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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 6 months

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Studious VI (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+ FINALE

Five months after your reconciliation, you and Aemond have grown ever closer. When he returns from his first time away from you, you have a surprise ready for him.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: kissing, oral sex (M and F receiving), p in v sex, fluff

Author's Note: And with this, the series is complete! I want to thank you all so much for all the support y'all have given my silly little story. I truly cherish every reply, comment, or like it receives.

And fear not! This isn't the end of the journey for our lovely, stupid couple. On the 21st, I will be releasing another short fic as part of my 12 Days of Smuff event. If there will be anything more beyond that, it remains to be seen!

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here - Read Part V Here

My Masterlist

Taglist is in reblogs

Studious VI

It was the middle of the afternoon, and though the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill in the air. You had uncovered all the windows in the room, so it was quite cold within the stone walls. Therefore, you were curled up on a large, plush chair – Aemond’s reading chair – contentedly snuggled within your oversized robe.

And only the robe.

Vhagar’s mighty wingbeats had thundered above the keep not long ago. Thanks to the open windows, you’d heard it clearly – the chill was well worth it. A rush of excitement flowed through you, and you immediately traded your warm dress and stockings for the robe and took up your perch.

Aemond had been gone for four long, lonely, torturous days, and you were determined to be there the moment he walked through the door to his chambers.

It was the first time he’d left King’s Landing since your wedding five months ago and the first time the two of you had been apart for more than a few hours since your ‘reconciliation,’ as you had come to call it. Both of you argued passionately against it.

Neither of you could bear to be parted only two weeks after Grand Maester Orwyle confirmed that your nightly activities had resulted in the child now growing within you. Aemond wanted nothing more than to be by your side every moment until the babe was born. You weren’t opposed to it, though you did wonder about the practicality of such an arrangement.

But the Queen and the Hand insisted on Aemond going, rather than one of his siblings. The unfortunate result of his being the dutiful and trustworthy son, you supposed.

So, you had gone with him to the edge of the woods and watched as he mounted Vhagar and flew away. Of course, he had kissed you deeply before he left. Long enough for both Vhagar and the Dragonkeepers to begin subtly voicing their impatience. Had they not been there, you likely would have shared a more thorough goodbye.

Still, the four days felt like four years, four decades, four centuries. You would have gone mad if you hadn’t found something to do to fill the Aemond-shaped hole in your life. So you filled your time with planning how you would welcome him home.

You were sure he would be very pleasantly surprised.

Time passed quickly while you were held in suspense. The sound of soft, steady footsteps soon began echoing from the hall, and you just barely contained a squeal of delight. You readied yourself to leap, standing atop the chair to give you a better chance of actually landing on your target.

Then the door opened, and you pounced.

Thankfully, Aemond caught you easily. His strong, lithe arms wrapped around your hips and rear as if on instinct, and you were once more safe and secure.

You didn’t get to see his reaction to your leaping upon him, which you only regretted slightly as you pressed your lips hard against his

Aemond made a choked sound of surprise that soon faded into a low, passionate moan as he teased your lips open with his tongue to deepen the kiss. It still wasn’t your favourite sensation – a taste you had to acquire – but after days without it, it was almost enjoyable. Almost.

“I missed you so much, Aemond,” you whispered between kisses, strained and desperate as your fingers clawed at him, seeking to touch every inch of him. Every inch you had missed.

Aemond’s brow furrowed, but he did not stop kissing you. “I was only away four days, my love. Could you miss me so much in so short a time?”

You pulled back just enough to look into his eye as you touched the tip of your nose to his, widening your eyes and making a show of pouting. “Did you not miss me as well?”

He gave you the slightest glimpse of his startled fish face before kissing you again. “No… I longed for you every minute we were parted. It took all my strength to resist the temptation of forgoing my duty and returning to you. I missed you so much I ached.”

“Show me,” you commanded, smiling against his lips as you watched the realisation that you had never doubted his missing you dawn on his face with an affectionate, put-upon smile.

You squealed as he pulled you closer to his chest – you had not thought such a thing possible – and brought the hand that had circled your waist to cup your neck as he began kissing you again. Fiercely. Passionately. Lovingly.

The rooms were a blur as he began to blindly carry you into the bedroom, depositing you squarely in the middle of the bed. You were granted only a moment to catch your breath before he was on you again, his welcome weight pressing down on you as his heat continued to soak into your bones.

“If you were wearing anything else,” Aemond growled as his hands started furiously fumbling with the tie of your robe, “I would tear it to pieces.”

You bit down on his bottom lip, ever so slightly harder than you normally did to scold him. It did not work. It only prompted him to kiss you deeper.

“Were you ever to tear even a single thread of this robe,” you panted. “I would return to my father’s keep and never speak to you again.”

“Then I will be very careful, and…” Aemond trailed off when he opened your robe and realised you were bare beneath it.

His eye raked over you slowly, studying you as if you were a master artwork. His chest heaving, he slowly traced his hand from the base of your throat down to your navel, and when you shivered at the sensation, he shivered too.

He splayed his hand over your still-flat stomach, his eye sparkling as if he could see the babe within. “How is it possible that you become more beautiful every day?”

You laughed, reaching up to cradle his cheek in your hand. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Aemond. And I dare say that your eye is quite biased towards me.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Your beauty is utterly indisputable. Any who behold you and do not see it must be truly blind.”

You could not suppress the smile that came over you, wide and unyielding. “I will remind you of those words when I have grown as large as a bear and have the temper of a taunted goose.”

Aemond chuckled lowly, moving his mouth along your jaw and onto your neck. “Then I will say them again, for nothing could alter how I feel about you, my love.”

Any smart reply you had was quickly forgotten as his mouth followed the path his hand had just taken. Your only complaint was that his mouth was far slower. He would press a kiss or two against your skin, then momentarily lose his grip on whatever restraint he had. Then, he latched on, laving his tongue upon you as if he wished to devour you. Sometimes, he even lightly nipped you with his teeth, but he never failed to soothe the pain with more gentle kisses.

You could have happily let him continue for hours. But you had made plans, and you were going to follow through. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him close enough for you to whisper against his cheek. “Jiōrna mazumbilloti, ābrazȳrys.”

Your use of the Valyrian mother tongue surprised him, breaking him immediately from his lustful haze. He sat up and leaned over to kiss your cheek swiftly enough that you could only catch a glimpse of a mischievous smile.

“So close, but…” he apologetically kissed your nose. “You are ābrazȳrys. I am valzȳrys.” He pressed his finger on your skin just above your heart. “Ābrazȳrys – wife.” He moved the finger to his chest. “Valzȳrys – husband.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and fuck me, valzȳrys.”

He obliged, his mouth continuing its path down your front after a brief return to your breasts. The closer he came to your center, the louder your moans and pleas became.

He pulled away slightly when he finally reached your dripping cunt, chuckling slightly. “Oh, how I’ve missed this beautiful thing,” he mused.

You spread your legs as much as you could in a show of impatience. “Well, then you should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“I suppose.”

A desperate gasp escaped you as you felt him gently blow a cold breath onto your heated core. Your back arched as he did it again, tracing a line of cool air up and down your folds.

“Aemond,” you breathlessly begged, “I’ve already waited so long. Please, don’t tease me like this!”

You watched as he looked back up at you with a wicked grin. “I’ve waited just as long, my dear. I want to savour this. Make up for lost time.”

“Fine,” you grumbled, though you could not deny his plan sounded quite pleasant. “Savour me, then.”

He did.

Aemond’s mouth was thorough. In the five months since he’d first pleasure you like this, he’d become as skilled and precise with his tongue as he was with his sword.

His tongue found your pearl almost instantly and began teasing it ever so slowly, as if it were a game for him. He alternated between pressing on it, drawing circles and various shapes upon it, and sucking on it like a candied lemon.

He did not stop until he’d pulled two releases from you. Only then did he finally acknowledge your entrance beyond merely pressing against it with his chin while he focused elsewhere.

Had he not been so eager to lap up every bit of wetness from you, you were sure the bed linens would have been ruined for how much slick spilt from you. But he was voracious in devouring you – moaning and gasping nearly as much as you were. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he came simply from being buried in your thighs. He’d done it before, after all.

Your hands found their way into his hair as his tongue delved inside of you, his wonderful, glorious nose still giving your pearl the attention it craved. Holding onto him was the only way you could withstand the intensity of what he was doing to you, to keep it from overwhelming you.

It also helped that when you tugged on his hair or slightly dug your nails into his scalp, he groaned in pleasure, sending delicious vibrations through you as his hips bucked into the bed. And when your release barreled through you, and you pulled on his hair like it was the reins of a dragon, he nearly screamed against your cunt.

Aemond gazed up at you, his face glistening and flushed. “My sweet ābrazȳrys,” he hummed before ducking his head back between your thighs again.

“Ah, ah ah!” You scolded, using the hands you had in his hair to drag him back to your face, causing another satisfied moan to escape him. “By my count, I’m at three, while you’ve yet to have even one. Unless…?”

A glance at the front of his trousers confirmed that he had not come simply from pleasuring you, and you sighed dramatically. “Still at none, then.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Aemond placed shortcut soft kisses all over your face before retracing his path downwards. “Let me give you more.”

You yanked him up again, kissing him fiercely. “No. My turn.”

He rose onto his knees as you pushed on his chest, his eye never once leaving yours. You smirked as you sat up with him, your legs still between his.

“I’ll rid us of these,” you said as you began unlacing his trousers – fortunately, he’d removed the belts for his sword and dagger before he’d even come to his rooms. You nodded to his doublet. “If you get rid of that.”

You had still yet to master the ridiculous clasps and buckles on the damnable thing. And Aemond resisted all your efforts to have a new, less complicated garment made for him.

At least he did not tease you about it this time and began to remove it swiftly.

Still, you accomplished your task before he did his, and he fumbled slightly as he threw the rest of his clothes on the floor as you grasped his red, weeping length in your hand and began returning his affections.

“Oh gods,” he groaned, forgetting his doublet entirely. “Oh, dōnus riñus… sȳros. Sȳros!”

His hands flew to your head. He didn’t pull at your hair or dig his fingers in. Aemond never did; he was always gentle. He simply cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other held your cheek, stroking you with his thumb in time with your ministrations.

