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#expression of feelings through flora
foxsoulcourt · 2 years
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Bookmarker’s Notes:
This series took me by surprise + it didn't take long for me to fall in love with it. I watched Part 1 update chapter by chapter, but wasn't quite drawn in. Not sure why I decided to take the dive after most of Part 2 was posted, but I'm sure glad I did. Part 2 just completed, so if you’re someone who likes to read finished works, now’s the time!
LOVE the imagery of people displaying their capacity for connection with others through flora + it's so well done in these works as a metaphor for growing feelings between Q + Bond. The title of the works, "Fidelity + Passion" and "Intimacy" match their content very well. What fun to watch those three experiences develop over time between a field agent + his Quartermaster (and said Quartermaster’s well-cared-for cats). An unexpected bonus of reading this work is it helped me understand the dynamics James + Vesper's relationship better.
If you're still sitting on the fence yourself, I hope this explanation helps, "Hanaemi" is like hanahaki lite; you grow flowers in your hair for love and they wilt if your heart is broken. No floral pneumonia or death.
Brava to @kitten-kin​ for inhabiting this new trope with such a great series! 
💜
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earthtooz · 7 months
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you're the only one that can tame diluc's anger. reader is called 'lady' but other than that no pronouns are mentioned, fluff, diluc being a softie in this, 1.2k wc.
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your husband is notorious for being the stoic, level-headed character that he is. unperturbed by all things so long as mondstadt was safe and at peace, and when the city had someone as diligent as diluc protecting it, there was virtually nothing that ever made him falter. as much as you love and adore his rationality and straightforwardness, there was nothing that you hated more than his unwillingness to compromise in an argument.
his bullheadedness caused you to storm out of the manor, trek through the expansive fields of the winery in order to reach mondstadt. there, you calmed yourself down with a quick bite from good hunter before heading to the library because a quick rant to lisa would generally soothe the anger you felt. 
however, your original plans of returning to the winery changed when a book that was recently returned caught your eye. noticing your fleeting glance, the electro-user recommends it, detailing its popularity and captivating storyline.
when lisa feels so passionate about something, how could you not be curious? she rarely gets a sentence out without a yawn nowadays so to hear her speak animatedly about a book is bound to get your attention.
without a second thought, you postpone your plans of returning home and find a comfortable couch to sit on before reading.
you must have spent longer than planned, and a favonius soldier barging through the library doors indicates as such, whose expression so panicked you would have thought there was a hillichurl invasion. he takes a quick scan of the room and relief floods his posture when his eyes land on you.
“lady y/n, you must come with me this instant,” the soldier demands after a quick salute.
“what is the issue?” you ask, undeniably curious.
“master diluc is searching for you and i fear that he is very angry. not even barbara can calm him, some of flora’s flowers have been singed, and he might burn down monstadt next, please come with me before it’s too late!”
you know that the soldier is merely exaggerating because as long as you were in mondstadt, diluc would never dare harm the city. moreover, he would never dare lay a finger on the city he loves, but his anger is nothing to take lightly, and you understand the knight’s fear.
although, you really don’t want to meet your husband.
“fine, i suppose i can classify this matter as urgent,” you sigh. “lisa, could you please let me borrow this book? i’ll return it in two weeks.”
“not a problem dear. better run along now before your husband supposedly burns down the city,” the librarian waves her hand, beckoning you to go, so you do.
the knight leads you to the whereabouts of angel’s share and before you could even turn the corner, you hear a mix of kaeya and diluc’s voices.
“i don’t know where y/n is, which is why i have my knights running around to find-” exclaims the calvary captain, beginning to sound perplexed at his brother’s uncharacteristic display of irrationality and franticness. 
observing the scene, you see your husband right in kaeya’s face and suddenly you understand why the knight who brought you here was so frightened. the air had risen significantly in temperature and if you were a moment too late, he actually might have drawn out his claymore.
his red eyes glance behind the navy-haired to see you and in the blink of an eye, the red-haired pushes past the knights before storming down the street, right towards you. 
“where have you been?” diluc asks, stopping only two feet before you. the deep frown on his face is evident of his displeasure, but the concern swimming in his eyes tell you that you don’t need to be scared.
“i was reading in the library,” you gesture to the book you were holding. “enjoying a peaceful afternoon until i got word that you were creating a ruckus.”
the winery owner visibly relaxes, tension flooding from his shoulders whilst a gloved hand runs through his hair, causing his bangs to fall messily in front of his eyes. “let’s talk about this at home,” he states, tone returning to normal as he takes your book from your hand, his vacant hand finding yours. diluc’s grip is tight and unrelenting, leaving no room for you to slip away as he turns to apologise to the knights of favonius.
then, the two of you leave through the main gates. 
“are you still upset?” your husband asks and you squeeze his hand.
“a little,” you murmur before a small laugh escapes your lips, “but i wish you would have seen how terrified that knight was when he found me. it entertained me quite a bit, guess a thank you is in order for that.”
diluc doesn’t say anything but the guilt dripping from him is practically tangible, pooling around your feet and reminding you of the unpleasant argument you had earlier. as the sun begins to dip below the horizon and the sky turns a calming shade of orange, you realise just how long you spent away from him. no wonder why he was so frantic about finding you. 
“the next time you storm out of the winery, can you at least let me know where you are going?”
you laugh at his proposition, unsure of how to respond but he stops. you’re forced to stop too when his unwavering grip makes you turn and look in the ruby eyes that set ablaze in the gold of the setting sun. diluc’s beauty is truly undeniable, and it’s moment like these that make you feel a little jealous that he was graced with such a gift. 
“i’m serious, y/n, you worried me to end when you didn’t return after three hours. i thought something might have happened to you.” his gaze falls downward with his soft confession. “your safety is the most important thing to me, even when things between us are rocky, because- well, you know…”
your heart tightens and the step you take closer to him is instinctual, letting go of his hand to hold his face instead. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to worry you.”
“no, you have nothing to apologise for, it was my fault for being so unbearable in the first place,” the red-haired shakes his head, his hands finding a home on your waist. “i’m sorry too.”
“i forgive you,” you hover a kiss over his nose, causing it to scrunch at the sensation. when you lean back, the softness in his eyes and smile is unmatched and you’re grateful that you’re the only one with the luxury of seeing him as such. the only person he’s let into his kingdom of concrete walls is you, gifting you a more vulnerable side of him that the rest of the world has not seen in years. 
“i love you,” you murmur and diluc hums, tapping your waist three times in response. “oh but diluc, you must tell me how worried you were over me, i think i deserve to know.” 
the red-haired rolls his eyes before dragging you down the hilly path back home. you are perhaps the only one in mondstadt who could perplex him to no end, but that is just another testament of the love he holds for you. 
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© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
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lanasblood · 10 months
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HOW DO I MAKE YOU LOVE ME | neteyam x reader
pairing: neteyam x f!omatikaya!reader (no mentions of y/n)
summary: you remember all of your attempts to make Neteyam fall in love with you, using various methods, experiencing numerous failures, and you finally come to a conclusion or the five times you failed to win neteyam’s affection and the one time you succeed.
word count: 10k (!!! damn)
warnings: actually none but let’s say hurt/comfort, reader is a simp, 5+1 prompt, confessing, mutual pining, mention of blood, requited/unrequited love, !!adult neteyam!!, flashbacks to childhood and teenager years
note: inspired by the five love languages and the weeknd’s song mentioned in the title.
* gif‘s not mine.
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The soft rustling of the teal leaves falling silently to the ground, as light as an ikran feather, is one of the most soothing sounds heard on the still night. The wind touches them gently, as if caressing them, before whirling them up again in a powerful gust, starting the cycle all over again. The moons stand high in the sky, and the stars sparkle like little gems that can beautify anything. The night is quiet, and the soft breeze seems to calm everything down and lull it into a deep sleep. The bright light of the bioluminescent plants lays gently on the moist meadows, illuminating the darkness. It is like a magical tale, perfect and without blemish. Yet, there is one who can't sleep in this harmonic time: you. With your arms and legs stretched out, you lie on your back, feeling like hours have passed since you started staring at the night sky without moving a muscle. You have even decided to sleep outside your hammock to hear and feel the sound of the wind, hoping to finally sink into the dreamland. But, as you know, this has done little to help. 
All because of him. You sigh in annoyance.
For as long as you can remember you've had this crush on the eldest son of the Olo'eyktan, you don't know when you developed it, let alone how it really started. You just know that it might have been cute at first – a nice girl from a small clan who has feelings for the older boy next door, but as time went by, it wasn't cute at all; on the contrary, it robs you of precious sleep and will most likely cause you to age prematurely. 
Despite not knowing how and when exactly this crush thing has started, you know that it has gotten worse the more time has passed, and the more time passes, the more failed attempts to get his attention you have behind you. However, there's one event you categorize as time zero - the starting point of your attempts - that you remember vividly: 
You were a mere child and couldn't take your eyes off Neteyam, who was only slightly older than you. Confidently clutching the stem of the rare flower you had been searching for days, you made your way through the lush forest, searching for Neteyam. As you thought about the plan you had concocted, your heart beat rapidly in your chest. You had heard from a reliable source that Neteyam was a lover of rare flora, and you hoped that this gift would make him see you in a different light. 
When you spotted him in the distance, his tall figure was moving gracefully through the trees. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, holding out the flower to him.
"Hey, Neteyam," you said, trying to sound casual. "I found this and I thought you might like it." 
Neteyam stopped in his tracks and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. You held out the flower a bit higher, hoping to see a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes.
"Thank you," he said simply, slowly taking the flower from your outstretched hand. Looking at the flower now in his hand, the corner of his lips turned upward, causing your heart to flutter.
You told him happily, "It's a very rare flower," beaming a bright smile at him. 
And the next thing you knew, you were holding your breath as he bent slightly forward to your height and patted your head in praise, "It seems you're already a careful gatherer, baby neighbor. Keep it up!"
You felt your heart sink faster than a prey could run when he turned and continued on his way, leaving you standing there alone in the forest. You had hoped that your gesture would be enough to make him see you in a different light, but it seemed that it had made no difference at all, or even worse for he had called you the worst possible nickname to exist in all na'vihood. 
As you made your way back to the village, you couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment and frustration settling in you, the deep frown on your face mirroring your inner world. You had tried so hard to get Neteyam to notice you, but it seemed that he was simply not interested.
How do I make you love me?
After a few cycles and many more failed attempts in between, you realized that your little crush was not so little after all. Especially after Neteyam passed his Iknimaya at such a young age, your admiration for him grew every day. The feeling was almost unbearable as you found yourself constantly near him but not receiving the acknowledgment you wished for.
That was until one day, you decided to change that because your hormonal teenager brain had this glorious idea to spend some alone time with Neteyam. You had observed that he enjoyed hunting during his free time when he wasn't bound by his duties as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn. This is why you eagerly joined him on his next hunt, determined to impress him with your own hunting and tracking skills. Looking back, you now realize that your confidence may have been misplaced for your skills were basically non-existent at that time, but back then you were convinced that you were able to hunt.
So, you followed Neteyam deep into the forest, crouching right beside him in the underbrush, watching the herd of talioang grazing in the distance. Their blue and orange skin glinted in the sunlight, and you could hear the low rumble of their voices as they communicated with each other. 
"Do you thi—" Neteyam's hand swiftly covered your mouth, halting your words before they escaped, his touch gentle yet firm. It was electrifying, sending shivers down your spine. He motioned for you to be quiet and directed your attention towards the herd. As he removed his hand, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement in your blood. This was your chance to prove yourself.
Neteyam slowly and silently made his way towards the herd, you right on his track, moving from one piece of cover to another. Your eyes followed every movement of the muscles on his toned back, you felt your heart pounding in your chest, and your palms were slick with sweat. Even though you had never really hunted before, you were determined to succeed but Neteyam's captivating presence proved to be a distraction that made it difficult for you to concentrate on anything else. 
As you got closer to the herd, you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Neteyam signaled for you to stop, and you froze, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He reached out and brushed a twig aside at your feet.
"Watch your steps," he whispered close to your ear, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart raced as you realized how close he was to you, and you wondered if he could hear it pounding in your chest. Longing to feel his lips against your skin, you couldn't help but turn your head slightly towards him, but you knew you couldn't let your desire distract you from the hunt.
"I do," you whispered back. Trying to calm your racing heart, you focused on the task at hand, scanning the ground for anything else that might make noise. But when you moved, you felt Neteyam's body shift slightly against yours, sending another jolt of electricity through you, and you wondered if he felt it too.
"No, you constantly step on something," he told you, still whispering, but voice stern. 
Feeling caught because there was a high possibility that he was right for you hadn't paid attention to your surroundings in the last couple of minutes, too busy doting on him, you couldn't find arguments to defend yourself, "I do not." 
Neteyam firmly pressed his finger on his own lips, signaling you to be quiet yet again. Your heart beat faster as you met his intense gaze, and you felt a rush of desire wash over you.
"Too much noise," he mouthed, his voice barely audible, and looked back at the herd. Following his gaze, you saw that the talioang had picked up on something, and they were starting to look nervous. You and Neteyam held your breaths, waiting for the right moment to strike. 
Suddenly, Neteyam gave the signal, and sprang into action. You just weren't really ready when he gave the signal, so with the first step you took, you stumbled on something growing on the ground and fell over with a short cry. Neteyam who had darted towards the nearest talioang, already drawing his bow and arrow, stopped right in his track when he heard you fall. You looked up at him when he quickly turned to you and then back at the herd but it was too late, the animals already reared up in surprise, and scattered in all directions. However, you were too shocked by your fatal mistake to pay them any attention. You were frozen in place, lying in the dirt, watching Neteyam looking back at you with a slightly agape mouth. The blood rushed to your head and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. 
You ruined it. 
Neteyam's disappointment was tangible. You could feel his eyes on you, and you knew that he was angry. You would be, too. Struggling to express your remorse, the words got caught in your throat as you attempted to apologize. The weight of disappointment were heavy on your shoulders, and you couldn't shake off the feeling of letting him down.
After a long, awkward silence, Neteyam turned to you with a deep sigh. "You need to be more careful," he said, "When you're hunting, you have to be aware of everything around you. One mistake can ruin the whole hunt."
You nodded, feeling ashamed, you were sure your face was as purple as a yovo fruit. You had wanted to impress Neteyam, but instead you had embarrassed yourself in front of him, had blown any chance to show him that you were capable.
How do I make you fall for me?
Over time, you learned from your previous mistakes. Wanting to impress him proved to be harder than anticipated, but having a conversation with him was easier than expected. You needed to show him how much you appreciated him for who he was. As a result, you began to pay closer attention to the way he interacted with others, especially his younger brother Lo'ak, and you started to incorporate some of those phrases into your conversations with him.
One bright day, you nervously approached Neteyam, hoping to strike up a conversation with him using your newfound knowledge:
"Hey, Neteyam," you greeted tentatively, "Whatcha doin'?"
You left out the bro on purpose, fearing it would be overkill. Even so, the words coming out of your mouth sounded strange to you, and for him apparently too, as he rapidly looked up from his task upon hearing your voice, and his otherwise neutral face looked at you with a slightly frowned forehead and attentive eyes, studying you for a moment before he was quick to collect himself and greeted you with a slight smile.
"Not much. Tuk asked me to repair this old basket for her," he said, motioning with his hands on the basket between his legs, "And I'm trying." 
You nodded, trying not to seem too eager, "That's really kind of you. I bet she'll be thrilled once you finish it," you said with a smile. 
Neteyam simply hummed in response and went back to his task, his concentration returning.
"I mean, I would, too. Tuk is very lucky, it must be nice to have a brother like you," you complimented him.
"But you do have a brother," Neteyam reminded you matter-of-factly, "We used to attend the same training sessions so many times."
"Yeah," you continued, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "But, uh, he is not as skilled as you are." Good save. "And he never did such kind things for me when I was little. The only thing he did was teach me how to fight." 
"That's a valuable skill," Neteyam commented.
"Well, what I mean is, he's an ordinary brother, while you are one of a kind, Neteyam. Your siblings are incredibly lucky to have you," you said, emphasizing your point.
Neteyam smiled to himself, his canines slightly showing, as he went back to working on the basket. You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach at the thought of him noticing your flattery.
"I appreciate that," he said, acknowledging your compliment.
After a few minutes of silence, you took a deep breath and you mustered up the courage to ask him a question, "May I say something?"
He looked up at you again and nodded. "Sure, what's on your mind?"
You decided to take the chance, "I just wanted to say that you always seem to know just what to do and say, and that's very impressive. You're responsible, always respectful, and very patient. Not just with me but with everyone in our clan. And I want you to know that I really appreciate it, Neteyam." I appreciate you.
Neteyam's expression softened as he listened to your words. "You have a kind heart to express that," he replied, a hint of a smile still playing at the corner of his lips.
You took a deep breath and continued, "I know you don't share much about your personal life, but if you ever feel comfortable talking about it I would love to learn more about you."
Neteyam's smile reached his eyes. "Thank you, I will keep that in mind."
You felt a warm glow of happiness in your chest as you realized that your words affected him. You were willing to put in the work to get to know him better.
Encouraged by his response, you asked, "So, do you have any concrete plans after your Uniltaron?"
Neteyam's expression faltered a bit upon hearing you mention his upcoming Dream Hunt, he seemed almost reserved all of a sudden. "I do have a few, but they are personal," he replied, "I prefer to keep them to myself."
You felt a pang of disappointment. "Oh, I understand," you said, trying to hide your dejection, "I'm sorry. It was not my place to ask."
"You don't have to apologize," he responded, "But some things are best kept within the family."
"Yeah, I get it," you smiled weakly, feeling like you had hit a wall, "Thanks for talking with me, Neteyam."
He nodded and went back to his task, leaving you feeling deflated and uncertain about how to get closer to him.
How do I make you want me?
The previous attempts to win Neteyam's attention had proven unsuccessful: The gifts you gave him didn't have the desired effect, your attempts to impress him by spending time with him backfired (you want to forget that memory of the hunt so badly), and the conversations you had with him remained superficial, never delving deeper into meaningful topics. It was clear that you needed a new approach, a fresh idea to capture his interest which brought you back to point zero.
You walked through the forest, scanning the undergrowth for any signs of the flowers you had been studying for quite some time – the kind you gifted Neteyam when you were little. It turns out that the rare flower wasn't that rare after all, it only bloomed a short time a cycle, which is what made it so valuable. However, if they were dried and powdered, very useful medicines could be made. At some point you had started collecting this flower, as well as other herbs and plants for Tsahìk, and in return she had taught you how to make rich creams and pastes from them. And you could also consume this flower in meals if you let it cook over the fire for a long time. Pondering if it would evoke nostalgia within Neteyam, while you plucked them carefully from the ground, you wondered if he ever remembered the day you gave him that flower in the first place.
Gathering a variety of edible flowers, aromatic herbs, and other nourishing ingredients from the village, you spent all morning helping the women in your clan prepare a wholesome and delicious meal for the warriors. In anticipation of Neteyam's training session, you decided to take this thoughtful approach to show your support and care.
As the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, you volunteered to bring the full basket of handmade food wraps and lovely cut fruits to the training area. 
The warriors were engrossed in their practice, their movements fluid and powerful. You scanned the crowd, searching for Neteyam among them.
Spotting him in the midst of the intense training session, his lean muscles glistening with sweat under the warm sun, you couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. His movements were powerful and precise, each strike displaying his skill as a warrior. His strength and determination did something to you, feeling a magnetic pull towards him. 
Balancing the basket of food in your hands, you approached the outskirts of the training area, careful not to interrupt the warriors' focus. You set up a blanket and arranged the food on it attractively. Your intention was not only to impress Neteyam but to show your support for the entire group.
"I swear, Eywa send you here," you heard someone say next to you, a bit out of breath, while impatient hands reached into the basket and helped you place the food, "I'm starving!"
"Lo'ak, are you allowed to end your training like this?" You questioned, and turned your head in the direction of the warriors — the training was obviously still in full swing, but it was precisely then that you met Neteyam's gaze who was already looking over at you, a mixture of surprise and curiosity evident in his eyes. 
"Not really but it smells so good, I'm ready to be skinned for these delici— Oh, I'm taking this one, yeah?" He started unwrapping one of the food wraps and hastily bit into it. 
"Hey, wait for the others!" you admonished him, but his wrap was already half eaten.
"Mm, das bom!" you heard him smack loudly, "S'rusly, yur da best."
"I'm glad," you responded, suppressing a laugh. Lo'ak acted like he hadn't eaten in days. 
Noticing the spread of food, the warriors collectively ended the training session, and the men started approaching the nourishing dishes, including freshly grilled meats, vibrant vegetables, and flavorful herbs.
Sensing an opportunity, you went towards Neteyam, a food wrap in your hand, and a warm smile gracing your lips. "I thought I would spare you the long way, in case you're starving like your brother," you joked, gesturing with your head towards Lo'ak behind you, who was taking two more food wraps and calling dips on the rawp.
Neteyam's gaze shifted from the feast you had prepared to the food in his hands and then at you. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 
"That's thoughtful of you," he replied, his voice carrying a subtle warmth, "It's been an intense training session, and this is a welcome surprise."
You stepped back, allowing him to enjoy the meal with his fellow warriors. Observing from a distance, you noticed the camaraderie and laughter that emerged as they gathered around the spread of food, indulging in the flavors that were carefully crafted.
Throughout the meal, you found yourself drawn to Neteyam's presence. The way he spoke with passion about his experiences, the way he listened attentively to others, and the way his eyes sparkled with a hidden depth — all of it only fueled your growing attraction.
As the training session continued, you lingered nearby, engaging in conversations with other warriors, offering encouragement and companionship. While your initial intention was to impress Neteyam, you found joy in connecting with the community as a whole, so much you almost didn't realize that the day's training had come to an end.
"Thank you for the meal and your company," Neteyam said softly as he walked next to you back to the village, carrying the basket for you with a genuine smile gracing his face. "It meant a lot to all of us."
Your cheeks warmed at his words, "I didn't do much, the others—"
"You are here, that alone is more than enough."
You nodded, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. "I'm glad I could contribute," your voice was filled with sincerity, "Supporting you and the clan is important to me."
A surge of hope welled up inside you, but as the conversation continued, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Despite your efforts, the romantic tension you had hoped for seemed to elude you. The conversation remained pleasant yet distant, and it became clear that Neteyam saw you more as a friend than a potential partner. With a heavy heart, you realized that your attempt to catch his interest had once again fallen short.
And make it last eternally?
For quite some time now, you have firmly believed that you have left those days behind you, imprisoned in childhood memories, overlapped by numerous teenage embarrassments. After all, now you are an adult with serious duties and commitments to attend to, and there's neither time nor room for such childish infatuations. Crushing on the future Olo'eyktan. Please. Plus, once you found out how many other girls in your clan, both older and younger than you, adored him, you figured it is best to move on. You were frustrated at times, but you resolved to carry on, cherishing the friendship you shared with Neteyam while silently letting go of your unrequited feelings. At least, that's what you thought...
… until three eclipses ago.
Mere moments before the eclipse, the all-too-familiar soft light danced in the room,  casting a golden hue that revealed the tiniest pollen floating around inside Tsahìk's crowded tent. It had been a long time since so many people had been injured at once, yet no one was ready to explain or report what had happened.
As two new figures entered the tent, one of them supporting the other, you heard a familiar voice speaking calmly, "Focus on not getting blood all over grandmother's tent rather than worrying about my wounds."
"Nah, I'm just- Ouch! Careful, bro!"
"Sorry, brother, but you have to cooperate with me here," Neteyam uttered while carefully helping Lo'ak onto the mat made of woven grasses that Kiri had prepared for them with blankets. 
"I'm just saying—Ahh," Lo'ak hissed as Neteyam applied pressure to his open wound with his bare hands, while Kiri hastily tied together any available cloths for his wound care. "-it's not very mighty of you, you know."
"What is not very mighty of him?" Kiri wanted to know, now taking over and applying pressure to his wound as well to stop the bleeding. As you shifted to Kiri's side, you handed her more cloths that she could wrap around Lo'ak's leg.
"His wounds, of course," Lo'ak grinned when he saw you and gave his older brother another amused sideways glance, before continuing, "but I'm sure he will be in great hands now. Right, bro?"
Just a quick glance at Lo'ak was enough to see that he was far worse off than Neteyam. While his wounds did not appear to be life-threatening, he was bleeding profusely from his thigh.
Tsahìk had already rushed to the four of you, throwing a disapproving look at Lo'ak, "Oh, my boy, let me have a look." With her expertise, she quickly got the situation under control, ordering Kiri to get more cloths while you stood by her side to assist her.
"My child, attend to his wounds," Tsahìk instructed you, but to your surprise she nodded towards Neteyam instead of Lo'ak as she pushed a bowl of fresh water into your hands. "My granddaughter and I can handle this young clumsy man here." Her stern gaze was once again fixed on Lo'ak, who, in turn, only grinned at her.
"Grandmother," Neteyam began soothingly, ready to protest, "there is no need to—" but her piercing eyes silenced him, causing him to follow you wordlessly to the other side of the tent.
And that's how you found yourself sitting in front of Neteyam, tending to his wounds with the gentle touch of your hands, caring for each cut and bruise.
"You need to be more careful," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence as you wrung the cloth in the water that had already turned a muddy reddish color.
"I'm content with the present circumstances," he replied, his voice laced with a touch of amusement. You gave him a sarcastic look, which he reciprocated with a warm smile.
"Well, I suppose then you'll be content with this as well." Pressing the damp cloth into his hand, you stood up and leisurely made your way to Tsahìk's supplies to fetch some healing ointments, and you took your time doing so.
Upon your return, Neteyam watched you attentively, his eyes tracing your every movement, and you wondered if he had been watching you the whole time. There was a newfound curiosity in his gaze, a glimmer of something more. 
"My words came out wrong," he said when you sat back on the ground in front of him. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and unspoken emotions, a subtle tension hanging between you. "You're right, I should be more careful. I always strive to be. It's just that there's little one can do in the face of an ambush."
"An ambush?" you asked with big eyes, "Oh, Great Mother! That's what everyone's been trying to conceal. And I was wondering the whole time what could've possibly happened to cause so many injuries."
"They probably didn't want to cause an uproar." You listened to his words, sensing the weight they carried. The mention of an ambush brought back memories of past dangers and harrowing encounters. The gravity of their lives was never far from their thoughts, and you understood the weight that rested on Neteyam's shoulders.
"You don't always have to be the strong one, Neteyam," you said softly, voice carrying reassurance, when you continued cleaning the cut on his chest, noticing that he tried not to wince under your touch, "It's alright to lean on others, to let them care for you." 
A flicker of emotion danced across his face, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before he regained his composure. His hand reached out to touch yours resting on his chest above his heart, the contact gentle yet charged with unspoken emotions.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, and in that moment it felt like the boundaries between healer and wounded blurred, "Thank you for being here, for tending to me." His eyes locked with yours, an unspoken promise passing between you, turning your cheeks in a light purply color.
"Now," you cleared your throat with the intention of changing the subject, fervently hoping that he wouldn't notice your flushed cheeks, "here comes the actual healing part."
Gently, you dipped your fingers into the jar of ointment, scooping out a generous amount. With deliberate movements, you applied the soothing balm to his wounds, careful not to cause any further discomfort. The ointment glided smoothly, creating a soothing sensation that seemed to envelop him in a healing embrace.
