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euphemiaamillais · 4 months

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blurb - mentor!coriolanus snow corrupts his tribute

cw: 18+//corruption kink//dub-con//blowjobs//fingering//piv sex//mentions of death (you are a tribute after all)

you’re his favourite tribute, he reminds you each time he makes a visit to your apartments. he’s been granted the illusive role once again, after dr. gaul had noticed his success—and to thank him for his immense contribution to changing the way the capitol viewed the games. so, in thanks, he was allowed to pick any tribute he wanted—of course he selected you. pretty, but oh-so-innocent. he mostly wanted you so he could force you onto your knees and have you lap every last drop of cum from his cock.

that’s why he was here this evening, a bouquet of roses in his arms, matching the one on his lapel, coming on the guise that he wanted to have a special dinner to commemorate your going into the games in two days’ time. you’d ensured your stylist had dressed you in the prettiest gown—a soft green dress that flowed over your figure in such a way that you had gasped when you saw yourself in the mirror. you wanted to look good for coriolanus after all—he had been so kind to you, and it was the least you could do to look pretty for him.

when he arrives at the door, he’s dressed handsomely in a starched white button up shirt and black dress pants, and he hands you the array of flowers. you gasp, bowing your head in thanks and rushing to put them in a vase. however, an avox sweeps past and takes them from your hand to rearrange them for you. a feeling of dread washes over you as you realise it’s unlikely that you’ll be alive to see the flowers wilt. however, you force a smile back on your face, giddy with excitement that your mentor has come to pay you a visit.

‘how’s my favourite tribute?’ coriolanus inquires, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to it, his eyes glistening with a certain intention. you blush, the imprint of his lips burning into your hand. you still felt it after he’d pulled away from you.

‘oh, well, i’m certainly doing well now that you’re here, mr snow,’ you smile, making your way to the settee to rest your legs. you’d been pacing for hours in anticipation of his arrival.

‘what did i tell you about calling me that—really, it’s not like i’m president or something.’ he reprimands gently, and you nod in apology.

he can’t keep his eyes off of you; the way that dress hugs every curve on your body, how its neckline plunges to reveal your pert breasts. he fantasises about unzipping you, hands caressing your breasts, fingers bringing your nipples to harden, and then sliding his tongue over them as you squirm beneath him. of course, he’s getting ahead of himself—you notice his face is hot, which only makes you blush in return. whatever could he be thinking of?

‘i do have another present for you,’ he says, and your eyes light up with delight. presents are such a rarity back in the districts that the mere mention of a gift sends your heart pounding with excitement.

‘oh really!’ you gasp gleefully, and he nods, his icy blue eyes glistening at the thought of what he’s about to do. his poor, innocent little tribute. you’d never expect this, but he knows you’re so desperate to please him—you’ll do anything just to make your mentor happy.

‘but you have to close your eyes. can you do that for me?’ he says in his charming tone, the one he uses when he really wants something. you comply, squeezing your eyes shut with a giggle of excitement, body thrumming with anticipation.

coriolanus unbuckles his belt, and pulls down his pants which are already straining with the hard bulge of his cock. he’s aching for you; aching for relief.

‘what is it, coryo?’ he sighs as you use his pet name; one hand firmly gripping his cock.

‘hush, it’s a surprise. but i promise you’ll really like it…’ he uses his free hand to caress your cheek, and you blush at the touch. his large hands are a little cold, but you welcome his ministrations.

‘okay…’ you giggle again, and he feels his cock begin to leak with precum—your innocence eggs him on, he wants nothing more than to tarnish you completely, make you his.

‘open your mouth,’ he commands, and willingly, you oblige. perhaps he’s given you something sweet. your belly grumbles with hunger, the thought of a bonbon or perhaps a chocolate truffle making you salivate.

you feel him ease something in; it’s firm, but it feels familiar in a way. it tastes… salty almost. you hear him let out a breathy sigh. coriolanus feels the sweet relief of your mouth around him, tongue thick with saliva, coating him so well.

‘don’t bite, sweetheart,’ he winces at the slight feeling of your teeth—you can’t help it, you’re just so hungry. ‘you suck it.’

you take his advice, and use your tongue to lick at the thing he’s put into your mouth. your eyes are still firmly shut, and he hasn’t told you to open them yet, so you assume it’s part of your present. perhaps it’s to enrich the experience—something you’ve heard the garishly festooned capitol citizens say.

‘good girl,’ he groans, feeling your tongue swirl around the tip of his cock, and he begins to slide himself in and out at a gentle pace. you’re not ready for a full face-fucking, no. he can’t spoil you that bad.

you blush at his praise, feeling him move your gift further inside your mouth. you feel something hit the back of your throat, and you gag a little, eyes brimming with tears. you try to squeeze them away with your shut eyes, but your attempts are in vain.

your eyes sting, and you are forced to open them, much to his dismay. coriolanus shakes his head in disapproval as you open your eyes to see him standing above you, cock fucking your pretty little throat. you furrow your brow, a little shocked at his corruption of you; but nonetheless you continue to suck.

‘what did i say about opening your eyes, sweetheart?’ he inquires, one hand stroking the back of your head, twisting his fingers in your shiny tresses.

‘i’m sorry,’ you say, voice muffled as your lips stretch around his tip. you’ve never done this before, but figure it’s quite simple. after all, you’d been doing it with your eyes closed.

‘you’ve been such a good girl; i wanted to give you something special, in thanks.’ he pushed your head back down onto his cock, groaning with delight as you sucked him.

you look up at him with your teary eyes, laving your tongue around his throbbing cock, feeling the rigid veins as he ruts into you. coriolanus tossed his head back, lips drawn into a satisfied grin. you looked so perfect taking him all in. god, just imagine how your cunt would feel around him—stretching out your pretty little pussy with his big, hard cock.

he thinks about how you’ll probably be dead in a few days time—he supposes he ought to relish you while he can, as morbid as it seems.

his thrusts slow, and you feel something warm release at the back of your throat. he pulls out, hot cum dripping from the tip of his cock, and starving, not having eaten in hours, you lap up all the leaking spend.

‘oh fuck,’ he sighs, patting your head as you slide your tongue up and down over the tip. he tingles with overstimulation.

you swallow obediently; he tastes a little salty, but not unpleasant, and feel it slide down into your belly. coriolanus leans down to press a kiss to your plump, wet lips; a little bruised from the sucking. he hoped the gamemakers wouldn’t notice you’d been a little maimed before the games.

‘i’m full now,’ you muse, eyes glistening a little with delight. he laughs at your sudden cheek, and you smile, glad to have just pleased him. that’s all you wanted—his approval; him telling you how good you were as you sucked him off.

‘mhm, i don’t know about that sweetheart,’ his lips curl up into an impish grin. you cock a brow; confused.

‘are you going to do that again?’ you inquire, gnawing at your bottom lip. while you enjoyed it, you felt the nagging feeling between your thighs; want, want for something more. a different kind of hunger.

‘no,’ his voice trailed off, and he knelt down, placing his hands on your thighs. ‘but i’m going to fill you another way.’

his hands creep up your dress, pushing the flimsy fabric aside, revealing your lack of panties—after all, it was impossible with the dress. he groans, seeing your cunt on display, his hands parting your legs which are sticky with want.

‘what are you doing?’ your voice trembles a little, not out of fear, but out of curiosity. back home, you’d known very little about the ways of the world. sure, you’d kissed boys, but nothing ever went further than a bit of tongue. you only knew that your body was desperate for him, and that you assumed, he’d use some part of himself to relieve that aching pressure building up.

‘shhh, relax, sweetheart,’ he put a finger to your lips, and thus you obliged, watching as he dips fingers in the slickness of your cunt.

you cry out, his fingers stretching out your tight little hole. he purses his lips together smugly, feeling you tense around him again—you’re a virgin. he feels his own belly burn with desire at the knowledge that he will be the first to tarnish you, to fuck you full of cum and claim you as his. in fact, you really do belong to him. your life depends on how many sponsors he can rack up for you, and how well he prepares you for the arena. he has to admit, he loves the power surge he gets from this.

he pumps his fingers in and out, adding another when he feels you loosening around them; wanting to stretch you out enough for you to be able to take him.

‘oh!’ you mewl as he fucks you with his fingers; your own making a fist in the rich upholstered fabric of the settee.

‘good girl,’ he praises, and you smile, proud to be pleasing him so well. you see his cock harden again. it is pressing against his stomach, the tip red with need; he’s so desperate to fuck your tight little hole and pump you full of his cum.

‘lay back,’ he demands, and you oblige, wiggling back on the settee and propping yourself up with your shoulders.

he guides his cock with his hands, and slides it slowly inside of you. you feel your walls loosen around him; stretching with a little pain at first, but you’re so wet that soon all you can feel is a delicious fullness, and the tingling growing more.

‘fuck you’re tight,’ he grunts, beginning to thrust into you. he can’t help but be a little greedy, bucking into you with vigour and force—he doesn’t really care if it hurts you, you’re just so tight that he is filled with the desperate need to spoil you.

he is poised over you now, muscular arms propping himself up, and you reach your hands around to caress his back; wanting to feel some sense of closeness. you’ve hardly known him a week, and yet he’s shown your more kindness than anybody else in the capitol.

he begins to pound into you, overcome by his intense desire, and the feeling of you clenching around his big cock is enough to send him yearning for satisfaction. you moaned, eyes rolling back in pleasure as he filled you full; cock buried so deep you could feel his balls slapping against the bare skin between your cunt and bottom.

‘mhm, coryo,’ you mutter into his shoulder, fingers clawing at his back.

‘such a pretty baby, taking my cock like this,’ he grins, rutting you like you’re nothing better than a common white. ‘can’t believe you’re letting me make you mine, huh? what other tribute would do that? are you a little slut, hm?’

‘uh huh,’ you nod, too fucked out on his cock to muster up anything but a few moans. you’d never imagined he’d be taking you, spoiling you with his big cock. and yet, you’d let him. he’d known how much of a desperate little whore you were; blushing too much whenever he praised you as you showed him your stamina in training.

coriolanus grips your hips as he fastened his pace, driving himself in and out; your wet pussy making a delightful sound as he rutted you. he watches as your tits bounce in that flouncy green dress, threatening to spill out with every thrust. if he wouldn’t get in trouble for ruining your dress, he’d have cum all over your tits, painting you with his spend. but he delighted more in pumping you full instead; watching it drip out as you tried to clean yourself up and put on a show of decorum.

‘fuck,’ he moans as your walls tense around him, your heat burning as his thrusts turn slow. ‘i’m gonna fill you up, hm? would you like that?’

you nod drunkenly—absolutely blissful from his cock. you shudder a little, feeling a sudden tightness in your belly—your cunt contracts slightly, and you gush around him, your first and albeit weak orgasm.

he bucks his hips, grunting and groaning as he finishes inside of you, filling you up with his second load; sticky and hot with desire.

‘god, you’re such a little slut, taking all of my cum, letting me ruin you like that,’ he says exasperatedly, not sliding out yet so he can ensure his cum stays in you—after all, you need to be reminded that you’re his. ‘i wonder what the gamemakers would say if they knew you were letting your mentor pump you full of his cum? letting a fucking slut into the arena…’

your cheeks burn with embarrassment, feeling his cum inside of you; a deliciously full sensation. you’re not so hungry anymore. he slides out of you, and watches as his seed begins to slowly trickle out of you and down your thighs.

‘will you come again, coryo?’ you ask, bottom lip between your teeth, a sheepish look painted upon your pretty face. he laughs in disbelief.

‘what, that desperate to have me before you go into the arena?’ he is a little surprised by this, but is gloating all over at the fact that you’re just so drunk on his cock.

‘mhm, please coryo,’ your lip trembles, eyes stretching wide with plea. ‘grant a dying girl her wish.’

his look darkens, and you feel a pit in your stomach form. neither of you were saying it, but it was unlikely that you’d be making it out alive. perhaps if you were especially lucky… but chances were slim.

‘i’ll try my best. for my favourite tribute,’ he half-promises, feeling a tightness in his chest when he has to remember that you too, are human. not some little doll to play with. he’s not one for getting feelings involved. he learned that the hard way, with lucy gray.

‘thank you coryo,’ you muse, pressing a kiss to his lips. you feel a tender flutter in your heart.

he dresses, and then leaves with the half-hearted promise of being back soon, perhaps later tonight if he can manage to sneak past the guards. of course, he only cares about satisfaction. knowing he has you wrapped around his finger means he has better luck at getting you to win—you’ll do whatever he says.

that’s how he leaves you, his favourite tribute, blissful from his cock, and wanting more; desperate for him. you don’t know his real intentions, that you’re just his little plaything, the chance to bring further glory to his name.

coriolanus snow is a bad man.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo x reader #x reader #female x reader #tom blyth #hunger games #smut #president snow #tbosbas x reader #tbosbas #tbosbas fanfic #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games #drabble #blurb #fanfic #coryo smut #coryo snow

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notwhelmedyet · 2 months

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A Fire Shall Be Woken, by Ealcynn. A pair of bindings using the K118 structure, one as a gift for the author and one to keep.

Chapter page illustrations are by Alphonse Mucha, all other illustrations are hand-drawn.

I hope to make a long post later explaining the process in more depth & another to document all my mistakes, but here's the basics.

New techniques learned: Paper marbling, edge marbling, uncial calligraphy, making paste papers, drawing on bookcloth, making paste-filled cloth, fold-out maps

I began work on this project in early September and am completing the finishing touches this week.

Structures:

Binding: K118 tightback

Endpapers: Simple cloth-joined endpapers

Map fold: Turkish map fold

Materials:

Sewing supports: linen tapes

Thread: 30/3 linen thread

Spine lining: Medium weight kozo tissue bonded to linen fabric

Interior paper: Hammermill Ivory, 11x17, hand-cut to 8.5x11

Endpapers: Blick sulphite paper hand-marbled, with masked stenciled silhouettes created with freezer paper

Adhesives: Jade PVA, wheat starch paste, wheat flour paste

Covers: Davey board, laminated full thickness to half thickness

Cover fabric: Studio E shot cottons in Jungle and Emerald; filled with wheat starch paste

Cover decorations: Speedball india ink and Dr. Ph. Martin's calligraphy ink in Copperplate Gold

Inks for maps and illustrations: Speedball black india ink and a selection of watercolors thickened with gum arabic

Dip pens used for calligraphy: Combination of Brause calligraphy nibs and Leonardt tape nibs

Dip pens used for illustration: Nikko G pointed pen nib

Typesetting:

Typesetting program: Scribus 1.5.5

Body font: Coelacanth in 10 pt caption weight

Headings, titles, chapter titles, drop caps: Hand lettered uncial calligraphy, scanned

Illustrations and References:

Frames on colophon, copyright, author's notes and title page: Hand drawn, with inspiration taken from the vellucent bindings of Cedric Chivers

Frames that illustrate each chapter start: Alphonse Mucha from Cloches de Noël et de Pâques

Cover illustrations: Referenced from a photograph of an European beech tree found on iNaturalist.org

Maps of Imladris: Hand drafted with inspiration from the maps of Barbara Strachey, and Daniel Reeve

Map of Eriador: Traced from a map by Karen Wynn Fonstad, with edits made to coordinate with the geography of the fic

Frames on maps: Referenced from a drawing by Alphonse Mucha that @zhalfirin found for me

Special Thank Yous:

To the tightback council of problem-solvers in the Renegade server: Zhalfirin, Eka, @spockandawe who helped figure out many issues with the structure and technique

To the marbling experts in the Renegade server: Marissa, Aether, AGlance, Jenny, Catz, Badgertide, Rhi, and everyone else who helped me figure out beginnner marbling

To Spock for finding the K118 structure and introducing it to the server!

And to Bruce Levy, who discovered the method and shared his discoveries freely with the bookbinding and conservation world.

#bookbinding #Fanbinding #mine #bookbinding adventures #thank you to everyone i consider this a group effort #it has been 10000 years and I have loved every step #except for sanding. nasty nasty sanding. ew.#fic recs

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curioscurio · 3 months

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Reading a lot of Sherlock Holmes, and trying to draw victorian men accurately will lead you to learning that people wrote on their shirt cuffs often in ink because they were detachable and usually made of extremely starched linen or PAPER. working class men would find them stiff, overly formal, or not worth spending the money on it, but if you were mid to upper class then it was expected that you wear just as much complicated, sillohuete focused shapewear as women. Victorian men also wore corsets, especially military men, to achieve that puffy chest and flat stomach look around the 1820's.

The male corset fad had died down a little around the turn of the century (1880-early 1900's) as women fought for more comfortable and less oppressive shapewear, and effeminate men ridiculed for wearing the once fashionable and even medically recommended undergarmet. However, the male corset in the 1880's was still fairly popular enough to be advertised by dressmakers!

(Forgive me not citing my sources at the moment, but these advertisements I believe are dated around 1880 when mens corsets fell out of popular style but were still available and fashionable in certain circles.)