He had been right when he said that learning to please a man was substantially easier than learning to please a woman. There were some things you had to remind yourself of the first few times you’d done this – don’t squeeze too hard, don’t take him too deep, and never use your teeth.

But you’d had plenty of practice and knew precisely what Aemond liked.

You knew how much he liked it when you used the tip of your tongue to trace his slit before swirling it around the head of his cock.

You knew the way he liked you to play with his stones – caressing them lightly with just your fingertips, and every so often giving them the gentlest of tugs.

You knew exactly how to pace yourself in a way that drove him wild without speeding him towards an early end.

He begged. Several times, he begged you to go faster, to let him finish. But after he’d told you what he meant by “practice” in his diary, you knew he could take it. Knew he enjoyed it.

“Please,” he said breathlessly. You looked up to find tears streaming down from the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, you slowed, worrying that you’d pushed him too far, until he pulled you back down onto him so far your nose nuzzled into the silvery hair at his base.

Your hands went to his hips, bracing yourself while he pulled you forward and back. Always gently, but with more speed than you’d allowed him thus far.

It was the first time he’d ever taken charge in this particular scenario. He was always dominant in all other intimate moments, but never with this. Whenever you held him in your mouth, you commanded the prince.

The thrill of it sparked a burning heat of desire in your core, and you moaned around him.

It was enough.

Aemond pulled you as close as he could until your brow rested against his stomach, and he reached his peak. His entire body shook as he spilled himself down your throat. And he did not release you until he heard you struggling to keep him so deep.

“Oh, my darling, did I hurt you?” he asked as he again laid himself atop you.

You laughed, kissing him deeply. “No, Aemond. Well, maybe a little bit, but it’s a good hurt.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Don’t be, please. It was less of a hurt than you being gone.”

Aemond rolled onto his side to kiss you once more, languidly, now that the initial rush of lust had faded. You could almost feel his adoration as if it were a tangible thing. You held it tightly, and would never let it go. When he finally pulled away, his lips only left yours for a moment before he was again trailing his mouth along your neck to your chest.

“Well?” You asked. “Do you like your surprise?”

“It was wonderful, my love. Would it be indelicate of me to ask for more?”

You narrowed your eyes, tugging on his hair just enough to draw his attention away from your breasts and back to you. The moment he saw the confusion on his face, it was reflected in his own.

“This was not the surprise, Aemond.”

“Then what is?”

You smiled, looking dramatically over the bedchamber. Aemond only stared at you, waiting for you to speak, until you were forced to seize his chin and turn his head.

Then, he finally saw.

As his eye roved across the walls and shelves, he rose until he was kneeling in the center of the bed. You laid back against your pillow, watching him admire what you had spent the last four days doing.

The bare walls were no more. Now, they were filled with paintings, tapestries, and even a few little sculptures. By the bookshelves – which you had filled with as many trinkets as possible – you’d hung paintings depicting some of your favourite stories from fiction and history. A wrought-iron dragon flew across the space above the doorway. On another wall, a tapestry depicting your home keep surrounded by a field of dog roses hung proudly. And above the head of the bed, a new tapestry you had made in secret these past few months.

“Vhagar,” Aemond whispered when he saw it.

You let out a sigh of relief – you had not been sure whether he would recognise her. After all, the only time you saw the dragon was when Aemond took you to visit her. Making sketches on those few occasions would have swiftly given away your secret. Fortunately, Helaena was more than happy to help you in its creation.

Aemond moved closer to admire the tapestry, one leg falling off the bed. He started, looking down to find his foot had landed atop a plush blue rug. When he looked up to gape at you, his eye caught on the bursting of colour atop the armoire.

His plain stoneware and metal vases had been joined by others more intricate and brightly coloured. All of them were now filled with a vibrant bouquet. The one you’d painted yourself when you were young and thought yourself the next great painter was filled with bright pink dog roses, much to his delight.

“You decorated,” he said in awe as he faced you again. While he’d been surveying the room, you’d sat up, holding onto his arm and resting your head on his shoulder.

“No…” you teased, savouring that quick moment of his confusion before continuing, “I moved in.”

His face crumpled with an affection so strong you hardly knew how he contained it all.

Except you did know.

You did it, too.

“My dearest,” he sighed, “I – ”

“I love you, Aemond.”

The colour drained from his face, and you swore his breathing halted.

A roiling storm of emotions passed over his face. Unbridled joy, sweetest relief, depthless love, and a single moment of fear beneath it all. He’d told you only to say those words when you truly meant it with all your heart. His worry that you didn’t was clear.

You held his face in your hands and pulled him forward until his brow rested against yours. “I love you, Prince Aemond Targaryen. Not only with my whole heart, but with all that I am.”

A tear fell from his eye, and a soft whimper escaped his lips. “Oh my love,” he murmured like a prayer, “my love…”

Then he was upon you again. His mouth against yours, his comforting heat warming you. He wrapped his arms around you – one on your waist, one at your shoulder – and pulled you against him so tightly there was nowhere you were not touching.

“I love you, Aemond,” you repeated every time your lips parted from his. Each time, he nearly sobbed at the words.

You kissed for a long while, until you at last felt him hardening against you. For only a moment, he pulled away, his eyes still damp as he looked down at you.

“May I?”

Your only response was a smile and another kiss.

Aemond entered you in one long, gentle thrust.

That moment of stillness and adjustment was no longer strictly necessary, but you both still enjoyed it.

Just a moment to look at each other. To see the joy and now, the love within them. A moment to revel in the connection you shared and bask in the feeling of being whole with each other. Aemond kissed you again before he started thrusting into you. Both were gentle and slow, allowing you to cherish each other. You were not fucking to find release, but to simply be together.

There were times when Aemond was completely still as he ravished you with his mouth or hands rather than his cock. There were times when he rutted into you like a beast, only stopping so he could prolong the connection. And there were times when both of you were still, just embracing each other, breathing together, and knowing that you were loved.

Eventually, you could hold off your instincts no longer. You squirmed against Aemond to seek more pleasure – more of him. And he happily obliged. He braced one hand on your hip as he began to move. Faster and faster. With smooth, practised thrusts.

He was so familiar with your body that it did not take long for him to have you gasping as you approached your peak. He was already brushing against that wonderful spot inside you with every movement of his hips, and when he brought a finger to gently tease your pearl, you could not hold back.

Nor could Aemond. He buried himself in you entirely, his face falling into the crook of your shoulder as he moaned your name, along with several High Valyrian words you did not know.

You lifted his head to bring his lips to yours and kissed him until his breath steadied again.

“No,” you whined as he moved to sit up and pull his softened cock out of you. “Stay. Please.”

Aemond smiled as he understood your meaning, again pressing his hips against yours to keep himself inside you as he rolled you onto your sides. “If I could stay forever, I would.”

“I know.” You nuzzled into his neck. “In fact, I’d quite like it if you did.”

“Then so I shall.”

A long, peaceful silence passed between you. Your flushes faded, your breathing calmed, and the evening air began to blow through the windows and cool your hot skin.

The day was not yet over. There was still dinner to attend, and Aemond likely needed to meet with the Small Council to discuss his trip. Yet neither of you moved. You simply laid there, basking in the bliss of holding the person you love.

You loved him. You loved Aemond so much.

He’d said it so often to you in the past five months. You had a lot of catching up to do.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I love you,” he replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you…”

488 notes · View notes

nanamimizz · 1 year

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𝐌𝚬𝐋𝐓

tags: diluc birthday fic - fem reader, size difference, accidental creampie, temperature play, possessiveness, established relationship, the first time being intimate, marking, knight of favonius and cryo vision wielder reader. 6.k

synopsis: 𝐖𝐇𝚬𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝚶 𝐌𝚬𝚬𝐓𝐒 𝐏𝐘𝐑𝚶, 𝐌𝚬𝐋𝐓 𝚶𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒.

You regret taking upon this assignment - more like a favor. The next time you see the blonde alchemist, you will freeze over all his ink pots. A small revenge for the suffering he put you through to head to his camp on Dragonspine for research notes he left behind. You sigh, tucking away the wind glider that you had used to descend the mountain, and think back to why you were sent - Klee is currently sick and has monopolized Albedo’s efforts, and you have always been weak to help the needy so you had readily agreed to the errand despite the blistering cold of the haunted mountain.

It seems your time under the tutelage of the Acting Grand Master has done you more harm than good.

Misfortune smiles upon you as you walk down the path that veers off the snowy side of the mountain, to the small river that leads onto the familiar view of tall grass and proud trees that decorate the land of the Anemo Archon. You are still shivering, and there is still some powdery snow on your hair that melts in the presence of the sun but as soon as you blink the sky darkens. You feel a small drip on the top of your head, and your shoulders drop in defeat as the scent of wet earth fills your nose and the sky is bloated black by the clouds - rainfall.

Just your luck, huh?

Your breath still mists over your lips and you shudder - fresh off the mountain and now getting soaked through by the rain a fog settles over your vision and you curse at how it blurs the sights together. Sucking on your teeth you ponder your options, it would be dangerous to use your wind glider now - you can’t see well, the mist of the mountain and the rain clouding what you can perceive even with your goggles. All you do is sigh and tug on your bootstraps, you are going to have to climb down the mountain.

It was easier than you expected if you discount the chattering of your teeth and the loss of feeling in your fingers despite your gloves. As you jump, climb, and trudge down the woods of Mondstadt you fail to notice that you have gone too far to the left of your map, and as you can begin to see the telltale sign of small, modest houses and crystal flies among grape vines; there is a flush that blooms across your face that isn’t from the nipping cold.

You’ve taken a big veer to the left and found yourself at Dawn Winery, subconsciously and purely by coincidence of course. A certain redhead flashes in your mind’s eye and you groan, bringing a hand up to your face in embarrassment. Even during your duties as a knight, your heart still leads you to the man you’ve recently started to court after having a harmless crush on him since his time in the Knights at the tender age of 14.

Lightning flashes, thunder booms, and the wind picks up whipping the hood of your outerwear back, you are so caught off guard you take a misstep sliding down the rocky side of the natural f formations of the mountain until you land at the base of the evergreen trees that reside on the paths that lead to the front door of the manor. It’s almost as if the Anemo Archon was pushing you toward the front door of the man you have loved since childhood. Picking yourself up, you swipe at the mud that mars your sleeves and trudge your way up the first paths that have turned into a mush of mud and rainwater. Arriving at the door you use the knocker, beating on the dark wood once and twice. You don’t have to wait for long when you see the familiar face of the head maid Adelinde, her blonde hair shines in the light of the lamp she holds in her hand. You wave timidly when she gasps your name, worry painting her face as she pulls you inside.