"What I meant before is that I am glad that you are the one taking care of me," you smiled upon hearing those words, feeling his gaze on you as you concentrated on his upper body. A gentle warmth radiated from his wounds as your fingertips grazed his skin, mingling with the tender touch of your hands. The ointment possessed a subtle fragrance, hinting at the natural remedies it held within.
As you continued to apply the ointment, your fingers delicately tracing the contours of his chest, exploring the intricate landscape of his injuries, a comfortable silence settled between you. The rhythm of your ministrations became a quiet conversation, a wordless understanding of care and compassion. With every gentle caress, a subtle shiver passed through him, a reaction that spoke of both vulnerability and an underlying trust in your touch. There was a closeness in this shared moment, a connection forged through the tender act of healing.
Neteyam's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes revealing a depth of gratitude and something more profound. It was as if the vulnerability of his wounds had peeled away a layer, exposing a vulnerability of the heart. The strength he embodied as a warrior was softened in this vulnerable space, allowing a snippet into the depths of his mind and soul.
"It never stings when you patch me up, why?" Neteyam asked, his voice laced with wonder, tilting his head slightly.
"The secret is to mix yalnabark with 'omsyul," you replied, your voice gentle yet filled with a hint of playfulness.
"Care to share this secret with my grandmother? And Kiri, too?" Neteyam's request was teasing but also genuine, and you couldn't help but be touched by his thoughtfulness.
"Actually, Kiri is the one who taught me this," you admitted, a fondness in your voice.
Neteyam's forehead furrowed slightly, "Then why does it always burn when she patches me up?"
With a twinkle in your eyes, you playfully suggested, "Sibling love?"
A mischievous smile curved his lips. "Or perhaps your touch is blessed by Eywa?" His words hung in the air, filled with a newfound flirtation that took you by surprise. 
"Oh, come on now, exaggerate much, do you?" you responded, attempting to brush off his words with a hint of irony, not fully realizing the impact they had on you.
Undeterred by your sarcastic retort, Neteyam looked deeply into your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity and a touch of vulnerability. "The caress of your hand weaves a tapestry of enchantment, casting a spell that captivates my very soul."
His words echoed in your mind, resonating with a blend of tender affection and longing. You wished he had said those words when you were younger and so in love with him, meaning every syllable coming from his kissable lips. What you would have given to hear him say it.
A blush spread across your cheeks as you struggled to find the right words to respond. The air around you seemed charged with electricity, the tension between you both palpable.
"You said I should exaggerate," Neteyam added, a witty glint in his eyes, as if to remind you of your earlier banter. 
Your younger self would have etched his previous words into a tree to make them eternal — words you longed to hear from your crush, words that felt like a dream.
"Crush?" he asked with interest, and your eyes widened with the realization that you had spoken your thoughts aloud. "On whom?"
"Um," a jumble of thoughts flooded your mind at once, too late for an excuse, "You?" 
Your confession left him momentarily speechless, and your heart pounded in your chest. 
It's in the past, so it's okay to admit it, you told yourself, trying to calm down a bit.
"You have a crush on me?"
"Had," you corrected quickly.
"You had a crush on me?" he asked again, as if needing confirmation. It seemed to sweep him off his feet, a revelation he hadn't expected.
"Everyone did, everyone does," you confessed, trying to downplay the significance.
"Everyone except you?"
You shrugged, unsure how to answer, "I guess I'm… over it."
"Why?" he inquired.
"Come on, Neteyam," you sighed, trying to mask the bitterness in your voice, "don't act like you didn't know."
"I swear by Eywa this is news to me… I have never…" he hesitated briefly with his words, "It doesn't even make sense."
Make sense?
"Don't make me regret telling you," you said, your voice tinged with frustration, "It's not about making sense, and it's not a big deal either, don't you agree?"
"Yes, but I try to understand."
"What is there to understand?"
"Why would you even crush on me in the first place?"
Oh. 
"You're right," you tightly gripped the cloth, forcing a smile, "why would I."
Even though you reluctantly admitted it, it hurt you and scratched at your ego. You were now more than grateful to have never openly communicated your feelings. As an adult, you could handle it, but you know exactly that this reaction would have devastated your childhood self. You were not accustomed to this insensitivity from Neteyam, considering he always maintained a noble and respectable demeanor. This showed you even more how repulsive the idea of having you by his side was to him.
"Also, I'm sorry," you turned around in a swing, your voice filled with sadness, disappointment, and above all, anger—anger at him for acting like a skxawng and anger at yourself for being a skxawng by confiding in him, "that the thought of me being attracted to you disgusts you so much. It won't happen again, rest your mind."  
He seemed lost for words, blinking once, twice, and opening his mouth only to close it again, processing your words. Part of you yearned for him to say something, to prove you wrong, but nothing came. His gaze lingered on you for a long moment, altering between your eyes, the unspoken words hanging in the air. 
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere," you said, your voice tinged with resignation. You prepared to turn away, ready to retreat from the turmoil of the moment. But just as you began to pivot, a sudden, gentle grip on your arm stopped you in your tracks. It was Neteyam, his touch both unexpected and tender.
In that instant, conflicting emotions surged within you, caught between the instinct to push him away and the captivating gaze that held your attention. Without uttering a single word, he drew you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace that left you completely defenseless, your body momentarily frozen in surprise against his bare skin.
Your initial response was to resist, your mind still reeling from the whirlwind of confusion. Yet, as his arms enveloped you, a scent as enchanting as the forest's vibrant essence and the serenity of sacred woods wafted into your consciousness. It was a harmonious blend that stirred your senses, mingling the fragrant allure of nature with the grounding whispers of sandalwood.
Inhaling deeply, the captivating aroma cast a spell upon you, dissolving the remnants of anger and frustration that had once consumed your thoughts like a distant memory as he held you firmly in his strong arms, the warmth of his body seeping into your very core.
In this suspended moment, time appeared to lose its grip as the only audible sounds were the rhythm of your synchronized breaths and the rhythmic beat of your hearts.
"I'm sorry too," you heard him whisper in your hair as he pulled away from you and left the tent, leaving you confused.
It was in that moment, surrounded by the fading light and the soft whispers of the forest outside the tent, that you realized the painful truth: nothing would be the same between you and Neteyam because
no matter what you did, you would never be able to make him love you.
And exactly this is the reason of your sleepless nights, which is why, in the middle of your melancholic nostalgia, you decided to take a little walk to the lake nearby to pass the time until daybreak which leads you to the lake. You currently sit on a mossy tree stump above the shimmering water allowing your feet to hang freely just above the glistening surface of the lake, instead of sleeping safe and sound like the rest of the village. The purples, greens, and yellows of the bioluminescent flora and fauna smile at you but you fail to smile back. Your heart heavy with a mix of emotions and your mind full of questions, you try not to think of more memories, each one feeling like a dagger, piercing your already fragile heart. 
You try to understand, yet it's difficult for you.
After so many failed attempts and moments of acceptance in between, he still manages to confuse you with his mixed signals. The moment, when he hugged you, replays relentlessly in your thoughts as if burned in your mind, a vivid recollection that carries the weight of his proximity, the tempting linger of his scent, and the electric touch that ignited a fierce tension within you. It was an encounter that left an indelible mark, an irresistible dance between desire and restraint, etching itself into the deepest recesses of your longing soul.
You groan into your hands. You want to hate him. So much.
Three eclipses have come and gone since then, way too much time to think between that and the part where you made the decision to distance yourself from Neteyam. This time for real. You wake up earlier than everyone else, dedicating yourself to your work, skipping communal meals and shared gatherings entirely. You complete your tasks and retreat back to your home, like a ghost in the clan, yet living unscathed within your own space, seeking solace in the sanctuary of solitude.
Almost every hour, you find yourself battling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, you long to see him, to be in his presence, and to feel that familiar connection. But on the other hand, you remember his last words and the way he looked at you when he learned about your past feelings. Distance will be best for the both of you. The ache in your heart hasn't subsided, but you know the step is necessary for your own well-being, it's a shield you've built to preserve what little strength remains within you.
Yesterday, your changed behavior was noticed by Tsahik, so she confronted you directly, but she neither questioned you nor expected any form of explanation. Her words still echo in your mind, partly because forgetting the moment will be difficult with the way she looked at you with her kind eyes, as if understanding the depths of your heartache.
"My child," she laid her hand gently on your shoulder, her voice carrying the wisdom of the ages, "Sometimes the tides do not turn in the way we hope but that does not diminish the beauty of the love within your heart. Always remember that Eywa has woven the threads of affection and devotion. Thus, have trust that the stars will align one day, for love, in all its form, is a gift to cherish."
The words resonate deep within your soul, as you sit by the tranquil water, the soft glow of the plants casting an ethereal light around you, a gentle breeze rustles through the verdant foliage. In these moments of isolation, you reflect on the times you've spent with Neteyam, the moments that sparked the flame of attraction within you. You question whether those were genuine or merely figments of your imagination, the doubts swirling in your mind, clouding your judgment and feeding your insecurities. 
The stars above seem to mirror the twinkle in your eyes, a bittersweet reminder of the unfulfilled desire for you can't comprehend why your heart continues to long for him despite your mind trying to move on. Your thoughts are deep in contemplation when—
"Can we talk?" The voice startles you, and you flinch sharply, almost letting out a scream. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, the fright taking hold of you. Quickly, you turn around, only to see that out of everyone, Neteyam approaches you, his figure blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," a crooked smile forms on his lips.
You look up, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression, unsure of what to expect from this encounter. His presence catches you off guard, causing your heart to skip another beat. The sight of him stirs a mix of emotions within you—longing, uncertainty, fear, but also a flicker of hope.
"You didn't," you lie, your voice tinged with coldness.
He nods his head towards the space beside you, "May I?" 
Neteyam's eyes hold a certain earnestness, a silent plea for understanding. You just shrug your shoulders, and he interprets it as a yes. He takes a seat beside you, his movements graceful and measured, his tail gently swaying in the air, your shoulders and thighs nearly touching. 
The silence between you is tense, charged with unspoken words and residual feelings. You let your feet dangle above the water. As you wiggle your toes, you feel a gentle coolness from the air mingling with the refreshing touch of the water below.
He clears his voice, "I've noticed your absence these past few days."
"Oh?" Your ears perk up with curiosity, surprised that he has noticed, "I was busy."
"You were missing from the meal servings as well," he notes, his words carrying a hint of concern.
"Yeah, I haven't had much of an appetite lately," you reply, sounding detached.
You aren't sure if you have misheard, but it seems like Neteyam has whispered softly to himself, "Me neither," although it can also be your mind playing tricks on you.
"You see, I, uh..." he pauses, seemingly struggling to find the right words which is so unusual for him, "Can I speak openly with you?"
"Don't you always?" Your voice still laced with a hint of coldness.
"Indeed," you noticed from the corner of your eye a brief tension in his hands that gradually relaxes, "I just wanted to let you know that there is no need for you to feel obligated to skip communal gatherings because of me." 
You can't help but scoff at that, however, he remains undeterred by your reaction.
"It's okay if you don't want to see me — I will keep my distance if that is what you want, but, please, don't avoid the clan in an attempt to avoid me. Don't isolate yourself."
"Funny," you say bitterly, your gaze still on the water, "that you think you have that much power over me."
"That's not what I wanted to say, it's—"
"It's fine, Neteyam," you interrupt him, turning your head to him, your jaw clenched, "I get it. If the future Olo'eyktan says so, I'll comply. See you at the morning meal."
You attempt to get up, but he gently grasps your wrist, halting your movement.
"I can sense that something has changed between us, and it weighs heavily on my heart," his voice carries a hint of vulnerability.
"Things change," you respond as he loosens his grip, but you refrain from attempting to get up again, waiting for the conversation to end, "Is there anything else?"
"Yes," he shifts, causing your thighs to briefly brush against each other, "I've had time to reflect on our last conversation."
"Actually, let's not—" you try to interrupt him, but this time he doesn't let your words stop him.
"Let me say this one thing and after that you don't have to talk to me again."
You meet his gaze, which is filled with honesty and a touch of guilt. You nod and look at him, noticing how he rubs his hands on his thighs and takes a deep breath.
"I was caught off guard," he admits, his voice softer now, "When we talked, I mean; and when I learned that you used to feel an affection for me — I didn't handle it well. I'm sorry for the way I reacted and for the pain I may have caused you."
You remain silent for a few seconds remembering the unpleasant conversation from last time, before you speak, "We don't have to talk about it, it's okay."
"No, it's not okay!" You notice the tension in his muscles. "You see," he takes a deep breath, "I didn't understand why you would crush on me."
"You made that very clear," you remark.
"I regret my poor choice of words, and for any offense it may have caused. I immediately noticed that my words had an impact on you, but I was too overwhelmed to correct myself in the moment," he admits, a hint of regret in his voice, "Please know that the idea of you being attracted to me never has and never will disgust me," his eyes lock with yours as his voice gets quieter when he adds, "It scares me."
Upon hearing that, your features soften slightly, a flicker of empathy crossing your face, and the question leaves your mouth before you can think about it, "Why?"
Now he's the one shrugging, "Everyone has their own doubts and fears."
You're not satisfied with that response, and you want him to open up to you for which you are willing to meet him halfway. So you begin an attempt to make him elaborate on his statement, "I'm scared of many things." you watch him intently as you speak, "Accidentally plucking poisonous plants instead of the usual herbs, falling down the hallelujah mountains, being eaten alive by nantangs." And most of all, rejection. "I can't help but wonder what fears could reside within a mighty warrior like yourself."
His mouth twitches slightly upwards when you say that, but is quickly replaced by a neutral expression. "The possibility of someone seeing through my façade," Neteyam admits sighing, his voice laced with a mix of confusion and self-reflection, "Of someone truly knowing me," he holds your gaze, a certain vulnerability in them, "That terrifies me."
You are left speechless, completely caught off guard by his answer.
"But," you stammer, trying to find the right words to express your thoughts, "you're Neteyam, you're... perfect in everything you do. I never considered the possibility that you might have these thoughts."
He shakes his head, disagreeing. "No, definitely not, I am far off from being perfect. That's why I couldn't understand why you would have feelings for me," he confesses, vulnerability shining in his gaze. "Because I never saw myself the way you did. But maybe, just maybe, this is why I've been blind to the possibility of something more between us."
"If you're only here to make me feel better about myself..." you start, your voice trailing off.
"No," he groans in frustration. "That's not it."
"Then what is it?"
He chuckles at your reaction, "I get nervous when you look at me that way."
"What do you mean?" You are the one getting nervous because of his statement for he doesn't look nervous at all, on the contrary, he looks very relaxed and almost overconfident. 
"Yeah, can't you tell my hands are all sweaty?" he lets you know with a smirk while he studies your face.
"Neteyam," you blink in confusion, "Are you okay?"
"You're not listening," he sighs, his smile dropping slightly.
"Then talk openly," you urge impatiently.
He takes a deep breath and looks you directly in the eyes. "I've come to realize that you mean more to me than just a friend."
Your features falter and your eyes widen, as the realization dawns upon you that your feelings have not been unrequited after all. "No."
"I have a crush on you, too," he whispers euphorically, confirming your thoughts.
"No, Neteyam, not now," you shake your head quickly, your mind filled with way too many thoughts and too much confusion. Instantly, you stand up as if stung by an insect, trying to maintain your composure.
"It didn't start now, it was always there," he admits, standing up as well, now towering over you and studying your face and your reaction again. "But I fear that I've missed my chance. And now, it seems like it's too late."
Ignoring his words entirely, you fixate your serious gaze on him, "You can't do this to me."
"What?" he blinks, seeming to comprehend your words, "Why?" his gaze momentarily shifts from one eye to the other with a swift glance, reflecting his confusion.
"Because all my life, I did everything to try to make you notice me. I went beyond my comfort zone, I did everything I could. But from you," You look at him, gesturing towards his entire figure as if the reason were obvious, "there was nothing. Not one single acknowledgment from you. I accepted it. I moved on. I made peace with the thought of just knowing you and supporting what is good for you," You find yourself almost breathless, your words tumbling out rapidly, but each one carries sincere meaning. "You can't come now, years later, and pretend that you have a crush on me. I can't go through that again."
He takes a step forward, clearly taken aback by your outburst. "I... I'm not pretending to—"
"And I'm so tired," you interrupt him, your voice faltering, "Now that I've finally let go of you, you can't say things like this."
"Let go?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief, "Of me?"
"Yes, Neteyam," you persist firmly. "Let go of you. I don't want you anymore."
The night air feels heavy with unspoken regrets and unfulfilled desires as the silence underlines the shared acknowledgment of the chasm that has opened between you. Neteyam's expression shifts from disappointment to determination, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. "How do I make you love me, then?"
It feels ironic that he's asking you that question, considering you used to be the one who always wondered how you could make him love you whenever you saw him. You groan in frustration, feeling overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. 
"I worked so hard to accept things as they are. That is not fair, Neteyam." A mix of sadness and anger can be heard in your voice.
"Please listen," he pleads, reaching out to touch your arm. You close your eyes, turning your head away. "I've been blind to your feelings, consumed by my own worries and obligations, and I didn't see what was right in front of me, hurting you in the process. I'm sorry I caused you pain. If I had known sooner…"
"What then?" you interrupt, your voice filled with bitterness. "Do you think everything would magically change, and we'd be deeply in love with a family of our own by now?"
Neteyam pauses for a moment, processing your words, and a hopeful smile crosses his face. "Yes, that's a possibility."
You groan in exasperation and attempt to push him away, your frustration boiling over. "No, Neteyam. I can't keep living in this cycle of uncertainty." 
As you push him away from you, your heart heavy, you walk away with determined steps, wanting to bring as much distance between him and you as possible.
"I love you!" he shouts after you, causing you to freeze in your tracks and turn around in utter shock. "I love you. And if that's not enough, then so be it. But I would rather be damned than let you go now, heading who knows where in the middle of the night. If you don't want me, I won't approach you, I won't come near. But don't run away from me."
Desperation visible in his voice, his words reach deep into your heart; the intensity echoing in the air, leaving a profound impact on both of you.
"I've been waiting for your love for far too long," you respond bitterly.
Taking cautious steps in your direction, trying to close the physical and emotional distance between you, he asks, "Why waste more time?" It feels as if an invisible force draws you together, intertwining your fates in this pivotal moment but you remain stubborn, too exhausted and clouded from the painful burn in your heart.
"I don't want you," you declare, the words slipping out uncertainly, as if trying to convince both him and yourself.
"Then look me in the eyes when you say those words," he challenges, his voice stern, gaze unwavering.
"I don't want you," you repeat, louder this time, trying to emphasize your resolve. However, instead of looking into his eyes, your gaze fixates on his face, tracing the patterns of his glowing freckles that your mind has memorized long ago.
The moonlight bathes the scene in a gentle gleam, and you both stare at each other in complete silence, the space between you filled with suffocating tension.
A knowing smile suddenly forms on his lips. "I don't believe you."
"I don't want you, Neteyam!" you exclaim, raising your voice even more, repeating the words over and over, in a desperate attempt to convince him, "I don't want you, I don't want you, I don't want you!"
He studies you intently for another moment, his eyes filled with hope.
"Your tail gives you away," he says triumphantly, his smile growing. And that's when you finally let go of your suppressed emotions. Your lower lip begins to tremble, and before you know it, you find yourself in his warm embrace, his strong arms pulling you impossibly closer to him.
"I want you," you confessed against his chest, your voice barely audible and filled with so much vulnerability, "After everything, I still want you." 
"Shh, you have me," he whispers, his voice soothing and reassuring.
You sob, the weight of your emotions finally breaking free, and he tenderly pats your head, his fingers gliding through your hair. His touch brings a sense of calmness to your racing heart and gently dries your tears.
"I'll make up for all the time lost, I promise," his voice reaches your ear, soft and full of sincerity.
His words continue to soothe you, and at one point, he hums a faint melody that resonates deep within you, gradually bringing an end to your sobs.
"Do you recall the day you asked about my plans after my Dream Hunt, and I hesitated to provide an answer?" He asks after you calm down, his voice carrying an infinite sense of solace.
Your arms still around him, you nod against his chest, every word of that conversation etched into your mind.
"That day," he continues, "I have sworn to myself to admire your eternal beauty from afar, to cherish your body, mind, and soul until the end of my days," he whispers softly in your hair, "with the hope that one day I will hold you close and claim you as my very own."
You take a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed by his words and the emotions swirling within you. Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your teary eyes meeting his with awe.
"I... I never imagined you felt this way," you whisper, your voice hoarse and fragile from your sobs. "To think that you've carried these feelings for me all this time, it's... I don't know what to say."
"Interesting," he comments, eyes with a gleam, lips playful, "You were just as oblivious to my feelings as I was to yours, so I guess that makes us even." A mischievous bunny-like smile plays across his face, transforming him into the youthful version of himself that you have fallen deeply in love with, no longer the mighty warrior following in the footsteps of the great Toruk Makto, but the young man who has captured your heart long ago.
You can feel tears welling up in your eyes again, overwhelmed by the weight of his words and the intensity of your own emotions. With a shaky breath, you reach to your waist, gently intertwining your fingers with his.
In the warmth of his arms, you find solace for your burning heart. His arms hold you tightly, offering a sense of intimate security that you've always wished for. But then, something shifts. 
The intensity of your emotions begins to wane, and as you look up at him through tear-filled eyes, you see his gaze fixed upon you with unwavering love, trying to read you as he cups your face with his large hands. His thumb gently brushes away a lingering tear on your cheek, his touch delicate against your skin. A soft, affectionate smile graces his lips as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss against the place where your tear was mere seconds ago. The sweetness of the gesture stirs your heart, a silent affirmation of his loving nature. He continues to kiss away your tears, each touch a soothing balm to your wounded soul.
A powerful desire burns between you then, as his soft lips linger near yours. His eyes meet yours again, seeking permission, and you respond with a silent nod. Right then and there, the world around you fades into the background, and all that matters is the connection you share. With a surge of passion, his lips meet yours in a fervent kiss, the longing coming to an end, hearts intertwined. 
The tender touch of his lips against yours feels like an electric jolt that sends shivers down your spine. You both pull back slowly from the passionate kiss, breathless yet connected. Your eyes meet, gazing into each other with a depth of love that words can never describe.
His eyes hold unwavering sincerity as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "You've captured my heart in ways I can't fully express," he confesses, his voice filled with affection. "And if you'll allow me, I want to show you every day how deeply I love you."
A deep blue blush tints your cheeks as you struggle to find the right words to respond. He doesn't seem to mind as a soft smile spreads across his face. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, adoring the tranquil moment between two souls.
Enjoying each other's presence and your newfound attraction and happiness, you spend the rest of the night hand in hand wandering around mindlessly, exchanging loving gazes, talking about everything and sweet nothing's at once like two fools in love.
"Do you remember that day?" You hear him ask cheerfully as his free hand wanders to the songcord attached to his loincloth. You follow his movement and your eyes widen as you recognize the dried petals, intricately woven into one of the beads. "It was so unconventional, going against tradition. Who has ever seen a girl giving a flower to a boy? No one. But you didn't care. You were true to yourself, and you gifted me your favorite flower, and it meant so much more than just a little gesture."
Taking aback by his words and the bittersweet memory you can't help but smile widely as you inspect his songcord but confusion grazes your face at the same time.
"Wait—What do you mean? Lo'ak told me it's your favorite flower."
"No, he told me it's your favorite."
"Well, it became my favorite after I learned that it's yours."
A boisterous laugh escapes him as he throws his head back, his chest almost vibrating, and it is so contagious that you can't help but join in, the air filled with heartfelt laughter.
"It's gonna cause quite a scandal, but Lo'ak definitely deserves a good punch when he wakes up." You laughed, knowing that he meant that half-heartedly.
He delicately cradles your hand back in his, your fingers intertwining as he brings them up, his lips softly brushing against your knuckles in a loving kiss. The touch sends a warmth through your body. 
"Speaking of scandals," you say sheepishly as you reluctantly let go of his hand, "maybe it's better not to enter our village hand in hand just yet?"
He chuckles at your suggestion.
"Maybe," he agrees, his eyes filled with adoration, his face leaning slightly forward, "Can I have one last kiss before that?"
You look at him challengingly, he mirrors your expression, a playful glint in his eyes, coming closer to your face. 
Your lips almost touching for the second time this night, you whisper, "Only if you catch me." 
With that, you run off, your heart blooming with excitement, and his laughter follows you through the enchanting forest as the sun rises, casting its warm rays across the sky, and you know that the future holds nothing but love for the both of you.
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for anyone asking, neteyam does in fact catch you and gets his kiss(es) <3 thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging 🤍 btw, what is your love language? 💕
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tiredmamaissy · 1 year
Text
Insatiable
Neteyam's First Rut: Special Episode I
This takes place between ‘The Heat Within’ & ‘A Synchronous Fever’ in the ‘Neteyam’s First Rut’ series.
Neteyam's mate's POV of 'Inextinguishable'.
Read Special Episodes: Part II (Twin Flame) & Part III (Ashes) - links are also below.
🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞
Main Characters: Neteyam Sully (20) x Avatar Omatikaya Reader y/n (19) [will be referred to as Neteyam’s mate or n/m]
Supporting Characters: Lo’ak Sully (19) x Na’vi Omatikaya Reader y/n (19) [will be referred to as Lo’aks mate or l/m]
Warnings: extreme nsfw, heavy smut, heat cycle, dom neteyam, lil bit of fluff, profanity, usage of ‘slut’, marking
Word Count: 6k
Requested: Yes || No
Author’s Note: This is Neteyam x Reader’s POV of ‘Inextinguishable’. Enjoy ♡
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“Oh shit.” You gasp, grabbing Neteyam by the arm. “Neteyam... isn’t that Lo’ak’s mate?” you point, unable to look away from the curled-up figure on the ground.
Neteyam quickly turns around, hearing the fear in your voice.
“What? Where?” he scans the forest in a hurry, finally seeing her lifeless body on the soft flora. “Shit. It is.”
The strong scent of lionberry and mossy wood wafts past you both. For you, the scent is almost calming, if you could wear it like a perfume, you would. But it clearly had a different effect on Neteyam, as you watch your mate rush over to her, scooping her up in his arms and carry her back to his banshee. For a minute you feel something new, something Neteyam has never made you feel before – jealous. 
It was silly; she was clearly not herself. But you had only seen Neteyam act like that for you, act so protective. Granted, it’s what you would have told him to do had he not done it himself. Shrugging it off, you climb up on his ikran, seating yourself behind her, supporting her limp body with yours.
“She is in heat, isn’t she Nete?” you ask him, smelling her scent grow stronger.
“Definitely.” He states through gritted teeth.
It even sounds like he’s restraining himself in some way. As if he’s trying not to pounce on her right here, right now. Your heart feels like it’s caving in, being crushed under the pressure of the weight of his single word, ‘definitely’. You look down, to see her flushed cheeks, the beads of sweat dripping down her chest... the arousal of her body.
You can’t deny it, her scent is enticing – addictive, even. Her wet hair plasters itself against your chest as she leans back into you, snuggling into your bosom. Watching her rub her face into your breast makes your heart thump, hard. Surprised by your own body’s reaction to her carnal state, you look at Neteyam, wondering if he feels the same way.
He must feel the same, right? If not... worse.
Slipping under the trance of her heat, your breath becomes raggedly, and loud. You were practically panting, feeling her feverish body warm yours up, too. It’s all too overwhelming – the warmth of her body, the sweat coating your chest in a layer of sheen, her erotic expression... the little, sweet noises escaping her flushed lips – her scent.
It makes you... tense. To the point where even Neteyam notices.
