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cauliflowercounty · 3 months

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Knives Dance (Part I)

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

After years of writing *literally nothing,* I never expected bald Austin Butler to inspire me again :)

Life does wonderful things sometimes. Feyd Rautha is a fucking snack. And whoops it looks like I invented a planet and a culture :/

Summary: You're the daughter of the Duke of the House of Ronen, and your father and Vladimir Harkonnen have arranged a marriage between you and Feyd-Rautha to join your two houses. When the House of Harkonnen pays a visit to your planet, Feyd discovers something unforeseen within himself during an assassination attempt…

Reader: she/her pronouns

Warnings: innuendo/suggestive content, attempted assassination, blood, violence, multiple murders

Word Count: 4.2k

Part I | Part II | Part III

The hydraulics whirr as the black metal ramp of the Harkonnen vessel opens downward onto the stone landing pad on planet Youra and hits the ground with a low thunk. Feyd follows his uncle as he floats out of the vessel toward the doors of the Youran citadel, which is nestled in the center of a towering mountain covered in dense forest. Through the canopy, he sees the flickering lights from within the treehouses that adorn the forest cover.

The fortress itself is bathed in a warm, yellow glow from the round floating lanterns that surround it. As they hover, they seem to spiral upwards in a concentric spiral and extend their reach up into the night sky. A line of Youran soldiers flank the walkway, dressed in ceremonial garb of earthy, brown leathers with teal accents and intricate geometric patterns. As the Harkonnens pass, the soldiers bow their heads to them, allowing the carved silver helmets to shine in the evening light.

The environment here could not be further from that of Giedi Prime with its cold, industrial landscape devoid of color and the stench of sulfur and gas. The jungle air here is saccharine and floral on Feyd’s tongue. He feels the brush of the evening breeze flowing past him out toward the sea from the surrounding jungle. As he breathes in, he notices the richness of the air, imbued with the essence of all the flora that have made Youra a treasure trove for natural resources and experimental medicines, reminding him why he and his uncle have arrived on this planet.

The endeavor to secure spice on Arrakis had not gone as smoothly as the Harkonnens had hoped, especially with constant Fremen attacks sabotaging their forces and Rabban’s pitiful attempt at countermeasures. The current state of their operation and the number of soldiers they were losing daily called for acquiring a new tactical advantage. As much as they hated to admit it, they would have been foolish not to seek one out.

The advantage lay on Youra, the planet of island rainforests and the home of the minor House of Ronen, where an uncountable number of plant and animal species flourished, supplying the population with life-saving natural compounds the renowned scientists had been extracting from nature and developing for centuries. Through this arranged marriage, the wealth of chemical knowledge and access to the raw materials would become House Harkonnen’s. Feyd could begin to taste his ascension to power. This was simply the next step necessary to turn the tides of this conflict on Arrakis, which would inevitably end in him assuming the title of Baron if not Emperor.

With a low rumble, the double doors in front of Feyd open to reveal your father and yourself. Laying eyes on you for the first time, Feyd stops in place, his heavy black boots almost stuck on the ground. When the conversation of an arranged marriage came up with his uncle, he was beyond apathetic, knowing that this would be a political move in which he had no obligation to have any investment. The woman would become his wife only by title. To his astonishment, he is entranced by your beauty, to the point of speechlessness. He almost completely ignores your father’s greeting and speech about the union of your two houses. You are radiant with your skin that glows in the light, unlike that of the Harkonnen women he is used to seeing. You look into his eyes, and he feels almost locked in, the rest of the world fading until all he sees is you.

“Welcome to our home, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you say to him, not breaking eye contact from underneath your headdress. Your striking eyes bore deep into his soul. It’s almost as if they’re calling to him. What’s most interesting to Feyd is that they don’t seem to contain a hint of fear or apprehension. He is used to making those around him crumple under the weight of their own terror with his mere presence so he can exploit those emotions and manipulate them as his own personal playthings. In defiance of his reputation, you seem undeterred by him staring straight at you. As your eyes glimmer in the lamplight, he feels his breath almost catch as they taunt him, draw him. Snapping himself out of the trance, a smirk forms on his lips, remembering how his uncle taught him to behave. He forces himself to relish the thought of toying with your apparent resolve.

As he looks down, he eyes your lavish, floor-length regalia. The same deep brown and teal that your father and the soldiers wear decorates the patterns on your cloak. He notices lines of gold thread woven into your hair, an appropriate show of the natural resources of your planet.

Strange, he thinks. The cloak is rather large and heavy. Despite matching the designs of the other Youran garb, it seems out of place to be a traditional outfit for the aristocracy of a rainforest civilization where the warm and humid conditions should prove inhospitable for cloaks of this nature.

The delicate, meek flower he was expecting to relish picking apart with ease you are not. He’s figured out you're a woman with something you’re intent on hiding from him. You’ve put on this front either bravely or stupidly, and Feyd-Rautha will peel back every layer one calculated move at a time until you are finally entirely his.

He steps forward and reaches down to take your hand in his. “My betrothed…” he whispers to you, his voice low and gravelly. “We finally meet, Little One. I must say you look exquisite. I expected nothing less.” He brings your fingers up to his lips and brushes his lips across them before pressing firm a kiss on the back of your hand His uncle seems most disgusted by Feyd’s tenderness, but Feyd keeps his gaze on you through hooded eyes, knowing that the first move in any game is imperative to the success of his endeavor. He sees yours flicker for a moment as your body tenses listening to his praise. He’s got you right where he wants you.

–

Dinner is filled with monotonous diplomacy, tiresome pleasantries, and planning of the wedding to take place on Giedi Prime, but Feyd hasn’t let his attention break from you. It’s as if the kiss he planted on your hand was the catalyst for the first crack in the wall you’ve put up, and now he’s waiting for the perfect moment to make his next move.

All of dinner he’s watched as you attentively listened to his uncle and your father exchange words and eat your dinner. He hasn’t failed to notice how your eyes dart over to look at him through your lashes. With every gesture you make and every word you say, he feels unequivocally enraptured. As much as he’s tried to suppress his emotions and stay faithful to his uncle’s teachings, grounded in violence and viciousness, his mind starts to wander.

He wonders what must it be like to have your touch flutter across his chest when he watches you delicately grasp your water goblet. When you fold your lips around your cup to drink, he imagines what they must feel like on his skin if you were to drag them down his neck tantalizingly slow. What if you were close enough to him to have your breath fan out across his skin as your lips caressed his? What must it be like to hold your softness in his hands? The very idea makes his breath hitch.

Of the many thoughts he has as he watches you, many of them becoming increasingly lewd as dinner continues, one remains in his head: if he is this captured by just your face and gaze, basking in the light of what you’re concealing under your cloak, must be heaven adjacent.

His desire to use you and leverage your own will against you is being chipped away little by little. Feyd’s hardened persona that his uncle helped construct is withering with every second he spends in your presence. The notion is nearly frightening to Feyd, but with every single glance and gesture, his heart, which may have turned to stone long ago, is beginning to accept it.

Feyd rips his attention away from you as your father stands to thank the Harkonnens once again for coming. “I shall have my servants show you where you shall be staying,” your father announces as he rises from his seat. “I have arranged for our head researchers to show you what progress we have had in our synthetic undertakings as of late. I guarantee you will be very interested in what they have to offer.”

As you stand, he notices how your hands pull together the front seam of your cloak, preventing it from opening. Curious.

You bid him goodnight and turn away to head to your quarters as a Youran servant beckons him to the guest wing. That night, Feyd cannot rest as he lays awake in bed in the opulent guest suite, images of you running through his head, and he almost smiles thinking about when you say his name so sweetly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.”

–

The next day, Feyd sees little of you. In the morning, he makes his way to your quarters only to be informed by a servant at your door that you have already departed for the day. When he asks where you have gone, the servant provides a murky response about your duties as Lady of the House and wedding preparations, which he as her betrothed would “surely understand.” Just as he decides he will find you himself, he is seized by his uncle as to meet the Youran ministers of culture, science, and development to learn about their acquisition.

Feyd cannot deny that your homeworld is impressive. It’s steeped in centuries of exploration and inquiry with unmatched record-keeping of not only science but tradition, too. The ceilings are vaulted and adorned with gold. The walls of the citadel are covered in elaborate murals painted on with vibrant colors or carved into the surfaces. Some depict traditional folktales, gods, and ceremonies while those opposite them describe the evolutionary lines of species, a true testament to Youra’s modernity and dedication to preserving your peoples’ history in living memory. If only he knew which mural decorates the wall concealing you.

As the picture of your world’s history becomes clearer, the air of mystery surrounding you only grows. Not once has he heard talk of you after his interaction with that servant, but throughout the day he has sensed hushed whispers that are almost certainly about him instead. As he passes soldiers, some of them almost seem to leer at his presence.

A few times, he thinks he can almost see the hem of your cape disappear around corners, but when he goes to investigate, there is nobody there. The anger he expected to have inside him due to your avoidance is nowhere to be seen, and only a burning intrigue remains.

“What a little enigma my wife is,” he thinks to himself when he enters the banquet hall for dinner as the last ray of sunlight fades from the windows as the sun dips below the horizon.

Almost on cue, the doors to the hall open again and to his gratification, it is you. He stands up from his seat and walks over to you. He cannot deny his own inclination when you smile at him softly, putting him at ease.

“Good evening, Na-Baron,” you greet as he stops in front of you. Your dulcet tones go straight to his heart, causing it to skip a beat. “I hope I’ve not kept you waiting long.”

“Not at all.” He takes your hands in his once again, running his thumb along the back of them and savoring the feeling of your soft skin. This time when his heart swells, he lets it happen, surrendering himself to your charm. “I would wait an eternity for you,” he says, realizing you enjoy it when he romances you.

“You don’t strike me as a man who likes to be kept waiting,” you reply, looking up into his eyes. “I am surprised you are not frustrated with me.”

“I make exceptions,” he replies, noticing how your lips curl into a small smile. “… for when it truly matters. Since you’ve been absent all day, tell me, Little One, what have you been doing while you were hiding from me all day?”

You let out a gentle exhale. “I assumed you might be curious about that,” you say to him, as you clasp his hands in yours, beginning to tug him backwards to the doors. “Would you join me outside before we eat, Na-Baron? I have something I want to show you that I’ve been working on in preparation for our marriage.”

Allowing you to lead him, he follows you as you pull him through the halls of the fortress. He senses the answers to the questions he’s been asking himself are within his grasp. You both head outdoors and descend a grand staircase toward a courtyard nestled in the center of the fortress that overlooks the ocean that is now a murky midnight blue.

The nighttime lanterns light the way once again, and you both continue into the courtyard which is unlike anything he’s ever seen before. The ground seems to be a single sheet of rust colored stone that is marbled with shards shimmery metals. The slab has massive circles cut into it spaced in a perfect grid. Inside the circle is a golden pool of luminescent water. Tall, half moon shaped walls cradle each pool with glyphs and carvings etched into them.

“What is this place?” he asks you, basking in the light emanating from all of the pools that surround the both of you as you continue down the center aisle.

“This is my favorite place in the castle,” you explain. “It’s where we keep one of every species our researchers are currently studying. The rock wall above the pools describes each evolutionary line and the discoveries about it we’ve made. There’s one I want to show you if you would allow me.”

He nods as you bring him to a pool whose accompanying slab remains blank. Looking down into the water, he spots a single indigo fish with long, delicate fins that trail behind it in the water. He watches as it circles the pool. It slows and shudders momentarily. A single incandescent scale breaks off and floats to the bottom of the pool. You kneel to gather the scale from the bottom, holding it so that he can see how the light flickers off its surface.

“Does it intrigue you?” he hears you ask, and he nods in return as something he thought he lost long ago begins to emerge inside of him: his sense of wonder.

“I have never seen such a creature. Would you tell me about it?”

“It would be my pleasure,” you grin. “This fish was discovered on an archipelago on the other side of the planet. I’ve been studying this fish with our most expert researchers. The pools it lives in almost disappear during the dry season, but we’ve found that they survive to the wet season because of their scales somehow. My father doesn’t know any of this. He still thinks we know nothing of this creature.”

“It’s marvelous,” he whispers to you, eyeing the small bubbles floating to the top of the water from the fish’s gills.

“I wanted to show you this fish because this is at the heart of our culture on Youra. Our people are on a constant mission to learn and discover, so we can help and care for those we hold dearest. With our marriage, the House of Harkonnen will be a part of that endeavor. I’m showing you this fish because when the fish shed their scales at the beginning of the wet season, they contain a high concentration of a novel compound that allows living things to retain water.”

He sees you fidget with your own hands as you explain. You’re nervous, he realizes.

“We have been able to extract it from the scales they drop,” you say with a slight waiver in your voice. Here you are bearing your hard work and dedication, your soul to him. Your vulnerability is evident. Before you were so confident with your gaze and now your eyes never stay on him for more than a fraction of a moment. If you were anyone else, he would have taken full advantage the opportunity to leverage your weakness, but he cannot bring himself to do so. “This knowledge is my gift to you na-Baron. I have been aware of your endeavors on Arrakis. I realize you may not be as invested in this arrangement as we are, but I wanted to give you this to mark the beginning of what is to come… I don’t expect you to do anything in return. Only wanted to communicate my intentions.”

His heart quivers as his mind darts back to the countless times his uncle has “gifted” things to him as rewards for doing his bidding. The concubines, armor, and weapons all fall to the wayside; now they’re all tainted in Feyd's mind by his uncle's conniving ways. They were never gifts in earnest, always being transactional or part of another of his uncle’s Machiavellian schemes. Never in his life had he been given something so thoughtful, something intended to truly protect him. The previous notions he had before of possessing you are bitter on his tongue. Now, he could never and the shame he feels for maybe the first time in years begins to burn into his psyche.

“Na-Baron,” you plead, bringing him out of his own thoughts. “Say something, please.”

“Thank you,” he finally says, taking your hands in his and giving them a squeeze. “I am grateful for your generosity, my little flower.”

Your eyes well up with tears and you let out a relieved sigh before your emotions bubble out of you. “You cannot fathom how happy I am to hear you say those words,” you say, bringing your hands to his again. “I was so worried about showing you this!”

Right when he opens his mouth to respond, his instincts as a warrior kick in as he hears the soft whistle of something flying through the air towards the both of you. In a flash, he’s grabbed you by your shoulder to force you to your knees as you let out a bewildered yelp. The sound lights his veins on fire and fills him with rage.

Against the blank stone slab of the fish’s pool he sees it: a green splatter of a sinister substance that drips down the stone in long tendrils. Below, the shattered remains of a poisoned dart sinking into the water. You’ve seen it, too. He swivels himself around in the direction the arrow came from. A hooded figure is emerging from behind another one of the stone walls, a serrated dagger in hand, poised to strike you down. Feyd reprimands himself for leaving his weapons behind in his room in the name of diplomacy, but he’s prepared to fight empty handed to protect you and punish your assailant.

Before he realizes, you’ve shed your cloak, allowing it to drop to the floor behind you and Feyd can finally see what you’ve been hiding. You’re wearing a sage green dress with a bodice plated in iron that’s been secured to in place with intricate leather straps and golden loops that wrap deliciously around your figure. The symmetric slits in your dress that extend almost to your hips reveal your garters where two silver daggers that curve into formidable hooks are secured to your outer thighs.

As soon as he realizes you’re armed, you’ve already grasped the leather wrapped handles of your weapons and drawn them from your thighs with a flourish, launching yourself at your attacker. The ground reverberates with your power, and your blades ring out as they clash with your opponent’s. The man grunts upon impact and with a vigorous push, you knock his weapon upwards and away from you as you swipe at his face with the other hand. When he stumbles backwards, his face covering is swept to the side.

“Ozran!” you growl as the man regains his composure. “What is the meaning of this? Traitor!”

“I could say the same for you, Lady Ronen, revealing our secrets to that Harkonnen!” Ozran snarls at you, his eyes wild as he begins swiping sloppily at your head, which you dodge with ease. Feyd knows the man is getting desperate. Ozran is quickly realizing running away would have been the best option after his poisoned arrow missed.

Ozran attempts to shake off his regret by hurling himself at you, trying to recover the situation now that he’s committed to one-on-one combat with you. “I will not stand by and have the rewards of our peoples’ work reaped by them. Without a daughter to marry off, our intelligence will remain ours, and I will protect it to the end, even if that means killing you.”

Feyd hears you tisk at his pitiful attempt at your life as your heel makes contact with his nose. Blood gushes from his nostrils and drips down his chin in thick droplets. He staggers back and loses his footing as you drive your blades into him, your footsteps smearing his blood on the floor as you move. Ozran’s hope drains from his eyes, and he coughs as you pull your knives back, his blood spilling onto the stone floor from the gaping hole in his body. He drops his weapon and it clatters on the ground beside him.

“Too bad you couldn’t get close enough to actually do any damage,” you say sweetly to him as he wheezes. “You were never a man worthy of battle. I’m surprised you even worked up the courage to merely attempt to kill me.”

“D-don’t worry, dear Lady,” he sneers as his knees hit the floor. “There are more of us who don’t appreciate our leaders betraying our ideals. They will avenge me, and you will join me in death.” With that, his body crumples in the pool of his own blood. Drawing his last breath, Feyd sees Ozran’s consciousness fade. From the shadows and behind the other stone walls, he senses more figures lurking.

“Na-Baron!” you call, as you throw Feyd your second knife, which he catches with a flick of his wrist as you pick up Ozran’s weapon. Your dagger is robust and extraordinarily crafted, truly a weapon worthy of your status Feyd thinks. With that, he joins you in battle when Ozran’s allies pounce, eager to avenge their fallen comrade. One by one, he cuts the treasonous soldiers down with you by his side, slashing their throats, stabbing them in their backs, hearing their bones break, and tendons tear. It’s exhilarating, fighting not just for you, but with you in perfect synchronization.

When the last one falls, their mangled bodies are piled around you. He looks at you with complete admiration in his eyes. Without a second thought, he pulls you close with desperation. Cradling your face in his free hand, he kisses you roughly and swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, tasting the familiar tang of iron. As you kiss him back with a fervor that makes his senses sing, he uses his other arm to pull you close, if he’s worried that you will join the souls of the dead around you and leave this world, something he can’t bear to think of now.

Reluctantly, you both break away from the kiss, resting your foreheads against one another. Your breaths are thick and heaving. You look down at his dominant hand, which still holds your second dagger.

“Are you going to kill me now, Na-Baron?” you ask as you look up at him, and he instinctively throws the knife away, letting it clatter on the floor. He shakes his head.

“I never anticipated my betrothed to have such prowess in battle,” he whispers lowly, returning his hand to your body. He drags his fingers across the places where the straps of your dress make indentations in your skin, making you shiver at his touch. His grip on your waist tightens when he palms your supple skin. You hum a sigh of satisfaction that is almost music to Feyd’s ears, and he could listen to it all day. “Watching you cut down each of them… What a lovely surprise it was… You are truly an unexpected paragon, my dear.”

“Unexpected…” you chuckle, blushing at his flattery. “May I ask another question of you?”

“Of course,” he replies, peering down at you with an ardent stare.

“Before coming here, were you aware there are many dangerous things in the rainforest, Na-Baron?” He nods. “Then why would you assume I am not one of them?”

“Clever girl,” he grins, pressing another kiss on your forehead.

“From now on, my blades will fight for you, Feyd-Rautha.”

“And mine for you, my love,” he replies as he dips his lips back down to yours. What a fool he was before, anticipating so little from his future wife. Now he knows better. He realizes who you really are, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough.

Thank you for reading!

Knives Dance Part II OUT NOW!

Let me know if you want to be added to my Feyd tag list

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yawnderu · 6 months

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Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part IV

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Simon doesn't cry. The last time he cried was out of shock, coming home to see his entire family executed by who he thought were his allies, his friends, his comrades. Simon doesn't cry, but you can see how broken his soul is in the way his hands delicately hold you close to him. You can feel it in the way his heart is beating fast in your ear, his lips pressing gentle kisses on the top of your head while you're barely conscious, too tired from the late-night conversation you had with him.

The man who broke you a year ago is the same man whose touch pieces your soul together, his warm hands doing nothing but serve as a reassurance that he's here. He's here, alive, and he's not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He waits until you're snoring softly to gently settle you back down in bed, taking one last look at your peaceful sleeping expression before getting up from bed slowly, leaving the room and walking in the dark towards his baby's room. He closes the door behind him, approaching the crib with footsteps so quiet one would think he's still the ghost, but he's not, not when he's here. He's just Simon.

"Hey, sweet girl." He greets in a whisper, leaning down in front of the crib to look at his daughter. What a fucking sight, he thinks; brown eyes focused on the way his tiny girl is holding a bunny plushie close to her, wearing the skull pattern pajamas he bought her a few weeks ago. Simon has strong genes— the baby looks like a girly replica of him, her dark brown hair framing her pretty face, nose slightly rosy from the cold. He adjusts her beanie, lifting the blanket enough so more of her body can be covered even while she's asleep. His hand hesitates when he feels the baby stirring awake, taking a step back before her brown eyes open, peering at him.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He whispers, afraid to wake you up even while you're an entire room away. His big hands reach out for the baby, cradling her in his arms as he walks around the house until he reaches the living room, not bothering to turn on the light to not bother his baby. She's calm— not crying, simply babbling as she looks up at him, her hands balled into fists, too used to holding something. Simon can feel her tiny nails digging into his bare chest, yet he doesn't mind, gently rocking his girl under the comfort of the dark living room, the moonlight illuminating enough so they can both look at each other.

"Papa." His heart almost stops when he hears the little girl say her first word, looking down at her with wide eyes and a proud smile. He almost thinks he imagined it until she repeats it louder, tiny hands pulling on his dog tags. His hand dwarfs the baby's head as he presses her closer to his bare chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of her tiny body against his. He never thought he'd be a father— hell, the idea itself never went through his head even when his family was alive, yet ever since he first saw his baby girl? Simon fell in love.

"Papa's here, Astrid." He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead, her tiny balled up hands now holding his cheeks and pulling slightly on the stubble, making him groan in pain, something she finds amusing, a cheeky giggle coming out of her.

"Gentle." He reminds her, pulling her away so she's not able to keep torturing his scarred cheeks. He smiles down at her, one of his hands coming up to gently pinch her chubby cheeks, another giggle coming out of the tiny girl. She’s an angel— rarely cries and is always giggling, her gummy smile full on display for anyone lucky enough to see her.

His pretty angel. A split image of everything Simon could have been if he had a normal family and rather than feeling bitter about it, he feels happy. Happy to be able to see her grow, to give her and you the life you both deserve, even if you're not together.

He lays down on the couch with the baby resting on his chest, the chain and metal of his dog tags enough to keep her distracted as he admires her under the moonlight seeping through the window, wanting to memorize every single detail on her tiny face. The pain of losing a second brother to him is still there, yet this tiny girl heals his soul and gives him hope.

Johnny would have loved you. He thinks as he looks at her, imagining Johnny playing with his baby. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he thinks of the tiny girl pulling on his mowkhawk, her bad habit of pulling on people's hair something he became too familiar with, his buzzcut not saving him from his baby's surprisingly strong grip. His mind inevitably goes back to his family, thinking of Joseph playing with his baby, of Tommy experiencing being an uncle, or Beth and his mum gossiping with you while looking at Simon, proud smiles in their faces. He can't help the way his eyes sting, slightly rimming with tears in the company of his baby.

His eyes close as he takes a deep breath, allowing a stray tear to roll down his cheek while the rest dots his long eyelashes. His hand plays with his little girl's hair, the other one firmly holding her close to his bare chest while she babbles on, her innocence a complete contrast to who he is.

"Mum?" He begins, eyes still closed and voice shaky.

"This is my baby, Astrid. She's four months old... lovely girl, ain't she?" He speaks quietly to nothing, imagining his mum is there, watching over him, a bright smile on her lips.

"I still haven't won her mum over, but I'm trying. I'm gonna marry this girl, mummy, I know I will." Simon doesn't cry, but his stomach muscles tense as he holds back a sob, not wanting to startle the baby resting on him. Her silence finally makes his eyes open, tear-rimmed circles of darkness softening when he sees the peaceful sleeping expression on his baby.

"I love you so much." He confesses in a whisper, his short nails gently massaging her scalp, his warm chest working as a personal heater for the sleeping baby. His back is starting to hurt but he's not going to risk waking the girl up, simply closing his eyes again and focusing on getting some sleep. With how badly he has been sleeping since he came back, he doesn't even realize when he drifted off to sleep, only being awoken hours later by the smell of pancakes and tea.

He looks down at his chest, finding a blanket covering him, but no sight of his baby. That's enough to send him in a panic, immediately getting up and looking around the living room, his fast-beating heart only slowing down once he sees the baby sitting on a highchair in the kitchen, your back turned to him as you hum and prepare breakfast.