She’s rather strong for a maid, you think amused.

“What in the name of Barbatos were you doing out there?” She asks, lighting the fireplace in the drawing room and taking your outerwear away from you. You wince at how it drips onto the expensive wood flooring and how mud stains her sleeves. Your hair drips down your neck and you shiver, she hands you a towel - kept in the cabinet near the fireplace for emergencies at the table that is first seen when you enter through the front doors of the winery. She drags you to one of the fine chairs in front of the fire.

Before you could answer, a deep masculine voice rings from upstairs, calling out for Adelinde. Steps can be heard on the polished wood and you nervously tuck a stray hair behind your as the all too familiar scent of smokey wood and lampgrass fills your senses.

“Master Diluc, it seems we are having a special guest stay with us for the night.” The head maid says eyes flickering between the two of you as you squawk from your place in the chair. Diluc turns the corner, red eyes wide when he sees you, soaked through and shivering like a stray left in the rain. With the speed you’ve seen him exhibit in battle, he is by your side, his hand outreached to touch you before he freezes and drops his hand, still gloved by his side. Touching you so early into your budding relationship wouldn’t be proper - and Diluc is nothing but a gentleman first and foremost.

“What happened?” He unknowingly parrots Adeline from before and you shudder before answering him, tentatively looking up at his eyes that flicker like the flames in the fireplace.

“Master Albedo asked me to retrieve research notes he left on the mountains.” You confess and wince at the scoff that leaves your lover and quickly fill him in as to why you went,

“Klee is ill so Albedo couldn’t go - I agreed to go.”Your stammer, feeling hot as the stern look on his handsome face fades to worry, you can still catch a subtle “The Knights are incompetent as ever.”

“You still shouldn’t have been sent alone.” Diluc murmurs, eyes flicking away to the flames in the fireplace. He sighs and goes to remove a red palmed glove, you watch the small action with wide eyes and swallow when you see his hands - pale and scarred, faint red hair glows in the low light of the fire and he says your name softly.

“May I touch you? I can use my vision to warm you.” You nod, wetting your lips as his hand comes to rest on the side of your face, warm and gentle in the way his palm molds to hold the weight of your cheek - red eyes glint pleased by how your shoulders drop and your eyes flutter shut by the comfort his body heat gives you. He smiles, cheeks tinged pink when he hears the small sigh that you puff out.

“I’ll have Adeline run you a bath and set some clothes for you. Have you eaten yet?” Your eyes, cloudy and relaxed, meet his eyes and he feels his heart might burst at how you look at him so trustingly - you shake your head to show that no, you haven’t eaten yet.

“Some supper will be served for you then.” You think it’s from your long exposure to the elements but you usually would stammer and sputter at such treatment - telling him that he’s spoiling you too much but now you relax like the cat in the sun into the palm of his hand and let him do as he pleases.

“Send her to my quarters after her bath. We’ll eat there.” He instructs, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb into your cheek. Diluc’s blush darkens at the soft sound you make when he releases his hold on your face, he steps closer and your mind clouds as he becomes your world. He settles before you, tucking a stray hair from your face as he takes in your tattered form,

“It appears I’ll have to exchange some words with the Chief Alchemist. I can’t have him sending my love away on such dangerous tasks.” You wince at his words but your heart softens at the worry in his voice and the pet name he regards you with. Clearing your throat you try to soothe him,

“It’s alright Master Diluc - I should have been wiser and not agreed given the circumstances, the mountain has always been dangerous,” Your rambling is cut off by another pleased sound you make. He had momentarily moved away to remove the other remaining glove and pressed his now free hand to your forehead. Warm and dry, you feel the callouses from wielding the claymore against your skin but you could sigh at the touch. The hair there is still wet and you can feel how he gently tucks away the damp strands as he slowly increases the temperature on his hands to keep warming you up.

“It’s only Diluc when you refer to me, dearest.” He rumbles from his position in front of you - something sweet in his smile as he recounts a fond childhood memory.

“My mother would refer to my father as Master Crepus when she was cross with him so,” Red eyes as warm as the embers in the fireplace before you dance so joyfully and you can’t say if it is the fire that warms you from the inside out or by how Diluc speaks to you as softly as the bat of a crystalfly’s wings. You find that you can’t bear the weight of his loving eyes so you duck, tucking your head into your chest and letting your wet hair block your view.

“O-of course, Diluc - I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiles at you, the name he is so proud of sounds so sweet coming from your lips and he can’t but give into his lesser nature and hurries for you to say it again. Pushing and tucking away the hair you used to hide your flustered state, the skin where his hand had rested almost aches from his presence,

“Say it again, say my name one more time.” He asks, and you concede with a shy smile - stuttering over the proud syllables of his name. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze, eyes wide and face hot. You hide your face with the back of your hand, from behind the fire cracks. Anything that Diluc wishes to say, from asking you to say his name again or a comment on how you can’t bear his gaze Adeline calls from the staircase - “The bath is prepared, please head this way.” She says, smiling kindly to you as you rise but not without reaching out to squeeze his hand once then twice.

“I’ll be back, okay?” You manage to squeak out - still timid but ever eager to be at his side. He smiles in that soft way where you can’t help but think he really hasn’t changed since he was a boy that would smile so freely. Adeline leads you to a much more private and grander bathroom than the one you have been directed to use before during your previous stays at the winery. The bathtub is filled with steaming, bubbly water, and the scent of flowers is heavy. Adeline instructs you to strip, turning for privacy and you tentatively begin to under the belts that keep up your trousers and armor.

You soon are undressed, and you are careful to submerge yourself as quickly as possible - clearing your throat timidly to allow Adelanine to turn over. The foamy surface of the bath allows you some privacy and the head maid smiles at you as gently as she usually does, collecting your muddy and soaking clothes into a wicker basket.

“I will set these aside to be washed in the morning - there will be a change of clothes brought to you when you are ready. The supper will be in the Master’s room as well.” She parts with those words and you don’t know if the heat you feel in your body is that of the bath or of the prospect of being in Diluc’s bedroom, alone with him. All the times you have spent with him were under the eyes of the staff - shared dinners and chess games, you playing the lute for him as he rested his eyes and listened lovingly. You don’t think that Diluc allows the staff into his room anymore, he is no longer a young lord that needs help being dressed so as you wash the mud and snow from your hair you can’t help but think of the private affair of dinner. Even the lovely scent of flower soaps and perfumes can keep your mind off it, you tilt your head back until it meets the rim of the tub.

You begin to observe the room around, all dark wood and gold - you see the engravings of grape veins and owls and it’s hard to not let your mind wander to your redhead lover. You blink once, then twice, and sigh from your heart as you think of his vermillion eyes and delicate touches. Your hand, silky from the soaps and still toppled with foam rests upon your chest where the heart lies and you feel its steady beat rising as you sink further and further into your thoughts of the only man you’ve loved your whole life. The sea of your thoughts and the satin water of the bath have become one - you don’t realize you are in a trance until there is a knock on the door. You call out to let the person in, thinking it to be the ever-so-helpful blonde maid, who holds you in high esteem for making her lord smile so sweetly and boyishly.

Instead, the one who peers through the door is the object of your affection - broad and towering from your position in the bath, holding onto delicate fresh clothes in his arms. Nothing is said as he finally catches wind of your position, dewy and slick with soap studs barely giving you any sort of decency of your more personal affairs. Wide eyes framed by dark lashes from the water gaze at him and if Diluc was a lesser man his resolve would have collapsed to bone and dust. He most certainly found you beautiful but here, served in the luxuries of his home Diluc can’t help but find you divine.

“I have brought you clothes, a nightgown, and something for extra warmth,” He said, eyes to the side as he could hear the splashing of the water - you were raising your arms to cover yourself. DIluc swallows around nothing and lowers his gaze to the corner of the bathroom.

“I apologize, I should have knocked.” He utters his voice uncharacteristically soft and he hopes his ears don’t match his hair. You tuck wet strands of hair behind your ear and shake your head even if he can’t see it.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.” You say, and it is true. He is your lover. These types of things are bound to happen if your relationship is to continue. You eye the clothes in his hands and bite your lip as you confront the reality of the situation.

“Diluc,” You say his name, and something hot runs up his spine. You say his name so softly it is almost like prayer and he can not deny the pleasure of hearing it be sung too sweetly. “Could you help me out of the bath?”

He wonders if this is his last day on this earth. Diluc lets his eyes flicker to you - eyes bright and hopeful as you look up at him with all the adoration in the world. Clearing his throat he can’t help but think he will never be able to deny you anything if you look at him like that.

“Yes, if that is permissible by you.” He agrees and you smile from behind the water, directing him to where you had seen the towel that the maid who most likely planned this happening had set them. The towel was fluffy and white, encompassing his form as you slowly rose from the now tepid bath water - you saw how Diluc scrunched his eyes shut and tilted away his face until you were wrapped in the white fabric. Clearing your throat was the sign to let Diluc lift his head and you were so close you could see the soft pink flush on the tips of his ears. Nothing was said for a moment - the moment was too precious to spoil, Diluc thinks you must be something divinely made and you can’t seem to wrap your head around how safe he makes you feel.

Is this how the jovial city of Mondstat feels knowing such a gentleman guards her walls with the ferocity of The Four Winds?

“Get dressed when you are ready - the nightgown should fit you comfortably. I’ll wait outside to take you to my quarters.” Diluc explains, eyes on the floor to avoid staring at the exposed skin of your collarbones and shoulders. Your knuckles were wrapped in the fluff fabric of the towel - you brought one up to wipe at your lips as you nodded at him.

“I’ll be quick, promise.” The words are earnestly said, you mean them wholeheartedly and Diluc fights the urge to clutch at his chest when you speak to him in that way. In a manner that is too stiff but it’s all he can do he nods and departs from you only to bring his hand to his face and groan softly into the gloved palm. How cruel is it that you are so unfairly endearing - how is he supposed to be the gentleman he was raised to be when every action you take seems to erode his resolve?

