n the moment his grandmother gave him the green light to leave. Even though his injuries still stung, all he could remember was the brief look of fear he caught in Y/n's expression when they almost kissed.

He cursed himself for slipping up after many years of control. How could he have been so stupid?

Hearing some hushed voices Neteyam’s hurried steps come to a stop. He leans against the tent noticing his mother and father whispering amongst themselves unaware of him eavesdropping.

“She has a right to know Neytiri. The girl has been confused her entire life! She wants answers. We can give them to her” Jake says in a hushed tone. Neteyam furrows his eyebrows, wondering who they were talking about.

“No, it is not time Ma’Jake. This is the will of Ewya. I promised Y/n’s mother I will take care of her and I will. We’ll tell her eventually.” Neytiri says in a stern voice.

Neteyam's eyes widen once the words reach his ears, losing his balance as he tries to process what he had just heard.

Neteyam stumbles in the sight of his parents who stare at him with shock and fear of being caught. Jake goes to open his mouth but once Neteyam regains the composure he steps closer to them, his gaze set hard. He was never one to stand against his parents, especially his father. But at the moment all proper thoughts flew out the window.

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“Neteyam-“

“No, what do you mean by Y/n’s mother? Is Y/n not my sister?!” Neteyam demands, his heart racing a mile per minute. Neytiri looks to Jake, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She turns to her son as she realized she had no choice but tell him the truth,

~~~~~~~

Neteyam's feet carry him across the forest floor with urgency, his smile stretched across his face wide. After hearing the truth , both Jake and Neytiri gave him permission to tell Y/n. He was ecstatic over the fact she would finally retrieve a piece of her she didn't know she had. And also happy for other reasons.

It felt like forever since his heart felt so full, so happy. He had learned that Y/n wasn't his sister, she was taken in when her mother passed. That meant everything he felt, everything he dreamt of was possible. It meant he had a chance.

Neteyam runs into the cleaning noting Y/n was sitting under the Spirit Tree, her arms around her knees as she looks up at the glowing tendrils

“Y/n!” Y/n jolts at the sudden voice, her head snapping to Neteyam directions while she quickly wipes her tears away,

“Neteyam! What are you doing here?” She asks as Neteyam walks over to her. His smiles disappears in a instant and he sits down beside her, his eyes tracing over her in case of any injury.

“Why are you crying?”

Y/n chuckles weakly, wiping her cheeks, “Oh, I haven’t noticed. Sorry,” she says sheepishly. Neteyam quirks his eyebrow reaching up to swipe his thumb against her puffy cheeks. A part of him jumps in joy watching how her cheeks turned purple under his touch.

“Why are you apologizing nihona? Are you alright? He whispers. Y/n giggles at the nickname. A nickname she adored as Neteyam had been calling her that for such a long time.

“Why do you call me nihona?” Y/n tries to divert the question, staring at Neteyam with curious eyes. Neteyam smiles softly at the girl, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Because you're the sweetest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on '' Neteyam admits, his truth out on full display. Y/n grins at his words, nuzzling against his hand that rested on her cheek.

“Now tell me, why are you upset? You know I hate it when you’re in tears,” Neteyam pulls her closer to him, causing her to let go of her knees. Neteyam maneuvers her into a comfortable position, also close to having her straddle him.

Y/n bites her lips at his question. Contemplating her words before glancing back at the glowing tendrils she was connected to not to long ago.

“I just…feel so empty sometimes. Like I’m missing something. It doesn’t help that I have these conflicting thoughts swirling in me, confusing my feelings… ”

Neteyam quirks an eyebrow at her words. He bit back the smile he had been holding, maybe what she had been missing in the very news he was eager to share at the moment? His hand glided along her arms all the way down her hand. He interlocks their fingers in a comforting gesture.

“Missing? What conflicted feelings?”

“I can’t explain it…it just makes me realize how lucky I am to have you guys-to have you Neteyam. I guess I realize how important you guys are to me. How important my family is,”

Neteyam nods, pulling her in for an embrace as she straddles his hip. Her body molding against his. The action had no Ill intentions, just comfort. Neteyam hums, urging her to continue.

“I guess what I'm trying to say is if our family gives me meaning…make me feel like I’m fulfilled” Y/n admits deciding to keep her deeper feelings hidden. She finally realized how important her family was to her but also that her love for Neteyam would never die. And that she would live with that. She would have to love him from afar.

“I see…..Sully’s stuck together Y/n. You’ll always have us, you have nothing to worry about nihona” Neteyam murmurs into her neck. His voice cracking up. He clears his throat to make sure she didn’t hear the pain that seeped through his carefully calculated words.

‘I can’t tell her’

Seeing how much his family meant to her, seeing how his family kept her from falling apart. Neteyam had to admit he couldn’t tell her about her true lineage.

For what? His own gain? So he could feel like his feelings had a shot of coming true one day?

Watching the pain across Y/n’s face, seeing the tears that slipped past her façade. Neteyam came to the grilling conclusion he couldn’t and wouldn't tell her. Not until she was ready. Which only meant he would probably never get the chance to admit his feelings to her. And he was fine with that heartbreaking realization.

“You’ll always have your brother”

___________________________________

A/N: I’m not proud of how this turned out. I’m having a dry spell with my work lately. I’m so sorry guys! I’m figuring things out, so hopefully the next part is better. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy!

Taglist:|

@thehoneymushroomhealer @im-in-a-pansexual-panik

688 notes · View notes

waitingonher · 10 months

Note

hi there!! congrats on 100 followers,, could you do prompt 17 for leo valdez? i love ur writing so so much you write characters just how i imagined them

EMMY'S 100 EVENT CELEBRATION

leo valdez + this reminded me of you.

content warning: nothing

authors note: HI THANK YOU SO SOSOSOSO MUCH!!! that really means a lot to me <33 thank youuu

your only regret about joining camp-half blood—besides the lethal quests issued every once in a while—are the monthly cabin check-ups. why chiron had to implement this incredibly useful, yet incredibly stupid system? you wish you knew. well, you do suppose it’s come in handy against your siblings who’d prefer to live in a complete pigsty. but other than that, it’s proven to become everyone’s least favorite day. a day full of cleaning, very irritable campers, and the overpowering scent of every detergent on the market isn’t exactly what someone would want to wake up to.

but here you are, unfortunately put on laundry duty. damn your terribly cruel siblings. they get assigned the fun things like sweeping, and dusting! well actually, those still aren’t very fun but it’s way, way better than doing laundry. the process of separating, washing, drying, and then folding isn’t your ideal way of spending your afternoon. but, the only benefit of laundry duty is that you’re basically completely alone, which also means no one’s there to pester you about your quality of work. yay to no one screaming in your ear about better sweeping techniques!

that’s why you find yourself half-assing the color sorting. you absentmindedly toss somebody’s light pink hoodie into the colored laundry basket. light pink and black? basically the same thing. but your focus comes back as you realize that you’re onto the last basket that requires sorting. you really have to fight yourself from doing a victory dance.

while your focus does come back, it doesn’t necessarily go back to the clothes though as you hear the door of the laundry room slam open. a sweaty, disheveled-looking boy enters, a grin plastered on his face that makes it seem as if he’s relieved to have found you. and he just so happens to be your boyfriend, “babe, i’m here to rescue you from laundry duty.”

“thank the gods,” you toss the sock in your hand into a random basket and make your way to leo. he chuckles at your carelessness before pulling you in for a kiss. you really needed that, “now tell me, how do you plan to rescue me from laundry duty?”

leo makes a face that tells you he hasn’t really thought that far, “um. well, i brought you temporary relief,” he responds, fishing something out of his jean pocket. and out comes a tiny red satin pouch.

“oh?” your head tilts out of curiosity, “did you find and steal something while cleaning?” the thought of leo doing something like that wasn’t totally out of the question. so that’s why you’re a little more confused when he simply shakes his head and offers you the bag in silence.

with the pouch in your hand, your boyfriend makes a motion for you to open it, “okay, i might’ve hyped it up a little too much,” leo gives you a sheepish smile as you pull out two absolutely adorable matching cat keychains, “but they reminded me of you, so i bought them. plus, i also thought they’d make a good gift of encouragement for today.”

“oh leo, these are so cute!” you put the cats side by side and you almost scream, once connected, they form a heart! all of a sudden your hatred for laundry duty and everything else bad in the world washes away. who knew two little cat keychains could have this effect on you? apparently leo did, “thank you so, so much babe,” you kiss him on the cheek, “i swear, as soon as i’m done here,” a smooch on the other cheek, “i’m putting my half on my bag,” finally, one for his lips.

leo’s features form a lopsided, lovesick smile, “wow. if i knew two little keychains would earn me this many kisses, then i would’ve just bought you two real cats,” he says, a teasing tone laced within his words.

you laugh at the idea of leo walking into the laundry room carrying two random cats. as much as you’d love to see that come to fruition, cat hair and clothes do not mix well. you pocket your keychain and hand the other to leo, “you should probably go, chiron would lose his shit if he saw you here with me.”

“wait, more kisses, then i’ll leave,” your boyfriend’s lips begin to turn comically downwards as his brows raise, and you realize what he’s doing: his stupid puppy dog eyes, “you can’t resist this can you?”

you quirk your brow, “oh, i can,” but the way he looks so incredibly dumb and desperate makes you give in, “fine. let’s make it quick.”

#[🍵] emmy's 100 event #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez headcanons #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fluff

335 notes · View notes

beautifulmadnesss · 11 months

Text

"Maybe I'm Better Off Dead" Part 2 Velaryon!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Summary: Visenya is married to Aemond, who tries to keep her safe, but she is still a prisoner in a war just beginning.

Part 1

When I woke up, the sun was shining in brightly from the windows, which were now covered with bars. The bars were only a few inches apart, so there was no chance of slipping through the gaps.

"Are you hungry?" I turned to see Aemond sitting on the sofa where he slept last night.

"No." I replied, shifting in the bed slightly so I was sitting.

"It's not poisoned." He said, taking a bite of the bread on the tray in front of him. When I didn't respond, he took a bite of the porridge as well.

"Not all poison is immediate. You could just be waiting for an antidote while I suffer a slow death." I challenged.

He sighed, "very well. My mother brought some dresses for you if you wish to change while we wait."

"So you can take the antidote while I'm changing behind the screen?"

"You're quite impossible." He remarked. "Though, I never said you had to go behind the screen." He added with a smirk.

"It's not as if you need to ask anything of me."

His face hardened immediately, "I told you, I will never touch you without your permission."

"Aegon will not allow that. He will expect you to take my maidenhood."

"I already have a plan for that." He replied. I raised an eyebrow at him after he didn't elaborate. "Has your mother explained to you what happens?"

My cheeks flamed and all I could do was shake my head softly.

We were both spared the embarrassment of further conversation by the announcement of his mother at the door.

"You may enter." He said and moments later the doors opened to reveal the Queen Mother in a long velvet green dress.

"Aemond, your brother would like to discuss some things with you before the ceremony." He bowed to his mother before flashing a quick glance at me and leaving myself alone with Alicent. "Shall I help you dress for your wedding?" Her tone was not one of questioning, so I simply stood and followed her over to the pile of green dresses. "You needn't be afraid. Aemond has always been my gentle and kind boy." She said while selecting the most ornate of the dresses. One embroidered with countless tiny flowers and golden beads.

"He murdered my brother." I replied once again.

"The same brother who maimed him?" She challenged.

"We were children. Luke never meant to-" I paused realizing I had said exactly what she wanted.

"Just as Aemond never meant to kill Lucerys." She continued to speak as she helped me into the heavy dress. "Your grandsire was always terrified that his own family would go to war against each other. I think he was right and I'm sure your mother prepared you for that. You have the opportunity to prevent that by marrying Aemond and keeping peace. I know you don't want to and I know you're scared, just as I was, but I promise, no harm will come to you. You can still live a happy life with children you adore."

"You used to be my mother's closest friend." I said through teary eyes as she lead me over to a seat and began running a brush through the tangles in my hair.

"I did and I wish we would not have grown so far apart. Women follow the lead of men. I chose to follow Viserys and do my duty to my country. Your mother chose to follow her desires with your father rather than her husband."

"My mother chose to be happy, to find love and to allow Leanor to do the same. I understand that it was wrong, but it never had to become this. You could've chosen to be happy too." I caught her eye in the small mirror.

"You are a clever girl, but you are still young. You cannot break tradition that has lasted thousands of years. Thousands of men, women, and children will die in this war because your mother decided that her heart was more important than their lives. You can chose to follow the same fate or you can chose to find happiness in the life you have been given." She carefully pushed the last pin just a little too far and I felt it scrap my scalp. A threat that did not go unnoticed. She always hated me and that would not change as I married her son.

My stomach twisted into knots and my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest, but I forced my emotions down and held my head high. I would not cry in a room full of my enemies. The Usurper held my hand on his arm as he led me toward the man who murdered my brother. The blood pounded in my ears as we were married. I couldn't hear anything the Septon was saying. I wanted to scream and run, but I knew I would never be allowed to leave. I considered killing Aegon and ending this war, but I knew Ser Criston Cole, the man my mother had given a job to, would cut me down before I came within inches of victory. Aemond studied my face carefully as our hands were bound together. His eyes seemed to hold concern and pity. As much as I wanted to close myself off to him, I knew Alicent was right, if I did my duty, then perhaps the rest of my family could survive this. I couldn't let anyone else die. Aemond was gentle as he placed a hand on my cheek and slowly leaned forward to kiss me. My first. It seemed to last an eternity as he held our lips together before pulling away and taking my hand in his as we walked through the crowd of people out the front doors.

Once the doors shut behind us, he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry." I looked up at him in confusion, he was my husband now, he could do as he pleased, why would he apologize for kissing me?

"Let us go feast and celebrate the end to this fighting!" Aegon announced as he marched through the doors. He seemed to be the only one under the impression this would end the fighting, but as the King, no one challenged him.

Aemond stayed by my side for the rest of the evening, though apart from dancing, he never touched me. I started to become slightly comforted by his presence as many men who would be generals in the war to come approached me with thinly veiled threats of what was to become of my family. I was comforted until Aegon proudly proclaimed that it was time the bedding ceremony.

"My King, as we discussed, I would like the privilege of bedding my wife in privacy, if it pleases you." Aemond replied.

"Ah, yes, of course. My brother wishes to conquer alone. Very well." He waved us off and as we walked closer to his, or I supposed as it was now, our chambers I began to feel more and more afraid. The moment I stepped inside the room and the doors closed, I completely froze and the tears I tried so hard to force back came tumbling down my cheeks.

I could see Aemond out of the corner of my eye begin to strip off his clothes and tossed them next to the bed. I turned away before he took off everything.

"Once you change into your night clothes you hand me your dress." I didn't respond, but simply took off my dress and handed it to him, sneaking a quick glance only to find that he was also wearing his night clothes. He took the dress and tugged hard, tearing the fabric around the neck of the dress and tossed it on top of his clothes. I still hadn't moved from the spot I was glued to. "Visenya." I snapped my head up to meet his gaze. "I truly meant it. I'm sorry for today and I will not tonight, nor ever, force you to lay with me."

He walked over to the couch without another word and laid down. I was unable to completely relax, but I made my way over to the bed and settled into the sheets. Perhaps, he was right, maybe I wouldn't be harmed here.

I woke up to someone gently shaking my shoulder and immediately shot up, slamming into someone. He grunted softly, but still was the one to apologize. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's okay."

"Aegon will be here soon, so you get dressed, while I take care of this." I noticed he was bleeding from a small cut on his torso. He noted my confusion. "When a maiden lays with a man for the first time, she bleeds. Aegon will expect to see that we consummated our marriage."

"Oh."

"It's alright. Toss your night dress over when you change, I'll need that too." He was quiet and also clearly uncomfortable. I nodded and climbed out of bed to go put on one of the green dresses from Alicent, tossing my night dress over as he asked.

I came out and saw that he was now dressed as well, but our clothes from last night and this morning were in a messy pile next to the bed. The sheets were all tangled together and I saw the blood on them.

"Thank you." I said softly, chancing a glance at him. He looked as though he was going to say something else before the doors burst open and the King entered.