"Bloody hell— you scared the shit out of me." He lets out a deep breath, trying his best to calm down as he starts walking towards you, one of his hands resting on your waist as you look over your shoulder and shoot him a cheeky grin.

"You scared the shit out of me when I saw the empty crib." He gives you an apologetic smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head and laughing as he narrowly misses the kick thrown to his arse.

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#simon ghost riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you #dad!simon riley #dad!ghost

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tenseoyong · 2 years

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Aemond loves his little family.

He keeps a watchful eye over his children, making the royal guards seem redundant. Aemond often recalls the ridicule and embarrassment he’d faced as a child—and the resulting accident—and makes it a personal matter to maintain a keen eye over how the children behave towards each other, or how other children in the keep interact with his family.

Rarely does he let his half-sister and his nephews interact with his happy little family.

The Prince is unusually involved in his children’s lives for someone of his station—the responsibility typically laying with that of wet nurses and his lady-wife’s handmaidens—yet Aemond does it anyways.

He personally oversees their studies, and has taken the task upon himself of teaching his children High Valyrian—carefully correcting mispronunciations and gently calming them when their frustrations grow.

Aemond refused to be to his children what his own father was to him—neglectful and uninterested or show obvious favoritism for one over the masses—Aemond made sure all his children felt equally as loved and cherished, in their own ways of course.

His eldest son—Vaemon—was very much the warrior every royal family hoped the first born male would be. Aemond had a little wooden sword crafted and in the small boy’s hand before the child could fully walk.Aemond was often spotted training with the young lad, teaching his heir proper techniques and how to find and use one’s advantages.

A few years behind his first born, came Vaenya. Undoubtedly his scholar in the making. The young girl would rarely be found without a book in her grasp; Aemond would gift her with every newly published book he could get his hands on, though, she greatly favorite those of the world’s history—much like her father—and Aemond would enjoy quiet evenings spent by candlelight, the two of them pouring over ancient texts. Often, Aemond would teasingly correct her posture, “Slouching is unbecoming of a Princess~”

His darling Haelera, who—affectionately named after his sweet sister—had somehow managed to gather the same odd fascination with all things creepy-crawly, still felt her father’s warm love. Though, you could say she was a lover of animals in general, it was much easier to come across bugs of various types than an odd dog or cat in the Red Keep. Aemond listening intently to every little insect fact his darling daughter brought to his attention, and would often return from his Princely duties with a jar containing a random bug much to Haelera’s delight.

And Little Raenar could just barely toddle after his older brother and his father, yet Aemond was insistent on bringing the infant as he and Vaemon trained. Aemond supposed the young babe simply liked the sounds of metal—if the light on his face and the happy giggles that floated through the training yard each time Aemond blocked one of Vaemon’s attacks were anything to go by—but the babe seemed to enjoy the activity, or his brother and sire’s company either way, and Aemond was content with including him even if his little mind wasn’t entirely sure what was happening.

Aemond personally picks each and every dragon egg that would be placed in his children’s cradles. And while, thankfully all eggs did hatch, Aemond did harbor a bit of fear that one of his children would be left to suffer a fate similar to his as a dragonless Targaryen—and vowed he’d not have them ridiculed as he once was, that he’d comfort and adore them regardless.

He relishes in teaching his children to be dragon riders. To see the ease and joy on their faces after a their first ride, to see they have what should have been his—gaining a dragon-bond at birth, and not having to lose a part of themselves in order to gain something by sheer determination—Aemond delights in taking his little clan on family rides.

Aemond would not see his little family crumble and become scattered in the winds as his extended family had been in his youth. He insists upon the family being together during every meal, not that you’d ever begin to think of denying him that—the family being as tight knit as it was—Aemond enjoyed hearing about each member of his family’s daily activities and growing interests.

He would never be more grateful to anyone more than he was to his Lady-Wife for giving him something he’d never truly had before—the gift of family—darling children that loved each other as much as their father loved them.

Aemond Targaryen loves his little family.

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queenxxxsupreme · 19 days

Text

At the End of the World

(Cooper Howard x Reader)

A/N: I have no idea what is going to happen next ya’ll. I need to figure out what direction this shit is going in cause I’m so lost 😭

Warning: mentions of child death, mentions of panic attacks, nothing outside of canon

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: You open up to Lucy about your past. Here is Part 1 and here is Part 2

As you followed Cooper back down the hallway towards the kitchen, Lucy passed you both.

“We’re leaving soon, girly.” You told her.

“Okey-dokey! Just gonna get my things together really quick.”

Back in the kitchen, Alma was lighting herself a cigarette.

“Icy May said the girl is the daughter of a Vault-Tec big wig.”

”What’s it to you?” Cooper looked over to Alma.

“Cooper.” You said his name almost scoldingly. He didn’t need to be rude to Alma. She had been gracious enough to let the three of you stay the night.

His eyes flickered over to you. He took a puff of his cigarette, flicking the ashes into a metal pan on the table.

Lucy was just beginning to make her way back down the hallway when she heard her father’s name.

“She’s gonna be our key to get close to Hank MacLean.”

Lucy stopped, her brows furrowing together as she listened more carefully. What were they talking about?

“How do you feel about that, Icy?” Alma asked. There was no answer for a couple seconds.

“I’ve thought about killing her so many times, Alma. I-I lost my Grace and that bastard got to see his little girl grow up—,” You abruptly stopped talking.

Lucy took a step backwards. You had thought about killing her? Lucy couldn’t believe it. You had been so nice to her, so much more concerned about her than the Ghoul was.

***

”How do you feel about that, Icy?”

Your gaze found Alma. You were quiet for a few moments, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ve thought about killing her so many times, Alma. I-I lost my Grace and that bastard got to see his little girl grow up and—,” You stopped yourself, shaking your head softly.

Alma watched you, a pitiful look twinkling in her eyes. She knew your story, had heard first hand from you the heartbreak and the horrors that you had had to face.

“But she doesn’t…. She doesn’t know about her father, Alma.” You pulled a chair out at the table and sat down in it. “Her vault believed they would be the ones to repopulate the earth, that they were the chosen ones…. She has no idea that he was instrumental in destroying the world.”

”Well, I’m sure she’s finding things out the hard way.” Alma sighed out.

As she left the room, Cooper tried to follow her, but you stopped him.

“Why won’t you tell me what Lucy said to you, Coop?”

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders falling slack as he let out a heavy breath. He adjusted his hat, tilting the brim down a little more to cover his face as he turned to face you.

“She, uh…. She asked if I loved you.” His voice was quiet.

You looked at him, almost shocked by what he was saying.

“If-If you…” You tried to repeat his words but they got caught in your throat.

In the two decades or more that you knew the ghoul, neither of you had spoken such words to each other. Maybe it was a little ridiculous that it hadn’t happened yet, but to share something so special, so beautiful in a world marred with death and destruction…. It felt wrong. It felt dangerous.

Cooper stood there for a few minutes, watching the wheels turn in your head. What were you going to say? How were you going to react? Now wasn’t the time to be discussing such things. Not in Alma’s kitchen, not while Hank MacLean was still stirring in the front of your mind.

“Why did you get so worked up over the question?” You murmured.

Still, Cooper was silent. He peered out from underneath his hat to meet your gaze.

“I reckon I don’t like her askin’ me questions like that, doll.”

You nodded your head gently. You stood to your feet and closed the space between the two of you. You messed with the lapel of his jacket, fingers gripping the old, worn leather.

“Don’t let that vault dweller get under your skin, old man.” A little smile tugged ever so slightly at the corner of your lips. “You got bigger fish to fry.”

A crooked grin crossed his features. His hand slipped around your waist to draw you closer to him.

“We better get this show on the road.” He dipped his head down to seal a kiss on your lips. You brought your hands up to his shoulder and the side of his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible. His hand on your waist moved around to your lower back, offering you support as he pushed even harder against your lips.

“Careful—,” You tried to speak but his mouth prevented you from doing so. “Easy-Easy…. Cowpoke.”

You pushed him back a little, giggling as he fought against you. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth and then your cheek and your temple.

“You’re kissing me hard enough to leave bruises, old man.”

”Just you wait ‘til we don’t have that vaultie to worry ‘bout.” He finally loosened his grip on you and adjusted his hat. “Bruises will be the least of your worries.”

”Oh, I’m shivering in my boots.” You teased him. “I’m going to go get our little vaultie.”

”You girls need to hurry up. We’re losin’ daylight.”

You slipped around him to go down the hallway and see where Lucy was.

“Are you ready to go, Lucy?” You poked your head into the room she had been staying in. She was in the corner of the room furthest from you, standing rigid with her arms by her side.

Your left eye picked up on her heart beating fast.

“What’s wrong?”

”You’ve thought about killing me?” She whispered.

Your shoulders fell. She had heard you. You let out a sigh, crossing your arms and leaning against the frame of the door.

“Yeah, I have.” You nodded. “Your father has done horrific things, Lucy.”

”No. No he hasn’t.” She firmly shook her head. “My father is a good man.”

”I don’t know how to get you to believe me. Vault-Tec, a company your dad works for, dropped the bombs. They killed so many people, Lucy.”

Still, she didn’t believe you. Her blue eyes stayed on you, brows furrowed together.

“Grief has a way of making you feel certain ways. Part of me has thought about killing you many, many times as a way to get to your father. But I wouldn’t hurt you.”

”I don’t believe you.”

You nodded your head gently.

“Either way, we need to get moving. Cooper’s an impatient man.”

Lucy crossed her arms.

”I’m not going anywhere.”

”You can do this my way— and come with us willingly —or Cooper will come in here and tie you up.” You turned and left the room.

***

For the first hour or so of your walk, none of you spoke.

Part of you felt bad. She had begun to trust you and you knew just how bad it felt to have someone you trusted betray you.

“I had to kill my husband, Lucy.” You spoke, making sure your voice was loud enough to hear from where she walked just ahead of you.

Upon hearing your confession, Lucy stopped walking so that she could fall in line beside you.

“Why?”

”It was just after the bombs dropped. We were barely making it. Everything…. It was so much worse then than it is now. I didn’t know the things I know now…. My husband’s name was Adrian. He, um, was affected by the radiation. No one knew what a ghoul was at that time. We had seen people around us turning, seen what they were capable of. There was no medicine to keep them from going feral…. We were staying at a camp just outside of Anaheim here in California. My husband and I…. We saw a mother who was affected by the radiation attack her own children.”

You paused to take a deep breath. You could still hear the sounds of her hissing and growling, the sound of her tearing her children into pieces.

“Adrian and I decided that we couldn’t stay there any longer. We didn’t know if it was some sort of sickness going around or what but…. We left the camp. A week later, my husband began to get worse. The coughing, the hissing….” Goosebumps rose across your skin as the memories echoed in your head. “He begged me to kill him. He-He didn’t want to hurt me or to hurt Gracie. At that point in time, I hadn’t killed anybody. Hell, I had never even thought about killing anyone. But my Adrian was my first.”

”Icy, I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, blinking quickly to get rid of the tears in your right eye.

“Shortly after that happened, Vault-Tec found me. They put my girl in a cryochamber and started their little experiments. Took almost everything on my left side. My eye, my arm, my lung, my leg…. All of it is what they called cybernetic. After they were done, they threw me in one of those chambers too.”

”How did you get out?”

You took a deep breath.

“The vault the chambers were being kept in was raided. Me and my daughter barely escaped. That was about twenty years ago, give or take a few.”

“You don’t look that old,”

”Whatever they did to me, it slowed down my aging.”

”And your daughter? What happened to her?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It took you a while to be able to say it out loud.

”Icy.” Cooper’s raspy voice came from behind you. You came to a stop, eyes dead set on the vast emptiness ahead. “Your heart’s beatin’ too fast.”

He knew you were about to talk your way right into a panic attack.

”I’m okay.” You took a deep breath once, twice, then three times. You needed to regain control of yourself.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Lucy shook her head.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” You insisted. “We need to keep moving.”

”We’ll make camp tonight and tomorrow, we should be passing through Bolder some time in the morning.” Cooper looked to Lucy and nodded his head in the direction that the three of you had been walking. “Get movin’, vaultie.”

Lucy gave you one last glance before she started walking.

“Come on, doll.” Cooper reached out to put his hand on your back, offering you support through the small touch.

”Don’t treat me like I’m crazy, Cooper.”

”I ain’t treatin’ you no way. Just don’t want to see you get yourself all worked up. You’ll start hyperventilatin’ and then you won’t be able to breathe right. You’ll fuck yourself up for the rest of the day with that iron lung of yours.”

You said nothing.

***

Later That Night

Cooper stood in the doorway of the rundown shack the three of you were staying the night in. He leaned against the worn wood, a cigarette perched between two fingers while his eyes scanned the Wasteland before him.

It was dark out, but every so often the clouds would part enough for the moon to shine its light over the emptiness.

The Ghoul glanced down, watching the ashes from his cigarette fall to the ground.

Movement behind him made him turn his head. Lucy was awake. She glanced over to him momentarily.

”Can’t sleep.” She said, pushing herself to her feet.

”Welcome to the club.” Cooper placed his cigarette between his lips.

Lucy slipped past the ghoul, who watched her carefully. What was she doing? Surely she wouldn't try to make a run for it, not with him watching her.

Cooper’s hand found the rope hanging on his hip. He was ready to use it if need be, but the Vault Dweller sat down on the side of the hill that led up to the shack.

She pulled her knees loosely to her chest and looked up at the sky.

Cooper took the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing smoke through his nose.

“I never knew the stars could be so pretty.” Lucy commented.

Cooper said nothing, not that she expected him to.

Silence fell between them. The only sound that could be heard was the breeze blowing through the few trees around the shack.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Lucy apologized.

“Don’t worry about it.” The ghoul muttered.

“How did you meet Icy?”

Cooper finished his cigarette, throwing the end of it onto the ground.

“You just like to yap, don’t you?”

Lucy looked away from him.

He stood there for a few moments, debating on whether or not to entertain the vault dweller.

What the hell.

Cooper moved to sit down, putting plenty of space between himself and Lucy.

“‘Bout twenty years ago, there was a bounty put out for her.”

”What was the bounty for?”

”Didn’t say, but she said it was Vault-Tec. They wanted her back, I reckon, ‘cause of whatever science experiments they were doin’ with her. The bounty notice didn’t say anything about the little girl travelin’ with her.”

”Grace.” Lucy murmured.

“If anyone had gotten their hands on Icy for that bounty…. who knows what would’ve happened to Grace.” Cooper pulled out a carton of cigarettes and took another cigarette out. “So I agreed to help get them across the Wasteland. West of here was a city many considered a refuge. Icy just wanted me to take her and her little girl there.”

Lucy watched as the ghoul’s face lit up as he put the flame of the lighter beneath his cigarette.

“We got a day or so into the trip when we came across this run down dumpster of a place. It was an old trader’s post turned into a little village but the folks who lived there had long since disappeared. What we didn’t know was that a paranoid fella had set up shop. Littered the whole place with traps and trip lines. Grace got ahead of us. Icy saw the line she was about to run into and…. Well, there wasn’t much that could be done after that.”

“Oh my gosh.” Lucy whispered.

Cooper could still feel the way you had gripped him so tight as he shielded you from your daughter.

“I can’t…. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your family like that.”

Cooper flicked his cigarette, shaking his head gently.

“Ain’t a feelin’ I’d wish on my worst enemy, vaultie.”

Lucy looked over to him, eyebrows drawn together just slightly. That was perhaps the first time she had seen something in his eyes that resembled humanity.

Taglist: @green--beanie @mack-attack420 @miniemonie2001 @eykismyfav @fallout-girl219 @msrawog @midwesternwitchery @classaysstuff @keyofgigi @sunnexaltation @ghcstvibess @jayden-okayden @grippleback-galaxy

(I’m so sorry if I missed anyone, and tumblr was being stupid and wouldn’t let me tag a couple of you :()

#fallout #queenxxxsupreme #fallout tv show #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul #cooper Howard the ghoul #cooper Howard #cooper Howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper Howard fic #the ghoul fic

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uchispeach · 3 months

Text

Happy House (part 2)

Pairing: Singh! Reader x Dark! Rafe Cameron

➥ Warnings: NON-CON touching (somnophilia), violence, obsessive & manipulative behavior, death, naive! reader…

➥ Series Masterlist

The tiles were aligned with a remarkable precision -that was something you learned from the excruciating time you had been staring at the floor-.

Rafe had trusted you enough to complain about the whole situation. And you were feeling quite ashamed by your father’s behavior.

Luring an innocent person with false promises and then kidnapping them was a new low for Singh.

So you simply kept your head low as you felt a weight pulling the mattress down. You had been sitting there for a whole minute, simply playing with your fingers.

“I’ll talk to him” You turned your head to the side, shy eyes locking in with Rafe’s blue ones. He let out a playful scoff, completely dismissing the idea.

“He won’t let me go. That’d be reckless” He seemed to be really secure, and you recognized his view was probably realistic.

“Still, it’s worth the try” You raised your shoulders.

The Cameron boy continued looking upfront, his facial features were undeniably remarked by the moonlight

“Hey. You’re hurt” You pointed out the dried blood on his knuckles.

“It’s not mine” He shrugged you off. “They look inflamed” You insisted at the noticeable bumps on his rough fingers.

The blond continued to ignore you, so you took his hand, standing up while giving him a light tug.

“Come with me. There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom” You pulled again, this time slightly harder. Still, you were conscious that no matter how much force you put into it, the blond wasn’t going to budge unless he wanted to.

You shook him again, making sure to be delicate. This time he gave up, lazily standing up as he eyed you down.

He allowed you to guide him into the reduced space, leaning on the sink.

You struggled to reach the last cabinet, your arm completely stretched when you felt an unknown heat on your back. Big palm squeezed your side as hard muscles rubbed against the thin fabric of your nightgown.

“There” He groggily whispered into your ear, hotness making you feel ticklish. He finally reached for the red bag, leaving it right on your hands.

“Thanks” You said back, leaning on him as you turned your head around. He simply rubbed your waist before stepping back.

A soaked cotton cloth laid between your small palm while you examined the state of his injuries. One small cut here and there and some inflammation was all you could see, still the red on them was abundant.

Rafe noticed your face turning into a scowl at the metallic smell, making him smirk in a wolfish way. “Are you scared of a little blood, princess?”

“No” You gulped, massaging one of them with the cloth. Your movements were soft and careful, a real contrast to his.

He simply chuckled, chest rumbling in reaction to your cute ways.

His hands were almost completely clean, and as you wiped away some residue from a thick ring, you couldn’t help but notice the detail to it.

“It’s pretty” You pointed out. Rafe focused on the piece of silver, grimacing a bit on the memories it brought to him. “That’s a family ring” His response came out with some roughness to it.

“Well, it’s gorgeous” You continued your task, not really facing him. “My dad gave it to me. That’s when I knew he finally saw me as a real man.” There was a hint of proudness in his tone, and that made you smile.

“He must be really proud” Your eyes finally locked with his sharp ones. He dryly hummed at your words. “Having such a proactive son.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled. “You barely know me” He let out with no softness to it, “But I can tell you’re no quitter…and you’re brave” You smiled lightheartedly.

The Cameron boy was amused, never in his life has he heard such words directed his way. He felt weird, a new sensation making its way on the pit of his stomach.

(…)

“Don’t” Your hand wrapped around Rafe’s wrist. He was taken aback, surprised by your sudden eagerness “Sleep here” You said in a shy tone.

The mattress was huge and soft, unlike the dusty rug lying on the floor. “I mean, you must be tired and- I just-” You stumbled upon your words, afraid of being too pushy.

The dirty blond seemed unfazed as he simply pulled the covers down and plopped himself on the bed, completely comfortable with your suggestion.

The heat exuding from his hefty body was enough to get you nervous, not really used to sharing your sleep with someone else, less with someone as imponent as the blond.

Now, with your palm holding your head as you saw him uninterestedly lying on his back, you couldn’t help but feel the need of reassuring him. “They’ll let you go in no time” You weren’t sure why you said that, knowing it was probably a lie.

His eyes darkened, no real expression on his stoic face. You got the hint, not wanting to push his bottons, you got on your side -facing the opposite wall-.

And as you wished him a good night, you couldn’t avoid the sensation of being overly exposed. Still, with your nerves on peak, you were able to fall asleep in a decent amount of time.

Contrary to you, the Cameron boy was wide awake, senses thrilled as he heard your peaceful breathing. Quiet snores left you as you laid in obliviousness.

Rafe didn’t know why, but it gave him some sort of satisfaction to see you so defenseless; making him feel as if your vulnerability was exclusive to him.

The way in which your nightdress’ strap slightly slid down your shoulder was driving him insane. So much flesh on display that he felt the need to bite onto it, just to get a taste of your softness.

He gave in not long after, positioning himself right behind you.

In such proximity he was able to get a good grip of your scent, so sweet and comforting that he got the urge of burying his nose on your silky hair.

Silk. You were pure silk; silky hair, silky skin, silky clothes and silky personality. Such a contrast to his rough edges.

Without much thought, he grabbed some strands between his rough fingers, getting them close to his nose, sniffing the fresh aroma. Then, he proceeded to rub two digits against the bare skin of your neck -going up and down, from the side of your ear to your clavicle-.

The strap got farther down, tempting the blond. He took the lead, playing with the line of fabric before pulling it.

He could see your breasts slowly spilling out of the flimsy dress, noticing how they both got perky at the cold breeze.

Your mounds of flesh felt warm and doughy under his rough touch. He was careful to be delicate as he cupped one of them with his open palm. Still, in your sleepy face a frown formed.

You squirmed a little on your sleep, but that only seemed to encourage the blond to continue exploring.

Once his fingers reached your hardened nipples, a hoarse groan left his lips, hips bucking unintentionally against your soft ass.

He twisted them with contained fervor, as he felt himself hardening.

The white fabric pulled over your thighs as the blond continued to grind against your round buttocks, causing you to whimper under your breath. Rafe’s arm found its way between your thighs, hiked up skirt allowing him to massage the inner part of your legs.

Your warmth crawled all the way to his bones, covering him completely; making him want to hold you down until he consumed all of it.

He squeezed your inner thigh with frustration. Pants suffocation his desire for you. He couldn’t understand it, the boiling wish to see more of you, to taste more of you -just as if it was a need-. It was ridiculous how pent up he felt after barely touching you.

You unconsciously leaned onto him, riding up your dress and allowing some pink lace to peek under it. Rafe took the invitation; quickly, his fingertips were all over your clothed cunt. Running up and down as he felt you wriggling uncomfortably under his touch. His digits pressed harder against your underwear, creating a wet spot on it.

He smirked at that, rubbing circles over your entrance, feeling the wetness soak the fabric up.

The stimulation had you shaking so sweetly against him, breathing heavier than before as a melodic mewl reached his ears. His mouth was now on the side of your smaller face, rubbing against your puffy cheek as he heard you moaning at the friction his unrelenting fingers created.

And just as he was about to pull the piece of lace and cotton aside, he saw you slowly incorporating out of your sleep; limbs stretching and eyes opening. He backed up slowly, digits leaving your heat as he pretended to rest on his back.

Your wake up was abrupt, and the constant panting was a proof of it. Your eyes were wide open as you took in your surroundings.

The Cameron boy was deep in his own slumber and you felt yourself growing calmer. You went back to your previous position, doing your best to resume your rest.

The last thing you wanted to do was disturb the boy’s sleep.

(…)

Your heartbeat increased in less than a second, a choked scream was all you could let out as a strange hand pulled you back onto the mattress.

Your feet were already on the floor as you felt the grip of who you now recognized to be Rafe holding you down.

“Oh God” You turned to face him, your free hand on your chest as you looked into his sharp eyes.

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth as soon as you realized the loudness of your voice, suddenly scared of being heard by a passing guard.

“I’m sorry” you said in a muffled tone, looking like a frightened fawn.

His shirt had been lifted up by his sleepy moves, showing his toned torso. You embarrassingly looked away, waiting to be freed by his firm hold.

“Are the guards left?” He asked in a groggy voice, blinking aggressively as he incorporated on a sitting position. “Yes” you answered shyly “I should leave” you said even quieter.

At that, he only nodded, letting your sore wrist go as he looked intently at you.

While shutting the piece of wood behind you, you couldn’t ignore the burning sensation of Rafe’s intense gaze still following your every step.

(…)

“That’s ridiculous, Y/N” Your father scoffed, continuing to look through his investigation files without paying you much mind.

“But dad, we can not force him to stay here” You tried to talk some sense into him. “His family is probably waiting on him” Still, no response.