You are quick to change - giving yourself only a moment to gaze at the ornate nightgown you have done. It was made of a nicer quality fabric than you owned, silken and white it shined in the candlelight and was tied in the front. It was a bit loose around the shoulders and dragged behind you a tat and you can only assume that this was meant for a taller and more mature woman than yourself. After hearing a knock at the door you hurry to dry your hair some more - only for it to still be wet, sticking to your neck. You go to the door and smile when you see Diluc, a flush to his cheeks and an uncharacteristic wide-eyed look on his face when he sees you like this - dressed in a pretty little fabric that does not hide any of the curves of your body the way your uniform armor does.

“Ah, do I look odd in this? I don’t really own anything of this sort of style - ah that’s not to say I’m not thankful! This is really pretty and it’s so soft on my skin-”

“You look wonderful in it.” Your rambling is cut off by his comment, there is something devoted in his voice that makes you timid. Face flushed from either the heat of the bath or from his praise you chose not to think of it, keeping your eyes on the dark wooden flooring and letting your hair fall into your face. Diluc can’t help but study you, a dangerous game and maybe it suits a man like him who has always invited danger into his life but right now you turn him into half of a beast and have a stumbling kitten. Lust is not a foreign concept to the Master of the House but it is one he had often thought he could without.

How foolish is the young Master? How foolish is Diluc, who ravaged the lands of Snezhnaya because the want in his chest told him to? Lust is passion, hatred is passion - Diluc though stoic and hard of face is still at the mercy of his passion. The heat of his vision pulses in time with the heat at his core; the one that makes his eyes linger on the swell of your chest for too long and it’s the same heat that makes him think of what your form would be like under his hard hands.

You, who is kind and loving, who loved Diluc when he was a boy barely capable of picking up the claymore at the shy age of 10, and that you love him now who is dressed in pristine whites and smell of cecilias - how could his passion try to keep itself away from you? As you walk next to him, your elbow crossed with his after Diluc had offered you his arm. You are in his private quarters sooner than you had believed and chills break onto your skin as the scent that always clings to his skin is doubled in the presence of the room. Lampgrass and smoke, grapes on the vine and pine - the smog of the scents are pleasurable as the hand he places on the small of your back to press you forward. The door shuts behind you and it does nothing to break you from your spell until you feel the breath of the one behind you, voice deep enough to be commanding; “Go sit down, the table is set.”

It makes you smile when you see the spread - Goulash, Northern Apple Stew, and Moon Pie are the main dishes. You tilt your head as you near the small table and you can see the smaller dishes that you have mentioned to him that you like. Mondstadt Hashbrowns, Satisfying Salad, and even Mint Jelly. Diluc comes up from behind and blushes when he catches your eye instead of focusing on pulling out a chair for you. He gestures to sit and you do, smiling in that all too delicate way you do when you feel spoiled.

It’s his favorite smile of yours - he hopes he can keep it on your face for as long as he lives.

“Here let me serve you,” He offers and you nod, watching how he passes you a dish of Goulash, a soup known for warming up those who have recently left the mountain of Dragonspine. It would make your tail wag if you had one as he cares for you and fills your plate as soon as it is empty. Dinner is filled with small moments that keep a smile on your face - wiping the sauce on your cheek and even taking your seat in one hand, tugging it closer to his side so your thighs brushed and pressed against one another. It’s almost romantic, here in the safety of the winery dining with him as you both discuss the simplest and most casual of topics that one only shares with their most loved ones.

You mentioned how the cecilia blooms seem to have doubled this season from the heavy rain and Diluc mentions being interested in a board game similar to chess from Inazuma named shogi. You take note to ask the traveler how to purchase a set and Diluc thinks of bringing you a bouquet of cecilias - the flower you love so much.

Dinner is over sooner than you’d like but your eyes are half-lidded, the exhaustion of your trip to the mountains and the warmth of the meal making you weary. He notices, laughing softly when he takes note of how you sway side to side in your seat. Faster than you can blink you find yourself whisked away until your back is against the plush mattress and a wine-red comforter is tucked to your chin. With lidded eyes, you realize that he isn’t joining you to bed and you say his name in a voice that is just a tad whiney though you will never admit it.

“Where are you going?” You say with something needy in your heart and Diluc who leans over you, red hair cascading like the waterfalls that litter the landscape of Liyue in the few times you’ve crossed through Stone Gate comes to mind. His face hovers over you, you can see the faintest blotches of freckles over the noble bridge of his nose and you see how the cupid’s bow of his top lip is the slightest bit uneven. He doesn’t quite smile, lips only twitching in a soft way that conveys his affection and his hand - he abandoned the gloves for the meal, comes to rest at your brow and his gaze turns soft like a cloud when he brushes your hair away.

“I’ll sleep in a guest room, you can take my bed.” He speaks softly as if his voice grows in volume in any way you would break in his hold. Your own hand goes to his fingers and palm molding into the grooves of his knuckles with your thumb rubbing at the bare skin. Your hands aren’t as soft but they dry and even at the tips of your fingers Diluc can feel their strength. The fire is dying but something is coming to life inside of you - it makes your heart ache as a new type of heat blooms in your stomach that does not come from any soup or hearty meal. The same heat that pours in Diluc’s vision, the same that fuels his passion, and the same that brings you to your knees.

“I’m still cold.” You say but your eyes say what your heart wants - “Don’t go, stay with me, don’t leave alone, I want you.”

“Oh?” Diluc speaks after a beat of silence, vermillion gaze ablaze with so many questions and you read them all. Your gentleman in red is installed to care for and protect the weak, the vulnerable, and the needy. You know what he wants to say - “Are you sure? When I start I won’t be able to stop.”

You’ve tilted your head, bringing his hand to your lips to press a kiss to the scared, rough palm. Strength pulses through each digit, much like your own and your eyes are like snowfall. All pure and gentle, he finds it hard to refute you; hard to leave you in bed all alone when you look at him with sweet eyes begging him to stay. How could he say no to you? How could he deny you what it is you desire when all this night he has been attending to your every whim?

His lips are on yours and his hand heads south, cradling your jaw in his vast palm he tastes of apple cider and you taste of mint jelly - his mouth turns ravenous as if it didn’t have its fill at the dinner table. Diluc is still not satiated, his tongue warm and silken in your mouth traces the grooves of your teeth and you sigh into his mouth. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, blunt fingers curling into red tresses and you can’t help but tug the slightest bit. He groans softly at the slight sting and he finds himself tugging back the comforter until you are bare to him, your skin breaks into goosebumps at being exposed to the open air again.

Diluc pulls away for air and spit strings connect you two until they break, the drops dripping from your chin to your neck. The milk light of the moon breaks through the curtains and Dilu can’t help but give into his lesser nature to drink you greedily with his scarlet eyes. Your face is warm, your breath condensing into steam from the difference of temperatures and he can’t help but find it lewd.

“I suppose I will have to stay with you tonight, won’t I? I can’t have you going cold under my care.” His voice is deeper, ravaged by the lust in his veins and you nod letting your fingers curl into his fur-lined jacket. You nod, head spinning from a simple kiss and you return the gesture to his thumb that rests on your swollen lip.

“Take it off - take it all off and join me.” You mutter, voice sluggish and the flame of your lust turns your mind to mush. Diluc can’t help but laugh - utterly breathless and enchanted by you, his hands leave you to push away his jacket and as it falls to the floor you bring your own hands to his face to keep kissing him. You press your lips to him, to his chin and cheeks panting and mewling into the brief space shared between you both as he can’t help but tease you.

“Haven’t I spoiled you enough? Do you still want more?” You whine and shake your head, eyes hazy by your own inability to be suave and smooth when faced with the enormity of your wanting.

“More - please, please give me more M-mast-”

“Diluc. Say my name and my name alone, you’re my lover only.” He cuts off your begging with a tone that leaves no room for argument. You nod to him hastily, whining as he grabs your wrists in his own hands. You are lovely like this, panting and chest heaving. If he had better lighting he wonders if he could see the hearts in your eyes as he lets his hands go back to unbuttoning, unbuckling, and pushing away the clothes on his form. His vest, shirt, and tie have all been removed and his chest is bare to you - the sight of a thick, burly chest covered in a thin layer of red chest hair makes you moan. When morning comes you are sure to be embarrassed, ashamed of your wanton and lewd behavior but that can come in the light of dawn.

You’re fine with acting like a cheap whore rather than the refined knight everyone knows you as if it’s for Diluc and for Diluc alone.

Everything happens so fast it’s hard to keep up with - his hands are under the skirts of your nightgown, broad fingers meeting the sticky lips of your cunt and mewling under him when they run down the seam of the folds. Your slick sticks to his knuckles and he laughs breathlessly and without mirth when he tilts his head to get a good look at how you whine - bringing the back of your hand to cover your face that grows hot with your own desire. It feels like you are melting, the heat of his hands is nothing compared to the heat of his fingers that sneak their way into you. Index and middle fingers curl inside of you as his other hand curls around the one that lays helplessly amidst the plush pillows and blankets of his bed.

“So demure, so lovely - my sweet knight, how pretty you cling to me.” His face does not leave from above you, lips only a breath away as his words like candle wax, hot and cling to your ears. You brush your lips to his panting and hungry as you nod almost mindlessly only to jolt with a moan when you feel his thumb that was not idle begin to swipe at your flushed clit at the rhythm of your heart. Diluc can’t help himself, tilting his head as he ponders the matter of his mind letting his fingers search for what it is he seeks; hounds sniffing for the rabbit in the meadow. You squeal suddenly, your thighs threatening to shut when the blunt tip of his fingers meets the softer, tender spot of nerves on your upper walls. A flame dances in his eyes as he smiles - a cold and victorious as you moan his name again and again as you melt under him.

“I found something, didn’t I?” Diluc is not one to tease but he can’t help but to as your pleasure folds over his hands like syrup. The release of your cunt clings to his fingers like it too, tastes just as sweet. You are open now, wet and darling with the pretty nightgown he gave you rucked up to your stomach and he can see how you twitch for more. The hand that held yours goes to his belt and you mewl from his departure making something smug in him grow three times over. The ever-kind and independent knight you reduced to a spoiled soiled pet, you really are an endearing darling to have his own.