Therefore, it is reasonable to assume that Dr. Watson, being both a medical and military man... probably wouldn't have worn a corset at the time of his deployment around 1880, unfortunately. ( I know, we're all dissappinted.)

Not that he couldn't wear one if he wanted to! But based on ACD cannon, I really feel that he would not be the kind of guy to wear one. Call it speculation, but if I had been deployed and then shot in the shoulder and leg, wearing a corset would be all but torture on my body. Let alone trying to wrestle an injured soldier out of one while trying to stitch him up. Corsets for military men were more of a fashion statement than a medical device; and even then, it was only helpful for orthopedic reasons (back problems mostly).

It was also around that time that the Women's Dress Reform movement began. Despite the Sherlock Holmes novels being ripe with period-typical misogyny, I like to imagine that Watson would side with the women and medical professionals on this one, in that they were often restrictive, unnecessary, and medically harmful in the long run.

Sherlock Holmes, however, absolutely has a large variety of both male and female corsets for various disguises and probably wears them often. This isn't explicitly stated in canon or anything, I just feel it in my heart.

Sorry if this is all over the place or not completely accurate! I went down a rabbit hole but am totally open to any corrections! Also I think the idea of Watson lacing up Holmes and grumbling about corsets is a funny visual lol

#sherlock holmes #acd canon #john watson #corsets #acd holmes #acd watson #long post #also by all means draw watson in a corset #im not a cop or a fashion historian so do whatever you want lol #also im sure my good friend sergle knows way more about how corsets effect the body than me who has never worn one ever

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smute · 2 months

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random hill to die on and i could honestly make a 3 hour viddy essay about this but here's the short version: "save some pasta water for binding your sauce" is probably one of the most misunderstood cooking tips ever. yes, its an old trick and yes, its something that can be helpful under very specific circumstances but at this point almost every pasta recipe i come across seems to mention some variation of it and in most cases it's complete nonsense.

firstable, let me explain where it doesnt work: adding pasta water to a random sauce (tomato for instance) will not make it thicker. whatever miniscule amount of starch you're gonna have in there wont make a difference when you're also adding ladlefuls of water at the same time. its pasta water not cornstarch slurry. and thats not something you want in your tomato sauce anyway. tomato paste is an excellent emulsifier all on its own (along with egg yolks, mustard, butter, cream, milk, and many other dairy products) so in order to thicken a tomato-based sauce you have exactly two options: evaporation or more tomato paste, which basically amounts to the same thing: less water, more everything else.

pasta water on the other hand can be useful for diluting a sauce (tomato or otherwise) that has been cooked down too much. while adding wine or juices (or just plain water) for deglazing makes sense at the beginning of the cooking process, watery things added to an almost finished sauce will simply... water it down (duh) and (in the case of wine, vinegar, etc) introduce unwanted raw flavors. there's also a good chance that cold liquids won't mix well with the sauce and ruin the consistency. for this, broth works very well, but pasta water would be a more neutral option flavor-wise. the salt and temperature honestly make the biggest difference here. plus, pasta water is something you're probably gonna have on hand anyway as you will likely be boiling your pasta shortly before serving.

the same goes for loosening any other emulsion, like an emulsified butter sauce or carbonara for example. this shouldn't be necessary but if your egg and cheese mixture clings to the pasta a little too much and everything just clumps together, a small (!!!) amount of pasta water can help the sauce reach a creamier consistency without diluting the overall flavor too much.

however. the Pasta Water Trick (TM) that everyone talks about but so few recipes seem to get right goes like this: you finish cooking your pasta in the sauce and you also add a little bit of pasta water to that mixture. a single cooked spaghetto will probably yield more starch than an entire cup of pasta water, and cooking your starchy pasta for a minute (or just tossing it) in the finished sauce will make a huge difference for the consistency. that alone can be enough, you can stop right there. but now you run the risk of binding too much liquid. this is where the pasta water comes in. it's hot, salty, starchy, and it's right there on the stove, so it's perfect for making sure your sauce doesn't disappear completely. THATS ALL

btw. all of this works a lot better with fresh pasta and a lower water to pasta ratio. fresh pasta gives off more starch than dried pasta, and it works even better with homemade pasta that's still covered in flour. the cloudier the water the better.

in any case, pasta water = a little bit of starch + a whole lot of water (and salt). thats why it only makes sense to use it in situations where you need both the starch AND the extra liquid (and salt) or if you know that you'll evaporate most of it later on. think of pasta water as a better alternative to cold water or as something that you can use when you dont have any other cooking liquids on hand. and always keep the salt in mind.

tl;dr: pasta water can be a useful tool for emulsification but if anything it's a thinning agent rather than a thickening agent.

#smute: ''here's the short version'' *writes one million paragraphs*#anyway #needed to get this off my chest #&

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 6 months

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The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 4

One God to Another | Loki x Reader

Loki begins your training at an unexpected moment, but you both end up learning something new.

Warnings: Loki gets wet! Suggestive descriptions. Reader is still locked up :(

Green divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Loki sauntered out of the room, hiding his eagerness to see you behind his veil of teasing. Although he would’ve liked to go directly to your room, he detoured to Dr Banner’s lab at the request of Stark’s robot assistant. The god wasn’t particularly fond of disembodied, omniscient voices telling him what to do, that was more his game, but he followed the directions to Dr Banner’s lab nonetheless.

“Doctor,” he nodded, leaning against the large desk and folding his arms across his chest.

Bruce barely looked up from the complicated diagram infront of him. Loki knew that his presence made the man uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help how others reacted to him.

“Loki, she really seemed to engage with you last time. Do you think you could ask about the Grandad? We couldn’t find any guardianship order or documents linking them. I don’t even think their DNA matches.” Bruce said, removing his glasses and wiping them on his white lab coat. He looked up at Loki then, through blurry eyes, as if staring straight at the man would turn him to stone.

“Do you have a lot of experience with women, Doctor Banner?” Loki drawled, looking at his long fingers and neat nails.

Bruce flushed cherry red in answer.

“I find that women do not respond to being interrogated.” Loki pulled the cuffs of his shirt down and the starched fabric became tighter, moulding to his muscular torso and broad shoulders.

“We just need the information, Loki. Not a date.” Bruce grumbled. “Just ask her.”

“Ask her?”

“About her Grandad,” Bruce was clearly frustrated, but kept his voice to a quiet hiss, still hidden behind his workbench.

“Hmmm…no. I’ll talk to her how I want, I’ll do what I want and what’s more, so will she.” Loki walked backwards towards the door, “and maybe, if you all behave, I’ll share with you.” He gave one last smirk before pushing both doors open and striding back into the corridor.

Loki knocked on the locked door of your room, you'd made it clear you wanted respect and, what's more, Loki believed you deserved it. An honour that he knew you didn't yet understand.

“Yes?” When he pressed the intercom button, he heard your voice as a thin, wary whisper.

He entered slowly and smiled as you turned to greet him, the bracelet on your wrist caught the sun, sending sparkles of green dancing over the white clinical surfaces. He wasn’t sure if you would want to keep it on but his chest swelled at the sight of his colours complimenting you so well.

“Loki!” You smiled when you saw him, when was the last time anyone had smiled at his presence? “You came back!”

“I promised I would, did I not?” He grinned as you reached out your hand to him.

“I wanted to show you something.” You pulled him over to the smaller mirror, the real mirror, that was placed over the wash basin.

Standing in front of him you stared at your reflection, concentration written on your brow. Loki stared too and then, in the corner of your eye, a gold fleck appeared. You smiled and then gold took over the whole of your left iris and then the right.

You looked at him through the mirror, “I did that, I thought about it and I did it."

You swivelled to face him and he couldn’t help but touch you, hands on each cheek, to better examine your changing countenance and your beaming smile.

“Very good Little ásynja, it seems you did not need my assistance after all.”

“Oh no, I do, I do. This took all morning. I want to do more, I want to control my hair and my height - and -and I want to stop people being uncomfortable around me. I want them to kiss the right people, not me, and -”

Loki ran his thumb over your bottom lip to quiet your rambling. It was a risk, but you didn’t seem to mind the attention or the touch, in fact the air got thicker in the room the longer he touched you, hot and close, his heart sped up again and sweat formed on his brow.

“Little ásynja we can practise all of those things, but we should start small.”

“Yes, teach me please.” You bounced on your heels, a glow filling the room as the sun hit full in the sky. Loki looked at his watch, 3pm. The sun was in the wrong place.

“Calm down, please. Darling,” he smoothed a hand over your hair and down your back, stilling you for a moment. “First let us find you some calm and then we will practise a simple trick.”

“Calm?”

“Yes, you must be calm so you can free your mind to explore your magic. What would make you relaxed?” Loki had a good idea of what he’d like to do to help relax you, something akin to his last visit but maybe with less clothing, but considering the sun was still in the wrong place and he wasn’t entirely sure you’d noticed, he decided to take it slow. “A bath maybe?”

You nodded, “that would be wonderful, the shower here is horrible.”

Loki waved a hand, checking for cameras and dropping fabric across the mirror again.

“A bath sounds like a good idea,” another wave and a huge copper bath appeared, high at the back with a small table next to it covered in coloured bottles and squares of lined cloth.

“Incredible,” you breathed, running a finger along the top edge, “it’s warm!” You let out a giggle and Loki could see how the mortals were so enamoured with you, your smile was infectious, bubbling as high as the bath. And as he looked at you, a feeling of joy washed over him too.

You looked around nervously, and Loki worried you might ask him to leave. Instead he resolved to make himself integral to your relaxation process, if he was indispensable then he could stay.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, “sometimes the women of Asgard would wear linen shifts when bathing in public,” his magic simmered and a soft white cotton shirt appeared around your body, a thin lace keeping it together between your breasts and collar bone.

“It’s comfortable,” you observed, playing with the lace.

“Good,” Loki smiled softly and held his hand out to help you over the tall side of the bath, and you paused there, your hand in his.

“The room isn’t very relaxing,” you glanced at the medical bed, the plain table and small window.

“Agreed," a gold halo surrounded the room, the walls darkening into wood panels, the tiny window widening into a fireplace complete with roaring fire.

“Loki, it's beautiful,” you breathed. And there was that smile again, so genuine and warm. Loki tipped his head towards the bath and supported your weight as you climbed in.

Settling against the high copper back of the bath, you sighed, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of the water soothing your body. The shift floated around you, giving you a distinctly angelic air that had Loki's trousers feeling uncomfortably tight.

Loki watched the pearls of water move across your body as you made waves with your hand, the smell of lavender oil permeating the room.

He took the opportunity to study your relaxed posture, no hint of inhibition when you put yours hands on the side of the bath. Loki could see your nipples, soft and pebbled, under the translucent linen and he ached to lean forward - to climb in - to sit behind you and hold you and be the one that grounded you in your body before he helped you unleash your magic.

Loki was clouded with lust, dizzy, the room was too hot and the steam rising from the bath was creating mist on the windows and mirror.

He reached a hand in, tracing down your side with his finger, his fingertips touched the underside of your breast lightly and you sucked in a breath, holding still.

Loki looked up, catching your eyes, trapped by the black and gold that stared back. So unnatural that the hair stood up on the back of his neck. The ends of your hair stuck to your shoulders and he couldn't quite catch the colour or the texture as it shimmered and changed, your magic evaporating from you like steam and you were staring at him, boring into his soul.

“Shall we do some magic?” You asked, reaching a damp hand out to him and flicking scented water over his face.

Anger flashed through Loki's mind, immediately replaced by confusion when he saw your face, a smile at the corner of your lips. You were…playing with him.

And then the smile fell and he studied your face. Were you nervous now? When you were so happy and relaxed before.

Maybe his anger had shown too much, his confusion that anyone would want to play with or tease him, and you had retreated into yourself.

Loki steeled himself, trying to release the side of his mischief that had been hidden for a long time, the side that laughed and joked and wanted to make others laugh too.

He pulled his hand back and scooped up the water, splashing you back.

Now it was your turn to sit in shock and his heart beat loud in his ears, waiting for you to react.

Water trickled down over your cheeks and lips as they turned up into a broad smile and he matched it, flicking water from the ends of his fingers and revelling in the sound of your giggles.

His magic welled inside of him, roiling and rising at it had a thousand years ago when he was a God, and not an invader, he felt his sedir deep within himself, connected to you and Midgard. The vacant feeling that missed Asgard was hollow, but surrounded by new branches, new links, and for once he didn’t feel unwell or tired. He felt like a God.

You played for a while, splashing water and allowing Loki to cast charms on the water that made waves appear, a row of magical ducklings, paddling towards you and from the depths of bath, a miniature whale, blowing fireworks as it breached the surface, it’s wide tail splashing you on it’s return to the deep.

He was incredible, this god before you, funny and kind and handsome. You knew his past, of course, but it was hard to believe that this Loki would willingly harm others. Tricks and mischief were one thing, that he radiated from his very being, but evil? Cruelty? It didn’t seem possible.

“Let us begin with an easy trick, one of my favourites," Loki said, and a small jug appeared in his hand. He filled it from the bath, while your keen eyes followed his every move until his arm snapped forward and he poured the jug over your head without warning.

Loki sat back on his heels and watched as you spluttered.

“Loki! What are you doing!”

He sat back with a grin. “Dry your hair.” He ordered, crossing his arms across his chest and leaving a damp spot on the sleeve of his shirt where he tucked his hands.

You glared at him, and then reached a hand out of the bath for a towel, but he closed his hand around wrist and slowly lowered it back into the water, “with magic,” he encouraged.

“How?”

“Just, think about it. Imagine how you want your hair to look after. You want it to be dry, but eventually you can practise changing the style, the colour, the textures. We won’t change the length or colour today, just dry it.”

You turned away from him and scrunched your face up in concentration, just dry it indeed, as if it was that simple! He couldn’t help but smile, you just looked so cute with your eyes closed, focussing so hard. The thought of you laughing and smiling with him again was in his head before he could do anything to stop it.

As the God of Mischief, Loki had spent a good deal of his childhood playing tricks and games, making fun and pulling pranks. As an adult he had assumed that he needed to evolve his pranks, make them grander. But perhaps this easy jesting was what his heart truly needed. He felt light and carefree watching you splutter as, rather than dry, your hair seemed to get wetter and heavier. Your nose wrinkled and the ends of your hair began to lighten, no longer heavy and weighed down with water.

“Ásynja, look,” you opened your eyes and looked into the small mirror Loki held for you, grinning at your reflection.

“It’ll take ages for the rest to dry though,” you grouched, touching the top of your head which was still soaking wet, but the ends were perfectly dry.

“You should be proud of your achievement,” Loki lifted your chin with a finger, “do you think those mortals can do this? No. It is hard because it is special. Again,” he snapped his fingers and water appeared above your head, dousing you once more.

“You bastard!” You laughed, snatching the jug and pouring water over him in return. Loki would normally have pulled his knives by now at such an insult, the bitter feeling of loneliness, of being the punchline of a thousand jokes for a thousand years mellowing into a distant hum as you giggled at him through your own wet hair. And Loki laughed too, a deep rumbling laugh that broke out of him and filled the room until you were both sucking in your breath, hiccuping and clutching your sides.

Loki managed to calm down long enough to bring you both back to your lesson. His smile lingered at the corners of his lips when he spoke again.

“Watch, think about being dry, picture it. And-” Loki moved his neck, the water vanishing from his shoulders and hair, the trickle on his nose gone.

You stared, in awe, and then your features shifted into a determined stare. “I think it’s harder when I’m still in the water,” you stood then, unabashed, and climbed out of the tub, dripping on the floor until a rug appeared under your feet.

You closed your eyes, clenched your fists and muttered to yourself, shifting your body as Loki had. The feeling of clinging linen was gone, instead you felt warm but dry, the hair stuck to your face was now perfectly dry and styled. You cracked one eye open and caught your reflection in Loki’s mirror.

“I did it!”

“Well done Ásynja, darling you’re doing so well!” Loki glowed with pride, you were learning quickly, discovering the depths of your magic with precision and focus.

“Now we have learnt some magic for you to practise, what else do you desire?” Loki had been hoping to guide you to himself as he watched your nipples harden under the linen of your shift.

You walked to the fireplace peering at it and inspecting the mantle that Loki had created.

“I want out of this room.” You said seriously “I won’t be a danger, I promise, I just want to be free.”

“I will do my best, darling, but you must understand they do not trust me either.”

“What about your brother?”

“Thor?”

“Yes, can he help? I’ll promise him to be good too, I really won’t start any fires,” Loki felt a little sick at the thought of you speaking to Thor, it hadn’t crossed his mind that at some point he’d have to share your attention with anyone else, especially not another God. And that you would be ‘good’, he didn’t want you to be good for anyone. He wanted you to be carefree, daring, perhaps even a little wicked. He wanted to be the one to set you free. He hadn’t realised how lonely he had this time with you, his icy demeanour thawing under the rays of your smile.

“I can discuss the matter with him,” Loki agreed. “He has their favour so may be of use.”

There was a curt knock at the door, Loki was still being heavily monitored and he was sure they wouldn’t be happy about the curtain or him breaking the cameras again.