"I trust you enjoyed your evening, brother." He said, coming in and walking toward the bed. His lips spread into a wide grin as he took in the scene before him. It turned to a smirk as his eyes found me. "and you, Princess. Did you enjoy yourself?" I wanted to remain brave, but something in his eyes caused me to shrink back, almost instantly bumping into Aemond, though I didn't remember seeing him move toward me.

"Can I help you with anything else, my King?" He said from behind me.

"Yes, I would like for you to fly to Storms End and inform Lord Baratheon that I require the presence of him and his men here to begin preparing for battle. Lord Hightower expects the bitch to attempt to rescue her little girl." He directed the last part at me.

"I did not expect to leave my wife so soon."

"When you return you will have plenty of time to make little lords and ladies. It will be a quick trip." His request was given as a King and therefore not one to be refused, so Aemond left. "I shall have your meals brought here until your husband returns tomorrow." Aegon added to me before he left the room.

It was a relief to finally be left alone and not feel constantly on guard, though as much as I was unsure at the beginning I was starting to feel even a little safe with Aemond. Perhaps he truly didn't mean to kill Luke and maybe he did regret it. I spent the day reading books that were left in the room, though I was not truly absorbing the words I consumed, it helped to pass the time until the evening.

The sheets were changed when the servants brought dinner, so they were clean as I settled into bed. I missed my family, but I now had some hope that I would see them one day.

Once again I awoke to the touch of someone and for a moment I thought it was Aemond until I remembered he was gone. I tried to sit up, but quickly realized I was pinned down. I screamed when I realized it was Aegon.

"Perhaps we will make some bastards of our own." He sneered as he roughly kissed down my neck and forced my dress up. I kept screaming and violently thrashed, trying everything in my power to get free, but it was no use. He was the King and as such, no one would be coming to my aid. The more I fought back, the harder he hit me until eventually I couldn't fight back anymore, all I could do was cry.

The next day no one came to bring me food or change the sheets. There was no bath and no new clothes. I didn't move, because everything hurt and I realized how stupid I had been to think I was ever safe here. Sleep came in short periods if terrible nightmares and the waking world was no different. I was terrified he would return, so when the doors opened again, I scrambled off the bed and shoved myself into the corner, ignoring the ripples of pain throughout my body.

I heard him inhale sharply before calling out my name, but I didn't move or make a single sound until he came around the side of the bed and saw me.

"Stay away from me." I croaked my throat raw.

"Who did this to you?" He growled.

"You know. That's why you left, so he could have his turn. You lied to me and tricked me so I would think I was safe, so I would trust you."

"I didn't I swear." He stopped "Did Aegon do this to you?"

I didn't bother to respond.

"I'm going to help you escape. Stay here. If you want to change clothes, you can. I'm going to figure out how to free your dragon and then tonight I'm getting you out of here." His voice held an uncharacteristic edge, but I wasn't naive enough to believe him again.

The only thing I did was take one of the new dresses and change out of the clothes I was wearing before sitting on the sofa. This time, I didn't get a book, I simply stared at the window, watching as night fell. When Aemond returned he didn't let the doors close behind him, but instead waited in the doorway and asked if I wanted to go for a stroll. The guards on either side of the doors reminded me that I did not have a choice, so I stood and made my way over to him. We walked in silence for a while before we rounded a corned and he pulled me into a secret passage.

"I know you have no reason to believe me anymore, but I had no idea. I am so sorry for what my family has done to you, for what I have done to you." He pulled a cloak over himself and handed one to me. "Some of the dragon pit handlers are loyal to your mother and when I told them what Aegon had done, they agreed to help you escape. It's this way." He held up a lamp and I followed behind him as we made our way through the passage before finally coming up just outside of the Dragonpit where my beautiful dragon was already waiting. "Go quickly." He said while looking around for other people.

"He's going to kill you when he finds out what you did." I said, causing him to turn to me.

"I know, but I'm going to do my best to stop this war from happening."

"Thank you, Aemond." I truly meant it. For the things he had done, I should hate him, but I could see that he hated himself just as much as I did. He was trying to be different and risking his own life to save mine.

"I am truly sorry." I wanted to hug him, but I was also still so scared, so I just gave him a smile before mounting my dragon and taking off. Aemond had given me enough of a head start that I knew I could make it home, but I still kept going as fast as we could until I landed in the courtyard at Dragonstone.

I must've looked as bad as I felt because the guards rushed me inside and several took off to wake my mother and Uncle, though it was Jace who found me first. As soon as I saw him, I collapsed into sobs. He held me gently as I cried.

"Visenya!" My mothers voice broke halfway through my name and I turned to see her sprinting towards me with my Uncle just behind her.

"I left him. I'm so sorry. I-" My words were incoherent, but she shushed me and pulled me into her arms.

"Oh my sweet girl, it isn't your fault. You're home now. You're safe." I was so exhausted after hugging each member of my family and after some time, my mother sent them off until only Daemon, Jace, Rhaenys, and Corlys remained.

"I know you're tired and hungry, but we have to ask you what happened. Can you tell us?" Daemon asked as I sat next to my mother who hadn't let go of me the entire time.

I nodded and told them everything starting from Luke's death at Storms End, all the way through Aemond helping me escape.

My mother wrapped an arm around my shoulders as I told her what Aegon had done. Jace's face hardened with anger, but Daemon only made on small movement as his hand reached for the hilt of Dark Sister.

"We will speak soon of what we will do, for now, you get some rest." Daemon said, only the slightest edge to his voice.

Corlys and Rhaenys left first. Daemon hugged me and then Jace, each one reminding me how happy they were to have me home. Then, my mother and I left, making our way to my room where a feast was already waiting. She helped me bathe and dress in my own clothes. As I ate, she brushed my hair, softly running a hand over it each time.

"I think Aemond truly was sorry. While I was there he protected me. Thats why Aegon sent him away, I think he knew, Aemond never would've let him hurt me." I said to her.

She sighed, "Aemond is a clever man."

"Alicent said the same of me." She paused for the slightest moment before continuing to brush my hair.

"Do you care for Aemond?" She asked, catching me off guard.

"No, of course not, I just-" I stopped. It was far too complicated to describe how I felt for Aemond. He killed my brother and took me hostage, but maybe a part of me did care for him.

"It isn't anything you need to decide for tonight. For now, you sleep for as long as you wish. You are safe at home." She tucked me into the bed and kissed the top of my head before walking toward the door.

"Wait!" I stopped, feeling too silly to speak my thoughts aloud. I was brave and strong. "Never mind."

My mother smiled knowingly and came back to the bed to lay next to me. She ran her fingers through my hair and softly sang songs of Old Valeryia until I fell asleep.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support on Part 1. I had no idea so many people would enjoy it! I can continue it if people want that or this could be a good place to end it as well.

Taglist: @bellameshipper @malfoytargaryen @castellomargot @toodlesxcuddles @jennifer0305 @1950schick @minttea07 @bogwaterswamp @deadunicorn159 @shygardengalaxy @siriusdumblittlepuppy

#imagine #hotd imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #velaryon!reader

299 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 5 months

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart.

Chapter 23 - Evading Sunrise.

Summary: Who better to know what a human needs than one who used to be human themselves?

[I'm still alive! Woo! Just overwrought! I'm playing in a sold-out show from Jan 16th and rehearsals have been 1900 to 2300 every night, bar the weekend, so my writing time is greatly diminished. I've also recently come into the family business, which isn't what I thought I'd be doing with my life, but hey-ho, I haven't got any other option, so I'm also bogged down with learning that whole setup. These little moments where I can write and read all your kind, encouraging comments are becoming more and more precious to me. xxx]

---------------

There is a kindness that the Universe could easily grant you, were it so inclined. Just a small thing, effortless even, hardly a difficult feat for the Powers that be, if They had so much as a shred of empathy.

The Universe has taken much from you, and were it a little kinder, it would take one last thing.

… It would take your ability to dream.

Death knows all too well that for as long as humans have been unwitting players on the cosmic chess board, they’ve been left to stand utterly alone, un-helped and unacknowledged by an indifferent Creator.

Why should you be the exception?

Why should you be granted a tiny mercy by the very Being who gave you a mind to dream with in the first place?

It just seems an unnecessary cruelty, the Horseman supposes, that your own biology should stand in the way of your respite.

It’s been several, long hours since you rolled over and eloped into the un-waking world, and Death has only moved as far as the door, leaning his weight back against the bone-dry wood with an air of resignation that his journey is to be paused until sunrise, at the very earliest. No matter… There’s little sense facing the Chancellor’s dreaded ‘Champion’ in the dark, after all.

You might have smirked and called him paranoid about the rigid stance he’s taken in front of the room’s only entrance, but the soft yet not-so-silent footfalls that keep approaching the door reaffirm his decision.

He doesn’t know if it’s the Blademaster sniffing about or some other undead who has come to gawk at the living, breathing human in their midst, but there’s something undoubtedly amusing about feeling wood push against his spine for a few seconds before the presence on the other side meets the resistance of a Horseman’s immoveable body weight.

What follows is the distinct sound of those same footsteps hurrying off down the corridor, making every attempt to be stealthy, but failing miserably.

It would be less amusing if any of their attempts were to wake you up. In fact, the only reason Death hasn’t ripped the door open and threatened to skewer the nosy stranger is currently sound asleep just a few feet away from whatever ruckus that would cause.

Or you were sound asleep. At least until a few minutes ago.

Death’s forefingers tap aimlessly against his bicep as he frowns down at your face. You’ve scrunched your features up into a tight grimace, nose wrinkling and the corners of your mouth twisted south towards your chin.

You’re still asleep. Just not soundly.

The pitiable whimpers you’ve been uttering for a while now indicate a troubled mind, though the Horseman can’t say he’s surprised. It’s disappointing, to be sure. He’d have thought you’d be far too exhausted to be plagued by dreams tonight, yet evidently, you’re not that fortunate. Which is a crying shame, because while Death doesn’t believe in luck per-se, he thinks that if such a thing were to exist, you’re more than overdue.

“Hmm, mnn,” you murmur through closed lips, tossing your head to the right.

Above you on the headboard, Dust retrieves his beak from under an ebony wing and cocks a gaze at you, crooning out a soft, inquiring noise from his throat.

“Shhh,” Death breathes, earning a sleepy glare from the crow, though he does at least fall silent, contenting himself to simply watch as you throw a hand out to one side and clench your fist around an invisible force.

“….Mmn, eye…,” you mutter through slightly parted lips.

‘Eye?’ Death’s brow knots under his mask, yet he isn’t left wondering for long.

“… Eideard?” you suddenly croak, “… C’m’back!”

Ah… So that’s where your head is at.

Lowering his eyes to the ratty blanket, Death releases a sigh that’s been building in his chest for a few minutes now.

Your legs have been steadily working to kick the covers off the bed, never settling, as if you’re trying to run from something.

The clack of a beak draws the Horseman’s gaze once again to Dust, who now has a rather expectant look aimed his way.

Death can’t help but be reminded of that night in Tri Stone, when he’d remained stolidly outside on the bench whilst you stifled your sobs in the Makers’ Forge.

He recalls that Dust had been rather scathing about his inaction. The Horseman hadn’t cared for the bird’s judgement then, and he’s even less appreciative now.

What is he supposed to do? Wake you? At least if you’re dreaming, you’re getting some rest.

Sleep, he’s learned, is something that’s essential to a human’s sustained survival.

Not for the first time, he considers the benefits of having an empty chest, hardened and calcified through centuries of existing in an indifferent universe.

It means he has nothing to steel when you suddenly fling yourself over onto your side with your mouth hanging open, releasing a short, hitching sob that catches in your throat, and an arm that stretches out towards something unseen by the Horseman, your fingers spreading rigidly until they quake with the strain.

… The gentling of Death’s expression goes unnoticed, even by him.

He’s nearly shocked when his boot slides forwards ever so slightly, scraping across the floorboards as if to carry him away from the door and towards you.

Pausing, he cocks a brow down at his own leg, half expecting it to explain itself.

What he doesn’t expect – but perhaps should have – is the loud and jarring gasp that suddenly floods into the little human on the bed with the frantic desperation of one who’s been underwater for far too long, and you’ve only just managed to reach the surface to take a breath before your lungs collapse.

Death’s eyes flick towards you just in time to witness your silhouette lurching up off the mattress, a garbled shout tumbling from your lips as you clutch feverishly at your chest.

“Karn!?” you blurt out, whipping your head back and forth to search through the darkness of Draven’s quarters for a maker who isn’t there.

It would be easy for Death to remain still and silent, to wait until whatever grasp your nightmare still has on you to finally slip loose on its own… He needn’t step in.

It would be easy…

“…Hhh…” Grousing silently to himself, the Horseman pushes away from the door and takes a decisive step towards you before he can begin to overthink his actions.

“Y/n,” he mutters, not loud enough to be startling, but just loud enough to catch your attention.

Even still, you flinch, whirling your torso in his direction and letting your hazy eyes land on the pale, ghostly mask looming above you in the dark.

For several seconds, you merely stare up at Death, the hand on your chest crumpling your shirt as you gather the flimsy fabric into a tight fist.

Death doesn’t elect to break the silence again. After another moment or two of watching you gulp down another lungful of stale air, his patience pays off, and you swallow thickly, croaking, “Death?”

The Horseman’s chin dips down. “Yes.”

“Is… Karn here?” Your voice sounds so fragile, poisoned by a grain of hope.

Going very still, Death allows a beat to pass, giving himself time to think of an answer.

Perhaps… you think you’re still in a dream.

Quietly, he offers a concise response, one that hopefully doesn’t cause you any more distress whilst bringing you further out of the idea that this isn’t real. “Karn…” he begins, “…remained in the Forge Lands.”

He watches you physically deflate. Not from relief though. Relief doesn’t douse the sleepy kindling of hope that had momentarily lit the contours of your face.

Solemn, a little more awake, you slowly ask, “Is… Eideard…. Is he…?”

“… Gone,” is Death’s only reply.

A breath shudders out of you as you let your gaze drift down to your fingers, twining over themselves in twists and knots. “Oh…” you breathe, “I… thought I…” But your sentence trails off before you can finish it.

So, Death says it for you. “You thought you saw him,” he ventures, “In a dream.”

And with that, whatever strings have been holding you taut are promptly cut, sending you flopping back onto Draven’s mattress with a sorrowful ‘whump,’ still very much awake and positively quaking hard enough to cause the wooden bed frame to shudder in tandem.

That’s the thing about dreams, Death supposes, after a point, they’re the perfect nesting ground for ghosts.

His brother, Strife, would confide in him, many eons ago, that he could still see the faces of their fallen brethren behind his eyelids whenever he tried to rest. Death had only told him that it would pass, if given the time to. He hadn’t the gall to tell Strife that he too could see those same, hateful eyes and blood-filled mouths just as clearly.

Eideard isn’t the only person you’ve lost. He’s said it before, but it bears repeating; you’ve also lost your family, your friends and every other human on Earth.

Your dreams, much like Death’s, are full of ghosts.

Drawing your hands up towards your face, you press the heel of each palm to your eyelids and grind down hard until a kaleidoscope of colour sparks to life across your vision, not unlike fireworks blooming across a cold, November sky.

Shakily, you blow out a dry, unsteady whoosh of air and groan, “Fuck…”

Death purses his lips, privately concurring with your brief assessment of the situation.

Then, in a motion that’s steeped in tiredness, you drag your focus back over to the Horseman, rolling your head to the side and adding, “You’re still here…”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he utters, quiet as a breath, only to balk at the dulcet quality in his tone. Clearing his throat to rid it of the uninvited tenderness, he promptly tacks on, “I told you; someone has to keep an eye on Dust.”

Damp-cheeked, you crane your neck back to send an upside-down glance at the crow roosting on the headboard above you.

A single, glossy eyeball stares back.

You’re fairly confident that Dust hasn’t done a damn thing to warrant any of Death’s baseless assumptions.

With your gaze still locked on the bird, you sigh, “You two can go, if you want to…”

At that, the Horseman knows he’s going to refuse before he even gives you a verbal response.