“Are you alright, my love?” he asks, holding his breath.
The choked-up voice brings you back to reality in an instant. You see his hand reach behind him, searching for your thigh, almost brushing against hers instead. Moving your hand from her waist, you grab his hand and rest it on your clammy thigh.
“Yes. Just... hurry.” You pant lightly. “She - she doesn’t look too great.”
She really didn’t, but the truth is that you’re not feeling all that great either.
“I know. I know. We are almost there.” He reassures you, squeezing your thigh before letting go.
----
Neteyam carries her quickly to the tent, placing her gently on the woven mat. You both look down at her body, glistening from sweat, as she shakes her head from side to side. Her little whimpers are turning into lengthy groans the more time passes. Neteyam is visibly uncomfortable, shielding his nose with his forearm and backing up to the door.
“What is it? Are her pheromones too much for you? Too arousing?” you spit, letting the jealousy overcome you.
He grits his teeth and tightens his brows. “What? Y/n. No.” he snaps at you. “...they are making me sick.” He confesses, backing up even more. “I cannot stay here. I am going to call for Lo’ak.”
As bad as it sounds, you feel better knowing that he feels sick rather than hot and bothered by your sister-in-law.
“Sorry. I – I think she is affecting me, too.” You babble, feeling lightheaded.
“Sorry, ma’ yawne [beloved]. I must go.” He grimaces, walking swiftly out the door.
Left alone with her, you scan her body thoroughly. She’s drenched in sweat, yet shivering violently as if she were cold. Sympathizing with her, you sweep back the stands hair stuck to her forehead and wipe her down with a wet cloth.
Is this what I look like when I’m in heat, too?
You know the cloth is useless and that only Lo’ak could provide any sort of relief for her, but it’s all you could do for her. She’s practically writhing in pain, mumbling under her breath, yearning for her mate. You know the feeling all too well, you could really empathize with her. It feels as if you’re going through it too, just by watching her curl into a foetal position.
It must be burning... there, now. You pity her, staring at her clutching her womb.
Feeling woozy, you mirror her movements, wrapping your hand around your abdomen, too.
“I know what you are feeling. It is not nice. But do not fret...” you ring out the cloth, “...Neteyam has called for your mate.” You whisper, wiping down the back of her neck. “He will fix you right up... okay?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.
“Mmm... mhm.” She moans between pants, leaning into your touches as she backs herself up onto you.
You let out a breathy chuckle, smiling down at her. “Not me, silly. I can’t do much for you. So, sorry about that...” you glance at her tail, coiling around your leg. “Hang in there... Lo’ak is almost here, I am sure of it.” You pat her thigh before dipping the cloth back into the water.  
----
“Lo’ak. Where are you? Why did you leave her alone?” Neteyam shouts, holding the button on his throat microphone.
“What? What do you mean? I was with her an hour ago, bro.” Lo’ak shouts back.
Neteyam doesn’t answer, as he breathes through a wave of nausea, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth.
“Bro?” Lo’ak repeats.
“Come quick. She doesn’t look good.” Neteyam states quickly. “She is with my mate... I had to leave the room. Her pheromones are making me nauseous.” he takes a deep breath, hearing nothing but silence.
“Lo’ak.” Neteyam spits.
“Just. Shut up. I’m almost there.” Lo’ak growls.
Just as he said – Lo’ak lands with a loud thump.
Neteyam watches his brother dismount his ikran, embodying that of a very pissed off thanator. He braces for impact, feeling too queasy to properly defend himself from his brother’s uncontrollable temper.
“Lo’ak. Calm, brother.” Neteyam snaps, staggering from the wooziness.
Fortunately for Neteyam, the faint moan of his mate pierces the air, causing the thanator to lock onto a new target. Lo’ak pushes past Neteyam, shoving him out the way. Neteyam sits down and puts his head between his legs, hoping it’ll ease up the light-headedness.
----
Lo’ak opens the door, making you jump in your skin. You watch as he’s overpowered by his mate’s pheromones, covering his face with his hand as he makes his way into the room. He rushes over and kneels before his mate, who’s now under a sheeting, drenched with her sweat. He lifts his head briefly to give you a quick nod – as if to say, thank you. You shoot him a smile, before getting up to leave the tent to join your mate.
“Ma’ teyam?” you call for him, not seeing him in your direct line of sight.
“Down here.” He mutters, head still between his legs.
You gasp from hearing his voice, still on edge from l/m's heat. Looking at your feet, you see Neteyam sitting down on a branch next to the tent.
 “Oh, my baby. Is it that bad?” you ask, feeling sorry for him.
“Mmmn. Feel like ‘m gonna be sick.” He pants, drooling from the excess saliva flooding his mouth.
The sight is like stones in your heart.
“Alright, alright. You’re okay. I am here now, Nete.” You hum as you seat yourself next to him and rub circles into his back. “Take a deep breath with me.” You breathe with him, holding his braids out the way.
It seems to be a thing where you care for others, today.
Not that you minded it, you were a healer in training anyways. But you couldn’t deny your own uneasiness. Your own wooziness.
The scent of lionberry and mossy wood completely inundates you and Neteyam as Lo’ak walks past with his mate in his arms. Before you know it, Neteyam is dry heaving, trying his best not to throw up.
“Okay, okay. We gotta’ go.” you insist, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Up we go, Nete.” You grunt, struggling to stand up with this dead weight on your shoulder.
Although you didn’t have the strongest frame, your legs feel significantly weaker. You put it off to this entire ordeal. Snaking your hand around his waist, you pull him up with you, supporting him as you walk towards your shared tent. He really wasn’t carrying much of his weight, or at least that’s how it felt.
“Walk with me, ma’ teyam.” You huff, feeling his braids swing against your face as he makes feeble tempts to walk to the tent. “Almost there. Just a few more steps.”
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of nausea washes over him, stopping him in his tracks. You hold your position, supporting him on your wobbly legs whilst he catches his breath.
“Sorry, y/n.” he groans between raggedy breaths.
“For what? Being sick?” you laugh, “Don’t be.”
“No. For earlier... I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?” he looks up at you through his knitted brows, with big glossy eyes.
His eyes always made you fold in two, and he knew it. You brush it off, rolling your eyes and shaking your head slightly.
“Psh. Nah. I have no idea what you are talking about.” You smile, nudging him towards your shared hammock.
“I am serious, I can tell. You are my mate, after all.” He huffs, walking through the doors of your tent.
“Shh. It’s fine, my love.” You mutter, lowering him on the floor. “Who knew a little pheromone would make a big man like you crumble.” You giggle, lightening the mood.
Neteyam pulls you towards him, causing you to fall into his warm chest. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, snuzzling into you as he takes a deep breath, inhaling your sweet scent.
“Yours do.” He hums, rubbing his face against your supple skin. “I crumble monthly... for you.” he glances up at you before moving up to your collarbone.
Maybe it was the jealousy you felt earlier, or perhaps it was Lo’ak’s mates overpowering scent, but Neteyam’s innocent touches are sending shivers down your spine. It feels so good – so right. You can’t help but melt into him, rubbing your cheek against his braids, also inhaling his natural scent.
“Thank you, my beloved.” He smiles into your collarbone, sliding his hands up your waist.
“For?” you moan, feeling dizzy.
“Your pheromones. They are making me feel better.” He mumbles into your chest, feeling an immense amount of relief.
The woozy feeling is too intense to ignore anymore. It’s starting to affect your hearing, making Neteyam’s voice into a low echo.
“Hmm?” you hum, not quite understanding what he’s babbling on about.
“When did you learn how to control your pheromones?” He asks, kissing the fleshiness of your breasts.
“I – I don’t know what you are saying.” You moan softly, pushing your chest against him. “I mean... what you’re talking about.” You swallow your spit, struggling with your words. “Nete. I don’t feel so well.” you confess, now seeing two of him kissing your chest.
He looks up at you, seeing your dazed expression. His eyes bulge at the sight, knowing he’s seen this look on your face before – like two weeks ago to be exact.
“Can her heat make me sick, too?” you whisper, although it comes out more as a soft whimper.
“My love... did you not get your heat this month already?” he questions you, already knowing the answer.
“Mmmn, were you not there my nete?” you moan softly, mounting your mate.
He watches as you crawl on top on him, sitting on his pelvis as you wiggle around to find a more comfortable position. Using the back of his hand, he feels your forehead. Sure enough, you're burning up.
“You feel hot, like you have a fever.” He whispers, dropping his hand back down to your waist.
“Mhm... mhm. Feels that way. Think I’m sick, like you.” you hum, your head collapsing into his neck.
“I do not think so, sweetheart.” He chuckles huskily, sliding his hands up to your breasts and kneading them gently.
“I think you are in heat, my little one.”
Pulling back, you look down at him with heavy eyes. “W-what?” you breathe.
“Mhm.” He hums, bucking his hips into you suddenly. “I can smell it.” He looks down at your pelvises rubbing against one another – sticky from your slick.
“I can feel it.” He growls, snapping his gaze back up to yours.
For a moment, you think about how Lo’ak's mate must be feeling. Is it like how you feel now? Or is more intense? You think back to the banshee ride to hometree, about how her hot body nuzzled into yours, heating you up too... how her little mewls and moans filled your ears – how her scent put you on edge.
“Did you like her scent?” you ask breathlessly, trying to recall how it smelled.
Neteyam looks up at you dumbfounded, to be met with your intoxicated expression.
“Yep. You are definitely in heat if you are asking such a question.” He laughs at the fact that you’ve already forgotten what the last hour has been like for him.
Trailing your body with his eyes, he takes in the sight of your sweaty skin, your stiff nipples poking through your top... your flushed cheeks – your lustful facial expression. It dawns on him that you’re reminiscing about Lo’ak’s mate in heat. Now he’s the one who’s jealous.
What better a thing to cause him to succumb his territorial urges?
“Why? Did you?” he breathes, bucking his hips once more – even harder.
You bite your tongue, afraid to admit your true feelings to your mate. That, yes, you were aroused by another woman’s pheromones. They excited you, just like they put you in heat.
“Hmm?” Neteyam lets out a throaty growl, sliding his hands to your hips to squeeze them harshly. “Did you?!” he thrusts into you, making your tender breasts bounce.
“Ugh! F-fuck...maybe.” you confess through strained whimpers, grinding into the hard imprint under his loincloth.
This riles Neteyam up. The thought of you being all hot and bothered by another person, another woman, in heat at that... makes him – horny.
He didn’t quite understand it, he was confused, even. Just a second ago he was jealous, and ready to fuck the sense back into you. But now? The mere thought of the flesh between your legs dampening due to her scent... drives him feral.
“Yeah? And now I have to clean up this mess...” he growls, shoving his hand between your slick covered legs. “...such a fucking slut.” He mumbles, pushing your loincloth to the side and ramming two digits deep inside your slippery cunt.
Under the trance of your heat, Neteyam surrenders to his animalistic urges, ripping the flimsy cloth that covers your breast off your chest with his free hand. He takes your nipple into his mouth in a hurry, nipping at it with his teeth. You yelp out, feeling pleasure from his rough fingering and from the pain in your breast, causing him to pop off your nipple.
“T-take this off me, Nete.” You moan, tugging at the band of your loincloth as you grind even harder into his fingers.
“I want you to beg for it. Beg for me” he demands, hooking his fingers right into your sweet spot.
“Oh! Oh Neteyam!” you cry out, feeling your eyes well up with tears from how good his fingers feel. “Please... I want you inside me!”
“Fuck. Why am I even stretching you?” he hisses, yanking his fingers out of your cunt. “You don’t even fucking need it.”
He raises his hand in front of his face, pulling apart his fingers to reveal thick strings of slick connecting them together. Hurriedly taking his fingers into his mouth, he sucks your sweet, sweet slick clean off his digits, swallowing it hungrily.
Without wasting another second, he rips your loincloth into two, completely deeming it unwearable. He throws the torn, raggedy cloth to the side, gripping you by your hips and forcibly rubbing your hot slit against his loincloth.
His eager movements make you whine loudly, as you make poor attempts to take his covered cock inside of you – desperate for your release. The itchiness inside your womb is unbearable and too deep for just his fingers to scratch. You just want to ram his entire length inside you and grind your hips into his pelvis to satiate the itch.
“Good Eywa. Look at you...” he grunts, “... trying to fuck me through my loincloth.” He lets loose a breathy laugh, watching you actually get the tip in.
“Please... it’s so itchy. Neteyam! I need it. ‘ts burning... Please. P-please!” you beg loudly, shoving your hips down onto him.
“Always talking about your itch, huh? Always so needy...” he hums, ripping his own into two before throwing it into the pile of torn up rubbish.
His cock springs up, slapping against your cunt, making you jolt from the sudden raw touch.
“I – I, oh! Nete. Ugh... just... ngh! do it...” you sob needily, feeling the heat of your body take over.
It feels like your head is spinning, as the room moves rapidly around you, burring your vision completely. Your raggedy breaths turn into heavy pants, silently begging your mate to hurry. You can’t see properly, much less form a rational thought, or say a proper sentence.
“I said...” he digs his nails into your hips, “... I want to hear you beg for me, little one.” He growls, sliding your hips up and down against his shaft, coating it with your thick slick.
The stiffness of his cock rubbing against your clit is like pure bliss, like you could cum from just this. You’re so focused on the feeling that you can’t even hear the echo of his voice anymore. Picking up the pace with your hips, you rock back and forth, rubbing your hot, sticky clit against his member.
“Beg!” he shouts, bringing you back to reality.
“Fuck! Please!” you sob, tears now streaming down your face. “...please, baby. I’m losing it. I need you.” you quiet down into whimper.
Feeling sorry for you, he squeezes your hips and lifts you high enough for him to position his cockhead right at the entrance of your hole. He lingers there, taking a second to look into your watery, drunk eyes.
“Mawey, my good girl. I’m going to sort you out, now.” he moans, shoving your hips down onto his cock, watching his entire length disappear into your tight, wet cunt.
“Oh, fuck! Yes, yes, yes!” you scream, finally scratching the itch with his cock, rolling your hips around in circles.
“I know. I know, baby.” He hums, allowing you to use him however you see fit.
Neteyam knows exactly how to deal with you - how to calm you, even without his knot, although that’s what you need the most. He’d withhold it from you, until you were a sobbing mess on your knees begging for it.
It usually meant your heat would be longer – more drawn out, but that’s okay because you had your mate with you. He has the stamina to keep up with you, unlike Lo’ak. He worried for his brother and tried to give him a few lessons some time ago in preparation for his mate’s heat, but he didn’t seem very interested.
‘The main thing is to start slow, or you’ll burn up with her.’ His own voice echoes in his head.
He sets a lazy rhythm, pushing his cock as deep as it can go inside you, before pulling out half way and stuffing you all over again. His languid thrusts were enough to keep the emptiness at bay, and deep enough to scratch that maddening itch.
Barely enough.
Your heat’s been induced by another na’vi’s pheromones, jumping starting it a week earlier to sync with hers. It just so happens that this is her first heat – the most intense, hottest heat. It feels like you’re first heat, all over again. The infernal blaze that flickers deep in your chest grows bigger, menacing – insatiable.
“Mmnh! No... ‘tis not enough! Deeper, deeper!” you beg.
You lift your legs to squat on his pelvis, hoping the position will open you up more so that you can drill his hot cock deeper inside of you. Neteyam watches you in shock – brows raised, eyes bulging out his head, lips slightly parted.
You’re panting heavily, grabbing onto his face to pull him into yours as your rest your forehead on his. You search his eyes as you struggle to ram his cock deeper inside, thanks to your shaky legs.
He's astounded by your lewd, insistent body language. He’d only see you act this way so early in your heat when it was your first – when you used him like your own personal fuck toy. You needed leverage, something to hold onto so you could shove more of him inside you.
Wrapping your dainty fingers around his throat, you hold on tightly while you slam your hips into his. The sound of skin smacking against skin and the squelching noises of your cunt permeate the air.
They become louder than your moans, which are toning down into little whimpers as you near your first climax of the day. Your noses brush against one another whilst you pant tiny, sweet mewls into each other’s mouths.
You start to babble, not aware of what you’re saying.
“I love... *slam* this *slam* cock. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Your whisper, your eyes pooling with tears.
“Shit, y/n. Why is your heat so intense?” he lets out a choked whisper, searching your eyes for some trace of you left. "Who knew a little pheromone could make a girl like you crumble?" he laughs.
“I – I don’t know. Just. Shut up. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” You chant, tears now rolling down your cheeks.
“Woman. You need to slow down. I am going to cum in you... shit.” he breathes into your mouth, pulling back his pelvis slightly.
“Stop. Don't move Nete. I'm almost there.” You chase his pelvis with yours. “More... more, please, more.” You beg quietly, so, so close to cumming.
“Shh... shh, ease up, y/n.” he pleads with you, pushing away your hips.
“Don’t... ngh. Don’t push me away, I’m almost there, teyam!” your soft moans become louder.
“F-fuck. Me too. Ugh - good eywa, you need to... ngh... fucking slow down.” Neteyam whimpers underneath you, dipping his head back as he tries to resist filling you up already.
“...and you need to shove more of this cock inside me!” you cry out, feeling the swell of your sweet spot.
Frustrated with your demanding, whiney behaviour, he decides to put you in your place. You feel his hand snake up your back, grabbing a fist full of your hair and pull you backwards, ripping your hands off his throat.
“Stop – fuck. Stop talking like that!” he raises his voice, on the verge of releasing his essence inside you.
His firm grip has you even more aroused – your body submitting even more to his rough touches. “Just like that! Oh, Eywa. Mark me, already!” you shout, flinging your head back to make space for his teeth.
“Yeah? That’s what you fucking want? Fuck.” he shouts, “Such a needy little thing you are.” He pounces on you, knocking the wind out of you as your back hits the floor.
Grabbing you by your leg, he swings it over to the other side, flipping you on your stomach – cock still deep inside you.
“You wanna be fucked? Hmm? You want my big fucking cock? Yes?” he growls, pinning your head to the ground whilst he shoves his cock even deeper inside you, piercing your bruised cervix with his tip.
“Ohh! Oh f-fuck! Yes Neteyam!” You sob loudly, finally being tamed by his touch. “Mark me... please!” you squeal, backing yourself onto him.
“Quiet.” He growls, giving you a hard thrust.
He crouches over you, panting hot breaths onto your neck, tempted to actually sink his teeth into you.
“One more whiney noise out this filthy mouth of yours and see what fucking happens.” He moves his hand from your head to your face, plunging two fingers into your mouth.
“Make me fucking cum!” You squeal, biting his fingers and spreading your legs even wider, feeling the knots in your muscles unwind.
“Sst!” he hisses, yanking his fingers out your mouth. “Fuck. You earned this, you little slut.”
He holds your hands behind your back by your wrists with one hand, and bites down on your shoulder, hard, locking his jaw onto you as you thrash around.
You feel his fangs pierce through your skin, as you writhe underneath your mate who is now pushing his growing knot at the entrance of your cunt. The pressure is immense – it’s like ecstasy, flooding your empty womb. The itch is being scratched and it feels so good.
“Cumming!” you let loose a hoarse scream, flinging your head back as your entire body shudders under his grip.
He doesn’t let up, he just sinks his teeth even deeper into you, sucking lightly as he holds his position inside you – pinning you down with his bite and grip.
He’s grunting and groaning into your shoulder, closing his eyes to savour the feeling of your pussy pulsating feverishly around his cock, trying to milk its essence directly into your womb. He waits patiently for you to come down from your high, tricking your body into thinking it’s been knotted by staying deep inside your cunt.
As the heat subsides, and the emptiness is filled, you calm down from your high and start to feel the new burning sensation in your shoulder. Your little pants turn into whimpers, feeling the pain radiate down your back. He unlatches from your shoulder and licks the wound with his warm tongue.
“Better, my love?” he pants heavily, still deep inside of you.
“Mhm...” you hum, wincing from the pain in your shoulder.
“I know your little ‘itchy’ sensation is gonna come back the second I pull out of you.” He whispers breathlessly in your ear, moving quickly to lick your wound once more.
Neteyam feels your shaky legs give out underneath you, making you sprawl out flat on the woven mat. He follows your every movement, ensuring to stay inside of you until he catches his breath enough to go another round – he hasn’t gotten his fill yet, after all. Giving you a few more minutes of relief, he slowly pulls out of your cunt, making you whine in the process.
“Ready for round two, ma’ munxta [mate]?” he growls deeply in your ear.
Just like he said, the itchiness comes flooding back in, filling up the deepest parts of your womb. You can’t help but groan from the sensation, frustrated that it’s back so soon.
Pulling out of your gaping hole, he looks down to see a thick rope of your slick connecting you to his throbbing, swollen cock. He yanks you back up onto all fours, smacking your ass as if to say ‘stay put’ while he drops to his knees to shove his nose into your cunt, deeply inhaling your sweet scent.
“Fuck. Everything about you is so... delicious.” He moans, lapping up the juices that drip slowly down your thighs.
----
The days blend as they pass, all consisting of the same things – fucking, cumming, cleaning, sleeping, eating, drinking. The cycle repeats, hour after hour, day after day – night after night. You were insatiable, riding and grinding against his numb cock when he just couldn’t take anymore. In a lot of the moments, he just let you take the lead – but he never allowed you to take his knot. He wouldn’t let a repeat of your first heat happen again.
Neteyam is lying down flat on the mat, completely covered in your pussy juices. He’s panting, unable to take a full breath anymore. His body aches, muscles inflamed and throbbing from carrying you around the tent because you refused to let him pull out.
You cling to your mate, desperate and delirious from the intensity of your heat. It’s still so hot, you wish you could step out of your skin. Not even tsaheylu was helping you.
“Nete...” you look down at your mate through blurry vision, “ah...haah... ha... I can’t take... this anymore.” you sob, tears running down your cheeks.
“Oh, y/n. I’m so sorry... I do not understand why it is lasting so long” his voice cracks, “... but it’s almost over, my love.” He clears his throat, caressing your shaky thighs. “How about we take a break and drink something?” he suggests hopefully, needing a break himself.
You shake your head side to side, struggling to support your sweaty body with your trembling hands on his stomach. The sweat that drips from your forehead pools into the dips of his stomach, mixing with his to form a small puddle. At least your double vision is gone now, and you can hear him clearly.
“Why? Why don’t you just knot me and put me out my misery?” you cry quietly, rocking your hips into him once more.
Neteyam sighs loudly, letting his head drop back into the mat. He stares up at the roof of your tent garnering the energy to repeat himself for the tenth time. He knows you’re not feeling like yourself – that you’re completely out of it.
“My love.” He looks back down at your sticky pelvises, “I cannot. As much as I want to... we cannot. And as the only sane one here... I must be firm with you.” he drops his head back on the mat, still feeling winded.
“Neteyam.” Lo’ak’s shaky, hoarse voice chimes in through his earpiece. “...I can’t keep up with her. There’s no food or water left, and this is lasting way longer than I thought it would. I need your help, brother.”
Finally, a light in the haziness of this torturous three day long heat. Neteyam presses the button on his throat microphone, and lets loose a breathless chuckle, finding this whole ordeal amusing.
“The great Lo’ak! I tried to warn you, start slow or you will burn out.” He smiles to himself, unable to follow his own advice. “...And, uh – I can’t help you.” you grind against his swollen cock, trying to drill it even deeper into you. “...Mmn. I’m tied up myself.” Neteyam looks up into your inebriated eyes. “Thanks to your mate, mine went into heat early. Ask Kiri.” He huffs between heavy pants.
“Kiri? No, bro. You know she’s not going to help me out.” Lo’ak croaks, feeling lightheaded. “Please... Just bring your mate with you.” he begs.
“No, I cannot. She is in heat, are you not hearing?” he responds, using his thumb to rub circles into your sore clit. “Lo’ak - fuck. She’s finally calming down now... if I bring her around your mate’s pheromones, she’s going to milk me dry.” Neteyam curses.
“I don’t care bro, let ‘em at each other. I don’t mind. Please.” Lo’ak begs, out of breath. “Please. I think I’m gonna pass out again... just come.”
Pass out? Shit. I might too. But again? Neteyam thinks.
“Pass out? Again?” he swallows his spit, watching you bite back a moan.
“Bro, you don’t understand. This woman is feral. I don’t even know how many times I’ve knotted her at this point. Please.” Lo’ak pleads desperately with his older brother.
Yes, I do understand. Good Eywa.
“Baby bro. You... you knotted her? I thought I warned you not to.”
 Neteyam covers your mouth, feeling your cunt heat up again as your walls clench around his cock. He takes his finger off the button.
“Fuck, baby. Gonna cum for me again? You better hold it, pretty girl.” Neteyam warns you.
You nod quickly, grunting into his hand as you struggle to withhold your moans. He rewards you with a quick pat on your thigh before he presses the button once more.
“You think I have any say in what’s going on? This woman is using me like a sex toy. All sensation is just gone for me at this point. You don’t understand.” Lo’ak argues, on the verge of tears.
“Agh. I do underst – you know what. Forget it.” He gives up, realizing his brother is also out of it. “Even if I could manage to fly there now, your mate’s pheromones make me sick.”
“Not with your mate in heat too. Hers will keep you calm, just come bro. Hurry... S-she’s pushing me out of her again, hurry... please.” he sobs hysterically.
“Pushing you out of her?” he laughs breathily, watching your hips grind against his.
You hold on to his wrist cups your mouth, picking up the speed of your hips. He looks up at you and sees your eyebrows pinch together – the face you always make before cumming.
“Alright, alright. I need to go. I’ll let you know if I can come.” Neteyam responds quickly, taking his finger off the button.
“Speaking of coming...” he takes his hand off your mouth, “...you can cum for me, now.” he insists, gripping your hips and rocking into you.
“Oh. Neteyam! 'm cumming!” you gasp for air, letting the knots in your stomach unravel as you squirt all over your mate once more.
“Jeez, y/n. I do not understand how you keep making so much cum...” he looks at the mess you made on him before looking back up at you. “Feeling better now, sweetheart?”
You collapse into him, putting all your weight on him as you nuzzle into his chest, inhaling his scent. The itch was insatiable, no matter how many times you came on him, the itch would come right back as soon as he pulled out of you.
“’m sorry Nete...” you pant “...still so itchy... so hot.” You sob quietly into his chest.
“Mawey, my love. You’re okay. It is almost over.” He hums in your ear, drawing circles into your back. “How do you feel about us going to help Lo’ak?”
“Mhm. Mhm.” You moan, closing your eyes.
“Alright, try and sleep, baby. I’ll page Kiri.” He whispers, kissing you on your forehead as he repositions you.
“No! I – I wanna help her, teyam.” You babble, not knowing what you’re saying anymore.  
“Oh? Her? I thought we were helping Lo’ak, not his mate.” he chuckles, sitting up and wrapping your legs around his waist. “Let us go, ma’ yawne.”
Neteyam lifts you up, still inside of you, and wraps a sheet around the two of you. He calls for his ikran, who lands not too far from the tent. The walk of shame there wasn’t too bad, as most na’vi were in their tents by this time.
Only a couple na'vi saw you, and quickly turned their heads when they realized what was going on - especially seeing you two bonded. You cling to your mate, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he mounted his ikran.
“Sorry, my sweatheart.” He apologizes, breaking tsaheylu with you so that he can bond with his banshee.
You whine at the sensation, now feeling the full intensity of your heat. Clinging even tighter onto him, you nuzzle your face into the nook of his neck, inhaling deeply. You sleep on the way there, and wake up to the sweet, sweet scent of lionberry and mossy wood...