His own, the thought makes him sweeten, pressing a kiss to your pliant and drooling mouth as he frees his cock from the prison that is his trousers. His mouth hovers over your lips and he asks you with his cock pressed between your bodies. It drools onto your thigh as you look down at it, your head swimming as you think about how it will be inside you if you permit.

“Are you warm enough now?” Diluc asks - still playing the game from before and you shake your head reaching down with a blind hand to take the shaft of his cock in your grip.

“No - no I’m still cold, warm me up some more please.” You say and he groans as you squeeze your hand around him with your thumb coming to swipe at its ruddy head. He whispers to you a rugged and breathless “okay” and he slips inside you like you were made for him. Birds have wings, lions have claws and he has you; Diluc not once believed he would ever find completion in his life but now he feels inside of you when you squeeze around the thickness of his length.

Breath-like steam brushes past your face as his hand goes to grip the headboard with a fierceness you’ve only seen from him twice. You are panting, almost going cross-eyed at the stretch, the heat, and the fullness you are feeling. Beads of sweat fall down your back and wads of tears make their way to your eyes and down your cheeks as you begin to hiccup at the first, second, and third thrust he gives you. You moan his name, say it like it's the only word you know - the first one to grace your lips and shape with your tongue. It is what makes lust dance along his spine like lightning, how you squeeze and drip and moan; Diluc is helpless to you, growing more enraptured by your hedonistic beauty with each thrust he gives you.

His grip on the headboard tightens and he feels the wood splinter and smoke, steam rises from his back as he moves faster and faster. It’s almost like you are the metal in his workshop and Diluc the blacksmith; forging you into something new, something whole with the weight of his cock and the blistering heat of his lust. You come without warning - a surprised shout of half his name as you squeeze tight around his cock. The tightness is unexplained and it stops him from thrusting with a sudden washing tide of his own completion. A mix of your own slick and his spent spills from around the walls of your cunt that flutter around his flushed cock as you tremble in the aftershocks of your pleasure.

Dilcu only watches, mouth agape and wide eyes as he takes you in - soaking and sopping, moaning, and whining beneath him. Your cunt leaks, dripping down his balls with the milky white combined release of the two of you and he finds that it isn’t enough. No, he wants more, vermillion eyes drink in the patheticness of your state; the drool that makes your lips shine in the low light and the tremors in your chest. His mind is set in stone, cum still hot inside of you with his cock twitching that the idea of filling you again and again his hips roll back and then forward into you. Gasping, your hands that had hung limp and useless at your side come to clutch at his biceps leaving lines as red as his noble hair - you are helpless in his grasp just like the headboard that smokes from above you.

“Diluc - Diluc wait, too much, too much!” You want to gasp, you want to warn but all you can hear is the wet skin of your ass smacking against his pelvis and his grunts that echo in his room.

“I’m not warm enough, not yet.” You wither and collapse on your back letting go as he pleases moaning when you release in the back of your mind that the ache in your gut each time he fucks both his and your cum back into you. Your head tilts back, empty and so far gone all you can do is hang onto him as you take note of the small specks of melting ice that hangs above the headboard that he grips with all his might.

#lamb.writes #diluc smut #diluc x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader

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mvniro · 2 months

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. . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 DRIP IT DOWN, ETERNAL BLISS ; a fyodor dostoyevsky fic. ❞

أنت قاسي، قلبي لا يزال ينبض لك. بنفس الطريقة التي تكون بها الشمس قاتلة، إلا أن الأرض لا تزال تدور حولها. في ساحة المعركة، دعهم يعرفون أنني كنت الأشجع. لكن أمام دموعك عندما أرادت رباطة جأشي أن تهرب. أوه هل كنت أحمق؟ كل العشاق هم. هل ما زلت أحمق؟ لا، أنا مجرد عاشق دون حبه، عاشق تجرد من كبريائه. رجل حرم من سعادته كأنها حمامة بلا جناحيها.

you are cruel, my heart still beats for you.

the same way the sun is deadly, yet the earth still revolves around it.

In a battlefield, let them know I was the bravest.

Yet infront of your tears is when my composure wanted to flee away.

Oh was I a fool?

All lovers are.

Am I still a fool?

No, i'm just a lover without his love,

A lover stripped of his pride.

A man depraved of his happiness,

Like without its wings, is a dove.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . it's my birthday week so a present from me ♡.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . fem!reader, vampire!fyodor, immortal!fyodor, husband!fyodor, wife!reader, established relationship, nsfw, blood play, religious themes used, God referred to as Him, biting, set in old russia, abuse is normalized, 'sweet child' has been used once as a nickname to put emphasis on fyodor being immortal, reader has been given traits like 'pure' and 'innocence' for the reason of again, putting an emphasis on fyodor, his immorality and him being a vampire.

the clouds roared and the thunders proudly announced the arrival of an upcoming storm, letting everyone below the vast sky of this specific region of russia whose name you never had the privilege of knowing despite growing up here as a infant, know of the dangers the grey and almost black sky is going to bring in a matter of time.

in a matter of a few hours or even less, most of the land below will be covered, almost drowned with the water as peasants would begin to curse while they picked their trash and transferred it upstairs or try to find shelter with all their possessions on top of their heads.

yet you did not have time left to ponder over what the peasant man will do to fight this unexpected disaster as the sound of footsteps reverberated through the otherwise silent hall of the mansion and you turned almost at once to see the man who owned this mansion walk in, his expression as cold and confident as it was the first time you saw him yet what paired with his pale skin and maroon, crisp shirt was a cut running through the length of his neck and disappeared behind but you guessed it must've ended near his shoulder blade.

the man raised his eyes and you dare not refer to him with his name unless you stand on a stage where your intellect and personality can clash against his -- these were the words that were punctured into your mind by the most gentle of mothers but also the most cruel of women who had fallen from their high class, married to a peasant for the sake of a promise made by fathers who they never saw.

"you are hurt." you quietly observed as you stared up at his delicately cruel and cold face, holding your chin high to not let your nervousness be disclosed.

but he had seen it, he sees it all.

he had tilted his head and raised his hand to probably run it through the gushing wound, had you not taken quick strides to grab his wrist and stop him from doing so.

"what had gathered your interest so immensely that had you staring out of the window for the past fifteen minutes?" fyodor, the man you are married to and which is considered to be the greatest achievement of your life ; to be chosen by him, grabbed your wrist which was holding his own and pulled you in closer.

your nose bumped against his shoulder and you immediately and unconsciously breathed in his scent for it was always oddly comforting, fyodor smelled of old books and oud yet the distinct crisp smell of the outside greenery also mixed in with his scent.

fyodor looked down to watch your composure crumbling as you grew nervous and tense when he raised his other hand to wrap it around your lower back, pushing you to be more closer to him.

to watch you drop the mask and show your vulnerability whenever he did gestures like this was too pleasurable and amusing for him. coming from a place where love and affection or even peace are concepts which are only available for one to hear and fantasize about, you never got used to being showered by the attention and interest of your husband ; a man notorious and admirable at the same time.

"it looks like it'll rain heavily." you speak quickly and nervously as you raise your head to look at fyodor, a childlike nervousness in your eyes ; the kind which is seen in a child when he arrives at a new place or is pushed to introduce themselves by their parents to adults whose friendly smiles are nothing but scary and ugly curls on their scary faces.

yet with that childlike nervousness, your eyes also held the wisdom and knowledge of a man given mercy after being brought to be beheaded ; this beheaded man who had calculated the time he had left before his head would be cut from his neck and who watched his surroundings and himself for the last time with an incredible understanding. you looked like you wanted to cry yet at the same time didn't want to move away from him, like a child who clings to his mother after being smacked by the mother.

the innocence in you had attracted fyodor who had seen so much that he forgot if he ever was innocent once.

he tilted his head down and your eyes fluttered shut, his lips gently came in contact with your eyelid as he left a kiss there before doing the same with your other eyelid and he leaned back to whisper,

"do you really have no one to go to?"

"you are my husband, you are my everything now. i'll go wherever you go and i'll go wherever you tell me to." why is it that your nervous and anxious voice had more impact then those of philosophers and kings he have heard?

fyodor led you by your waist to the couches where he sat on one of the velvet armchairs and pulled you to sit on his knee, staring up at you with no expression on his face yet his eyes weren't sharp like they always were when he talked to others, no, his eyes were soft.

"i spoke of you to a friend of mine. he too was amazed when i told him what a sweet little wife i have chosen for myself. i told him how i immediately make you sit on my knees whenever i come back and watch you shyly and at other times nervously squirm under my gaze." fyodor began as he played with the hem of your white robe under which the only article of clothing on your body was a white babydoll nightgown but your eyes were glued to the way the cut on his neck from just a few minutes ago disappeared and his skin appeared as if he never had any wound to begin with.

does this explain his beauty too?

one which is considered otherworldly and which exceeds the one of both women and men? for how can he look so delicate yet intelligent at the same time?

"he asked me why. can you believe he would ask something so obvious? has his age been playing a factor in asking such a idiotic question?"

". . .i wonder the same too sir. why?" you raise your eyes to look in his eyes again and fyodor raised one of his eyebrows but didn't look up or stop playing with your robe. he had just changed his action to now playing with the knot of your robe and he only hummed before he spoke,

"i am a man who thinks his wife should not be influenced by traditions or societal influence but by the word of Him and after Him, by me. please refrain from referring to me with titles that are meant for others." fyodor explained gently yet the warning in disguise in tone made you immediately nod and fyodor almost smiled, not quite, you supposed you would have to work harder and please him more to get the privilege of seeing him smile.

"alright then, . . . dostoyevsky. please do answer my previous question." you hesitate before you attempt again to dive into the surface of his mind to try and understand him, to take a step closer to get him to warm up to you in a way you are familiar too -- directly, not subtly like he does.

for greed is felt by humans and humans aren't angels filled with virtues, they sin and sin and then they beg for forgiveness before they sin again ; and everytime they repent, He forgives them and showers them with His mercy.

you raised your finger to gently trace his nose. your fingers felt cold on his skin, ironically, as usually it is him who has skin as cold as the cold walls of a room during a winter night. so why would he feel your touch to be cold?

cold to the touch, soothing to the sensation. a normal and well known gesture, a foreign feeling it bloomed within.