This isn’t the first time you’ve offered him an ‘out,’ a convenient excuse for him to duck from the room and escape the burden of bearing witness to your downward spiral.

You’re asking, in as quiet a hint as you can manage, for the privacy to cry without an audience.

… If it weren’t for the mysterious footsteps padding about outside…

“It would be in your best interest for me to stay,” he offers, earning a weary sigh from your side of the room, as if you’ve by now figured it would never be that easy to get rid of him.

Already, his keen eyes have picked out the slightest gleam of tears gathering behind your lashes. The next breath you try to draw in sticks to the back of your throat, yet before your face can crumple completely, you roll yourself over onto your opposite side, facing the wall – deliberately angling your body away from the Horseman, who watches on in silence as you hike your shoulders up towards your ears.

Drawing his brows together underneath the mask, Death glides silently closer to your bed and peers down at the human-shaped lump quivering under the covers.

All is quiet for a time, until at last…

“… I’m sorry.” Your words seep out of you in a thick, watery whisper. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

‘You didn’t sign up for me,’ goes unspoken, but somehow the idea still hangs between you both like cold, falling snow.

It seems an odd thing to say, Death muses, considering that in a sense, he did sign up for this. Hell, he all but stamped his signature on that contract when he carried you through the portal to the Crowfather’s realm.

“Well… Neither did you…” he returns truthfully as he turns around and sinks onto the mattress at the foot of the bed, draping each forearm over a knee. The old wood doesn’t even creak as he settles down, nor does the straw bend beneath his illogical weight, much like the desert sand hadn’t swallowed him up to his calves as it had yours.

He hears the blanket rustle behind him as you twist your neck around to spare him a glance over your shoulder. If you’re at all shocked to find him suddenly sitting so close to you, you’re either too tired or too polite to say a word about it.

So, you turn back to the wall without comment, and although you attempt to bring a hand up to press a sweat-slicked palm across your mouth, such a meagre covering of skin isn’t enough to contain the grief that starts to pour out of you.

But just as you’d offered Death the unquestioned freedom to seek vicinity to you, the Horseman doesn’t try to interrupt or diminish this sombre moment with talk or awkward attempts at comfort.

It stirs a memory in him, of a much younger Nephilim, trudging through a silent, windswept battlefield alongside the only other three who had escaped the Battle for Eden. Not a word was said between them as they left the dead behind, but Death had offered them proximity as well. They said nothing of it, they hadn’t even accused him of hovering. There was an unspoken understanding, in that instant, one that passed silently between all four of them; Death would be there if they needed him.

With a slow blink, the memory fades, and he’s left frowning gently at the dull, rotten wood of the wall adjacent to your bed.

You’re an intelligent human… He wonders if you’ll be able to infer what he’s doing by sitting at the edge of your bed. Death may be many things, but he is not cheerful by nature, and cannot thusly cause cheer in others. He can only sit. And wait. Listening, watching, offering freedom from interference, both from himself and others who would seek to disturb you now when you need to grieve.

Dust, predictably, affords your need for privacy about as much consideration as could be expected from a bird. That is, none whatsoever.

A sleepy caw is all the warning both you and Death receive before the crow hops down off the headboard and lands on your pillow with a soft rustle of feathers.

Of course, you flinch, but Dust – undeterred – simply invites himself into the space between you and the wall, strutting surefootedly over the rumpled blankets until he reaches your chest.

Exasperated, Death opens his mouth and is about to openly scold the crow when Dust turns himself about until the tip of his sharp, grey beak is pointed down at your sombre face.

If you’re at all worried about having it so close to your eyeballs, you don’t show it, though Death knows the corvid well enough to recognise that Dust would never hurt his new human friend who coddles and praises him like it’s going out of fashion.

Birds…

“H-hey,” you warble miserably, swiping at your eyes with the back of a wrist and trying to pluck up the willpower to give a tear-blurred Dust your most convincing smile, “Hey, boy. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

In response, the crow cocks his head at you, and follows up with a gentle croon that raises the small, downy feathers on his throat. Then, without bothering to give any sort of warning as to his intentions, Dust gives his beak a single clack and stretches out his neck, gathering up a few strands of hair around your forehead and dragging them through his beak as if to smooth them into place.

Death almost slaps a palm to his mask.

You can’t help yourself. A wet giggle blurts out of you, momentarily disrupting Dust’s ministrations. He croaks down at you flatly before returning to his task of taking your hair and grooming it with a gentle beak.

“Dust!” you blubber out another laugh, reaching up to try and dissuade the crow by pushing your hand into his feathered breast. For your trouble, he pulls away and administers a soft nip to your knuckle, barely strong enough for you to feel it.

Offering him a watery smile, you prop yourself up onto an elbow, and in one, smooth motion, you raise your free arm and scoop the bird against your chest, burying your nose into the ebony plumage right between his wings. He’s large, far larger than any crow you’ve ever seen on Earth, so it’s more akin to hugging a small dog than any kind of corvid….

Wow… You miss dogs…

As if he can sense your sudden spike of anguish for a species who was likely wiped out alongside your own, the crow nuzzles his head under your chin, tailfeathers flicking back and forth several times as he contents himself with his new position.

Death’s brows shoot up his forehead at the display, wondering how he could have missed the moment you and his crow forged this bond without him even noticing. Was it during the brief few hours when Absalom pulled him into the Tree of Life?

Or perhaps it was always there, and he just hasn’t been paying attention.

“Of all the crows I could have been saddled with,” he gripes under his breath, aiming a half-hearted scowl at the little he can see of Dust’s beak poking out over your shoulder, “It would be the one without a single ounce of pride.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” you sniff, your voice muffled by sleek, black feathers, “He’s trying to cheer me up.”

The Horseman grumbles something to himself, then raises his voice to huff, “He has to be good for something, I suppose.”

When you don’t reply beyond giving a click of your tongue, Death hesitates, his eyes roaming in every direction except for your face as he clears his throat and asks, “Is it… ah, working?”

There’s a speculative pause, interspersed with the odd sniffle as you take a moment to calm yourself down and recover from the embarrassment of once again crying in front of the sepulchral Death.

At last, you take in a deep, weary breath and pull your nose from Dust’s back, gazing warmly down at the crow. “Yeah,” you decide with a small nod as he pulls his beak from under your chin and peers back at you, “Yeah, it’s working.”

If only a little, but sometimes a little is just enough.

Dust’s head swings around to peer at Death over your shoulder, smugger than a bird has any business being.

The heartache of waking up to a world without Eideard in it is just as fresh as the heartache you feel when you open your eyes and remember your world is gone. That sort of grief, unquantifiable, is hard to shift by the efforts of one, friendly crow, no matter how noble his intentions.

But for Dust’s sake, you try to shoulder the sorrow a touch more easily, even going so far as to sit up properly, still holding the bird to your chest and giving him a gentle squeeze. It’s a word of thanks, silent but poignant. Slowly, you place the crow down on the mattress beside you.

This time it’s your turn to clear your throat. Scrubbing tiredly at your eyes, you untuck your legs from the scratchy blanket and roll them over the side of the bed, pulling yourself forwards until you’re sitting beside Death, hands clasped daintily in your lap.

Amber eyes flick sideways and find in the gloom that your cheeks are still damp and blotchy from shedding so many tears.

Behind you, Dust flutters back up onto the headboard, head held high and proud, pleased with himself for a job well-done, and feeling he’s absolutely deserved another nap.

You breathe a sigh, holding it in your lungs and then blowing it all out again, glad to hear that it’s devoid of further tremors. “So… I don’t suppose we can pretend you didn’t hear any of that?”

Death half turns his torso towards you and replies, “Any of what?”

Without thought, you smile appreciatively and lean across the bed, giving the Horseman’s thigh a companionable pat. “Good man.”

It seems as soon as you touch him, you’re pulling away again, the moment passing too quickly for you to feel the way his leg jumps underneath your palm.

Death’s eyes are wide beneath his mask and affixed to the spot on his thigh you’d just touched without ceremony, without a single remark, like it was an entirely normal thing to do.

Certainly, you’ve touched Death before, and he’s touched you out of necessity, mostly. But here, in this dingy room belonging to an undead, the Nephilim takes particular note of the casual gesture, and he’s once again reminded of who and what he is, and what an outlier you are to touch the Reaper without fear.

Is that all it takes? Pretending he hadn’t heard you pour your grief out onto a stranger’s pillow makes him a good man?

Is that… how you see him…?

No. It was just another throwaway comment, meant to lighten the solemn mood that had taken hold of the room.

For a distracted moment, Death wonders if he can really feel the warmth of your skin through the leather of his trousers, or if it’s just a figment of his imagination. Whatever it is, it robs him of any witty remarks that might slip out to disrupt this tender moment.

A good man…

“You should try going back to sleep,” he offers absently, tearing his eyes off his leg to look down at you. The imagined warmth in his thigh has travelled to his chest, which is odd, given that you didn’t lay your hand anywhere near it.

Heaving a sigh, you ask, “How long do you think until sunrise?”

“Mm, at least another several Earth hours,” he says, “Plenty of time still to rest.”

Your fingers clench into fists around the blanket beneath you. “Plenty of time to dream…”

The old Nephilim’s mask turns to face you properly, eyes of liquid gold and sunset orange illuminating the darkness of his sockets. “Dreams cannot hurt you,” he says with conviction, partly because he knows they can’t, and partly because nothing, not even a nightmare could hurt you with a Horseman keeping watch.

“But they can make you sad…” you point out.

Hesitating, he has to take a second to remember that sadness can be potent enough to hurt a human. “I suppose they can,” he concedes reluctantly.

“That hurts, sometimes,” you whisper, drawing your knees up onto the bed and folding your arms around them, clinging tightly, eyes downcast to the floor, “Waking up and realising the people in them aren’t here anymore.”

Shifting his weight to prop a hand on one knee, he leans forwards so that he can meet your faraway gaze. “That pain will fade, given time,” he offers, echoing a conversation eons past.

After a second, your eyes slide sideways and align with his, and he can’t deny the glimmer of triumph that raises his chin at the sight of your gentle smile.

“I hope you’re right, Death,” you reply, “I really do.”

“You’ll find I’m not often wrong twice in as many days.” He’s referring to his… miscalculation with the heart stones and the Guardian, of course.

Did that really only happen yesterday?

“Cocky,” you snort, swiping a finger under the still damp corner of your eye, “Nice to know great, big Horsemen can make mistakes too though.”

“Is it?” he scoffs. He’d have thought it’d be daunting that the Nephilim whose charge you find yourself under isn’t actually as infallible as he’d like to claim.

“Yeah,” you hum, giving him a thoughtful look, “I guess to err isn’t just human, after all.”

Death waits, bracing himself to balk, to feel a spike of offence run through his veins at being told he shares a – rather undesirable – quality with humans. He waits, and feels-

… Nothing. No contempt. No disdain or disappointment. Maybe just a touch of surprise.

“I’m gonna miss them,” you murmur, derailing the Horseman’s train of thought.

“The makers?”

“Everyone,” you stress, “The makers, Blackroot, Warden…”

Coughing lightly into a fist, Death has to peel his eyes away to avoid looking at you when he says, “I’m sure they’ll be…. of a similar mindset.” Honesty, vulnerability, words that have real significance don’t come so easily to the Horseman. If they did, he’d tell you that those makers are going to miss you more than you could possibly know.

Chewing on your lip, you idly kick an ankle against the side of the bed and ask, “Do you think I’ll ever see them again?”

In response, Death huffs out a short, soft laugh, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Do I think you’ll see them again?” he echoes, “Y/n, I’m almost certain of it.”

“… Wait. Seriously?”

“Don’t I seem serious?” he blinks languidly.

“Yeah, it’s just… that sounded like optimism. And coming from you, that’s… I mean…” Squinting through the dark at him, you fold your hands in your lap and ask, “Are you feeling all right?”

The Horseman’s lips quirk up, though his voice retains a gruff and unimpressed melody as his shoulders jump with a brusque harrumph. “You must be feeling better if you’re already poking fun,” he grouses, assessing the miniscule glow of humour tucked around the corners of your mouth.

“I am, actually,” you shrug, flicking a glance over his mask and tipping your head with a knowing smile, “Maybe Dust isn’t the only one who’s good at cheering me-“

Three, gentle knocks on a nearby surface of wood break through your sentence like hammer blows ringing off an anvil.

From one blink to the next, the Horseman is inexplicably on his feet, flinging a strong, sinewy arm out in front of you, all at once alert and suspicious, whilst behind him, you scramble off the bed with far less grace, fighting to find stability for a moment before you square your feet and send a wary glance over his appendage at the room’s entrance.

“Hello?” you call, swiping furiously at your cheeks to rid them of what little trace of tears might still cling to your skin.

Death doesn’t turn to face you, but you’d be hard-pressed to miss the disgruntled sigh that slips out from under his mask at your tactical blunder.

You’ve all but announced that you – a human, need you be reminded – are in here.

A voice from outside calls out, muffled behind the thick layer of wood. “… Lady - Ah, I mean, Y/n?”

The tension doesn’t seem to drain out of Death nearly as fast as it drains out of you.

Draven.

Before the Horseman can stop you, you’ve already ducked underneath his arm, reaching up to distractedly smooth down your bedhead as you call out, “Oh, Draven, uh, coming!”

You hear your name uttered in a growl behind you, but you wave off the ornery Nephilim with a flap of your hand, twisting about to face him as you make for the door, hissing, “It’s his room, Death. If he wants to come in here, he has every right to.”

Realising your hand is reaching to pull the door open, Death surges forward, intent on getting to it before you – ‘just in case,’ a voice at the back of his head whispers – but he doesn’t make it halfway to you when you grab the brass handle and tug the rotting wood towards you, letting dull, green light spill into the quarters and creep up the opposite wall.

A familiar silhouette looms in the doorway, framing the space with broad shoulders and a tattered shroud that’s been pulled low to half cover a skeletal, ghoulish face. From your angle, standing at least a foot and a half shorter than the figure, you can see up underneath his hood.

You regret your haste to open the door, simply because you aren’t at all ready to witness the grim and ghastly visage of the Blademaster this early in the morning, but you stamp down on the temptation to reel back, and instead school your expression into a friendly smile. “Hi, uh, again.”

Draven’s luminous, blue eyes flare brightly as soon as they land on your face. There’s something held between each of his hands, though you hardly spare them a glance because, ever the gentleman, he’s already halfway into a low, sweeping bow when he suddenly stops short, bent so that he’s staring you directly in the eye.

It’s decidedly unnerving to have so much scrutiny on you, especially when the undead’s jaw suddenly locks up tight and his browbone snaps together as if you’ve offended him somehow without even saying a word.

“Uh-“ you start to say, only to find yourself interrupted when Draven rises to his full height again, unfolding at the waist and aiming a frigid glare over the top of your head. Coincidentally, an icy presence appears at your spine, pressing in close enough that you notice the hairs on the back of your neck start to prickle.

A growl rolls out through the gaps in the undead’s hollow cheeks. “Y/n,” he addresses you, his voice hard as stone, “Has this devil done you a discourtesy?”

“W…What?” you blurt.

Ferocity bleeds from his lipless mouth as he glares at the Horseman who drapes you in shadow, pale blue eyes aiming to douse the liquid fire hanging ominously in the darkness behind you.

“Her eyes are scarlet with salt,” he accuses.

Raising a hand to your face, you prod tenderly at the raw skin beneath your eyes and realise with a sinking sense of shame that you must still look like even more of a mess than you did when the Blademaster first saw you. “Oh, no. No, Draven, it’s fine,” you sigh, dragging a hand down your face, “Just… Look, it’s just been a rough night.”

The undead’s glower lifts the moment he rips his eyes off Death and returns it to you, his forehead puckering with concern. “But, you’re-“

“- I’m all right,” you reiterate, crooking one corner of your lips into a tight smile that all but pleads for him to drop the matter. You’re mortified enough.

The look on your face must be adequately pitiable, for Draven’s stance relaxes by a fraction, and as his arms slump from their guarded poise, you hear something clunk woodenly by his waist, rousing your curiosity and tempting you to lower your gaze to his hands.