Note: Damn y’all. I did not plan for it to be this long, but here we are, lol. As much as I wanted him to knot her, I remembered that in ‘a synchronous fever’ he said “...and somehow, I have been able to restrain myself from knotting you during your heats.” So, I had to stay true to the story line. Sorry the end was sort of abrupt, I’m hella burnt out, I won’t lie. But I will be doing another part to this – if that’s what you guys want. But I think I’m going to take a day or two to reset! I feel like I’m rewriting the same thing repeatedly (r.e. descriptive words/phrases/nicknames/etc.)
Lo'ak's POV: Inextinguishable
Part II: Twin Flame
Part III: Ashes [aftercare]
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whereireid · 1 year
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐇 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
series masterlist | avatar masterlist
pairing: tonowari x omatikaya!fem reader
Summary: After mating with Tonowari, you experience a glimpse of domesticated bliss. Grateful that you’ve chosen a doting mate, you bask in your relationship, despite the insecurities that plague you regarding his old mate, Ronal. After you confess this to him, he decides to show you just how over her he truly is.
— warnings: age gap (21/yo reader) mutual pining, plot, family drama time oops, mentions of insecurity, reader doesn't feel worthy of being tonowari's mate, fluff, smut, dead ronal, bathing ! nsfw content (bc this wouldn't be a sex pollen fic if it was sfw 🙄) nipple sucking, brief mention of tonowari having lactation kink, fingering, orgasm denial, oral sex [f recieving] p in v, mating, breeding kink.
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There is no longer a fire which blazes within you.
You wonder how there ever even was to begin with. Surrounded by water, your flame should have been snuffed out the minute that it was sparked. The cool breeze of the reef should have blown out the flicker before it began to burn wildly.
The irayo flower — a token of your homeland, beautiful with its lavender purple and tulip pink hues — had a side effect so dangerous that it caused a sickly fever to pulsate through the Metkayina leader. A fever that no medicine could cure. A fever, cooled by only your touch and your touch alone.
Inside of you, there is silence. Despite the fact your face no longer burns with heat whenever you gaze at the Metkayina leader, you still drown in desire and want. Tonowari is sleeping, cocooned by his hammock, a peaceful expression clouding his face as his chest rises and falls slowly, soft breaths leaving his mouth.
You wonder if the sea had claimed you before you had claimed it. You knew your sisters and brothers had no trouble adapting — Lo'ak felt more at home here than he had in the tribunal forests of your homeland, and Kiri felt comfortable and in touch with Ewya wherever she went. Neteyam, the mighty warrior, had adapted quickly to the new hunting rituals, bringing home many pounds of fish, and Tuk had impressively learnt in days how to weave items of clothing by using Metkayina flora.
They'd adapted properly, using their labour to find a way to fit in, and though your family would always be outcasts — with your five fingers a contrast to their four, a constant reminder that you are alien — their labour proved their worth. They were accepted.
Though you're smiling at the thought of your brothers and sisters, your heart tugs — how would they react to the news? When your father had hounded you to find a mate, he surely meant someone more... age-appropriate. Your father certainly did not mean that he wanted you to mate with someone whom he often drank Pongu Lumpia with.
Shaking your head, your fingers close around your robe. It's a maroon red, woven by Tuk with flora she'd found in a cave on the reef. It cocoons you into a shield of warmth, hiding you from the cool ocean breeze which rustles throughout Tonowari's marui. The cold air causes him to stir in his sleep, the coolness a sharp contrast to his heated body.
You watch as he grumbles in discontent, his ears twitching in annoyance, your own flittering upwards in anticipation. "Tonowari," you whisper, edging towards the Metkayina leader, your fingers darting over his thighs when you reach his hammock. "The sun is rising. You must wake soon."
"It has not risen, yet. Come to bed, little one. I miss your warmth."
Tonowari's voice is groggy, ridden with sleep, and you hesitate, your fingers lingering on his strong thighs. "We must tell my parents—"
"—We will tell them later. Join me, for now. We will do whatever you wish when the sun has risen."
You pout in disproval, though you listen. The hammock is comfortable, adapting to your weight as you sink inside of it, and you squeak slightly as Tonowari's strong arms wrap around your frame. "You're so warm, little one," he grunts, his voice rumbling in his chest as he speaks, his nose nuzzling against your own. "It must be because of that robe."
Goosebumps flicker up your skin as Tonowari's hand begin to sneak underneath your garment. His fingers make lewd movements, darting from your abdomen up towards your chest, a shiver ghosting up your spine as his thumb flicks over your nipples, which harden as the cool breeze begins to wash over your frame.
"Would you like for me to take it off?" You moan, and it sounds so sweet that Tonowari's cock throbs with need. Your heart hammers in your chest as his deep blue eyes bore into your own, his finger gently begging to roll your nipple between his fingers.
"I do not want you to get cold, little one," Tonowari mumbles, his breath flittering against your chest as he dips his head, his lips peppering gentle kisses against your skin. "Keep it on."
There's a foreign sensation that crackles through you once Tonowari's lips wrap around one of your nipples. As he gently begins to suck, you gasp, your body jolting towards his as an overbearing feeling of electricity pulses through you. It bites at every nerve, making your body throb with electricity.
"Oh." You mewl, your face growing insatiably hot as Tonowari hums against your nipple, your eyes shutting tightly as he purrs against your skin. "This feels—"
"—Good," he finishes your sentence, pulling away from your breasts, a lewd trail of spit following him. Your gaze flickers down towards him, and you wishes you hadn't even bothered looking, because a moan catches in your throat when you see his swollen lips and lust-filled eyes trailing over your body.
Tonowari's tongue wets his lips, before he dips his head to latch his mouth around your nipple again. It's a strange sensation, to say the least. You've never really explored yourself there before — but now you're really wishing you had.
You squirm under Tonowari's touch, and a moan catches in your throat, but you're unsure of whether or not it actually escapes your lips or dies before it gets to do so. His lips wrap around your sensitive nub, careful as his sharp teeth begin to graze softly against the bundle of nerves, and your hands instinctively fall down to his head, your fingers running over his braids as he laps at your nipple.
Tonowari's tongue skilfully swirls around your nipple, and warmth pools in your lower belly as he begins to grow eager, his hands darting down towards your loincloth. "Please," you beg, though you're not exactly sure what you're begging for. Warmth curls at every nerve inside of you as his fingers disappear under your loincloth, your breath still in your chest as you try to anticipate his next move.
“Breathe, little one,” Tonowari utters, his fingers gently brushing over your slits, the sensation making you melt with warmth.
You nod and try to steady your breathing. Tonowari is still and it's driving you crazy — your hips instinctively buck against his fingers, and a breathy whine escapes your mouth. He shoots you an unimpressed look, and you blush. Once your breathing is even, Tonowari continues. Though the soft flickers of his brows are knitted together and his eyes are somewhat narrowed from your eager bucking, his touch is gentle, his wet, warm mouth wrapped around your nipples, his tongue beginning to flicker again.
Every nerve inside of you is lit, blazing and burning wildly. His fingers gently part your sticky folds, electricity crackling up your spine as he sucks at your sensitive nipples, his eyes lulling shut soothingly.”
"You are going to be even more needy for this once you're carrying our child," Tonowari says, his fingers gliding up and down your slits, satisfied with how wet and needy your cunt is. "Is this your first time being pleasured in such a way?"
"I've never touched myself there before," you admit hoarsely, shivering as Tonowari nibbles at your bud in response, the sensation sending butterflies fluttering through your stomach. "Just my — my, uh—"
"—Just your cunt. I know, little one. I saw everything when we committed Tsaheylu."
Your face blazes with embarrassment, but Tonowari does not falter. You swallow thickly, a whine catching in your throat as Tonowari's fingers press into your cunt, the curling of his digits making you jolt. The unexpected intrusion makes you mewl in appreciation, your hands pressing eagerly against the back of his head, encouraging him to keep sucking.
It's all you want. The sensation feels electric, and it makes you drown in heat. The air in the marui is scorching, making it difficult to breathe, but you focus on the rising and falling of your chest, not wanting him to stop again.
"I forget how new you are to all of this," he chuckles lowly, the sensation vibrating against you, making you mewl. Insecurity tugs at your heart, because you are new to this — but your mate seems so delighted. "You're so reactive. Tell me, little one, do you like this?"
Tonowari bites at your nipple, and you gasp, rutting into his hand like you're in heat. The sensation makes tears bubble in your eyes, because it stings to have your sensitive bud pressed between his two, sharp canines, but you're so wet that it doesn't matter, a sultry twinge shooting through you at the lewd action.
"Yes, I like it," you mumble drunkenly, your eyes blown and dark, your body craving him. His fingers curl inside of you appreciatively, a soft squelch echoing around the mauri, and he grins against your chest.
"Mmm. You're going to love it once you're with child," he states lowly, his fingers slowly working at your cunt, scissoring you open. "If you're this sensitive now..."
He trails off, unable to finish his sentence, and you let out a breathy moan. Between the lewd curling of Tonowari's fingers and the feeling of his hot mouth suckling at your chest, you feel yourself growing blind. Heat flashes through your body, an insatiable warmth pooling in your stomach as your thighs begin to tense, locking his hand in place as he fingers your cunt.
It feels so good. Tonowari devours you; his entire presence sending shocks shooting through your body. It's so deliciously wrong to have the Metkayina leader sending you into oblivion with his sharp teeth and gentle mouth, and you gasp as you squelch and squirm and clench down around his fingers, your moans mortifyingly loud.
"I need to — Tonowari, please, I need to —" you plead, your eyes beginning to grow heavy and your body edging towards numbness as his teeth catch your nipple again, rolling his rough tongue against the bud gently.
"Breathe." He says, tone so sharp that it feels like a knife, your body prickling with heat as your orgasm approaches; hard and fast and heavy, weighing your body down as you begin to tremble and shake against him.
Your eyes are closed so tight that you see stars. Tonowari's fingers curl inside of you as you attempt to take a deep breath, and you wail, the feeling so overwhelming and good that you begin to cry. Your chest is heaving — really heaving, and your lungs burn with the urge to breathe but you just can't, and despite Tonowari's reminder earlier, you’ve forgot.
Your body writhes beneath him. You wriggle, pleading for air because each stroke of his fingers and flicker of his tongue makes it impossible to breathe. You can't even think anymore, so dumb from the hot sparks which shroud your body into what you thought to be unattainable bliss that your nerves grow numb.
"Little one, you need to breathe," Tonowari repeats, but your ears are ringing and you can't hear him because his teeth are rolling over your nipples and he's sucking so good and his fingers are curling inside of your cunt so tortuously. You can't hear anything except for your own blood pumping inside of you and the shameful squelching of your cunt, and you hump against his fingers eagerly.
Just when you're on the brink of cumming, just as you suck in air and begin to shake and convulse, he stops.
You begin to gasp for air, writhing against his chest, your eyes tired and heavy as all of his movements stop. Tonowari pulls away from your chest, his look of disapproval burning through you.
"You forgot to breathe," he says accusatory. Your eyes peek over him, and your breath stills in your chest again. Tonowari's eyes are so blown that his irises are being swallowed, leaving just a thin ring of the aqua-blue around the edge.
"I'm sorry. Felt too good," you mumble breathy, your fingers splayed over Tonowari's head, pushing him eagerly towards your chest. "Please?"
He frowns, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "I cannot please you if you do not breathe."
"I will breathe, yawne," you utter desperately, beginning to hump at his fingers. "I promise you I will breathe. Please, Tonowari, I need to feel good."
His lips press against your neck. His mouth is warm and wet, and he suckles slightly, a shiver spreading throughout you as he laps at the skin. Tonowari begins to pepper his kisses down towards your chest, leaving gentle bruises in the wake of his lips, and your body instinctively presses against him as his mouth brushes against your nipples.
"You're so good, yawne," you praise, your eyelids growing heavy as his lips reattach to your nipples, hot sparks exploding throughout your body. "So good to me."
You focus on your breathing this time — in, out, in out, in out. Tonowari's fingers curl inside of you again, and it's back to square one. Except, not really. You're so hypersensitive that as his teeth graze against your nipple, teasing and deliberate, you cunt clenches, and Tonowari grunts.
He's so hard that it physically hurts him. The lavender tip of his cock is leaking with pre-cum, but he doesn't even bother to move in an attempt to fist himself free of the shackles of his own desire for an orgasm. Tonowari is so focused on you and what makes you feel good, which just so happens to be anything he does.
You're appreciative of the fact that he's focusing on your pleasure rather than his own. Tonowari explores you, his tongue darting across your skin, goosebumps rising in it's wake, before returning back to your sensitive, swollen nipples.
Your chest feels so tight. Your heart hammers, pounding, and you focus on your breathing, making sure to satisfy Tonowari. You feel his cock, hard and rigid, pressed up against your thighs, as you try to brush against him but it's impossible. You can't move, pinned under his weight, under the feeling of his delicious tongue which swirls skilfully around your nipples and the curling of his fingers.
"I'm going to —"
"Do it."
You whimper, nodding eagerly at his words, dragging your lips between your teeth. It all feels too good, too much, and you begin to convulse. Warmth spreads throughout your abdomen, your cunt growing even slicker as he fingers you, rolling into the spongy spot inside of you with ease.
It feels like a knot is violently unraveling inside of you. Your breathing becomes unsteady, uneven; manic and quick. The knot feels like it's being ripped apart. Snapped and torn and frayed.
You let go of everything. You feel nothing but him. His touch is ecstasy, and you feel divine, holy as you cum.
The rays of the sun blind you as you come undone around him. Twitching, jolting, shaking. You're blazed with pleasure, dumb with need, and Tonowari's ears twitch eagerly, listening to every moan and cry that spews past your lips.
You blink, hazily, your breathing uneven as his fingers pull out of you, his mouth still suckling on your breasts. Tonowari groans, his hands grabbing at your skin, squeezing your hips tightly.
Confusion clouds you as Tonowari’s hips judder against your thighs, a gasp of realisation slipping past your lips as his hard cock pulls away from your plump flesh. He’s came — his own breathing is uneven and steady, and he’s left a painting of sticky cum against your skin. His ears pin tightly against his head, but he doesn’t seem embarassed at all. It’s like this is a totally normal thing for him.
And maybe it is. But it’s not for you. Your eyes are wide in shock, your fingers still as they press against Tonowari’s chest. His face is now inches away from yours, and he has a satisfied, smug grin plastered across his lips.
“Was that good, little one? Did that satisfy you?”
“You came.” You say, bewildered, your hands shaking as they press against his chest, your brows knitted together in confusion. “How — Why did you —“
“Your pleasure is my pleasure, yawne.” Tonowari mumbles, and the term of endearment makes your heart soar. “This is not unusual for me.”
As always, you frown. Tonowari is referring to his previous encounters, with his previous mate. Jealousy pricks at your heart and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fill such big shoes. You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the feeling of his fingers pinching you cheek, and you scowl, your tail thrashing behind you.
“You like making me feel good?” You ask timidly, eyes crinkling as the sun blinds you, hiding yourself in Tonowari’s chest.
“It is what I enjoy doing the most. Pleasuring my mate is my greatest pleasure.” Tonowari affirms, shooting you a loving smile before his head turns to the entrance of the mauri, his eyes squinting from the sun. “I wish we could continue, little one, but the sun has risen.”
The sun has risen. You pout, somewhat disappointed that it can’t continue, because your body still feels electric from where he’d been pleasuring you. “It’s time to tell my family about us,” you say breathlessly, and Tonowari grins.
“Yes, it is.”
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The walk back to Tonowari's marui is solemn. Whilst your father had disapproved, at least at first, he'd shrunk into himself once you'd told him that you and Tonowari had committed Tsaheylu, now bound together for life. It's somewhat ironic — Jake Sully cannot criticise you for who you'd chosen your mate to be. Your father had not only stolen your mother from Tsu'tey, a mighty warrior of the Omatikaya, he'd also been actively working against your community and your culture when doing so.
Eventually, your father accepted. Although he almost keeled over in the process, he'd accepted.
Tonowari didn't celebrate the way you thought he would. He just nodded his head and thanked your father for approving, and then turned heel and left.
And you'd followed him.
That's how you've ended up here.
The floor is almost scorching, and you shuffle forwards in discontent. Despite living in Awa'atlu for a few months, you still haven’t quite gotten used to the insatiable heat. You feel sweaty, uncomfortable, and your heart tugs as your mate pulls you towards his marui, your eyes flickering over towards him.
He hadn't even celebrated. Maybe it was because he knew your parents couldn't exactly deny you of him — Ewya had approved of your bond, and he is also Olo'eyktan. This is his clan, and you are his mate.
But... maybe that wasn't the case. And you don't want to think this way, you truly don't, but a little voice is in the back of your head is telling you that he didn't celebrate because he'd been through all of this before. Tonowari, perhaps, didn't celebrate because he had no need to — he'd been mated before, with Ronal, and he'd probably went with her to tell her parents, also. And he'd probably celebrated then, because she was the love of his life and she was supposed to be his mate forever.
You grimace, pushing your doubtful thinking away. You know of Ronal. She was a strict Tshaìk, yet a loving mother. A fierce leader. Her connection with Ewya was strong, and your heart pulls in your chest as Tonowari's fingers intertwine with yours.
There's an ounce of comfort in the small gesture. Safety. Your ears pin backwards and you look away, your eyes fleeting over every grain of sand as an excuse to not look at him.
The reef is booming with life. Children run, and parents chase them. Nobody even looks your way — Tonowari had promised you that they wouldn't. Until your bond is announced, nobody would think that you were both seeing each other, rather just assuming that he was just guiding you somewhere.
When you see the familiar, curvy triangular shape of the marui, your ears prick upwards. You try to stop at the entrance, needy for rest, but Tonowari's strides don't falter, until your hands slip from one another's grasp.
"Why have you stopped, little one?” Tonowari asks, his voice gentle as he eyes you suspiciously.
You hesitate under his pointed gaze, shuffling on your feet. "I thought we were going back home."
"I have something I want to show you," he utters, offering out his hand. "Come on, little one.”
"Where are we going?”
"I will show you. Come on."
You pause, eyes flickering from the marui to your mate, before you begrudgingly accepting his hand. Despite the two of you both being Na'vi, the size difference is overwhelming — Tonowari towers over you by a couple of feet, and his hand is so big that it sheathes the both of yours.
Minutes pass, and there is only silence. There is no conversation shared between the two of you. Tonowari holds your hand proudly, guiding you towards the rocky reefs. The slippery surface of the rocks makes your heart patter in your chest fearfully — you still hadn't quite gotten used to the feeling of slimy seaweed on your feet, and your hesitant steps are proof of that.
"You have not yet adapted," Tonowari chuckles, his grip on you strong as he guides you between two rocks, that stand tall and mighty.
"It's not that easy." You mumble, shivering as cold washes over you as the rocks begin to hide the sun.
He smiles. "You will learn soon, little one."
As your eyes adjust to the loss of sunlight, you can't help the awe that tugs at your heartstrings as you realise where Tonowari has taken you.
In your homeland, there was no such thing as a private, docile place to clean. All of the Omatikaya, including the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk, used a communal lake to bathe. Although the clan leaders were allowed to bathe alone, the others bathed together. There was just simply not enough water in the forest for the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk to have a personal, intimate area to clean and bathe together.
But here — in the reefs — there is nothing but water.
"What is this?" you whisper, your skin crawling with goosebumps as Tonowari presses his lips to your forehead gently.
"What do you think?" Tonowari quips back, watching as your nose crinkles as you breathe in the husky, earthy smell, your eyes scanning over the deep, pear-shaped entrance of the shelter.
There's something so intimate about how Tonowari guides you. His hands are resting on your shoulders, eagerly pushing you towards into the cave, your eyes falling on the downwards curve of the floor, which transcends into a pool of milky, steaming water.
"Is this yours?"
Your mate smiles, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his fingers slipping down towards your loincloth, gently beginning to untie its knot. "It is ours," he states, his face illuminated only by the blue and green bioluminescence moss which laps at the sides of the pool. "I heard from your father that in your homeland, the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk did not have their own private bathing quarters."
"When did you hear that?"
"JakeSully loves to complain when he's intoxicated. Pongu Lumpia makes him even more insufferable than usual," Tonowari grunts, smiling as your loincloth drops to the floor, leaving you bare in front of him. "He feels that as Toruk Makto he is worthy of privacy."
Tonowari's freckles are glowing in the dim light of the cave. “I say that he gave up the title of a mighty warrior when he fled his home.”
You try not to giggle, but it’s really, really hard. Tonowari has always been critical of your father, and his small joke actually allows you to bask in a sense of comfort.
Warmth cocoons you as he ushers you into the pool of milky water, watching as you submerge yourself. The silky hot water is perfect, and your face flushes with a light sheen of sweat and embarrassment as your mate begins to undress himself.
He stands so proud as he shows himself to you. You feel warm and gooey as he traipses into the water, and you try to focus on anything but him. There’s a slight lingering feeling of dread which pulses through you, ruining the slightly intimate moment, because you know deep down that Tonowari had shown Ronal this exact cave before.
The cool, fluorescent algae illuminates the cave, and there's a low, bioluminescence glow shining from beneath the milky substance in the water. It's beautiful in the cave, and pieces of moss glow like stars above you.
Your heart tugs in your chest as Tonowari's hands wrap around your waist, pulling you closer towards him in the water. "What is on your mind, little one?" He asks, pressing a soft kiss to your wet temple, his lashes long and damp, soaked from the water. "You have been quiet ever since we left JakeSully’s marui."
The blissful solitude shrouds you, and you let your head hang on his chest, which has a shines turquoise from the water. "Nothing. I'm fine, Tonowari," you mumble, shooting him a gentle smile as he embraces you, his braids sticking to the wet skin of his back.
"You do not seem fine," he grumbles, careful as he picks up some circular moss which resided on the rocks. He squeezes the soft green plush, gentle as he begins to excrement soap from it, rolling it between his fingers. As soapy duds begin to form, he hums, rolling the moss against your skin, using gentle circular motions when he washes you. "Do you wish to tell me what is bothering you, little one?"
Tonowari's interaction with your father keeps replaying inside your head. Everytime it repeats, your heart pulls, cracks in half, and you can't tell if you're being dramatic or emotional or what. Tonowari hadn't reacted, he hadn't celebrated, he hadn't even smiled when he got your father's approval.
Because he'd been through it all before. With Ronal.
As he's washing you, soft in his motions as he rolls the soapy moss against your skin, all you can think about is how he's done this before with someone else. It plagues you. It's like a sickness.
"Yawne, I cannot help if you do not say anything," he says softly, beginning to cup the milky water in his hands, his ears twitching as the water trickles your skin.
“How are you over her?”
“Over who?”
“Ronal.”
Tonowari pauses for a brief second, before continuing to wash the duds off of your skin. Your voices echo around you, bouncing off of the cave walls, and your face flushes when his hands gently begin to massage your shoulders.
“She died a long time ago, little one. I cannot live in solitude and mourn any longer. She is with Ewya now.”
“But you’re supposed to mate for life. You’re — you’re still here. She’s still your mate.”
Tonowari frowns, his motions gentle and circular, his thumbs riding down to your back, focusing on a tight knot between your shoulder blades. “You are my mate.”
The silky hot water mixed with Tonowari’s fluid motions is an incredible soother. You feel like all of your tension is melting away, and despite the self-doubt and insecurity which flitters throughout you, you find yourself relaxing.
“But so is she.” You’re exasperated, confused.
You knew Tonowari had been mated before. You knew all of this before you chose him.
So why now, when you’re in too deep, are you having second thoughts?
“You are my mate.” Tonowari’s voice is soft, fleeting against your ear. “Do you need me to remind you of just how badly I want you, little one?” His breath fans against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine and your stomach flips at his words.
You shake your head, a gentle gasp slipping past your lips as Tonowari turns you, his grip on your shoulders harsh as he does so. His palm squeezes your skin uncomfortably, and your breath hitches in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, so black and blown that the ring of ocean blue is barely visible.
“No, Tonowari. I don’t need a reminder.” Your voice is hoarse as you speak, wavering slightly as Tonowari’s nose nuzzles against your shoulder. “I know I’m your mate.”
“I do not think that you’re aware of how badly I’ve wanted you, little one.” His fingers dance against your skin, and his arms become submerged by the hot, silky water. Tonowari's hands cup your thighs, his body ushering you to the edge of the pool, and you squeak as you feel mossy rocks press against your back. "Ever since you came to the reef, I have not been able to keep my eyes off of you, and the second you gave me that irayo flower... it was the greatest excuse to get close to you."
"Excuse?" you murmur, breathless as his strong arms sit you against the rocks, his nose rubbing against your inner thighs. "What do you mean, excuse?"
Tonowari's teeth graze against your skin and you whine, your heart pitter-patting in your chest as his rough tongue laps at your skin, leaving dark-coloured bruises in its wake. “It hurt, yawne, more than you’d ever know. And like I told you — I was rutting like a newly mated Na’vi, and the only relief I got was when I would see you, and that is when I knew you were sent to me. From Ewya.”
“Oh,” you breathe, your heart tightening in your chest as Tonowari’s lips press against your cunt. His tongue laps at you eagerly, the rough muscle parting your slits, and a gentle whine slips past your mouth as he does so. Hot, electric sparks shoot up your skin, and your legs jolt slightly as his tongue swirls gently around your clit. “Tonowari.”
“You wonder why I chose you,” he purrs against your cunt, the vibration sending shockwaves through your pussy. “I wonder how you could ever choose me.”
The intimacy of Tonowari between your legs makes your stomach clench. Despite being recently mated, he hasn’t had an incredibly high libido — you haven’t snuck off to rut at every possible chance, rather having an even and steady sex life. But this — the way he’s nuzzling against your cunt, licking and lapping and sucking at the heat sloppily shows something different a
A primal side to him you haven’t seen before.
He's grunting, and you look down for a second, confused as to why he’s making noses. Then you notice his hand, which strokes up and down his cock in a steady motion. Tonowari is pleasuring himself whilst pleasuring you, and you moan, so conflicted to how a man can make you feel so horny.
Tonowari's tongue draws patterns on your clit, and his breathing becomes heavy as he strokes his cock, his eyes lulling as he laps at your cunt. He's so eager to please, kissing your heat softly, listening to every mewl and whine, and your stomach begins to twist, growing insatiable with every roll of his tongue.
And then you feel it — the knot inside of you begins to break, twist apart, fray at the hem. It's so peaceful this time, so satisfactory, and your moans bounce off of the cave walls as you cum, your hands behind Tonowari's head, pushing his face into your cunt needily. You hump against him like you're in heat, the feeling of his rough tongue stroking you through your orgasm making you shake.
"I must show you how much you mean to me, yawne," he comments, his voice shaking slightly as he strokes his uncomfortably hard cock with need. "Can I breed you?"
"Breed me?" You ask, exasperation lacing your tone as Tonowari joins you on the rocks, his strong hands pinning you underneath his body.
"That is what I asked, is it not?" He utters, his body sheathing your view of the bioluminescent moss which litters the top of the cave, shrouding your vision with black. The only light you have comes from the light-blue specks on his face, and a breathy moan leaves your mouth as Tonowari's cock glides through your slits, an unexpected jolt of electricity shooting up your spine.
"I'm just confused as to why you asked. We've done this before."
"I want you to carry my child, little one," he grumbles, a low groan sliding past his plush, sapphire lips as his tip rolls against your clit. "This is not just making the bond. I will be doing this with the intention of you growing plump with life."