“How would you feel if I was the one being held back against my will?” Singh lifted up his view from the bunch of photos and documents.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you insolent girl” His finger now pointed aggressively at you.

“A treasure that goes back hundreds of years in history will take commitment and sacrifice…This search is way beyond your understanding” Your father’s words were conclusive, harsh tone and harsher look thrown your way.

“But, what if he actually doesn’t have the diary” You pushed again, this time being more careful with your tone.

“The diary is the last piece of the puzzle. The only way to translate the directions to El Dorado…Do you really think he’ll be stupid enough to give it away just like that?” His brows furrowed together in exasperation while his digits massaged the space in between them.

“I-” You were interrupted by a loud bang on the table. The glass of scotch shook at the violent ways of your caregiver. “Enough with this nonsense…Get out of my office before I lose my temper!” He ordered in his warning voice, letting you know he wasn’t playing around.

“Yes, sir” You looked down while silently slipping out of the room, feeling quite hopeless.

(…)

The refined wood felt great under your fingertips, such a shame it wasn’t what you were expecting.

Sure, the dresser was exquisite, brought right from India and made by the most skilled hands of famous artisans. Still, it didn’t fulfill your expectations.

You weren’t too materialistic, you appreciated love and care. But your father wasn’t the best with the latter ones, so he preferred to surround you with luxury.

Your birthday wasn’t at all like you wanted it to be, with a hostage one floor away and your father too occupied with his gold hunt, you couldn’t help but feel down.

“Hey” You looked down at the air vent. “Rafe” You whispered in realization. Immediately, you kneeled, trying to get closer to where the sound of his raspy voice came from.

“What’s up? I saw Singh going away this afternoon” The blond sounded impatient.

“Yeah… He seemed really pissed off. Probably some trouble with business” You frowned tiredly at that.

“Fuck…this is driving me insane!” You could hear his harsh voice being accompanied by a hit to the wall.

You closed your eyes in shame. “He said he’s not letting you go unless you tell him where the diary is” You flinched at the second hit, thinking of how he was probably hurt from the impact.

“I already told y’all I don’t have no damn shitty journal!” Exasperation could be clearly heard in his tone.

The silence was loud for a couple seconds. You didn’t want to open your mouth only to enrage him more, as for himself, you were sure he wasn’t feeling chatty right now.

“Of course” He chuckled humorlessly, bitterness spilling out of his tone.

“That fucking bitch and his surf rat friends” He said in annoyed realization. “It’s everything alright?” You asked dumbly, unsure of every word.

“Hell no, your father has the wrong fucking guy!” You were confused at his outburst. “…Mmm” Your brows furrowed together.

“My damn sister and his criminal friends… they certainly deal with that kind of information” He spat out, the poison in his voice being undeniable.

“Alright… then, I’ll get you a phone and we’ll contact her and-” You were cut in the middle of your sentence by a mean sneer. “That’s not how it works, sweetheart” He said harshly. “My sister doesn’t give a shit about me.”

“But, I don’t get it…She’s your sister” Your puzzlement was amusing to the boy. “She should be able to help you” You insisted with a cute frown on your face.

“Oh, she’s able to…she just won’t” A feeling of disappointment washed over you. Feeling desperate at the lack of resources to help the Cameron boy.

“I’m sorry” You said in a pitiful tone. And Rafe didn’t get why, Why would you feel bad for him? “Stop apologizing” His tone was dry, tired words slipping out of his pink lips.

The silence made itself present again, this time filled with tension. You both stayed like that for an excruciating minute, contemplating what else was to be said.

Suddenly, a new worry clouded your mind. “Have you eaten anything yet?” Your legs started to cramp for being seated too long on the hard floor, still, you refused to step away from the ‘blond’s side’.

He chuckled once again, this time lightheartedly. “That’s the last of my concerns, right now.” He took it as a joke, not really paying it much mind.

“Well, it concerns me…You could faint or-or” You stumbled across your words, struggling to back your point up. His laugh echoed through the air vent, rumbling in your ears.

“Rafe. I’m being serious!” You pouted. Rafe couldn’t believe it, you were actually worrying your little head off for him -and for some selfish reason, he seemed to enjoy it-.

(…)

“Rafe” You whispered into the room, once again you had succeeded in sneaking in. And as you looked around the room, you joyfully added “I brought a board game…and snacks!”

You stood timidly against the door, wondering where the blond was. “Rafe!” You increased the sound of your voice, lowkey panicking at his absence.

“Ra-” You choked on your own words as you observed a tall figure stepping out of the bathroom. A cloud of steam followed right behind.

You felt yourself growing embarrassed as you saw the Cameron boy walking confidently out of what seemed to be the shower.

He was only wearing a towel, allowing the droplets of water to roam freely on his brawny body. He didn’t look ashamed at all as he stood next to the queen sized bed. “You took your sweet time” He said in what you could only describe to be a playful tone.

A plain T-shirt was lazily extended on the mattress and as he picked it up, a set of huge biceps revealed themselves.

Never in your life had you seen a body as hefty as his. Rafe continued to ignore your gaze, lazily putting on the piece of fabric. A glimpse of his toned torso was the last thing you saw as he completely covered his upper body.

“See something you like?” He finally faced you, a proud smirk on his lips as he looked at your astounded face. “No!” You were quick to answer, shaking slightly at the bold ask.

Your anxiousness only seemed to fuel the blond more. A mean grin decorating his face while he reached for the flimsy towel.

The towel hit the floor, revealing his underwear. A pair of designer boxers wrapped tightly against his big bulge.

You simply looked away, gripping the bag of homemade cookies a bit too hard. The Cameron boy laughed at your shyness. “What is all that for? Are we having a picnic?” His grin grew bigger.

“Well, I figured out you might be hungry and stressed out so…” You finally dared to look his way, relived to see he was finally wearing pants.

He only hummed in response, eyeing you up and down in your sleeping shorts and thin top.

“I’m sure you could take some of my worries away” You couldn’t decipher the look on his face as he said that.

You stayed on your place, waiting for the right moment to get closer.

“C’mere” He signaled you to join, and you did, sitting right beside him.

Now, face to face as you sat on the floor, you could see the water dripping from his dirty blond strands. Quickly, you reached out for him with his towel in hand, rubbing it slightly against his hair.

Rafe allowed you to massage his scalp, surprised at your caring touch. “There!” You reacted joyfully at the almost dry result.

And just as you were about to pull your hand away, the Cameron boy grabbed you roughly by the wrist. A soft whine escaped your lips at the rough grip.

The blond completely ignored your small protest, only tightening his hold as he stared deeply into your soul.

“You missed a spot” He finally talked, moving sideways to reveal some strands of untouched hair.

You complied immediately, repeating the process in order to satisfy the blond.

He only hummed once you were done, letting you know he was content with the result.

A few minutes were invested into debating which activity had the right to be first: eating or playing and given the hungry look on Rafe’s face, you both decided on the first.

Seeing him eat made you feel lighter, now without the weight of one concern over your shoulders. “I’m glad you liked them.” You smiled sheepishly at him.

“How could I not like anything that comes from you?” He expressed in between bites, you didn’t think much of it -considering it just to be an exaggerated compliment-.

And as you picked up the residues from the floor, a new sense of curiosity raised deep within you. “So, what’s your hometown like?”

(…)

“Kildare sounds pretty entertaining” You turned your head to the side, noticing how Rafe’s eyes were already on you. “Wish I could visit someday” You looked down, focusing on the way his fingers draw circles around your thigh.

“I bet you know a couple of impressive islands” He had a boyish smirk on his face. The fingertips on your skin tickled you in a nice way. “… I don’t know about that” Your eyebrows were slightly squeezed together.

The Cameron boy stayed silent, waiting for an explanation. “I’ve never really…left The Bahamas” Your frown grew bigger.

“My dad would never let me…” You continued, a tight knot forming on your throat at each word. “He says it’s safer here” Your eyes found his, as a pitiful look made its way onto your face.

“Well-” The sound of multiple vehicles approaching the property cut him off. Engines roared wildly before parking completely.

You heard the voices of a couple men, most of them whom you recognized to be your dad’s men, expect for one.

A guy protested in a shaky voice, putting up a fight. “Rafe, wait!” You reached out for the blond’s pants, pulling from them as you desperately tried to make him sit.

The curses became begs. That’s when you heard your dad with his condescending voice. “This is what happens when you don’t zip your mouth, Mr. Portis” He was furious, you could tell.

“Rafe!” You pulled again, trying your best to keep it together as you heard desperate screams coming from the adult man.

“Rafe, if my dad sees you-” You jumped, choked whimper escaping your throat.

A gun. A gun was fired. The screaming had ceased, only to be replaced by a sepulchral silence.

You sat frozen, eyes stinging heavily while you saw the Cameron boy looking straight onto the murder scene.

“We have to get the fuck outta here” His tone was stern.

Rafe remained stoic as he closed the blinds.

A/N: Let me know your thoughts on this one! 💭

158 notes · View notes

witchy-scribblings · 10 months

Text

the seasons wait for no one

rengoku kyojuro x reader

synopsis ➳ rengoku kyojuro comes from a long line of skilled blacksmiths. hardworking and talented as he is, it's no wonder he finds an employer at the early age of 20. he's proud of how far he's come, he thought this was everything he had wished for. so what is this foreign longing?

warnings ➳ blacksmith au, slight angst, misunderstandings, smut, (loads of) dirty talk, oral (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, vaginal sex, creampie, pussydrunk kyo and cockdrunk reader (hehe), lowercase, mdni!

wordcount ➳ 10.2k

[crossposted on ao3]

he should be feeling grateful for the opportunities that life had brought his way.

don’t get him wrong. kyojuro will be eternally thankful for his father’s teachings, for being well off enough to have the privilege of moving to the capital as soon as he turned 20 and for being given the one-in-a-lifetime chance to work as the blacksmith of one of the noblest families in the region. he knew, in a humble way, that he was hardworking and ambitious, and that those qualities had played an immense role in getting him to where he currently was in life, but he also acknowledged that luck had done its part as well, and he did not take it for granted.

the governor had been kind enough, and if he had been condescending (which he had), the young blacksmith had not taken it to heart. it had been a couple of servants who had given him the tour of his new home, including his workspace which, he had soon found out, was a small, stone shed equipped with a forge, anvil, slack tub and tools, a crafting bench, a wooden table that creaked when he put his bags on it and a bed with a firm mattress and sheets that could definitely use a dusting. the windows were small and let little light in, but the structure was sound and the space overall gave off a cozy ambience than he immediately grew to appreciate.

apparently, their previous blacksmith - a man who went by haganezuka - had been forced to step down from his duties prematurely due to a severe injury, but not without first leaving word of his old acquaintance, rengoku shinjuro, and his family’s historical skill on the anvil. as a recommendation to the governor.

that was how kyojuro had been introduced to his first official job as a smith, and the young man had been downright ecstatic. he was so grateful for the opportunity to make use of his skill, truly.

and yet…

“do you accept commissions?”

you had waited for him to slide the piece of hot metal into the slack tub to make your presence known, and even then it had taken kyojuro a couple of seconds to process your voice. after making sure his hands were free of his current project, he turned to face the door to “his” shed (it didn’t belong to him, by any means, but he did spend most of his time within those sweltering walls) and came to see you, for the first time. you were unfamiliar to him, but kyojuro had gathered enough about the household of his new home to immediately come to the realisation of who was standing just outside his space.

“oh! of course, ma’am. it’s what i do!”

the eldest child of his first employer looked just as he had been described by the servants. you seemed to be a little older than him or, at least, carried yourself with an air of maturity unfamiliar to most people in their early twenties. prim and proper, you stood just outside the threshold, seemingly apprehensive of the suffocating heat that radiated off the smithy.

kyojuro had found out that, the day of his arrival to the manor, you had been away on a visit to a close cousin with your younger sister, so he hadn’t had the chance to introduce himself to either of you; though, he wondered if it mattered, since the rest of the noble family that he had actually already met had spared him just enough time to give him tasks and projects to occupy himself with, to make himself useful. nothing more, nothing less.

but the smile that slowly curled your lips clued him in that maybe, just maybe, you were different than your father and youngest brother.

“wonderful. i would like to request a ring from you.” and the details of the design you had in mind flew over his head because he could only think about how your voice held a gentleness that he couldn’t help but find attractive. that, and the fact that he had only been in your residence for a little over two weeks and he hadn’t had the time to formally get familiar with the crafting bench. his skill had always revolved around objects that were to be used, not admired, and even though he was no novice when it came to making simple ornaments, it was something he’d still need to dedicate some studying to.

the notion of a challenge pumped up the blood in his veins. so much so that he didn’t realize that you were still talking when he accepted your request.

“leave it to me, ma’am! i won’t disappoint you!” if you were annoyed by either being cut off or his booming voice, you didn’t show it. instead, you offered a nod and an amicable smile.

“i will leave it in your capable hands then, mr. rengoku. oh, and i don’t expect you’ll have it finished by the end of this week, since your workload seems large enough already. just notify me when it is done.”

and with that, you left him alone to dwell in the heat and his thoughts. he realized, sheepishly, that he would need to seek you out and go over the details one more time. the idea of spending more time with you, he was surprised to admit that not only didn’t bother him, but he actively looked forward to it. he thought he wanted to bask in your confident presence again, to hear your melodious voice and unravel expressions other than that serene smile on your face.

it felt like a dangerous thing to long for. kyojuro was grateful for how his life had turned out up until then, and yet why did it suddenly feel like his success came hand in hand with a burden?

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

the ring was finished within the next two days, because no matter how much work he had on his shoulders, kyojuro had felt the unshakeable need to prioritize your little project.

the very evening of the day he had met you, he had ventured into the estate and requested your whereabouts to the servants doing some last hour clean-up. he had been directed towards the library where, as he had learned, you liked to spend your evenings before your curfew. you had looked surprised by his sudden presence, greeting him by his family name in a curious manner (and as proud as he was to be a rengoku, he couldn’t help but feel his last name sounded wrong coming from you), and when he had asked for another run on the specifics of the ring, you hadn’t chastised him. no, you had regarded him with an amused semblance and patiently repeated your request for him, and this time, he went back to the smithy with the clearest idea in his head.

that, and the lingering sensation of your hands on his when he had asked to take the measurements of your digits. for the project, of course, and despite his professionalism, he had subconsciously taken note of every little detail: how your hands were tiny compared to his, soft and delicate against the callouses of his fingers, how they seemed colder than his (but he knew that was on him; he had always run hotter than the average), and how they never trembled upon his chaste touch, because you knew the hold he had on your hands didn’t mean anything. you knew, and he should, too.

sleep evaded him that night, for the first time in weeks, and he decided to start working in hopes of ridding his headspace of the conflicting feelings.

and diving into his work had done wonders, until he finally held the results of his efforts and was faced with the reality that he’d see you again shortly. the thought filled him with a concerning amount of excitement. the ring was minuscule in his large palm, and despite not being as skilled in craftsmanship as he was in smithship, he was proud of the way it had turned out. the scarce morning light that filtered through the small window gave it a serene gleam that, he thought, suited you to perfection.

kyojuro had thought that perhaps he should let some servants know that your commission was finished, but a big part of him wanted to be the first person to see your reaction, so he placed the ring snug against the cushioned insides of a small wooden box and resolutely decided that he’d be the one to deliver both, the news and the ring, to you.

he had made sure to get ready to visit your abode, had made himself look (and smell) presentable, but he knew as soon as he stepped out of the shed that he would not need to make the walk towards the imposing estate, because there you were.

the stone shed had been built in a secluded, relatively remote area from the main building, and surrounded by a forest of Japanese maples that, at this time of the year, displayed the most vivid of their appearance, casting a warm spell as sunlight filtered through the red leaves. the most impressive one grew a few feet from the smithy, a large specimen that threw ample shade and offered a leaf-covered clearing that he had been tempted to nap on several times since his arrival. only this time, it was already occupied by the same person he had set out to seek.

“good morning, mr. rengoku.” you greeted him as soon as the crunchy footsteps began to approach you, but your gaze never left the book that rested on your lap. he was certain you missed the way his wide eyes ran over your figure, sitting up against the rough bark of the tree, your hair kept out of the way with a simple hairpin and body covered comfortably in a warm-looking yukata. he would have dwelled in the thought that it felt almost wrong to see a high-standing lady such as yourself sitting on the ground if you didn’t look so breathtaking in the simplicity of it.

“good morning, ma’am!” he returned in his usual loud voice, bowing deeply. the box sat heavy in his hand as he revealed it to you. “i finished your commission, i hope the ring is to your liking.” he reveled in the look of mild shock on your face, like you hadn’t expected him to finish his project in so little time.

he felt an unfamiliar unease as he handed the box to you, and it remained while you opened it and inspected its contents, waiting with anticipation for you to reveal your verdict of his hard work. wordlessly, you plucked the ring from its place on the box and turned it in your lifted hand, letting the soft red orange glow of the forest hit it from different angles.

“it is fine work,” you finally spoke, and kyojuro caught himself from sagging with visible relief, keeping his confident stance. “if a little rough around the edges, but i can tell you put your soul into making it. just as expected from our smith.”

“thank you, ma’am!” his answer was sincere, but automatic, really; the flame-haired man feared to think of why the sight of you sliding the ring onto your finger, and seeing it fit perfectly, brought what felt like a swarm of butterflies to his stomach. he knew the ring didn’t have any special meaning to you, but a weirdly possessive part of him enjoyed seeing you wear a piece that he had made himself.

for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last couple of days, he forced himself to stop that train of thought. he really needed to stop entertaining this sudden infatuation. because it was, sudden and improper and so, so very wrong.

“i hope you won’t mind that i keep commissioning from you in the future.”

he was scared of how much the idea excited him.

“it’d be my pleasure, ma’am!”

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

the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. the autumn season had come and gone without anything of significance to write home about, but kyojuro was the kind of man to find wonder in every little thing that life had to offer. he would draft letters for his family regularly, in his free time, which slowly became less and less as the head of the estate steadily added onto his workload, but he never complained. if anything, he was grateful for the opportunity to hone his skill further, and was pleased to see the visible improvement on every project he completed.

being the extroverted person he was, kyojuro was quick to get along with most of the house workers, soon becoming an esteemed member of their humble circle. he was never late for meals, and the cooks had learned to double the rations since the arrival of the blacksmith, knowing the man to polish whatever amount of food was served to him. and, despite having his own work to tend to, he never hesitated to offer his assistance to the maids, even though they rarely conceded.

within his second month, kyojuro had received his first visit from haganezuka. he hadn’t known the man personally, only that he was an old friend of his father, and despite the gruff disposition he displayed, he appreciated his company. the previous blacksmith came over every two or so weeks to share a pot of green tea and, occasionally, mitarashi dango (because kyojuro had learned the pattern of his visits as well as the older man’s favor for the sweet treat, and would request it made “coincidentally” every time haganezuka was to appear). haganezuka claimed that he only visited because he would go insane without nothing of substance to do at home otherwise, but kyojuro had learned that this was the man’s way of admitting he enjoyed his company as well.

his letters were always long and thoughtful, always wishing good health to his parents and dedicating extended descriptions of the passing seasons to his cherished brother senjuro. while the maples still displayed their vibrant red, he would claim fallen leaves to attach to his letters.

he never wrote about you, as much as he itched to scribble on and on about his growing admiration (crush) for the eldest daughter. he never mentioned the rings and necklaces and bracelets you’d sometimes request of him, nor how much he was improving on making detailed ornaments, because it’d beg the question about his blossoming feelings for you, and that was a question he wasn’t ready to answer even to himself.

he would also, unexpectedly, find himself spending more time with you. that spot under the maple tree happened to be one of your favorite places in the lands that your father owned. he’d find you there sometimes, when he stepped outside of the smithy to catch a break from the pounding heat of the hearth, always sitting proper, immersed in a different book each time, while he stood by covered in soot and reeking of sweat, but you never seemed offended by his rough appearance when you asked for his company.

you had told him about your evident love for reading, your preferred genres, your routine, your favorite foods and had confided in him that you loved the deep, meaningful conversations you shared with your mother and dreaded always hearing your father express how he deemed himself above everyone else. you told him about your little sister and how she wasn’t truly scared of him (he had met the young lady, and despite his friendly introduction, she had been intimidated by his hawkishly wide eyes), and in return you had asked about his family, and that topic alone had caused him to get carried away with facts and anecdotes.

“i love how passionate you are about your loved ones, mr. rengoku.” that had been the first time he had actually flushed in your presence and you reveled in how well red suited his complexion.

he was oddly satisfied, though, because he wasn’t the only one whose emotions were starting to show in the open. the more afternoons he found himself basking in your company, the more you let your true colors shine; he was pleased to learn that that proper lady that had once professionally commissioned his work was actually the easily-excitable and dreamy woman that, he liked to naively think, only really showed herself to him.

in the weeks leading up to the beginning of the winter, he had been tasked with chopping wood for the incoming colder months, so the afternoons that had once been filled with incessant chatter between you and him had morphed into another kind of coexistence that you couldn’t deny enjoying despite missing the conversations you were used to holding with the blacksmith.

you were ashamed to admit that you hadn’t turned the page of your current read in gods know how long, but who could blame you? only a few feet away from the great maple you sat against was a very exerted kyojuro, puffing and grunting as he brought down the ax time and time again, cutting through heavy grains of wood in a way that he almost made look easy. and you knew that he knew that he was distracting you, because through the side-eyed glances you’d occasionally spare his way you’d caught his wide eyes shamelessly staring right back at you and what was, undeniably, a smile on his parted lips.

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

winter was a slow season. everything felt more lethargic, different in an unpleasant way. the maples had lost all of their vibrant leaves, leaving the ominous structure of curved branches hanging in the air. the thick snow that covered the ground gave kyojuro’s steps a sluggish quality on his daily trips to and from the estate, but the promise of comforting food helped him push through the complicated weather.

there was very little that could discourage optimistic kyojuro, but the loneliness that came with winter was slowly taking a toll on him. his friend haganezuka (who would never admit to being friends) had put his visits on hold until the weather became easier in the spring, and so had you; it was much too cold to spend time in the forest, and although kyojuro would never wish sickness upon you, he missed the time you used to spend with him. he would see you in the manor, sometimes, but he didn’t know if he would be overstepping his employer’s hospitality if he stayed to chat, so he didn’t.

he always noticed that you were wearing at least one of the pieces you had commissioned over the time, and that weird feeling in his gut would reappear and remain as he made his way back to the shed.

it wasn’t until one of the warmest days that december would allow, when the sun soothed the unforgiving cold if only a smidge, that he got to talk to you again. because you had sought him out. because it had been a sunny day and the snow had been easier to trudge through, and he answered the knocking on the door to the smithy without expecting that it would be you on the other side of it.

“ma’am, you shouldn’t be here.” despite his surprise, he regarded you with a stern expression that he can’t remember having used on you before. and, despite his words, he ushered you into the warmth of his workspace, because it was still too cold outside to just send you back on the way you had come from.

you were quiet while he brought you close to the forge, relief settling in your bones when the heat started to spread through your stiff joints. he looked upset, but the way his beautiful eyes regarded you wasn’t enough to deter you.

“i missed you,” you stated without breaking eye contact, determination in your voice and gaze, and kyojuro desperately tried not to look too much into the unspoken message behind your words. he was so lost in your eyes that he barely saw you stepping closer to him. he wet his drying lips with the tip of his tongue, and it was impossible to miss the way your pupils (did they look larger?) followed the movement of his pink muscle.

“i missed you too, ma’am,” he admitted, all the while trying to step backwards and put some distance between the two of you, because heaven knows his sanity needs the space. “but you can’t risk catching a cold just because you missed me.” and he knew he should sound more chastising, but his voice came out gentle, like a small act of rebellion against his better judgment.

“no, no, you don’t understand,” you stepped forward, trying to close the distance once more, until his lower back was pressed against the old table and his hand held the chair in a vice grip, because your body was so much closer to his than it had ever been, your chest pressing against his, your head craned up in a way that must have been uncomfortable because you were smaller than him. your hand came to hold the one that wasn’t busy nearly splintering the back of the chair he was holding on to for dear life. “i need you so bad, kyojuro.”

you had never called him by his given name before, but now he fully understood why “mr. rengoku” had always sounded so off parting from your lips. a shuddery breath escaped his lips without his permission, and he knew damn well that you had felt it, because he could also feel your own breathy plea right against his lips, and he couldn’t even try to deny the way the sound went straight to his cock, his resolve so close to snapping it was almost painful to hold onto it. but he had to, he couldn’t give in, couldn’t taint you-

“please, kiss me.”

fuck it all-

sharp and rapid knocking shattered the trance you had put each other in as you jumped away from the blacksmith, startled nearly out of your skin. the interruption was so sudden it felt like you had just had freezing water dumped on you.