If you thought you weren’t ready to see the Blademaster at your door, you’re doubly unprepared to see what he’s carrying.

Clearing your throat, you bob your chin at his hands and ask, “What’ve you got there?”

“Hmm?” Begrudgingly peeling away from the Horseman, Draven follows your line of sight, blinking down at a little wooden bowl and cup he’s clutching in each hand. Suddenly very sheepish, the undead ducks further into his green hood, “Forgive me, I was going to leave these by the door, but… then I heard voices.”

“And what were you doing skulking about so close to the door that you could hear us talk?” Death asks, hardly bothering to hide his accusatory tone.

You turn to give him a quick, pointed glare over your shoulder, one that he ignores.

“Just as I said, Horseman,” Draven retorts, “I thought the lady might be hungry, so…” He offers out the cup and bowl for you to see, giving you an apologetic look. “I’d have left it outside for you to find when you emerged, I… didn’t want to disturb you while you slept.”

Before you can reply, a voice at your back pipes up.

“You were going to leave it outside?” Death scoffs, “Where anyone could have tampered with it?”

Ignoring the Horseman, you peer down into the proffered crockery, your stomach gurgling eagerly as a waft of steam drifts from the bowl and rises into your nostrils. Never before would you have thought you’d be so excited about something so beige.

A simple, brown stew is balanced on one of Draven’s large palms, lumps of what you presume is meat bob about near the surface, and a single slice of fluffy, white bread floats at the centre, drawing a rather embarrassing flood of saliva to the front of your mouth. In his other hand, the small wooden cup is clasped like a chalice of ambrosia, though the only thing that wets its interior is crisp, clear water.

In your eyes, he may as well be holding out a gourmet dish that only the wealthiest of men would deign to touch.

“Draven,” you breathe in awe, reluctantly dragging your gaze off the food and peering up into the undead’s hollow face, “What’s all this for?”

Puzzled, he tilts his head at you, as thought the answer should be entirely obvious.

“It’s… for you,” he says, pressing the bowl and cup closer to your wringing hands, “I assumed you’d want to eat when you awoke. It’s not much, just some pottage I scrounged up.”

You begin to reach out, unfurling your fingers to take the unexpected gift when all of a sudden, chilly fingers wrap around your wrist, and before you can utter a sound, Death tugs you tidily back into the room, taking your place in the doorway, and peering down at the undead. “Where did you get it?” he asks, ignoring the disgruntled huff you aim at the back of his head, “Is this safe for human consumption?”

Draven’s lipless mouth pulls into a sneer. “Do you think me a fool?” he accuses.

“I think you an undead who we’ve only just met,” the Horseman replies coolly.

The Blademaster leans back on a heel, appraising Death with an expression that borders on impressed. “A fair point,” he concedes. Seconds later, Draven yields a nod. “It’s safe, Death. Believe it or not, the King entertains more than just the dead in his court, some of whom still rely on sustenance to get them through the day. Supplies are not as scarce as they would seem at first glance, and I may be far-removed from humanity, but I still remember my way around a cooking pot.”

Then, wordlessly, he holds the bowl and cup out towards the Horseman, tipping his head to one side with an expectant gleam in his fearsome, blue eyes.

Death’s attention flits between Draven and his handful several times, squinting dubiously at the dull, brown slop. For a few uncomfortable seconds, the Horseman subjects your potential meal to a good, long glare, and then at last, to your relief, you watch him raise his hands and grasp the edge of the bowl between his thumb and forefinger, doing the same with the cup.

He doesn’t take them immediately, too busy giving the undead a threatening growl. “If she eats this and something happens-“

“-I’ll be meeting the business end of your scythe?” Draven guesses, quirking a brow bone as he relinquishes the crockery and drops his arms to his sides again.

Death’s eyes narrow to thin lines of fire, prompting the undead to let out a chuckle and raise his hands up in mock defeat. “I understand, Horseman, I understand. I’d be overprotective as well if I had a lady like her under my care.”

Half hidden behind the Nephilim, you suck a breath in through your teeth as your grim companion bristles like a cornered cat, almost doubling in size with the amount of indignation that swells his shoulders. You’ve only known him a week or so, but in that time, you’ve already learned that being accused of caring is pretty low on the list of Things Death likes to Hear.

And sure enough…

“I am not overprotective,” the Horseman seethes, but with such an air of petulance that whatever threat his tone might have been trying to imply is completely undermined. Not to mention there’s something curiously un-threatening about the sight of him clutching a bowl of stew that - not thirty seconds ago - he was giving the stink-eye.

Even Draven doesn’t seem all that worried as he casts a knowing look at you around Death’s shoulder, his ghoulish features scrunching into a wink.

“No?” he asks, cocking his head to one side and sliding his gaze back to the wall of Nephilim standing before him, “Well, in that case, when the sun rises, I’m sure you won’t mind if I treat the lady to that tour I offered her.”

He’s chancing his arm, and he damn well knows it. And because he knows it, he’s already watching for the precise moment when Death recognises that he’s just stepped right into a verbal trap.

Unseen by the human in their midst, Death’s narrow eyes are now almost indiscernible within the congealing darkness of his sockets, and it’s only thanks to their preternatural, fiery glow that Draven can tell they’re open at all. They float inside the pitch-black pits that have been carved out of an ivory mask, unnatural and eerie, like two strips of flame streaking through the night sky.

If someone were to strike a match in the air between he and Death, Draven is almost certain the spark would set off an explosion that could blow the Eternal Throne clear through the stratosphere.

Two options lay out before the ancient Nephilim: Allow yo u to go with Draven in the morning, proving the smug undead wrong in his judgement of Death’s character. Or refuse the offer on your behalf and prove him right.

Begrudgingly, Death concedes that the undead’s tactics have successfully tripped him up. Rare as it is, it’s somewhat refreshing to be kept on his toes. Not that he’s in any way pleased to be cornered like this… Not least because he has a reputation he’d like to keep intact.

“She’ll consider it,” he says shortly.

There. It’s neither a yes or a no, and vague enough that Draven’s expectant gaze darkens with disappointment. Death is tempted to smirk triumphantly. Just because he stepped into the trap doesn’t mean he won’t know how to get out of it. He’s almost offended that the undead thought it would be so easy.

But the acquiescing look on Draven’s face doesn’t linger for more than a blink before it’s gone.

“I hope she does,” he hums, leaning sideways once more so that he can send you another secretive smile around the Horseman’s bulk, a smile that you find yourself readily reflecting. It feels like there’s a connection there somehow, between you and Draven. Human and ex-human. It’s something that Death isn’t privy to because he isn’t and never was human.

You wonder… Hell, you dare to hope that Draven might just… get you. There’s common ground in your humanity. The soul that sits lonely in your heart reaches out for the tiniest promise of companionship, softening you to the undead in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Right now, as you share amusement at the Grim Reaper’s expense, you find Draven just that bit more bearable to look at. Even the swords and broken blades that jut from his person like morbid adornments don’t seem so gruesome.

“I will consider it,” you promise, prompting Death to heave a disgruntled sigh whilst you breeze over his complaint, “Thank you, Draven. Really. This…” This act of immense kindness, though it might have seemed so mundane if it happened on Earth, has done wonders to warm your heart after feeling your very soul freeze over after your nightmare. But how could you possibly put into words the comfort he’s brought you? Rather than overthink it, you merely give your head a tiny shake of disbelief and let out a soft laugh, “This means… so much to me.”

Laying a hand across his concave chest, the undead dips his torso into a shallow bow and replies, “For you, it was no trouble at all.”

To your own surprise, the chivalrous little display turns you shy, and you start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, avoiding his searching eyes as you smile down at the floor near Death’s boots.

Clicking his tongue, the Horseman shifts to stand sideways in the entrance, sweeping an unimpressed glance between you and Draven.

You may have averted your gaze, but the undead certainly hasn’t.

From head to toe, you’re all but poured over like a scroll of parchment in an angel’s library. Shameless in his observation, Draven’s cadaverous eyes carve tracks across your face and roam down the length of your body, whilst Death goes mostly ignored.

The Horseman is no fool. Though the very notions of romance and attraction have forever eluded him, he’s old and worldly enough to have at least encountered both in some way, shape or form. Besides, even a dunce would have to be trying exceptionally hard to miss what’s right in front of his nose.

You’ve caught the Blademaster’s eye.

And there’s the rub. Demons, he can put his scythe to, corrupted constructs and bloodthirsty bugs can be slain to keep you out of their gullets. Even Karn and his, at times, glaring attachment to you were innocent enough, as if the youngling was more starved for meaningful friendship than companionship. But an amorous undead? Death doesn’t have any protocol for manoeuvring around that particular minefield.

Once again, if there is such a thing as luck, the Horseman would be cursing his own. Isn’t it just typical that in such a vast and limitless Universe, his path would somehow carry you right to the Blademaster – the only other sod in Creation who shares your origins? Musing on that, Death can’t help but wonder if there truly is some unseen, omniscient hand guiding you along your journey.

Whoever the puppet master is, they’ve got a sick sense of humour.

Draven was Human – famously unpredictable species, a stereotype you continue to substantiate – but more to the point, he’s an unknown, and Death doesn’t especially like dealing with unknowns.

“Well then,” he announces abruptly, causing you to jump and reminding him that he’s allowed the undead to linger for a few moments too long, “If there’s nothing else…”

The skin around Draven’s jaw stretches as he opens it until the holes in his cheeks are thin and long, but before he can utter a word, Death says, “Wonderful,” and with a deft swing of his elbow, he bumps the door closed, giving the bottom of the wood a kick on its way to make sure it slams firmly shut. The room is once more plunged into that grimy, too-green gloom.

“Oh, that’s real nice, Death,” you snap, “The poor guy gives me a meal and lets me sleep in his bed, and you slam his own door shut in his face.”

“… That’s it,” he grumbles, turning to face you and pressing the bowl and cup into your hands, careful not to spill its contents as you splutter out a weak protest and fumble awkwardly with the woodware, “Tomorrow, you’re coming with me to the Champion’s arena. Not-!” he quickly snaps when you open your mouth to speak, “- to fight. You’re to watch from the sidelines.”

Looking down at you through the dark, he can tell you’re torn between continuing to berate him and diving into your newly acquired meal. Your eyes flit back and forth between him, the bowl, and the door, through which you can already hear the fading footfalls of your gracious host.

You’ve bulled yourself up at Draven’s expense, lips twisting into an unhappy frown, but it isn’t to last. Not with how desperate you are to fill your belly with something warm and cooked. Venting out a huff, you begrudgingly expel all the hot air from your lungs and lower yourself down onto the edge of the bed, lifting the stew to your lips to blow at the steam that drifts from it. “How do you know I’m not considering Draven’s tour?” you challenge.

It’s a good thing you’re pointedly ignoring the Horseman in favour of tipping back the bowl, because the look he shoots you is venomous enough that it would have stung had you caught it head-on.

“Just... Just eat the damn stew,” is all he bites out.

Well… You’re only too happy to oblige to that request.

You try not to wolf down the whole thing in one go, but as soon as the thin, watery gravy touches your lips and washes onto your tongue, you’re almost bowled over by the sheer influx of taste. At this point, after surviving on little else but water and the strange jerky Thane gave you, you could have eaten a rice cracker and called it filet mignon. Several bursts of flavour warm the inside of your cheeks and seep over and under your tongue. A piece of meat slides between your teeth as you slurp it up and you bite down on it hard, finding the strip tough and chewy, but oh so mouth-watering.

You spare the briefest of thoughts to its creature of origin, though the moment soon passes when you swallow, letting out a groan that might have been embarrassing if you weren’t so sure you’re justified in making such a sound. Privately, you make a mental note to thank Draven profusely in the morning, though whether that’s before or after you apologise to him for Death’s behaviour, you haven’t yet decided.

“Holy-“ Pausing, you lower the bowl and sweep a finger over the corners of your mouth, delicately removing the gravy gathered there, “-Shit, this is good.”

He almost asks if it tastes strange or off in any way, but with the Blademaster's words still ringing in his ears, Death stuffs them down with the rest of his wounded ego and begins to grumble nonsensically to himself. In fact, he's so busy muttering under his breath and glowering at the door that he doesn’t even pause to throw a withering glare at Dust when the crow hops onto the bed again and struts up to you with the confidence of a bird who knows you’re a pushover.

Only too happy to reinforce that confidence, you deftly scoop a chunk of meat into your palm and offer it out for the bird to peck at.

“Overprotective…” Death scoffs heatedly, “The nerve of that…” His mask abruptly whips around towards you, giving you pause with your cheeks full of stew. “Do you feel I’ve been overprotective?”

Putting aside the fact that you’ve never seen Death get this riled about a jibe before…

Swallowing thickly, you draw out an unconvincing, “No?”

The strange glow of his irises flicker for a second – a twitch of an eyelid? “Well, if I seem that way, it’s only because you’re so damnably adept at getting yourself into trouble,” he complains, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall with a decisive thump, “And frankly, I’d rather avoid having an angry group of makers hunt me to the ends of the Universe if something were to happen to you under my watch.”

It’s not just a lie meant to preserve his pride. Not entirely…

“They wouldn’t do that,” you tut, bemused, tilting the bowl and taking another, long slurp of the stew, manners be damned. You never thought you’d eat a cooked meal again.

His chest rumbles moodily. “They would.”

A wordless peace lingers in the air between you then, disturbed only by the sound of you chewing through toughened meat and the gentle sloshing of stew as your fingers chase the pieces around their bowl. You pretend not to notice the quick, attentive glances being sent your way.

Dust throws his feathered head up towards the ceiling, his beak wide open around the hunk of meat you offered him. In a rather unappetising display, the crow gulps it down with a few bobs of his neck.

“Nice,” you grunt, pulling a face.

You don’t put your bowl down until every last piece of the stew is gone, and even then you have to fight back an urge to lick the interior clean, mindful that present company might find that habit a bit too uncivilised not to comment on. Even with the Earth and its civilisation far behind you, you can’t let go of table-manners. It would be laughable if the reminder of your lonely humanness didn’t carry so many undertones of despair.

Breathing a soft, satisfied sigh, you bend down and drop the bowl on the floor with a clunk, instantly exchanging it for the cup of water before you sit up again to watch Death glower at the doorway as though he hopes it’ll burst into flames.

There’s a rigidity to him that doesn’t suit the late hour and the warmth in your belly.

Casting your mind about for a way to free him from whatever monologue he must have rattling away in that enigmatic head of his, you take a swig of the water, regarding the Horseman ponderously over the rim of the cup.

“So,” you say, smacking your lips as the lukewarm liquid slides down your throat, “What do you think the chances are that Vulgrim’s delivered my message?”

Luminous eyes blink slowly, roving from the door to land on your face.

He visibly hesitates, then asks, “What would help you go back to sleep faster?”

Your deadpan stare is ruined by an unseemly snort and flutter of your lips. “Just humour me, wise guy.”

“Very well…” Death grunts, “Chances are slim.”

“… Don’t know why I bother.”

Despite your tone, you’re secretly pleased when his broad shoulders slacken as he chuckles, unfolding his arms and resting each hand casually on his hips instead. “Given how often you’ve surprised me so far,” he sighs with an air of begrudging acceptance, “I suppose it wouldn’t be so shocking to learn you’ve actually convinced the demon to go through with your favour.”

“I surprise you?” you smile.

“At every turn.”

“Aw~”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Oh.”

It is. It absolutely is. But he’ll be damned if he lets you know what a luxury surprises are for a being who was confident the Universe had nothing new to throw at him. He’s already far too soft on you as it is. Paying you compliments paves a slippery slope towards irrefutable fondness.

Dust would be insufferable.

“Now then,” he coughs gruffly, more to disrupt his own thoughts than to get your attention, “You should… try and get some more rest. I’ll wake you at sunrise.”

All at once, what little levity had been draped around your shoulders sloughs away. He’s right. You should try and sleep a little longer. Moments like these, moments where you can stop to catch your breath, could well be few and far between in the coming days.

“Death? Will you…?” Your voice catches and you don’t finish your sentence aloud, working your jaw up and down wordlessly as a sudden but subtle wave of shame washes over you like an ebbing tide. ‘Stay’ is on the tip of your tongue. But you realise it’s a silly question to ask, even if a very small, very vulnerable part of you desperately wants to seek reassurance from the dour Horseman sharing this space with you. Death has given no indication that he plans to stray far from your side.