You literally can't imagine anything hotter than being swollen and filled with Tonowari's children. You can't speak, the feeling of his tip rolling against your clit sending electric sparks fluttering through your nervous system. "Please," you squeak out, your heart burning with desire as his girthy tip presses against your entrance, your tight cunt beginning to sheathe his lavender tip.
"You are going to look so beautiful when I'm finished with you," Tonowari hisses, his stomach tight as his hips begin to roll into you, even and steady. "So beautiful, carrying our children, whilst practicing to become Tshaìk. I chose well."
Everything feels raw and sensitive. Your cunt clenches down around him, your senses somehow heightened in the dampness of the cave. Steam from the hot pool of milky water begins to evaporate, your skin covered with an aqua blue sheen from the condensation. Pressure pools in your lower belly, your ears twitching with every roll of his hips, your cunt tight when the tip of his cock brushes deliciously against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt.
It feels so liberating, knowing that he wants you. Truly wants you. You're not just a replacement — each needy thrust of his hips tell you that. Tonowari's fingers desperately grab at your queue, and you whine at the uncomfortably tug, but hot white flashes spark through your nerves system when his tendrils connect with yours.
Holy shit. This feels so much better than when he first ever bonded with you, and your legs shake as he stretches you thin. It's so painful but so amazing. His cock is nestled deep inside of your cunt, and you're so slick, so wet, droplets forming on your skin from where the reside of the water is beginning to dry. Tonowari's movements are smooth, easy, and your white ring of arousal paints the bottom of his length, coating his balls, and he groans as he fucks into you, his lavender tip throbbing as you clench around him tighter.
"You're made for me," he breathes out, "I cannot believe you ever doubted my love for you."
Through your connection, you can feel his pain. You can feel everything — the pull of his heart as he thinks about how insecure you'd been, and you scold yourself for ever being so silly. Tonowari, your gorgeous, loving mate intertwines his fingers with yours, and you swear you've never felt so good in your life.
You're intertwined with Tonowari in every way possible. Your cunt pulses around him, throbbing with need, and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your shoulder. "Oel ngati kameie," he mumbles, his eyes boring into yours, the black of his pupils so wide and blown you can no longer see any part of his irises. "Yawne, please, talk to me."
"Feels good, Tonowari," you blink, chest heaving as he fucks into you, being careful to focus on your breaths as your body begins to tingle with lust. "Almost ready for you to fill me up."
"Pxasìk," Tonowari curses, his accent thick, drawling in your ear and sending goosebumps exploding on your skin. "I'm ready. You're so — so tight, I can't hold back."
"Earlier all you did was hold back," you tease, moaning as the lewd squelching sounds of your cunt echo around the mossy cave. "Not — not letting me finish because I didn't breathe."
Tonowari is gentle as he slaps your thigh, warningly, a dangerous look painting his face, but it crinkles into something different as you purposefully clench down around him. You're so tight that it's like you're milking him, and you're so wet and warm, it's driving him crazy. "You were being naughty, yawne," he comments, his voice wavering as your eyes begin to flicker shut, your moans hitching in your throat as his hips roll into your sensitive bundle of nerves.
It's the most perfect thing you've ever felt. Neither of you speak as it happens, your orgasm crashing over the both of you in a perfect, delicious wave. You shake, jolt against him, cry out as your vision blackens with white stars, heat exploding through your body, your cunt tightening around him as you feel his seed begin to spurt inside of you. his own cum in you, your walls so tight and wet, the sound of his balls slapping lewdly against your cunt echoing throughout the cave, your moans merging with them to create an orgasmic mixtape.
You're so warm, the steam from the pool mixing with your insatiable heat from being crowded by Tonowari for so long, and he embraces you proudly as you twitch beneath him, your cunt feeling raw and full. He holds you, and his strong presence makes you feel so safe, the feeling of his cum painting your walls making you shiver.
"You are everything to me," he utters, his teeth grazing your neck as his tongue laps at your skin, basking in the slight, salty taste of sea water and sweat. "Please do not doubt that again."
"How can I?" you whisper, grumbling as Tonowari rolls over, positioning you atop of his chest as he lays on the mossy rocks. The blue and green glow from the algae and moss reflect on his face, painting his features, and you smile as you lean down to brush your nose against his, your finger splaying over your belly. "I'm going to have a constant reminder."
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in-halingstardust · 21 days
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Unexpected Situation
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A/N: Hi hi, its been such a long time and no I'm not dead...Maybe my brain is. But! I am going to start openign up bullet requests again. I have a few requests to get through, but this was stuck in my head for a solid week. dom!caelus x gn!reader x sub!danheng Tags: semi public sex, deep throating, sub and dom dynamics, dirty talk, praise, dirty thoughts~, NOT Beta'd sorry I'm tired :,0
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You wonder how you find yourself in these situations.
What situation you might ask?
For one, you only wanted to go to the archives to research information about Xianzhou's local flora and update the records from your last trailblazing.
Second, when you heard the faint cry of Dan Heng come through the archive’s doors, you were on alert. Dan Heng, stone faced though warm, one who never showed his true emotion outwardly, the one who would only talk when he was certain about every single word that would come out of his perfect lips, gives a another cry.
Third, when you slam the door open you are extremely embarrassed at the open debauchery of the Express' silly goober Caelus slamming himself into Dan Heng against the console. Pinned against the archive is Dan Heng, one leg up hooked around Caelus shoulder, the other flexed on the floor as he grips tightly to Callus. He sees you first and in shock gives a rather harsh hit against Caelus back, his only return was a deep thrust.
Dan Heng moans fill the chamber, and you turn deep red. Not out of embarrassment but because it was the hottest thing you have ever witnessed.
It didn’t help that you had massive crush on them both.
Caelus must have eyes behind his head. The next time, Dan Heng whimpers into the crook of his neck he tilts his head back. His eyes are molten gold heavy with pleasure that leads you to feeling extremely warm in your core.
"Hey close the door,” a smirk, “I know you want in."
So when you are on your knees in front of Dan Heng's pink, slightly longer than average dick, you can't help but feel your mouth water.
Caelus runs a finger over Dan Heng’s perky nipples, "Oh pretty boy aren't you excited that they are also here to join us? Tell her how thankful you are," Caelus echoes as he twists his nipples.
Dan Heng's dick twitches in the cutest way possible in front of your nose. You can't believe this is happening.
"I- ah, thank you..." Dan Heng trails off. A full blush on his cheeks as he looks down at you.
Caelus laughs as he retracts his fingers, "Sorry (Y/N), promised Dan Heng, I give him the best fuck of his life." A devious smile curls at his lips, "We can all fuck later if we want to, but right now it's all 'bout our little dragon." Caelus hums as he presses a kiss against Dan Heng's temple. It must have been a distraction since you see Dan Heng's little mouth pucker into an "o" with the filthy sound of Caelus entering him.
Dan Heng's cock swells with each thrust of Caelus, ruining his insides and you? There is something mesmerizing seeing Dan Heng on display. How the cold stone archiver makes so many cute noises right in front of you. He doesn't hide them no- he looks at you with desire and desperation.
He wants you as well.
Something filthy clicks in your mind as you attach your lips to the tip of Dan Heng's cock. Swirling your tongue around his head as your delicate fingers stroke the base.
It's adorable how Dan Heng squeals and moans, the smell of sex filling the room once again.
He only encourages you. Taking him deeper, sucking harder as you place one hand on Dan Heng's thigh to support yourself the other guiding his cock.
What a dichotomy between you and Caelus as you pop off Dan Heng to run your tongue along a fat vein, gently coaxing him. While Caelus ups his pace, squeezing his fingers against Dan Heng's hips in pure animalistic trait.
Another thrust, "Tell her Dan Heng. Tell her about how badly you wanted her here with us. How you wanted to have her lips just like this all over your wet cock." Caelus babbles as he continues to jerk into Dan Heng in turn making his dick go further into the back of your throat till it hits the back.
You can only breath as Dan Heng uses you.
Caelus doesn't stop spilling dirty secrets and you can't help but listen to what they want to do to you. It feels so warm and wet down there, but this is about Dan Heng, not yourself. So, when you breathe in through your nose to swallow more of Dan Heng. He gives a large cry. If it wasn’t for Caelus pinning his arms back and supporting Dan Heng he would of fell from overstimulation.
"Or would you like me to tell (Y/N) about how you wish they were underneath us, taking us both? How you want to touch them all over, how that our thoughts are too dirty, too impure, that poor little baby couldn't take it even though they are taking your monstrous dick like the good little angel.”
Caelus is going faster and faster. You need to keep your hands on Dan Heng's thick thighs to keep balance. You feel him in the back of your throat. He's trying so hard not to gag you. To not make this uncomfortable for you, but it's as his dick swells in your mouth, leaving it full and large.
"Fuck!" Caelus groans against Dan Heng's shoulder. "Don't tighten up like that, feels like you're squeezing me off."
Caelus is going faster and faster. The rhythm is lost as you three are only guided by instinct. He’s close you can tell with the way he swells, the veins as they run along your tongue. It’s a dream, being used like this, the smell, the two of them. Together.
You can't believe how lucky you are.
You feel the stuttering of Dan Heng's thighs and the groans coming from Caelus as he bites his lips, his hips losing its rhythm as he reaches his climax.
Dan Heng cups first. It fills your mouth and gushes down your throat in salty flavor in pulses. His eyes are closed as his hands hold your head still till, he is spent and panting.
Caelus is next as he moans spilling inside of Dan Heng, not even pulling out as he grips Dan Heng tightly to himself whispering sweet thanks into his ears.
You. You let go of Dan Heng's cock with a pop, letting go of his thighs. Your core is wet and hot, but it's not enough to make you feel you're lost in the stars.
Of course. They know this and it's not the end of the night <3.
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ro-is-struggling · 10 months
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The Princess and The Wolf || PART 1 || Geralt of Rivia x Reader
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Summary: A look inside the complicated love story between the runaway princess and the lone wolf that saved her.
Warnings: fluff, angst, mutual pining, really bittersweet, heavy narration and not much dialogue, female reader (use of she/her pronouns//reader is a princess), mentions of blood and injuries (reader heals Geralt’s wounds), my shitty titles (I’m so bad at it, I’m so sorry)
English is not my first language
Word count: 5000
Notes: Look,  I was in the mood for writing something cute and fluffy and magical (but also it's Geralt so it as to be angsty). I know those are probably not the words that come to your mind when you think of Geralt, but let me change your mind! Also I love writing healers/nature witches. Can you tell my fav character as a kid was Flora from Winx Club? 
This is my first time writing something like this (as in this style of narrative and for this character in particular) so be gentle!
READ PART 2 HERE
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Geralt was not used to feeling that way. In his many years of living on this earth, he had never missed anyone the way he missed her. He was a lone wolf who, despite having his pack, enjoyed traveling from town to town with his horse as his only companion. He enjoyed the silence and tranquility, and did not tend to miss home too much —finding that his annual visits in the winter were more than enough to catch up with his brothers while healing his wounds. 
However, he did miss her when he was traveling. He missed feeling the warm touch of her skilled hands on his wounds as she healed him. He missed waking up to the sound of her laughter, talking to her cat as she prepared breakfast. He even missed her scolding and the look of concern she gave him every time he arrived at the door of her cabin hidden in the forest, injured. She made him feel special, often occupying his thoughts and dreams. He knew what it was, but refused to call it by name —if he did, it became real and he didn't know if he was ready for that.
Such was his longing to see her that he was almost happy to be wounded in battle, finding the perfect excuse to show up at her door once again. His wounds were deep, the beast's venom slowly spreading through his system. Were it not for the fact that he was close to her home, Geralt was fairly certain he would not have reached her in time. His healing skills were limited and only served to make his journey to the hut more bearable. Yet, the closer he got to her, the less his body ached. The promise of her company alone was enough to cure his afflictions.
Geralt was weak when he arrived at her door. From the way her natural cheerful expression turned into a worried grimace when she saw him on the other side of the wood, it was safe to assume he was not looking good. She rushed him to bed, asking him a thousand questions as she paced back and forth, gathering the necessary herbs and potions to treat his wounds. He answered no more than necessary, giving her just enough information to treat him and sparing her the details of his journey. 
He was distracted, his mind clouded by the lack of blood and the poison spreading through his body, but also by the sweet floral scent that surrounded him. It was a perfume he could only describe as the very essence of her, a mixture of jasmine, roses and a hint of vanilla that followed her everywhere, leaving a special scent in the air that assaulted the witcher's nostrils, rendering him powerless. 
"Drink this," she told him as she offered him a vial of a pale green liquid. It was a potion that would help with the poison, she explained, though he needed no reason to obey her. Geralt trusted her completely and would have drank anything she offered without question. 
"Try to hold still, this might sting a little." She warned him, pushing his clothes aside so she could treat the deep gash in his chest. She smeared her fingers with a paste that had a peculiar odor, rubbing it over her hands to warm it before directing them to the wound. Geralt was met with a burning sensation that spread from his wound to the rest of his chest as soon as her fingers made contact with his skin. He let out a grunt, fighting the spasms of his muscles to allow her to work comfortably. However, the burning was soon replaced by a sensation of pleasant warmth as she uttered an incantation in the ancient tongue. 
He concentrated on the harmonious sound of her voice, letting the words transport him back to that first time they had found themselves in a similar situation. He had been hired by the king to assassinate the beast that had killed the princess. It was said that it prowled the forest after sunset, it was there that the young girl had met her fatal fate. Her love for nature and the long walks under the moonlight was what had ultimately made her an easy prey for that monster. Geralt did not retain the specific details of that story, only what was useful to analyze his enemy. Had he done so, he might have realized that there were strange things in the story that would make any Witcher suspicious. And perhaps then he would not have been so surprised when he found the princess very much alive and well, wandering through the forest alone.
"Please, don't make me go back there." She had begged him after explaining that she had taken advantage of the beast's convenient appearance to escape from her home. "There's nothing waiting for me back there, only a future of unhappiness and subjugation to a man that doesn't respect me."
"I was hired to kill a beast and that's all I intend to do." Was his reply. He was more than ready to continue on his way, to leave her behind to sort out her fate while he dealt with what he had been hired to do, but the princess did not give him the opportunity. She begged for his help to escape from there, she didn't care where he took her as long as he got her as far away from her kingdom as possible. Her escape had not been planned, but a last minute decision that had not allowed her to pack supplies or even steal a horse from the stable. Still, she had been able to travel a fairly long way on foot, but it was evident that she could not continue like this much longer.
"I can't pay you in coin," she told him. "But I can make sure you survive your battle."
Geralt felt sorry for the young woman and was going to help her without asking for anything in return. He really doubted that she had anything valuable to offer him. He was a Witcher, an assassin highly trained in both combat and the arts of magic, tools he used to keep himself alive in the high-risk situations he lived in on a regular basis. However, his mercy proved useful after the battle, when the young princess demonstrated her healing abilities.
His wounds were deep, he was tired and his skin was painted with the reddish sticky liquid that ran through the beast's veins. But still, he was able to crawl to safety where she waited for him with his horse Roach. When she saw him approaching on the horizon she jumped to her feet, hands full of herbs she had gathered in preparation for that moment. Geralt could see nothing but a halo of light in the distance, a figure of hope running towards him with hair flying in the wind as it called his name.
He collapsed against a tree trunk, his breath hitching as the world around him became blurry and dark. He was not unconscious, but neither was he able to process what was happening around him. His memories of that moment were blurry, like a dream slipping from his mind upon awakening. The only thing he remembered clearly was a sweet female voice calling him back to life as soft hands caressed his skin, spreading their comforting warmth inside him.
Geralt had felt peace for the first time in a long while as her hands worked their magic on him, just as he felt at this very moment as her fingers caressed his skin once again. It always happened, her touch alone flooded his insides with peace and tranquility. Maybe that was why he missed her so much, maybe that was why he found himself visiting her for the simplest injuries that even he could heal. Unlike other healers, she was the only one who could calm his tormented soul, the only one who could quiet his thoughts and remove all traces of bitter negativity from his heart. 
"Rest." He heard her whisper in his ear and as much as he wanted to, he didn't have the strength to open his eyes and look at her one more time. Geralt knew he was tired, but only now, in the quiet of her company and wrapped in the warmth of her body, did he realize just how much. 
When he opened his eyes again it was morning. The rays of sunlight streaming through the window touched his face in a warm caress. His pupils were forced to adjust to the light as he opened his eyes, narrowing to almost two slits identical to those of the black cat resting beside him. The animal meowed contentedly as he shifted between the sheets —letting out a grunt of pain at the heaviness of his muscles. He stroked the cat as it purred at him, scratching its head and behind its ears as he knew it liked, before making an effort to get out of bed. His body ached and he still felt tired, but given what he had been through, he was lucky to be alive. 
Geralt heard the sweet sound of the young woman's voice echoing down the hallway like a melodious murmur that filled his heart with joy. It came from the garden, so that was where he went. He found her having a conversation with Roach, brushing the horse's mane while complaining about him to the animal as if it could talk back. They were harmless comments that he knew she didn't mean, though he'd heard them in the past —complaints about his recklessness and lack of responsibility as a horse owner were never lacking. She was especially fond of animals, so she loved to talk to his horse as if he were a human being. She did it with her cat as well, and with any animal that crossed her path. Geralt found it entertaining, though a bit excessive —especially when they traveled together and she made him stop every so often to pet and chat with every rabbit and squirrel in their path.
"What are you doing out of bed? You need to rest!" She scolded him as soon as her eyes landed on him. As firm as her gaze was, he could see concern rather than anger or annoyance reflected in them.
"I would have stayed in bed if I hadn't felt the need to come out and defend my good name." He played along, the corner of his mouth curving ever so slightly upward in an almost imperceptible movement. "I can't have you filling Roach's head with lies about me."
"They are not lies!" She grumbled, folding her arms in exaggerated annoyance. "You are reckless and you don't give poor Roach enough attention." At her words, the animal thumped its front left paw against the ground as if it understood what she had said and agreed. Geralt huffed, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.
"You already turned her against me." She laughed and it was like music to his ears, a melodious tone that awakened happiness within him. 
"I don't have to, she is a smart creature." She fired back, giving the horse a couple of gentle pets before setting aside what she was doing to focus her attention on him. "But seriously, you need to get back in bed."
"I'm fine." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the truth either. She looked at him steadily and Geralt knew she thought she looked intimidating, but with the way the light of the rising sun framed her figure and the gentle breeze moving her hair, he saw nothing more than a forest fairy. The most beautiful and innocent fairy he had ever seen. He was tempted to challenge her just to tease her and make her grumble. She looked adorable when she pointed an accusatory finger at him believing that something she did or said could intimidate the Witcher. In the end he decided not to do so and instead accompanied her back into the house, though he did not lie down again, but sat with her at the kitchen table. 
She insisted on preparing breakfast on her own, arguing that he was her guest and that he was badly injured, so Geralt had the opportunity to admire her as she moved about the room, humming under her breath melodies he did not recognize. It made him genuinely happy to see her acting so freely around him, thinking about how far their relationship had come. When he had first met her, she was far from the confident, free spirit she was now. She was quiet and reserved, barely asking him questions from time to time to fill the void of silence and always apologizing for everything.
It was more than mere distrust of a stranger, Geralt could see in her eyes that she was trapped inside herself, a cocoon of fears and insecurities that trapped in its intricate net the beautiful butterfly that lurked within. She would show her true colors from time to time, like when he would catch her talking to Roach when she thought he was sleeping, or when she would make them stop to help a wounded animal. But she always apologized immediately afterwards, as if she realized too late that she had done something wrong, something she wasn't supposed to do. It made Geralt wonder what kind of life she had left behind when she ran away from home. 
He was not a man of many words and was used to traveling alone and in silence, accompanied only by the chirping of birds and the crunching of dry leaves under Roach's hooves, but when it came to her he felt a strange need to hear her speak. Perhaps it was the harmonious tone of her voice, or maybe the fact that he could tell she needed to express herself, but he didn't mind when she rambled absentmindedly as they traveled, putting into words every thought that crossed her mind. 
"I was never meant to be a princess, no matter what my blood says." She had confessed to him one afternoon as they walked through the forest. "The traditions, the politics, the expectations... I was never good at any of that."
"Is that why you ran away?" His question took her by surprise. He barely spoke to her so she assumed he wasn't listening to her most of the time. When she turned to look at him she found his yellow eyes fixed on her, making her feel small under his intense gaze.
"I wanted to be free." She answered honestly. "I refused to live trapped inside a castle for another day, pretending to be someone I'm not, pleasing everybody but myself... I want to forge my own path, build my own destiny. I have no idea what I'm doing or if it will even work, but I owe it to myself to try."
Geralt admired her for that. She wasn't sure what she wanted, but she knew what she didn't want and had had the courage to do something about it. That was why he was so glad things were going well for her. She deserved her freedom, she deserved to have the space to find herself and live her life on her terms. Her bravery had been rewarded.
"How are you feeling?" She asked him as she set a plate of food in front of him, her voice bringing him out of his thoughts. 
"I'm fine."
"Are you? Or are you doing that thing you do all the time when you pretend not to need anyone's help?" She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, proud of herself for knowing him so well. 
Geralt sighed. "I'm a bit sore and tired, but I'll live." He finally confessed.
"That's normal, you were really hurt. I'm amazed that you got here in one piece." 
"You should have seen the other guy." He joked sarcastically and she rolled her eyes.
"I'm being serious, Geralt. The poison could have killed you."
"It didn't."
"Only because of your slow heartbeat, but what if next time you don't get so lucky?" The tone of the conversation suddenly changed as they looked into each other's eyes. The familiar heavy tension in the air, making it hard to breathe. 
It was her greatest fear. She feared there would come a day when Geralt's wounds would be so bad that even she wouldn't be able to heal them. She feared it almost as much as never opening the door again and finding him on the other side. The thought of him dying, at home or out on the battlefield, terrified her. She knew it was stupid since he was a Witcher, a being genetically modified to face the greatest dangers, whose purpose in life was to kill monsters. She knew the smart thing to do would have been to get away from him in time, before his absence hurt her as much as it did. She knew there was no point in worrying about someone who had made peace with the idea of dying in battle, but she did it anyway. She couldn't help but fear for his safety the moment he set foot outside her home, worrying until he would eventually show up there again.
"Just... be careful." She muttered after a few seconds of silence, swallowing her emotions as a lump formed in her throat.
Geralt could see the pain in her eyes, the fear and worry shining in them clearly. He felt the need to assure her that he would be all right, but they both knew that was a lie. In his line of work one could never be sure of anything. Things could change very quickly and even he could be surprised with the cold caress of death sooner than expected. The best he could do was to assure her that he would do everything in his power to get back to her.
"I will be." 
That wasn't enough to dissipate the young woman's fears, but it was enough to calm her worries for the moment. Instead of concentrating on things she couldn't control, she chose to turn her attention to the things she could. After breakfast she inspected Geralt's wounds once more to make sure they were healing properly. With the help of her magic and the speed with which the Witcher's body regenerated, the deep gash that adorned his chest was now no more than a scratch. The skin was still red and irritated, but it was in better condition than just a few hours ago. The same with the rest of the cuts and scratches that graced the rest of his body, some of which had already disappeared completely, leaving behind a slightly discolored line on the skin.
She sat beside him as she worked, rubbing a healing paste of her own creation over what was left of his wounds. She focused her energy on him, eyes glued to the skin of his chest as she let her fingers work their magic. She knew it probably wasn't necessary, given the rapid evolution of his cuts they would most likely be practically healed in a couple more hours. But she wanted to do it. She didn't like to see him hurt, even if it was something that happened regularly. He always came to her bruised and bloody, but even then she never got used to seeing him like that. She hated to see him suffer, so when he was with her she would go out of her way to heal all the wounds on his body no matter how small or insignificant. She wanted to make her home a sanctuary for him, a place free of pain and danger where they were safe to be together.
Geralt could feel her energy enveloping him, the warmth her body radiated caressing his skin delicately. The scent of her hair flooded his nostrils, filling his lungs with that sweet floral perfume that was so distinctive to him. It was intoxicating, a drug he couldn't quit. He allowed himself to get lost in the moment, enjoying the soft touch of her hands on his chest and shoulders as he admired her work. She was beautiful, like a flower full of color and life that only grew stronger with each of his visits. Her smile, a ray of sunshine that lit up the gray, cloudy sky that was his life. And her eyes... oh her eyes. Geralt could get lost in them for hours, reading in her reflection every little thought that went through her head. To him she was an open book, the most fascinating he had read in a long time.
She became slightly nervous when she looked up and met Geralt's intense gaze fixed on her. They were close, too close to each other for her not to feel intimidated under the watchful admiration of his amber orbs. And yet, she couldn't look away from him. She couldn't help but marvel at the sharp angles of his features, counting the small scars that adorned his skin as her eyes traveled down his face. Those were two traits that people normally found intimidating about him. He had the face of a reckless warrior, a lone wolf with no feelings that augured trouble. But she knew him better than that, she knew the man behind the rumors and knew there was much more to his story and his character. When she looked at him she saw more than the dangerous Witcher. She saw the man who had saved her from her terrible fate, the one she missed and longed for when he was far away, the only man who occupied her thoughts. 
Geralt's eyes strayed to her lips as she caressed them with her tongue. It was an innocent act but he felt it as a temptation, a challenge he had every intention of accepting. He leaned forward, feeling her warm, slightly quickened breath colliding and mingling with his own. He held still for a moment, waiting for her to pull back and move away. When she didn't, Geralt moved a little closer to her until he felt the tip of her nose brush against his. When he looked up one last time, he noticed that she was looking at him with half lidded eyes, completely at his mercy. She was in a trance, lost in the deep amber of his eyes, with no thought in her mind but him. It was the moment they had both been waiting for, the culmination of all the tension that had built up.
But before they could join their lips in the long-awaited kiss, the sound of the cat jumping on top of the table interrupted them. The animal's meow broke the trance and she realized what was about to happen. Embarrassed, she pulled away from Geralt immediately, mumbling something about feeding the cat as she disappeared from his vision. He would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, still longing to feel her lips on his, but perhaps it was for the best. If he kissed her he would never want to stop or leave again, and he knew that wasn't possible. His place was out there on the road with his horse as his only companion. He was not meant to stay in one place for long, his profession had taken that privilege away from him long ago.
“Your wounds are almost healed.” She stated as she returned to the room, picking up the cat and setting it down off the table. It was an excuse so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye when talking, something to occupy herself so she wouldn't think about what had just happened.
"Guess I'll be leaving tonight then." He was in no hurry to leave, he would gladly stay another week there with her if he could, but he knew that wasn't wise. He could never stay too long with her since he always feared the effects it might have. The more time he spent with her, sharing moments of domestic intimacy, the harder it was for him to get back on the road. The last time he had been there he had ended up running away in the middle of the night, knowing he couldn't leave if he had to look her in the eye and say goodbye. And now he feared that nothing had changed, so he had to get out of there before it was too late.
"I would rather you stay one more night and rest here." She said in a soft tone, trying to hide the true meaning behind her words. She didn't want him to leave, not yet. "Your physical wounds might be healing fast but don't forget that you were poisoned and you almost died. Witcher or not, that's a lot." 
"I'll be fine."
"Maybe, but would it kill you to stay here one more night for my own sake? Because if you walk through that door now, I will spend the rest of my days worrying about you until I see you again." She finally worked up the courage to look at him, pleading with her eyes for him to listen to her. She knew that if he wanted to leave there was nothing she could do to stop him, so she hoped he would have mercy on her. "I just want to make sure that you're alright."