“mr. rengoku?” you recognized the voice of one of the servants, loud and clear despite being muffled. he sounded agitated. “i can’t find the lady at the estate, is there any chance she’s with you?”

kyojuro didn’t answer immediately, busy regarding you closely. now that the haze was broken, he could see the clarity, the vulnerability in your eyes as you gazed up at him. he didn’t like it, he hated that you had laid your feelings out in the open, that he had almost admitted to reciprocation and, now that you had been forced back into your senses, he couldn’t do it anymore. it was wrong, it wasn’t meant to be, but it hurt so fucking much to have you looking at him with that broken look.

he might as well have rejected you outright.

after another second, he broke eye contact, walking towards the bed and grabbing his haori that he had left there as an extra cover, before walking towards the door. he had the decency to make sure you had composed your semblance before opening the door.

“hey!” optimistic kyojuro had seldom had to fake a smile before. “yeah, she’s with me! she noticed that i left my haori at the mess hall when i went to the estate for lunch earlier. she’s such a thoughtful lady!”

“my lady, it was absurdly reckless of you to come all the way here in these conditions!” the harsh scolding from the older man fell on deaf ears as you walked towards the entrance, not even sparing a look at kyojuro when you shuffled past his towering frame. “let’s go back before the temperature drops further. thank you, mr. rengoku. have a pleasant evening.”

“you too! be careful on the way back!” he hesitated for a second before adding. “please, be mindful of your health from now on, ma’am.”

it hurt more than he’d like to admit, the way you only nodded while blatantly avoiding his searching eyes. he had wanted to, at the very least, make sure you knew that he didn’t disregard your feelings, that even if you thought that he didn’t return them you’d still know that he cared about you.

watching you disappear into the distance with your servant hammered the sinking feeling into his stomach that your relationship would never go back to how it used to be.

and maybe it was for the best.

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

“i have a problem, haganezuka.”

“don’t we all?”

spring had arrived early and suddenly to the lands of the governor’s estate, melting the snow and giving way to blossoms so stunning they felt like a reward after the merciless winter had finally passed. and what a long season it had been.

if one were to venture further into the maple forest, they’d come across a medium-sized pond that kyojuro had already had the pleasure to become acquaintanced with, especially when he needed a break from his hard work. it was especially beautiful at night, when hidden crickets sing their tunes and fireflies fly with ghastly serenity. it had been months since he last visited, since he had spent most of his time during the freezing season forging and crafting, trying to escape from the cold and his inner turmoil.

it had been so long since he last talked to you too.

he did still see you, during his visits to the manor, but you were still blatantly avoiding him. whatever glimpses of you he did catch were enough to show him that you no longer wore his necklaces, bracelets, rings or hairpins.

it hurt only slightly less every time he noticed.

the worst part of it was keeping it to himself. he did still engage in conversation with the servants of the main house, and despite being close friends with a few of them, he knew it wouldn’t be wise to speak of the circumstances; he dreaded to think what would happen to either him or you should your father find out.

he knew it was foolish to write home about it; after all, he had never mentioned you in any of his letters, and he was aware that the improperty of the situation would be frowned upon by his stern father; what cretin son would mess up a perfectly ideal job for a woman he wasn’t even meant to have? besides, the letters he sent were managed by the household staff, and he couldn’t be too careful with the information that could be leaked to his employer.

that is why, when haganezuka visited for the first time in months, kyojuro suggested the secluded pond as their snacking spot for a “change of scenery”, instead of the clearing of the smithy. he knew he could trust the older man with his predicament.

it helped to know that haganezuka rarely initiated conversation with anyone, kyojuro was certain he wouldn’t care enough to snitch.

“i’m in love with the lady.” it was the first time he admitted it out loud, and it felt startling even to himself, but there was not a trace of hesitation in his words. haganezuka seemed more surprised than he thought he would be, because he had stopped munching on the sticky ball that was his favorite treat to slowly side-eye kyojuro with the one functional eye he had.

“...the governor’s wife?”

“heavens, no!” your mother had been as pleasant towards him as you, which ascertained whose values you had inherited, but he wasn’t the kind of man to develop an infatuation towards a taken woman; apparently, though, he was the kind of man to fall for a woman he couldn’t have, regardless. “the eldest daughter.”

“and what do you want me to say to that?” haganezuka deflected gruffly; it was obvious this conversation was way outside of his area of expertise. he continued eating his dango, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to add anything else, until he swallowed. “you didn’t pick the brightest guy to talk about romance, kid.”

“i’m not really looking for advice, i just…” he sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. the cup of tea sat unattended by his side, on the grass. “i almost kissed her.”

“almost? so you didn’t. you have done nothing wrong so far.” kyojuro looked downright embarrassed by the admission that was about to leave his lips.

“i have given into temptation by myself. in numerous occasions. always thinking about her.” haganezuka regarded him with a look that screamed that he really hadn’t needed to be exposed to that information, but kyojuro ignored it. “i’ve dishonored her in thought. i should commit seppuku!”

“you are being ridiculous,” the older blacksmith scoffed, crossing his arms. “everyone’s given into those needs, you think you’re special?” the younger man remained uncharacteristically quiet, and haganezuka heaved an annoyed sigh. “look, if you’re going to keep being a bitch about this, i have contacts. you have a reputation and talent, kid. i can secure you a new job far from here. far from her.”

the water of the pond rippled peacefully in the direction the gentle breeze pushed it, and kyojuro stared, enraptured, lost in thought. the plate with mitarashi dango had long been polished, and despite his fearsome appetite, he couldn’t recall having grabbed a single stick in the time he had spent with the dark-haired man.

“i appreciate the offer,” he conceded, smiling up at his friend. he knew that was the best option. it’s not like he should have entertained any chance at courtship with you, but even now he was certain that there was no future in store for him that involved you. he would move on, and so would you; if he stayed, he’d eventually be forced to witness you be betrothed to another man, and the thought alone had his heart plummeting into his stomach. he knew he should leave and never look back, meet and fall in love with a woman that was actually within his league. “but i don’t think i can easily forget about her.”

haganezuka looked exasperated at this point, and decided to leave the conversation at that. kyojuro didn’t push, and once more became absorbed in his thoughts.

perhaps he just needed more time to overcome it.

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

it was late march when kyojuro was informed of a long-standing tradition in the governor’s family. apparently, it would soon be one of the yearly two weeks when half the servants were granted what could remotely be considered a “vacation”, taking place during the birthday week of the head of the estate. the staff would generally use this time to visit their families and enjoy some well-deserved rest; the other half of the staff was ordered to stay and supervise the lands while the governor and his family visited his childhood home in the next town over and spent a week of festivities with relatives, close and distant.

because kyojuro had been working under the governor for less than a year, he wasn’t given the option to take this vacation, and instead would have to wait for the one other week of the year when the remaining staff would be allowed their due rest (he was informed it was usually in the summer). it was disappointing (yet expected) to learn that he would have to wait several months still to see his family, but he had known when he had accepted the position that the periods between his visits would be long, so he hadn’t been too upset by the news.

what had been surprising, though, was being told by the head chef that the eldest daughter had had to opt out of the trip because you had been coming up with something for some time and it had culminated in a severe case of hay fever the moment spring had hit in full bloom. the news reminded him of that one conversation you had shared all those months ago about how much you loved flowers (especially sunflowers, and it had instantly become cherished information) but suffering the worst coughing and sneezing fits if exposed to them. his heart squeezed painfully.

he really missed learning every little detail about you.

kyojuro had tried hard not to dwell on thoughts about you, he had tried to de-escalate his high-strung feelings, and for the most part he had been successful (granted, he had his heavy workload to help keep his head out of thoughts that didn’t involve metal and fire), but it was small things like this that made all his progress crumble and his longing return.

the day the noble family had left the estate, it had started to rain cats and dogs. to be fair, this weather had been announcing itself for some time now, but it didn’t make the downpour any less impressive. the muted sound of rain against the roof of the shed was barely audible over the steady banging of his hammer on hot metal. it must have been pretty late into the night, the only source of light inside the smithy coming from the flaming hearth and the oil lamp that kyojuro kept on the nearby table. his eyes burned from being exposed to heat and exhaustion, but he kept them owlishly wide, intensely focused on the project at hand.

everything considered, he couldn’t be blamed for not catching the thumping of dull knocks the first time they came down on the door. and, to his merit, he did hear them the second time, breaking from his state of concentration and into one of disbelief.

who the hell was outside in that weather?

he made sure to secure his project safely before rushing to let whoever it was inside before they died of hypothermia, only to yank the door open and be met with the same pair of eyes that had actively and unforgivingly avoided his own for so many months now.

“ma’am?” he exclaimed, startled, but quickly kicked himself into action and grabbed your wrist, securing a ceiling above your head and slamming the door shut. “what the hell are you doing here?” and for the first time since he had met her, the words that came out of his mouth weren’t laced with gentleness and joy, but instead very palpable exasperation. “you are sick and-”

“i’m not sick.” you interrupted him, unaffected by the raise of his voice. you inspected his frazzled look, the layer of sweat that made his skin glow, his searching eyes, the way his mouth opened in an attempt to interrogate you, but you beat him to it. “i lied about being sick. i needed the opportunity to speak with you without being interrupted. no one will be checking on me because i explicitly asked not to be disturbed in my rest.”

kyojuro felt his heart begin to race, a gut-wrenching mixture of rage and concern churning his insides. there you were, standing on a puddle of rainwater of your own making, with your beautiful hair plastered to your face, your yukata, no wonder, soaked straight through, and despite looking like you’d collapse any second now from how harshly you were trembling in your ruined sandals you had the audacity to pin him in place with a stern look, as if he was the one in that situation who deserved a talking-to.

“you couldn’t have chosen a more favorable night to speak with me? or even better, request my presence at the manor?” some part of his mind was begging him to keep his growing anger at bay, but the more this ridiculous situation raced in circles around his brain, the more agitated he felt himself getting. “even if you are not sick, you might as well fall ill now after this stunt you’ve just pulled! the last thing i asked of you before months of silence was to look after your health and you dare disregard it just like that! and just because whatever it is you need to tell me cannot wait-”

“you are no longer required as our blacksmith.”

the build-up of his anger dissipated so suddenly it almost gave him whiplash. you remained quiet, stare unwavering while you waited for him to compose himself.

“you are dismissing me.” it was not a question, and you hated the way his usually booming voice, the same one you had loved from the very beginning, had suddenly bee reduced to a hollow hum. you hoped he’d scream at you instead.

“not exactly, please, let me explain,” you tried to keep your own emotions at bay, but it proved increasingly harder the more you looked at kyojuro. “your services have been requested by the nobleman in charge of one of the neighboring counties. it is not the capital, but the work is just as honest and well paid as it is here. you will have the same chance at a thriving career there, and this dismissal does in no way taint your reputation-”

“my services have been requested,” kyojuro parroted, staring down at you with disbelief evident in his gaze. if you looked hard enough, you could also discern something breaking behind those soulful eyes, so you looked away. “because your father spoke of them?”

“father is unaware yet. i offered them.”

“why?”

“because…” and you swallowed hard, and the dam that kept your tears constrained shattered while you struggled with your following words, “...because i messed up and this is not fair to you, and i want to offer you an out. there won’t be consequences for you, should you accept it, and we can each go our separate ways and forget that i ever ruined our friendship with my stupid feelings.”

you were sobbing openly now, muttering hasty apologies to the stunned blacksmith who had once been your friend, shrinking into yourself by the second, unable to take the whole of his scrutiny, but kyojuro decided that he’d have none of that.

that look of despair didn’t look good on the woman he cherished, against all rational judgment. he hated it.

the warm, big hands that enveloped your shoulders as they shook startled you enough to give into his prodding gaze; it had always been amusing, how you could feel it on you even when you weren’t looking, wordlessly calling for attention to those eyes that resembled fiery flames. and when you met them, they felt the same they had all those months ago, familiar and open.

“i love your eyes so much.” it escaped your lips like a reflex, but you did not regret the words one bit. the trembling of your fragile body seemed to cease, slowly but surely, the closer his inviting body shuffled against yours, and you greedily soaked into the warmth he offered.

“ask me again,” he breathed, firm and tender at the same time, and he knew you were confused because your eyebrows furrowed in the quest to decipher what he could be talking about. he conceded with a chuckle. “what you asked me all those months ago, ask me again.”

oh.

he was already so close, it reminded you of the position you had put him in on that december afternoon. this was payback, you were sure, with the way he had slowly moved you to press against that table, the way his eyes pinned you in place and his breath brushed devastatingly against your lips, impatiently waiting for you to answer to your cue. you don’t make him wait anymore.

“please, kiss me.”

and kiss you he did, with a voracious eagerness that should have been saved for a second or third kiss, not a first, but the build-up had left kyojuro so high-strung that he decided to skip all decorum and ravage you the way he almost had on that day, the way he had wished to since that day. he pulled out all the stops, licking, sucking and biting at your lips while his hands busied themselves into the soaked fabric around your hips. your own hands slid into his scalp, clumsily slipping his hair out of the tie that had always kept it tied and in place when he worked. his fiery locks spilled over his shoulders and he finally broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours and licking at the thin string of saliva that connected your mouths.

“if…” you trailed off, hesitating. “if you were to leave the estate… would you take me with you?” but the words were out in the open before you could smother them any longer, and the look of surprise on kyojuro’s face initially brought a wave of dread to your stomach.

“what about your family?” you understood that you leaving your family behind would be the first concern to come with your request, considering he was such a family man himself, but you were convinced. you had warmed yourself up to the idea for long enough.

“i will miss my family, especially mother and my sister… but now that i know that my feelings are returned, i don’t think i can bear the notion of being away from you, my love.” the way he visibly softened was enough to reassure you that he wouldn’t argue further; he trusted you to weigh out the options and make your own choices like the strong woman that you were.

the strong woman that was now visibly trembling from palpable excitement, nerves and cold. kyojuro became aware, once again, of the elephant in the room. and he chastised himself for letting his feelings get the better of him and completely ignore that you shouldn’t stay in those ruined clothes any longer.

“i need you to disrobe.” he realized how wrong it had come out the second the words left his mouth, so he was quick to correct himself. “i meant that we need to get you out of those clothes before you succumb to the cold.” and as if his words were a reminder, you felt a full-body shiver when you became hyperconscious of the uncomfortably cold feeling of wet cotton on your skin.

because the smithy was made up of one room (as a shed would), and leaving the small building given the heavy rain that had not ceased for even a minute, kyojuro resorted to turning around, facing his neat bed and giving you as much privacy as he could offer you in that situation.

the splat of wet clothes hitting the floor echoed loud and clear in the silent room, and kyojuro immediately jumped to grab the haori on his bed and turned, eyes closed so tightly it almost looked painful, to offer it to you.

“i know it’s not a proper outfit, but i hope it’ll suffice for the moment.” but you didn’t accept the cloth he was handing out to you, not immediately at least.

“i want you to look at me, kyojuro.”

he knew he should fight your siren song, but his eyes flew open almost against his will, first falling on the impish smile of your face, and eventually giving in and roaming the standing expanse of your naked body.

oh, heavens -

“you need to disrobe as well, i’m afraid i soaked your clothes as well,” you didn’t sound one bit apologetic, but the smith found that he did not care. a dangerous glint shone in the eyes that hadn’t stopped observing every exposed inch of your deliciously dewy skin.

“wear the haori. now,” as he tugged on the belt keeping his yukata closed, following your subtle cue to undress without complaint, and reveling in the way your eyes didn’t stray from his even as you grabbed the cloth that was still hanging from his outstretched hand. “because if you keep presenting yourself so deliciously to me i might have no choice but to dig in.”

he worked on removing his clothes until he stood naked and shamelessly aroused before you, all the while you slipped the white haori around your shoulders; it was so large and cozy that you were heavily tempted to wrap it snugly around your body, but for the sake of the tension festering in the air, you decided to keep the front open, teasing: an invitation.

“fine by me.” and with that, he broke the distance you had once again formed to smash his lips against yours, moaning and grasping at the chilly skin of your hips, and pressing you forward into his body. his hardening cock nudged your lower stomach, and you couldn’t decide whether to focus on that or his hands sliding down to cup your ass. “hold on to me,” he slurred, and the next second he was hoisting you up, pleased as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. “good girl.”

the praise played in your head over and over as he placed you on top of the table, which creaked unforgivingly under your sudden weight. mindful of potential accidents, kyojuro removed the candle from the surface on which you sat and placed it on the crafting bench instead, coming back to you with a predatory quality in his step.

“i’ve been a foolish, foolish man,” he rumbled, grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart in a motion so fluid you could only gasp, startled as he dropped to his knees between your legs, “to have thought i had even one chance of escaping your charms, my little flame.”

the words were pressed sultrily in between open mouthed kisses against your sensitive inner thighs, which by now were quivering for a whole other reason than the cold that had seeped into your body.

“kyojuro-”

“i’m not going do deny you any longer, not now and not ever.” and he didn’t tease because the wait had been long enough already. his lips latched onto your sopping pussy with intention, and you cried out in startled pleasure as he started to eat you out like a man starved. his tongue traced a long, flat swipe from your clenching hole all the way up to your clit, and back down in a zigzag motion, wiggling and flicking his tongue against the entrance, rumbling at the sweet juice that coated the muscle. “you taste so good, i can’t get enough.”

it seemed like kyojuro could get off on delivering praise alone with the way he was physically unable to shut up against your cunt, babbling and moaning about “this pussy’s so sweet, i could eat you out for hours” or “keep grinding on my face like that” or “c’mon, use my tongue for your pleasure, my sunflower” while all you had been rendered to was a moaning mess with one hand gripping the hem of his borrowed haori and the other holding a fistful of his soft hair, urging him closer.

“kyojuro, please, suck my clit harder and put your fingers in me,” you requested breathlessly and, far from being put off by your straightforwardness, your lover took to obeying and complying with the unleashed eagerness of a puppy, bringing one of the hands that had been forcing your thighs apart to your fluttering quim. his middle finger, rough and thick and thankfully not covered in soot for a change, teased the entrance with featherlight circles before pushing inside, working steadily to loosen the twitching channel.

“that’s it, you’re so tight, my love,” he groaned, because you were, but you were also so turned on that his finger slid in and out with little to no resistance. “i’m going to get you prepared so well, you’re going to take my whole cock inside this tight pussy, aren’t you?”

“y-yes! oh gods, yes, i want your big cock inside of me, pleasepleaseplease-!” his ring finger joined the tight fit, prodding and curling and squelching so obscenely you knew you should be ashamed, yet it only aroused you even more. his relentless ministrations were bringing you closer and closer to orgasm, every pump of his fingers and flick of his tongue effortlessly carrying you to the edge.

“you’re going to come? my princess is going to make a mess, isn’t she?” kyojuro noticed, of course he noticed, observant and thoughtful as he was. his wrist must hurt from how awkwardly he was bending it to finger you as well as the pace he had set, but it didn’t seem to faze him when the promise of your climax was so close he could practically taste it in the copious amounts of cum that your delicious cunt was drooling all over his lower face. “please, come on my tongue, let me get you off, little flame, c’mon, c’mon…!”

you didn’t need further encouragement to fall off the edge, voice cracking embarrassingly from the high-pitched cry that heralded your orgasm. kyojuro moaned shamelessly along with you as a small stream of clear liquid hit his tongue while he ate you out with renewed fervor, feeling it drip down his chin and onto his thick chest, fingers feeling every merciless squeeze caused by the waves of your subsiding climax, and had you been lucid enough you’d have heard him babbling and growling “good girl, that’s my good girl… give it to me, yes…!”

and he removed himself from your exhausted cunt when your legs finally fell limp on the table, regarding you with heat in his eyes and the back of a hand to his chin, wiping off the cum that soaked the lower half of his visage.

you looked out of it for the full fifteen seconds it took to come back from the faltering, smaller waves of bliss, but once your eyes rolled back in place, it was to meet his gaze and, fuck , kyojuro swore you almost had hearts in your eyes.

“kyojuroo,” you slurred, sounding deliciously fucked out. “let me suck your cock before you fuck me, please. i’ll get it so wet you’ll glide in, i promise. i wanna make you feel good too~”

“i’m flattered, little flame,” he chuckled, gathering your limp body in his sturdy arms and carrying you to the mattress (heaven knows if he tried to fuck you on the table, he’d have one less piece of furniture by the end of the night). he laid you down with tender care, carefully placing your head on the pillow before settling between your legs in a kneeling position. his hands went back to gripping your hips to adjust you better. “but i think i might go insane if i don’t take you this instant. don’t worry, though, i’ll take you up on that offer another time…”

his throbbing erection had been but a distant discomfort while he had devoted his whole attention to you, but it was now demanding the promising tight wrap of your sweet cunt. placing your knees around his waist, he brought you closer, to the point where the tip pressed against your wet folds, and he faltered.

“i’m going to make you mine,” he promised, running the red glans up and down your sopping slit, and you nodded feverishly. he decided, on the spot and despite being at his own limit, that that wasn’t answer enough. “beg for it.”

“oh, kyojuro, please, make me yours! please, fuck me until i forget my own name!” he didn’t expect he would love the way any sense of filter had abandoned you in your cockdrunk stupor, but he did, he loved how he didn’t have to coax the dirty talk out of you. he loved how shameless you were naturally.

“that’s right…” he aligned the tip, giving an experimental roll of his hips and groaning hoarsely when the thick head popped right inside your tight channel. “let me claim this pussy!”

he was fully stuffed inside in only a few pushes, straining uncomfortably against what felt like the deepest stretch of your cunt, and you moaned lowly, adjusting to the stretch around your entrance. his praise was incessant.

“that’s a good girl, taking my whole cock so well, stretching so well just for me, o-oh,” and his voice breaks a little when you return a roll of your own hips, testing the feeling, and kyojuro couldn't help returning the dangerous smile that you’ve offered. “you naughty minx.”

that was all the warning you received before he pulled out, all the way to the tip, only to slam back home in one swift thrust. the shared moan reverberated throughout the small room, and kyojuro began by setting a slow and deep pace that left you shaking down to your very marrow. your legs squeezed his sides, enjoying the way his thrusts pushed you further up the bed.

“i’m going to fuck you so good, aren’t i?” his hands traveled from your hips all the way up to your unattended chest taking rough handfuls of both mounds and massaging, groping and pulling in all directions, at all paces, just to find out what made you keen. and whatever knowledge kyojuro learned, he abused, in the best type of way. he cupped the underside of your tits, watching them bounce with each movement, and he snarled. “gods, i wish you were wearing that necklace i made for you, if only to watch it bounce in time with your breasts.”

“i will! i will wear it next time! and i’ll also wear the rings you made for me and jerk your fat cock off while wearing them!”

“fuuck, yes you will!” who knew you could be so filthy? there wasn’t an atom in his being that minded the fact that you spewed promises so sinful they’d ruin your reputation as the proper and elegant lady if word ever got out. lucky you, kyojuro had zero intentions to share you with anyone.

“kyojuro,” you called his name through hiccups, and he relented a little to let you speak more comfortably while giving himself a break by rolling languidly into you. he watched your hand slide down your torso until it rested on your lower belly. and then, you pushed. you pushed your hand down and he could feel the extra pressure on his snug cock, groaning lowly. you smiled deviously up at him. “i feel you all the way up here…”

if he hadn’t closed his eyes at the lewd sight of you adoringly petting the slight bulge on your tummy, he knew he would have come on the spot.

“of course you do, little flame.” break time was over, and he began to pick up the pace once more, except this time he also let his fingers join in the fun, placing a steely thumb on your throbbing bud and rubbing mercilessly while you thrashed on his cock. “i can feel you squeezing harder, are you getting close, my love?”

the only answer you could deliver was a garbled mess of “yesyesyes” and wet pleas, hips bucking in every which direction, simultaneously trying to get more of and get away from the intense pleasure he was bestowing upon you.

“come on, little flame, i need you to come before i do, and i’m so close, you have no idea… can you do that for me? can you be a good girl and come for me?”

you could, and you did, letting out a silent scream when your second orgasm crashed over you, a little less intense than the first one, but mind-numbing nonetheless. your cunt pulsed rhythmically around his throbbing prick, feeling like heaven and hell for kyojuro, all at the same time.

“y-you feel so good, my love, coming so hard around my cock… oh, heavens i’m going to come soon too…” he knew he was probably overstimulating your used pussy, but he couldn’t help but blindly chase after his own rapidly approaching release. “tell… oh, fuck! please, tell me where, little flame, please…!”

you didn’t answer verbally, you don’t think you could have been physically capable, but his question registered sluggishly, and you mustered all of your remaining strength to lift your legs and cross your ankles at his lower back, pulling him flush between your legs; through half-lidded eyes, you saw his drooping stare become awake as the realization of your actions hit him. moaning brokenly as all he had left to do was rut desperately inside of you.