Bottom line? You’re afraid to fall asleep again, much as your overwrought mind craves a few more hours of unconscious bliss, and your arms feel heavy as lead when you lower the cup to the floor, setting it down beside the bowl.

If you sleep, you might dream, after all.

And your dreams are full of ghosts.

Fingers twist searchingly into the blanket you’re sitting on, squeezing and clenching until they ache. It grounds you, at least a bit.

You don’t really notice that Death’s mask is tilted to one side, watching your hands closely until he shifts, easing himself through the gloom until he’s only a step away from the bed. It’s sometimes convenient to forget what he is, when your heart misses home so badly that it wants to find humanity in everything around you, including Death. It’s easy to forget that he’s older than you could probably comprehend, that he’s wise enough to hear a human’s unfinished plea and be able to predict how it ends.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he assures you.

Relief unwinds your hands from the fists you’ve curled them into, like roses blooming from the bud.

Soon, you’ll be awake, and the tragedies of yesterday will be saddled to your back alongside all the rest, but you’ll carry them with you as best you can. You don’t have a choice, after all. You followed Death to the Land of the Dead.

When the sun rises, you’ll rise with it and face the consequences of your choice.

#I live #Darksiders #fluff #soft Death #jealousy #Draven x Reader #attraction #GOD it's late #But it feels good to post this #I'm still here

117 notes · View notes

moonshynecybin · 3 months

Note

have we talked about what valentine’s day looks like for rosquez. post-reconciliation imo it’s vale going overboard sending marc 500 roses it’s an instagram photo dump showing him off with a borderline-obscene caption (imagine they’ve gone public. perhaps in the aftermath of the coming out au?) it’s custom la perla and solid gold nipple clamps. marc secretly glowing abt being showered in affection it’s proof vale loves him and isn’t going to leave him

also im just putting this together but isn’t valentine’s day like. the day of vale’s name? something like that? EVEN MORE reason for him to be super into it.

let’s not talk abt 2013-2015 valentine’s day…

you are a genius who has predicted something i was literally already writing!!!!! he absolutely gets him hot girl sex gifts for their valentine's day slash joint birthday week which is the hot girl sex gift SUPERBOWL for them. personally i was thinking lingerie and i wrote a tiny fic (~500 words) about it thats under the cut! get outta my brain !

There’s package sitting inside Marc’s motorhome, after testing.

That's not unusual in itself. It’s his birthday tomorrow, and he’s been fielding various gifts from his sponsors for the last few days, all brightly colored hats and huge sunglasses— messages from whatever company, carefully typed on impersonal letterhead. But this one feels different. It’s unmarked, the box a smooth white cream— not very tall, but wide. Marc crosses to the table the box is resting on and lifts off the lid, testing the weight. It’s heavier than it looks, well made.

It’s clearly expensive.

Once he sets the lid to the side,the first thing his eyes catch on is tissue paper, delicate and silvery, folded neatly. A small card made of thick paper is nestled on top, just over where the carefully arranged wrapping conjoins. He picks it up.

Marc, familiar handwriting spells, and Marc smiles. He knows who sent this. It's not one of his sponsors. Thought this would suit you, I hope you like it. -Vale. There’s a small heart scribbled after the message, followed by a cartoon turtle, unhurried and messy. Beloved.

But it’s still not Valentino’s usual style, and Marc raises an eyebrow, curious. It's actually not technically his birthday, its the day before— it’s Vale’s birthday, and there’s not a lot he wouldn’t give Marc in person, especially when they've been floating around the same paddock. Typically, if Vale is going to give him something, he likes to be there. Likes to lay back and watch Marc’s face as he opens whatever elegantly wrapped treasure he’s picked out for him, eyes greedy on Marc’s expression.

He likes to know that Marc enjoys the things he gives him.

So it’s notable, that he isn’t here. That he left this in Marc's motorhome while he was testing on track, just before Vale was scheduled to spend a little bit of time running things through with his academy riders. He had wanted Marc to find this alone. To turn over what to do with it. Contemplate any possibilities.

Marc's skin feels too warm, too sensitive, the cool air of the motorhome giving him goosebumps. His thumb lingers in the edge of the tissue paper, feeling its thin edges, reveling in the sensation. In the way the anticipation fills him up, a pleasant buzz that thrums under his skin.

It's not dissimilar from the moment before a race, that knifes edge of expectation.

He bites his lip and opens the present, carefully moving the paper away to reveal what’s inside. Something silky catches against his knuckles. He stops.

It’s Vale’s birthday, he remembers.

This isn’t a gift for him, exactly. Pale yellow silk and lace greets him, delicate. Carefully constructed. Marc doesn’t have to check to know they’re in his size.

He grins.

#callie speaks #motogp #asks #rosquez #my fic #valentino being hot and cheeky and a lil selfish in ways that turn both of them on... in ways that still tick marc's boxes...#this could be pre breakup or post reconciliation choose your fighter. i lean post reconciliation #was gonna expand this but uh. brain. bad.

59 notes · View notes

jd-loves-fiction · 1 year

Text

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥 (1)

➢ A new ghoul is summoned, they're small and unsure of who they want to be. The ghouls and ghoulettes help them figure it out while bringing them into their loving arms and showing them that no matter what path they choose, they will be loved.

➢ 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: poly!nameless ghouls/ghoulettes x OC (Ghoulie)

➢ 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: fluff, smut (with a sprinkle of angst sorry) [series]

➢ 𝖜𝖈: 1.1k

➢ 𝖆/𝖓:

➢⚠️: nothing in this chapter, besides swearing and vague descriptions of hell??

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1 - 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌

At first there's just pure heat. Nothing coherent, only instincts and pure fucking heat. But that's nothing new for a ghoul in Hell - what comes next, however, is.

Light flashes before the chosen ghoul’s unprepared eyes, followed by a rushing wind all around like her own personal tornado. And in a second there’s cool marble beneath her back and the light has faded to complete, all-encompassing darkness.

Whispers and soft toned speech sounds around the barely conscious ghoul once the horrendous ringing disappears. The poor creature is so drained but she is unable to so much as open her eyes let alone identify how many entities crowd the room or who (what) they are exactly.

And so she has little choice but to lay there and wait for her strength to return or for sleep to claim her mercifully.

It does so eventually, once the onlookers reach an agreement and she's raised into warm, sturdy arms. Resisting sleep after that would be no more than a fool's errand, so she allows it to take her with no complaints as she feels it start to tug at her exhausted– well everything.

Aether feels the vulnerable ghoul relax even further into his arms as he carries them to his room. He hopes his presence might ease their reaction to the new environment.

He still remembers parts of what Hell was like, despite how long it's been since he was summoned. It's hellish to say the least. Unbearably hot and filled with ghouls and wandering human souls. The first of which are everything but gentle or loving or much of anything really. They are no more than feral, scared little creatures, doing their utmost to survive.

There are no rules for ghouls in Hell, just instincts and pure fucking heat.

Compared to all that, the abbey must be the closest thing to Heaven a ghoul will ever get to experience. Despite this, there is no guarantee that the new ghoul will take well to this place, Satan knows Dew was an absolute handful when he was summoned.

Aether is careful with them, gently laying their naked body down on his bed but not yet covering them. The ghoul’s temperature is still far too high and clothes can be extremely irritating, if not painful, to one who’s not used to them.

After confirming that the nameless ghoul won’t be waking up any time soon, Aether gathers a large, cool glass of water and the biggest, softest shirt in his room. Sure, it’ll probably still feel somewhat uncomfortable but he’d rather avoid giving anyone (Swiss) ideas about playing with the new ghoul.

Such considerations inevitably have him thinking about it too as he looks over their barely twitching body. It’s not much different from what is customary of a ghoul to look like. The same pointy ears, same grayish, discolored look to their skin and a dark spaded tail.

But they’re just so tiny. Smaller than Dew! Aether takes a deep breath to will away any and all feelings stirring within his chest because of this information. Not the time.

He already feels like kind of a pervert for staring-- no, observing the newcomer so closely (even if he reasons to himself that he’s just checking for injuries).

Busying his mind with further observation, he finds that this ghoul lacks colored lines across their body which would indicate their element, and that one of their (once again, very small) horns is badly chipped. His heart tugs at the sight, he knows how badly that hurts.

Physically shaking away all previous thoughts of any kind, Aether, slowly, lightly dresses the ghoul in his shirt, before realizing that they’re out so cold only a bomb could wake them. And even then he can’t be sure they would.

Large hand gently resting on the ghoul’s skin, Aether finds its temperature adequate and pulls the covers up, taking mental stock of what he needs to tell the others - who will undoubtedly swarm him with questions that he will probably not be able to answer.

The ghoul is sleeping and with no apparent nightmares, which while unusual for recently summoned ghouls fresh off the fiery pits of Hell itself, is a huge relief. Their horn no longer has a point but other than that they are unscathed, which is also odd for such a lawless, merciless place. He is unable to establish a mental link so he does not know their name or how they’d like to be referred to as. And lastly, he has no clue what their element is.

He’s somewhat disappointed but not knowing much beats having to calm down a bloodlusty, feral ghoul.

Noticing that a strand of long black hair has fallen over their now twitching nose, Aether brushes it out of the way, feeling the heat of their face against his skin and catching himself staring again.

The lights are turned off and the door is closed as softly as possible before Aether loses himself to the point of having the ghoul wake up to him staring at them… that probably would not go well.

He gets no peace, however, as he’s immediately bombarded by the rest of his pack. Bombarded is a strong word for it; they are simply staring him down not so patiently and waiting for him to say something, anything.

“They’re sleeping fine, out like a rock. I didn’t get much else besides that.” He says honestly, watching as the most excited ghouls deflate in disappointment. It’s been awhile, something like many decades, since Sunshine was summoned so Aether doesn’t really blame them for forgetting how the new ghouls tend to be. The most they usually get is a name exhaled just before they pass out.

Swiss, Sunshine, Cumulus and Dew disperse, sitting heavily in various places around the common room. They’ll get over it pretty soon, Aether’s sure of it.

He sits next to Mountain and Rain on the couch with a sigh, “Any injuries we should worry about?” asks the earth ghoul while running his fingers through the water ghoul’s wavy hair.

“A chipped horn and nothing else, weirdly enough.” Mountain nods in response. None of them remembers much of the last summoning, except for the many burns and various injuries littering the newcomer's body.

"When do you think they'll be up?" Rain follows up, faking mild disinterest even though Aether caught his wide gaze the moment he stepped out of his room.

"I really wish I knew, Rainy. I really do." He tells the water ghoul honestly, watching as he nods in understanding.

Nothing else to do but wait.

525 notes · View notes

sunnybeewriting · 1 year

Text

For What It's Worth

Hi guys! I did my best with being accurate, there’s just so much information that it’s hard to sort through it all, and I took some creative liberties with the location of High Camp. That being said, I really hope you guys like it. Please leave a like or comment if you do, they really make my day!

WORD COUNT: 9,291

WARNINGS: Mild blood and fear

You and Tuk are out playing when things take a turn for the worse.

You hiss softly as the blade you’re using to cut up fruit nicks the tip of your finger. A bead of red appears as you hold it closer to your face for inspection, making sure the cut wasn’t deep. The blood red contrasts nicely against the blue of your skin.

You lower your finger once you are satisfied and huff, irritated more than you usually would be at making such a small mistake.

If you’re being honest with yourself, there was no real reason you were in such a bad mood. Perhaps it was the dreary weather that had engulfed High Camp these past few days. Perhaps it was just usual teenage woe. Either way, your mood was starting to go downhill.

You stuff a slice of the fruit into your mouth, suddenly ravenous as you walk around the perimeter of where your people had sought refuge from the Sky People. It’s something you like to do when you are bored or simply want to be alone with your thoughts.

It was nice to just drift around and take in the breathtaking beauty of your home and people. Watching parents chase their little children around, smelling food cooking, listening to the distant sound of rushing water. It was a good way to take your mind off anything that was troubling you, even when you weren’t sure what that was specifically.

As you round the corner and near the shared tent of your family, you see the faint, tiny form of Tuk tugging on an exasperated Kiri’s hand.

Kiri stays in place, unbothered by the weightless pulling and the frustrated, begging expression on Tuk’s little face. You don’t have to be near them to figure out what they were arguing about.

At this age, all little Tuk wanted to do was follow her older siblings around. She was constantly begging to tag along with Lo’ak and Neteyam as they practiced shooting their bows, even when they warned her it would be boring. She followed Kiri around as much as she could, always talking.

Her pout and big, round eyes were a weakness of every family member, so she usually got her way. Luckily, regularly letting her do what she wanted had never made her spoiled; she was just as sweet and soft-hearted as she was as a baby.

Kiri, Lo’ak, and Neteyam were in the beginnings of their own teenage years, which meant they were ‘too cool’ to have their younger sister hanging around them all the time. They were sweet kids, kind and playful with the youngest member of the family, but they still wanted their own independence.

You understood; you had been the same way when you were their age.

Now, though, you certainly didn’t mind the company of any of your younger siblings. As a result, Tuk spent most of her time with you when she wasn’t with Mom. You would walk around the forest with her, singing little tunes and playing games.

You like to make flower crowns for the whole family when you were in the forest. The first time you had given one to Dad, he was hesitant to wear it. Lo’ak and Neteyam followed his example, not wanting to wear something their dad disapproved of. After your pleading, though, Dad caved in pretty quick. Now, they wore your crowns with pride around High Camp, as a loving totem from their family.

Spending so much time with a little sibling might have bothered other Na’vi your age, but you really didn’t mind. You had a few friends, but no one you were extremely connected to. You had yet to find anyone you were interested in as a mate, either.

Finding a mate was something your dad often told you to take your time on, usually with a relieved look on his face. It made you laugh every time.

“Hey Tuk, Kiri!” you shout, grabbing their attention. They turn to look at you, and Tuk’s tugging on Kiri’s hand grew even more insistent. This time Kiri relented, even if it was with a roll of her eyes.

They walk towards you, Tuk with a bounce in her step and a grin on her face. She still holds onto Kiri’s hand. Kiri’s tall, slender frame looks large next to Tuk, and she doesn’t have her shawl wrapped around her shoulders for once.

“Took you long enough,” Kiri says, but her tone is far from irritated. “Find anything new?”

She was referring to any rocks, trinkets, or plants you sometimes found on the edges of High Camp. She loved to collect and study them; she had a whole pile of pretty rocks somewhere in the family tent. If the plant you brought back was pretty enough, she would wear it in her hair.

You loved finding things for her; the look on her face when she received something new to examine never failed to make your heart swell.

This time, though, you shake your head. “Nah, nothing special. I thought I saw something shiny in the grass, but it just turned out to be a piece of metal. Sorry, Kiri.”

She shakes her head as well and says, “That’s alright, I have plenty back in the tent. I should probably sort through them, actually.”

Tuk, apparently tired of your boring conversation, leaps up to you and grabs onto your leg.

“Ayviiri, Ayviiri, can we please go look around the forest again? I’m bored, but Kiri doesn’t want to play with me anymore! Or, or we could stay here and play a game? Please?” she begs, drawing out the last ‘please’ with a pout. She leans around your leg and looks up at you with imploring eyes.

Kiri scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ve been playing with you all day! You’re really just going to dump me like that?”

Tuk sticks her tongue out at Kiri playfully, and Kiri rubs her hand in Tuk’s face just to hear her squeal and jerk away.

You laugh at their play fighting and gently tug Tuk off your leg. Your smile turns mischievous, and you squat, grab Tik around her knees, and throw her right over your shoulder as you stand back up.

The shriek of laughter as she’s lifted high up hurts your sensitive ears, but it makes your smile grow. You start walking closer toward the family tent, Kiri trailing behind you.

Tuk’s tail waves in front of your face and blocks your view a few times, and you’re about to put her down when you feel a small hand grab onto your own vulnerable tail and pull. Your answering shriek is loud enough to make neighboring people jump and glare at you, but none of you care.