"i like pretty girls like you who are obedient and quiet yet also playful." fyodor muttured as he let you raised your fingers to the corners of his lips, pressing it against his skin and turning it up and down as you tried to make him smile and frown but the thought that itched at the back of your skull remained one you've thought of before as well ; when he would smile for real, would you feel breathless or would would rather feel groundless as the ground beneath you disappears to make you float in air?

"i am not that pretty. many others were prettier. though mother always told me i would be picked to be the bride of a nobleman over the preety ones due to my obedience. and at other instances, she smacked me with her bible till my skin cracked and i truly resembled what she would call the 'devil's nasty joke' on her, to be given a child who is ordinary in beauty unlike her." you tell as you pull on his upper lip to reveal his sharp canines which separates him from the rest and let his identity be known, gazing at the unusual sharpness -- to you, a human --with curiosity as you raise your finger to poke at the tip of his teeth.

a supernatural being, an immortal man, a vampire possessing great beauty and a man who is cursed by knowledge yet blessed by wisdom.

"your mother is preety but she has a loud mouth. i always liked when the women around me had strong opinions and strong will yet with an equally gentle mouth." fyodor interjected calmly as he then lightly sinked his teeth into the plush of your fingerpad, amusement glowed in his eyes when he felt you jerk a bit due to the unexpected teasing.

"and i do?" you ask in somewhat interest and somewhat surprise as your pupils fall on his face once again to see amusement dripping down his own eyes as he didn't answer you, didn't want to give you the relief of having your curiosity answered.

"sweet child, you make me feel divine." is all the ancient vampire breathed out and to save yourself from becoming a shy and nervous mess infront of your husband, you quickly change the topic.

"if you bite me, will it hurt?" your change in topic is abrupt but adorable. you leaned down to look at his sharp teeth better and in your eyes were the wonder and thoughts and assumptions and theories of what it would feel like to be bitten by him, to have your skin pierced by his teeth, to have his breath fanning your skin and to have his arms caressing the supple flesh of your ass, you blinked. then coughed nervously at the thoughts in your hand.

"hm, it will. alot." fyodor opted for a whisper to tease you as he looked at you but he sensed it, felt it and realised it all. the subtle clenching of your legs and the quick blinking once you realised your own thoughts and how they circled concupiscence.

"really? i feel like you are lying." adorable efforts and adorable suspicion as you timidly smile at him and fyodor hummed before he grabbed your hand (which had been poking and inspecting his sharp teeth) while he began to move his knee up and down and watched how your shoulders tensed before relaxing as you tried not to notice the slight pleasure his movements are giving you.

to ignore the way his knee bucked into your crotch everytime he moved his knee and how your panties were pushed towards your folds by his movement, you looked at fyodor to see him raise your wrist towards his lips.

". . .si --" you stop, immediately correcting yourself when fyodor's grip on your wrist tightened, "-- dostoyevsky, what are you doing?"

you did not need to ask, you knew he would be answering your curiosity in a way that it would leave you satisfied and without any more doubts but the time period before he does so is of now and this time period is making your heart beat faster in anticipation and erotic joy due to the movement of his knee.

"quiet. love." he muttered out.

oh he did, he certainly did!

he used the pet name again. and again, he watched. he watched as you whimpered quietly and nodded, falling silent as you can't bring yourself to look at him, shyly staring at his mouth and waiting for him to proceed with his action.

with a strange calmness, you waited and watched. fyodor found it amusing how a mere nickname got you squirming but his action didn't.

parting his lips to sink his sharp teeth into your wrist where your veins were visible, fyodor perked up at the reaction he craved out of you, which came late, a gasp of surprise.

a melody fyodor wanted to engrave into the depths of his mind.

"you lied dostoyevsky, it doesn't hurt at all." you speak after a few seconds of silence as you inspect the way the blood flowing through your veins entered his mouth and flowed down his throat, was it like water to him or did he have separates tubes and enzymes for this blood -- your blood.

"it doesn't?" fyodor whispered out to tease you with a faux surprised tone before continuing, "then what does it feel like, love?"

the nickname sits nicely on his tongue and he likes the way it rolls off his tongue and the effect it has on you.

"have you not heard it before from your previous wives?" you tilt your head, the ecstacy of having his thumb run across your wrist as he tries to soothe the piercing and churning like pain from your wrist is what is making your tongue so loose and sharp. yet when the depth of your words settled on your tongue, your heart sank. what did you just say?

"you are my first wife."

"oh."

"oh indeed." fyodor repeated with a smirk, the only closest thing to a smile you assume you'll see because there is no way fyodor would smile or even talk to you after the way you've disrespected him.

he may not be showing it but a man doesn't like being disrespectful and a respected man knows the clear line separating playful teasing with sugar-coated snarky remarks.

you aren't one though. you are young and naive and you mix up silent amusement for having taken offence. your hands shake in fear of these negative thoughts walking in your mind being true.

a thing to be noticed before going further is the use of 'sharp teeth' or 'sharp canines' instead of 'fangs'. the use of such terms instead of the other and more commonly known one is due to your stubbornness.

fyodor may be a vampire but he is not an animal and so, you try your best to view him as a human but he isn't one and so, unconsciously the words like 'canine' pop out.

old habits do die hard and old traditions are just someone's expectations and way of living being forced onto others.

fyodor knew it, he always did. nothing escapes his eyes afterall. and has anyone wondered what this would make him feel?

such a naively idiotic way of thinking that only humans are capable of as they spend lives in misery or happiness which is actually delusion in disguise.

"p-please forgive me dostoye --"

your words were cut off as the man leaned to place his lips on your's, the metallic taste in his mouth lingered and entered your's albeit faintly and was soon washed away by his saliva. your eyes were open in wide and visible surprise yet once fyodor separated, as if to just remember the feeling of your lips on his for memories have always been his companion.

and memories are the only thing as immortal as him, as ever living as him and as enchanting as him.

"call my name again." fyodor whispered out as he felt the hair on his nape rising as if to welcome the doom of him and of his heart.

falling for a mere mortal, oh, what a tragedy!

indeed, it is Him laughing at fyodor for the predicament He himself placed on him, he is sure of this much.

oh father, why has thou forsaken him?

why be so cruel to let him fall into the garden of love, it's a sin for someone like him. a sin he is committing on himself.

to love is to die for. to die for is to love.

"dostoyevsky?" oh.

heavens and the angels residing in it, is this a curse or a blessing?

fyodor closed his eyes and tilted his head up to exhale deeply as he needed a moment to process and to repeat the frail call of his name in his mind, he felt giddy and he felt disgustingly giddy.

"once more." fyodor demanded in a whisper as he tried to find his way through this garden where flowers bloomed and the sunlight showered on trees and the ground, making them relish this light falling upon them. this place doesn't feel hostile but unfamiliar and fyodor knows the dangers lurking behind that which is unfamiliar.

"dostoyevsky." you had gasped out this time when fyodor's hand, as if it had a will of its own, dipped in between both of your legs to grasp the under of your thigh and fyodor let out a satisfied breath.

"once more." he repeated his previous words. the flowers moved in one particular direction with the wind and fyodor, with skepticism guarding him, followed the path it pointed at.

"dostoyevsky. are you alright?" you leaned forwards to cup his pale yet extremely handsome face between both of your hands as you tilted his head down and after thinking for a few seconds on what to do, you leaned to leave a gentle peck on the tip of his nose as your eyes fluttered shut while doing so, due to shyness.

this doesn't make sense. fyodor thought as he stood at the destination the garden seemed him to want to arrive at yet all he saw a vast ocean which spreaded till infinity and the sun's reflection on the surface of the water was nothing special.

yet when you kissed the tip of his nose, there was a movement in the still water and fyodor felt himself getting irked at the slow realization. the ripples in the water slowed along his heartbeat.

love is like a ocean, deep and mysterious and no matter how much one tries, has there really been anyone who ever understood the sin that love is?

". . . seventy three." fyodor uttered slowly as he opened his eyes and stared at you.

"pardon?"

"this is the seventy third time i smelt the arousal oozing out of you, my love." fyodor mumbled to you in amusement as he watched whatever confidence was left in you, vanishing and crumbling.

you knew it would be of no use to make an excuse or lie, he would see through you anyway.

perhaps fyodor noticed your chain of thoughts as well as fyodor's hand which was grabbing the under of your thigh, lifted it up to have your legs parted and your core to be completely vulnerable to him and he tapped your cunt with his knuckles making your breath hitch.

"hormones, they give away many things about someone. the excited signals in your brain and your heartbeat -- they give away a human and his intentions very quickly." fyodor further explained even if he knew you, or any human, would be able to fully grasp for this is far beyond what the human mind is functioned and trained to think.

"remove." fyodor quietly ordered and you nodded quickly, breathing pattern uneven and not in rhythm is just making it more evident of how spot on he is when he caught you red handed.

caught you? but what is their to catch? it's not a crime to feel aroused by your husband who only touched you no more then thrice during your nearly reaching one year of marriage.

you slowly yet carefully undo the knot of your robe before fyodor raised his hand to push the robe down your arms and onto his lap as he removed it, his hand trailed down the length of your arms as he did so and when you moved to find a more comfortable position to sit on his knee, the prior protection of the robe now stripped away to let his eyes fall upon every curve and every inch of skin uncovered along with the feeling of your core moving against his knee, the primal urge took over fyodor.

even a vampire has instincts and primal urges that he can ignore for a long time but can never be free of it.

the babydoll nightgown did the purpose it had, to tempt the man who parted his lips to let his tongue out and moisten the bottom lip, in a attempt to feel anything other then the arousal burning through his veins.

fyodor abandoned your thigh and raised his hand to place it over your neck and added pressure to it as he glided his hand down to make you feel a small and faint burning sensation as he did so and you did.

but what followed his action, this simple test, is the result he was hoping for.

for the reason behind this action of his was to hear your breath hitching in your throat as if your body suddenly forgot the way it naturally worked. your heart hammered in your chest but you still ignored it to let out the words,

"if my obvious arousal for you is so obvious . . . dostoyevsky. then . . " you trail off to stare at his face and you smile a bit, nervously before it falls down from your face and you are once again left to be anxious at the reaction he will have but you cannot stop now, not when the subtle way his tongue lapped on your wrist when he sucked your blood is still something you can feel like a shadow lurking behind a traveler on a full moon light.

you take a deep breath before shakily raising your hand to place it on his collarbone and after looking at his face for any signs of displeasure and not getting any, you begin to caress his collarbone.