“I must go, my Little Ásynja, I will return as soon as I can,” the glimmer that Loki had created around the room changed and the sterile environment reappeared.

You took Loki by the hand and squeezed for a second, “I’ll miss you,” you gave him a shy smile and he bent down in return, aiming to place a chaste kiss on your cheek. But you turned your head, pressing your petal soft lips against his and stole a single kiss.

Loki, surprised and flustered by such a bold move, only stepped back, attempting to rein in his control.

“I shall miss you too darling, but I will be back.” He closed the door behind him, taking one last look at you before the lock slammed into place.

Loki found Thor in the main common room deep in conversation with his fellow Avengers.

“Brother, what have you discovered?!” Thor waved him closer, patting the seat next to him on the sofa.

“Why do you keep covering the mirror,” Steve asked, fiercely, speaking over Thor. Loki decided to ignore him. Your need for privacy was obvious, if the Captain couldn’t understand that then it was beyond explanation.

“You must release her. Give her a real room. Under my tutelage she is gaining control of her powers. She has not changed appearance, she is the same height. And she managed some simple magic today. Have no fear, mortals, the girl is no danger, just a little…wild, that’s all.” Loki took the seat next to Thor and inspected the cuffs of his shirt, the smell of lavender still clinging the the soft fibres.

“She is doing magic, that’s pretty dangerous.” Sam said, his concern clear but without judgement. Sam was calculating without being ruthless, like Bruce he merely wanted to understand the fullness of the situation before committing himself. Steve and Tony, on the other hand, seemed to take only a split second before becoming agitated.

“We don’t even really know who she is. She won’t even give us a name.” Steve said before turning to Loki. “But you, you call her something, what does it mean?” His tone took on an accusatory edge, his arms folded across his chest.

“Quit it Steve,” Sam tugged on his shirt, trying to get him to sit down again, “Loki is here to help.”

“What does he call her?” Thor asked, gleefully, leaning forwards in his chair.

“Would you like me to continue to teach her to control her magic? Because she requires freedom, air, access to the elements and to peace.”

“No.” Steve insisted.

“I understand,” Loki began to tease. “She is far too terrifying a being to bring out here, with your-” Loki waved his hand at the assembled group “-’heroes’. We wouldn’t want to frighten them with their own secretive, lusty, thoughts.” Loki kept his eyes trained keenly on the Captain while he lifted an eyebrow, itching for him to fight back, to fall into his traps.

“Assinyar or something, ” Steve answered Thor.

“Ásynja?” Thor asked, gleefully.

“Yes!”

Thor looked at Loki, half with love and the other half brotherly mischief, and tipped his head to the side.

“Ásynja, is that so?” Thor appeared to think for a moment, before settling back on Steve. “Loki is right.” Thor agreed, and the god almost fell off his chair, “if she is to be an Avenger she must learn with the group.”

Loki smiled genially, “Thank you, Thor.” But deep down his heart clenched at the thought of handing you over to the Avengers for good.

To Loki’s relief plans had been put in motion to secure you a new lodging in the compound and it wasn’t long until he was was called down to your new room, according to Bruce you would see no one but Loki, even if it was to grant you some form of freedom around the compound. Your bedchamber was to be opposite Loki’s in the guest suite and, for insurance, Thor had been moved as well. Loki assumed Thor would be put out by his move, but he instead seemed thrilled to be taking part in such menial tasks as moving his clothes, treating the entire morning as a jolly game while Loki’s thoughts swirled frantically.

Loki had been delighted by the news, appearing early and trimmed out in his finest Asgardian leathers to accompany you around the compound to your new quarters. But he was still uneasy about the Avenger’s involvement and, somewhere deep down, concerned about your true nature.

All thoughts were forgotten as soon as you smiled at him though, taking his hand in your own and walking close by his side back to your new rooms.

“They don’t like me anymore,” you’d mumbled, taking an extra step to keep up with his long strides.

“They are selfish. They are fickle. They are mortal. We must make allowances.” Loki answered, briskly, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow.

“You keep saying they are mortal like I’m not. What did you see when you saw my memories?” You came to a stop and stood before him, hands on your hips as your piercing gaze bore into his own.

Loki was taken aback, he hadn’t realised you were aware of him entering your thoughts. He was speechless, how was he to explain what he had seen?

“Let us sit down, darling,” Loki looked very serious and it did nothing to fade your fears. “If I tell you all now, well, I don’t know what would happen. I believe the common parlance on Midgard is 'blow your mind’?”

“Wow, okay. So. That bad?” You chewed your lip.

“You remember your Grandfather, yes”

“Yes”

“When did you go to live with him Ásynja?”

“When I was very young.”

“And do you know your age, have any pictures or memories, school books? Do you mean you were a babe in arms, or a child?”

“Well, no,” you looked frightened suddenly, your eyes darting back and forth as you dove into your memories. He was right, you couldn’t remember.

“No. Because, my darling, he was not your grandfather. I have yet to discover who he truly is because you don’t know.”

“That means, at some point, I did at least know that he wasn’t my Grandad?”

You were smart, he liked that.

“Perhaps, yes.”

“Why did I stay? Why was I there then?”

“Darling you were drugged. Sedated. Kept there. You are much older than they thought and t that old man and he is not your grandfather.”

“Wait, what, go back. How old am I?”

“So as to avoid 'blowing your mind’ let’s go backwards slowly so you can get used to it. If you were, say, twenty-five,you would have been born in the late 1990s. But I have seen your memories of you at Glastonbury, 1970.”

“Wow, as, like, a kid?” You sat heavily on one of the modern leather couches dotted about the corridors.

“No,” Loki put his hands on either side of your face, “just like this, except you were powerful, in control. You’ve done this before, that’s how I know you can control these powers.” Standing over you like this, he blocked the light until all you could see was his serious face looking back. Loki concentrated on the memory he had seen and he could feel you searching for it too as he slipped back inside of your memories. You smiled as the images came flooding back, the smell of beer and flowers and patchouli oil, the feel of the sun on her bare skin, long linen skirts wrapping around her knees and ankles as she danced in circles.

You pulled away with a gasp, “Have you told the others?”

“No,” Loki looked affronted. “Of course not.”

“Okay, good. Good.” You chewed the tip of your thumb again absently. Loki reached his hand over to your mouth, brushing your thumb away with his own.

“And I never will unless you want me to.” He insisted, cupping your cheek in one broad hand. He was as cool as always, but it was a welcome relief to your heated body. Whatever was going on was deeper than you’d thought, just some mutant gene that had been dormant during your childhood. To be alive in 1970 and still looking as you did…that was something more.

“Let’s keep it between us.” You waved a hand between the small gap between you both and how could he do anything but obey when you looked at him like that.

Loki nodded, taking your hand and leading you further down the corridor towards your new rooms, you were silent for a while and then, as if struck by lightning, you were full of energy.

“Well. Now I know I’m powerful, I can show you something!” You looked excited and Loki brimmed with pride that he had brought this excitement, this assurance, out of you. “I’ve been practising.”

Loki knew you had, your appearance had been stable for the last three days, even when you were angry you’d manage to maintain yourself. Plus, he had heard you training, muttering encouragement to yourself as you stared in the mirror. All you had to say was his name and it became a prayer chant in his mind.

You took Loki’s hand between your small palms, one hand above and one below. When you pulled them away you slowly revealed a thin silver ring with a delicate, dark sapphire set deep into the band.

“A gift,” you whispered looking up at him through your lashes, “from one god to another.”

And he kissed you, he couldn’t help it, you were all consuming. Your magic tangible, drawing him closer until he was engulfed by it, swallowed in the glow that you created, the sunlight and heat spreading from your body across and mixing with the crackle of his own magic. Was it sedir or lust at your fingertips, he couldn’t tell until they burnt him.

Loki took your wrists, holding you away from him with a jovial smile.

“Darling, please desist from burning me."

<<Part 3

Part 5>>

#Loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki/reader #Loki x Reader #Loki fanfic #Loki series #loki marvel #Loki x you #Loki/You #loki fanfiction #Loki smut #The Old Gods and the New

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somethingheavenknows · 5 months

Text

reputation

pairing: coriolanus snow x female reader

summary: all you’ve ever wanted was to see a flaw in coriolanus, to prove he wasn’t all he said he was. but when you catch him with his guard down, you’re everything but vengeful.

tags/content warnings⚠️: a little bit of mutual hatred that isn’t real, pet names, fingering, oral (female receiving), inferred overstimulation and nonverbal state if you squint. just coryo being cute and inexperienced but bold, for those of us who dare to dream !!!

**smut at the end but lots of long admiring how hot his arms are before that to make up for making you wait

word count: 5,824 (long, i know. i got carried away!)

nsfw content below the cut. i’m not your mother, but either way, proceed with caution.

coriolanus snow has a reputation. everyone knows that.

nobody likes him, yet they tolerate him, because he is not only the prized possession of dr. gaul’s precious hunger games, but he is the darling of the capitol- he is their emblem, their spokesman, the face of the new generation. every girl’s head lolls in adoration when he passes, and his peers sneer when every adult he comes across greets him as our future president, while he sits back and smiles.

at first, you didn’t like him either. you didn’t like his demeanor or the lightning white color of his hair. you hated how every time he spoke, it was eloquent yet condescending, no matter who it was he spoke to. you hated the way his eyes evaluated everyone, yet always settled on you with uncertainty. your biggest issue with coriolanus, though, was how there was not one visible flaw to make him human. his hands did not shake, nor did his voice. his university exams came back spotless and adorned with two zeros every time. his shirts were starched to a stiffness that would only be comfortable for a man so stiff and rigid as he, and his shellacked platinum locks carved a perfect quaff of stone atop his marble cheeks and crystal eyes. more than anything in the world, you wished to see something to dismantle the perfection of him, to watch him doubt himself or miss a button hole.

coriolanus never intended for anyone to see such a falter, because he only allows imperfection for himself when he is alone. when he is elbows deep in textbooks in a locked university classroom, he might unbutton his collared shirt to breathe; when he’s at home behind his bedroom door, he could comb through his hair and let it fall as it had back at the academy. but he was calculated, as was his persona. nobody was going to see him misstep, and they certainly would not see him fail. but poor coriolanus, so obsessed with perfection that it’s made him paranoid, forgot the little details from time to time.

it was only when he settled in a group study room in the library, believing it was a single study room, did you catch a glimpse of the boy everyone once called coryo.

the sun had set hours ago, cloaking the capitol in a darkness only deigned by the dead of night. when it’s this late, the university tends to fall silent; students have either gone home or to a party, leaving the resources at the school wide open for anyone who might wander through. you preferred to study in the library when everyone was gone, because it was the only place where you could focus. there was no noise, no talking, no pointless bickering amongst other students over grades or girlfriends. just you, and your books, and your notepad you loved to doodle in when your mind wandered from your assignments.

so it was a normal night for you, a lonesome one, where you entered the grand doors to the university library, met with the familiar darkness of the hall. the school turned the lights off after eight, and it was eleven. you were headed towards the back of the library with your truckload of textbooks, when you found one light on in the row of group study rooms. the yellow fluorescence spilled through the half-drawn curtains like honey, and you wondered who might be studying together so late? it was usually only you on nights like these. you detoured from your beeline to the single spaces to see who was still awake.

when your eyes fell upon the only other student still on campus, you had to fight the urge to exclaim in triumph- because you’d finally done it. you’d seen the real, human person that existed within stone-carved snow. coriolanus was craned over a myriad of study papers, scribbling equations over and over in a frantic fashion as his brows furrowed so tightly you began to fear his skin would tear. the boy had discarded his academy getup, red coat draped over the back of his chair and his blue button-down thrown sloppily across the table, leaving only his white undershirt left on him. you examined the broadness of his shoulders, which you’d failed to before; the t-shirt hugged him, clinging to the bulk of his arms and cascading down the front of his chest like a white flag. somehow, beneath the uniform, you’d never seen how buff coriolanus actually was, and you thought, well, he was a peacekeeper for a while. maybe he’s kept up with it. around his neck hung a tarnished pair of dog tags which you only assumed had to be his. a keepsake? a reminder? you couldn’t help but wonder.

the shirt and chain were nice informalities, but what did you in was his hair. you’d never recognized just how long it had gotten, since you’re so accustomed to the tightness of its placement; now, it seemed to spill over his ears like the sea foam that curls atop waves, and lapped at the back of his neck in long, soft-looking tufts. you felt heat rush to your cheeks at the messiness of it, and wondered why in the world he insisted on keeping it up when it looked so much prettier down.

the amount of time that passed between when you stumbled upon his study room and stared him down had no measure, but it was long enough for him to notice the shadow of a figure forming on the other side of the window. you watched anxiously as his head cocked, studying the darkness, and your body froze as his rose from the chair and walked to the door. the boy swung it open and the sterile light revealed you just behind the doorframe, doe-eyed and embarrassed. for a second, you thought his lip upturned, but you must have imagined it.

“what are you doing?” coriolanus asked.

“i-” you squeaked, and cleared your throat, “i always study late. what are you doing here?”

“you tell me, since you decided to spy.”

there was that coldness again. as long as you’d known him, he was never less frigid than his last name. you made a show of peeking through the window and replying, “well, it seems to me you’re studying alone in a group room. got nobody to tutor you, huh, coriolanus?”

coriolanus’ lips did not decieve you then, as they curled into a smile that was more chilling than warm. yet, something about it made you wish he’d do it more.

he took a moment to look at the sign on the door, recognizing the plaque designating the room for collective study. he rolled his eyes and muttered, “thoughtless.”

“you know, nobody’s here to tell you that you can’t study in there. it’s not like they’d deny you anything anyway,” you jabbed.

coriolanus’ intriguing grin faded. his opulent jaw tightened as he turned away and sat back down at the large desk where all his books and papers lay, deciding you were not worth a fight. you followed him inside.

“get out,” he groaned.

“it’s a group room, isn’t it?” you smirked, letting your book bag hit the floor with a loud thump! “what, can’t concentrate with me around?”

before he could impulsively agree, coriolanus reminded himself of his situation. so far, you’d violated every safe rule he had- he was half undressed, his hair was disheveled, and the trial and error of arithmetic on his pages proved exactly how many attempts it took to achieve those double zero exam scores you so greedily coveted. here, alone in this room with the only girl in class that didn’t follow his lead like a puppy, he was caught with his guard down. he hated it.

“do whatever you want, just don’t interrupt me.”

you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips, because you didn’t have to interrupt him. just your presence was enough to throw him off course. you dug quietly through your backpack to fish out your notepad, your textbook for 21st century literature, and your math packet- the same one coriolanus was toiling over. the boy’s eyes kept flickering to you as you laid your belongings out on the table: a collection of graphite pencils, shaved to the nubs from drawing, a gray clay eraser molded to the shape of your fingers, and a sleek silver pen with your initials engraved on the cap. his eyes danced over the pen, admiring the slow curve of its body.

“what are you looking at?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. you liked seeing him so distracted by you, so to chastise him would be overkill- it seemed your normalcy was enough.

coriolanus’ fair skin flushed a rosy pink as he looked up at you. he made himself sit up straight and replied, “nothing. just looking at that pen you have.”

you plucked the utensil from the spot you placed it and passed it over in your palm, tracing the tiny letters of your name. you held it out for him to take, and his eyes glinted with confusion. you held it out a little further, as if to say, it won’t bite. coriolanus flashed a hint of a smile before taking it, and for the first time, he looked his age. he was a college student, a barely broke one at that- you knew more about him than he thought- and the way he held that pure silver pen was like he’d wished for one all his life. his long, slender fingers handled the pen like a relic. you found yourself fixated on the way they moved- with so much intention, so much focus. so much care. and for that, you didn’t hint at a smile at all. you wanted to scream for even allowing yourself to show any display of happiness because of coriolanus snow, but you couldn’t control it. this disposition of his was so new that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. feeling a bit embarrassed, you decided maybe now was the time to tease him, as you so cleverly do often.

“never seen a pen before?”

“i- no, i have seen a pen before,” the boy’s shoulders tensed, but his grip on the pen didn’t. “this one is just… particularly nice.”

you felt a sudden pang of guilt, and you withdrew the urge to be nasty. “well, my father gave me a whole package of them. part of a stationary set. i have seven more. you could…”

“hm?” coriolanus looked from you to your pen, and you rolled your eyes.

“you could- you could keep it, if you wanted.”

you didn’t like the silence in the library now, even though that’s what you came here for. the way coriolanus leaned back in his chair, looking a bit smaller now than he used to, made you squirm in your seat.

“keep it? why?”

“well, because you seem to like it,” you pursed your lips.

“so you’d just give it away? to me, of all people?”

his words felt like a slap to the face. sure, you’d never shown him much grace, but did he really feel you hated him that much? did he think you were that mean? were you that mean?