You arrive at the tent and set Tuk down. She wobbles a bit as she regains her balance, still giggling. When she straightens up, she points an accusing finger at you and shouts, “Hey! You never answered my question! Can we please go exploring, please? I promise I’ll be good!” Her mouth wobbles and your heart melts.

Damnit, you think. When did I turn into such a softy?

You lower yourself down to her eye level and say, “Alright, alright, we can go out. But only for a few hours, okay?”

Kiri crosses her arms and shakes her head in amusement at your weakness, and you stand up and shrug, as if saying ‘what can you do?’.

Tuk’s answering cheer is enough to make the hit to your pride worth it. She throws her arms around you and presses her face against your stomach. You rest a gentle hand on the top of her head.

“But we have to ask Mom first, okay?”

Tuk nods and releases you, grin never fading. You turn to Kiri and ask, “Where is Mom, anyways? Have you seen her today?”

Kiri dips her head and says, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s either in the tent or talking with other parents.”

“Alright, we’ll go find her, then. You want to come with us to the forest? Play some more games?”

“I don’t think so. I have that collection to sort through, remember?” The smirk on her face says she’s just using the collection as an excuse not to go, but you don’t mind. You smirk back knowingly.

“Right, right, totally. Well, I guess we’re off to find Mom, then! Ready, Tuk?”

Tuk nods furiously and grabs the hand you hold out for her. You wave one last time at Kiri as you leave in search of your mother.

------

Mom was finishing up her conversation when you finally find her, almost on the opposite side of High Camp. Her ears flick as she hears you both approaching, although Tuk’s loud chatter had probably alerted her a while ago. She presses a quick hand to the bicep of the woman she was talking to as she says goodbye before walking over to you and Tuk.

Your mouth stretches into a smile, happy to see her.

“Hey Mom! Tuk and I are about to head out for an hour or two to explore, is that okay? Do you want to come with?” you ask, even though you are certain she will decline your offer.

Just as you thought, she shakes her head and says, “I am sorry, my daughters. I already have plans for the afternoon. Maybe next time, yes?”

You nod understandingly. “That’s alright, Mom. We won’t be out long anyways.”

“It will be getting dark soon. Make sure to be back before it does.” Your mother knows you are almost an adult of the clan now, but that doesn't stop her from worrying over you the same way she does the rest of her children. You understand your mother’s concern, though, and simply nod.

“We will. We’ll see you later, okay?”

Your mother smiles and nods back, hand briefly running over Tuk’s head. She places her hand on your arm as you walk past her, and you place your own on hers just for a moment, understanding her silent message of ‘be careful’.

And with that, you and Tuk are off.

------

You walk deep into the forest, but not any further than usual. There’s a large, safe area in the forest near the edge of High Camp where the children are allowed to explore. It’s a good chunk of land with plenty of space and trees to play around with, so you don’t go outside of the perimeter.

In fact, the adults of the clan, including your parents, forbid it. There was dangerous machinery and weapons left over from a battle with the Sky People over a decade ago. They were old, yes, but no child should be near them.

A few years ago, a poor boy from the clan died after he stepped on an old land mine still working underneath the dirt where the Sky People had left it. The weapon was years old, but it killed him instantly. Such an unnecessary and sorrowful death made the whole clan grieve together for at least two months. It was a stark reminder of the Sky People’s vicious ruthlessness.

Now, nobody is allowed to cross into that section of forest, for their own safety. The clan did not want any other innocent to die.

Your parents had made it clear to all of their children to stay away from that part of the forest, and you gladly kept your distance. You didn’t want to die like that, blown to bits before you even knew what was happening.

You and Tuk wander around until the sky begins to darken, the eclipse encompassing the forest and dimming the bright sky. You’d spent the past few hours lifting heavy rocks so Tuk could look and poke at the bugs frantically running around. Tuk watched as you practiced your balancing skills on the skinny branch of a tree, arms stretched out so you could remain upright. Then, you chased Tuk around until the both of you were gasping for air.

Now, the two of you were resting on the soft grass of the ground, hands behind your head as you gaze at the sky and struggle to catch your breath.

Once the sky begins to darken, you lean up on your elbows and turn to Tuk.

“Time to head home, Tuk, it’s getting dark already,” you say, fully expecting her to whine and argue.

To your surprise, she simply nods her head and pulls herself to her feet. Her little chest still heaves as she moves and sweat glistens on her forehead. Her head of braids is messy from laying on the ground, little blades of grass stuck in it. You’re sure your hair is no better.

Guess I finally wore out her endless amount of energy, you think.

You sit up and stand on your feet, hands drifting down to check your weapons. Once you make sure everything is still attached, you reach over to Tuk, brushing grass from her body and picking it out of her hair.

Tuk is quiet the entire time you work, a rare occurrence you would have taken notice of if you weren’t lost in your own head, thinking of what you were going to have for dinner. Your stomach growls as your mind drifts with the clouds, and you barely catch the mischievous smile that flickers across Tuk’s face before she leaps from your grasp and sprints away.

“Catch me if you can, Ayviiri!”

You’re so startled that you can only gawk as she bounds away, before your legs are moving and you sprint after her.

“Tuk! It’s getting dark, we don’t have time for this!”

Your legs are much longer than hers and your speed much faster, and you would have caught her arm if you hadn’t tripped over an exposed root and face-planted into the dirt. You’d been so focused on grabbing her that you hadn’t been watching the ground.

You quickly leap back to your feet and chase after her, face throbbing and covered in dirt. The skin of your knees stings, and you can feel yourself losing your temper.

The time between falling and standing back up hadn’t been long, only a few seconds, but it was long enough for Tuk to no longer be in your immediate sight. Trees, bushes, and glowing plant life block your view, but you can hear her delighted laughter and her small feet thudding against the dirt as she ran further and further away.

“Tuk! I’m serious, this isn’t funny! You need to come back, Tuk! Tuk!” you shout, irritation coloring your voice as you continue after her.

The sky continues to darken, and with it your mood. You chase after her, uncaring of the branches or bushes you have to knock out of the way. You can still hear her laughter, so you know she’s close.

You’re so focused on chasing after her and watching the placement of your feet so you don’t end up on the ground again that you don’t notice entering a part of the forest you had never been to before. By the time you look around yourself and notice, it’s too late.

You slow to a stop and stand there, panting, hands resting on your knees as your heart pounds in your chest. You struggle to catch your breath.

Tuk is going to be in so much trouble! You think, annoyance making your jaw clench.

You straighten up, still gasping for air. You take in your surroundings and freeze.

Horror blossoms in your chest and sinks its teeth into your limbs, turning your blood to ice. You are frozen, unable to move as you realize where you are.

The trees and plants around you are unfamiliar. You recognize their species, yes, but you don’t know the pattern they are placed in because you have never seen them before. Nothing looks familiar because you had sprinted straight past the line separating the safe part of the forest from the dangerous.

There are fewer bioluminescent plants in this part of the forest, it seems, which makes the area much darker. The trees seem to loom over you, and the usual trilling of bugs seems muted, somehow, as if in the distance.

You stand in place, body still, terrified to move another step and get blown up like that boy. You remain there for another moment before you hear the quiet laughter of a little girl in the distance.

The terror you had felt before is nothing compared to the blasting wave that seizes your mind and body. Your stomach turns and your heart races, beating faster than it ever has before as you realize, sick, that Tuk has no idea where she was. That she had no idea she had crossed the line into hazardous territory, and she had no clue what danger she was in.

She’s still running around, your brain gasps, she’s still moving, she’s touching the ground!

An image appears in your mind, unwanted. You watch as your sweet, sweet little sister is blown to pieces. You watch as you find what’s left of her body. You watch as you walk back home and tell your parents what happened. And the imagined look that comes over their faces, full of agony and pure grief, is enough to shock you back into your body.

You sway, dizzy with the overpowering emotions controlling your body and the sickening images still taunting you in your head. You blink and force a breath into your body, and then you’re off like a bullet, sprinting through the trees in search of your sister.

“Tuk!” The cry that leaves your mouth is completely different from the shouts you had been making earlier. Those had been tinged with annoyance and begrudging amusement. The sounds leaving you now are terror-stricken, thick with awful emotion.

“Tuk! Stop moving, Tuk, stay still, I’m coming for you!”

You race after her in the last direction you heard her voice, feet pounding into the dirt. You’re running so fast, completely unconcerned with your own safety as you frantically seek out any sign of your sister. Fear seizes your heart and muscles, and your heartbeat thunders in your ears. Your vision narrows as you search, looking anywhere but the path in front of you. You are sprinting, so consumed with fear and adrenaline that you don’t notice the glinting metal laying exposed under a light layer of dirt and leaves until it is too late.

Your right foot lands squarely in the middle of a contraption, and the sharp, strong teeth of the trap activate and clamp onto your leg, tearing deeply into the flesh just above your ankle.

You go flying, skidding across the ground. Your face and hands take most of the hit, small rocks in the dirt scraping your palms. The impact of your face hitting the ground splits open the skin of your chin.

Stars burst behind your eyes as you slow to stop, face down in the dirt. Your entire body feels numb, and your brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. You lay there for a few seconds, trying to think properly and move, but it just won’t happen. Eventually, you’re able to slowly lift your upper body upwards with your arms, dragging your face out of the dirt.

Little flickers of pain are starting to filter into your brain, but it isn’t until you fully sit up, turn around, and see your mangled, bloody leg that you realize what had happened. Then, the pain hits you so fast and hard it steals the breath straight from your lungs

White hot agony splits across your senses. Your vision turns spotty with black dots and your head becomes fuzzy, sound muted in your ears. By the time you come back to yourself, you realize you’re lying flat on your back. Must have passed out, you think distantly. That’s okay. I’m okay.

You gain awareness once more, pain throbbing through your entire body. Even the tip of your tail hurts. You lay there, staring blankly up at the trees, looking at the stars blinking at you through the gaps in the canopy. Your head is empty of any thought or emotion, brain and body in shock.

Your hearing begins to come back just in time to hear the choked gasp of a little girl to the right side of your head. It’s immediately followed by a screaming wail that jolts you straight back into your body.

For one fearful moment, you are afraid that the little girl has stepped into a metal trap of her own and is screaming in agony. Then a weight slams into the side of your stomach.

Tuk’s frightened face appears in your line of sight, tears streaming down her face and bright, yellow eyes horrified. Distantly, you recognize that she is still screaming, sobbing.

You blink, hand slowly reaching up to touch her tear-soaked face.

“Tuk,” you croak. The realization that she’s okay is a stunning relief, and you feel your body relax deeper into the dirt. “Oh, Tuk.” Tears sting at your own eyes and flow down your cheeks, happy and relieved and agonized all at the same time.

She sobs louder at the sight of your own tears. You both lay there, bawling, until she is finally able to gasp out, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t know we had gone so far, I didn’t see the line, Ayviiri! I’m sorry!” She continues to gasp and wail, and the sight makes your heart burn.

Your hand slowly reaches up towards her and around her tiny back, and you gently apply pressure. She takes the hint and leans down to lay her head against your chest. Her wet face tickles your bare skin, but you keep your hand on her back, rubbing circles.

Pain still throbs in time with your heartbeat throughout your body, mostly in your leg, but you let her cry until her gasps turn to hiccups and her tears slow from a steady stream to almost a complete stop.

She raises her head from your chest and looks at your face. You return her gaze, eyes dazed and half-lidded. And then she says,

“Are you okay?”

You stare at her and then laugh as best you can, chest stinging from the movement. But you don’t care, because it was such a silly, oblivious question that could only come from a child.

And your brain might still be a little loopy from the hard hit it had taken when you had faceplanted into the ground, twice. Either way, you laugh for a few seconds, jostling Tuk still laying pressed up against you.

“Uh, I don’t think I can qualify as ‘okay’ right now, Tuk.”

That makes her eyes fill with tears once more, and she lowers her head to press her forehead against your chest.

“I’m so sorry, Ayviiri.” Her voice wobbles, and it’s clear she’s about to start sobbing all over again.

Yeah, you admit. Probably not the best thing to say to a traumatized kid right now.

You shush her once more, hand stroking her hair a few more times. Then, you say,

“Hey, Tuk. I’m going to need you to be really strong here for a little bit, can you do that for me? I’m alright, but I’m going to need your help. Can you stay with me?”

She stares at you for a few seconds and then nods her head. She sits up and takes her arm off your body, sniffling, and then wipes her eyes and face with her hands. She closes her eyes and takes in a slow, deep breath, just like Mom had taught us to do when we were scared, and lets it out. She repeats the process two more times before she opens her eyes, determined.

You stare at her for a moment.

Shit. I really am lucky to have such a damn good family.

“Thanks for staying with me, Tuk.”

She looks you straight in the eye and says, “Sully’s stick together”, like it’s a fact of life, something that has always been and would never change.

You blink furiously to will your own tears of relief away/

“Alright, Tuk. I’m going to need you to help me sit up, okay. Slowly.”

You start small, wiggling your fingers and then moving your arms. You tense your shoulders and, very slowly, strain your stomach muscles to start lifting your upper body off the forest floor. Tuk reaches her arm around your back and presses her hand against you, carefully applying support.

Every part of your body is in agony, head pounding behind your eyes and face stinging. Still, you don’t stop until you’re fully sitting up. Your head wobbles dizzily and black dots threaten you once more, but you will yourself not to pass out. Once you find your balance, you look at Tuk. She looks back at you, worried, hand laying on your shoulder.

Neither of you says anything. You nod slowly and wiggle your fingers and parts of your upper body some more. The longer you take stock of the injuries up here, the longer you don’t have to look at the wound on your leg.

You can put it off no longer, though, and so you lean forward to take a look at your legs stretched out in front of you.

You whimper before you can stop yourself.

The metal contraption had wrapped itself around your right foot. Sharp little teeth are clamped into the flesh of your calf, tearing through delicate skin and squeezing tight. Bright red blood soaks your leg, the metal, and the ground beneath you.

The teeth haven’t gone in as deep as you had feared, though. They were in there, most likely reaching bone, but it hadn’t torn off your foot or mangled it beyond repair like you had thought.

Still, as relieving as that is, it’s not a pretty sight.

Maybe it didn’t go all the way through because it’s been out here so long, and the springs are worn down? You think, head tilting to the side and breath coming in short gasps as you stare. Dad once talked about metal things like this that were strong enough to cut a whole foot off.

Your stomach lurches.

Tuk follows your eye and looks at your injury. She gasps again and sways where she was sitting, turning a pale blue tinged with green.

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Oh, Eywa, me too.”

You both sit there for another minute, struggling to get your stomachs under control. Once you succeed, you hesitantly examine your foot once more.

You wiggle the toes on your left foot, and then gently move the toes on your right. Pain tears up your leg like lightening and you gasp, immediately stilling. Once it fades back to a steady throb, you crack open an eye and think.

What’s the plan here, Ayviiri? You’re unable to walk, deep in unfamiliar and dangerous territory, at night with an unarmed child. What’s the plan?

You sit there and sort through your options, eventually coming up with what you hope is the best thing to do in this situation. You turn to Tuk, who stares back at you. In this darker lighting, the glow of her yellow eyes and bioluminescent dots outline her face fiercely and make her look like the night sky.

“Okay. Okay, here’s the plan, here’s what we’re going to do. It’s already dark and way past the time we were supposed to get back home, right? So that means Mom and Dad know something is wrong, which means they’ll start looking for us soon. It won’t take them long to find us, since they know where we usually play, and they’re great trackers. So, they’ll be able to find us soon, and we need to be here when they do.” You pause to take a breath before you continue.

“So, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to help me get to the curve of that tree, and we’re going to stay still and quiet and alert. We’ll wait for them to find us, but we need to make sure that nothing else finds us first, okay?” you say, pointing to the curved trunk of a tree just a few feet from where you and Tuk were sitting.

Tuk whimpers, ears flattening to the sides of her head. “Do you think anything will find us before they get here?”

“No, no, Tuk, that’s just in case, alright? Oh, Tuk, please don’t cry, we’re okay! We’re okay, I promise.” You do your best to comfort her, reaching over and dragging her into a hug as she struggles to stop her tears. She goes willingly, gently patting you on the shoulders instead of hugging you tightly like she usually would.