"then why be so cruel as to not relieve you of it? is this it? is this what you wanted to say?" fyodor smirked again as he took in the sight of the surprise dancing at every nook and crook of your facial features.

and with a slow nod, you watch as fyodor leaned near you to peck the tip of your nose and then leaned his head down to lick a strip up your cheek towards your cheekbone as his eyes narrowed.

"beg for it if you are so desperate." fyodor muttured against your cheek, you close your eyes.

"you are my husband. it's your duty to satisfy me." you murmur back but due to your eyes being closed, you missed the chance of seeing his lips curve up into a amused smile just the slightest bit as your words brought up a sense of amusement.

playful. oh how much fyodor likes these moments.

"you ruin my reputation. don't you know i'm not supposed to be this gentle, my love?" fyodor sighed out as he decided to adopt a more serious and sincere mood, letting the playfulness in his evaporate in thin air.

but desire, oh it precipitated when fyodor's hand traveled down to raise your nightgown up and he then used his hand to grab hold of the back of your thigh to part it and have your cunt be more visible to him as your underwear showed a wet patch.

"is it my fault?" you ask with a nervous smile and shaky breath, a smile that doesn't fail to convey your affection and anticipation for the man who nodded. rather then answering his playful accusation, you raise your slightly trembling hands to pull the hair tie that had been keeping your hair in one place. "may i?"

once fyodor nodded to grant you the permission to do as you wish, you leaned a bit forwards as you used both hands to gather his hair and style it in a ponytail as a means to distract yourself from the hammering of your heart due to excitement.

yet fyodor must have sensed your intentions and this is why he immediately grasped both of your thighs in his hold, lifting you up slightly as he shifted his body to lay you down on the couch next to the armchair you two were occupying till now.

fyodor isn't a man of many words so during such an intimate moment, his eyes did the talking and it made blood to crawl up your skin under the intense and hot gaze of his eyes which were narrowed, a glint in them so unnatural and unhuman that it made you aware (that is, if you forgot of his nature for a moment) of the genetic and biological difference between you two.

you nervously held your breath as fyodor sat on his knees above you, still holding both of your thighs apart after which he raised his eyes to look into your eyes and the way his lips parted as he smirked, his fangs glinted due to the light falling on them.

"not gonna beg me?" fyodor asked again yet his usually calm and stable voice had noticeably dropped a few octaves, sounding extremely arousing considering the state you are in and the way his words are being partnered up with his fingers which caressed your calves.

you take a deep breath but it doesn't calm your nerves for whoever talks big about being level-headed and calm must've never been under fyodor dostoyevsky when he is smirking and pridefully showing off his fangs while sweatbeads forms on the sides of his lips and frankly, you hope no one ever gets the privilege after you die.

selfish but that's what makes us human.

"n- i mean yes . . .er no, wait --" you stutter while watching fyodor raise your leg towards his mouth as he placed a soft kiss on your ankle before he began his journey higher up your leg and every kiss which followed from here on became unique due to being accompanied by a quick nibble on your skin, his tongue licking your leg or even bluntly biting your skin.

"time is running, love." fyodor murmured against your leg as his eyes stared up at you and you parted your lips but what were you even going to speak when no words in your favor were forming in your head?

you lay your head on the couch cushion as you let out a breathy whine, a sound fyodor himself greedily repeated in his mind but originality always reigned over mimicry.

with each kiss traveling upwards the length of your leg, fyodor leaned down and down instead of raising your leg higher.

"time isn't one to wait for anyone. not even for a man like me. so tell me, are you going to beg or not?" voice turned sharp, a breath was stolen from your windpipe cruelly when fyodor's lips reached your inner thighs and he clamped his mouth shut, sinking his teeth into the fat of your thigh.

you could feel it as his fangs pierced your layers of skin and flesh, drawing out blood and gifting you with a shrill kind of pain but it soon turned into something else you can't comprehend when fyodor began to suck on the abused area, it didn't pain yet neither did it feel good -- it felt something in between.

your eyebrows furrowed in thought as you tried to comprehend this sensation which is very new to you. fyodor raised his eyes again to watch you and once he found you behaving the way he wanted ; distracted, his lithe fingers slipped past your panty and entered your hole without any warning which made you jerk up as you let out a squeal of surprise while at the same time, your hole sucked his lithe middle finger in and made him let out a hum of approval.

"dostoyevsky --" you were not able to speak as the moment you called his name, fyodor pulled his finger out and thrusted into your wet entrance again and suddenly the sucking on your thigh is making sense, now that his finger is slowly moving in and out of you, you feel his mouth on your thigh is only adding to the anticipation and arousal building in you.

"that's my name, yes." fyodor smirked cruelly as he stopped the movement of his finger as it settled knuckle deep into your hole and he lifted his head to stare at the two small circles on your thigh and the nearly red skin around it.

fyodor stopped holding your other leg and used his free hand to pluck a few strands of free hair that the ponytail wasn't able to cage, behind his ear as he stared down at your panting form with a calculative gaze.

"i do not entertain brats. you want something? you be a good girl and nicely request for it --"

"please dostoy?"

fyodor let out a sharp breath as he raised his eyebrow, a silent order for you to repeat yourself and you do, leaning up on your elbows as the strap of your babydoll nightgown dropped down your shoulder, you timidly repeat yourself,

"please dostoyevsky. please?" you do not go in detail of what you want due to shyness and shame. fyodor doesn't mind as the moment the three words left your lips, a low growl of your name emitted from his throat as he immediately leaned forwards and tore the straps apart, the fabric of the nightgown teared into two by his hands as they pulled the fabric apart to reveal your naked breasts to him.

fyodor lowered himself on you, between both of your legs and your wet core as he lowered his mouth on one of your nipples and touched it with the tip of his fang, making you shudder.

at the same time, fyodor's lithe fingers swiped up some of the oozing blood from your thigh and brought it towards your lips, shoving his finger inside your warm mouth when you parted your lips and the small hum of disapproval at the ironic taste of blood had fyodor grazing your nipple with his sharp fang, providing a ticklish yet arousing sensation.

the short moment of tease died when fyodor moved himself up and pressed his crotch down on your core, making you shudder as your back arched. taking this chance, fyodor's hand traveled to your back and he immediately and harshly pushed down your panties, letting them pool by your feet as he did not bother to take them off fully due to being impatient which is out of character for him but when have someone actually stayed fully composed when the nimble hands of lust slowly dragged themselves down the abdomen of the person they are affecting.

due to the confinement of his pants, fyodor's dick pressed against your core when he pressed down, a painful kind of pleasure traveled to his body and he found himself doing it again and again, letting out short hisses at the painfully addicting and mind numbing sensation.

"dostoyevsky please. i need you so bad -- want you so badl -- m-mhmm." you closed your eyes when fyodor lowered his mouth and bit down on your skin below your breast, hard enough to draw blood but the pain was evened out by him dry humping against you.

"you make a man loose his mind." fyodor gritted his teeth before he whispered something in a language foreign to you, perhaps an ancient language and by the familiarity of the word, he was cursing for you remember the same word being used in multiple occasions with a frustrated tone, why would he curse?

for he wanted to do to many things, feel too many sensations and give you too much pleasure but alas, he two, has only two hands yet his brain, oh, his brain is a wonderful organ and works better then most of those who walked on this earth and perished on it.

"so much, so so much." fyodor muttered again in a language you understood and spoke since the beginning of your existence after you gained enough conscience to use verbal communication. he messily and clumsily undid his belt, removing his pants and practically kicking them off his feet, he let out short pants and his eyebrows were furrowed ; a sight enough to make you cum and fyodor noticed your hole sucking in air and so, he immediately pinched your labia in such a manner that between both of your lips was your clit as a prisoner of pleasure.

"you make me loose my mind so much. make me loose my morals and forget my manners." fyodor continued as he released his hold on your folds for a second to let the pleasure vanish before he pinched them again and as your folds squished around your clit, you let out a small sigh akin to a quiet moan.

"do you know how many times i've thought about bending you in a public place and taking you?" fyodor groaned at the remembrance of his perverted fantasies, he leaned down to bite on your skin again and this time, it drew out blood but the pain wasn't noticeable, not when fyodor pushed the tip of his cock against the spot on your thigh which he had bitten to smear the last wet drops of blood on your skin and on his tip, he groaned again at the messily erotic sight.

"there is only one solution for this." fyodor muttured as he leaned his head up to lick at your breast, his tongue stopping only when it hovered above your nipple as he wanted to let the bite he left on you to be undisturbed until it had enough blood flowing out of it.

without looking away from your eyes and without moving his face away as he pressed his tongue down on your nipple which hardened up, fyodor used both of his hands to spread your legs and try to clumsily push his cock inside your slit. his body weight falling on you, his tongue pressing down on your nipple yet not quite making any friction and his eyes which didn't tear away from your's even once ; all served to add to the pleasure he gave you as his dick bumped against your folds many times before he finally entered your slit while using his index and middle finger to spread your folds apart.

his tongue began to show movements as he licked a strip along your nipple before encircling around it and then it came, the moan you bit back and instead the choked breath you let out when his lips clamped down on your nipple and he began to suck on it, alternatively doing this and pulling your nipple with his teeth.

for every action in nature, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

fyodor pulled his dick out and he could feel the anger of your cunt at the sudden emptiness at it squeezed around thin air, arousal dipped out of you as it weeped for him to enter again, your hips spasmed as if heartbroken by the sudden lose of him . . . your entire body wanted him, didn't it?

this made fyodor shudder in satisfaction, his cocky nature taking the best of him as he smirked.

fyodor's lithe fingers traced down your fold and down the length of your inner thigh as he rubbed his finger on the spot which was faintly smeared in your blood, this made his dick ooze out precum and he thrusted inside you again.

you barely opened your eyes to lift your head up, spotting his free hand which was on top of your thigh and grabbing it to raise it towards your other breast which had been neglected for a long time. with your hand on top of his, you placed his hand on your breast and squeezed it, letting out a loud and breathy moan as your eyes closed once again.