Geralt couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to, not when she was looking at him with big, bright eyes full of love. Not when her voice was almost a whisper, as if she was afraid he would hear her. He understood the feeling, the fear of admitting what he really felt. But it was easier that way. It was the best thing for both of them. Their lives were incompatible as were their personalities. 
She was a nice sunny summer afternoon and he was a harsh winter night. She was a ray of sunshine that with her warm touch awakened life in everything around her and he was the cold, cruel snow that buried everything under a layer of ice. Maybe that was why he felt this inexplicable attraction to her, as if they were connected by an invisible thread that pulled him to her every time he tried to walk away. Her warmth melted the ice around him, allowing new things to blossom in the fertile soil. Only he didn't know if there was anything left under the ice that could bloom. If so, he had to be careful because her warmth, though pleasant and comforting, could lead to his doom.
Still, he ignored his brain's warnings, giving in to her pleas. They spent the day together and Geralt allowed himself to lose himself in the intimacy and domestic bliss of the moment. He indulged in the fantasy of a life by her side as he admired her dancing around the kitchen while cooking or moving among the plants as she tended to her garden, talking to the squirrels and birds that wandered by. He delighted in the sound of her voice as she called his name and enjoyed her melodious laughter. 
When the sun went down, she lay beside him on the bed, talking nonsense until her eyelids began to feel heavy. She denied being sleepy several times, assuring him that she was just resting her eyes. Geralt snorted, but said nothing, listening intently to the story she was telling him about a deer she had saved from death between masked yawns. She didn't get to finish the story, not consciously at least. She mumbled a couple of almost inaudible gibberish before falling asleep, fighting her last battle against her body's need for rest.
Geralt watched her sleep for a good while, his eyes admiring the peace on her face in the dim candlelight. She had never looked so ethereal, with her hair spread out on the pillow like a halo around her head, and her chest rising and falling slowly with her calm breathing. Her skin was soft under his touch, a stark contrast to the roughness of his fingers bruised from all the fighting and constant use of the sword. She was the most beautiful piece of art, a sculpture carved by the gods themselves. He almost felt unworthy to be by her side, the softness of her features reminding him once again how different they were, how wrong his feelings were. 
He got out of bed with a heavy heart, searching for his things while being very careful not to make a sound so as not to alert her. He couldn't stay there one more night, if he woke up in the morning with her by his side he would never want to leave and he knew very well that it wouldn't end well. So, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead, just a brush of his lips against her skin as a farewell.
Geralt disappeared into the darkness of the night without leaving any trace of his presence. When she opened her eyes the next morning she was disappointed to find herself alone in bed. She didn't have to leave the room to know he was gone, she could feel his absence in the air. She felt lonely and cold again, already missing the warmth that filled her whenever he was around. Letting out a tired sigh, she dropped into a chair near the door. Her eyes were glued to the wood, her mind filled with thoughts of Geralt. She wondered if he was alright and if he was missing her as much as she was missing him. 
And just like that, the cycle continued, his departure leading the way to the stage of uncertainty and worry that grew in her with each passing day as she awaited his return. Her eyes remained glued to the door at all times, her ears attentive to the sounds waiting to hear Roach's footsteps approaching in the distance. She hated this moment. She hated not hearing from Geralt. She hated not being able to hear his low, raspy voice or feel the warmth of his body against hers. She hated the amount of energy she wasted worrying about him. But most of all, she hated knowing that all her suffering would be worth it the moment he came knocking on her door again.
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I have more ideas for these two so if you guys like it let me know!
PART 2 HERE
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pinkanonwrites · 11 months
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You ever get an idea that you just can't get out of your head and you have to bang it out within 30 seconds of thinking it? This is one of those moments
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Non-explicit but Vash has some very NSFW thoughts and feelings about your hands.
"They really are so beautiful." Meryl sighed, fingertips tracing the jagged edge of an emerald-green leaf.
"They're called roses." Vash was smiling as he explained. "They come in all sorts of colors too, not just red!"
The three of you were sat in the grass on Ship 3, admiring the biodome and all of Luida's stunning work. What had particularly caught your eyes today was a large rosebush she had been tending for the past several years. It was gargantuan now, twisting up and through a metal trellis, arcing high above your heads and filtering dappled artificial sunlight down onto your smiling faces.
"Like what? What colors?" Meryl asked.
"Orange and white and pink... I think there can be purple ones too? Luida has a lot of logs about them if you want to see any pictures."
"There's a lot to read too." You added, a single fingertip tracing one of the smaller buds. "She showed me the database. I actually learned something really cool!"
"Ooh! Show us!" Meryl leaned into your side, admiring the flower you were trailing your fingers across. Vash leaned into your other side, expression soft as he watched you. You were always so gentle, so delicate when you admired the flora, it never failed to make his chest feel fuzzy and warm.
But then you did something he wasn't quite ready for. Bringing your fingertips to the center of the rose's whorl, you dipped two fingers elegantly into the center of the bud.
"You can actually help open a rose's petals with your hands, if you're gentle." You murmured, pads of your fingers softly and methodically petting the individual petals open. "For displays and decoration, you can open them up a bit more to make them brighter."
"You're right, that is really cool." Meryl added, completely oblivious to Vash's burning face and internal crisis. Your thumb traced the edge of the bloom as your index and middle finger twirled through the flower, stroking velvety petals until they had no choice but to open up to your careful touch... He gulped, knees coming together slightly as you blew softly on the rose, smiling as the petals folded out under your gentle, insistent work.
"That's it," You murmured, more to yourself than anybody else. "Look how pretty you are!"
The tips of your fingers on each side of the blossom, you spread the petals open between your index and middle fingers, exposing the stamen and filaments hidden away in the center.
"I-uh, I gotta go!" Vash jolted unsteadily to his feet, wobbling a little as he staggered back. "I told Brad he could, uh, check my arm! Yeah, so, I'll see you two in a bit okay? Bye!"
"Uh, bye?" Meryl cocked an eyebrow as Vash stumbled awkwardly away, strangely tense in the shoulders as he did. "Weirdo."
"Bye, Vash!" You called over your shoulder, somehow completely oblivious to just how thoroughly and completely you were able to mess with your boyfriend's head.
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whalesforhands · 2 months
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it exists only here
geto suguru holds onto your ghost in the trivial silence of the night.
HBD GETO SUGURU
“Geto-sama, you have an audience with an Amano Kiriko and her father in approximately 30 minutes.”
The cult leader doesn’t say a word, the stalk of pink carnation getting nicked a little too close to its petals for his comfort, his pruning shears threatening the beauty of the flora in his hand.
He thought he had it this time.
Now it’s too short. The osmanthus flowers he had spent so much time intricately placing together will go to waste… Dumb rocks and leaves that took way too long to work in harmony with each other. He sighs, frustration coursing through his tensed arms whilst staring down at the already ruined flower despite the beauty it still retained. It just didn’t fit in well with the image he had in mind. So beautiful, yet so useless now.
Should he just redo it? Amethyst orbs follow the stalk up to where it’s now currently being held up to the hanging lamp light, whiffs of its sweet scent reaching his nose as he glares. He ponders and ponders, his eyes closing to savour the fragrance.
So sweet.
“Tell Amaya-san we’re postponing. I’m busy.” Can’t you see how preoccupied he is with this? It obviously takes precedence over some worthless monkey.
A little more suffering won’t do them any harm.
The silence drags, yet Manami Suda does not break the tense stillness any further, does not even correct her superior on his mispronunciation. What use is there for him to remember a mere monkey’s name?
“Understood, Geto-sama. I will move your meeting back by 40 minutes.” She bows low, her gaze kept towards the ground before she turns on her heel and makes her way out, shiny hair bouncing with every step as she makes it a point to close the door behind her as gently, as silently possible.
It seems that her handsome boss is having one of those days again.
A quiet creak of his door and heel clicks that disappear with distance until they were no more.
It’s now that he realizes he’s alone again, silently staring down at the blush pink of the petals in his hand. He twirls the stalk over and over between his fingers as the silence stretches and stretches. It overwhelms him, his thoughts just a little too loud in the blaring quietude.
“Suguru, you don’t look well.” A warm hand against his forehead, your worried gaze and a soft voice. Touch shifting away and making him nearly chase after your comfort.
(Just for a little longer.)
“Have you been eating properly?” You’re sad, lips downturned into a frown that makes him regret ever looking so gaunt— So weak. He wants to placate you, wants to assure you.
“I’m fine—“
“Nope!” An interruption of an all too boisterous voice, lanky arms immediately hooking around both of you as you’re both pulled towards an all too excited Satoru. “So what say we go out and treat him some good ol’ soba?”
His head is starting to hurt again. A grit of his teeth and shears clattering onto the wooden table, frustrated sigh and slumping of his shoulders to ease this tension within his body. He doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel so… Bad.
It’s only then that his hands reach for the book that was upon the chabudai he sat at, trembling fingers finally making contact with the old paper, the slightly frayed pages easing the stress in his mind, the roar in his ears.
His fingers would trace well-worn, yellowed pages of an all too old shoujo manga, familiar pages that had a noticeable dent in them from how beloved they were by the previous owner. It takes him back, makes his hands reach into traces of the past. Away from this headache inducing present, away from his pain.
“There you are. I bought those famous Kiyoken shumai—“ He freezes in his tracks, his eyes widening and eyebrows raising in shock and worry when he chanced upon your teary gaze, your expression akin to a deer caught in headlights as you look at him with shiny, gemlike eyes and tears that had already spilled, rolling down your embarrassed cheeks.
He takes only a moment to recover, only silently walking forward to plop the plastic bag onto the dining table, giving you a quick once-over before patting your head, as you squeak in stunned surprise, his hand combing down your hair gently before he turns on his heel, steps heavy, quick and a threatening smile upon his face. He starts cracking his knuckles for good measure, his aura flaring into one of intimidation as he gets ready to beat a certain someone up.
“I’ll kill him.”
“S-Suguru— Wait! It’s not Satoru’s fault!” You’re already up on your feet, running to intercept him and grabbing onto his arm, using all your strength to hold him back as you feel your socked feet start to drag across the floor, his strength uninhibited by your attempt.
An innocent, accusatory lilt of his voice as he stops, turning to face you. “Oh? I don’t feel very merciful today—“
“I was crying because of a manga!” Blurted out with a shameful, humiliated voice, your arms hugging his one to your chest even tighter. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your face burns and burns with growing mortification that makes you want to curl up and die and possibility cry even more.
And that calms him down in an instant.
That memory still makes him chuckle, a hand under his chin as his eyes blink at the imagery formed in his head. Mindless flipping of the pages causes him to land on a scene that’s been bookmarked far too many times. He knows this line by heart.
“Till the stars fall down and empty from the sky—“ You sniffle, cutting yourself off and letting Suguru dab the tears treading down your cheeks as you don’t even try to resist, or even pull away from his thoroughly amused self.
“I-It’s just so romantic, okay…?!”
“Hmm?” His smile only seems to grow wider as he leans forth, handkerchief is abandoned in favour of using his thumb, gently tapping at the tears forming again in the corner of your eyes to tease you. “I wouldn’t really know if you don’t finish, will I?”
“B-but I’ll just cry—“ You quickly press his abandoned handkerchief to your nose, a sorry attempt at trying to drag your expressions away to quell the burning shame of having to face him. “Way more, Suguru…!”
“Cry all you want then.” His hand goes to hold your cheek, settling your face in his hand and chuckling as he pats your head, smiling softly, gently, warmly at the way you’re starting to bawl even harder somehow. “I’ll be here to wipe your tears away for you.”
A lock of his hair flitters in front of him, breaking him out of his nostalgic trance as a breeze blows in, as if caressing the strands with tender curiosity. A hand reaches up to thoughtlessly twirl it, amaranth eyes finally opening to bring himself back to reality.
Should he cut his hair soon?
“Suguru, you cut it?!” Satoru holds the boy’s face in his hands, shaking him back and forth and whining his disappointment. “Whyyyyyy?! How could you do that to our beautiful hair?!”
“Our…? Satoru, last I checked it was attached to my scal—“
“No…”
You’re devastated as you sat behind him, fingers slotted inbetween smooth strands that have now been slashed into shortened locks, trampling on your dreamy imagery of his gorgeous hair, your arms hugging around his waist from behind as your face buries into his shoulder to weep for the loss of his beauty.
“Our pretty hair…”
“…aren’t you both being a little overdramatic?”
He feels his heart shake, an ache that yearned to be eased when he opens his eyes to realize that he’s all alone. No matter how far those memories seemed to be, whenever he closed his eyes… It always seemed to be filled with an image of those precious days.
Steadying himself with a sigh and getting up onto his socked feet, he stretches his arms and lets his joints pop.
He should stop thinking about these things.
——
It’s fun.
Geto Suguru is having fun. A stutter in his chest, a fleeting feel in his heart as he exchanged blows. Different from those other students, so similar to that certain someone. Dodging, parrying, summoning, running, bleeding.
So fast. So purposeful in every hit, so unnatural, so talented.
Okkotsu Yuuta was the perfect sorcerer. A curse technique with so much potential, an aura of budding, endless possibilities. Why, oh, why does he still stand with the lesser beings, the lesser race?
His wooden clogs skid across concrete as he stands his ground, a smirk of condemnation and displeasure evident as he spits out a mouthful of blood and metallic ire.
He’ll show him. Show this boy the disparity of their power, the difference in their leagues of playing field as he wipes the remnants of crimson off his mouth, the stinging bruise upon his cheek from where he was bunched pulsating with an urge to destroy. To conquer.
“Cursed Spirit Manipulation: Supreme Art,” A taunting point of his finger upwards, crazed grin upon his face. Bear witness to his overwhelming strength, to his irrepressible supremacy. He doesn’t need anything else when he’s drunk off of power. “Uzumaki.”
Swirling black and daunting shadows form at his fingertip, echos of screams and damned cries of the beasts he’s consumed billowing within.
“Okkotsu,” His face is in a state of a proud, manic insanity, shivers of lustful victory trembling his bones. “I’m glad I could kill you before you managed to fully wield Orimoto Rika.”
This is it. Geto Suguru’s victory, the beginning of the end for this Jujutsu Society. Once this boy dies, he will absorb the Queen of Curses, he will be strong enough to finally change this wretched world for the better.
Would he be satisfied then? Would he finally feel that he’s avenged—
Okkotsu Yuuta doesn’t say a word, a shining determination in his gaze as his back is turned to his enemy, a tentative hand upon the curse that followed him as he called her name. The name of the girl he had known, had loved all this time.
“Rika.” A small whisper into the cursed being’s supposed ear. “I’ll give you everything,” A breath is taken. “My body, my heart, my soul…”
Geto Suguru wants to feel disgusted at the sight.
“I love you, Rika.”
The light hits the silver of the young boy’s ring, metal glinting and catching the attention of the cult leader who was kind enough to let that poor kid say his final words.
“Thank you for always protecting me.” It’s odd, repulsive, Suguru thinks as his ears catch wind of those sugary sweet lines. How warm those words feel, how they’re said with such a bittersweet mirth, how it’s almost like it resembles your—
“Suguru.” Your voice is quiet, your presence a fading comfort as he barely feels it within this empty room.
He feels a phantom warmth, a non-existent touch lightly caressing his cold, gaunt face. A contact that he doesn’t want to let up as his hands reach up only to feel nothingness and an unbearable lurch of his throat.
An aftertaste weighs heavy on his tongue, like a rag that had been used to wipe up vomit. Ringing in his ears as his nose feels clogged, nigh unbreathable. Does it even matter if he doesn’t reply? Will it matter if he tries to will away that distorted voice of yours?
Geto Suguru sees red, sees looming metal doors, hears the thundering jeers of a cult, hears a scream of your name, feels the building terror and anguish of his heart in full.
Feels like he doesn’t know why you’re here now.
Think, Suguru. Why are you of all people appearing right in this crucial moment? What do you want? What are you trying to do? What are you trying to say?
If you had one thing to say to him right now, what would it be?
“Thank you for falling in love with me.”
A sharp intake of air to snap himself out of it, the odd chorus of Yuuta’s voice and yours mixing and mashing up in his head, his pupils dilating and finally focusing back into the battle at hand. It isn’t like him to lose his focus like this. Isn’t like him to get so distracted by a haunting thought.
“Aren’t you quite the player, Okkotsu Yuuta?” His words end on an annoyed growl, a building temper to supplement the forgotten rage in his heart.
But this is what he wants, isn’t it?
“That’s rude.” Okkotsu Yuuta is deadpan, his face set in a tone of utmost sincerity and seriousness.
“This is true love.”
And Geto Suguru wonders if that’s what went wrong as he gets swallowed by an explosion of pink and white.
——
Geto Suguru thought he would at least go out with more grace. A little more flair, in a burst of Hollow Purple or a deep Red.
But not like this.
Not with his back against an alleyway wall, slid down to the ground in pathetic defeat, not whilst he’s missing an arm, bleeding out and searingly painful.
Not while Gojo Satoru stares him down like that in his final moments.
“You’re late,” He just can’t help the smile on his face that forms as his voice traces those beloved words after far too long. “Satoru.”
An exchange of words, their conversation that took place. From the safety of Suguru’s newfound family, to the battle with Satoru’s students… Suguru realizes that what was once his cold, hardened heart was starting to stir with nostalgia, a flutter in his chest that makes him want to get lost in this conversation for just a bit longer; even if the expression on Satoru’s face was blank, empty.
Even if he never smiled at him anymore.
So he takes his time, drawing out each word and sentence and mindless thought that had been churned into a flitter in his stomach that makes him think that it isn’t so bad to be on the losing end.
That it isn’t so bad that this is his end.
And when all was said and done, it goes silent. Comfortingly so in this bitter atmosphere that makes him forget about the stale iron in his mouth and his defeated heart that had nothing left to hide.
It’s hard to say that Geto Suguru was satisfied just yet.
“Do you… Still think I’m a good person?” It’s sudden, a taboo scab nobody, not even Geto himself had wanted to pick at. A wound that never quite gelled over. But— It’s fine because it’s here. It’s fine because it’s right now. Because these trivial, meaningless conversations are what make him feel whole, make him find meaning amongst all his doubt.
“Yeah.” A pause as the honoured one takes in a breath, the squeezing of his palms into tight fists as his glowing eyes begin to soften to shimmery radiance. “I bet she would still think so too.”
That’s not true. Geto Suguru feels, knows it just cannot be, no matter how much his broken heart yearns to believe it. It’s for that reason that he finally lets out a laugh, eyes turning into crescents to match his satisfied smile.
“I killed tons of innocent people, you know?”
There’s no way you would ever look at him the same way.
“You can go and ask her personally, then.” Gojo Satoru sounds so steady, so confident and brazen with his threat; that it sounds like a consolation to Geto Suguru, that it leaves him in utter disbelief at the man’s faith in him, his belief that a damned person like him would ever get to reunite with the likes of you.
Though, it brings him peace in this moment.
“Maybe I will.” It’s his final reassurance, stemming from a hope that he gets to be together with you once more, a last solace for his painful, aching soul in the silence that follows after.
“It’s disappointing, Satoru.”
His eyes blink as he leans his head back against the grimy wall, letting out a breath to soothe the staggering gnawing at his conscience. “That I couldn’t wear a heartfelt smile in this world anymore.”
Not when it turned out like this.
A beat passes, and yet another as Suguru finally feels his body beginning to crumble, vision starting to blur as he starts to see brightness in his dimming eyes. It’s okay. It’s okay now because—
It’s over.
He sees his beloved squat down, coming down onto this pitiful level to meet eyes with him. What is he—
Sincere blue to fading purple, parting lips that start mouthing words that he didn’t think he deserved to hear. He knows that goodbyes are bitter, that he’ll never be ready enough to hear them.
That he’ll never be able to accept that you’re gone.
Yet, even as it reaches into his ears, he didn’t expect the weight, the pressure that makes the tiniest semblance of regret swirl in his heart, slowly realized into a wish that he could rewind time to hear Satoru’s voice that teeters upon a breaking sorrow once more. Just one more time.
“We’ll meet again, right?”
Geto Suguru can only laugh, letting amusement enshroud his expression as his neck cranes towards the light in which his one and only Gojo Satoru shrouded. It’s so stupid, so in character for someone like him.
“At least curse me a little at the end.”
This is how he wants to go. There’s nothing else he wants to long for now… Not the Queen of Curses, not the utter desire to destroy non-sorcerers, not the bloodthirsty revenge and grudge he held against the Jujutsu system— He just wants to feel at peace from the hands of his other half.
This is it.
“Take care of her until I get there.” Wherever you both end up, his final message and blessing from just Satoru to just Suguru. A responsibility given to him that Gojo hopes comes true. All because he hopes it’s peaceful where you both were, that it relieves you both of the hope that made you hurt more.
Suguru’s parting smile is bittersweet, a blush upon his face as enchanting purple finally hide away, finally put to rest with the last of his cursed energy dissipating. A ‘goodbye’ is something he’s no good at, a ‘see you later’ far too unfulfilling. He wishes he could find kinder words as he lets his heart speak his truth, breathed out in a whisper so tender.
“Don’t be late again, Satoru.”
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Notes:
Pink carnations: I’ll never forget you.
Osmanthus flowers: True love.
‘Till the stars fall down and empty from the sky, if you’re with me then everything’s alright.’ - Everything’s Alright from To the Moon (nvy’s favourite game)
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hydra-sea · 2 months
Text
◈ Wriothesley x reader (gender neutral they/them is used) ◈ SAGAU AU (self-aware genshin au) ◈ notes: hurt/comfort, short piece (drabble? idk), a bit of a fourth wall break? This is quite personal for me after being (falsely) accused of going through my coworker’s things at work two weeks ago. Needless to say, that was the last straw for me and I quit. Hope you all enjoy and find some entertainment in this piece and maybe even some comfort <3 ◈ winner from this poll
☆゜・。・。・゜★ ☆゜・。・。・゜★
He felt it before he saw it; the turmoil that brewed throughout the entire Fortress. It began as a feeling of unease, then melancholy, then it progressed into a blanket of static energy that kept everyone on edge. The Creator of Teyvat was clearly distressed, clearly going through something, yet Wriothesley could not figure out what. Unfortunately, work at Meropide involved duties that kept him occupied during absurd hours of the day and night, so he wasn’t able to fully investigate the cause of his beloved Creator’s sadness.
It wasn’t until one day that he heard it; his Creator’s sobs as They passed by him in the Traveler’s vessel. It was a visceral thing; the sound reverberating in his mind in the form of gut-wrenching echoes. Wriothesley couldn’t tell if They were crying audibly in Their realm or if the energy of melancholy traveled through Their mind into his. Even so, it seemed that others in the Fortress could feel it too – even Sigewinne – who was the one to concede first.
“Your Grace, the Creator is so sad,” she says, a small hand clutching her chest and an expression of genuine agony, “Wolsey and some other inmates came by today and asked me if I knew anything about it. The Creator seems to have a close connection with you. Your Grace, please try and see if you can ask Them what’s wrong or if you can help Them. I hate feeling Their sadness…”
Wriothesley lets out a small exhale as he sits behind his desk. “Thank you, Sigewinne. And… I know. I have felt it for a while now. They feel so drained and exhausted. I-I will try to alleviate Their turmoil.”
Sigewinne sighs in relief. “Thank you, Your Grace. It’s not just the fortress that is affected, either. I’m not sure the wildlife or flora on the surface of Teyvat will be able to handle any more sadness from Them.”
With that, Sigewinne leaves the Duke’s office and lets Wriothesley ruminate on what he wishes to convey to the Creator. He knew that he was held in high regard by the Creator; despite Them never visiting Teyvat personally…yet, anyway. He could surely hope that one day They would come in Their own vessel and not through the Traveler.
He clears his throat, deciding to throw caution to the wind and begin his comfort as best he could. “Your Grace? Are You there? I sure hope You can hear me… or feel me, at least. I want to know why You feel so forlorn. Is there anything that we, Your creations, can do to help?”
Silence. More silence ensues. After several beats, Wriothesley sighs. Surely, the Creator had Their own problems to deal with and he wasn’t even sure if Teyvat were Their only creations or not. Until–
“It’s just… so tiring.”
Wriothesley’s eyes go wide and he leans forward in his desk chair; unsure if he’s truly witnessing Their holy voice in his mind. With a certain amount of caution and gentility, he urges Them to continue. 
“I dealt with these micromanagers, my bosses, for so long. I thought I could stick it out, you know? I tried to. I really tried. But having someone breathe down my neck for every little thing is so exhausting. No matter how hard I worked, no matter how early I came in or late I stayed, it was never good enough, was it? They are a small company so I just don’t understand how they feel they can get away with treating so many employees like that. I mean, the turnover rate is high for a reason and… please excuse me for rambling. I want to cry, I think. But I just can’t. I’m tired and angry and upset and… I know that I’m a hard worker. I know I did my best. But to be accused of going through a coworker’s desk when I was just trying to work? When my supervisor allowed another employee to go into that same coworker’s office anyway? I felt singled out and–,” Your voice is choked; a deep, rumbling sigh that verberates through the air.
Wriothesley cuts You off before he can feel You spiral, the frantic tone of Your voice and inner turmoil slices through him with great distress. “Your Grace, if I may, I don’t quite understand Your world nor do I understand what it is You may be going through,” he waits for You and when he feels You listening to his words and the stifling presence of negativity slowly begin to stagnate, he continues.
“But I do know that You are a kind and gracious Creator. You’ve listened to me, helped me, visited me at the Fortress. You already know me and know I don’t trust easily, and yet you still dedicate Your time to making sure I’m not so lonely. I…I appreciate that more than I can express. With all that being said, I want to tell You that we, Your creations, are here for You. No matter what. We’ll always be here for You and support You even if you feel You’ve been treated poorly and unfairly. We can feel Your good energy, the love You have, the hard work You put into everything. Your emotions are valid too. Please… don’t forget that.”
More silence ensues after Wriothesley’s impromptu pep talk to You. For a moment, he worries that You’ve already left, but when he hears a choked laugh he feels immediate relief.
“Thank you, Wriothesley. Just… thank you.”
He smiles at that and relaxes in his chair. “Anytime, Your Grace. We’re here for You.”
“I know.” He can feel the smile in Your voice.
Soon, Your presence dissipates and Wriothesley is left alone with his thoughts. The energy of the Fortress, and of Teyvat, quickly returns to equilibrium and no longer does the air feel so stifling and heavy. After several minutes, Sigewinne makes an appearance in the Duke’s office once more with a knowing smile on her face. 
☆゜・。・。・゜★ ☆゜・。・。・゜★
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sheepispink · 4 months
Text
Let me be everything you’ve wanted
tags: alhaitham x reader, intended to be fem reader but no pronouns used (girly perfume mentioned but thats it tbh), academic rivals to lovers, fluff, so much damn fluff, this is literally just comfort, lots of teasing, sharing a bed 😈, entirely sfw, probably cringe um
work count is like 3.6k BRO
notes: for those unaware with akademiya stuff: house of daena is the library, amurta is the study of flora and fauna (biology)
this is probably ooc but do i care? no.
12am. House of Daena.
Tucked away in your own little corner, your desk is sprawled with books, blueprints, singed scrolls—anything you could get your hands on.
Ironically, your palm is now the only support your head has now as you near closer and closer to the slumber your eyes long for. Exhaustion clouds all rational thoughts, and you find yourself longing for something you swear to hate the most.
Those familiar footsteps are like music to your ears, and you’re suddenly grateful for those shoes you’ve teased him about never changing.
He slides a chair out, stealing the very same seat as those many nights ago.