You take a deep breath and prepare yourself for what’s about to happen.

“Alright. You ready?”

She leans back, wiping her eyes once more, and asks, “Are you?”

You hesitate and then nod your head, swallowing thickly. You know your weight is too much for little Tuk to drag even a few feet in one quick motion by herself. No, this was going to be a slow and bumpy ride.

This is going to hurt like hell.

You breathe deep and slow as Tuk moves around to your back. She slides her arms under your armpits, and you lift your arms to give her better access. She clasps her hands together in front of your chest, and her braids tickle the side of your face as she lowers her head to say, “On the count of three I’m going to start moving backward, okay?”

You nod. Tuk whispers, “One, two, three!”, and jerks you back roughly.

The movement jostles your leg and you howl, head tilting back as tears of pain prick your eyes. By the time your back finally hits the trunk of the tree, Tuk is out of breath and those tears are streaming down your face.

You rest your head against the tree, gasping for breath. Agony is all you can feel as you choke on air.

Tuk climbs into the enclosed curve of the tree trunk, sobbing. She curls into your side and lifts your arm out of the way so she can press up against your stomach, and you are barely able to wrap it around her.

Your ears eventually stop ringing and your vision clears. Tuk continues to cry, and the only sound you have the strength to muster up is a weak hum carrying the distant tune of one of your mother’s lullabies. You sit there, waiting, begging to be found by your parents.

Once you catch your breath, you raise your head. You look at your surroundings and straighten into a position that’s more sitting up than it is leaning on the trunk.

Have to stay awake and alert, you think, shaking your head to clear it of fuzziness. Have to keep my senses sharp and ready for whatever might come.

There weren’t many predators around this area, but you never know what animal might be drawn to the scent of your fresh blood. You draw out the knife strapped to the thigh of your right leg as discreetly as you can. You don’t want to scare Tuk any more than the poor girl already has been.

Just in case. You hold the knife in a tight grip. Just in case.

You had considered letting Tuk retrace her steps and head back towards High Camp but had discarded that idea as soon as it had appeared. There were too many threats and unknown factors; any other weapons laying hidden under the dirt, any predators who might be in the area, the chance she may get lost. All were good reasons to stay together and wait it out. Your wound was in a non-vital spot, and while it was incredibly painful and still bleeding, it wasn’t worth risking Tuk’s life just to get help faster.

Time trickles by slowly mostly in silence, other than the times you hum softly to Tuk. Tuk remains curled up at your side, faced streaked with tears even as more than an hour passes. Every now and then you can feel her whole body shudder. The night air is warm, so you know it’s mostly from stress and fear.

You both remain sitting up against the curve of the tree, hidden out of view. At this point you have to pee, but there is no way in hell you are moving your ass out of this spot unless it is time to go home.

You struggle to remain alert, eyes wide and ears flicking with every sound you hear. The buzzing of the insects and the distant chattering of syaksyuk are comforting sounds. It was when those sounds stopped that you needed to be worried.

Your chin just began to drop onto your chest, eyes drifting closed, when you heard rapidly approaching footsteps coming from the trees in front of you.

Your eyes pop open and you tense, head shooting up. Your hand had slackened around the knife so you strengthen your grip. Your heart begins to race in your chest, and you prepare yourself to fight for the lives of you and your sister.

Just as you are about to shake Tuk awake and tell her to run, the broad, tall frame of your dad leaps out of the branches.

He turns to you, and you can see the exact moment he realizes he had found his children. Relief fills his expression, and he gasps like he was finally able to breathe for the first time in hours.

“Ayviiri, Tuk!” He runs to your side and kneels beside you, hands fluttering uncharacteristically around your face and body like he doesn’t know where to touch.

He turns on his heels and shouts, “Neytiri! Neytiri, I found them, they’re over here!”

He turns back to you. Your head is starting to drop again, exhaustion and relief and joy clashing in your mind. You can barely manage a tired, “Hey, Dad”.

You’re not even surprised to see him; you know there is not a single force on this planet that would keep your mom and dad away from their children.

There was crashing through the leaves and bushes your dad had come through before your mother burst out, eyes wild and teeth bared, clearly expecting a fight. Once she realizes there is no predator here she relaxes, only to tense up again when she sees us.

A cry burst from her throat and she runs to us, sliding on her knees as she falls down next to you. Her hands flutter around you, just like Dad’s had, and the similarity makes a smile pull on the corners of your lips.

You’re sure you look terrible, hair, face, and body covered in dirt and leaves and bruises. Your face feels swollen, and the various cuts sting.

Your parent’s voices crash over your senses, asking all kinds of questions, but the only thing you can do is smile. So happy to see them, you think, eyes drifting shut once more. I think I would cry some more if I wasn’t so damn tired.

“Hey, hey, stay with me. Stay awake, baby girl, hey.” Dad pats your face gently, his own face close to yours. Your groan, opening your eyes once more.

“What?” you say grouchily. You just want to sleep, please, please.

Dad smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Where’s that attitude coming from, huh? We’re so happy to see you guys, you know.”

Mom covers her mouth with her hand, gasping with relief and her eyes shining. Tears leak down her face. She smiles at you, reaching out to gently grasp the hand still holding the knife. She takes it from you before holding your hand.

Tuk finally starts to shift, awakening from her deep sleep. With the way your parents had come crashing in here, making all sorts of noise, her sleep was a true testament to her exhaustion.

She opens her eyes fully. Once she sees her parents hovering over her, she bursts into tears.

She reaches her arms out in the universal sign of ‘pick me up’, and your mother snatches her up and into her arms before you can blink. Both of them cry while holding onto one another, Mom shushing Tuk and rocking her back and forth.

Her eyes met yours over Tuk’s shoulder, and you see pride and gratefulness shining bright in them. You shrug your shoulders, as if to say ‘duh’. It wasn’t like there was any way you weren’t going to keep your little sister safe.

Your dad turns your face back towards him with gentle fingers placed on your chin. His lips thin and his eyes narrow as he takes in the mess of your face and upper body.

“Ayviiri, where are you hurt?”

“My leg, mostly.” You gasp out wetly. “I didn’t even see it.”

When he sees the metal wrapped around your foot and digging into your bloody flesh, he hisses and bares his teeth, ears pulling back and muscles tensing. You can see his tail flicking irritably behind him. Anger and hate twist his face into an expression you have seen many times before, always when the Sky People were mentioned.

“Fuck, Ayviiri.”

You have enough energy to bark out a short, incredulous laugh.

“I fucking know, Dad. Just my luck, right?”

Mom looks over Dad’s shoulder at your leg and hisses as well, her own tail flicking. Fear crosses her face, and she looks younger than you’ve ever seen her before.

“Sky People.”

Dad gently brushes a finger against the metal, yellow-green eyes flicking up to your face to take in your reaction. When your expression doesn’t change, his face hardens with resolve, and he grabs onto it more firmly, trying to get it to release.

You yelp, entire body jumping with the pain that shoots through your body. You try to lean away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Mom jumps with your yelp, hand grasping onto your left leg to comfort you. You look at her, eyes filling with tears. The weight of everything comes crashing down.

“I’m sorry, Mom, Dad.” It comes out as a croak.

You realize it’s the first time you’ve seen your dad all day. The stress and worry on his face make your heart squeeze, and before you know it you’re crying, again. You’re not sure if the tears are from relief or shame or pain, but they roll down your cheeks all the same.

“I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t even see it, and I-I know we went past the line, and it was all my fault, it just happened so fast, and-”

He interrupts you, shushing gently. He rests his palm gently against your face, and you lean into his touch, eyes closing. “Hey, hey, hey, we’re right here, you’re okay. It’s alright, we’re not mad at you. Baby girl, we’re just glad that you’re both still alive.” His voice breaks, and he smiles.

You nod and swallow thickly, face still cradled in his palm.

You’re so, so tired.

He moves around until he is cupping your face with both hands, shaking you gently.

“You need to stay awake, baby. Open your eyes, Ayviiri.”

You whimper but do so, sight blurry. You can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows. He turns his head to look at Mom.

They have a conversation with their eyes that you cannot decipher. Mom’s eyes fill with tears again, brows furrowing and lips frowning, but she straightens up and swallows. She nods her head once, firmly, resolute.

Dad nods back and turns to you. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, Ayviiri, you with me?”

You groan and nod, making clear eye contact.

“Alright, that’s good, baby girl. I’m going to need you to stay awake for just a little longer, okay? We’re going to pull this thing off you and then we’re going home, alright?”

Your eyes pop open and all forms of tiredness leave your body just like that. You tense and your heart begins to pound. Your leg is mostly numb now, but you don’t want to take any chances.

“Hey, woah, wait, wait, wait! Wait, Dad, hold on a second!” You clench your leg muscles and try to move away, like an idiot, and you gasp and go still. Panic refuses to leave you.

“We can wait! Can’t we wait until we get home, Dad, that would be better!”

Dad leans back and considers that option for a moment. Then he nods his head and moves his hands away from your leg.

You gasp in relief, chest heaving. You were only putting off the inevitable, but still, you’d take it.

“We’re still going to need to lift you up, Ayviiri. Come on, let’s go.” He rises to his full stance. Mom stands as well, lifting Tuk with her. Tuk’s face is turned away, buried into her neck, and you can’t see if she was still awake or not.

Lucky, you think sourly.

Dad walks over to your left side, where Tuk had previously sat next to you. He squats back down and curls his arms under your shoulders and your knees. You lift up your body as best you can to give him more room, breathing deeply in preparation.

At least it’s not Tuk moving me around again, you think. If I can survive that, then I can certainly survive this.

Still, that thought doesn’t stop you from tensing.

Dad lowers his face to yours, and says, “I’m sorry, Aryviiri, this is probably going to hurt.”

You barely have time to nod before he’s lifting you up and into his arms. You squeeze your eyes and prepare for the pain, but the only thing you feel is a slight twinge from your foot.

You blink, look at your dad, and grin, impressed.

He grins back down at you, holding you gently. Your mother moves to stand at his side, stroking the top of your head one last time. And then, finally, you are off back home.

------

The journey back is restless. Dad refuses to let you sleep, worried you may have a concussion, and so you stare at the sky as your father carries you. The gentle rocking of his arms tempts you, but you do your best to stay awake. Besides, the way your body aches and stings is enough to keep you from falling asleep. Dad talks to you about nothing in particular as you move through the foliage. You close your eyes because it stings to have them open, but you do not sleep.

You arrive back at High Camp in less than an hour. It’s late, so there aren’t any other people around. Your family tent is still lit, though, and Kiri, Neteyam, and Lo’ak are still awake, waiting for you to get back.

You’ll never forget the expressions of relief on their faces when they see you and Tuk. They crowd around all four of you, asking questions and talking in frantic voices.

“Shit, Ayviiri! You look awful, what the hell happened?” Lo’ak asks loudly, face lowering to yours, yellow eyes flickering across your face. You’re still in Dad’s arms, swaying back and forth as the family walks as one to the medical center in the middle of High Camp.

“Nice to see you too, little brother. To answer your question, well, you know me. Just can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

Lo’ak scoffs and crosses his arms. “You get into less trouble than Neteyam, and that’s saying something. What really happened?”

Before you can reply, Kiri knocks her hip into Lo’ak’s. “She’s clearly not ready for conversation, Lo’ak. The details can wait until after they get checked out and rest.”

Lo’ak grumbles but relents under her fierce stare, and you smile, tilting your head back and enjoying the quiet.

Neteyam walks on the other side of Dad, and you can feel his worried gaze flickering between you and Tuk. You open your eyes and wink at him, and he smiles and lets out a breath, relieved. It couldn’t be that bad if you were making jokes.

You all shuffle into the large medical tent. It was a spacious area, filled with a few cots and medical supplies. You and every other child of the Omaticaya knew this place well, having been here many times for checkups and bandages for various cuts and bruises.

Dad lowers you gently onto the cot closest to the entrance of the tent. Lo’ak and Kiri blanch when they see the state of your leg, having walked on the other side of you and only seeing your bruised face.

“Holy shit, Ayviiri.”

You nod your head in agreement.

“I know. At this point I can’t feel much of it, but it hurt like a bitch when it happened.”

Lo’ak nods, dazed, and reaches out to touch it. Kiri smacks his hand away, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“I’m going to go wake Norman, okay? I’ll be right back.” Dad says, looking at you. You nod, and he pats you on the shoulder before jogging out of the tent.

Mom has lowered Tuk into her own cot right next to yours. Tuk is utterly unconscious; nothing could wake her up now. She was exhausted, but other than being dirty and tired, she was completely fine. Mom moves her braids away from her face, caressing her head.

Thinking about what could have happened to your little sister still makes you sick to your stomach. Even your own injury, while painful and bloody, was nowhere near as bad as it could have been.

You take a deep breath and allow yourself to relax into the soft bedding of the cot. It could have been so much worse, you think. Thank you, Ewya. Thank you.

Norman jogs into the tent in his human form, tiny and pale white. His dark hair is still mussed from sleep. You can see his tired eyes widen through his mask when he takes you in, and he immediately starts examining you, startling when he sees the bloody state of your leg.

“Hey, Mister Spellman. How’s it going?” You grin tiredly.

Dad walks into the tent a moment later, putting an enormous hand on Norman’s tiny shoulder. The contrast between their size and the stark colors of their skin makes you giggle, head dizzy.

“How’s it looking, Norm?” Dad asks, referring to the state of your leg. He shoots you a worried look at your soft giggles. “I also think she might have hit her head pretty hard.”

Norman tilts his head to the side and reaches out to poke at it gently. “Well, from what I can tell, it didn’t sever anything important. It’s got itself in deep, though, that’s for sure. Can you tell me what happened, Ayviiri?”

You wince and shake your head to regain your thoughts, but the only thing that does is make your head pound even more. “I was chasing after Tuk too fast and wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping. Next thing I knew I was on the ground and this fucker was in me.”

Norman nods in understanding, turning around to put on a pair of plastic gloves. He shuffles around the tent, little hands moving around and grabbing various medical supplies to place next to your bed. “Okay, and did you hit your head at all?”

You squint, struggling to recall the events. “Uh, kind of. Once when I tripped over a root, and then again when that happened. Pretty sure my face took most of the impact, though.”

He nods again and examines your wound once more. A few minutes pass as he pokes and prods. Eventually, he pulls his hands back and says, “Well. The good news is that it’s unlikely to cause any permanent damage. Bad news is that teeth are in there pretty deep, and it’s going to hurt like hell to get it to let go.”

You’re exhausted, filthy, and every part of you aches. You don’t even care about what it’s going to feel like. You just want to get clean and then sleep until next week.

Your lips thin and your eyes narrow. “Let’s get it done, then.”

Norman pulls away and starts grabbing materials and scary-looking medical tools out of drawers. You look away before you can start freaking out, closing your eyes and leaning back into the cot. You reach for Dad’s hand and he gives it to you without hesitation. His hand is dry and warm. It engulfs your own, but the hold it has on yours is gentle. You squeeze and he squeezes back.

“Can I get some water, first?” you ask. Your voice is starting to sound like you’ve swallowed rocks.

Lo’ak leaps to his feet and leaves to find some. He comes back a few moments later, and you snatch the water out of his hands quickly. You tilt it back and let it flow into your mouth, swallowing rapidly. The cool, sweet liquid wets your throat. It’s so relieving that you drink until the container has run dry, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you give it back to Lo’ak. He leaves two more times to get more water until you’re satiated.

By that time, Norman has collected all the instruments he needs, washing his hands in the water bin and using soap to disinfect himself.

“This is going to hurt, but it’ll be over quickly. We’ll disinfect the injury after the metal is pulled off, and then we’ll wrap it. You need to keep your leg still until then, okay? In fact, Neteyam, come hold her leg down and keep it as still as you can. Lo’ak, be prepared to help if we need it.” He moves down to the foot of the bed where your legs rest.

“Ayviiri, you’re probably going to pass out for a little bit, so don’t be surprised when that happens.”

You squeeze Dad’s hand tighter, choosing to look at the ceiling of the tent rather than at what’s about to happen. Your heart rate increases out of fear of the pain that’s about to come, but you breathe slow and deep to keep the panic at bay.