“a-ah! i’m going to come inside of you, little flame-e! going to make you mine forever, yes… f-fuck!” a second later, kyojuro made good on his promise, filling you with a release that felt so abnormally warm that it brought a shudder upon your wrecked body.

the next moments felt like a blur, like you were struggling to stay conscious, but you knew that kyojuro had resisted the temptation to give into post-coitum cuddles and instead stepped off the mattress and walked around the room.

“you did so incredibly well for me, sunflower,” he praised when he was back at your side, rubbing your cheek tenderly as you smiled drowsily up at him. “i’m going to clean us up now, and then we can sleep. we’ll sort everything out in the morning.”

you felt kyojuro go through the motions of aftercare, pliant under his gentle touch as he wiped sweat and cum off your body (you swear you feel him stare for a few seconds too long at the oozing mess between your legs). the rain didn’t sound as merciless at it had been coming down most of the evening, but the drumming of the droplets on the roof of the shed, coupled with your lover’s careful ministrations, were making a damn good concoction for dozing off.

somehow, you managed to remain conscious until after kyojuro had settled in bed with you, pulling you close to his sturdy and ridiculously warm body, but who were you to turn down the delicious snuggles he promised? with your face against his chest, his arms around your body and a hand in your hair, you finally succumbed to slumber while listening to the low vibration of his voice as he made sweet promises for the future.

“i can’t offer you the luxurious life you have been raised into, but i swear i’ll take care of you in any way i’m- oh…” the blacksmith chuckled, finally taking notice of your steady breathing a very much unconscious state, and decided instead to snuggle further into you. “it’s alright,” he mumbled, “tomorrow will be a day for planning.”

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

in the end, kyojuro hadn’t accepted your offer. well, at least not completely. instead of taking the job that had been offered to him by that nobleman acquaintance of yours, he thought it would be wiser to ask haganezuka to find him an employer that wouldn’t know of you or your family, and who still resided relatively close to his family state (because if something was for certain, it was that he had a lot of catching up to do with his own family, especially about you).

haganezuka, the blessing in disguise that he was, had managed to find the perfect employer in a scarily scarce amount of time and, the very next day, kyojuro had formally expressed to his soon-to-be previous boss that he would break their contract.

“settling down so young isn’t a wise choice if the goal in mind is to improve on your craft” had been the explanation given and, annoyed as he had been by the sudden notice, the governor had let the young rengoku go without much fuss.

you, of course, stayed at your family’s estate for a couple months after kyojuro moved out, because it would have been suspicious to time your escape at around the same time that the blacksmith had left; he had a reputation to uphold, and rumors of stealing away the daughter of a noble family wouldn’t do it any good. so, you waited, counting down the days with barely concealed excitement, and when enough time had passed, you grabbed the bag with your most prized belongings and left on a warm june dawn.

the letter in your vanity had been dedicated to your mother and sister, reassuring them that you’d be safe and happy and would always have them in your thoughts.

the summer sun beat down mercilessly on the engawa of kyojuro’s new workplace. it was a bigger shed, and despite not being surrounded by beautiful Japanese maples like the ones your former home had proudly displayed, the quiet forest, abundant in it’s greenery, proved to be a decent replacement.

kyojuro sat on the wooden platform, yukata a little loose on the chest to allow some of breeze to hit his overheated skin. he had been working all morning in the project that his new employer had left in his capable hands, so, he reckoned, a small break now that late afternoon had arrived was in order.

the sound of dull footsteps on grass interrupted his lounging.

“do you accept commissions?”

and kyojuro knew it in that moment, as you greeted him in the same peculiar way you had almost a year ago, that you were the only one for him.

“of course, my love! it’s what i do!”

and he was delighted to know that he was the only one for you.

“wonderful. i’d like to request a ring from you. actually, could you make them two?”

#kimetsu no yaiba #kny #demon slayer #kny smut #kny x reader #kny x you #kny x y/n #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku x y/n #rengoku smut #kyojuro x reader #kyojuro smut #kny fanfic #demon slayer x reader

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coffeebanana · 1 year

Text

This was supposed to be for the Ladrien June prompt "morning", but I didn't feel like waiting another week or so 😂.

Excerpt:

[CW for grief/mourning and recent character death (Gabriel)]

Adrien cleared his throat. "I...ran into Chat Noir outside. He said he had to go, but he told me..." He took a deep breath, continuing in a whisper. "I know my father's dead." It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and the words came out surprisingly clear. It was only afterwards, when they hung in the awkward silence following Ladybug's sharp intake of air, that he felt like they were eating him from the inside out. Ladybug's grip tightened. "I'm sorry, Adrien. I'm so sorry."

Read on Ao3, or under the cut!! 💜

The rising sun hit Adrien's back as he forced his front door open, its light casting an eerie glow over the mansion’s battle-torn foyer. Half the ceiling was caved in. The staircase was all but destroyed. And scraps of metal amongst the wreckage glinted gold, like the dying embers of a fire. Like the end of an era.

It wasn't the victory it should have been.

As the door slipped from his fingers, Adrien squeezed his eyes shut and stopped to take a few steadying breaths—a dangerous idea. Police officers were still on site, gathering evidence amidst the wreckage. One of them could easily notice him, and then he might get stuck answering their questions. He needed to move. He needed to remember the simple instructions he'd outlined for himself before walking back inside.

Sneak into the kitchen. Grab food for Plagg. Get out.

Run.

He could cover his tracks later. It wouldn't be too hard to find an excuse for Ladybug as to why Chat Noir hadn't come back after he allegedly went outside to recharge. It would definitely be easier than facing her as his civilian self—as Monarch's son—right now.

But hesitation had cost him. "Adrien?"

Ladybug.

Unable to reply or to so much as glance in her direction, Adrien stared resolutely at a piece of rubble by his feet—a piece which he thought used to be part of the bannister. Tears burned the corner of his eyes, but he did his best to blink them away.

He tensed when he heard her approach, something he wouldn't have noticed so quickly if it weren't for the debris scattered about. Any other day, her footsteps would have barely made a sound against the marble floors.

Too soon, her feet stopped in front of him. He struggled to keep his breaths even, fighting to remain upright when it felt like the entire world was closing in around him.

"I...I thought you were at Nino's," she said.

Had he told her that? He barely remembered any of the excuses he'd made last night. It was hard to recall much aside from how he'd awoken a few hours earlier to find his father's body splayed unnaturally across the floor, his vacant stare somehow still bearing traces of disappointment.

The ambulance had pulled away maybe an hour ago, with no sirens to accompany its departure.

Adrien only realized Ladybug was probably waiting for a response when she grabbed his hand, pulling him back to the present with a gentle squeeze. His stomach swirled. Couldn't she have reached for his other side?

She deserved better than the hand he'd used to destroy his own father.

When he finally managed to look up, he only felt worse seeing the sympathy in her eyes. He quickly looked back to his feet, panic drowning out any response he tried to cobble together in his head.

"Has anyone told you what happened?" she asked.

Adrien almost said no—which would be the truth, technically. Nobody had told him, unless he counted the clarifications Plagg had provided after the fact, details of what occurred after Ladybug and Chat Noir fell victim to Monarch's Akuma. Part of him wondered how Ladybug would tell the story, which parts would she soften or leave out. He wondered what she really thought.

But maybe it was better not to know.

Adrien cleared his throat. "I...ran into Chat Noir outside. He said he had to go, but he told me..." He took a deep breath, continuing in a whisper. "I know my father's dead."

It was the first time he'd said it out loud, and the words came out surprisingly clear. It was only afterwards, when they hung in the awkward silence following Ladybug's sharp intake of air, that he felt like they were eating him from the inside out.

Ladybug's grip tightened. "I'm sorry, Adrien. I'm so sorry."

His gut coiled tightly with some unbearable emotion. He tried to think up something else to say, lips parting as he raised his head to look at her. But the second he met her eyes—so wide and blue and sad—speaking was a lost cause.

His lips quivered. A sob clawed its way up his throat, tugging another one up behind it before the first had even broken free. Ladybug's hand rubbed up and down his arm, and that was all the encouragement he needed to finally release the tsunami inside him.

Adrien had killed his own father.

For months he'd been suffering. Adrien had assumed, when Monarch reappeared from his brief hiatus, that he was okay. That the Cataclysm hadn't been fatal. Instead he'd had a front row seat to his demise—to all the times he cried out in pain while cooking breakfast, trying to pretend everything was fine whenever Adrien noticed.

But if it weren't for that Cataclysm, if Monarch's health hadn't been weakened, then the world might have ended a few hours ago, torn apart and rebuilt in his father’s image. With his parents and Nathalie still alive.

How was he meant to feel about that?

He didn't even know where he was supposed to sleep tonight.

But at least Ladybug didn't hate him. At least he still had one friend in this crazy, twisted world.

She pulled him into her arms as he broke down in tears, as he crumpled like the ceiling and shattered like the windows. As he was reduced to nothing but a shaky foundation, to the dying embers of who he used to be.

Adrien and his cold, lonely home finally had something in common.

...

"Here you go," Ladybug said, sliding a mug of tea across the kitchen counter as she settled onto the stool beside him.

Adrien wrapped his hands around the mug. The water was still too hot, but it took him a few seconds to notice. By the time he loosened his grip, his fingers already stung.

"Thanks," he croaked, his throat raw from crying. He wasn't really the biggest fan of tea, but it had seemed to make Ladybug feel better having some way to help him.

The least he could do was pretend she'd succeeded.

For a while they sat in silence. Adrien stared blankly at his tea, vaguely aware of how Ladybug kept shifting around like she couldn't get comfortable.

"Do you...have any questions?" she asked eventually.

He shook his head. None of his questions were for the living.

"Well," she said, "if you think of any later...I'd be happy to answer if I can. And if there's anything else I can do..." She reached out slowly to touch his shoulder, and it was all he could do not to shake her off. "Is there anywhere you'd like to go? Someone you'd like to see?"

Adrien fiddled with the string of his tea bag, watching it bob up and down. "Am I even allowed?"

"What do you mean?"

"To leave."

"Why wouldn't you be?" When he shrugged, her hand slipped from his shoulder. She slid her stool closer. "Adrien, you're not in trouble. Nobody thinks you had anything to do with any of this."

Maybe they should.

Adrien swallowed. "But...don't I have to talk to a social worker or something?"

"Oh. I, um...I don't know. I guess so, but there's nobody here right now, so...I don't think anyone would mind if I took you somewhere else to wait."

He nodded slowly, hand moving automatically to his pocket. He shifted to pull out the lucky charm he kept there, wrapping his fingers tightly around it. "Maybe I could go to my girlfriend's house."

"That sounds like a great idea," Ladybug said, jumping to her feet. "Let's go!"

Adrien remained glued in his seat, his stomach swirling. Seeing Marinette probably would make him feel better—at least on the surface. But how long could that last? Hiding his identity hadn't really come between them since they'd gotten together, but this was different. How could he hide the worst thing he'd ever done?

But what if he told her and she never looked at him the same way?

Ladybug's stool scraped against the floor as she sat back down, and she sounded upset when she spoke. "Do you not want to go?"

Adrien set the lucky charm on the table and watched the beads blur behind fresh tears. "I'm...scared."

"Why?"

"Because...what if Marinette sees me differently."

"Do you really believe she would?" Ladybug asked in a small voice.

He thought for a moment. "No? I don't know. Probably not, but...she could."

She grabbed his hand, and when he glanced her way there was an intensity in her eyes he couldn't interpret. "I'm sure she won't."

"You can't know that."

"But I do! I—she loves you, right?"

Adrien's stomach clenched, but he managed a nod as a hot tear rolled down his cheek.

"Exactly!" Ladybug said, gesturing nonsense with her free hand. "So there!"

He mustered a small smile for her enthusiasm, but it was short-lived. "It doesn't matter," he said, wiping his eyes. "Things are different now."

"Sure. But...that doesn't mean everything has to change, right?"

He didn't answer, trying to ignore the feelings swirling inside him by poking at his tea bag again. The water was cool enough now that it didn't hurt when he accidentally dipped his finger in, but the idea of actually taking a sip and swallowing seemed foreign. So he kept staring at it until a sniffle came from beside him. He turned to see Ladybug with one hand covering her mouth, tears trickling down her cheeks.

"My lady?" he said without thinking, reaching over to set a hand on her shoulder. Panic spiked through him when he realized what he'd called her, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I didn't mean to...I'm f-fine! It's just that you—I just want to help you! But maybe I c-can't. And it's not f-fair, that you're hurting. And..."

Her next words were drowned out by a sob. She slumped down on the table, hiding her face in her arms. All Adrien could do was sit there rubbing her back until she calmed down, at which point she pushed herself up slowly, wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry I let this happen," she said.

"What?" Adrien replayed her words in his head, certain he'd misunderstood. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was my job to stop Monarch from making the wish, and I...failed. Even if he didn't succeed...someone's still paying the price."

"That's ridiculous." It was his fault.

"Adrien, it's fine. You don't have to..." She drew in a shaky breath. "If you're mad at me, I understand."

None of the morning had felt real, but now Adrien was sure he must be caught in some sort of alternate reality.

Maybe the wish had worked. Maybe his mother would walk into the kitchen at any moment.

If only.

"That makes no sense," Adrien said slowly, still trying to wrap his head around things. "If anything, it's Chat Noir's fault."

Ladybug's eyes went wide. "Did he tell you that?"

How was he meant to answer that? "Not...exactly. But he told me about the Cataclysm, and—"

"Please don't blame him for that. I know he feels terrible enough already."

"Because Monarch's dead thanks to him. It's his fault!"

"It's not," Ladybug pleaded. "He was just following my plan, and Monarch caught us off guard, and then..."

"But...but you..." Adrien trailed off, his body shaking.

He didn't know what to say, because technically Ladybug was right. But he didn't blame her at all, and he certainly didn't want her blaming herself.

"It was my fault," he said, knowing it was true. He felt it with every inch of his body, with every useless breath he took.

The guilt consumed him.

"Adrien," Ladybug breathed. "It's absolutely not your fault. How could you even think that?"

Only once he processed her words did he recognize his own misstep. But she hadn't caught on yet. He could still walk this back.

But he wasn't sure he wanted to.

This secret took too energy much to hide.

"It was me,” he said shakily. “It was my..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. He could barely even breathe. But he could see in Ladybug’s eyes that she still didn't understand, so he raised his hand to mimic the motion, stretching out his fingers the way he would if he'd really called on his power. He tried to mouth the word too, but he wasn't really sure his lips obeyed. Slowly, he lowered his hand to the counter, letting it collapse into a fist when he made contact.

Cataclysm.

He watched as realization slowly dawned on her. Then she blinked hard, shaking her head as if trying to dismiss the idea. But her eyes flew to the ring on his hand, widening further.

“Chat Noir?”

"I did this," he said in a broken whisper. "I killed him."

"Oh, Chaton. No." Ladybug stood, wrapping her arms around him. "It was an accident. It's not your fault."

Adrien thought that maybe, if he kept taking breaths so small they barely counted, if he let his mind float away the way it had been threatening to do all morning, then maybe—maybe—he could keep from crying again. But Ladybug rested her head on his shoulder, her warm breath ruffling his T-shirt. And that was all it took for him to come apart again.

...

They ended up on the floor, wedged between both stools. Adrien wasn't sure if he'd fallen off his seat at some point or if Ladybug had carried him here. He didn't care. As long as he could keep lying here with his head in Ladybug's lap and her fingers in his hair, he could somehow keep the guilt at bay. He could stop it from devouring him whole.

But he couldn't stay here forever.

Marinette's lucky charm was clenched in his fist again, and he was afraid to let go.

"Should I tell her?" Adrien asked.

"Hm?"

"Marinette. Should I..." He closed his eyes. "Do you think she'd hate me if I told her the truth?"

Ladybug let out a shaky breath, her fingers freezing in his hair. "She won't hate you. And...yes. I think you should tell her."

"Okay. Maybe I will."

"How about this?" Ladybug said. "If she breaks up with you, I'll date you instead."

Adrien managed some semblance of a laugh. "What about your boyfriend?”

“Mmm." She twisted another strand of hair around her finger. "Somehow I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“All right then. It’s a deal.”

Her offer was a joke—he knew that. But somehow it still felt like a promise.

"Would you...like me to take you to her now?”Ladybug asked. “I still can, if you want."

"Maybe." He thought of the bakery. Of Tom and Sabine's welcoming smiles, the smell of croissants, and being wrapped up in one of Marinette's hugs. It sounded nice. "Give me five more min—" He broke off in a yawn.

Ladybug laughed. "Or you can get some sleep first." Her voice was gentle and steady and safe. "I'll stay with you."

He tried to reply, but his words were engulfed by another yawn. So he settled for mumbling his agreement, squeezing the lucky charm to his chest, and letting his eyes flutter closed.

Maybe in his dreams, the world wouldn't hurt so much.

#miraculous ladybug #coffeebanana fics #ladrien #angst #hurt/comfort #cw grief #cw character death #miraculeakless #adrien agreste #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #long post #season 5 compliant (up to what's aired so far aka episode 20)

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chronically-ghosted · 25 days

Text

bloody kisses — part three: cinnamon girl boy

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 10K content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, self-doubt, shame, worries about aging, heavy petting, oral (male receiving), first time giving head, gag reflex training, assplay, doggy style, protected p in a, discussions of dom/sub and top/bottom, bad family dynamics, hints of poverty, discussions around divorce, tim's internal battles, dominant!tim, bratty!shane, nasty dirty talk (anyone who identifies my favorite line gets a gold star), lmk if anything has been missed! dividers: @saradika-graphics a/n: i wanna cry @perotovar let me play with their beautiful blorbos and i had so much fun. i've never written m/m before so they took a HUGE risk on me - thank you so much for trusting me to treat them well!

series summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

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(from @chronically-ghosted: if you liked my humble take on this, you can find my masterlist here!) ♥♥

Russet streaks of late afternoon light filter in through the vinyl slats over the grungy carpet when Shane opens the apartment door. He shuts it with a sigh, locking it behind his back, before tipping his head against the frame, closing his eyes, and taking a long inhale. On the exhale verging on a sigh, he tosses his keys onto the ripped and faded black couch to his right before trudging into the linoleum kitchen.

There’s a note on the counter:

Gone to visit Barry’s kids in New Jersey. Be back on the 10th. Money for food is on the fridge.

Shane’s dark eyes flit to the M magnet that Samantha left here the last time she visited from Maine. Even their father came that time.

He snorts resentfully when he sees it: twenty bucks to last him two weeks – thanks Mom.

Chances that she left him anything in the freezer are lower than the chance he’ll be able to stretch this twenty till Friday.

Shane slips off his leather duster and tosses it over one of the precarious bar stools. He snatches up the half empty packet of cigarettes from the scuffed living room table, takes one out, and lights it. He flops into the cracked leather, stuffing fluttering out of the cushions on impact, one of the metal springs stabbing him in his flat ass. Head against the ridge of the couch, Shane lazily puffs out smoke rings, his lips pursed, up to the ceiling.

There’s about a dozen – maybe even twice as many – feelings in his chest right now, all bubbling and curling and spitting and scratching at his insides. Some of them are good – most of them are great, actually (god he can’t remember when he last felt this fucking ecstatic about anything) but some of them . . . some of them scare him so much he can barely breathe.

Call, Tim had said, in his soft, low voice, the smell of sweet syrup still in the air, the plates with pancake crumbs sitting in the sink behind him. Call, if you need anything.

The detective’s card sits in the left pocket of his duster.

Shane shakes his head, a grim smile on his face. Can I call if I’m just fucking lonely without you?

He sips at the cigarette a bit, following the hazy trail of smoke as it wafts around the room. His eyes fall on the cracks of his life, this apartment he shares with his mother and her boyfriend. Stacks of newspapers by the bookcase that’s missing a few shelves. A cereal bowl he left by the window two days ago when a few friends invited him out to go check out Maxxx’s new stereo system. Takeout boxes and beer cans. Unfolded laundry in a plastic bin, the edges cracked and torn off. A few pictures when he was a wiry kid, then a wiry teen. He has a few good memories with Samantha, when he was fourteen and she was seven. That was the only time in his life when anything ever made any sense.

When she’d ask if he’d play her a s–

Shane’s eyes narrow at his bedroom door. Without looking, he snuffs the cigarette out in the nearest ashtray and stands up. Barry knows what would happen if he went into Shane’s room without Shane’s express permission – mother’s boyfriend or not – but Shane locks up every time. He keys open his bedroom door and finds everything as he left it. But that’s not what has him moving down onto his hands and knees, laying flat on his stomach to get a long arm under his bed. With a bit of searching, Shane’s face breaks open wide in surprise as he fingers curl around the long wooden neck. Slowly, Shane crawls back and with him comes his old acoustic guitar.

By the line of dust on it, it really had been several years since he played this thing, but turning it over, the rightness of it settles into his hands, his hips, his bones. This is where it was always meant to be.

Seems like I’m finding all kinds of rightness out of nowhere.

He strums once. The strings are horrifically out of tune, but the thoughts swirling around in his brain make him smile. Fist under his chin, he props his head up on the guitar’s body, contemplating.

He can still smell the sugar from breakfast and Tim’s aftershave from after breakfast. His heart squeezes without his control . . . and his ass twinges. Heat roars up his entire chest and he has to curl in on himself, rolling onto his back, to keep from exploding, a big stupid grin all over his face. The last twelve hours flit across his memory, each moment better than the next.

Call, if you need anything, Tim had said.

I need you to tell me what to do now. Am I the same person? Do I want to be? If I left all of this and everyone behind, who would I be tomorrow? Would you keep me around then?

Do you even really like me now?

He takes his hands down from his eyes, sighing and staring up at his popcorn ceiling, not unlike Tim’s.

Beneath his right hand, his metal bracelets clatter with the wood of the guitar.

Samantha.

Samantha likes him, or at least used to. She loved some version of him. Little sisters are always supposed to love you, but maybe he could find that version again. If it’s still there.

Shane sits up and begins to clean his room.

Night comes and the light from the Morrissey apartment stays on a young man gathering trash and throwing it away.

Tim hasn’t been this on edge since the four or five times he’s tried to quit smoking. He sits in his car, rain pouring down, heating set on low for an early November evening, and he thinks about all the ways this can go wrong. He stares up at the second floor of the tenement apartment, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel.

Like file folders, he sorts his worries from least to most earth-shattering.

Shane is vulnerable right now. There is no one else in his life he can turn to with questions, and he had been left to fend for himself on and off since he was fifteen (Tim has pulled up his file only half a dozen times for follow up work on the shooting and Shane’s rap sheet often catches his eye). Of course, he wants nothing more than to be the person who Shane comes to with questions or concerns, or fuck, even just an ear to listen to. But, at his age, Tim is all too aware of what a situation like that could do to him.

He’s already in too deep and he fucking knows it.

Earth-shattering worry number two: he is a cop and he has booked this kid more times than he can count. Just for petty stuff and he was never the one to press charges – always the DA looking for an easy numbers game to boost his image before the elections. Tim fucking agonized over that and not just in Shane’s case – these kids weren’t in need of help, the attorney’s office said, they were problems that needed to be put down. So how fast would the DA’s head spin around and explode if he showed up to the policeman’s ball with the “Satanic Temple” on his arm, nevermind just another man? While that would be a sight Tim would cherish until he died, he can’t ask anyone – especially someone as new to all of this as Shane – to handle something like that.

Which brings him to his final worry, the big concern that has him nearly start up his car and drive off, to call Shane on a payphone and apologize for not being able to ever see him again. Tim’s old. He’s fucking old and Shane shouldn’t have to carry decades worth of baggage when the kid’s got a fucking trunk of it himself. He’s old and a has-been and Shane has the rest of his life ahead of him.

Of course, this is all assuming Shane would ever want something more with him and this isn’t just sex for him. But maybe that’s all it should be. Both of them dirty little secrets to each other that can fuel Tim’s fantasies until his cock finally stops working (which is probably pretty fucking imminent), and something that Shane can laugh about with his partner some day.

With a sigh, Tim watches a figure move around behind dirty windows on the second floor.

The only way Tim would walk away now is if Shane told him to take a fucking hike. And that’s a really big problem.

He turns off the car, grabs his tan raincoat, and heads towards the apartment building.

When Shane opens the door, Tim wonders if he had a stroke and is seeing things that aren’t really there. Shane still has all his earrings, his rings with his unusually jet-black hair, but the duster is gone. Shane has answered the door in a black sleeveless shirt, with faded but roughly-intact jeans, and bare feet. He looks –

“Laundry day.” Tim’s eyes snap up and Shane frowns petulantly. “‘S laundry day . . . n’ this is all I had.” His fingers around the doorframe tighten. “You gonna come in or just stand there and make me look like a fuckin’ rat?”