“yeah,” you pouted just a bit, “i’d like for you to have it.”

coriolanus had never given you a reason to feel softness before. his attitude was so insurmountable all the time that you were always in competition with him, trying to prove you were just as smart, just as quick, just as deserving of praise for all the hard work you do. coriolanus was a formidable opponent, and you both knew that. but all this time you’d been wishing to see him screw up was starting to make you feel like crumbling to pieces, because how could you have wished that upon the boy who sits before you now? the boy who held your pen like a promise, and ogled at the way it wrote so smoothly on his page, and muttered a thank you that was so quiet you wondered if he’d said it at all?

“that’s very kind,” he tacked on.

“well, it’s nice to give sometimes,” you stated.

you both fell silent again, and coriolanus hunched over his work, using your- his- pen to take another crack at the problem he’s been stuck on for nearly forty minutes. you could almost see his brain compartmentalizing, removing you from the equation as he tried to ace the answer. you pretended to open your textbook and read some passage, but you watched him through your eyelashes. you watched as he licked his bottom lip in frustration, and you realized just what situation you’ve gotten yourself into: this was what you wanted. you wanted to catch coriolanus snow acting normal, like a real teenage boy- you’d prayed to see one score of 99 or one trip over his shoelace, and finally you have. coriolanus snow is sitting across the table from you in a t-shirt, with his hair tumbling across his forehead like fresh-spun white gold, struggling to figure out a math problem you had aced during the lesson hours ago. you wanted to help him, when all you’d ever hoped for was to taunt him for his fault- you imagined the day you could pick him apart a hundred times. but you had to help him.

you coughed quietly before reaching across the table to place a finger on the corner of his worksheet, catching his attention. he glanced up at you to see your eyebrows raised, and you asked, “can i?”

the boy nodded, and you slid the paper sideways so you could both see. coriolanus followed your nimble hand as you swiped your pencil across, carrying exponents and deviating with flourish. it wasn’t the first time he’d been impressed by your smarts, but it was the first time he’d seen your brilliance so closely. you didn’t know that he always found your brain so fascinating, because of how everything came to you with ease- you didn’t have to study as hard as he did, or at least he thought so. you just clicked when it came to school. he found that… beautiful, in a way. and he found you beautiful now, as you showed him the correct answer, smiling softly.

“did that make sense? did i explain it right?” you wondered aloud, and he blushed, realizing he hadn’t heard a word you said.

“oh- well, i… i zoned out a bit. i’m sorry.”

you chuckled. “want me to show you again?”

something low in coriolanus’ stomach bubbled, and before he thought of any possible consequences, he lied right to your face: “you know, i couldn’t see the paper very well. could you…?”

you didn’t notice his ploy, which sent a surge of relief through him. you got up and walked around the table, squatting beside his chair so the both of you could see the worksheet straight on. as you walked him through the equation again, he failed to listen to your words; instead, he listened to the slight tremor in your voice, the low timbre with which you spoke. you sounded gentle, which he wasn’t used to. and he inhaled the scent of you, which was as strong as always. he was partial to roses, yet his grandma’am’s roses didn’t have much scent. but he had always held a reservation for your perfume, for it smelled like something he hadn’t known before. it was warm and starchy, but sweet, and if only he could get a bit closer, he might be able to tell exactly what sweetness he recognized…

you had stopped talking, and you were looking at him with a ghostly expression, and he wondered for a moment what stopped you. and he kept twisting a lock of your hair around his finger, trying to figure it out. until he noticed he was feeling your hair.

“i- oh, i-” coriolanus withdrew his hand like you had a disease and scrunched his face up with shame, “i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have…”

you leaned back on your heels and shook your head nervously. “no, i-it’s okay.”

“your hair is soft.”

“thank you.”

“…could i?” he muttered, lips barely parting as he reached his hand out again. it looked so big up close.

“sure.”

coriolanus took a little more liberty, carding his strong palm through your hair, dragging his fingers all the way from the roots to the ends. he watched it shine in the low light of the study room, and you gazed up at him like you’d never met him before- which, in theory, you haven’t. not this version of him. he handled you softly, tracing the curve of your shoulder with his pointer finger, and you though he might as well be carving your skin with a blade the way it stung. you shivered, and he smiled. not coldly. a real smile.

“you’re not like this,” you croaked. “you’re… you’re mean, and you always win.”

“i don’t always win,” he protested.

“yes you do. everyone either hates you or wishes they were you. you’re the future president, remember? everything goes your way.”

“you never let me win, do you?” he dared to play with your hair again as he continued, “always on my heels. getting the same exam scores, spitting out answers like it’s a contest. you never let me get the best of you like others do.”

“well, why should you get to have all the fun?” you rebutted.

coriolanus laughed, and it filled your lungs with butterflies. butterflies. because of coriolanus. are you dying?

“i know i’m… well, an ass. it’s how i succeed. but i’ve always liked your competition, you know. you keep me on my toes.”

“someone should.”

“you’re right.”

his arms were filling out those t-shirt sleeves so nicely, and you’d never realized just how handsome coriolanus was. not statue-handsome, but boyish. he was strong and broad, and he had a hand at the back of your neck, and suddenly your hands were shaking.

“i’ve always liked you, you know. i always thought you were pretty, like the actresses in those old movies from before the war,” he admitted. “and smart. smarter than me. smarter than everyone at this school.”

“really?”

“really.”

you swallowed thickly and reached behind your head, finding his knuckles and touching them with your fingertips. “i always thought i hated you. i don’t think i do. i think i just… don’t understand you.”

you stood up and sat on the edge of the table, crossing your arms over your chest. coriolanus had to pretend he didn’t love the way you curved behind your arms. you were in a university sweater, a cable-knit one, and your issued slacks were rolled up to reveal the old army boots on your feet. he wondered if they were a keepsake from your father, a dutiful peacekeeper, or if you had a home life like his.

“what don’t you understand?”

“everything. your luck. your smarts. your power. your looks.”

“my looks?”

you rolled your eyes, trying to hide your nerves. “y-yes, your looks. everyone knows you’re handsome, coriolanus. you’re presidentially handsome, like all our professors say.”

“do you agree with them?”

you could tell he was teasing now, but you had too much pride to let him win. like always. “no. i think you’re a different kind of handsome.”

“and what is that?”

“the kind that’s frustrating.”

“frustrating?”

“yes.”

coriolanus leaned back in his chair then, and you felt like he was presenting himself for you to judge exactly what was so frustrating. but you knew it was how he smiled, and held himself tall, and struck down his enemies without lifting a finger. he was intimidating, and you didn’t know how much you liked that.

the boy licked his lips again and said, “you’re different outside of classes, too, you know. more like… how i imagined you.”

“you imagine me?”

“you don’t imagine me?”

this was driving you insane. sitting before him, legs clamped shut, trying to convince yourself that he’s your enemy, and he’s evil, and he’s only ever given you trouble; that you could easily come to school the next day and tell everyone that coriolanus snow can’t solve complex derivatives. but you felt it in your gut that you wanted to teach him how to solve complex derivates, just like you ached to feel how his big hands felt anywhere besides your neck. and in those icy eyes, you saw the way he looked at you, like you were a paper with a 101 marked at the top. like he had wanted nothing more than he wanted you in that moment.

you uncrossed your arms as he rose from his seat, taking a step closer to you. he placed those hands on your hips and pushed you back, sliding you onto the table. your legs parted naturally, and he stood between them, refusing to move his touch. you gazed up into his defrosted eyes and smiled, and he smiled back.

it was a surprise when he asked, “can i kiss you?” because coriolanus didn’t seem like that kind of boy. he took what he wanted. but he didn’t take you; it seemed like he wanted to earn you.

you nodded softly. “yeah.”

his lips were on you before you had a chance to breathe, but you didn’t mind. he was slow, and his mouth was dangerously warm. his thumbs pressed into your hip bones, which gave you the urge to reach for something of his in return. you chose his hair, burying your hands in the slightly crunchy curls that unraveled from the gel. you brushed through them to soften them up, and he giggled against your mouth, sensing you’d been thinking of doing that for a while. when his hand found your neck again, he tugged at your hair a bit to tip your face back for better access. when you felt him pull you, you gasped against his lips, and everything came tumbling down.

“coryo,” you heaved.

his eyes grew dark at the sound of his nickname, which he hadn’t heard since he was at the academy. he didn’t even know you knew of it. but oh, he liked the way it sounded coming from you. so desperate.

“what was that?” he smirked, tugging at your hair again. not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make your legs twitch.

you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving a slight ring of saliva in your wake as you repeated it much softer. “coryo.”

“don’t ever call me coriolanus again. please.”

“kiss me again and i’ll forget your name altogether.”

he was everywhere. his hands roamed your sides as he kissed you again, taking his lips across your face and neck like you were the first meal he’s eaten in ages. you whined against this touch, feeling the pressure of his waist as your legs wrapped around him. you arched your back, attempting to roll your hips against his, bickering with his tongue; coryo’s calloused hands shoved beneath your sweater, bunching it up at his forearms as he kneaded the soft pudge of your stomach. you were leaving smudges of graphite on his porcelain skin from the worksheet, but you didn’t mind tainting his perfection just a tad. he could use a little smudging.

“please,” you asked kindly, nipping at his cheek, right by a smooth black stain.

“please what?”

“touch me, coryo.”

“how?” he paused. your hazy eyes caught his and saw apprehension, which only made you giggle.

“have you never…?”

“not, uh… not recently,” he blushed, and then retracted his lie. “not ever.”

you untangled from him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. “s’okay. sit down.”

the boy listened, unsure of how he felt being ordered around. you made him pull the chair right up to the table, and you leaned across to kiss him again. you took the moment to press your hands to his chest, feeling the hard muscles he’d been hiding under that uniform for so long. he shuddered when you ran your hands from his shoulders down to his hands, and you laced your fingers with his. an intimate gesture for you both, but he liked it. he liked being close to you like this.

“so smart, but you don’t know how to touch a girl, huh, coryo?” you grinned, pressing a light kiss to his lips. he chased after you as you pulled away, wanting another, but you nudged him with your nose.

“i don’t know everything,” he gulped, “i mean, i have an idea, but i… yeah.”

“do you want to?”

“yes,” coryo pledged. “please.”

“i didn’t peg you as a learner.” you were nervous, but you wanted him more, so you leaned back and said, “i’ll show you what to do, okay?”

“okay.”

you slowly layed back on the table, and coryo reached for the button on your pants. his hands shook, and you thought to yourself, every flaw i’ve ever wanted to see, i’m seeing tonight, and it’s because of me. you giggled, and coryo chuckled back out of shyness. he fumbled with the button and was gentle with the fabric as he slid your slacks down. his eyes took in every inch of curve you’d been hiding under that godforsaken school uniform, and how your little black underwear cut into the chub of your waist. he knew you had enough to eat, and that made him happy.

your skin felt like fire in every place his hands grazed as he freed your legs, and you did your best to be encouraging as you took his hand in yours. you leaned back on one elbow and held his hand in the other, and the two of you shuddered as you pressed his palm flush to your warmth. you guided his fingers to the little bud of nerves resting at the top, and coriolanus’ mouth was already watering at the dampness of the fabric.

“do you feel that spot right there?” you asked, voice cracking. his fingers were so warm.

“yes,”

“i want you to rub it. don’t push too hard, and circle it with your fingers, okay?”

coriolanus looked into your glazed eyes and said, “you’ll tell me if i’m doing it wrong?” and when you nodded sweetly, he gave it a try.

you couldn’t bite your tongue as he began, because this couldn’t have been his first time. he had exactly the right pressure, and exactly the right pace, and his fingers molded to the shape of you so well that you saw stars. you let out a string of soft moans, and the boy reached his spare hand over the table to hold yours.

“good?” he inquired.

“mm,” you struggled to respond, “coryo, mhm.”

“i like how you say my name. i wish you’d called me that sooner. haven’t been called that in a long time, pretty,”

a drunken smile tugged at your lips as you half-teased half-praised, “coryo, coryo, coryo.”

he kept circling for a while, watching the way you struggled to breath through your nose as you kept quiet. a cocktail of obsession and need swirled in his stomach, and he knew this would be enough for you, but it wasn’t nearly enough for him. he wanted to be as close to you as possible, and feel your hands on his face- after feeling the delicateness of them as they intertwined with his, he had come to love your hands.

“this isn’t close enough,” he pulled his hand away, and you whined at the loss of contact. “can i try something else?”

“what do you want to-”

coriolanus made quick work of sliding your underwear down your legs and discarding of it on the chair next to his shirt. you watched as he dropped to his knees before you and smiled, taking his first look at everything you had to offer. he looked so hungry.

“do you even know what you’re doing?” you breathed.

“well, i know where it feels good, don’t i? do you trust me?”

you sat up a bit to get a better view. his messy blond hair falling into his eyes, and his hungry face staring up at you. coriolanus snow, on his knees. you thought you’d never see the day. you nodded in response.

taking your nod for approval, he licked his lips, and he made his move.

your hands flew to his hair as his tongue licked a fat stripe between your hips, flicking ever so slightly over your clit; he made a few of these before he plunged his tongue inside, giving you no warning but rewarding you with happy little groans into you. you mindlessly bucked your hips into his face as he got himself acquainted with you, unsure of how he was so good at this but in too much ecstasy to care.

“fuck, coryo, just like that,” you moaned, and he responded with a chuckle that sent shockwaves to your stomach. his heavy palms stopped pressing your thighs apart, allowing you to clamp them around his face, which only made him lick harder, and faster, and deeper.

“you taste like your perfume,” he raved as he came up for air, his chin slick with your arousal. “sweet, like something powdery,”

“may roses,” you wheezed, “my perfume smells like may roses, coryo,”

may roses, he thought. she smells like roses. my roses suck compared to this. he took one more whiff of the skin on your stomach, which flooded you with butterflies, and then he went back for more.

he was torturous then. he lapped at you like a dog, twisting and swirling his tongue around, aiming to touch every single spot inside of you that he hadn’t had the pleasure to yet. your gut felt tense as he ate you so carefully, yet the rest of your body was growing limp; your hands tied into his curls were the only things holding you up. coriolanus noticed you suffering and pressed both hands to your tummy, coaxing you to lay flat on the table. he stood over you then, pressing sweet little kisses all over your body up to your neck, leaving lip prints in a slick trail. the boy caught your lips again, and you moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself; coriolanus used the opportunity to go back to circling, using what you’d taught him like a good student.

“o-oh my god,” you groaned, burying your face into his neck, “jesus, coryo,”

“i’ve always wanted you like this. even when you pissed me off, i still liked you. i really like you.”

you felt like your brain was melting out of your ears at his touch, feeling him pressing against your heat just enough to make your body shake. “fuck, i more than like you now.”

coriolanus grinned darkly and decided to get a little playful. he kept his thumb pressed to your clit, and he pushed his two middle fingers inside of you, cooing at the wetness and warmth. you gasped, clawing hopelessly at his t-shirt as he curled them inside of you, following the cadence of your heartbeat, which was racing.

“good, hm?” he asked.

“coryo!” you cried, eyes clamping shut like you were in pain. but it wasn’t painful, not one bit.

he kept placing tantalizing kissed on your chest, right near your collarbones, as his fingers ebbed and flowed. your walls ached, your body limp, brain completely dumb on his fingers.

“look at you, sweetheart,” he teased, “can’t even speak.”

he watched you try to protest, but all that fell from your lips were unfinished phrases. it was only when your hands scraped down his back did he feel you tighten around his hand, and he trapped you there, fucking his fingers into you as hard as he possibly could.

“come on, darling. let it go.”

“c- cor-”

coriolanus interrupted your mindless babbling, pressing you one more time: “let yourself go for me. show me i did a good job, yeah?”

the way his voice growled as he asked such a needy question sent you tumbling over the edge. as his fingers were hitting you in just the right spot, you let out what was meant to be a scream but broke on the way up into a million lewd pieces; coriolanus collected you with one dizzyingly strong arm as you bucked your tired hips into his palm, chasing after your orgasm as he kept moving ever so slowly inside you, working you through it. he refused to stop kissing you, and left praise after praise stinging your skin as he pulled his fingers out. he admired the way they glistened and dripped with you, nearly collapsing under the weight of what he’d just done for the girl he’d been admiring for so long.

“i’ve been dreaming of that, y’know,” he nipped at your ear, and you twitched in his arms. you could barely speak, so he kept talking. he helped you sit up, and pulled your black panties back up your shaking legs, kissing your knees. “you were good, love. you did so good. i always wanted to make you feel good like that.”

you blinked through the haze, helping him by raising your hips a bit so he could cover you back up. you swallowed thickly, and when your vision cleared, you saw coriolanus smiling at you in a way he’d never smiled at anyone… with love in his eyes.

“you’re nice,” you were able to choke out. “nice to me.”

“i’m sorry i haven’t been before. i wanted to be.” you offered a dopey smile, and he followed up with, “not so quick to talk back when you’re fucked out, are you?”

you could only giggle into his neck, pressing embarrassed, swollen kisses to the vein that ran behind his ear. “mm-mmm,” you shook your head, trying to speak slowly so you didn’t stutter, “if you sit… i’ll re… i’ll repay the favor.”