“What are you still doing up? It’s almost closing hours.” That cold expression never leaves his face, his piercing eyes narrowing at your state. It’s a trademark of a sort.
“I could ask you the same thing, Al-Haitham.” You retort with a little ‘hmph’. You’re already cramming for next week’s exams, and you do not want to deal with your rival too; he’s a handful as it is.
“I’m not the one who can’t even turn their head to face me because that’s too much of a strain on their tired brain.” His expression remains the same—cold and stern—and so does his attitude with the constant insults. Though this time they hold an undertone of concern and he looks a little… weary.
It confuses you so much. You always wear a smirk on your face around him, especially when you finally get under his skin. You take pride in your efforts, feeling successful that you managed to beat his cold exterior. He, however, remains the same, even when he one-ups you countless times. No happiness, no pride, not even a hint of amusement. Are you really just another annoying nuisance to him? You shake that thought away quickly; you’re sitting beside him, and you cannot let this opportunity pass to break that shell. After all, you’ve done it countless nights before; it won’t be hard to do it again.
“Really? Because you look as tired as I am.”
You speak firmly, ready for his inevitable rebuttal. The piles of work is the last thing on your mind now, mentally pushed to the side as soon as he had walked in.
“I’ve taken many breaks while studying, actually.” He scoffs, but you notice the way he suddenly seems interested in the scattered notes in your folder, turning his face as if to hide his fatigue.
You slam the notebook shut and smirk; this is your time to shine.
“Are those dark circles under your eyes from the smudge of ink then? Perhaps from the number of times you’ve rubbed your eyes to stay awake?” You shift in your chair to face him better, your gaze forcing him to meet your eyes now.
“Your hair has flattened from the number of times your hands have run through it, and you can’t even keep up your glare longer than usual.”
The cross of your arms indicates the end of your mini-counterargument, and you look at him proudly, waiting for how he’ll try to get out of this.
You think you catch a hint of surprise flickering across his features, but he’s already shadowed it with a roll of his eyes.
“You’re oddly perceptive today; perhaps you’ve taken a liking to admiring my face.”
His lips curve slightly for a mere second; your stern, cold, ass of a rival is teasing you. “What’s wrong? Did I catch the mouse?” His tone is still harsh and blunt, but he lacks the bite he always has when conversing with his rival.
“I only admire you when you’re asleep in my bed.” Your voice is smug, and you’re leaning in, closer and closer, breaths away now. “Come on, we’re both tired.”
You plead in your most convincing tone. He cant deny it; it has been a long time.
He freezes as you gently take his hands, his pride shattering with remembrance of two weeks prior. Al-Haitham narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with his rival more than he needed to. But… the library is vacant right now. It’d be so easy to slip off. No prying eyes and a chance of rumours. Just two sworn rivals, tired and sleepy, desperate for a long rest before they have to remember all their duties for tomorrow.
He scoffs, “I’d rather not. You know exactly what happens each time, and I’m not spending 8 hours in bed with you again.”
He could see the pleading in your eyes, and if he were being honest, he wished he could’ve stayed longer last time.
“You make it seem like it’s a crime.” A grumble and then a small huff— you’re clearly adamant about this. His eyes lock onto your enticing ones, but he knows your tricks all too well.
“You’ve got some nerve asking me again after last time.” He scoffs again (you wonder if he can go a day without doing that), pulls his hands from your grasp, and gets up from his seat.
“Oh, come on, last time wasn’t that bad. You’re exaggerating.” A roll of your eyes, and you’re already starting to pack up your papers. Even if he doesn’t allow that, he will drag you out if you decide to keep studying instead of sleeping.
“I had a lecture at 8:30am, and your body clung to me until 8am. Your room is 20 minutes from the campus, and I hadn’t even a chance to eat breakfast because of you weighing me down.” A heavy sigh escapes his mouth as he remembers the glances he got from the presenter and the other students. Being late was a rare thing for Al-Haitham, but being late, dishevelled, and having to ask for paper and a pen from other students? They thought he must’ve gone insane.
On the other hand, your jaw has found a home on the floor. Yes, you vaguely remember him shoving you off and muttering a string of not-so-nice words, but you swear it wasn’t as bad as he described! Clinging to him—you? never.
“Ha, as if I’d ever-“
“Cling to me? I had a feeling you’d say that.”
Your pride is shattered in a matter of seconds, never to be rebuilt again, you would say. The evidence is shown before you, and even worse, it’s in photo form. Your arms are slung tightly around his shoulders, your legs are intertwined with his, and worst of all, your cheeks are smushed against his neck.
“I..” Nothing can save you now; there’s no coming back from this one.
“Exactly.” He’s got a smug look in his eyes now as he glares at you, knowing you’re very much stuck.
Well, when you can’t agree or deny it, just change the entire subject. At least that’s your newfound motto.
“The point is, you don’t have classes until 1p.m. tomorrow, and you know I never wake up that late-“
“How do you know my schedule?”
“…”
The silence is deafening. Well, congratulations on changing the subject. How do you even know his schedule? You don’t remember specifically trying to find it.
“Did you seriously remember the days when I left the room without a fuss and worked out my schedule according to that?”
That’s exactly what you did. Of course, you’d never outright look at his schedule or snoop at his things (he’s crazy observant, he would know). But you find yourself figuring him out more and more each time. On Thursdays and Tuesdays, he’d leave with no fuss, even giving you a small ruffle of your hair (which you never admitted to being awake for). Naturally, as his rival and for only that purpose (obviously), you decided to look up each and every class for that day and slowly work out his timetable based on the subjects you had seen him study for.
Stalking? No. One step ahead of your rival? Yes.
You sigh and place the pile of books you had borrowed earlier back in their rightful places. You’d be going home regardless. ‘I don’t need him. He’s useless, and i can sleep perfectly fine on my own. I’m going to go home and get all cosy and have a long, peaceful sleep.’ Convincing yourself isn’t as hard as you thought, unlike trying to keep a neutral look on your face.
“I can see you sulking.” Al-Haitham remarks, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Will you shut up? Ahem, if you have nothing useful to do here, I suggest you leave too.” The monotone sound surprises him, one brow raising at you. He puts a hand down on the table in front of you, stopping you from moving any further. His eyes narrow, scanning your features.
“Stop using your student council voice with me; I’m not some troubled first year.”
“For further support, you may talk to-“
He lets out a reluctant groan and picks up your tote bag, slinging it over his broad shoulder. It sits perfectly, just like every other time. Calloused skin connects with your soft palm as he interlocks his freehand with yours.
“Fine. We’ll have a sleepover. Happy?” He finally gives in, though not without an exasperated sigh. You both know it’ll end this way, and you also both love the little game you play.
“Very.”
He lets you pull him towards your dorm room. A smug smile is permanent on your face, free to roam in the silent corridors as if it existed just for your leisure. You fiddle with your pockets, eventually pulling the keys out. The door swings open after a bit of lazy fumbling, and he follows in beside you. One hand rests on the small of your back after noticing your sudden sleepier state.
“Are you hungry? I have bagels.” You glance back at him, already zooming into the kitchen for a late-night snack. He sets your tote bag carefully on the floor, careful not to crush the notes within.
“You’ll burn it again.”
“Hey, I adapt and move forward, you know!”
You prepare him a bagel as he takes a seat on your plush couch. His eyes scan over the shelves, which are filled with all sorts of trinkets and mementos he’s almost begun to miss. On the other hand, his dorm is plain, with nothing more than the essentials. Is that the reason he always ends up sleeping over at your place? As if the answer wasn’t obvious from the countless times he’s laid awake in an empty bed, he finds himself questioning his emotions once more.
A ceramic plate is swiftly placed in front of his face, interrupting his thoughts. A toasted bagel is placed at a certain angle with extra sesame seeds scattered on the plate and butter spread fancifully on the side. Azure eyes meet your wide ones as you smile cheekily down at him.
“Who are you trying to impress? Gordon Ramsay?” He couldn’t help but let it slip out of his mouth. They were sworn rivals after all, and they’d have to be imposters if they went a day without getting a quip at one another.
“I could make Gordon Ramsay beg for my food.”
You watch eagerly for his reaction as his teeth bite into the soft, warm bread of the bagel and into the filling.
“Fine, I suppose it’s decent. Still overdone by about 20 seconds.”
“Oh, shut up!”
He cant help but let a smirk rise on his face as you storm into your bedroom, leaving him to eat the bagel in the quietness of your living room. He won’t admit it, but there was something about tasting something you made that satisfied him more than his favourite food usually did. Perhaps it was your focused look as you layered the fillings, or maybe it’s the way you proudly presented it before him. Regardless, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
You’re dressed in a plain t-shirt and plaid pyjama trousers when you return, a pile of clothes in your hands. “You left these at my place last time.”
“You didn’t wear them, did you?” His eyebrows raise as he looks at you suspiciously.
“Ew.” Disgust forms in your expression, and you roll your eyes at his accusation.“I washed it for you; be grateful.”
The neatly folded pile of clothes is taken in his hands, and he is surprised by the kind gesture. Or maybe you’re just a germaphobe, which seems slightly more likely. He slips on the freshly washed garments, closing his eyes as he inhales the sweet scent. It’s wonderful; like he’s sitting in a field of flowers at this very moment. It overcomes all his senses, being subdued by the comfort of your perfume—Wait. His eyes widen at the sudden realisation, and he lifts the thin fabric to his nose.
He was right; it is your perfume.
Of course, only you would practically drown his abandoned clothes in your most girliest perfume just to piss him off. Well, his cheeks are rather pink now after it had the complete opposite effect than intended. He supposes he should consider this a warning to ensure he takes his clothing with him next time.
The vanity light illuminates your soft skin in the dim bedroom. In front of you, bottles, tall and small, are laid out. Each cream,serum, and cleanser is chosen specifically for each of the steps of the routine. His crossed arms prop him up as he leans against the doorframe, trying to avoid disturbing you with your rather cute ministrations. You’ve changed a few of your products, even going so far as to change some of them to his that you had tested at his dorm. He mentally notes the new additions, already planning for when you next stay over.
If he were being logical like always, he could’ve kept it all in a drawer or a bag in his closet, but your little corner of things in his dorm brings colour and life to the dull room he’s never once considered his home. Something stirs within him—the reflection of his ‘spare’ bathrobe on the back of the bathroom door, a smudge of lipstick on the hand towel, an empty coffee mug that is waiting in the cupboard. He can’t forget the box of vitamins on the dining table as he eats his breakfast. You insist they will keep him healthy (they’re kiddie gummies).
He blinks, returning to the moment. A content sigh rumbles through his chest as he watches you in awe for a moment longer before finally taking a seat on his side of the bed—something he had unintentionally claimed not too long ago. His hands settle on the soft linen of your floral bedsheets,which only ever seem to change colours and never lose the embroidery of your beloved plants. Despite your incessant complaining, the Amurta major in you always seems to shine through in the smallest things, or perhaps he’s the one constantly looking for it. Just now, he had seen the water droplets on your pyjama shirt, signalling that you had just watered all the plants that hang across the walls of your bedroom. He wonders which sage you coerced into allowing you to have this.
He watches you from behind—the way your soft fingertips rub the serums into your skin and the focused look on your face as you look into yourself in the mirror. It makes him feel warm as you admire your face in the reflection. He thinks you’re perfect, and he wants you to think it too. But he’s also getting a little impatient.
“Begged me for a sleepover but won’t even join me?”
Despite the annoyance held in his words , his tone is calm and soft; he’s never been the same Al-Haitham when in your room. The soft fairy lights illuminating the adorable polaroids littering the walls soothe his mind; it makes him think of you in a different light. He could never be so cold towards you now that he’s seen so much of you, and now he intends to lay himself bare, without his armour.
“Just a moment..”
You give up on your witty comebacks as you succumb to what you’ve craved for far too long now. Your warmth encases him as the bed sheets rustle once again in your presence this time. He brings his face closer, not wasting a moment until he coaxes you closer, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into his side.
“You need to rest.”
He states, but its more of a question of whether you’ll listen and sleep or defy your needs to tease him a little longer.
“Oh, I’m the one who needs to rest, do I?”
You say it slyly, giving him a playful grin as you enjoy how his arms feel around your torso. Your hands sneak up to his hair, ruffling it out of its flatness.
“Yes, you. Who else?”
He rolls his eyes at you, and pushes your hand away from his messy locks. On hand reaches up to gently thumb the dark circles under your eyes. “No skin care routine is going to fix this, so you better sleep on time for whoever you’re always trying to impress.”
You hold your mouth shut. Think about it.
Sure, you can argue that you do all of it for yourself. But it’s a complete lie. All of this, this rivalry, this overworking yourself, these antics. They’re all to one up him, all to be smarter than him, in hopes that one day you will beat him. Or maybe something else. Maybe you want him to acknowledge that you beat him. Maybe you want him to acknowledge you.
A small scoff is heard as you rest your head near the crook of his neck, one arm over his chest as you tuck yourself into his side.
“ ‘m not tryna impress anyone.”
The words are mumbled as the dim room gets to you, coaxing the tiredness out of you. His hand moves to your head, running his fingers through the strands of soft hair.
“Did you know if you sleep earlier, then you’ll actually retain more information? If you did that, maybe you’d beat me.”
His voice is low, lulling you to rest as you begin to doze off. He can feel your head growing heavier and his gentle strokes growing slower as he watches you drift off. Your responses turn into inaudible mumbles, which he lets out a small chuckle to.
Maybe, deep down, you do yearn for his attention. Perhaps you do yearn to be better, wish that one day this pretense will be broken and you can love him without holding back.
His gaze is fixed on the way your hair falls around your face, stray strands on your cheeks. He can’t understand why you push yourself so hard. He’s seen your efforts, everyone has, its clear as day. But its rather amusing to see you try so hard to prove yourself to him. You just need to step back and look at your achievements and you’ll realise it all.
“Maybe you’ll see that you already have everything you’ve wanted here already.”
He whispers the words softly. And who knows, maybe one day he’ll say it when you’re wide awake.
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seabirdtxt · 10 months
Text
Consecuto Divinum
Scaramouche has touched true divinity, and flexed his abilities to their current limits. He must deal with the consequences, however permanent or temporary. [p1] [p2] [p3 - you are here!]
Notes: Genshin SAGAU, cult au. picks up directly after part 2. Interlude chapter: this is mostly focused on the aftermath of Scara's connection.
WC. 1.3k
----- ⚘ -----
“What do you mean?” Scaramouche bites, feeling the pounding in his head getting more unbearable. “What do you mean, ‘I can hear them’?”
“Well,” the Traveler’s voice is tinny and distant. “You can hear the Creator’s voice, right? Can you… Understand them?”
At this, Scaramouche frowns. “Are you saying that you can hear them, but you don’t understand them?”
The Traveler nods, sheepish and wary. “When they speak, it feels like an unbearable pressure in my chest and my head,” they tell him, cupping one hand over their ear as they shake their head, as if trying to clear the very sensation they’re describing. “An overwhelming weight, pressing down on me from all sides… Like a sense of foreboding, almost. I can only glean a general sense of their emotions, but never words…”
“That sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Scaramouche states, feeling a deep satisfaction that only he, and not even your supposed vessel upon Teyvat, is blessed with the understanding of your speech. “I’m afraid I can’t help you if you’re too weak to withstand the unfathomable power of that connection.”
The Traveler scowls. “And here I thought maybe talking to the Creator would have made you less of a jerk.” 
Scaramouche waves them off, already losing interest. He takes a tentative step forward in this bizarre dreamscape, testing the limits of his projection. To his delight, he can move and even touch things in this half-world, his palm brushing over the verdant leaves of the pavilion's flora. 
“What are you doing? Stay where you are!” The Traveler says, their sword drawn and pointing at him. Scaramouche only laughs at the pitiful display.
“You think you’re gonna hurt me? You’re gonna cut me down?” He laughs, cruel and mocking. Without warning, he rushes forward and grabs the Traveler by the front of their stupid outfit, a wide, sadistic smile on his face. “Better make it count, my friend.”
With a cry of surprise, the Traveler swings with their weapon, eyes panicked as they watch the blade slide through Scaramouche’s body as if he didn’t even exist. The puppet laughs harder, letting go of the Traveler’s shirt and covers his face with his hand.
“Ha! Haha! Amazing! You outdid yourself with that one, really you did.” He mocks with a sing-song tone. “You see, that’s the difference between you and I.”
He steps into the Traveler’s space again, bringing their faces close enough that he can make out the golden flecks in their eyes.
“You may be favoured by a god,” he tells them, a saccharine smile spread across his lips as the Traveler stumbles away, hastily putting distance between them. He bursts once more into sharp laughter. “... but I am one!” 
“Balladeer, your nose…” The Traveler’s expression is strange, almost concerned, as they point with a shaking hand at his face.
“... huh?” 
Scaramouche stops laughing, confusion overtaking him as he feels something sliding down his chin. He touches his face softly, feeling moisture. When he pulls his hand away, he sees dark red and purple blood staining his fingers.
That’s when the world goes dark.
----- ⚘ -----
Scaramouche comes to with the sound of distant, muffled shouting ringing in his head. And isn’t that a strange sensation? Being a puppet, falling unconscious is an occurrence that had never happened to him before.
With a groan, he shakes his head to clear that bizarre foggy sensation. Someone shouts again, and Scaramouche grumbles at the sound.
“Good morning, Lord Balladeer,” a patronizing voice filters in through the noise. “I see you’ve decided to rejoin us in the land of the living.” 
“... five more minutes.” Scaramouche retorts, brown furrowing at how slurred his speech is. He raises his head to look at the Doctor, who loses patience at his sluggish movement and grabs the puppet’s chin roughly, turning his head this way and that. Scaramouche bears the humiliating inspection with a grimace.
“I see you haven't completely lost your faculties,” Dottore remarks, tongue clicking. “A shame, really, I could’ve done with more silent compliance from you.” 
“What happened?” Scaramouche asks, eager to conclude whatever business the Doctor has with him.
“Why don’t you tell me?” Dottore frowns, dropping Scaramouche’s chin and letting the puppet’s head fall unceremoniously. Scaramouche fights to hide the wince at the jarring movement, and lifts his head of his own volition to look at the taller man. “I let you have your fun with the god-machine, and in return I hear you terrorized my technicians, damaged the interior of the cockpit, and passed out for several hours, completely unresponsive. Dead to the world, really. You’re lucky I like you so much, dear Balladeer, else I might’ve let you waste away in that tin can of yours and saved all of us the trouble of having to deal with you.” 
Scaramouche snorts and spits a clot of red-purple blood on the floor at Dottore’s feet. “Good luck finding someone else who can withstand the raw power of the gnosis, then,” he sneers, meeting the Doctor’s eyes through his stupid mask. “Nobody else can do what I do, and you know it.”
Dottore’s frown deepens and his lips press into a tight line. “Be that as it may, it will do you no good to permanently damage yourself or the machine before it is time to officially launch.” Dottore straightens, and gestures to the gaggle of technicians. “Unhook him.” 
“Wait- no!” Scaramouche thrashes and tries to push the prying hands away from him, but his body is still weak from his recent mishap. He can only let it happen as the tubes are disconnected from him, their absence starkly felt as each socket comes apart. When everything is disconnected, he is slowly lowered to a stretcher and laid out, his arms and legs shackled to prevent him from lashing out again.
The Doctor retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and leans over Scaramouche’s prone body, using the cloth to wipe his face in a mockery of gentleness. The white fabric is stained with the marbled blood. 
“Looks like you need more practice before you are fully, how did you put it? Attuned to your god-machine.” Dottore smiles, all teeth. “My technicians have offered to bring you to your room, quite generous of them given the amount of repair work you’ve left for them to do on your behalf. You can behave yourself for a day or two, right?” 
Scaramouche doesn’t answer, only gives a tight, forced smile as the technicians lift the stretcher and carry him away. The Doctor gives a few more orders as Scaramouche is carried away, but the sound quickly blurs from his mind.
He doesn’t quite register when the technicians drop him off at his room (and isn’t that concerning?) where he jolts to consciousness in his own bed, having been changed out of the clothes he’d been wearing for three days and into a fresh, simple black kimono. Dottore is sentimental that way, in a pitifully human way, and stocked Scaramouche’s rooms under the assumption that he holds some sort of attachment to the land of his creation.
Disgruntled, Scaramouche forces himself to sit up and take stock. His face and skin are clean, likely in thanks to whichever technician cleaned up his clothes. There is an unholy pounding in his head, and he wonders if his databank took damage from the connection with the Creator. Lastly, despite being disconnected from the Shouki no Kami, Scaramouche can still feel the liquid energy pulsing through his system. 
He holds his hand out in front of him, flexing it and turning it over, as he reaches for that half-world again. It takes a few false starts, but that discoloured suspension in time answers him once again, tinting his vision in grey. An animalistic grin takes over his face as he reaches through time and space once more and reaches for You.
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sixatrocities · 10 months
Text
── our little secret
pairing: fyodor dostoyevsky x nikolai gogol
content: anal sex, sadism, edging, overstimulation if you squint.
wc & notes: 1,496 words!! a big thank you to the lovely flora, aka @/pussydrunkfyodor for helping me with the colored text.
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Fyodor Dostoyevsky never once imagined that he would be in this state- bare, naked and vulnerable on this bed. Darkness consumed every inch of the room, including the bed he was lying on. With no way to see except the faint glow of moonlight seeping in through the silk curtains, the weak and exhausted man didn’t even think of the possibility of someone walking in and seeing him in such a state.
Even though he himself was aware of how exposed he was, he couldn’t stop. Why, the greatly feared man had his worn out hand wrapped around his aching cock, a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the obscene sounds he was making. 
Sweat clung to his forehead as he continued to stroke, whining into his palm. He began to lazily but desperately thrust his hips up into his own hand, letting out a choked up whimper as he began to speed up the pace. 
See, our dear, sweet Fedya here was a virgin. He’d never felt the touch of a woman or even a man, and it’s no surprise why. He was and still is an anemic, physically weak nail biter who never washes his hair or sleeps. 
The only thoughts that filled his head as he sloppily jerked himself off were ones of utter shame and sin, how could the renowned Fyodor Dostoyevsky be reduced to such a pathetic creature? Pleasure coursed through his entire body, the feeling of the close release that he was chasing being overbearingly disgraceful. 
He was now thrusting into his hand at an ungodly pace, eyes rolling back before closing from the overwhelming bliss that he felt. His mouth hung open, as he had finally abandoned the hand that had been tightly closed around it. 
Now moaning with nothing to hide the noises, he let out a loud whine as the coil snapped and he shot out cum as far as his stomach. Collapsing back on the bed, he was trying to catch his breath. He failed to notice the door creak open.
A certain Ukrainian clown crept in, admiring the faintly illuminated fucked out expression of his superior. The man in question was still recovering from his first real orgasm, not yet noticing the other presence in the bedroom. 
“Oh my! Do my eyes deceive me? Is that really the great Fyodor Dostoyevsky? It cannot possibly be that same person who I heard whining like a dog in heat, no?”
The black haired man's eyes immediately shot open, absolutely horrified at what he was hearing. How could it be? He surely must be hallucinating, this isn’t real. Certainly not. He was roughly pulled out of his panic filled thoughts when he heard the clink of Nikolai undoing his belt. 
The taller man let his striped pants drop to the ground before stepping out of them and slowly making his way toward his dear “friend”. Fyodor was feebly attempting to cover his naked form with the comforter, but his sad attempt was no help- as Nikolai had already reached the side of the bed and roughly yanked it off. 
The anemic in the room shivered as he felt the cold air hit his entire body, horrified and disgusted with how unable he was of speaking at this moment. What was wrong with him? He usually had no problem at all speaking to people, yet now he’s been reduced to nothing? He was broken out of his thoughts once again as the other man pounced on top of him. Crawling up his body until Fyodor was caged under all fours, he grinned and leaned in closer. He snatched Fyodors hands and pinned his wrists above his head, as his other hand slowly dragged down the Russian’s exposed body. He shivered at the sudden touch, a feeling so unfamiliar to him. Nikolai shoved Fyodor’s thighs apart with his own, the shorter man groaning from the slight friction the rough movement created for him. 
“Fedya, is this what you’ve been doing while the rest of us were gone? It sure would be a shame if your subordinates found out about this, hm?” Fyodor could do nothing but stare at the man above with his eyes blown wide, unsure what to do or how to react for the first time in his life. Nikolai continued to speak with that same idiotic smirk on his face, clearly enjoying tormenting Fyodor. “I have an idea!! Let’s play a game!! If you manage to make me cum, I won’t tell a soul about what I saw or what we did together!! Does that sound fair to you?”
Not wanting anyone, let alone his subordinates to know about this, Fyodor reluctantly agreed by nodding his head. A gesture so simple, yet so telling. Nikolai suddenly thrust two fingers into Fyodor’s exposed hole, an action that made him moan in both immense pain and pleasure. 
The jester scissored his fingers in and out of the other man’s barely stretched opening with zero remorse, and no sign of stopping. Fyodor was writhing around in pain, but he could barely move considering both of his wrists were still being pinned above his head by his far stronger friend. He could no longer control the noises he was making, only getting louder by the second. When he felt that barely recognizable, overwhelming sense of an orgasm approaching he didn’t even pay attention to the pain anymore. He was too focused on this agonizing yet amazing feeling that he was experiencing, but was pulled out of it the very second Nikolai quickly pulled his fingers out of the black haired man. 
“You really thought I was going to let you cum? Silly Fedya!! I’ve just barely begun…” 
Fyodor gasped as he was thrown over onto his stomach and roughly grabbed. He was practically manhandled into weakly standing on his knees. His hands were now free, and as soon as he realized this he grabbed his still erect cock and began to furiously jerk it before his hand was ripped away and shoved behind his back. He gasped as his upper half was shoved into the pillows beneath him, ass arched high in the air. 
Nikolai had now abandoned his boxers and the rest of his clothes and rubbed his hard dick into Fyodor’s ass, missing the entrance of it entirely on purpose. Both men lightly moaned from the gesture, Fyodor more than Nikolai. Fyodor was awaiting the feeling of Nikolai inside him, but it never came. Just when he was finally about to speak up, he felt the jester ram his shaft into his painfully stretched out hole. It burned but felt so good he saw stars. 
Nikolai was already tired but enjoyed hearing just how pathetic Fyodor was being for him. He collapsed onto the other man’s back, but continued to thrust in and out of him with force. The Russian’s noises of pleasure were now muffled by the pillows beneath him, but it was still so easy to hear him with how loud he was being. Nikolai let go of Fyodor’s wrists and chose to instead grab him by the hair and pull him up. Back arching in an uncomfortable manner, Nikolai decided to shove his fingers down the black haired man’s throat instead. 
Fyodor began to gag on the fingers in his mouth, but that only egged Nikolai on further as he felt his release approaching. Fyodor bit down on Nikolai’s ungloved fingers in desperation, getting what he wanted when Nikolai hissed and pulled them out. Both men could feel their release bubbling up, and Nikolai knew this. He hooked his hand under Fyodor’s hips and grabbed his cock, sliding his hand up and down to help him reach his release too. The clown had started to get louder a few minutes prior, but now he was full on whining, sounds that made Fyodor’s twitch dick in his hand. Both men were falling apart with each thrust Nikolai made, and then it came. Nikolai groaned and came inside of Fyodor with one final thrust. The Russian came a few seconds later, once again finished with a loud, slutty moan of Nikolai’s name. 