Tim is very much aware of how much he looks like a cop even in plain clothes, and the tie with slacks isn’t helping. But he can understand why it might make things difficult for Shane to be seen with him.

But, fuck, if he only knew . . .

“Sorry.”

He steps across the threshold and Shane shuts the door behind him, sticking very close to the wood to give as much space between the two of them as possible. The rain patters in the silence as Tim tries not to stare too much, but that pattern-picking part of his brain can’t help but lurch into overdrive.

The apartment is empty. That’s the first thing he clocks. The second are several black garbage bags by the front door and the distinct smell of Pinesol in the air, sitting only faintly above the stench of cigarettes. Tim’s eyes fall to the cracked patio door, then the ashtray that has three very freshly stamped-out cigarettes in the bowl. Either two of Shane’s friends just left or –

“You want, um, something to drink?”

Shane moves swiftly from behind him to the kitchen and Tim’s gaze latches to his back. His ears are by his shoulders and Tim gets a brief flash of the borderline fear in those dark eyes before he disappears behind the wall.

“No, uh –,” Tim clears his throat and takes off his coat, then his holster, laying both flat on the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen. “I’m good. Mind if I smoke though?”

Shane returns, a beer can in his hand and slides into the plastic chair on the left side of the chipped table beneath a sickly, hanging fluorescent light. He cracks it and takes two long pulls before putting it on the table with a thud. He picks up his own packet and Tim thinks he might see a tremble in his hand.

He’s not sure if he feels vindicated, even elated, that Shane might be as nervous as he is, or just terribly awkward.

“Make yourself at home.” Shane indicates the chair across from him with a jerk of his head before he lights up. The chair squeaks on the linoleum as Tim pulls it back and gingerly sits down. He stabilizes his elbows on the table to keep his hands steady as he takes out a cigarette from his own packet and lights it against his mouth.

The heady rush of smoke combined with the fresh scent of rain soothes something and he forcibly tugs at his own courage.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” Fantastic start, Rockford.

Shane lifts those thin shoulders, eyes skirting the edge of the table. “Good. Went, uh, to see X the other day. He’s getting better. Says the hospital should let him out soon.”

“Good. That’s good.”

The room is so quiet, he can hear the paper burn and curl from the smoldering end of the cigarette between his fingers.

“And you? You've been – um?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good. Xavier – sorry – X’s testimony was really useful for identifying the shooter and establishing a timeline. Should be a pretty open and shut case.”

At that, a wry smirk curls across Shane’s face. He looks at Tim with something that might be described as a teasing grin as he knocks loose a line of ash. “Probably the last and only time X is gonna be helpful to the police.”

Tim responds with his own grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything different. Where’s the fun in easy cases?”

They both chuckle, eyes on anywhere but each other. And yet the tension has cracked, just a bit. Enough to let Tim lean back in his chair and breathe out a long, relaxed plume of smoke.

“But, uh, you called because you wanted to ask me something?”

Shane’s ink-wet eyes glance up at him and Tim feels the knot beneath his chest bone throb.

“Oh – yeah, right. Um, I was thinking about something you said over breakfast the other day . . .” Tim’s heart swells; he thinks about that morning all the fucking time too. Soft golden light and harsh black hair, spread across his chest. “And I was wondering if you still talk to your old friend in the NYU music department.”

That is not the question Tim had been expecting.

“John? Who works at the guitar shop on 7th?”

“I’m not thinking of going to school,” Shane adds quickly, the tips of his ears going red and Tim has to make an effort to keep his eyes on Shane’s face. “I still think school is a fuckin’ racket made for rich people to make themselves richer and maintain authority over –,”

“Yes, I still talk to John from time to time. Why?”

At this, Shane shifts in his seat, eyes low, shoulders rigid with tension. He taps his thumb on his knee uncomfortably.

“Iwanajob . . .”

“Sorry?”

Shane scrunches his nose (the band around Tim’s chest tightens – god, he’s so fucking cute) and huffs.

“I want . . . a job. At the guitar shop . . . and I was hoping . . . you could introduce me to your friend. John, or whatever.” He adds sullenly as if Tim hadn’t just said his name twice.

The buzzing awareness that is always present at the back of Tim’s mind suddenly clicks on. Like a camera taking film, he looks around the room. The trash bags. The tidy apartment. Fucking laundry day.

“Oh,” he says flatly. “Why, uh – why that place?”

Shane stiffens imperceptibly again. He’s got that “caught-in-a-trap” look about him – the kind his suspects get when they’re about to confess something, willingly or otherwise. Shane’s wide eyes glance over Tim’s shoulder as if he had pointed a finger. Tim turns and is rail-roaded again for the second time since coming here.

“Is that yours?” Tim stands, leaving the cigarette in the ash tray, and crosses the room, careful not to touch the shining guitar on its holder but getting as close as possible to examine it. It is a beautiful guitar, the body waxed and the silver of the tuning pegs bright in the low light. It takes Shane a second to answer.

“Yeah.” The admission is breathy, a release from a too-long-held inhale. Tim thinks his voice wobbles a bit but he dare not turn around to see what’s on Shane’s face. “I used to play a lot. I loved music as a kid, thought I was pretty good. Samantha loved it when I wrote songs for her. When we got older, she’d sing along with me.”

Tim clocked a white note stuck on the counter when he walked in, but he was too far away to read it. The way Shane said her name, Tim gathers that she’s not an ex, but someone closer. However, his file never mentioned any Samantha, so she must not live nearby or be someone he sees frequently.

When we got older . . .

Tim straightens up and looks at Shane. “Is Samantha your sister?”

Shane stares at him wide-eyed for a minute before shaking his head, smiling faintly.

“I hate it when you fucking do that.”

Tim’s stomach knots. “Do what?”

“Figure me out as soon as you look at me. Yeah, dude, Samantha is my sister. Half-sister anyway. Mom and Dad tried to do the whole divorced parents who get along thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Now I don’t see her unless she can get the car for the weekend. But she says she won’t come if she’s not invited and I . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Tim nods, the sick knot in his stomach melting into butterflies.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. Just . . . curious, I guess.”

Shane watches him silently as he rejoins the table. The chair squeaks again. Tim lights another cigarette when he knows he shouldn’t but Shane’s smile has him trembling.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

Tim swallows. “Can’t help myself do what?”

“Be curious,” Shane says softly, something unreadable and expansive in his gaze. For a second, he looks a decade older and a millennia wiser. He lifts his voice, louder, deeper when he continues. “Guess that’s part of being a cop.”

“You know, technically, I’m a detective, right? Not on patrol, only handling specialized cases.”

Shane sucks the last bit of his cigarette, his eyes bright with mischief. “A-Cab, Rockford. I don’t make exceptions.”

Tim wants to kiss that smirk right off him. He squeezes his own knee briefly before leaning into Shane’s space, the corner of the table separating them, to tap out his ash. He relishes in the way Shane’s eyes skitter up his forearm to his shoulder. He’s not the first to be intimidated by Tim’s size, but he is the first that Tim would gladly overwhelm with it.

“Seems like you did the other night,” he replies, his voice throaty and scratched. It’s not entirely intentional – Tim’s mouth has gone shockingly dry.

This time, Shane’s entire face flushes pink and Tim grins. Old dog still got some tricks, don’t he?

“I’m just fucking with you, kid.” He chuckles. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me.”

He hears how that last part sounds and bites his tongue in regret. Of all the things Tim wants Shane to know, assuming he thought their time together was a mistake is definitely not one of them. He does not want Shane to think he is something that Tim wants to keep a secret.

But by Shane’s unabashed intake of Tim’s forearms, chest, and curls on his hairline, he probably didn’t need to worry too much.

It’s been years since he was so shamelessly checked out and it makes his heart pound. He wouldn’t dare return the ogling but, fuck he wants to. Last time, it had been all about Shane and making Shane feel good, which he would do without question again and again and again. But he is desperate for an exploration of Shane’s body as much as he knows it needs to be an exploration for the both of them.

Or it would be, if he could get a goddamn grip. Last time - probably only fucking time, you sleeze.

“I k-know–,” Shane’s voice cracks and the blush flares again, only briefly this time. He clears his throat and sits up a bit in the chair. “I know that. I know. It’s just . . .” Shane sucks on his cigarette nervously, his cheeks hollowing, like he’s warming up to something. Something sour rolls down the back of Tim’s throat, his stomach clenched, but years of training keeps his face as smooth as stone. Those dark brown eyes, as gentle and fluid as mercury, stare up at him and Tim knows he’s such a fucking goner.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Tim nods. Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, Shane leans forward, drumming out another line of ash into the glass tray. He straightens against the back of the chair as he tugs one knee to his chest, expression wary, and wraps a skinny arm around his shin.

At the last second, Shane drops his gaze and instead decides to interrogate a dirty spot on the table.

“When I first met you,” he began slowly, “you wore a wedding ring. But now . . .”

His eyes flicker to Tim’s left hand, third finger, absent of any jewelry, sitting on his thigh.

Tim thinks of the first time he saw that irate seventeen year old punk in the station. He had a ripe black eye and an annoyingly smug smirk on when the officer on duty chucked him roughly into a holding cell.

“That’s perceptive of you.” He flexed his hand into a fist, once, then twice, then met Shane’s stare ahead on. Tim has to hastily swallow a deep lungful of smoke to smother the sudden uptick of his heartbeat. “You’re right,” he says, stiff, on a throaty inhale. “I was married until about five years ago.”

A large knot visibly slips down Shane’s throat, his cigarette tilting dangerously between his fingers, ash hovering over the carpet.

“Hm, and to a . . .”

The way his eyes go wide, Tim wants to bury a kiss into that agitated pulse on Shane’s throat, but instead, he just nods slowly, avoiding sudden movement that might startle the wild animal ready to bolt across from him.

“Yeah, Shane, to a woman.”

Shane continues to tear into his own lip. He retreats before Tim’s eyes – crosses his arms on top of his knees and leans his head back. He stares into the rain outside, the beer at his elbow long forgotten. This isn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Oh,” he says.

Tim leans forward onto his elbows, entering into his space again, but this time more hesitantly. Shane’s bare foot is inches from Tim’s fingers.

“Shane.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

With a steady hand, Shane flicks the end of his cigarette with his black thumbnail, ash falling, and with a very level gaze, he returns Tim’s watchful eye. His face is so blank he barely has any features.

“What?”

“I’ve fallen in love with women and men.”

The impenetrable ice in his eyes melts and Shane frowns. “You can do that?”

Again, Tim nods, this time a faint smile on his face. How easily he forget how fucking clueless this kid is and how fucking cute his obliviousness makes him.

“But I’ve only slept with women before, am I–,”

��It’s not about who you’ve slept with, to a certain degree. It’s who you are attracted to.”

“So there’s more than just being gay?”

He wants so badly to reach across the edge of the table and take Shane’s hand. Soothe him. Feel those rough calluses against his skin again. He can feel the heat of his own cigarette coming painfully close to the backs of his fingers so he tamps out the cigarette in the glass bowl, Shane’s eyes watching him the whole time.

“There’s a lot of things, sweetheart,” Tim says softly, the nickname slipping out as it had before, in his own apartment with Shane in his lap. He hopes that sweetheart sounded casual, a nickname more than a reflection of the hot knot tightening in his groin. “But at the end of the day, it comes down to what feels right to you. How you see yourself. You might have to spend some time figuring it out, asking yourself some hard questions, but you’ll get there.”

Shane nods, again swallowing the words that are so clearly caught in his throat. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and stares out the window at the rain. Tim’s mouth dries up at the sight of his long, exposed throat.

“Is that why it didn’t work out between you and your . . . wife?” Shane asks quietly.

Tim runs his gaze over the piercings in Shane’s earlobe, the delicate bones within the cartilage, then to his set jaw and, finally, over his plush, pouty lips.

“No.” He can hear how hoarse he sounds, how wrecked, but having Shane in front of him again, all those feelings, all those basic urges he denied for the past few weeks come roaring to the front again. He of all people should have known suppression and repression never, ever work. “We were just different people. It had nothing to do with the fact that I also fuck men.”

He watches Shane tremble, the skin on his bare arms suddenly electrified. Slowly, with a shaking breath, Shane twists out his own cigarette, pushing it down roughly with two fingers.

The thing that has been circling Tim’s mind – like a rabid dog tearing out chunks of his ability to think straight – slides out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“What have your other partners told you?”

Call it twenty years on the force.

Call it a finely tuned bullshit detector.

Call it whatever you want, but in that moment before Shane opens his mouth, Tim knows he just considered lying to him and Tim’s heart plunges into his gut. He loathes the idea that Shane might lie to him, lie to him about being queer or an aspect of himself he still has questions about. Having someone older and more experienced than him in life alone at Shane’s age would have made all the difference to him as a young man and more than anything, more than his stupid cock, that’s all he really wants. He wants to be there for Shane because no one, not even his own family, has ever told him he means a damn.

And you mean so much to me already.

Then Shane lets out a shaky breath, the crease in his brown carved deep, but one glance at Tim and it melts away. Without warning, he stands up right and for a split, wonderful second Tim thinks he’s going to crawl into his lap again.

But Tim realizes he’s waiting for something.

With a voice that comes from a very small place, Shane mutters, “there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

He blinks up at Shane for one second, and then two, and his words register, click in, and everything else fades away. Tim’s on his feet with his finger snagged through one of Shane’s belt loops before common sense or patience can catch up with him.

“Is that right?” Tim purrs as he takes the curve of Shane’s neck in his massive palm, the other going to waist, and Shane instantly gasps at the touch. But that initial elation hardens and he glares at him. Tim is distinctly reminded of an annoyed puppy.

“Don’t sound so fucking pleased,” Shane snarls through bared teeth. His black nails dig into Tim’s forearm, a warning and a plea. “It’s not like I think about you all the time or anything.”

His eyelids droop when Tim squeezes the back of his neck and Shane lets out a low moan. Tim drops his head against the other man’s forehead. The boy smells like cloves and cinnamon and definitely pot and it’s going to haunt Tim’s memories forever. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to nuzzle that bare cheek.

“You’re all I think about. Every minute, every day,” Tim hums, “I can’t stop thinking about you and all those little sounds you made when I fucked your ass.”

Another sound, a better one, squeaks out of him – one of protest and desperation and carnal need – and Tim’s control snaps in his hands.

The hand on Shane slides to the back of his head and Tim all but shoves those pouty lips into his mouth.

It’s just as fucking fantastic as he remembered.

Frantic. Needy. Tim kisses him like it’s his job to lick clean the cigarette smoke embedded on Shane’s tongue, on the inside of his mouth, the split cracks in his dry lips. His fingers tangle into that starkly black hair, the strands faintly damp, and his other hand slips to his low back. At that, the boy pulls back enough to let a whine escape from his open mouth before Tim yanks him against his chest. He feels Shane grow hard against his thigh and all the blood rushes out of his brain.

Briefly dizzy, Tim stumbles forward, his hands catching the table behind Shane’s hips, pinning the younger man between him. He nips at Shane’s neck, trying to get the world to stop spinning.

“Fuck me, baby. You’re going to give this old man a heart attack.”

Shane guides him into his mouth, his fingers clawing gently at the scruff of his beard, a slower, softer repeat of how Tim had initiated. Warm air puffs across Tim’s beard when Shane retreats, eyes searching for something he needs to find on Tim’s face.

“Actually,” he breathes softly, “I really do think about you all the time too.”

Tim has never been more grateful for the rough grip on his cheeks because that’s all that’s keeping him from sinking to the ground on wobbly knees. Shane takes another kiss before his hand slips into Tim’s meaty paw and tugs him into the living room. He guides him back to the couch and, with a not-too-gentle push, shoves Tim down against the cushions. The detective goes without resistance.

The pale light from the rain beyond the window and the fluorescent glow behind him etches Shane in a soft halo. Brightness in Shane’s eyes tells him that the man is running on instinct alone – and that’s perfectly fucking fine. Whatever – anything – Shane wants, Tim will gladly offer it up.

But when his hands drop to Tim’s belt buckle, the rush of heat up his body leaves him almost catatonic.

“Mhmm, f-fuck, sweetheart, wait a second – d-don’t wanna rush things if you’re not –,”

The sound of his zipper tearing open is like a gunshot and there’s no denying the raw hunger that smears the edges of Shane’s eyes to a dangerous black.

“You have to walk me through it.” He sounds awe-struck.

He sinks to his knees and Tim considers he might actually die on this fucking couch. The heat radiating from those black-tipped hands that run up his thighs has Tim moaning in the back of his throat. He wants to curl that beautiful hair around Shane’s elegant ear – what would he say if Tim told him he has an elegant ear – but he’s using all of his energy to not immediately come when Shane tugs his pants down his hips, just enough to palm him through his boxers.

As if the sensation of a half-hard cock surprises him, Shane’s lips split apart, eyes locked onto the wet spot beneath his hand. Tim swipes his bottom lip with his tongue, knuckles white as he grips the cushions, watching with aborted breath Shane stroke him gently. He grits his teeth.

“Tell me you want this.” Tell me I’m not forcing you into anything too fast because I’m fucking obsessed with you.

“I want this.” Shane shuffles closer, his hand dipping down to cup his balls, the scent of his cloves hitting Tim again, and Shane quietly gasps as the cock beneath his hand hardens more and more. “I wanna s-suck your cock.”

Tim grunts, his legs opening wider, sliding low into the cushions and now Shane hovers over him. Here is where with other partners in recent years, Tim would lock up. There’s gray in the curls at the base of his cock and his tummy hangs out a bit more, no matter how much he runs. But Shane doesn’t seem to register any of that. His mouth is still open in raw fascination, as if showing off how fucking deep he’s going to take the cock inches from his face. The sight splits heat between his groin and his heart. Tim is not going to fucking rush this. He’ll let Shane touch whatever he wants for as long as he wants even if it makes him come like an overeager teenager.

Suppressing that peak of heat at Shane’s touch, Tim digs his fingers into Shane’s mop of hair like he’d been wanting to since the kid first offered that drink. At his immediate touch, Shane’s eyes roll back in his head and Tim takes that as an opportunity to scratch at his scalp, with a slight tug at the end.

“Oh, fuck, please lemme me suck your cock.”

Shane’s breathing hitches when Tim loosens the grip on his hair, runs his thumb down his temple, scuffs his cheek, and then drags that puffy bottom lip down. He looks absolutely ruined, eyes misty and shoulders slumped forward, and Tim has barely touched him.

“Take me out, baby,” Tim murmurs, “and I’ll tell you what to do.”

Wide eyes never losing their nervous light, Shane dips his hand below the elastic waistband (why didn’t he put on better underwear?) and cups him, slowly dragging his shorts lower as he pulls Tim’s cock into the light.

Tim has to remember to breathe. Fuck, it’s so hot in this fucking room. With trembling fingers, he tugs the knot of his tie away from his throat and unbuttons his shirt down to his ribs, as Shane runs an experimental grip up and down the length of his cock. Tim hisses as heat flares brightly and a little too fast.

Shane’s eyes flick up to his face. “Sorry, too dry?”

Without waiting for a response, Shane cups his hand beneath his mouth and spits, a giant, slick glob. It might be the hottest thing Tim has ever witnessed with his two eyes. Shane’s hand returns and Tim’s eyes flutter shut as he groans.

“S-s-shit, baby, that’s really good.”

Tim wants to open his eyes, to see Shane’s face, to get a glimpse of what is going on in that beautiful head, but he can’t drag himself out of the lusty haze long enough.

And then, after several slow, long pumps that have him harder than he can ever remember being, Tim feels Shane’s palm twist just as his thumb swirls the head and swipes the leaking tip. Pleasure roars up his spine and his hips jerk off the couch. His eyes snap open and find Shane not proud, but surprised. His mouth opens again in glee.

“I fucking love that too,” he murmurs, his hand moving a bit faster now. “Love it when they play with the tip.”

“Mhmm, hmm.”

As Shane finds a slightly hurried rhythm with his strokes, Tim is greedily storing away images and sensations in lockbox after lockbox in his memory. Has Shane’s hands always looked so thick?

“You can try whatever you want.” Tim murmurs, his gaze jumping between the hand around his cock, Shane’s mouth, and that hand with the black nails against his thigh. “If you like something, I’ll probably like it too.”

Shane wets his lip, his eyes darting to Tim’s face as if looking for permission. Tim nods, his heart pounding in a completely different way than from exertion, and has to breathe into his stomach as Shane parts his lips and lowers his mouth to his cock. Inch by inch, he takes him deeper and deeper, his hand falling away to Tim’s other thigh, as he sinks closer to those gray-streaked curls.

Tim is genuinely caught on the knife-edge of pleasure and pain. Exquisite pleasure saps his entire body of energy, every grunt and sigh bursts of tiny releases, but with every inch into Shane’s warm, wet mouth, his tongue a rough glide on the underside of his cock, it becomes harder and harder to not buck his hips and god, does he fucking want to. He wants to grab Shane by the back of the head, hold him steady, and fuck that mouth like it’s the last fuck of his life. But he won’t, he can’t – Shane isn’t ready for that and quite honestly, neither is he, despite how the arousal of that mental image floods him with hot satisfaction. He’s going to tear apart this couch with his bare hands, though.

Shane gets about halfway and then chokes and Tim is yanked out of the dream in a panic.

“B-baby, are you okay?”

Shane splutters and nods, the back of his hand coming to his lips, as if trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaks. “My gag reflex is shit though.”

Tim sighs with relief and a strangled orgasm. He’s so hard it hurts but he doesn’t give a fuck. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Better than fine, actually.”

Tim meets his eyes as they go dark and hungry with a flash of that spitfire that Tim only ever saw on the other side of a metal interview table before.

“Guess you’ll have to train up my reflex, then.”

“Yeah?” This kid has no idea what he’s playing with. Shane kneels between his spread legs, hands gently rubbing the meat of his thighs, those dark eyes swirling almost maliciously. Tim pinches Shane’s chin between his thumb and curled forefinger, thrusting that belligerent mouth up. “You gonna listen to an authority figure for once in your goddamn life?”

“I’ll try my best,” he pouts, his neck arched back.

“Blow on it.” Tim commands. “Start from the bottom and go to the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim’s cock visibly throbs and Shane hasn’t even opened his mouth. But then he does, leaning forward when Tim releases his chin. He blows a quick burst of air around Tim’s curls, before opening his mouth wide and breathing heavily, wetly, warmly around the base of the cock in front of him. Then, as he was told, he lifts up and to the very top of that leaking head.

“Take the tip – just the tip – and suck on it, gently at first.”

Shane does as he is instructed, his eyes never leaving Tim’s face or losing that maniacal glint, and he sucks, making a similar face (Tim assumes) as when he’s slurping up ice cream. Shane sucks harder and a loud, lewd moan rips out of Tim’s throat.

“Now take it all in, as much as you can. Then swallow.”

Shane dips his head, mouth gliding down his veiny shaft, spit slipping out of the corner of his mouth, going down and down and down until he breathes sharply through his nose. Tim, clutching at sanity as it sprinkles through his fingers, watches the sharp planes of Shane’s shoulders and back churn and roll as he lifts his head up and down. He wants to loop his fingers through those black curls so badly.

“I’m gonna touch you now, okay?” Shane grunts his approval, the blush of air against his groin sending a bolt of pleasure up Tim’s spine, and he soothes his own tattered nerves by digging into Shane’s hair, scratching a bit like he had before. But then he loosens and just lets his hand rest contentedly on the back of his head.

The drumming beat of rain and Shane’s wet mouth is a narcotic. The sight and sounds and smells of it all makes his brain melt, deep desires usually chained down by his restraint snapping and popping free like fireworks.

What’s he going to feel like when Shane can take all of him?

How long and how often does he have to do this to train him up?

Could he come home after working a twelve hour shift to Shane crawling onto his knees and sucking him off, just like this? Like this, in perfect domestic bliss –

Out of nowhere, Shane swallows and Tim has to claw into his own thigh to keep from coming right then and there.

“Oh, fucking Christ –,” he yelps. As if encouraged, Shane tries to go a little deeper, swallow a little harder, but he gags again. When he lifts his head, his eyes are wet and Tim wonders if it's possible to black out from being so aroused.

“Sorry,” Shane mutters, wiping his mouth again. “Your cock is so fucking big. It felt big in my ass but this –,”

Tim’s eyes slip closed. “Shut the fuck up. You can’t – can’t say those things.”

He breathes heavily, the pounding in his heart only slightly stronger than the blood pounding in his cock. But Shane is suspiciously quiet.