“but you’re-”

“shh,” you cut the boy off, “m’gonna be nice to you now, coryo.”

so, coriolanus showed you yet again that he was capable of listening when he wanted to, and you taught him a lesson in what it’s like to be loved by someone who hates first- just like him.

coriolanus snow has a reputation, and for good reason. he needs to be strong so he can succeed. but behind closed doors, where he can let his hair down and show the hard work it takes for him to stay strong, you’ve come to learn that there’s more to the coriolanus snow everyone sees. his uncertainty, his frustration- that’s when he became coryo. and coryo is a learner, a lover, even in his most harsh and unlikable forms. but most importantly, he harbors devotion like an obsession, and there is nothing worth more devotion than you. not his country, not his family name, not even his math exam. only you.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x y/n #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #smut #Spotify #pet names #coryo snow

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oakbuggy · 5 months

Text

Liar, Liar Chapter 4

Recom!Neteyam x female OC

Summary : Tala of the Tawkami gets captured by a familiar face and to both of their misfortune, they are trapped together due to circumstance. They are extremely vexed by this and each other and also very horny.

Warnings: Minors DNI, non-con+dub-con, explicit smut, dirty talk, authority, power struggle, mentions+depictions of blood, minor violence, character death, marking, biting, scenting, ANGST

!! Each chapter will have images throughout the chapter, only the AO3 will have the NSFW-uncensored versions. Please keep this in mind as you read !!

Chapter 4 (NSFW) ~9.8k words

AO3 Link Here!

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Tala unceremoniously woke up in her cell, her body completely sore and wrecked, and no memory of how she got back. She endured hours of self-pitying and Orlek’an’s intense questioning of what happened and if she was okay and yes, the sex was extremely good and she didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Her next sessions in the lab were more bearable, a silver lining of pleasantries was included in each meeting. Patty had also surprisingly apologized and ‘gifted’ the Tawkami with her own starched white lab coat, filled with pockets.

Well, it was less of a gift and more of a ‘all the bites and marks on your body are making us uncomfortable so please wear this piece of clothing’-type offering. Tala did question why not they just look away but she couldn't necessarily blame them, the soldier wasn’t very gentle with his ‘playing’. She had also been spared embarrassment and given a replacement tewng, but this one was so strange. It was a tawtute piece of clothing, underwear that dug into her hips a bit, an ugly grey color. Still, better than the shreds Neteyam had left her with.

Scientists trusted her more and allowed her closer to materials. So much closer that she was able to build up her own collection, including a paralyzing agent to coat Orlek’an’s crude darts and needles with. The pockets were like godsend.

The only one who didn’t trust her any more in the time she’s been here was unsurprisingly and so frustratingly, Corporal Tom.

He dragged her away at careless hours of the day and night since then, to the quiet and somewhat disturbed acceptance of all the scientists and Patty. Every kiss was wounding, every touch was rough, and his steadfast meanness was grating on Tala’s resilience.

And by Eywa, so was his stamina. Any peak she caught of the soldier in the hallways made her scowl. While each step made her wince and tremble, oh no, perfection himself had the swagger of a palulukan prowling their territory.

He’d come to find her every few or so days, so Tala took these breaks as little gifts from Eywa. Hidden in high corners, hallways, and window corners, she would etch clues of the prophesied danger. ‘Tsefta’ Eywa’ [Eywa’s Revenge], she wrote. Vrrteps could translate it, true, but the People would know it was a warning, a true sign. Even if Tala got caught, the rest would follow in spreading the message, though she obviously hoped this wouldn’t happen.

A few days passed, it was no worry. The few days stretched into a week and she still hadn’t seen neither boot nor tail of him. Not that she was worried.

Not that she missed him, Great Mother, she’ll poison herself before she ever admits that.

“Haven’t seen Corporal Tom in a minute, he… alright?” Dr. Hanson said awkwardly as the two of them waited for the droid to bring out the next sample. Tala snorted, how would she know?

Patty knew. “He sick.”

The Tawkami proudly fought the urge to twist her body at a breakneck speed to interrogate the guard but her shoulders did tense. He’s never been sick, and, extreme headaches aside, he was all the makings of a healthy and hardy soldier.

Dr. Hanson spotted Tala’s pinched focus on the table, so he took pity and asked for her.

“Sick with what?”

Patty shrugged.

“Ramirez spotted him hiding out in his room and the medics are salty ‘cause apparently, that’s just ‘what he does’ instead of going to them.” The guard explained, picking dirt from underneath her nails which only got a scolding from the other scientists. Tala could feel her ears perking up, intrigued, but she kept her mouth shut and her eyes focused on the plant material before her. It wasn’t any of her business, even if she burnt for answers.

Before her was a cluster of hardened plant sap and crystals before her, golden, and still connected to violet tree bark. Previous thoughts of the Corporal were quickly replaced by delight.

“Oh. This is… sweet thing. Honey.” She replied in her simple English, and Dr. Hanson’s previously unreadable expression broke when his eyebrows shot up.

“Honey? So, just edible, no medicinal properties?”

Tala smiled and quickly swiped a tiny crystal to taste, causing the scientists around the table to squawk.

“What are you doing!”

“H-hey!”

“Spit it out!”

Tala let it melt on her tongue, smiling cheekily. “Properties… makes other medicine easier to eat.” She said with a giggle and pushed the cluster towards the tawtutes. They eyed each other before shaking their heads, deciding to input their observations instead. She shrugged, savoring the sweet, tart, taste, the flavor like a melody on her taste buds. It’s been so long since she’s really tasted anything besides those miserable dry bricks of vitamins. As she licked her fingers clean she remembered something.

He liked honey when they were younger, didn’t he?

Tala blew some dark strands out of her face, eyelashes fluttering like a tizzy and she paused. Her green eyes snapped up to see Dr. Hanson’s extremely observant and bespectacled brown ones.

She felt her cheeks heat up, Great Mother, how affection-starved was she to consider Neteyam’s continued absence discomforting?

She blinked twice before smiling, pointing her ears down as if bashful. “You’re staring very hard, it embarrasses me.” She teased and puffed up internally when he sputtered.

Dr. Hanson sheepishly looked down and with a glance around the room, pushed the honey cluster towards her.

“You can have it.”

“Really?”

“Well, I think honey’s a small price to pay for saving my life.”He said with a small smile. He straightened up nervously but Tala delightedly leaned across the table close to his face. She blinked prettily at him and smiled, her nose almost touching the glass of his exo-pack.

“I think you just like me!” She said delightedly and carefully placed the little cluster in her pockets, licking her fingers. When the tawtute’s face flushed, Tala smiled to herself. She was far more used to this sort of reaction. Not Corporal Tom’s indifference tinged in distaste.

She grimaced suddenly when the sweetness on her fingers made her feel so terribly homesick.

She missed her medical alcove, the crunch of grass as she walked, and the smell of everything in the air. She didn’t miss the raids, nor the trepidation she felt every time she awaited her friends to return from their own missions.

But now because of one single prick, she was forced into a new normal. Tala was sure he saw it as Eywa’s strange sense of humor that he was burdened to come find her for his aching head. Both the one on his shoulders and the one between his legs.

The mark on her neck stayed ever deep and ever sore. And yet despite the evidence of his outright obsession, which Tala felt like she was running in circles in making him admit, his bruising indifference was prevailing. The tranquil seed in her back fangs didn’t feel like enough to get back at him for, not by a long shot.

The mechanical doors whirred open and already her mouth poised to snark at the corporal for his absence, but the face she saw was much uglier than she was expecting. Corporal Halloway smiled broadly, to her chagrin, and noisily stomped into the lab, arms wide open.

“Hey there eggheads, and Private!” Corporal Halloway walked into the room with the confidence of a man who was not sporting a healing black eye. The disgust replaced shock when he grabbed her chin, making her hiss.

“Aw, hey to you too, sweetheart. Still mad?” He asked with mocking kindness. A hazmat-suited scientist guffawed from the corner.

“Your black eye looks like it’s healing well.” They said in the back smugly. The corporal flipped them off and fingered through Tala’s braids roughly until he found her kuru and pulled it harshly to get her feet. She shouted from the pain and her legs bumped painfully against the side of the table.

“Not feelin’ like talking to the eggheads today. How about you and I get some privacy?” Corporal Halloway said heatedly, eyes dangerously gleaming. She grimaced and the rest rose to their feet as well.

“You can’t-“

“We’re in the middle of-!”

“Hey-!”

The corporal leaned over Dr. Hanson in a way that made the scientist step back and strain his neck. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to and even Patty was shifting her eyes in apology.

After a few seconds of tense silence, he suddenly laughed.

“Thought so,” Halloway said and quickly dragged Tala out of Lab 12. In the narrow halls, he dug his dirty nails into her hip.

“Hurts.” She tried to say without hissing but her revulsion peaked through too obviously. His loud boot stomps echoed along the floor, her own feet skidding along. He had dragged her out so quickly that thankfully her inhibitor cuffs were still unlinked, but who knew how long that would last?

“You don’t seem to mind when it’s the big blue boy scout doin’ the hurtin’.”

Her nose scrunched up. Maybe her reaction was a touch dramatic because the Recom barked a laugh loud and hard, so pleased.

“What, you don’t like him either? That’s a shame, I think you’re his favorite.” His eyes looked strange when he said that last word. Tala didn’t like that, didn’t like him, for some reason, she felt like something more dire than a disappointing fuck was awaiting her and her mouth felt dry. His gaze right after he kicked her to the floor was so… intense. Scary.

The sour aftertaste of honey stuck to her tongue.

Corporal Halloway nearly dislocated her arm when they made a turn into an unfamiliar set of hallways. While Tala appreciated the new addition to her mental map of the facility, the pit in her stomach grew. Just weeks ago she was fine with Halloway’s advances, but now he seemed even more disgusting an option. His already awfully-stale smell was mixed with blood and gunpowder, smoke. He had returned recently from battle.

Tala’s green eyes worriedly darted around, the empty metal passages, the corporal’s face that towered over her with an unsettlingly friendly smile, and his gun still holstered on his harness. She had forgotten that despite his harshness, ill-treatment, and manhandling, Corporal Tom never acted with an intent to kill her, not really. Corporal Tom cursed and used her, but he was at least reliant on her, even if he hated it.

Tala avoided making any further eye contact with Halloway. She knew that looking into them would only set off more dread.

–

Neteyam could smell her before he could hear her and at first he thought those whiffs of honey and rose were only his delusion.

His body was sore, his bedsheets were covered in his sweat and he huffed, vexed at the thought of her.

A simple mission turned out to have much more annoying consequences than Neteyam had expected. It was a simple raze and redevelop; Raze the ground and redevelop for more RDA bases. More Bridgeheads.

The roads were developed but on this side of the moon, barely inhabited. Most fled, the few warriors the na’vi were more focused on evacuating the many young they traveled with, which the Omaticayan thought was so outrageously reckless of them. How could one think to travel with so many helpless clan members in the open? How could they let themselves be targeted like that?

Neteyam’s scope remained fixed on grown warriors, knives and bows in their calloused hands. Halloway’s accursed chuckles from his throat comm about ‘easy pickings’ made his jaw tense.

But his headaches and mind soothed with each shot he, as a soldier, took. Perfect, accurate.

The battle was barely worthy to be called such. His migraine returned to manageable levels, his supplies were hardly dented and when Quaritch recalled the team to the center of the field Neteyam saw no movement.

The arrow shot at Neteyam’s clavicle was surprising, to say the least. He had seen the half-dead na’vi on the ground, her arm still in the air, and the both of them dropped onto the grass to bleed out.

Visceral shadows of sensation coursed through his body as he bled out, it prickled muscle memories that he didn’t know where from. Had he bled out before? His scars felt like they glowed red-hot but he had enough sense to apply emergency care and pressure to staunch the bleeding.

“Tom down, requesting extraction.” He hissed into his throat-comm and he knew he was conscious as another squad member arrived and dragged him back to the helicopters. He knew he was awake when the Colonel asked for his condition, of which he answered positively, and Halloway painfully clapped his hand on his back like a dickhead.

And maybe Neteyam was awake when Quaritch then told him to report to medbay and Neteyam instead went back to the darkness of his private quarters, deciding he’d rather hunker down and tend to himself. He had made his own collection of RDA medical supplies inside his room, increasingly avoiding any medical staff if he could.

He didn’t know why he did. He just never wanted them to touch him, never to set him inside one of those chambers.

Neteyam, still in bed, looked down at the haphazard bandages awkwardly applied around himself to cover his clavicle and the dried blood on his mattress. Ah, yes. After he got shot, he developed a fever and continued to seclude himself.

He groaned when he realized he could still catch her scent, still provoking him and perplexing him. It must have been days, how did she always manage to worm her way into his thoughts? She confounded him, which was precisely why he avoided seeing her. Neteyam needed actual strength every time he saw her, or else he’d end up falling for her cloying words or stabbing her dead, it was for both their sakes really. He kept her distant even despite their intimate closeness, kept her screaming with his fingers instead of letting her poke her away around his mind with careful touches. He kept her shut up with kisses that made them both taste blood because even if he couldn’t stand her, his feet would take him to Lab 12 and back in the sights of her infuriatingly pretty green eyes.

Damn her. And damn Eywa, for making him reliant on her, he could feel the veins on his forehead pulse and it felt like gunshots were hammering away in his head. He was fine before he found her.

Halloway’s barking laughter was so loud Neteyam could hear it through his door and thankfully he harbored absolutely no goodwill towards that irritating person. He regarded his fellow Corporal with the barest respect, he was more cruel than he had to be on the battlefield. It bristled against Neteyam’s previous warrior sensibilities, he would definitely have considered Halloway dishonorable.

Neteyam shot up in his bed as the pieces of his mind finally clicked together. Halloway and Tala?

The soldier walked to his door with minor difficulty and it hummed fully open. There was Halloway, lecherously draped around Tala, leading her through the soldiers’ living quarters. Her tail was swishing anxiously.

Neteyam glowered when the two of them turned towards him but all he was focused on was Halloway’s hand squeezing her ass through her lab coat.

Her fucking pert, round ass he’d watched bounce on him just a week before-fuck. His nose wrinkled, he didn’t feel like sharing.

“Get over here.” Neteyam’s voice rumbled through his chest dangerously low, not acknowledging his fellow squad member. Tala blinked her stupid pretty eyes and she cautiously leaned her weight forward, toward Neteyam. The soldier above her kept her still.

“Hey sunshine, you finally awake? How you feeling, big guy?” Corporal Halloway greeted him, friendly, but when he adjusted his grip on Tala to kiss into her hair she could feel the temperature drop as Neteyam’s pupils turned to pinpricks

“Fine. How’s your eye?” The snark in Neteyam’s voice felt too personal and the way Halloway’s pulse quickened made Tala immediately look back up his face, the black eye. He did that?

“Cute. I’m gonna go get my dick wet now, you can have her when I’m done. But, uh, I wouldn’t wait.” The Recom said dryly, winking, and began dragging Tala back to their original destination. Neteyam’s growl was enough to get everyone to freeze and Halloway faced him again, she could see Neteyam’s knuckles turn white.

The Tawkami na’vi thought quickly, a second option had become available to her and though she loathed to admit, Neteyam was by far more attractive. As an option.

She discreetly rolled the thinnest of Orlek’an’s crude darts at the bottom of her lab pockets with her thumb and finger. The Anurai woman had taught her some new tricks and Tala’s tongue ran over the tranquil seed still tucked securely in her back fangs, another option if things went awry.

She could do this.

Tala pressed herself firmly onto Halloway’s arm and let him feel the contours of her body through her closed lab coat. Both soldiers’ ears perked up, alarmed. She fluttered her eyelashes up at Halloway coquettishly while ignoring the holes she felt burning on the side of her head.

“Can we go already~?” She whispered with a small whine, and Neteyam could feel his fever spreading tenfold down his fucking bloodstream what the fuc-

Halloway’s eyebrows shot up and the wolfish grin on his face was so immense Neteyam considered kicking his teeth in. Halloway turned to him, dramatically shrugging.

“You heard the little lady.” He said before picking Tala up, she tried to hide her yelp as a squeal of delight. When her eyes caught Neteyam’s unreadable yet simultaneously rageful expression Tala tilted her head and smiled innocently, her tail flicking lazily behind her.

He looked so stupid, what was he all angry for? Adorable.

The Omaticayan was losing his mind, his scowl was deep and he huffed when Tala smiled. When the door shut, he bruisingly hit the side of his fist against the wall. Yomioang [chalice plant], he couldn’t have picked a better plant for her, she seemed all too fine with ensnaring whoever she could with her nectar and it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Neteyam felt all too much like the stupid boy he’d acted around Tala when they had first met as children. Pretty flowers, sweet scents, he wanted to murder something.

Tala wondered if she had gone too far, seeing the way the male na’vi’s back muscles flexed, tight. His hair had whipped away from her so dramatically. But her attention was demanded when Halloway punched in the code for his private quarters and nearly threw her in his bed.