Mom moves from where she had been sitting on Tuk’s bed to grab your other hand. With both parents by your side and siblings in the room to support you, you know you’re going to be okay.

“Alright, Ayviiri. Take some deep breaths for me. Are you ready?”

You breathe out one last time and nod.

The last thing you feel is a sharp, popping tug on your leg. Pain explodes behind your eyes, your vision turns black, and you’re out.

------

Your brain slowly starts to recognize your surroundings as you wake up. You can tell it’s morning again, just by the warm light that glows behind your eyelids and the sound of birds singing through the camp. If you listen harder, you can hear the murmurings of your people and the distant laughter of children.

Your lips pull upwards into a small smile, eyes still closed.

Your mouth and tongue feel thick and fuzzy. You wiggle your fingers and crack open an eye, taking account of your body. The pain you had felt last night has faded from sharp misery to a dull ache.

You groan and slowly sit up, bones cracking like you’d aged at least thirty years. Once you are upright, you look at the white, thick bandage covering a good portion of your lower right leg.

You wiggle the toes on both legs.

Other than a slight twinge, no extreme pain can be felt. You let out the breath you had been holding, suddenly extremely relieved, and you flop back down onto your cot.

I’m okay,you think, stunned. My leg is okay. Tuk is okay. We’re okay.

You lay there, simply processing. Eventually Mom walks into the tent, holding onto a basket filled with fruit. She takes one look at you and drops the basket with a thud, moving to your side in a few short, quick steps.

“You are awake!” she gasps, gripping your hand. “I am so relieved, Ayviiri! How do you feel, are you in any pain?”

You shake your head gently and grip her hand just as tight. “No, Mom, I’m okay, I promise.”

You smile at her and she smiles at you. She cups your cheek with her hand, and her smile fades.

“My daughter. What happened?”

Your own smile drops, but you sit up and explain what happened. How you and Tuk had been planning to return before it got dark, how Tuk had playfully run away and you had chased her, how you had accidentally crossed into forbidden territory without realizing it.

“I’m sorry, Mom, it was my fault. I didn’t even know we were that close, and-”

She shushes you and shakes her head. “No, my daughter. It was an accident. You and Tuk are alright, that is what matters.”

You nod, eyes stinging.

“Thanks, Mom.”

She presses a kiss to your forehead and stands up.

“I will tell the family you are awake. I know Tuk is very interested in seeing you, as is everyone else.”

“How long was I out?” you ask, curious. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours.

“Two days, my daughter. You were exhausted and injured. Your mind and body needed time of rest to heal.

Damn, you think, surprised.

“Even after all that rest you will be confined to your bed for at least another week. No walking on that leg.” She gives you a stern look.

Mom leaves and quickly returns with all of your siblings, who pile onto your cot, clapping your back and arms and thighs. Hands and limbs flail all over the place as you struggle to support everyone’s weight and keep them all upright, but you don’t tell them to get off.

They’re happy to see you awake, voices chattering and asking questions without pausing to let you answer. You don’t mind, though. You’re just happy to be here with them.

“I’m okay, I’m okay–ow, Neteyam, you’re leaning on my tail!”

Eventually, Dad makes them get off you. They grumble but comply. You hadn’t even heard him arrive with your sibling’s loud voices clamoring in your ears, but there he was, arm wrapped around Mom’s waist and expression fond.

Tuk jumps up again and wraps an arm around you, burying her little face into the curve of your neck. You wrap your arms around her in turn, squeezing her tight. Neither of you says anything, just hold onto each other.

She lets you go after a few moments, eyes full of tears. Thankfully, none of them spill over as she sniffles. She looks tired but physically healthy. To you, that is worth all the pain in the world.

You gaze around at your family as they stand in the tent, all trying to talk at the same time. It’s chaos, but there is nowhere you’d rather be.

Thank you for letting me stay with them, Ewya. Thank you for letting Tuk come back unharmed. Thank you.

Your eyes start to become heavy, and regardless of the noise and the fact you had just slept for two days straight, weariness begins to creep into your bones once more. You relax in the cot, safe and surrounded by your family. With that one last thought, you drift off to sleep.

523 notes · View notes

sixpossumsinatrenchcoat · 4 months

Text

Natural Satellite

An In Stars and Time AU. In chapter one, Siffrin makes a wish. Isabeau gets caught in the crossfire.

You are sitting in a bathroom, hugging a roll of toilet paper to your chest. You think you maybe love this toilet paper. It feels… important? And also: soft. Squishy. Friendly, even. It won’t judge you or hate you or pity you. It can’t ask impossible questions. It never flinches away when you step too close. Maybe the toilet paper can be your new family!!! You bite back a laugh. Sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek till you taste copper on your tongue. Flecks of black on white tile. But that’s okay. The toilet paper isn’t going to ask if you’re okay. Because it’s toilet paper. It occurs to you that you’re probably losing your mind.

Spoilers through at least act four. CW for canon-typical violence, temporary character death, self-harm, & fairly graphic suicide (specifically involving the dagger). You can follow the series on AO3.

You are sitting in a bathroom, hugging a roll of toilet paper to your chest.

You think you maybe love this toilet paper. It feels… important? And also: soft. Squishy. Friendly, even. It won’t judge you or hate you or pity you. It can’t ask impossible questions. It never flinches away when you step too close. Maybe the toilet paper can be your new family!!!

You bite back a laugh. Sink your teeth into the inside of your cheek till you taste copper on your tongue. Flecks of black on white tile. But that’s okay. The toilet paper isn’t going to ask if you’re okay. Because it’s toilet paper.

It occurs to you that you’re probably losing your mind.

Which makes sense!!! Doesn’t it!!! You should’ve lost your mind yesterday!!! Months and months of yesterdays ago. It’s not like it would be some great loss. Your mind isn’t very useful here, is it? Not now that all the rules have changed. Now that there’s no one left who’s real, and the only one you can trust, really trust, with your whole stupid heart, is this roll of toilet paper. And you can’t even take it with you, because it’s toilet paper.

If you tried to take it with you, your actors would definitely notice. They’re not polite, like the toilet paper. No one ever taught them not to ask intrusive questions. It would be all, What’s with the toilet paper, Siffrin? Are you going to pee your pants, Siffrin? And why are you hugging it like that? Is it, perhaps, because you’re a blinding pathetic excuse for a person?

It’s time to leave the bathroom. If you stay any longer, your actors will get antsy. Still, you can’t bear to leave the toilet paper behind. (You are tired of leaving things behind.)

…Your inventory isn’t totally wiped when you loop, though, is it? You always keep the coin. And those garden shears. And Mira got to keep that pretty ribbon. Maybe you could keep the toilet paper, too.

You peel off a square of cottony softness and whisper into it, as loud as you dare. “Come with me. Please, please, please loop back with me. Loop back with me. Loop back with me. I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be alone.”

Then you fold it over and…

Hm. You’re not sure how to do this part. It’s not like wishing on a tree or a star. How do you tell the wish where to go?

Well. It is toilet paper. You shrug and flush it down the toilet.

* * *

Siffrin’s acting weird.

Siffrin’s been acting weird for 48 hours, at least. Distant, detached, dissociated. They speak up every now and again, but it feels sort of… perfunctory? Like talking to their friends is just another job.

—Not that Isabeau can blame him!! They’re all charging into a fight for their lives; for the lives of this whole country. It would be weird if Sif wasn’t feeling weird.

But even so… Even given everything ahead of them, Siffrin feels especially weird. More so than Mira, who’s taken the fate of all Vaugarde upon her tiny shoulders. More than Odile, who continues to confront each new impossibility with the same flat, deadpan stare. And definitely more than Bonnie.

Maybe it’s that it’s the wrong kind of weird? Sif doesn’t seem daunted, or even particularly scared. They’re just… blank. Resigned. Like there’s nothing left to hope for.

Isabeau shakes himself off. It doesn’t matter. Everyone copes in their own ways. There’s no reason to judge. He’ll just… keep an eye on Sif, without thinking too hard about it. He wouldn’t want to stress them out.

This strategy works well enough until they reach the King. At which point Siffrin asks two inscrutable questions and then drives his own dagger through his throat.

“Sif????” Isa gasps, reeling. “You— Mira!!!”

Mira turns. When she sees Sif, she stumbles back, both hands flitting up for a healing spell. “Oh, Change. Oh, Change, you—you can’t!!!”

“Hhhh,” Sif breathes. Every exhale is a little puff of blood.

No, no, no, they can’t— Isa has to, he has to put pressure on the wound but he can barely find it through the blood and it’s Siffrin’s throat, their whole neck slit crosswise like bleeding a pig to be butchered. Isa’s hands are slick with slippery heat and he can, he can feel their windpipe, the rubbery rigidity of cartilage and behind it a shock of white—Sif’s vertebrae, he thinks numbly, their actual spine, they cut all the way to the bone. He needs to shout, can hear Bonnie screaming already but he can only manage the barest whisper. “S-Sif…”

“Hahhhha…ha!!” Sif wheezes. When they hang their head, a mucusy string of bloody phlegm slips from the crease of their mouth.

“Sif,” Isabeau chokes out, wrist-deep in viscera. “P-Please, you— I don’t want you to…” But what can he tell them that they don’t already know? “Just—please!!!”

Siffrin’s pupil dilates and contracts. Their huge bright eye, focused and unfocused. Their mouth curves up into a smile. “H-Haha!! Ahh… Isa. Isa. None of this matters.”

“I— What? What do you…”

“None! Of this!! Matters!!” Blood wells up from their throat, slopping down the fabric of their cloak. “So just. Hhhhhhh. Just… let me help you.”

I don’t WANT help, Isabeau wants to say. I don’t want any help that asks you to DIE! There’s no point saving the country if I can’t save you!!!

But it’s too late for that. Mira’s magic can’t heal something like this.

Siffrin is dying.

“Please,” Isa whispers instead. “Please, please, I just—I don’t want—I just n-need you to stay, Sif, please.”

Siffrin grins with blood seeping through the cracks in their teeth. “S-Sorry, Isa. I’ll s-s-see you yesterday, hhhhha!!”

“No,” Isa pleads, “no, you can’t, I—”

* * *

—And he wakes up.

* * *

Woah. Woah!! Oh-kay!!! What the CRAB was that????

It doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been real, because Isabeau is just… standing in the grass. Not blood-drenched, not sobbing, not holding Siffrin’s windpipe together with his hands. But it just— It felt so real!!!!

Okay. Oh-kay, okay, okay, let’s just— Let’s just calm down for now!!! Okay?? Whatever it was that Isa thought he saw, it obviously didn’t happen. Because if it did, Sif would be—

(—calm down, calm down, it wasn’t real, IT WASN’T REAL—)

Isabeau just has to see them, is all. He knows it’s stupid, but he has to see Sif moving, smirking, breathing. He has to see that they’re okay.

* * *

When he whips around the corner, he nearly bowls over Mirabelle.

“O-Oh!!!” she squeaks. “Are you—”

“Sif!!!!” he bellows, before he remembers himself. “Um!!! Sorry!!! Where’s— Have you seen Sif???”

Mira blinks. “I, ah… I was just on my way to wake them? They’re taking a nap in the meadow, south of—”

“I’LL TAKE CARE OF IT!!!!” Isabeau bellows, and bolts.

* * *

He finds Siffrin stretched out in the field, patting vaguely at their pockets with a grim, lightless expression that Isa’s never seen on them before. Not even when they were thrusting that dagger through their—

“Sif!!!!”

Sif jolts to their feet. When they meet his gaze, they look weirdly shocked. “Wh— Isa? What are you doing here?”

“I was just—!!!!” He has to hold his own hands to stop them shaking. What he needs more than anything is to reach for them. To feel the thrum of their pulse under his palms, warm and solid and alive. But he knows how Sif feels about touch. “I just… had a… bad dream?”

It didn’t feel like a dream, though. It felt so real.

Siffrin frowns at him. “Um. Well. I have to go… do something. Now. But are you—um. Can I… help you?”

“H-Haha!!” Isa sputters. “I—Yeah! Or, I mean, no! Don’t worry about it! I’m totally fine!”

“Really?”

“Yeah!! Yeah!! All good!! Totally super normal!!”

Sif shrugs. They move to sidestep past him, but stop halfway. “…What was your dream about?”

“Oh! Um. I… wouldn’t worry about it, haha! I’m probably just nervous for tomorrow.”

“But what happened.”

“It doesn’t really matter…”

“Isa.”

Wow. Has he ever heard Sif sound that forceful? “Uhh. Um. Well. The fight with the King, I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and grins, sheepish. “Makes sense, huh?”

“But what happened.”

Ah. Okay. No weaseling out of this one. “It was just… um. You… got hurt.” He shudders, remembering. Blood on his hands. Fingers brushing bone— “Uh. P-Pretty bad.”

“...Huh.”

“D-Don’t worry!" Isa says hastily. "I know you wouldn’t— Or, I mean, it’s not like I’m doubting you or anything!! I know how good you are in a fight!! Way better than me, honestly!! It was just a stupid dream. Just my dumb brain trying to mess with me.” He raps on the side of his skull. “Bad brain. Cut that out. Am I right?”

Sif’s eye narrows.

Isabeau flushes. “Aw, I dunno, Sif. I guess I’d just… I’d kinda lose my mind if something happened to you, and tomorrow we’re… well. You know.” He shakes his head vigorously, trying to shake off the traces of nightmare still clinging to his skin. “Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid.”

“I had a dream, too.”

Isa’s eyes widen. “Y-You did?”

“I was fishing in a giant bowl of alphabet soup.”

“Huh? What? Really?”

Sif nods solemnly. “I guess I was trying to catch some z’s.”

“You— Sif!!!!!!”

When they smirk at him, he can feel the weight of the nightmare lift a little. Sif always knows how to cheer him up.

* * *

Isabeau waits until Siffrin’s out of sight before raking a hand through his hair. He’s sweating a little. Or… maybe more than a little. Sif doesn’t usually catch onto feelings-stuff, but even they seemed sort of suspicious, near the end. But what was Isa supposed to say? ‘I’m probably having nightmares about you because I’m totally stupid in love with you? I want to touch you so bad it feels like my heart’s gonna climb out my throat? Just being around you is the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, and the thought of losing that—losing you—makes me want to burn the whole stupid House to the ground?’

—Nnnnope! Haha, no thanks! Hard pass, actually! Isa acts pathetic enough around Sif as it is! He really doesn’t need to look even less cool.

…Not that that’s ever been his strong suit.

Ugh. It’s always been like this, with Sif. Or maybe Isa should say that he’s always been like this. Can you blame him? They’re just so cool!! They saunter around with their big floppy hat and their big swooshy cloak and that sly little smirk, like they’re listening to a joke that no one else can hear. Always watching and listening and taking everything in. And Isabeau does mean everything. If you say something that no one else hears, Sif will always, always notice. They’ll wink at you with that big bright eye and for a second it’s like you’re the only two people in the world. Sharing a secret, just between you.

Isa squeezes his eyes shut and covers his face with his hands. STOP. For Change’s sake. They’re not even here!! How are you still this embarrassing when they’re not even HERE??

Not that he’s much better when they are around. The first time he saw Sif, he practically forgot how to talk. The whole party was boxed in and worn down, bloodied and gasping and totally out of their league. M’dame Odile managed to slow the Sadness down a little, but every blow that it landed was nearly a knockout. Mira was too busy healing to get a single hit in. But it wasn’t enough. They were losing.

And then a blur of black and white hurtled out of the canopy and gouged a gash clear through the Sadness’s sobbing face. All Isa could do was stare, goggle-eyed and totally beyond dumbstruck, as the stranger looked over their shoulder and winked. “Mind if I cut in?”

* * *

“Stoooop,” Isa whispers into his hands. He can’t afford to waste time flailing around in a field like a total crabbing loser. Nightmares or no, he still has a country to save.

#isat fanfic #isafrin #isat isabeau #isat siffrin #Isa loops AU #isat spoilers #in stars and time

62 notes · View notes