Tim opens his eyes and finds a curious expression on Shane’s face as he stares at Tim’s cock. No, not his cock, a bit below –

Shane turns and tugs the low, tattered table behind him closer. He puts Tim’s foot against the edge, and then does the same with the other. The haze in Tim’s brain won’t let him piece it together until Shane dips his head, tongue already out.

“Whoa, whoa, baby–,” he grasps Shane’s shoulder and he stops. “I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t want to push you too far tonight.”

Shane rolls his eyes, flatly annoyed. “I’ve eaten ass before, Tim. I’m not a blushing fucking virgin.”

Tim can actually feel the second that sweat breaks out across his hairline. “A-are you sure?”

“Yeah, I actually know what I’m doing there. I mean, an asshole is an asshole, right?”

He isn’t sure if he likes how fast Shane has grown in confidence, or if it’s the sexist thing he’s ever seen. Maybe he’s the one not entirely ready.

“Y-yeah. Alright. Fire away, then.”

And with that first kitten lick, Tim finally comprehends just how fucked he is. He knew he was, but it’s not until Shane masterfully rims the edge of that ringed muscle does he know, with clear certainty, this kid is going to ruin him.

Shane’s hand curls around Tim’s shaft, his tongue prodding his asshole, and Tim makes a loud, open-mouthed moan that hits the quiet air of the apartment and shatters.

Within seconds, he’s hurling towards a release so violent, his thighs shake. Shane pumps him slowly, his mouth making everything wet and drippy, his eyes eagerly catching every twitch and moan Tim makes.

When Tim feels his balls draw up, dangling over the precipice, he snatches Shane by the hair and yanks him back. Again, Shane makes a sound like an irritated cat.

“C’mon,” he huffs, his face red as if he had mitigated his breathing. “Lemme do this.”

Tim swallows everything – his tongue, his orgasm, the desire to lick the brat right out of Shane’s pouty mouth – and shoves it all down as far as it will go. He’s left sweaty and panting, holding Shane by the flat of his hair at arm’s length. He swallows again and sits up, that airless high settling. Shane scowls petulantly

“You still want me to fuck that ass, right?”

His glare cracks in half. Those swollen lips part and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you fucking listen to me when I tell you to stop sucking cock. Got it?”

Shane nods more insistently, tongue swiping fast against his bottom lip. “Y-yeah.”

Tim lets go and resists the urge to correct him to how he addressed him before, but fucking Christ, one thing at time.

“Which one is yours?” Tim nods towards the two closed doors across from him. Wordlessly, Shane points to the one farthest from the living room. “Show me.”

Tim barely grunts as he stands up, his knees dangerously unsteady, his back twinging from the low position on the couch and the fact that there’s more padding on a highway road than inside of those cushions.

Again, just as he thinks he might tip over, Shane takes his hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads him through the door.

The sun had set on an already dark day, so in the burgeoning twilight, Shane’s room is a collection of shadows and blue outlines. Beyond the vinyl window slats, the rain pours harder than ever, muffling the sounds of cars on the street and the blunders of other people in the building. With the door closed, the air is warm, but not uncomfortably so, more like a soothing hand against his sweaty neck. The pleasant scent of incense is unmistakable, a far cry from any other smell in the apartment.

The effect of it all, standing in Shane’s room, alone, is . . . isolating.

“It’s not much,” Shane murmurs, as if he worried Tim would find something about his space distasteful. “But I did clean up.” His eyes grow wide as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Not that I thought, or even expected that this – that you’d –”

Tim brings their locked hands to Shane’s cheek and gently, sweetly kisses him on the mouth. For a man so confident in his ability to drive his partner insane with his tongue up their ass, the boy quivers beneath a soft touch. Tim pulls back and finds blurry, unfocused eyes.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Tim hums and strokes an errant curl back from Shane’s cheek.

“This.” Shane says immediately. “This feels so fucking good.”

“Where do you sleep?” Tim asks, quietly, letting the words slow to a rumble, his free hand gently cupping the boy’s neck. The bed is unmissable, but he wants to give Shane as much control as he needs. Beneath his hands, Shane’s breathing stutters for a moment, before biting down on his bottom lip and leading Tim to the haphazardly made-up bed. He sits, big eyes staring up at him, at their bound hands, before releasing his grip and lying back on the bed. He scoots up, nestling that all black hair against his gray pillow.

“Here.” His voice is strangled, choked, his fingers twisting together as he picks at his nails. “Right h-here.”

“Is that why you look so good right here, baby?” Tim slides the tail end of his tie out of the knot and off his neck. Shane licks his lips, transfixed, as Tim continues to unbutton his wrinkled shirt. The bit of clothing falls to the floor and Tim nearly matches Shane in a white sleeveless shirt. Black and white, punk and cop. There’s poetry in there somewhere.

Tim continues to undress; shoes first, then socks, and finally his slacks. Shane gets a little jumpy as he crawls up the bed.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.” Tim raises an eyebrow at the jeans confining his hard cock. “No, sorry, n-no – I’ll take them off.”

Tim gives him enough space to unbutton his pants, then sloppily jerk them off. He flings them over by Tim’s and Tim grins. He settles back down with Shane nearly underneath him and gently strokes his cheek. Everywhere he touches on the boy, it’s warm. Women aren’t like that, usually, and in turn, it satisfies something deep inside of him. Tim thinks of the tender warmth of the heated skin of a deer after it’s run a long distance.

“You still want it, baby?” This he asks honestly and without the grungy purr to his voice.

Again, without hesitation, Shane nods, but then stops. His chest swells like the words he wants to say are caught on the back of his throat, his nails gently biting into Tim’s chest, so Tim presses thoughtfully into the arch of Shane’s jaw, encouraging him. His doe eyes darting across Tim’s face, tension coiling up in his thighs, Shane says,

“I want it from the back this time.”

Oh, fuck.

With half of a groan and half of a laugh, Tim dips forward and loosely bites Shane on his ear. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Shane giggles as Tim’s nips slowly turn to open-mouthed kisses. He sucks sharply on the thrumming pulse of his neck, and Shane groans, his whole body writhing to be closer to Tim’s mouth, his skinny arms going around Tim’s broad shoulders.

“Do you mind?” Shane asks, breaking apart for a moment, his lips brushing Tim’s mustache. “I know you did it last time and if you wanna, um, I mean I can try but –”

Tim grins through the smile pressed onto a corner of that sweet mouth as he sits up on his knees. He smooths a hand up through the faint trail of hair just above Shane’s waistband, then up his ribs, stopping to thumb a hard, pink nipple, before kissing both of his cheeks.

“No, I don’t mind. I will never, ever mind when you ask so nicely.”

“But one day – you w-want me too, right?”

Ribbons of meaning hang over that question, their soft tassels hard to grab before slipping through Tim’s grasp. His brow furrows, his hand resting on Shane’s hip. The boy stares up at him like he hangs the moon in the sky.

Those ribbons drag forward new questions of their own, questions he can’t ask himself, much less out loud. They all clatter and fall into one big heap in his mouth and he can’t untangle them right now, not while he has Shane looking like that, but one slips through before he can stop it.

“You wanna do this again, with me?” The question lingers in the air like smoke, as gentle and insistent as the rain outside.

Shane’s fingers curl around Tim’s wrists. He smiles. “Yeah, of course. I . . . like you.” Blush trickles up his neck and into his ears, but he keeps his grip. “If you wanna keep me around, I mean.”

His voice goes small, from somewhere he never lets anyone see. Just as Shane’s eyes jerk off him, shame hot in his gaze, his body going rigid, Tim leans down and kisses him, the softest kiss they’d ever shared. The scent of cloves comes again as Shane offers his tongue and Tim takes it.

They kiss in the cover of the rain, in the shelter of the space that is entirely theirs, for one eternity and a half. When Tim opens his eyes, he is someone new, someone changed. Someone he doesn’t recognize and that’s a wonderful thing.

“I’ll take you like you want,” he says softly. Beneath his chest, skin to skin, he can feel Shane’s heart pounding. He hopes Shane can feel his. “But I wanna see your face for a bit. Is that okay?”

Shane nods and kisses him as he tries to pull away. Tim smirks and rubs Shane’s hip bone with his thumb.

“Remember what I said about preparing? Have you been doing that?”

Shane bites his lip as if caught doing something particularly filthy. “Yeah, I’m up to three fingers now.”

Fucking hell. Be cool about this.

“Good, baby. Do you have lube?”

Shane rolls his eyes, that blush now blotchy on his throat. “Duuuh. I don’t know why you think I’m some bl–”

“– ushing fucking virgin. I heard you the first time.” Shane narrows his eyes playfully and Tim cannot wait to spank that smirk right off him. “Then go get it.”

Shane wiggles out from between Tim’s legs and crawls over to the bedside table. He digs around a bit before pulling out a box of condoms and a blue bottle. He tosses them at Tim like he’s throwing laundry detergent, before hovering for a moment. Lips between his teeth, he stiffly slips his underwear off and down the floor. His bracelets clink as he moves and Tim can tell it sounds like an air raid siren to him. Naked, he crawls back to bed and settles beneath Tim flat on his back.

“For someone who is so bothered by authority,” Tim begins and just as Shane frowns, wrenching his mouth open to argue, Tim sits back between his thighs and folds his knees up, spreading him wide. Whatever retort Shane had dies on his throat and the only thing left is a soft whine. “You are such a good boy. I didn’t even have to ask you to get naked for me.”

Shane’s cock, exposed for the first time all night, twitches on his stomach. He squirms as Tim picks up the bottle and clicks up the lid with his thumb, his other hand resting briefly on the arch of Shane’s foot.

“I’m gonna start with one again, but move faster into two this time, okay? Then we’ll see if you’re lying to me or not.” Resistance flashes in Shane’s eyes at Tim’s smirk, but the boy stays silent.

But that defiant look melts away to aching bliss when Tim drizzles the lube between his cheeks, and then Tim’s own fingers. His other hand curls around Shane’s knee and squeezes, grounding them both.

“Probably should have gotten a towel,” Tim mutters and the sound Shane was going to use to reply fractures and crumbles, oozing into a throaty moan when his asshole spreads apart around a single finger.

Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s never had his asshole played with in a way he likes, but Shane is so fucking sensitive. He’s twitching and gasping after a few strokes, black nails curling into the bedsheets. His eyes are squeezed shut, not from pain or discomfort, but from trying desperately not to come. Tim recognizes that look; he wore it himself fifteen minutes ago.

Shane’s cock is trickling all over his stomach by the time Tim adds a second finger. And true to his word, it goes in without much resistance, much to Tim’s delight. This means there can be a bit more fun than just aimlessly prodding. Shane lets out a high moan when Tim’s fingers change angles.

“What the fuck are you doing down there?” Shane pants, sweat peaking at his hairline. He moans again before Tim can answer, his back arching off the bed.

“Searching.”

“For fucking what? I–,” Shane’s eyes snap open, horror and heat etched in the dark rims. “You can’t touch that, it’s not fair. You’ll make me come.”

Tim kisses his knee as he adds a third finger, grinning when Shane’s head thumps back against the pillow. “I think that’s the whole point of this, sweetheart.”

Shane whines his answer; Tim speeds up his thrusting, giving up for now.

“You’re doing so well, darling, so well. You did so good to prepare for my cock.”

Shane fists the bedsheets, his thigh muscles tightening. Tim thinks he can’t actually comprehend his words, until he wrenches his jaw apart. “Just your cock. I did it for your cock, Rockford, no one else’s. Don’t - don’t want anyone’s cock but yours in me.”

This is just cock-drunk babble, tongue loose with whatever nonsense fills his mouth, his brain no longer in control.

Right?

Either way, Tim slips his fingers out with practiced precision, easing on the condom, then squirting his cock and Shane’s exposed hole with lube in one go. If Shane has noticed anything, his blissed out expression doesn’t change . . . until he feels the tip of Tim’s thick head expand his asshole.

His stare locked onto Shane’s blissed out face, Tim pushes forward, using Shane’s knees as leverage.

The boy honest to god chokes. His cock spits up his chest.

“Ohmy god . . .”

Tim goes slow enough he knows it won’t hurt, his fingers opened him enough that the lube only adds to the pleasure, but he’s not entirely worried about that right now. He wants him stupid and babbling again.

“This cock, sweetheart? This is the cock you’ve been making room for?”

Shane whines, lips white between his teeth, nodding vigorously. Tim rubs his hip soothingly and Shane’s face breaks open with a loud gasp. His eyes snap down to where he swallows Tim inch after inch.

“You’re so much bigger than my fingers. Holy fucking shit. I forgot how big you are.”

“But you like that, right?” There’s a collective sigh of relief as Tim finally is flushed against him. Huffing like a wounded animal, Tim pushes the mop of hair back from Shane’s sweaty forehead. “You like how I fuck you, don’t you?”

Shane nods again, as Tim grips his waist and he wraps his fingers around Shane’s forearms, his bracelets tinkling softly, as he settles in for what he can’t even possibly imagine.

“You’re damn fucking right I like how you fuck me.” Shane rasps out. “Wouldn’t let you do it if it didn’t rock my fucking world.”

“I’m gonna go a bit faster than I did last time. You say stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I know what a safeword is, Rockford, I’m not –,”

Tim rolls his hips forward, knocking a surprised breath from Shane. He stabilizes a bit better with his knees and then picks up a rhythm, slow but deep.

“If you say blushing fucking virgin one more time, I’m putting you over my knee and spanking you.”

But words fail him.

They fail Tim too, eventually, when rings of heat stack, one upon the other, up his spine. Every time Shane’s asshole clenches around him, those rings drop lower, closer to his groin.

It feels too fucking good.

The rhythmic chime of Shane’s metal bracelets clinking together can barely be heard over the rain outside, and the peaks and valleys of the heavy moans piling up in the room.

Shane’s flattened hand against his head board, he grinds his hips down, forcing even more resistance than just his tight hole.

“Fuck,” he whines high and loud, Tim tightening his grip on his waist as he all but bounces Shane on his cock. “Oh god, I can’t – I can’t –,”

Tim’s skin is so hot he wonders if he’s giving off steam. He’s sweating from his forehead, his neck, the backs of his knees, a slick wetness spreading across his groin every time he slams that cute little ass back against him. Not another single word of derision has passed Shane’s lips in what feels like forever, his mouth switching rapidly between grinding his teeth and dropping open when Tim brushes up against something nuclear.

If Tim is steaming, Shane is melting. Every muscle in his body is weak, knees around Tim’s hips to give him better access. Cum rolls in white streaks off his stomach and onto the rapidly shifting sheets.

Tim knows if he just breaths on the that pink cock, it’s all fucking over – so he slows, and pulls back out of him.

A Shane with a functioning brain would have demanded an explanation but the gooey mess of a boy in the bed only lifts his gaze.

“Turn around,” Tim pants.

“What?”

“You wanted me too . . .” Tim spins his finger, squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand. “Turn over.”

“Oh, right.” Despite that almost sleepy murmur, Tim can hear the disappointment. At the head of the bed, a shaking hand swipes away one pillow then the other and Shane buries his face in the mattress.

His ass is already pink as Tim spreads his thighs, his knee nudging his right leg to bend, and lines up. But Shane is murmuring something into the sheets.

“… stop.”

Tim freezes, one hand around his cock the other flat against the bed by Shane’s hips.

“You want me to stop?”

Shane lifts his head enough to look back and whine. “Don’t — don’t stop.” Crackling with unspent energy, Shane rubs his face against the sheets like a cat. “Please.”

Tim grins as he lines himself up again, his free hand coming to Shane’s thigh when the cockhead spreads his cheeks.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not gonna –,”

Tim stops moving. It’s long enough and unusually fraught enough for Shane to lift his head in confusion, Tim’s cock barely in.

“What happened?”

Tim is staring, struck dumb and mindless at the sight of Shane’s lower back.

“You’ve got two dimples here,” he murmurs, the growl in his voice thick and rough.

“Yeah? So?”

Without warning, Tim yanks Shane onto his hands and knees by his waist. The sudden movement is rough for his loose muscles and he yelps.

“Fuck – what’s got you all fucking twisted up now?”

Tim is no longer entirely himself. His shoulders seem broader, nose sharper, mouth firmer. His eyes have been eclipsed by black as one by one, he puts his hands on Shane’s hips, and then twists his thumbs to fit into the divots of his dimples as he, achingly slow, pushes back into Shane’s abused hole.

“You’ve got fucking handles built in, baby.” Tim murmurs and heat radiates from where they are connected, Shane’s skin flushed with red and goosebumps. The sensation jams the signal to Shane’s brain.

Behind him, Tim kisses his back almost lovingly.

“I’m definitely gonna wreck your shit now.”

On the first tug, the one that snugs Tim’s groin right up against his ass, Tim knows he only has seconds left in him.

These strokes are brutal, fast, and short. Whatever sounds tears itself from Shane’s throat is the prettiest thing Tim has ever heard. His mouth goes wet as he watches Shane’s shoulders and back go loose again and on another day, he’s going to clench his fist around that mop of hair and pull until Shane begs him to stop.

Another day. But not today.

Tim focuses on the things he can control to elongate that enormous orgasm that rattles his teeth. His thumbs in the perfect little divots of Shane’s back; he pushes down, increasing the pressure higher up, and actually hears the cum squirt out onto the bed, followed by a groan that shakes Shane from head to toe. He focuses on his breathing, the short huffs out his nose, mouth closed shut but tiny mhm mhm mhm’s escape anyway. He tries to focus on the glint around his pelvis but that makes things worse.

He focuses on – fuck, what can he focus on? – Shane hasn’t made a noise in –

“Shane, baby, are you okay?”

He gasps out as though electrified. “I’m trying so hard not to come, I don’t want it to fucking stop, but you hit my g-spot three thrusts ago and I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Tim can’t help but chuckle. He rubs a warm palm up Shane’s spine, then gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, before leaning forward and draping himself over Shane’s trembling frame, never slowing those fast, rough thrusts. He noses his ear as his hand slips around the cock leaking profusely onto the sheets.

“You can come, but it has to be loud and messy.”

Just half a stroke down and Shane comes with a cry that paints the inside of Tim’s brain permanently. And he keeps coming, gasping, wet and whining. Over his shoulder, Tim feels a dribble against his knee and that, combined with all of Shane’s delicious fucking sounds, knocks free Tim’s own release, the swell and burst far away from his control. Shane’s elbows are trembling by the time he slumps to the side, trying and mostly failing to avoid his own cumstain. Tim drops behind him in a haze.

He’s already sore, every muscle tightened then released over and over and over again. He can’t inhale properly and he’s got a stitch in his side. There’s a pulsing all over his body and he isn’t sure if that’s from coming so hard he nearly shot off the condom, or his heart pounding like it’s about to explode. His skin is wet and sticky and he’s hungry but exhausted and he would hate all of this if he was alone, but . . .

Weary down to his bones, the breath settling in his chest and the fog lifting slightly, Tim puts a hand on the narrow waist in front of him. Fingers join his, wrapping together, as the frenetic energy of the room slows to a crawl, each moment plodding along in front of the next like fat water droplets.

“. . . good, that was good,” Tim slurs to no one in particular, his eyelids flickering open and shut. “You’re . . . s’good.” He knows they should talk, but he’s past speech, or rather anything coherent, his consciousness slipping beneath the churning dark waves of sleep.

The smooth back in front of him, shiny with drying sweat, shakes in a dizzy, silent chuckle.

“Go to sleep, old man.”

Tim knows he should be offended, or he thinks he should, if he could comprehend language right now, so instead he settles into the warmth and the darkness. Soon the only sound he can hear is the rain pattering against the window and Shane softly snoring before reality winks out.

#shane dio morrissey #dio morrissey #shane morrissey #dio morrissey fanfiction #dio morrissey fic #dio morrissey au #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford au #tim rockford smut #tim rockford fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #oaksfics #any of yall see the word count? no you fucking didn't

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torukmaktoskxawng · 1 year

Text

'anla - part three

Series Masterlist

Summary: A race against time and the problem with having a large family.

Pairing: Ao'nung/Fem!Na'vi!Sully Reader

Warnings: Mature language, time skips, strict parents, blood/gore, HEAVY angst, death, canon typical violence, canon compliance, slow burn, etc.

Word Count: 5k+

Tag: #'anla ao'nung fic

Na'vi Words: tulkun - whale like animal, ilu - dolphin/plesiosaur like animal, ikran - Mountain Banshee, kuru - queue braid, tanhì - bioluminescent freckle, tsurak - skimwing, ionar - riding visor, tsaheylu - bond, matxe'lan - my heart

posted on ao3

Taglist (red indicates "could not tag"): @aonungmyaddiction @lv9su @aisselasstuff @yourusername1 @amortencjja @king-julian6201 @gg-trini @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @mikeyswifie

A/N: I'm only tagging those who specifically asked to be tagged as of rn. If you don't see your user in the taglist and you want to be added, please lemme know. Also, please reread part two before reading this. Thank you!

It was a dream turned into a nightmare. For a split second, Y/n wanted to drag Ao'nung by the hand and demand he takes her back to the Spirit Tree if it meant she could have one more minute of peace. The intrusive thought, however, immediately vanished when the Omatikaya girl finds herself gently holding a crying Tsireya while the entire village becomes an uproar of war cries all around them. Ronal is demanding justice for the murder of her Spirit Sister and calf, her eyes swimming with grief and anger as she mentioned the ones responsible for this crime.

The Sky People were here.

Y/n looks around, spotting her family among the crowd. In his hands, Neteyam held a long and red metal object, equipped with a sharp tip and light. Beside him, Jake is trying to calm the people, begging them to stop and think. Neytiri silently watches, a haunted look of recognition in her eyes as if she had seen all of this before. Kiri held onto her mother's shoulder as a comfort for both of them and Lo'ak, alone, stood small and quiet among the crowd while Tuk is nowhere to be found.

Her father continued to plead with the Metkayina people while Y/n drowned his voice out. She, too, had heard it all before and instead focused more on Tsireya, the reef girl shaking in fear, her innocence in question aside from what the villagers decided to do. Kiri had vanished from the crowd, likely off to find Tuk with danger so close to their new home, making a sickly feeling form in Y/n's stomach.

It only worsened when Jake took the red object, the tracker, from Neteyam's hands and held it out to the crowd, hushing them as he spoke, "You tell the tulkun that if they're hit with this, they're marked for death. And call for me, I'll silence it. Saving their lives, that's all that matters. Right? Saving your family."

Tonowari and Ronal exchange a silent conversation with their eyes alone, before turning to their people, "Tell the tulkun."

"Go. Go!"

The Metkayina scatter, and through the chaos, Tsireya turned to Y/n, eyes widening in a horrifying realization, "Lo'ak--"

"I know," determination fills Y/n's lungs as she grabbed Tsireya's arm and pulled her along, "Let's go."

The girls sprinted toward the docks, asking around for their friends as they went. Eventually, they spot two teenage boys. Not the ones Y/n was particularly looking for, but ones that Tsireya reached for in her panic, "Ao'nung, Rotxo, have you seen Lo'ak?"

"No." Rotxo paused, looking between the two girls, "What is going on?"

Y/n's walk begins to pick up, a scowl permanent on her face, "Take a guess."

She takes off down the walkways, heading toward the hut holding the ilu harnesses, not caring if the others followed her or not. Tsireya and Ao'nung take off after her with Rotxo in tow, all four of the teenagers making their way to the edge of the village. Y/n is the first one there and the first one to spot both of her brothers arguing until they spotted her.

"Lo'ak! 'Teyam!" She called out.

Lo'ak's head whipped around to spot her, Neteyam a little slower to react as Lo'ak begins to back away, pulling his arm out of his big brother's hold, "Get off me--"

Tsireya and the others catch up to Y/n and try to reach out, "Lo'ak!"

"Lo'ak!"

"Come back!"

He doesn't answer the reef girl or his brother and dives into the water below without another word, quickly disappearing into the deep with his ilu. Neteyam turned to the other teens, thumping Ao'nung's chest as he passed him, "Come on! He's going to Payakan!"

Neteyam claps his hands and makes various different calls to summon a ride of his own. The others call for nearby ilu, expertly diving into the water as they all follow suit, in sync and in formation like they have done in recent hunting parties. The ilu fly through the water, jumping out and back in through the waves, picking up speed and desperate to get to Lo'ak as he pushes through far ahead of them.

"Lo'ak! Come back!" Tsireya called up to him in between jumping up through the water before diving back down.

At one point, Kiri with Little Tuk had joined in the race as well, following after their friends and their siblings, confused by the urgency. Soon enough, the group was beyond the reef, close to Three Brothers Rocks when Lo'ak had eventually slowed his ilu, calling out for his Spirit Brother. Payakan had responded, though his calls were not one of joy or greeting. The poor tulkun sounded as though he was in pain. When Lo'ak asked what was wrong, the bull turned until the Na'vi boy noticed the bright red tracker piercing his flesh.