The smell overwhelmed her, and so did he as he immediately ripped her coat open, groaning at the sight of her in this grey underwear. He grabbed at her hips and pawed at her breasts, and Tala obliged despite feeling her skin crawl.

“Finally got you all to myself. Come here, sweetheart…” *He breathed into her darker blue skin as she held the crude needle in her palm. She sighed breathily and arched her back to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Halloway started to laugh. “Don’t worry I’m not going anywhe-ERK!” Halloway’s body nearly suffocated her as it fell on her diaphragm, heavy as a rock. She quickly pulled out the needle from the space near his adam’s apple, just as Orlek’an had taught her. A new trick, just to cause a fainting spell.

Tala blew more dark strands of hair away from her face as she poked him hard a few times and checked if he was still breathing. He was out cold and Tala nodded to herself, impressed. She would need to ask the Anurai woman to teach her more, though she did also offer a quick prayer to Eywa that she hadn’t just killed him.

After some major effort, Tala rolled the soldier off of her, bit into his skin here and there despite the revulsed reaction it brought to her tongue, and scampered quietly to Neteyam’s door.

She knocked. Nothing. She knocked again, louder.

A crack opened and even from the tiny space, Tala could confirm what she thought she had smelled earlier: dry blood.

She could see Neteyam's bright golden irises blaze at her through the crack and she beamed at him.

“Missed me?”

The door quickly shut and she made the brilliant decision of letting Neteyam nearly break her toes as she tried to stop it. She bit her lips and hissed in pain. Neteyam smiled, almost amused.

“Ow!! Really?” She whisper-shouted to him, feeling extremely vulnerable out in the bright hallways of Bridgehead.

“What did you do to him?” Neteyam asked, eyes flicking to Halloway’s door. Tala rolled her eyes. “He’s fine, he’s just taking a little nap.” She grumbled and attempted to get further inside by squeezing her arm in now, the door digging painfully into her tit as she tried to force her way through.

“You told me to get over here, didn’t you? I had to think of something.” She huffed.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” He kept his hand firmly against the door, though her efforts amused him. He kept enjoying the view of her breast squeezed, her lab coat now open, he let his eyes rake through her exposed figure.

“Toys have to look like they want to play if they want to survive, adorable warrior.” The tease in her voice died when Tala’s nose scrunched, the smell of sickness apparent on him. “Let me in, you’re hurt.”

Neteyam quirked his brow but relented, not wanting the two of them to get caught by anyone.

Tala entered and immediately re-examined him. His striped body was covered in a light sheen of sweat and pale, She noted a mass, of bandages she assumed, protruding from underneath his black, tight shirt, around his right-side clavicle. When her hands reached out he pushed it away.

“Show me your pockets.”

“What?” Tala’s ears folded back. Neteyam raised his brows as if his request was predictable and she was the one being unreasonable.

“How did you ‘make him sleep’, Tala?” He said, a slight growl to emphasize his soberness.

Tala made a face. This wasn’t cute.

“How do I make you sleep, Neteyam?” She replied, a challenging swish in her tail. She crossed her arms, they stared at each other in silence, his mouth was set in a hard line.

They stared.

Neteyam lurched forward and dug his hand into her pockets himself.

“You-!”

He pulled back only to reveal fingers covered in sticky and spiky clusters of honey. Tala’s heart had jumped out of her chest for a moment there but his fingers were mercifully too big to sense the tiny needles still deep inside. She made a very good show of her innocence with sass.

“Yes! I poisoned the poor corporal with honey, best be careful. This yomioang is just full of tricks.” The Tawkami woman said tartly as he stared down, still confused about what the heck was on his hand. He hadn’t seen honey since he had left the forest with his family.

“Why do you have this?” His voice was more full of wonder than she had expected.

“The scientists. They-“

“They?”

“Dr. Hanson just gave me some as a thank you. That’s it.” Tala looked up at him through her eyelashes. “And I didn’t hurt the corporal or poison the honey if that’s what you’re going to ask next.”

Neteyam pursed his lips, it was. Tala sighed and stepped forward and he was damned to admit that the gentle air of her perfume did make him feel better.

“If I wanted to hurt him I wouldn’t have come back to you now.” She cautioned another step forward and she delicately picked out the sticky sweet crystals from Neteyam’s hand. He froze, eyes warning as the veins on his neck pronounced itself. She was close enough for him to count the tanhi on her face and now the real sweet thick substance was setting his nerves on fire.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you. You know I know how to help, let me help you. If I’ll heal the vrrteps, I’ll heal you. Please.” Tala said again, her green eyes gazing straight at his, she noted how the golden syrup reflected against his eyes. She used to think he was sweet. For that, she couldn’t ignore how his mottled blood-stained stank, how the sick clung to his skin and his breath was short.

Neteyam’s eyes softened a percentage under Tala’s determination. The plea in her voice seemed sincere to him.

He sighed and kept his eyes on her, suspicious. She frowned, about to give up and her fingers started to leave his skin.

The soldier sighed again, tugged off his shirt, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Tala let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she quickly looked around the windowless room, closed off and the only comfort it possessed was that it smelled like him and the forest. Pine, sunlilies, and, somehow, sunlight.

She picked out what she needed from the available medical supplies and sat down delicately next to him, barely disturbing the wrinkles.

The bandages were decent, but they were old, Tala worked quickly. He hissed when she cleaned the wound.

Tala pushed the small cluster of honey she had recollected from his hand into his mouth as if she were comforting a child.

“Tawtute medicine stings, you’ve always known that. Just enjoy this.” Tala said, a small smile quirked on her lips as she foresaw the scowl begin to sink into the wrinkle of his mouth.

He definitely didn’t appreciate it but kept stoic as he let the honey roll around on his tongue. Sweet, his eyes flickered to the navi in front of him. The scene felt so… familiar, despite his best efforts to resist

The Tawkami alchemist finished and quietly touched his exposed forehead. The fever wasn’t too strong, he had sweated out the majority of it and Tala had spotted some pill bottles earlier. She wished she had her usual ingredients, the Tawkami medicine and recipes that could heal him faster.

“How did this happen?”

“Do you really want to know?” Neteyam mumbled though he did admire her handiwork as he looked down.

It wasn’t from uncooperation that he asked this, Tala knew. She paused if she really did want to know. What was a messy scar and a fever for this solder was likely something much more permanent for whoever did this to him, it made her chew the inside of her cheek. The tranquil seed was still always an option.

“Why didn’t the vrrteps heal you? Your wound shouldn’t have gotten infected.” She switched her question.

“I told you I don’t like the scientists.” Neteyam thought her change in topic was prudent.

She nodded and he realized she still didn’t understand.

“I’d rather tend to myself, I know how to and I don’t need them to run their… tests on me. Keep me under observation for something as small as this.”

Curiosity flashed in Tala’s eyes and Neteyam mentally decided he’d only humor her for as long as this small ball of honey in his mouth lasted.

“Do they do that often? Keep you under observation?”

“They brought me back from the dead, Tala. Of course.”

“What do they do?”

“They check my vitals, lay me inside one of their bio-lab chambers.”

“And what else?”

The ball of honey was melting fast.

“I’m unconscious when I’m in the chamber.”

“But does it… hurt? When you wake up?”

Neteyam didn’t feel like answering, so he sucked until the honey disappeared completely on his tongue.

“Thank you for tending to me, Tala. I’ll call a guard to escort you back.” He was not surprised from the severely offended look on Tala’s face.

For she didn’t appreciate the clipped ‘thank you, get out’ from Neteyam’s mouth. Tala kneeled up to tower over him, letting the unbuttoned lab coat fall off her shoulders as she placed her hand on her hips.

The soldier would hurl himself off a cliff before confessing that his eyes strained not to stare at that deliciously thin, tiny, piece of grey cloth that covered her cunt. She looked too good in it, no loincloth to cover the supple fold of her flesh, her thighs and pelvis meeting- focus.

“You didn’t answer my question.” She said.

“I’ve answered enough.”

“You didn’t answer an important one.” Tala was slowly realizing she should not have missed him as much as she did in his absence. She sighed, and Neteyam took minor offense to being treated as if he was the source of her vexation.

“I’m just… Of course, I’ll leave, you need to rest.” She figured she wasn’t going to get any more information and a larger part of her was scolding her for trying in the first place. This skxawng wasn’t worth the effort, she had done her duty as a healer and alchemist. This was enough.

Neteyam stilled his movements, taken aback at her so quickly giving up. He regarded her suspiciously and sighed. He lets the wrist tech fall to the floor.

“You drop-” Tala was about to be very helpful and reach down to retrieve it until Neteyam suddenly grabbed her by her waist and pulled her down with him, letting his back fall onto the mattress.

“Neteyam! Your wound!” She yelped.

“Just be quiet.”

Tala looked at him in complete disbelief, Neteyam kept his eyes trained on the ceiling since he didn’t need to look at her to already know what her expression was like. She was stunned, to say the least, but Tala was also minding the feeling of her body pressed onto his bare chest. This felt the closest thing to tender between them.

She decided being a little selfish for the comfort wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Instead of asking more questions, which the soldier was preparing himself mentally for, Tala surprised him by simply sighing and settling in, tracing the stripes on his chest. Her fingertips danced lazily on the skin, careful over his old gunshot wound on his left pec. Whatever, looks like she was stuck here.

Now Neteyam knew he was still delirious from his fever when he found himself not stopping her. When he found her soft curves like a blanket on top of him and her careful touch endearing. This was why he needed strength every time he saw her, already he was letting her entrap him like a small animal, attracted to her warmth and smell. He had to remember that even wasps also settled within her, waiting to attack him on all fronts.

His tail thumped softly against the side of the bed, agitated. Tala noticed but stayed quiet. She reminded herself that every show of embarrassment was because his ego was crying, not because he considered her capable of affecting him.

“Why do you help me?” When Neteyam asked it he wondered to himself why he was so eager to get eaten and stung.

Tala could feel the bass of his voice tremor through her and she raised her face to look at him.

“A healer doesn’t need a reason to heal, remember?” Tala replied softly, simply, she rested her cheek on her arm. In the end, this was what she believed in, even if her wartime experience told her this was reckless.

The Omaticayan was not expecting to be so unscathed.

“Mm.” He hummed.

“Did you give Halloway that black eye?”

There it was, the first sting. Neteyam shrugged and then winced. Tala was immediately amused and scooted closer to his face, grinning.

“How come?” She asked, beginning to sound all too excited.

“… You were unfairly punished, remember?” His heart didn’t know whether to feel lighter or heavier when she giggled.

“You got revenge for me before I even asked!” Tala was smiling, wasn’t this a treat? Did this skxawng actually have the capacity to be charitable? “How come you didn’t tell me?”

It was when it dropped that he realized he was smiling at all. He trained his eyes back on the bare ceiling. He remembered when he used to ache to see stars.

“What would you have done if I did?”

“I probably would’ve kissed you.”

He furrowed his brows at her, unimpressed. Tala scoffed and laughed again.

“A real kiss. Not that bloody mauling you make us do with our lips.”

Now that offended him, Neteyam propped himself up by his elbows.

“I don’t ever hear you complainin-”

Tala pressed her lips so completely softly against his, it should’ve been so easy for him to shove her off.

Yet his voice broke off instantly and her eyelashes brushed against his cheek. Her eyes were mercifully closed so she couldn’t see the war his ears flushed red.

Another sting.

“You taste like honey,” Tala said, smiling into the kiss. She didn’t have any real reason why she was doing this. Maybe she wanted to prove herself wrong. Maybe she wanted to check really how little Neteyam cared for her… and how much.

His body felt hot, Great fucking Mother why was she so… It was embarrassing how quickly he was getting enraptured by her whims. She always did whatever she wanted, he hadn’t seen that as something attractive before.

The Tawkami pulled her face back and so embarrassingly his own chased after hers until she put his hand over his mouth.

“See? A real kiss.”

Neteyam dumbly nodded and only when Tala ever so softly giggled did he regain some sense. He scoffed and quickly turned the both of them to properly lay in his bed, pulling the covers over them.

He settled his face into her soft breasts, the only thing that he felt hadn’t betrayed or embarrassed him that day.

“Excuse me??” Tala squeaked, amused though.

“Shu’up. Tired.” His voice was muffled into the fat of her breasts but Tala basically understood. She chortled, was this fondness she was feeling? His resistance towards her was bordering so much closer to adorable than to infuriating just then, the flashes of his old self were… bring up warm reminders. Of when he was much nicer and much funner to be around, much kinder.

Tala settled in, supposing correctly she wouldn’t be let go any time soon. Her hands softly patted his back as they laid there.

“Fine, I’ll leave you be since you’re hurt.” She said in her magnanimous good grace. She decided to also ignore Neteyam snorting between her breasts.

Silence returned and Tala considered speaking of something of much more substance, of importance. Like the war, his family, but the words stuck in her throat. They were virtually strangers. Even strangers in war could share intimacy like this if they were desperate and tired enough.

The thought made playing with Neteyam’s unadorned braids of hair feel… invasive. She stopped.

They were just starved for warmth, that was all. Neteyam felt lucky that he was drowsy now. Like Tala, there was too much he didn’t want to think about, no intention to release it all.

Both kept silently awake for hours before drifting into slumber.

—

Neteyam’s face was lit by stinging sparks of fire and magma.

It was hot, so hot he could barely breathe. He looked around, coughing, and there he saw the slender back of someone who looked too eerily familiar. He groaned internally, he had always hated Eywa’s ability to send visions in dreams, did he really have no place for solace?

“Mother.”

Neytiri turned, her amber eyes wide and blazing as she looked at her son with a face of anguish. She ran towards him, through plumes of burning stone.

“Maitan [my son]!”

Neteyam grimaced as his mother’s arms encircled him, her grip tight and pleading. She was shaking, he could see how aged the skin on her hands had become, her smell of daffodils.

He saw his songcord hanging on her hips and he felt as if the splatters of fire were less painful a sensation than seeing that.

Neytiri stepped back to look at her firstborn, miracles and blessings on her tongue. Her fingers wandered along his face, his scars, the one on his forehead was hidden from her however.

Her reverie was cut short when she truly looked at the RDA vrrtep uniform he was fully clothed in

“You are alive.” Her voice trembled regardless, too much pain and happiness bubbled up to the surface as the lines of her conflicted smile deepened, she was trying not to sob.

“Mother.” Neteyam couldn’t help but want to be kind. He had often daydreamed of how such reunions would go. He had calculated soon enough his mother would see him, as he is now. He knew she would know she’d have to kill him and how she would want to refuse to. He counted on it.

“M-my son, how could you think like this?” His mother’s voice broke at the question, somehow everything the two were thinking was so plain to them here.

Their ears flicked at the roars of fire and heaviness settled.

“If the People give up Jake Sully, I won’t have to.” Neteyam said and he could feel his mother start to draw blood. Nothing, it felt like barely anything.

“What is this poison, Neteyam? What have they done to you, maitan?” Neytiri nearly shouted, her own songcord swinging as her whole body shook in anger, imitating the volcanoes around them. “I will kill them, I will avenge you-“

Jake Sully first. He alone should be the only casualty, Neteyam knew that, all of Eywa'eveng knew that. But even in his clearheadedness, not at all shrouded in migraine, he could feel his scars emanate a heat hotter than fire. Nothing to hide behind, resentment filled up so much of his core.

His head and his heart wanted revenge. It wasn’t even his fault, none of theirs, Neteyam knew so logically.

“Bro…?”

He turned his head so quickly his plain braids whipped to see a na’vi too familiar to him. Five fingers, eyebrows, face and limbs inked with dark tattoos, and taller. He walked towards them, somehow feet not burning and the heat made his visage blurry but not his emotions.

“Lo’ak…” it was their mother, Neytiri called out to him in warning. The son in front of her, she would not dare take her eyes off of him now.

Not when the inferno reflected in Neteyam’s eyes was overflowing, his jaw tightened, if his nails were longer he’d long be drawing blood into his palms.

“You do not want this.” Neytiri’s voice rose as Lo’ak approached them, his lips parted. Wonder, horror?

Guilt.

“Bro-, Neteyam. Neteyam I’m so sorry-“ Lo’ak wanted to believe it was because of the way even the air sizzled that he found it harder to breathe, not because of his… did he have the right to call him a brother?

“First, Dad. Because we shouldn’t even exist and you know it.” Neteyam’s voice was eerie and he stepped closer to his younger sibling, it made Lo’ak’s feet falter and Neytiri’s throat bubbled up with panic.

“What- What are you talking about-?”

“There was something Quaritch told me since the time I’ve come back.” Neteyam spat at the words ‘come back’ as if he had any choice in the matter. Neytiri followed as her sons came closer and closer to each other, no one backing down. The lava was following the steps of each warrior.

“Something about the ‘sins of the father’ to be paid by his children.”

Lo’ak kept his gaze steady, his hands twitched at the threat. Neteyam didn’t have a clue what his face was like now, but he could feel it through Lo’ak. Monster, freak, he supposed it was unsurprising.