Nikolai’s mouth hung open, drool spilling out as his arms gave out and he practically slid off of Fyodor. His dominant persona disappeared long ago, and even he was shocked that Fyodor’s ass gave him such an amazing orgasm, practically the best one of his life. What he was unaware of was just how much Fyodor needed this, the exhausted man passing out mere seconds after shooting out his release.
“Dos? You alive?” He shook the man next to him, but not even an earthquake could rouse the snoring Fyodor. Nikolai instead pulled the sleeping man closer to him, stroking his hair as he whispered in his ear, “You know Fedya, I was going to tell everyone anyways, but since you made us both feel so good I think we can keep it our little secret”
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acapelladitty · 5 months
Text
Captain Boomerang/Reader - Restraints (Kinktober #10)
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Summary - You find Digger all tied up with nowhere to go and decide to tease him a little before setting him free. (This was a wee commission from the absolutely delightful @worri-wort who has fantastic prompts!)
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The sigh of exasperation which flees your lips at the sight of him is one that you assume he must be used to by now. Planting your hands atop your hips, you meet his eyes and a silly thought flits through your mind that, at least this time, you’d been lucky enough to find him conscious and clothed.
“Really?”
Digger’s fingers flex in the closest thing he can manage to a shrug as his body writhes against the myriad of twisting, textured vines which pin him to the wall. A thick patch of ivy sits behind his frame, the flora providing a strong anchor for the vines to hold its unwilling prey steady as the base of it seems somehow embedded in the plaster of the wall. The scent of earth is heavy in the air, something primal and heady, and the strength of it makes you clear your throat delicately as you tap your feet against the flooring.
“I know I said I would behave.” Digger begins with the inflection of a petulant child. “But things happened, and I got into a little tussle with the plant bitch,” he smirks at the dismissive nickname as a flash of gold peeks free of his dingy teeth, “so she left me here like this. Told me to fucking rot.”
“And what did you do to deserve that?”
If anything, his grin grows wider and there’s something guilty hiding in the way his lips tilt to the side even as he keeps stubbornly silent.
“Well, that wasn’t smar-”
“Hey! I’m the victim here.”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should be stuck there. God knows it might actually stop you from making a mess.”
“Aww, don’t be like that, darlin’. Come and untie me.” He winks and, as if to make his point, his wide body struggles against the vines for a solid moment to showcase just how trapped he was. “I’ll make it worth your while, sweetheart.”
Sleazy charm in full force, the pet names are desperate but effective as heat touches at your cheeks. A fact he is quick to notice as his expression lights up and his efforts to escape stop in an instant.
“Fine.” You agree, attempting to sound nonchalant about the whole thing and failing miserably.
The vines are rough against your hands, feeling oddly alive as you delicately and methodically unravel the most prominent ones which cross his chest and arms. So focused on the task, you push away the embarrassment which sits warmly in the pit of your stomach as your fingers brush across his thick body; first trailing across his tensed bicep before wrapping around his thigh to coax off a particularly tight vine from just below his crotch.
Heat radiates from him like a furnace. His naturally warm frame is soothing, and you enjoy the sensations of his skin peeking through the vines as you return to his wrists, unknotting and loosening with dexterous fingers as you work as quickly as you can.
“Get the lower ones first,” Digger cuts in, the words startling you from your focus, “they’re trying to strangle me goolies and it’s not something I want to live through.” His voice has deepened, the accent coming through more pronounced as he slurs over the syllable with a sudden roughness. It’s hot and you bite your lips as you follow his request.
Dipping your hands back to the vines on his thighs, a gasp snaps free of your throat as your wrist brushes the crotch of his jeans to alert you to the stiff bulge which juts out from the denim.
“Digger…”
“You’re the one touching me, love. Can’t blame a red-blooded man for getting’ a little hot under the collar and cracking a fat when-”
He breaks off into a throaty laugh as you bury your head against his chest, blocking out the worst of his vulgarity and hiding your embarrassment by focusing on the racing pulse of his heart.
His shirt is ripped, the pale blue fabric torn enough across his chest that the exposed reddish chest hair below tickles your cheek as you press against him.
“Babe, heads up! Look!”
Following his instructions, you tilt your head up and immediately feel his chapped lips pressing against your own as he uses the little bit of purchase you’ve given him to catch you by surprise.
His mutton chops are rough against your skin, scratching your cheeks as he devours your lips in a filthy kiss. He tastes of cheap beer and even cheaper cigarettes, the palette of a man long haven given up any pretence of giving a single fuck about his health, and it’s nasty in a way which makes your head spin. In an instant, your fingers are pressing into his reddened hair, the strands there sitting flat against his scalp due to his recently abandoned beanie as you hold him in place.
“Chances of a gobbie?” He growls as he pulls away. “Can’t get a guy all hard like this and not do anythin’ about it. What’ya say, baby?”
Fresh heat creeps along your cheeks as you shake your head. No way he was getting a blowjob. Not like this. Those were a reward for a good well done and he had really messed this little meeting he attended up. But the idea does have a little bit of appeal, particularly when he’s so restrained and unable to do anything and the mental image of you on your knees before him sparks a wicked heat in your chest.
Chuckling at your headshake, he offers you a childish pout.
“And here’s me thinking you liked me, darlin’. Not even chucking me a pity handy.”
Mischief rises in your thoughts, pushing past the embarrassment as a cheeky determination settles in your mind and your hand drops deftly to his crotch.
Unzipping his fly, you don’t miss the way his chest heaves in surprise as you pull his straining cock free. He’s already painfully hard and the obvious droplets of pre-cum which are smeared across his cockhead are hint enough to how turned on he is.
“Is this what the big baby wants?” You coo, rolling your fingers across his fat length as it juts free of his groin. The base of his cock boasts a health patch of russet pubic hair, and it tickles your fingers as your stroke away at him with a slow pace.
Panting already, his expression is slack and content to allow you to do what you want with him as he remains unable to move more than a few inches. A lurid, deep moan slips free of his lips as you rub your thumb across his cockhead, spreading the mess there further as arousal tugs at your own stomach, heat spreading across your skin.
“Just like that, babe.” Digger groans, his hips jerking slightly as he chases your hand. “So fucking good to me, so fucking good.”
Mouth going dry at the praise, you settle into a steady rhythm as you use his reactions to guide your actions. He makes a little whimper as you run your finger along the line where the shaft meets the head and the sound goes straight to your groin, inspiring you to do it two more times until the pre-cum is steadily leaking from his slit.
“Are you close, baby?”
“Yeah- oh yeah.” He mewls out, the noise utterly pathetic. “Gonna shoot off all over your hands, love.”
Before you could respond to that, he follows through with his claim and you feel his cock twitching in your palm as he comes. His release is stuttered; the mess coating your fingers as a few erratic droplets spray across his own stomach, staining both the shirt and vines which cover the wide area.
Continuing to stroke him through his orgasm, you keep your hand moving along his shaft until his groans have shifted from pleasure to discomfort as overstimulation touches at his heaving body. You release him quickly, your fingers shifting over to the final vine which holds his right hand in place as you pull it free with renewed strength - confidence thrumming through your veins.
Now freed, even if it were only one hand, his determination is immediate as his hand strikes forward to wrap around the back of your neck and a surprised squeak flees your lips as he pulls you flush against his frame. The heat radiating off him is even more pronounced and the blush in his cheeks is reflecting in the warmth of your own as he grinds his cock against your clothed thigh.
“Fancy a quick root, babe?” He asks, his one freed hand dropping to roll across your clothed chest as he squeezes the skin there roughly. “Give me five mins to recover and the little guy’ll be raring to go for another round.”
“Root.” You mutter, mildly pissed off at how good the pun is there.
Moving your feet quickly, you kick away the vines which are littered around the floor beneath you to make way for a decent space for a quick fuck once you’ve finished releasing him.
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mikavlcs · 1 year
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Flowers
Pairing: Wednesday Addams x fem!reader
Summary: Wednesday’s plan to court you is thwarted by an unforeseen issue.
Warnings: allergies(?), an inability to write good kiss scenes, the tone for this one is kinda all over the place tbh but it’s just fluff
Word count: 2.5k
Notes: this is a request for my mother, hope you enjoy<3 (also i know nothing about flowers, all information is from google. hopefully i didn’t piss off the gardening fandom lol)
Masterlist
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Frustration was nothing new to Wednesday.
To her woeful dismay, she experienced it almost constantly. During the day when imbeciles in the halls with no concept of an indoor voice spoke loud enough to be heard by the entire school. In the evenings when Enid’s obnoxious pop music was loud enough that she could hear it through her headphones. When she was on the cusp of solving another mystery and suddenly her leads went cold.
No, Wednesday was no stranger to frustration. But the type of frustration she was feeling now was completely new to her.
Because, usually, Wednesday could find a reason for her frustrations.
Her fellow students acted idiotic because they were Neanderthals. Enid, though a werewolf with heightened senses, was unaware of just how loud her music was at times. Periods of inactivity during a case typically either meant that she was missing something (unlikely) or that she needed to wait for her target to make their next move.
There were always reasons. Cause and effect. A perfect balance for her logical brain to understand—even if she didn’t like the answers in place. But no, not this time.
This time, there were seemingly no reasons for what you were doing. No matter how much she thought about it, no reasoning that her mind put forth made sense. It was simply impossible. Like trying to solve a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in the dark.
And it was especially maddening because, by all accounts, she had done everything right.
Wednesday had plans to court you. She was initially going to do something traditional like hand-deliver you the heart of one of your enemies, but Enid was repulsed when she found out about these plans. Instead, her roommate insisted that flowers were a much better substitute.
Initially, Wednesday thought it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard, and she still thought the idea of a “secret admirer” was moronic at best. But the idea of expressing her revolting feelings through the language of the Earth’s flora…undeniably enticing.
So she begrudgingly began to put together a plan.
(Wednesday did not, however, inform Enid of this. She refused to give the werewolf the satisfaction.)
She was originally going to start small. A posy of Black Dahlias, maybe, or a small vase of Hydrangeas. But she supposed she got a bit…carried away.
It was demeaning honestly, how much effort she was putting into something so stupid. Getting seeds from her mother, finding a secluded place to plant and tend to them, breaking into your locker during the early hours of the morning so no one could witness just how low she was stooping for you. She put weeks into this nonsense.
And all of that time and effort culminated in you throwing the flowers away.
Every. Single Time.
Actually, no—it was worse than you just throwing them out. Every time you opened your locker and saw the flowers, you leaped back as if you had found a bomb amongst your things. You immediately, without even inspecting them or trying to decipher their intended message, took the flowers and disposed of them in the nearest trash can.
She didn’t understand it. Whatsoever.
Especially because they were good flowers. Expertly grown and cared for, picked in the early morning to make sure they stayed fresh for as long as possible. She even made sure they had contextually appropriate meanings to try and get her emotions across without words.
Her first foray into this madness was a bouquet of black roses, to tell you that she would die for you if given the chance. Then the next day, an arrangement of orange lilies to represent how she was willing to humiliate herself for you (clearly). The next, a black vase of Deadly Nightshade, simply because it was a personal favorite of hers.
There was an array of others as days passed—the aforementioned Black Dahlias and Hydrangeas, black petunias, red tulips, and yellow carnations. There was a superstition that Chrysanthemums brought bad luck and terrible nightmares, so naturally, she gave you those as well.
(She had considered giving you Aconites to signify the hatred that wished she felt for you, but given the fact that they were poisonous, she decided against it. As much as she yearned to poison someone in this godforsaken school, she didn’t wish to see you suffer that fate. Yet.)
Hell, she had even turned to the likes of red roses and sunflowers when she saw the negative reception to her first picks, but they all ended up in the same place: the trash can at the end of the hall.
It was torturous. Because Wednesday knew you returned her affections, she had known for a while. She originally thought it a burden, a weakness for her to potentially exploit until she made the startling discovery that she returned your wretched feelings.
So the idea that she might have misconstrued something she thought to be incredibly obvious made her physically ill. The implication that she was…incorrect tormented her.
There were few things Wednesday hated more than being wrong.
But one thing she was beginning to despise more was the feeling in her chest whenever she saw her flowers in that trash can. You were making her feel something she prided herself on never feeling: defeat. And she was tired of it.
Wednesday refused to sit by and allow you to make a fool out of her from the shadows for any longer. Enid’s stupid plan be damned.
She was going to find you and she was going to get answers. Whether it was quick and easy or slow and painful was entirely up to you.
-
Finding you in the Nevermore library was unsurprising.
You went there often to read and recharge your “social battery” when needed. And it seemed like now was one of those times. You sat silently with your eyes trained on a book in front of you, the headphones covering your ears turned up so loud she could hear the faint hum of your music from across the room.
It was clear that you didn’t want to be disturbed. Unfortunately, Wednesday did not care.
She stalked up behind you quietly, resting her hand on your shoulder once she was within arm’s reach of you. Wednesday took far too much joy in the way you quite literally jumped out of your seat. The sudden movement sent the chair backward into Wednesday, who easily caught it and settled it back into its original position.
Breathless, you spun around, eyes widening when you saw who it was.
“Wednesday, wha-“
“Why do you always throw them away?”
You blinked owlishly. Once, twice, then spoke. “What?”
“The flowers,” she clarified, impatience creeping into her tone, “why do you always throw them away? Did you not like them?”
Wednesday could tell you wanted to ask why she wanted to know about this, but thankfully you were smart enough to answer her questions before asking any of your own. 
“Well, n-no. I didn’t dislike them. They were pretty flowers.”
The admission did nothing to comfort Wednesday, whose patience was running incredibly thin. Still, she kept her tone as neutral as possible.
“Then what was the issue? Why throw them out?”
“Well-it’s just…” you paused, cheeks darkening as you mumbled something incomprehensible. Wednesday blinked.
“What was that?”
You sighed.
“I’m allergic.”
Oh.
Well, she supposed that made sense. It certainly explained why you reacted the way you did whenever you saw the flowers in your locker. Her prior anger melted away, understanding slowly replacing it.
She thought back to her earlier musings, the dark irony nearly made her smile. The flowers really were, for all intents and purposes, an allergen bomb. 
Wednesday noticed a moment later that you were still speaking.
“-not technically life-threatening or anything. I just get itchy and my eyes water, although my throat does start to close up if I’m around them for too long, but it’s usually pretty manageable. It happens around most plant life. That’s why I transferred out of Botany class. Principal Weems thinks it might be a pollen allergy but I’m not sure-“
Your rambling would be (barely) tolerable under any other circumstance, but right now Wednesday just wanted to express the feelings that had been plaguing her for months on end.
“It was me.”
That effectively shut you up. She watched patiently as the gears turned in your head, the words that came out your mouth not quite keeping up with the realization she saw in your eyes. “What?”
“I put the flowers in your locker. To inform you of my…feelings,” she said, disdain creeping into her voice at the end.
You looked positively devastated. “Oh, Wednesday, I’m-I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to look like I didn’t like the flowers or didn’t appreciate the gesture. I like you, Wednesday. I really do. I-“
With a sharp inhale, you cut yourself off and look away. Concerned, Wednesday’s brows furrowed. Before she could properly investigate the issue, you looked back to her, a question in your eyes that she couldn’t decipher before you said it aloud.
“Can I hug you?”
The smaller girl blinked. She, admittedly, wasn’t expecting that to be your question.
Wednesday wasn’t one for physical affection, but she found herself stepping forward before she could think better of it. And when she felt your arms settle around her, gently pushing her against you, she couldn’t muster even an ounce of regret.
She didn’t return your embrace—she had a reputation to uphold, after all—but she did lean into you, turning her face into your neck and closing her eyes for the briefest of moments.
“Your apology is accepted,” she whispered against the nape of your neck. Your shoulders relaxed against her, but your grip tightened.
“I still feel really guilty.”
Wednesday tilted her head up slightly to meet your eyes, brows furrowing. “Guilty for what? I practically tried to kill you.”
“Unknowingly,” you added, a smile pulling at your lips. “Though, it would have been fitting for you.”
Wednesday’s lips twitched.
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
Wednesday stepped back, eyes traveling down to your lips. A split-second decision was made, the words falling from her lips before she even realized what she was doing.
“Kiss me.”
Part of Wednesday wanted to be laid to rest right then and there, the humiliation she had felt before returning with a vengeance. But another part just wanted you to comply, to sate the curiosity she’d been fighting for months now.
Somehow, you managed to look more shocked than she felt.
“W-What?” you stuttered, eyes wide and mouth partially agape as if what Wednesday just said was the most preposterous thing you had ever heard.
“I said kiss me,” she stated with a confidence she didn’t fully feel. You swallowed.
“I-uh, are you sure?”
You shifted on your feet, still unsure. Wednesday nearly sighed again.
“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
That seemed to be enough for you to finally act. Timidly, you brought your hands up to cup her face, your touch lighter than a feather on her skin. Your wide eyes never strayed from hers and she stared back in hopes of speeding up your glacial pace. To her chagrin, it seemed to have no effect.
You leaned in agonizingly slowly, likely to give her ample time to pull away if she changed her mind. But Wednesday didn’t have the patience for your kindness. So she took the initiative to lean up and pressed her lips to yours, her eyes fluttering closed upon contact.
It was both everything and nothing like Wednesday thought it would be.
Kissing you wasn’t anything like the dumb things Enid said to describe kissing Ajax (she loathed the fact that she even knew any of that in the first place). There weren’t any fireworks or godforsaken butterflies or any other insipid romance cliché her roommate was obsessed with.
It was soft, slow, and utterly addicting. Even more so than she predicted it would be. She knew long before this moment that the press of your lips to hers would be her downfall, and like usual, she was correct.
Everything about your kiss was ethereal—the warmth that encompassed her from head to toe, the tenderness in the way your lips moved against hers, the feeling of your thumb lovingly stroking her cheek. She knew that she would crave it from this moment forward.
In mere moments, her senses were completely overtaken by nothing but you. It was overwhelming in the best way possible, and she savored it for as long you would allow.
Wednesday stepped back only when air became an unfortunate necessity for the both of you. After a long moment, she dared to open her eyes and look at you. Your eyes were still closed, lips slightly parted as you regained your breath. A light flush crept onto your face, tinting your skin a light shade of red and though Wednesday didn’t care for color, she liked the way it looked on you.
“One more thing,” she muttered when she finally regained a fragment of her composure. You blinked back into awareness, a sweet smile tugging at your lips, complimenting the light blush on your face quite nicely. 
“What’s that?” you whispered into the space between you.
“You must go on an…outing with me.”
“An outing?” Your face scrunched lightly. Then you gasped softly, eyes alight with something far too exuberant. “Do you mean a date?”
Wednesday cringed, breathing a quiet sigh through her nose. She stepped back to fully look at you, and you let her, dropping your hands back to your sides. Momentarily, she mourned the loss of your touch.
“You may call it whatever you want as long as I get to choose the location.”
“Alright, and where do you want this date to take place?” you inquired, smile a little too sly for Wednesday’s liking. But she simply grinned.
“The morgue. I’ve been itching to perform a proper autopsy lately. It’ll be nice to have a partner with all of their limbs.”
She watched the color drain from your face with a bit too much amusement. To your credit, you regained your composure faster than she thought you would.
“Ok, y-yeah, sure,” you stammered, eyes darting around the library. Wednesday’s eyebrows shot up.
“Really?”
“Yeah, totally.” You straightened up, taking an audible gulp as you tried your best to look unbothered. Her grin grew at the sight.
“Then I will pick you up from your dorm at 9:30 tomorrow night, got it?”
“Yep.” You nodded. She turned to leave but stopped.
She knew she should leave but…
Turning back on her heel, Wednesday grabbed your blazer and pulled your lips back to hers for one more kiss. This one was harder than the last, sure to noticeably bruise, but it was no less satisfying. Actually, the feeling of your body pressed flush against hers made it even more pleasant, she decided.
She allowed herself a moment to revel in your warmth, your taste again before stepping back and meeting your dazed eyes.
“See you tomorrow.”
Without another glance, Wednesday exited the library. The small smile on her face didn’t waver the entire journey back to her dorm. Not even when she passed the trashcan with all of her flowers.
If anything, her smile only widened at the promise of what was to come.
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catcze · 7 months
Text
Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!
「 FEAT : 」 Dainsleif x GN! reader
「 ### : 」 fluff ♡
「 CWS : 」 ambiguous relationship/fwb-to-lovers, soft Dainsleif, potentially ooc Dain, fluff.
Reposted from my secondary blog !!
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You greet him with a crooked smile, splayed out on your back in the grass, so at ease even when the black-swathed figure stands above you, standing like a sore thumb amongst the crisp grass and gold sunlight.
“I wondered where you had gone,” Dainsleif says, an unsung question in his voice. He cocks his head, letting his eyes roam over you— a habit, at this point. The tree you’ve chosen to rest under casts shifting shadows on your face, a dappling of light peaking through the leaves. Your eyes are hazy, still freshly awoken by the sound of his footsteps, but the curve of your lips is always endearing to him, a secret he’s played close to his chest. 
“Were you worried?” You ask. The amusement drips from your voice like syrup, your smile shifting into something more awake. With a lazy hand, you wave in the direction of your home, some ways away, half-hidden in the trees and almost hidden by the vines and flora. 
It looks smaller than it is from over here, Dainsleif thinks. Cozy and quaint and oh-so-unassuming. Your home. His sanctuary. (You always snorted when he says something dramatic like that. “It’s your home too, Dain,” you’d correct him so easily. He never could come up with a response. He’s not sure what the appropriate response could even be. )
“It’s not that far,” you reason, and before he can say something else, perhaps about the ever-looming threat of the abyss order, you pat the spot beside you, inviting him to sit in the warm mid-morning air with an easy, “C’mere.”
Dainsleif takes the invitation, of course— as if he’d ever entertain the thought of saying otherwise.
The trunk of the tree is solid against his back when he leans, legs stretching out beside your head, where you jokingly scowl at him for not truly laying with you on the grass (your words, not his.) 
It is a feeling that settles over him easily the longer he lays in the space with you: Peace. Stillness. Longing.
His eyes flick to you at that last one, watching as you breathe in the crisp air of the forest, and the way there’s some bits and piece of grass stuck in your hair. Absently, one of his hands comes to tangle in it, moving in slow motions as he cards through it soothingly. Only to remove the blade of grass, of course.
As you continue to half-doze in the mid-morning sun, he wonders how much longer you’ll allow yourself to play this song and dance with him. How much longer he’ll let himself dance around the truth, too scared of both his past and his future to face the present.
Dainsleif watches you, peaceful, at ease, in the presence of a man so cursed as him, and wonders if he is worthy for anything more than this. Wonders what it is you see in him to have come this far, to have been so patient already. To have let the thing between you two go undressed for so long.
His hand drifts to your face, habitual in how gentle his touch is. Why, he wonders, have you let him fall for you so?
One of your hands comes up to meet his, guiding his hand so his knuckles meet your lips in a soft kiss. “You’re thinking so loudly,” you complain with a huff, and all Dainsleif can do is chuckle.
“Is that so?” He asks, twining your fingers together and letting them rest on your shoulder. “My apologies, I wasn’t aware you could read minds.”
He feels rather than sees you roll your eyes, and you sit up, still keeping your hands connected. There’s a scolding expression on your face, but he’s been around you long enough already to see how you fight back a grin. “First you disturb my rest —twice!— and now you mock me. Honestly, Dain, how rude.” But before he can defend himself, you’re already soldiering on, and the air around you changes. To something a bit more serious, a bit more concerned. When your gaze meets his, he’s silenced by the cocktail of sympathy and understanding in it. Underneath the quips and the jokes born from familiarity, there is something genuine. “Well? No use beating around the bush. What’s wrong?”
“I…” Dainsleif pauses, his mind going blank when he tries of think of how to put it. You’ve caught him off-guard. He struggles to find words for a moment too long, his tongue suddenly drying in his mouth. There’s too much to say, really. Too much that could go wrong, too much that could go right. He doesn’t even know where to start.
He squeezes your hand slightly, his insides twisting in a way he can only describe as nervous. How preposterous. Him, the bough keeper, hesitating because he doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. And yet there’s no other way to see the situation.
“Dain,” You cut into the fog in his brain with a low chuckle, thumb rising to smooth out the furrow in his brow. You smile at him, and he can practically feel his shoulders sag. “Relax. Just say whatever’s on your mind.”
You watch and wait for a few more seconds as Dain almost internally argues with himself. The back-and-forth between his heart and his mind is clear as day to you, watching as he frustrates over whatever it is that conflicts him. You have to fight back a smile. Whatever’s got Dain this torn, it’s sure to be something. He squeezes your hand absently —almost instinctively— and you squeeze back every time.
After some time, the silence breaks as Dainsleif releases a long, deep breath. His hand tightens around yours, as if scared you might pull away. But for all the nervous ticks and tells you’ve learned to spot from him over time, his voice is resolute when he speaks. Unwavering in the truth that he’s finally come to accept aloud. 
“I’m in love with you,” he says, gaze meeting yours. “But I’m scared that admitting it will ruin what we have now.”
The silence stretches out for what feels like an eon after that, and Dainsleif can almost feel his throat constrict in nervousness, fearing that the very thing he dreaded was coming to pass. You say nothing, merely watching him and breathing. For as much as Dainsleif fears that these next few moments with you so close to him will be his last, he keeps his head raised and not backing down from your stare. Your eyes don’t stray from his, peering deeply, searching for… something that you hope to find in him.
Dainsleif can almost feel his cool exterior crack underneath your heavy examination. Can almost feel the way his heart wants to break free from his chest, or the way his blood battles with being boiling hot or freezing cold. So nervous, with a heart beating so fast. Never had he thought that he’d feel the rush of adrenalin and bravery that comes with confessing your love to a person in his long, long life.
So gently that he doesn’t feel it at first, your hands come to cup his face, gently prying out of the hold with his own.
“Do you mean that, Dain?” You ask, a smile taking root. It both settles his nerves and sends his heart racing. You’re so close— he can feel your breath on his lips, and warmth rushes to his face unbidden.
“All other truths I’ve spoken pale in comparison,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. So close. He had tasted them before, yes, but that was before his heart had been laid out on the table for you to pick and prod at. Now, he wonders, will your kiss be even better?
The answer, Dainsleif finds, is a definite yes.
When you lean in to kiss him, it is something soft. More tame than some of your other kisses by far, but the difference is that this has sparks racing up his spine, and heat blooming where your hands touch his face. He hums into the kiss, a sound that comes instinctively after waiting so long to finally kiss you like this— to kiss you as the man who loves you with every fiber of his being. Your lips are warm against his, making his heart stutter and dazing his brain with just a touch. 
“So dramatic,” you say when you two part, only just a bit breathless. There’s a curve to your lips that you can’t tamp down, and Dainsleif is certain that he has a matching smile of his own. You laugh, taking your hands from him and wrapping them around his shoulders instead, burying your face in his neck. “Man, I’ve been waiting for you to say that forever, you know?”
Dainsleif coughs, an embarrassed flush rising to his face. “My apologies for dragging it out so long, then.”
He feels the huff of your laugh against his skin. Feels the soft, tender kiss you gift him with. “You can make it up to me.”
One of his hands come up to the middle of your back, holding you closer to him as he leans back. Even through his gloves, his touch is warm. Without the indecision to haunt him, his shoulders relax without the weight of a burden. There is peace here, with you, under the tree with the fallen leaves and the grass and the dandelions. Where he can hold your form against him, and bask in your presence like how a cat basks in the afternoon sun. Dainsleif smiles, pressing a kiss to your hair with such tenderness that your heart nearly melts. 
“For as long as I live,” he promises, holding you close.
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