"Shit!" Lo'ak exclaimed while jumping onto Payakan's fin and then climbing onto his back, signing to his Spirit Brother to stay calm.

The rest of the group had caught up to Lo'ak and immediately clocked the situation, all eyes turning when they heard the sound of rotor blades. A demon ship was slowly coming out of hiding from behind the large rock cliffs peeking out of the sea, drifting over to the children and tulkun menacingly. Taking action, Neteyam and Y/n hop off their ilu and climb onto Payakan's back, lifting Tsireya and Ao'nung out of the water to help Lo'ak pull the tracker out of the injured tulkun. Everyone tried pushing and pulling the pinger out, together, with all their might as Lo'ak quickly called in their location to Jake. Neteyam eventually got an idea and used a rope to latch onto the saddle of his ilu, throwing the other end to Ao'nung after shouting his name so the reef boy could tie it to the embedded tracker.

Ao'nung successfully knots the rope around the red pinger, encouraging Neteyam to pull, "Go, go, go!"

"Pull! Now!" Neteyam demands as he orders his ilu to swim, the strain of the rope tightening as the ilu struggles with all its might, flapping its fins in the water.

"Everybody! Together!"

"Pull!"

Rotxo and Lo'ak pull at the very end of the tracker, while Ao'nung tries pulling at the rope now attached to it. Tsireya tries pushing it out with her foot while Y/n takes both hands and grips tightly onto the base of the needle that stuck out of Payakan's flesh, pulling that with all her might.

"Pull! Harder!"

"Pull!"

Y/n was the first to feel the tracker loosen and eventually, the pinger releases its grip on Payakan and the force of the rope threw all the teenagers into the water, each of them shouting in surprise as they splash into the sea.

"It's out! Kiri! It's out!"

"Go. Tuk, go!"

"Go! Everybody!"

"Go on, get out of here!"

They don't take time to revel in their small victory. Panicked on borrowed time, the kids immediately swim to their mounts and round each other up. Lo'ak instructs Payakan to dive and get as far away as possible while the others were screaming to one another to hurry up, the demon ship nearly upon them.

Chaos erupted after that. The children were forced to split up after Neteyam took the tracker to draw the Sky People away from the others. Depth charges were tossed into the water, exploding on impact and confusing the children, rattling their teeth and ringing their ears. Neteyam had a couple of close calls but was at least able to stay attached to his ilu as he ditched the tracker, letting it sink to the bottom of the reef. By the time he had lost the Sky People, he looked around and realized that he had been completely separated from his siblings.

Meanwhile, the other Sully children and the Metkayina trio were hiding underwater with their ilu among a forest of gigantic seaweed as they were being pursued by the Sky People's crab suits and submersibles. Weaving through the kelp and trying to keep a safe distance, the children urge their mounts to swim away, the sweet creatures clicking to one another in distress.

At one point, Y/n loses sight of half of the group as she maneuvers her way through a thicket of seaweed while being pursued by a crab suit, long claws stretching out to try and grab her. She dodges and weaves expertly, her thighs clenching tightly around the saddle of her ilu with the muscle memory of an ikran rider. Her stomach clenches once and Y/n noted that she would need air soon after hiding down here and holding her breath for so long. She needed to lose the demon crab, the others were no longer her priority until she can shake her pursuer. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n caught sight of another demon crab searching through the seaweed, unbeknownst to her presence. Thinking fast, she sharply turns her ilu and frantically swims over, the crab that had been chasing her still right on her tail. With speed and the element of surprise, Y/n ambushed the unsuspecting crab suit and swiftly swims over it, causing both crabs to crash into one another in pursuit of her. Y/n beams smugly while looking over her shoulder, happily watching the way the machines struggled and quickly forget about her before slowing her swim, looking around in search of the others.

She catches sight of Kiri and turns toward the direction she spotted her sister, ordering her ilu to leave after disconnecting her queue braid. Y/n followed Kiri after she noticed Rotxo and Ao'nung with her. The three others caught sight of Y/n and even look relieved, waving her over and signing for her to follow them for air. Ao'nung takes the lead, swimming ahead, without an ilu, as he finds an underwater pod, swimming up into the center of the blooming flower for a pocket of air. Rotxo has the Omatikaya girls swim ahead of him, letting them swim up after Ao'nung, who grabs Kiri's arm first to bring her up for air, then Y/n. All four teens gather snugly together in that small pocket of air, taking their breaths while Kiri looked around frantically.

"Where is Tuk? Did you see her?"

Y/n's eyes widen, "You mean she's not with you?"

"She had fallen off, but I don't think the Sky People noticed. They were too busy with us."

"I think we lost them," Ao'nung stated.

"What do we do?" Rotxo asked.

Kiri's pupils shrunk and grew rapidly through her panic, "We can't stay here. We gotta find the others. Any of you see Lo'ak and Tsireya?"

"No. It all happened so fast--"

"We find Tuk first," Y/n exclaims, ears pinned back and staring them all down with authority, "She's all alone, then we find the others."

"What about Mom and Dad?" Kiri questioned her older sister.

"Lo'ak called it in. They're on their way, likely with an army. 'Teyam drove the demon ship away, leaving us with whatever is left of their subs," her face suddenly splits with a twinkling, uplifting grin, "I already damaged two. You guys need to catch up."

Kiri rolled her eyes but let out a huff of air resembling a short bout of laughter, her adrenaline appreciating the small bit of humor Y/n tried to break through the tension. Looking around at the other three, Y/n raised her eyebrows, "We ready?"

Ao'nung nodded then turned to his friend, "Rotxo, you go first. I'll stay in the back, in case we need to grab them and swim out of there fast."

Kiri and Y/n exchange a look but say nothing, both internally shocked that Ao'nung didn't take the time to make a 'bad divers' comment while Rotxo just nods, "Right."

He takes a long, practiced breath and sinks back down into the water. Y/n expands her stomach as she takes a deep breath and holds it, following Rotxo as her arms and legs push and pull her through the water. Kiri is not far behind and Ao'nung follows suit, the teenagers carefully looking around, cautious for signs of danger. Rotxo led them all back the way they came in search of Tuk, but the longer they swam, the more things looked unfamiliar. He had turned to swim backward while signing to the others following closely behind him, 'We should have seen her by now.'

Y/n briefly grabs Kiri's shoulder before signing, 'No Sky People either. Maybe we should--'

Throat grunts echo behind her, Y/n's ears perking up at the sound as she spins around. Ao'nung was frantically clicking to grab their attention, pushing Kiri forward as he quickly motions, 'Demon!'

A small submersible appears from behind the large seaweed, bright searchlights blinding the Na'vi children as it spots them. Ao'nung continues to shove the girls forward until they pick up enough energy to swim away, trying to lose the sub around a large coral reef at the edge of the kelp forest. They swim close to the wall of the reef, all the while the sub maintained speed. In her determination to get away, Y/n lost sight of Kiri for a moment only to realize too late that her adopted sister had hung back. Y/n mewls deep in her throat as a way of screaming a warning, stopping and trying to turn around to go back for Kiri, but Ao'nung was suddenly there and he was using his powerful legs and tail to push Y/n in the opposite direction. Y/n tries to struggle but remembered to slow her heartbeat when she realized her thrashing was draining her of oxygen. Looking around for Kiri, all three turned back and notice the girl had attached her kuru braid to a nearby daisy anemone, watching the large plant-like sea creature move and grow out its long tentacle entrapments at her command.

The submersible arrives and is unaware of the trap until Kiri uses both of her arms' movements to mimic a push as if she was forcing someone off of her. The command is clear as the anemone reaches out, grabbing hold of the sub and completely encasing it with its tentacles. Kiri then uses one arm to mimic smashing something to the side of her, then the anemone pulls the sub in, smashing it against the side of the reef, squeezing the sub until the glass shatters and collapses within itself. When the sky demons within the sub try escaping out the hatch, Kiri makes a motion mimicking the way she would squeeze fruit for a fun and juicy treat as a child, only she made this motion with a menacing glare. The tentacles completely surround the Sky People, swallowing them whole and squeezing them to death. Kiri lowers her arms, satisfied even as her tanhì flickers up and down her entire body.

Ao'nung and Rotxo look at each other, amazed, confused, and a little freaked out. Y/n was used to her sister's... strange abilities and instead tried focusing on holding her breath. She had been underwater for far too long. Ao'nung and Rotxo were just fine and Kiri was strangely accustomed to holding her breath just as long as a Metkayina could, even without training, leaving Y/n to be the only one who was starting to struggle. Her lungs and stomach clenched and constrict, begging for air. Y/n's hands rise to her mouth and nose, forcing them to stay closed as she tries not to panic and keep her heart steady. Black spots started to dot her vision when she looked up to the surface, catching the sun rays peeking through the water.

Y/n grunts deep in her throat to get the others' attention. Kiri and the boys all turn and she frantically signed, 'Need to breathe.'

Kiri swims forward, gesturing with her hands, 'We can't wait for it to be safe. Need to go up.'

Ao'nung and Rotxo move then, taking Kiri's orders when she told them to bring Y/n up to the surface, 'I'll be right behind you.'

Ao'nung took one of Y/n's arms and Rotxo took the other. Together they use their speed to swim the forest girl up to the surface. The moment she felt air on her face, Y/n gasped for breath, sputtering and coughing with whatever water she had accidentally inhaled. Rotxo had let go of Y/n's arm and Kiri emerged, taking deep, more steady breaths. If she had taken the time to notice through her panicked breathing, Y/n would have noted the firm hold Ao'nung still had on her other arm.

The teens form a circle as they breathe but are not spared a moment of peace. The silence should have been a warning before an ikran, armed in Sky People gear and sporting a Recom for its rider, swooped down out of nowhere, wrapping its talons around Kiri's arms and plucking her out of the water like she weighed nothing.

Kiri screamed, kicking the air as she struggled, "LET ME GO! NO! SISTER, HELP!"

"KIRI!" Y/n screams, staring up and watching in horror as the ikran takes her sister away. Once she realized the banshee was taking Kiri to the demon ship, Y/n immediately began to swim. Her limbs, however, protested. Her arms were heavy and her lungs spasmed, everything begging her to rest even through her determination to go after her sister.

"No!" Ao'nung grips Y/n's elbow a little tighter. She spun back to hiss at him, but noticed the way his entire hand was able to wrap around her whole arm and found it pointless as he continued, "You'll be faster on your ikran. Let's go home and bring back reinforcements."

"No, no, no, I can't. I have to find Tuk!" Y/n exclaims, now allowing her panic to sink in at the idea of all of her siblings separated from one another, "I have to get Kiri back and find Tuk! I have to find Lo'ak and Neteyam--"

"Y/n." She paused at the sound of her name, turning back to the reef boy holding her. Ao'nung makes sure she's looking him in the eyes as he nods encouragingly, "They'll be fine. Look."

He turns his head and Y/n follows his gaze, her yellow eyes widening by what she saw. Fire, for one, lining along the ocean's surface, and a battlefield between the Na'vi and the Sky People. Boats and gunfire ring out against tsurak and Metkayina spears. It was an all-out war, and Y/n couldn't find herself looking away from it.

Ao'nung does, however. Moving his hand up from her elbow to grab her shoulder instead, pulling her gaze back to him, "Our fathers are driving them back. We can use this to buy time to get whoever is left at the village. Come on, Forest Girl. You need your ikran."

He knew -and she did, too- that Y/n stood a better fighting chance in her element, upon her own mount and using her own weapons. Even so, her stomach drops, dread filling her heart at the idea of her brothers and sisters among all that death and destruction. She wasn't sure if she had the willpower to run back now, and somehow, she managed to say it with her eyes alone without ever speaking a word.

And somehow, Ao'nung heard her. She watches his eyes as he reads something written on her face before a decision was made. Ao'nung expression of reassurance melts into something determined, nodding sternly at her as he calls and clicks with his tongue, summoning an ilu.

Rotxo does the same, confused and unsure what decision had been made, and two ilu emerge from the depths. Without a word, the boys climb onto the backs and Ao'nung drags an exhausted Y/n to sit behind him, making sure her hands were secure around his waist before internally ordering the ilu to dive. Y/n hangs on for dear life, taking another deep breath as they submerge underwater. She pressed her whole front against Ao'nung, afraid that she wouldn't have the strength to hold on otherwise, and the warmth radiating along his back was the smallest bit of reassurance she didn't realize she needed.

The swim back to Awa'atlu was longer than she remembered. Eventually, she had to pat Ao'nung's stomach to let him know she needed air. They resurface just outside the large atoll seawall. Without even looking for the village beyond the wall, Y/n remembered to breathe and her first exhale was a shout. She mimicked a bird call, shouting at the top of her lungs as she, Ao'nung, and Rotxo swim through the tunnels of the weaving atoll. Y/n kept yipping and calling out until finally she received an answer. A screech rings out and slowly a large form flies over the treetops behind the Metkayina village, flying over open water and toward the teenagers.

Hope floods Y/n's chest at the sight of her loyal friend flying toward her. She smiles briefly, sitting up straighter in the ilu saddle as she squeezes Ao'nung's shoulder, "Don't wait up for me, Seaweed Brain."

Ao'nung smirked at her from over his shoulder, "Honestly, Forest Girl? That's all you have to say? Why not 'Thank you, Ao'nung' or 'Be safe, Ao'nung'?"

"Who's Ao'nung?" She grinned back as the shadow of her ikran looms overhead, "I only see you."

Both of them had frozen at her words, eyes widening at one another, the only sound between them being the squeaking ilu, clapping its fins in response to whatever emotions were going through the bond between the creature and Ao'nung. Thankfully, Y/n didn't have to backtrack or rephrase her words as her ikran decided to drop in at the perfect time. Talons out as she dove forward, the ikran screeches again, breaking the awkward air around the teens. The spell breaks and Y/n looks up, holding her hand out just in time as she grabs hold of her banshee's open talon. The ikran bats her wings as hard as she could, banking up high in the air and completely pulling Y/n out of the water. Ao'nung and Rotxo watch the display in amazement, necks craning up with eyes wide and jaws dropped. Y/n pulls herself up and climbs onto the back of her mount, finding her ionar in its respectful saddle pouch and slipping them over her eyes before completing the tsaheylu.

"Good timing, Evi," Y/n whispered to her ikran, patting the mighty beast's neck, "Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~

The sky was dark as eclipse rolls around, the fires from prior explosives the only thing lighting up the war zone. It was like a waking nightmare for Jake Sully, watching a small group of teenagers come rolling onto the shore of the rock face he had landed on. Quickly, he noticed something was wrong, running over as Lo'ak waved him down.

"Dad! Dad, help! It's Neteyam!"

Tsireya briefly closes her eyes as a harsh wave smacks her in the face, ears drooping when listening to the sounds of Neteyam's coughs. He was weak, short of breath even through her lessons on how he could take large gulps of air for deep diving. It scared her, "Hurry!"

Lo'ak peers back at his brother before sinking into the water, dismounting his ilu and handing his brother to Tsireya, "Here, take him!"

"Oh, no," Jake gasped as he took in the horrific sight of the half-drowned kids trying to pull his wounded firstborn to shore, blood pouring from his chest like the water he was floating in.

Lo'ak keeps repeating the same words through his fear, "It's Neteyam! He's hurt!"

Spider, the only human among them, reaches out for Toruk Makto's arm as he grasps Neteyam's body, "Jake, come on! Come on!"

"Hurry, please!" Lo'ak begs.

Jake finally snaps out of his daze and grabs Spider's arm, trying to help drag all the connected teenagers to shore, "Pull!"

"Bro, watch his head, watch his head!" Lo'ak instructs Spider, panic set in as he watches Neteyam's eyes begin to roll back, the older boy still coughing and otherwise unaware of his surroundings.

"Pull! Come on!" Jake grunts, finally managing to get all the kids out of the water. He grabs Neteyam's torso, lifting him in the air while Lo'ak and Spider have his sides and Tsireya has his legs. Jake has them bring Neteyam to more solid ground before lowering him, "Just watch his head. Okay--"

Neteyam shallowly breathes, unable to suck in more air as Lo'ak grasps one of his hands, squeezing hard in comfort, "It's okay, bro. We got you."

Jake pushes Neteyam onto his side, immediately clocking the exit wound bleeding profusely with the help of Spider's flashlight, "Oh, no," looking around, frantic, he instead grabs Lo'ak's hands and presses it harshly against Neteyam's bleeding chest, "Put pressure-- put pressure on it!"

Neteyam stifles a grunt at the pressure against his chest, trying to get a word out, "Dad, I--"

"It's okay, I'm here!"

Neytiri lands her ikran when she spotted a few members of her family, barely pulling her braid from her mount before running over to the scene, muttering in fear and denial, "No, no, no, no, no!"

"It's okay. It's okay, son, I gotcha." Jake comforted.

Lo'ak tries the same, "It's okay..."

"Dad, where's Y/n?" Neteyam's eyes wildly looked around, unfocused and frightened.

"I don't-- I-- I don't--"

"Where's Y/n?"

"We'll find her, son, we'll find her--"

"--Is she alright?"

It was like his son couldn't hear him, the shock setting Neteyam into panic mode as Jake tries to firmly reassure him, "Neteyam--"

"Is she alright?"

"She's gonna be fine, boy. She'll be here soon."

"More... Tell her-- tell her-- 'find more.'"

"Alright, alright, I will."

Neteyam briefly looked relieved before tears started to brim in his eyes. Just this once, he allows himself to be a little boy again, tearful and sad, "I want to go home..." he grunts out before gasping rapidly, the words exhausting him.

Jake's voice quivers, holding his son's shoulder, "I know. I know. It's okay, we're goin' home. We're goin' home."

He softens his voice, pushing the desperation away to try and calm his son, as if he was still an infant he was soothing to sleep, "We're going home. It's okay, it's okay."

"Dad, I..."

~~~~~~~~~

The battle was already starting to disperse when Y/n finally arrived, flying in on her ikran. She had spotted a few stranded Sky People and made quick work of them before they got any ideas, taking her bow and arrows from their places attached to Evi's saddle. Like her mother, Y/n didn't miss and continued onward without ever even watching the bodies drop.

It was almost too quiet for her liking, with only the beat of an ikran's wings to keep her company. Searching around and wishing she had a throat mic to contact her family for their location, Y/n's heart sank when she couldn't find the demon ship, wondering if it had left or if something worse had happened to it. Did it sink? If it sank, then they won. But where was Kiri if she was meant to be on that ship? Where are Tuk and Y/n's brothers? Where are her parents?

Her questions are answered when a geyser sprays out of the water, rocketing almost high enough to hit Y/n. Evi squawks as she evades the water spray and Y/n looks down, spotting Payakan below, unharmed. Flying like a vulture in circles so she can get a better look at the tulkun, Y/n's eyes squint as she catches sight of a small ring of blue bodies, drifting over the top of Payakan's only pectoral fin. Gasping in shock, Y/n orders her ikran to dive, pulling her smaller body closer to Evi's as they fall. Once close enough to the water, Y/n suddenly asks Evi to pull up, and as the ikran lifts its wings to catch the air and slow her descent, Y/n holds her breath and breaks her bond with her banshee, diving into the water. She immediately swims back up to the surface and paddles over to the tulkun, where she had seen the group of blue bodies.

"MOM! DAD!"

Jake's ears perk up as he pulls away from the family embrace, and hurriedly looks around until he spots a familiar figure in the water. He wheezes in pain because of his injuries, but he lifts his arm and frantically waves, "Y/n!"

Neytiri follows her mate's gaze and nearly sobs in relief, crying and smiling all at once, "Y/n, matxe'lan! Matxe'lan!"

Lo'ak, Kiri, and Tuk also chime in, relieved and excited to see their big sister, alive and well, "Y/n!"

"Y/N!"

"Sister!"

Y/n is crying and shaking in relief as she finally reaches her family, both her mother and father pulling her up onto Payakan's fin when she couldn't find the strength to do it herself. The parents nestled their oldest daughter between them, each embracing her one at a time and surrounding her in their hugs, Neytiri even going as far as to kiss all over Y/n's face.

Jake is almost beside himself, hushed exhales escaping him as he settles his cheek over the top of Y/n's head and closes his eyes in relief, "You're okay. You're okay, sweetheart."

For a moment, she revels in the peace and her parents' embrace before looking around, inspecting each of her siblings' faces before she took a head count in her mind. She pulls away to look at her mother's face, "Where-- Where's Neteyam?"

Immediately, Neytiri's face falls, and unshed tears quickly form in her aging eyes. Her hand reaches up to cup Y/n's face while looking each of her daughters in the eyes, "Y/n... my girls... something happened."

~~~~~~~~~

Payakan brings all of them to the flat rock faces sticking out of the ocean, forming small islands of their own in the middle of the empty war zone. The Sully family slowly and painfully drag themselves to shore and Lo'ak thanks Payakan before the tulkun leaves. Y/n catches her breath and looks around, finding Tonowari and Ronal, standing off to the side, holding Ao'nung and a sobbing Tsireya in their arms. Lo'ak calls out the reef girl's name and Tsireya starts a new round of crying as she broke away from her parents to embrace him. Ao'nung briefly looks up when the Sullys arrived and locked eyes with Y/n, and to her sinking horror, he looked at her with pity and sorrow.

She soon found out why when the sound of Tuk's crying rang in her ears. Y/n spun around, ready to defend her baby sister, until she realized that there was no danger. Tuk was crying over a body, holding its arm to her little chest and hand to her face, sobbing. Neytiri blocked Y/n's view as she knelt on the other side of the body, picking it up and holding the head close to her chest. Y/n looks around and catches Jake's eyes as he looked at her expectedly, waiting for her reaction with broken eyes and tear tracks running down his aging face.

Y/n begins to catch on to what was happening, but the words that fled her mouth were ones of denial, "No... no no nononono."

She stomps over to her family, kneeling down around the legs of the body as she frantically looks around, "What's wrong with Neteyam? Mama, don't just stand there! What's wrong with him?! Someone help him! Help him!"

"Maite..."

"Don't!" She pushes Neytiri away and hovers over the body, kneeling down to it opposite Tuk. She finally allows herself to stare at her twin brother's face, and she's haunted by those unblinking eyes, unfocused and staring off at a place they couldn't see anymore. Panicked, Y/n roughly grabs Neteyam's jaw and tries tilting his head around to make him look at her, "'Teyam. 'Teyam? Wake up. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay..."

She is met with silence, and that almost rings louder in her ears than the sound of a roaring waterfall. His eyes still don't blink and his mouth never moves. Y/n, from that day forward, wished she had never looked down, because all the blood was permanently sewn into her memory and purged her nightmares.

One look at the gunshot puncturing her twin brother's chest, Y/n became a madwoman, roughly grabbing onto Neteyam's shoulders, "TSMUKAN! ZA'U NE'ÌM TSONTA, RUTXE! RUTXE!"

The noise that escapes her lungs is unlike any sound ever heard on Pandora. It pierces the air, shattered and broken like glass to the point where it had to hurt her throat. Tuk was completely terrified, scared to see her oldest sister lose her cool and continue crowing and sobbing like a feral, wounded creature. It was heartwrenching to listen to, and even worse to watch.

Y/n rocked herself back and forth as she sobbed uncontrollably, trying to find the smallest bit of comfort as she held her other half in her arms. Neytiri tried to be her comfort, even through her own shattered cries. Neytiri knelt on the other side of Neteyam's body, holding his shoulder in one hand and Y/n's in the other. The twins, neither living nor dead, noticed or even acknowledged their mother's touch.

"NETEYAM!"

Y/n's last words to Neteyam are roughly translated to: "BROTHER! COME BACK TO ME, PLEASE! PLEASE!"

A/N: So... uh... did I not mention that I write heavy angst? I think I should've put that in my resume. I have several blogs for several fandoms, and if you asked my followers anywhere else, they'll tell you I write angst on purpose. I write angst to make them suffer. Their tears keep me young forever.

Although I can't say this was written without any of my own tears being shed. That would be a lie. I swear I was bawling my eyes while watching the death scene happen (for the dozenth time, I'll be honest) and writing it out. No movie has ever pulled tears from me after I've already watched it several times, which is why I admire Zoe's acting for shattering my heart every time Neytiri screams and cries over her dead child.

But, look at that! Y/n's ikran has a name! It's Evi, derived from the Na'vi word 'evi, which is an affectionate word for 'kid'. That's something light-hearted and cute, right??? Right??? Ha ha, please don't kill me.

Anyway, I promise that this is only the beginning of the series and I hope the rest of it helps you heal from this loss like I know Y/n will likely learn to heal in time 😇 I honestly believe this will help me recover from Neteyam by writing about my characters' own healing journeys.

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