A son that was supposed to be dead.

Both sons of a traitor.

Neteyam stopped a meter away from the younger. Their heights seemed even, Lo’ak’s warrior garb and belly band looked similar to the one he had had. He wanted to laugh, was that a tribute to him?

Lo’ak’s ears turned down, jaw set.

“Do you really think that’s fair, baby brother?” His voice was too calm.

“Neteyam, stop this, they have poisoned you against your own family, your people! Please, just come home maitan-“

Lo’ak heard the mistake in his mother’s plea too late.

“Home? Like when I asked to come back home when I died?” His fury was overwhelming, Neteyam was seeing things he did not recognize. He was shot in the head, when had he the time to tell them? What was this dark view of the stars, faces of loved ones looking down on him, where was this from?

The other two sensed the confusion, only making their own burst through.

“Neteyam, please, just listen to us-“

“Maitan, it will be okay! Your-your father has barely slept since you-“

“Why should the People continue to suffer for his actions? Jake Sully already doomed this place-!”

“Dad doomed this place? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Lo’ak’s tone turned grave with this outburst and he ventured closer to his brother despite Neytiri’s protests.

“You’ve got to fucking joking. You’re actually on the side of the people that ruined our lives, destroyed our homes, killed everyone, killed you, mom’s family-?!” They were growling at each other now, Neteyam no longer had the significant height advantage he was used to. Their fangs gleamed red in the dream, as if already bloodied, he always hated Lo’ak’s were sharper but he was confident it wouldn’t help that much.

Both were suddenly aware that in their respective war costumes, both had knives strapped to their bodies.

“No!” Neytiri sobbed with a pain that both brothers knew they’d never forget. She reached for her own, to protect, to defend, Neteyam’s gloved fingers wrapped around the handle of his black combat knife, and Lo’ak’s citrine eyes begged for peace as his hand reached for his carved hunting knife.

Neteyam recognized that knife. He gave it to him, a present for Lo’ak’s iknimiya, recently sharpened. Neytiri’s knife hung with a feather he had gifted to her as a child.

Neteyam now truly knew Eywa was cruel.

-----

“Neteyam!!”

The soldier gasped and immediately hurled his body forward to break the bones of whoever was in front of him.

Tala choked and she placed her hands on his face.

“Breathe, Neteyam.”

One blink and he could see the cool-toned blues and greens of dull and dark silver walls in shadow. Bridgehead. His room.

Inferno-yellow eyes met cooling leaf hues. Green, green eyes, Tala.

The breath he let out was shuddering and violent, he immediately crumpled tightly around her and Tala found herself now trying to hold the soldier up with wrinkled, damp blankets.

“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry…” he gasped out quickly, his entire body felt so fucking cold now, it hurt. Tala blinked owlishly but her sleepy state focused on comforting him.

“It was a dream, just a dream. You’re okay, you’re okay.” She whispered soothingly, she rubbed his back. They were sitting up in the middle of his bed now, though Neteyam was still hunched over and breathing hard to regain himself. She felt his calloused hands dug into her body as if tattooing her stripes into his palms…

“It’s your fever, you’re sweating, you’ll warm up in a bit.” Tala continued and her voice stayed calming and even. She couldn’t do much else when Neteyam’s remedy to whatever he had seen in his sleep was to bury their bodies impossibly closer together. The soldier hadn’t meant to hurt her.

He pushed his face into her softness, desperate for real warmth, not the clammy fabric of the blanket.

“Li’Tala…” Tala jerked her entire body away, stunned. He didn’t know why he said it, her full name, one that he knew-

“Don’t call me that, Neteyam.” She said, her firm voice edged on icy.

“Only my mate is allowed to call me ‘Li’Tala’ so I don’t want to hear my name out of your mouth again, you!”

“Oh, and I’m sure your mate will be crying tears of gratitude for finally becoming worthy of it, of you, beautiful Li’Tala.”

Their second meeting as young adults was not… frictionless. But as childish as it was, Tala never wavered in this little dream of hers. Who cared that it was immature, she didn’t allow exceptions, even though the Omaticayan prince bristled hard when not given one.

Neteyam always remembered this of her, yet her insistence and denial of him now made his body feel that much more frozen-numb.

He chased after her skin and stuck his tongue out to taste its natural salt, reminding him of the first time they had reunited. Her taste and her everything, his whole body was shaking for it.

“Li’Tala, Li’Tala…”

“Neteyam–stop–” Now Tala started to squirm in his desperate hold. She could feel his hardening arousal between them, settling so perfectly against her vulva. She pushed against him.

“You need sleep, not a fuck.” She hissed. Tala shivered as the soldier switched between licking, sucking, and biting lightly along the tanhi on her shoulders and chest.

“I need you, Li’Tala.” He rasped deeply. She ignored the way his voice made even her toes curl because now her blood was pumping far too loudly. What did he just say to her? Was he losing his mind, what pills did he take??

“Eywa, get a grip!”

He suckled at the flesh of her tits, Tala shoved his face away with the thick metal of the inhibitor cuffs. He groaned and settled for simply pulling her onto his lap closer than ever, taking a break from his ministrations.

She huffed, she was panting much harder than she realized.

“What happened, what did you see?”

Great mother or whatever being out there, if there ever was one… what could he do to make her realize his ache for her?

“... I need your help, Li’Tala.” He started, fangs catching onto her skin as he spoke. It all made her freeze, she peered down and tried to gently bring his face back towards hers. He let her and looked up at her, she caught herself thinking it was as if he was beseeching her. There was no way.

“I need to forget it. I know you can help.” He said, sunspot yellow met with her cool green. She knew she could to, it’s just…

“Stop calling me Li’Tala” She tried again, this time much more softly. He groaned.

“Let me pretend.” He whispered hotly, his fingers reaching for her cheek. His fingertips barely touched hers and yet she felt only heat.

He still felt so cold.

She gulped. What did pretending mean, what was he thinking of? Tala usually felt like she was the one getting burnt by him, now it seemed like he was starving for her kindling because now… his fire was weak. He was begging her.

Tala bit her lips, frustrated, conflicted. She could just do the same to Neteyam as she did with Halloway, she didn’t need to comfort him.

The Tawkami glanced at her wrists still heavy with metal inhibitors, he needed her?

She would blame her drowsiness for it, just… fuck it. Fuck it.

“You follow my lead then.” Tala whispered and Neteyam swore he could feel his cock twitch at her tone. He nodded eagerly.

Tala then smashed their lips together. His tongue immediately sought inside her, to explore the cavern of her teeth.

She was practically sitting on him now. She could feel his bulge dig into her thigh, he was pawing at her, palming whoever fat he could. He groaned into her perfume.

Tala shushed him softly. She raised her hips just enough for him to frantically shove down his sweats and Tala delicately pushed the tawtute tewng to the side, it squeezed her pink and puffy folds so perfectly that it made him nearly weep. He was already leaking as he heaved, not noticing the bitter look on her face.

“Don’t worry.” She cooed so nicely in contrast. Her voice was like those tawtute myths he was told about by his father, angelic. She slowly and carefully sunk down her pelvis, his cock head breached her open none too gently and she muffled a high-pitched moan, letting Neteyam’s hard shaft split her open. The stretch ached but she kept her voice even and breathy.

“Be good.” She whispered and waited for his reply. The soldier groaned, every strand of muscle forcing him to not push her down right there and then.

Tala sunk down completely it made Neteyam groan harshly and loudly at the feeling of her tight and warm walls surrounding him. His nerves were shot. Naturally, he was about to fuck into her heat when she did it for him. She dragged her hips up unbearably slowly, both reveling how her cunt squeezed each ridge, so hot, so tight.

“Stay still.”

She slammed her hips down with a ferocity that made both of them moan loudly, she nearly cried out. She started to bounce, holding onto Neteyam’s broad shoulders for support.

“Mmmm…” Tala moaned low, each moan punctuated every time she felt her ass slap against his thighs. He moaned with her, finding himself on the receiving end of her fast pace. He groaned into her hair wantonly, cock twitching inside her.

“Fuuckkk, hahh, fuck.” He cursed softly then latched his mouth on his first mark on her. She stopped suddenly and it embarrassed him how nearly he fucking whined.

“No biting.” She cooed and Neteyam thought he was being driven insane tonight. Today. Since he had taken Tala.

He growled but nodded, settling into a tight embrace instead. He looked at her expectantly, was this allowed?

Tala’s smile was enough to replace the ache for stars he usually felt whenever he looked up in his room.

Then his eyes nearly rolled back when she slammed and bucked harder onto him.

“F-uuuck, haaah, aangh~” Tala graphically moaned into his ear. She panted and her tits bounced as she pistoned herself on his cock. “Aahhh, nnnggg…” she quietly moaned, angling her hips just so to make the fat tip brush against her sweet spots. Neteyam rutted into her uncontrollably, losing himself as he mindlessly chased her warmth. His mouth was open in a silent moan, holy shit.

Tala’s so fucking wet now and she rolled her pelvis to award herself louder moans from Neteyam’s lips.

“Li’T-tala, so good, fuck you’re so good.” He praised, face still stuck to the crook of her neck. She switched her pace and started rotating her hips, rolling them as she still lazily stroked herself along his shift. She felt her self-satisfaction spike when the soldier’s yellow eyes rolled up and fluttered, pupils were so blown out. She admitted he was adorable like this too.

She brought Neteyam’s hand to her belly, pushing down his hand with hers against the bulge there. They both groaned deeply at the sensation, Tala was near hiccuping from the pleasure. A toy that she was, she had only a toy’s ability to see Neteyam unravel. And she chased it hungrily.

His vulnerable expression contorted from the pleasure. To say Tala’s pussy was the best medication he’s had all week would be an understatement.

“Am I doing good, mighty warrior?” Tala squeezed her walls tight for good measure, a moan ripping out her throat as she did. It was worth it, hearing Neteyam’s louder and deeper one that ended with his teeth back on her skin. He quickly ripped his head back when he remembered her little rule.

“So fucking good, please. Fuckk…” He groaned, massaging her belly now even harder, the thought alone made him want to cum. Tala gasped.

“Mmmm, nnng!!” She squealed, and she fucked herself on his pulsating and thick cock even faster, the squelching sounds fueled the both of them.

Plap, plap, squelch, the mattress started to creak. The soldier switched to holding onto her hips, just to make each thrust that much deeper, to feel her cunt flutter at every brush near her cervix and Tala was seeing stars.

Each ridge and thick vein on his shaft was melting and massaging her cunt. She was enjoying herself fully, from the perspective of the toy she was. He certainly needed this toy so badly now.

“Mmm, mmm!! Haah, hahh, is this really helping? Is your toy pleasing you? Maybe we should stop…” She teased, suddenly slowing down, and was delightfully surprised when he mindlessly begged.

“NO! Fuck, please, dont’s-stop, such a good toy, Li’Tala. So fucking wet, so fucking tight.” He blathered, arms only tightening around her desperately.

Tala threw her head back when Neteyam reached between them, with intense accuracy, to squeeze her clit.

“Oahhh!! Mmmg- Neteyam!” She cried out, the sounds of slapping skin made him laugh dumbly. Their pelvises were completely covered in each other’s slick.

“Take my cum, Tala, need you to take all my cum..” he muttered into her ear and he used his grip on her clit to guide Tala’s pace, she was so close now.

“Don’t stop, so fucking good ma’fil, Li’Tala…” he breathed out, his voice unsteady and deeply tinged in pleasure. The way Neteyam husked her name made her pussy walls convulse.

“Haa, haaa, ahh, I’m close~! I’m close, Nete-yam, Neteyam, so close, close!” Tala whined and dug their pelvises so tightly together that her pearl of nerves rubbed harshly against his toned muscle. She grinded on him wildly, his cock hitting her gummy walls so good, she abused her sweet spots with him.

“So hot, so hot…” he was praising her, the sight of her had made him completely forget how he felt like he was freezing just moments ago. Her soft breasts bouncing, torso in a light sheen of sweat and her eyes so fucking focused on him, her cunt was devoted to squelching lewdly every time she grinded on him.

He was close too, he could feel how heavy his balls were now and without either of their warnings, Neteyam spilled his load into her, it made her mewl as she came hard with him.

Black spots dotted their vision as they painted, their juices had overflowed inside Tala and usually the sight would irritate Neteyam, making him wanna fuck it back into her.

But Tala didn’t mind the mess. In fact, she wanted more. After a few seconds, she rolled her hips again and even though they stuttered, she felt herself able to overcome the crackles of overstimulation.

Her hands delicately laced through his hair to gently stroke at the base of his kuru.

Neteyam hissed loudly and squeezed onto her ass in warning, barely able to stop himself from bucking into her overflowing cunt.

Too fucking soon, the sensation of her pink flesh was overwhelming, the friction was making his muscles involuntarily twitch, he groaned as he rested his head back.

“What’s wrong? You don't want to?” Tala asked, her voice soft and sultry. The question just sounded like the deadliest taunt to him. She was rotating her hips and twisting him from inside her, his cock felt like it was being choked in different ways, squeezed and massaged in a way he hadn’t been before. She was fucking milking him, Neteyam only dumbly shuddered and thrusted upwards weakly.

Her tiny pussy was soaking him, his balls, and his mattress but that didn’t matter when it was the only thing on his mind, her gummy flesh was the only thing reminding him he was still breathing.

After what felt like an eternity of the most delicious torture, Tala finally screamed her last climax and mercifully stopped, shivering from aftershocks of pleasure. She had pulled so much more ropes of cum from him and just staying inside her nearly made him cum again, it made Neteyam whimper low and hotly, his golden eyes barely able to stay open. Tala finally collapsed on him, muscles were burning and she was breathing heavily, but the look on his face made it all so worth it.

She was impressed with herself, her body was heavy with what felt like deep buckets of creamy liquid spilling out of her. She noticed now how tightly his tail had encircled her thigh, a slight mark left from it now.

“Fuck… Li’Tala…” Neteyam drawled out wearily, he collapsed onto his back and brought her with him. Her full name brought back shudders along her spine, the way he said it was positively lewd and so, so, intimate.

Tala hummed, fully able to feel the slowly calming pulse on his neck. She licked her lips, she was enticed. Not one had she left marks on him, she never felt a desire to.

The Omaticayan breathed hard, when he felt her fangs push past her perfect lips and onto his skin. It wasn’t deep, barely a bruise, but Tala finally figured out why he enjoyed doing it to her so much. The way his scent covered her face and somehow she could taste it in his skin was intoxicating.

She licked the small wound while Neteyam fought internally how horny he instantly became again despite his exhaustion. Tala hummed, the two too tired to even look at each other from where they rested.

“Good boy…” She said softly before fading into slumber. Only Neteyam could feel how hard his cock twitched when he heard her whisper. They were fucked out and warm and his miserable dreams were nothing but fuzzy images.

His own consciousness was fading fast and any shiver his body felt was definitely from no bite of cold, regardless of the sweat. Now it was more like pinpricks of pleasure and pain, definitely distracting. Neteyam closed his eyes.

He embraced Tala tenderly, he breathed in her hair, and his mind was completely soothed. He slept wholly to Tala, to the smell of her sweetness, the beat of her heart, the sound of her breath, choosing to forget about those damned dreams and his damned existence.

He breathed out once again, vague recollections of fire licking at his skin.

Neteyam forced the thoughts away by lightly running his fingers on the mark Tala just left on him, barely aching, he could only find it by carefully sensing the barest indentation. He then felt for the one he left on Tala all that time ago, the texture of the scar made it much easier.

Both comforted him, grounded him, he didn’t notice the way his tail wagged a bit too contently. All of his muscles relaxed and gratefully his sleep was dreamless.

His last thought was how much he enjoyed calling her Li’Tala than ma’fil.

tag list: @xylianasblog @itchaboi-itchyboy @hotdsworld @pandoraslxna @luvv4j4ybe11 @neteyamsyawntu @akoyaxs @whatevenisagrapefruit @teyamsatan @justcaptiannoodles @theblueflower05 @neteluvr @neteyamssyulang @plooto @hao-ming-8 @teyamsilly @vivid-ink @vampirefilmlover

notes: hi! finally getting into the plot portion of the fic lol, hopefully this will be all finished v soon! maybe 2 or 3 more chapters? hope yall enjoy~

#recom neteyam #doodle #smut #fanfic #avatar way of water #neteyam sully #avatar 2 #liar liar #fanart #avatar fanfiction #female oc #neteyam x oc

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najia-cooks · 1 day

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[ID: A close-up on a dish with glossy noodles, spinach, carrot, mushroom, and sesame seeds. End ID]

잡채 / Japchae (Korean noodle stir-fry)

Japchae is a popular Korean dish made with glass noodles. Sweet potato starch noodles are fried in a flavorful sauce, combined with colorful, tender-crisp vegetables, and dressed with sesame; the result is chewy, savory, garlicky, slightly sweet, and highly satisfying. Because of its versatility and the ease of preparing large batches, japchae is frequently served for banquets at weddings and birthday celebrations.

"Japchae" is a compound of "잡" "jap" "mixed," and "채" "chae" "vegetables"; both syllables are Korean readings of Chinese characters ("雜" and "菜"). Like the name, modern japchae dishes combine Chinese and Korean elements: the cellophane noodles now considered central to the dish originated as a Chinese import towards the end of the 20th century. From the 17th century until then, japchae had been a royal court dish consisting only of stir-fried vegetables (frequently mushrooms, cucumber and radish).

Japchae, along with other Korean foods, is becoming more prevalent in the Philippines and Malaysia, by way of privately owned Korean restaurants usually owned by migrants. Dr. Gaik Cheng Khoo writes that, despite the South Korean government's campaign to promote the globalization of hansik (한식; Korean food), it is these independent restaurateurs who actually engage in Korean "gastrodiplomacy" by interfacing with clients in their particular contexts.

Recipe under the cut!

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Ingredients:

For the dish:

8oz (230g) 당면 / dangmyeon (Korean sweet potato starch noodles)

1 medium carrot, cut into a thick julienne

1 small yellow onion, sliced

2-3 green onions, cut into 2" pieces

6oz fresh spinach

1 cup (65g) sliced shiitake or wood ear mushrooms

4oz beef substitute of choice, or 1/2 cup (30g) soya chunks (chunky TVP)

1 clove garlic, chopped

Neutral oil, to fry

Sesame seeds, to garnish

Both dangmyeon (which may be also labelled "sweet potato vermicelli") and soya chunks / nutra chunks (from a brand such as Nutrela) may be found at an Asian grocery store.

For the sauce:

2 cloves garlic, grated

4 Tbsp Korean soy sauce

2-3 Tbsp brown sugar, to taste

2 Tbsp toasted sesame oil

1/2 tsp ground black pepper, or to taste

For the marinade:

1/2 cup vegetarian 'beef' stock from concentrate, or vegetable stock (only if using nutra chunks, which need to be hydrated)

1 tsp dark soy sauce

1/2 tsp brown sugar

1/2 tsp toasted sesame oil

Instructions:

1. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Meanwhile, prep your vegetables and mix all ingredients for the sauce and marinade.

2. Mix beef substitute and all marinade ingredients to coat.

3. Once the water is boiling, blanch the spinach for 30 seconds to a minute, until bright green. Drain and shock in cold water. Squeeze out excess water, roughly chop, and dress with a bit of salt.

4. In the same water, boil sweet potato noodles for 6-8 minutes, until translucent and softened. A firm pinch should break the noodle.

5. When noodles are fully cooked, drain and shock in cold water to halt cooking. Cut them in a few places with kitchen scissors to make them easier to eat. Toss with a bit of sesame oil to prevent sticking.

6. While noodles are cooking, begin stir-frying the vegetables. Heat 1 tsp oil in a medium skillet on high. Stir-fry carrots, onion, and a pinch of salt for a minute or two until slightly softened.

7. Set aside and add more oil to the pan; stir-fry mushrooms for a couple minutes until they have released their water. Add garlic and sauté until fragrant.

8. Add green onion and cook for 30 seconds to a minute; do not allow it to soften too much. Set aside.

9. If using nutra chunks: drain and reserve liquid. Fry for a minute on high, agitating often, to brown. Pour in the rest of the marinade and cook until dry. If using another beef substitute: fry according to package directions.

10. Heat another Tbsp of neutral oil in a large skillet and add in noodles and about half of the prepared sauce. Stir fry, tossing often, until fragrant. Remove to a bowl and stir in vegetables, beef, and the rest of the prepared sauce. Garnish with sesame seeds and serve warm.

Leftovers may be served hot or cold, as a side dish or a main, or over rice.

#Korean #dangmyeon #carrots #mushrooms #green onion #bell pepper #spinach #nutra chunks

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theredofoctober · 7 months

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MANNA- CHAPTER FIVE: OATS

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink

This is chronologically the fifth chapter in the series

---

The day after the failed feast Dr Lecter enters your unhappy chamber to find you already awake, greasily feverish in the maelstrom of narcotic hangover. Moaning under the dripping cloth of your bedsheet, you wince from the light that punctures the room as Hannibal draws back the curtains with a determined flourish.

"This is what happens when you do not eat and drink enough, I'm afraid," he says, putting a lusciously cool hand to your brow. "The excitement around the table certainly didn't help matters. Had you been receptive, then you would have been hydrated, full-bellied, and ready for the day ahead. Alas, your mulish nature is the portcullis that refuses you entry into better health. I cannot raise it for you."

You haven't the life in you to retaliate to such sanctimonious jibes, and he well knows it.

Humming a strand of Vide Cor Meum, Hannibal glides about you, first plumping your pillow, then holding a glass of water to your lips until you must either drink, or drown. In fractured gulps you salve your chapped throat with it, then part your lips again for a spoon of porridge; to your surprise, the portion spilled from cutlery to tongue is slim, a suggestion of treaty, of a temporary kind.

"I will never make you eat more than is reasonable, little one," says Hannibal, meeting your narrowed stare so frankly that you are almost abashed by the look. "It would do you no good to upset your stomach any further. I will minimise your intake for a few days, at least."

The suggestion is so unbelievable that you search his plain expression for the merest taint of trickery.

"You're not... angry with me," you observe, at last.

Dr Lecter's head inclines.

"Any ill feelings between us were settled at dinner, were they not?"

He helps you to the bathroom, stepping politely outside the door as you list at a sloppy port-wise angle, gripping either side of the bowl with preventative force; you may fall should you let go, humiliate yourself in the necessity of further care.

That Hannibal reverts to a veneer of nurturing aid after an episode of violence with such undisturbed ease frightens you, as does your instinct to accept that profferred assistance. Too many years span from here to the last time you allowed yourself to do so, and though you know well Dr Lecter's malign in having manufactured such frailty, you may never regain the position to resist it without him.

As with Will, your way out of this house is to drive yourself further in.

"I'll return home early today," says Hannibal, as he eases you back into bed in stops and starts to accomodate each shimmer of nausea. "I can reschedule my afternoon appointments for another time."

"Don't bother," you mutter, against your pillow. "I want to be on my own."

"I'm aware of that. Nevertheless, I will be here to monitor you. If you're feeling better tonight, then I will conduct your next therapy session."

Fear flowers at your core, all thorn tipped leaves.

"I won't be better," you say, your lips still crushed to starched cotton. "That promise I made to you about trying— I can't stick to that. I can't be the person you need. And I can't eat. It's too hard for me."

Hannibal lays a hand on your back, soothing you as he might an infant with colic.

"I know," he says, simply. "Relapses are to be expected. Neither Will or I will admonish you for that. What I will not tolerate is rudeness. I have demonstrated what will occur if you do not keep your tongue in check."

At this your head snaps upright against the pull of sickness.

"Aren't you rude?" you ask, sharply. "And Will?"

Hannibal pats down your coverlet, quite unoffended.

"One might argue that is down to interpretation. I pride myself on cultivating elegance, which includes manners, as a matter of course. Will, however, is— unique. I overlook his cruder moments for the complexity layered beneath them. As for what we have done to you, it is unfortunate that you cannot observe the act through our eyes, and perceive its beauty, as well as your own."

To this, you have no answer. You can think only of snaring hands, of Will's stubble scarring your cheek, and the blood broken like bottled wine across your inner thighs, so much ugliness paraded as glory.

"Please drink the water I've left out for you," says Hannibal.

You do, for he will know, if you do not.

There was something in that glass, or the oats, you comprehend, for when you are next conscious you are propped upright in a leather chair, only part returned from witless repose.

A metronome clicks at your ear, back and forth.

Lights flash and cease, white and black their blinking through the timeless night in which Dr Lecter has you drown. You sit, or swim in it; you cannot tell. The fungal spell of Hannibal's cooking robs you of both voice and tether to the earth. You could be foam in a Homerean ocean, where men become pigs on its alien isles.

You too might be such a beast, or a child, or some sylph of amorphous matter trapped in such hampering skin.

The sound of your breath comes, shuttered and sharp.

A warm hand cups your chest, and your lungs seem to open to its gesture as though by unknown magic.

Then a voice murmurs from a face before you, its shape without edge, an orb.

"You are safe. You are cared for. You belong."

Like a switchblade across your eye the light comes again, and you are part of it, an impulse that is all life, all one.

Hannibal speaks your name, grounding you to him, as to a stack in some wild sea.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now," he tells you. "They may be difficult. Try to answer them honestly."

There is only a man here, there is only light; you cannot refuse them.

"Okay," you mumble.

Hannibal's pleasure in your answer is a current timed to the swishing metronome.

"How did your eating disorder begin?" he asks. "What did it look like, then?"

"Just a diet, at first," you say. "The meals got smaller and smaller. Then a lot of food scared me. I started counting calories. Throwing food out. Being around anyone eating was like I was being tortured. That's when I knew that something was really wrong with me."

You hear the scratch of a pen on an unseen pad.

"I see. And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Nothing. I didn't care. Then I started to like it. Challenging myself. The compliments— feeling like I had something nobody else did, that I was so good at— It became everything I was. My identity, kind of."

How easy it is to speak, when you cannot see the expression of the listener before you.

"Trauma frequently shapes us in our formative years," Hannibal comments. "It is a natural response to build oneself in its image. So, let us retreat to older memories. Tell me of a time that you recall being afraid."

The flashing light numbs to an ebbing glow.

"There was this guy," you say. "A guy that my dad was friends with. Still is. His name is Leland Frost. He used to come over to our house all the time. He was always so friendly, but I knew that there was something wrong with him. There was something in his eyes, the way he laughed too much, or stood too close to me. Like he was putting on a rubber Hallowe'en mask of a regular guy, and everyone was just pretending it was fine, but they really weren't pretending."

"Elaborate."

You gnaw at your lower lip until you taste warm iron, and consider spitting out the calories.

"I tried to tell people about it," you say. "But Dad could never see it. He'd just say, 'oh, that's just Lee. Silly old Uncle Lee. That's just how he is.' But I knew. I saw him. I smelled the cheap rubber mask."

"Did this Uncle Lee ever hurt you?" asks Hannibal, softly. "Touch you in an inappropriate manner?"

This memory is dusky, a cobwebbed photograph.

"I don't know," you admit, at last. "I always thought he wanted to, though. I always thought the minute my parents left me alone with him something bad would happen. The waiting was always the worst part."

A pause, in which you sense rather than see Dr Lecter watching you through the dark-light-darkness.

"But maybe it wasn't Uncle Lee that I was waiting for," you say, at last. "Maybe it was you and Will."

The gloom becomes further marred by tears, and you feel a box of tissues being pressed into your loose hand.

"That's enough for today," says Hannibal, rising from his seat. "You've done well for me. This calls for a reward."

He crosses the room to pick up a telephone, glancing at you with an unintelligible heat in his eyes.

"Good evening," he says, into the receiver. "I hope this is a convenient time for you. Yes, that is correct; I'm calling about your daughter's progress. I am very satisfied with her cooperation today. We are approaching some early milestones."

Hearing the tinny, distant voices of your parents, you struggle towards a lucidity that feels so desperately out of touch.

Hannibal crosses the room towards you again and turns the phone away from his mouth to murmur, "I will allow you a few words to them, if you will be sensible."

By this he means: if you do not give the game away.

You nod your head jerkily and extend a fist as Dr Lecter introduces you into the conversation.

"She is here, now. Somewhat tired, but all is well."

You clenched the receiver to your ear, tears coming in such a quick patter that, at first, you can only sit in hyperventilating silence as your parents babble at you, their voices sharp with an underlying guilt.

"How are you, honey? It's so good to hear from you! We love you! Is everything okay?"

Each day you've been parted from them you've missed them as you would your most vital structures, with a sore and deathly strength, yet your love is not so stark as your disappointment in being so abandoned by them.

"No," you say, at last. "I'm not okay, Mom. Dad. How could you send me away and not even warn me?"

The babbling rises, panic in male and female iteration.

"We had no other choice. It was all we could think to do! We tried everything. But Dr Lecter's helping you, isn't he?"

Hannibal's stare is, itself, a warning.

Pressing your knuckles to your anguished mouth, you pass the telephone back to him, not trusting yourself not to scream for help and damn yourself to the harshest punishment that such an executioner of free will might hand to you.

"She is overwrought," says Dr Lecter, apologetically. "I'll call again next week."

He hangs up, and leans across to clean the tears from your face himself, ensuring the tissue is discarded in a wastpaper basket; even in this he must be perfect, organised and pristine. You hate him for it, this performance he makes of his life, preserving such details as no one would be likely to notice but him.

"I wish you hadn't let me talk to them," you whisper. "Now I feel even worse."

"Of course you do," says Hannibal. "Your family betrayed you. It would be much more unusual if you held no resentment towards them at all."

You squint up at him in accusation.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"Leaving a wound open may sometimes allow it to dry, and subsequently heal. You will not advance without acknowledging the harm your parents have done to you, whether through dispatching you to me without consent, or by ignoring your justifiable fear of Leland Frost. The map to your mental injury is unfurling before us: the continents take shape, as do the names that mark each turn in your unhappy life. In time, I will know them all."

Weeping, you slip down in your chair, not wanting to see the truth that thrusts itself up from the outcrop of evil.

"I will help you to your room," says Dr Lecter. "More sleep is in order, I think."

Will Graham enters the house some time in the night; you hear his low voice through the floorboards as you lie in swaying wakefulness, wondering what brings the professor here at so late an hour. He stays for so long that he accepts an invite into one of Hannibal's spare rooms, a fact that you discern from the voices passing your door in the hallway.

Again you sleep, though not pleasantly, your psyche disturbed by the third presence in the building, and by the lasting bruise of Dr Lecter's relentless torments.

In this sleep you dream of an antlered thing burying you in a terracotta wood, its face so darkly passive as soil smothers your airways that you might well be a bone, stored there to be gnawed at some late and starving hour.

When you emerge from this haunted slumber you still feel the threads of it still noosed around you; dream-sick, drug-thick, you stagger across your bedroom and, finding the door unlocked, tumble on into the hallway beyond.

By chance you find Will's room, letting yourself into quarters that smell of night-sweat, and pine, and male musk. You scarcely know what you do as you climb into bed with him against his salty heat, nor why it is he, of your abusers, that you seek.

Will starts awake, wild-haired and horrified as he senses your body beside him. Your name bolts from his lips, scarcely recognisable, the utterance of an animal groomed to speak a human tongue.

"What are you doing here? You should be in your own room."

Keeping your back to him, you drowsily reply.

"Had a bad dream."

Will breathes an ironic laugh.

"And you think you'll sleep any better in my bed? I destroyed you, remember?"

Self-blame, self-loathing, all jagged and tail-swallowing teeth.

"No," you mumble. "He did. Not you, Daddy."

You feel Will sit up behind you, scratching a hand through his unruly curls.

"You're not in your right mind," he announces, gruffly. "I'd better tell Dr Lecter to stop giving you whatever medication you're on. It's not good for you. No wonder you're having nightmares."

Still, he doesn't attempt to turn you out of bed, or to call Hannibal to eject you on his behalf. He only slouches, gazing at you, until you turn on your side to look back at his pretty, troubled face in its nest of brindled shadow.

Will's shoulders still droop in a mode of shame, yet the black of the room deepens the blue of his eyes into a yearning colour through which many a woman would gladly fall. He wants you here, you realise, perhaps likes the power he holds in having you soft and needful beside him, in his lair, after all he's done.

You should detest him for feeling it, and you do.

But recognising that craving within him reawakens the understanding of that power you may yet hold over him, in return, the mistress of a cur that bites all but those that direct the leash.

It is a long way off, this control, but the taste of it will do, for now.

"Let me stay," you implore, fluttering sodden eyelashes in a coquettish attempt to convince him. "Please? Just for tonight? I don't want that dream to come back."

You'll loathe yourself for this, in the morning, but now all you care for is the night. Will seems to be having the same thought, for he lies back down on the mattress again, taking care to leave ample space between you.

How does he compartmentalise his violence—his taste for it—from his revulsion towards you, and further still from the empathy that stirs in him like a stamped out fire?

"Just one night," says Will, sternly. "I don't know what Hannibal is going to say about this."

You pull the quilt up under your chin, almost giddy with your achievement, and with it the comfort that pours over you like a September afternoon. This strange happiness you will remember, and wonder at, when all you should have known were the tatters of despair.

"Dr Lecter left my door unlocked," you say, as Will moves in restless, settling motions at your back, still refusing to make contact with your skin. "So it's really his fault I'm here, you know."

At this Will half-rises again, but whatever question or comment he murmurs is lost to your abrupt slumber.

By morning he is gone, and you are alone again, only the scent of the monster remaining about you to mark out your miserable self-treachery.

He is not there to see you thrust the sheets against your face and inhale their bitter stink, if only to claw back the triumph of having made vulnerable a man so very closed to contact of the most human kind.

He is not there, and he is everywhere.

Will is as part of this house as Dr Lecter, now.

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