"so eager." fyodor couldn't help but notice, thrusting into you slowly, in an antagonizing slow pace but to make up for it, his hand harshly squeezed your breast as if to tear your mind into two, to make you confused on which sensation to focus on.

fyodor's tongue flicked your nipple one last time before he lowered his head to place it on the spot he had bitten, now that it had a fairly safe yet good amount of blood pulling and he pressed his lips against the fluid. he lifted his head up towards your face and kissed the side, almost the end of your lips and dragged his lips down as he left small pecks along the way and the blood left its trail on your skin.

fyodor's dick picked its pace all of a sudden as he did not want the pleasure to disappear for even a second, he was sure to steal your breath away and leave you addicted to his touch, he will make sure of it.

his dick despite being clamped down by your walls, remained indifferent as he thrusted in and out, his ears drank the moans and whines your lips were letting free and his hand came down to grip your hip tightly, tight enough to leave a bruise.

fyodor went down to press his lips against your bloodied skin again, kissing the underside of your boob in the process before he raised his face to leave an open mouth kiss on your shoulder.

fyodor's dick entered with a particular thrust and touched your g-spot but he didn't pull back and rather, lifted you up by pushing on your hip till the tip of his dick touched your cervix.

it was a repeating process for fyodor to dip his head down and gather blood on his lips and then smear it down your skin as he kissed your body. your back arched when you felt his hand leave your hip to grab your thigh and spread your leg more, your leg dangled off the couch as he thrusted in again with the same pace he started out with ; slow yet deep.

yet his movements on your breast remained hard, harsh and fast and he, once after finding his action repetitive, switched to pinching your nipple and pulling and twisting it between the pads of his index and thumb, returning to his original action once he found this new one to grow repetitive and he alternatively switched between these two after every few minutes or perhaps, after every half minute.

"dostoyevsky." you moaned out and fyodor at once froze before he hummed and began again to ravish and abuse and mark your body as his, treating it delicately yet passionately, letting out short growls and whines every once a while.

fyodor's sacks began to tighten the moment your walls increased the intensity with which they clamped his length down and this was done after the second thrust to your g-spot and beyond it -- to kiss your cervix.

fyodor raised his head, licking his bloody lips and smirking arrogantly at how you appeared below him and how much more he can ruin you further, his hand abandoned your breast and grabbed your own hand instead. he clasped his fingers with your's and pushed your hand down on your stomach to have you feel the bulge his dick in creating inside you as it moved in and out and once again in and out before he pushed it in deeper and deeper inside.

his head kissed your g-spot and kissed it, and pressed on it harder and harder. fyodor's tongue licked your bottom lip before he bit down on it to draw out blood but he wasn't satisfied with this, he went down and bit down on the side of your neck and shoulder.

your legs raised as if on instinct and you wrapped it around his thin and small waist while your free hand grabbed at his clothed back and digged hard, your lips now letting out loud moans.

"i am gonna --dostoy -- ah - ahh. please let me cum, please please. harder -- please faster. don't stop, ah - oh, dostoy. dostoyyyy." you whined out his name when he pressed your hand down on your stomach harder while he used the other to grab and squeeze your breast again, digging his nails into your skin as he smiled against your skin to hear you being such a mess for him, to hear your shyness disappear due to the pleasure he is giving and bringing out a bolder side of you.

fyodor lifted himself on his knees just a bit to have a new and fresh angle to thrust inside you, his balls smacking against your ass harshly with each thrust he did and his dick went deeper and deeper, kissing and hitting your g-spot and cervix.

pleasure waltzed down your torso and up your feet as if to meet with each other with extended hands, fyodor's fangs pierced your skin as he continued to bite down hardly on your skin and his nails digging into your skin also drew out blood. the smell of so much blood made fyodor's breath to quicken and he moaned out. immediately the hands of the two forces of pleasure touched each other and with a moan akin to a scream, you came.

". . . dostoy?" you panted out while your hips spasmed as fyodor helped you ride your high out.

with a hum, fyodor lifted his head and blood had tainted his fangs. you raise your free hand to cup his jaw and pull his face towards your own as you left small and continuous pecks on his lips, kitty licking the blood off of his lips.

after a moment or two, fyodor's pace made you scream again as it increased at a inhumane pace, to give one an insight, you were able to respire only once between two or three of his quick thrusts.

he whimpered and pushed his lips hardly against your own, kissing you with force as he thrusted in again. the tip of his dick touched your walls and just the next second, ropes of sticky white shooted out and coated your walls white.

fyodor's body fell on top of your's as he tried to catch his breath, having no intention to pull out of you anytime soon.

rather, once he had calmed down a bit, he pushed his dick deeper to push his cum into you more and hopefully, into your womb.

"do you like the taste of blood now, love?" he quietly asked as he inspected the trail of blood he left on you -- from your cheeks to neck to shoulders to (faintly) your breasts and below it and above it -- wherever the eye could see, fyodor tainted your skin with your own blood.

you licked your lip before answering, "no, i like the taste of your lips."

━━━━━━━ 💋 end.

301 notes · View notes

azsazz · 2 years

Text

Nightlight

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: "So I’ve had this idea stuck in my head for like a month now but an Az fic where the reader is the youngest of the autumn court high family and like Lucien, Hellion is her father, but unlike Lucien she bears obvious resemblance (she has red hair like her mother but has these golden markings or something that shows off the day court in her). So Beron had her locked in the dungeons since she was a child for centuries like no one even know the Vanserras have a sister. After years of isolation she becomes a shadowsinger as well. I’ve tried to write this like 4 times now but I’m just not a writer the best I can do is summaries like this 😭😭" and "Daughter of Beron escapes to night court fic?"

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,772

Notes: Lucky for you my dear anon, I do dabble with writing 😂😅

Posting this today because I want to post the next part of Cupid's Chokehold on Thursday 💙

_________________________________________

On the day you were born, the sun was not shining.

Thunder rumbles throughout the Autumn Court, shaking even the sturdiest of trees that have been growing across the lands since even before Beron ruled. The Woodland House shakes in the aftermath, lightning crackling across the sky, brightening the halls he paces, the deep velvety greens of the walls more menacing than they normally are. The High Lord swears he can see the glow of a forest fire in the distance.

It had been the driest summer in Autumn Court history, and Beron could feel a magic rivaling his own throughout the arid season. The sun shone brighter by the day, hotter than it had ever been, sucking the life from the normally colorful leaves, crisp and drained, browns and dull reds instead of the vivacious crimsons and creamy oranges he was used to.

Not even the winds of Autumn were the same, usually a breathy kiss of cool air, whispers of the forest breezing throughout the towns, had been tampered with. No longer did Beron feel the familiar ruffle of the fresh winds through his flaming hair, no, it seemed as if his court had stopped feeling the supple breeze at all, the air becoming stuffy with the lack of movement, like all of a sudden his lands wanted to feel the burning heat of the day.

It was as if the sun and moon were fighting, her beautiful shining face longing to meet her partner in the sky, staying out longer each day that passed as if they might meet high above the Autumn Court and kiss.

The moon did not make an appearance.

He’d be lying if he said that he wasn't put off by it. Never in his centuries of life had he experienced anything like this, and he’d holed himself up in his private library for weeks scouring the books for any sign of what was happening.

Beron hadn’t uttered a word to his trusted advisors, whom he urged to keep from asking questions with a red-hot stare. They shrank from his gaze and did as their Lord instructed, trying to do what they could to save the crops, keep the lush trees from drying out, and help the citizens who’d been harmed from the heat.

The Lord did not even tell his wife of what was going on. His relationship with Amaretto had been strained for decades, ever since the birth of Lucien, the child that looked nothing like him.

Such a disgrace, to him, to his court, this child was. The hatred had consumed him, fury burning hot beneath his skin. Even his brothers had questioned why their youngest brother did not look right. He didn’t don the pale, creamy skin he and his wife shared, and the orange of his hair was not that of a flame, but of the sun.

It had taken time for him to even think of having another child that Amaretto begged him for. Beron was incredibly hurt by the actions of his wife that he’d barely been able to sleep in the same room as her, often finding himself drifting off at his desk or one of the many other rooms within the palace, a bottle clutched in his grasp. He had not been the best husband, but he was better than that filth from the Day Court. If he hadn’t been so trained in burying his feelings he’d have burned out by now, but still he ruled.

Although Amaretto had borne a child that was not his he would raise it, keep both his wife and the child as close as he could. But every time he looked at the boy all he could see was the gleaming golden eyes of the cocksure male of Day, the one who paraded around without a care in the world. Beron knew that the Lord didn’t know, and he’d be saving that information for when it was dire, when he needed to bargain with the stupid Lord he deemed below him in every way.

Eventually he’d given in to her pleas, as her beauty was far too persuasive to keep himself at bay. Amaretto had thought that the introduction of another child would mend the rift between them. Beron didn’t deign to tell her that it could never be fixed.

He paces outside of the birthing room, up and down the long corridor, bright with burning faelights lighting his way as the storm rages outside of the palace.

He can see it from where he stands, the usually airy and open hallways of the High Lord’s palace now black with rolling clouds, lightning striking mere meters from his home, hot and white across the sky. The rain pelters the shields protecting the Woodland House, normally never in use as the heavens hadn’t shed a singular drop all summer.

His first daughter. Beron could hardly believe he was so lucky to finally be having a girl. Seven sons over centuries of years, each one more ungrateful than the last. You were an omen. The first female of the Vanserra lineage and you were bringing the rains the lands so desperately cried for after the cruel summer they’d experienced.

You are going to be the Autumn Court’s salvation.

The High Lord has been muttering the same prayer for the past twenty hours, and each time he finishes he starts anew, glancing outside to see if the storm had let up. As if his breathy pleas to the Mother would force the dreary weather away from his doorstep.

He’d gone through this seven times and still his heart raced, ached for his wife. He had no idea how she did it, but he worshiped the ground she stood for doing so, for giving him a brood of potential sons that he could pass his crown to.

Beron releases a breath that sounds awfully like a sob as he hears your wail from behind the thick oak door. He braces himself against the wall as his body slackens with relief at the sound. For a heartbeat it doesn’t matter that there’s a storm raging outside, only that you’ve entered this glorious world.

The door creaks open and he stands tall, a midwife scurrying straight for him.

“My apologies, High Lord,” she curtsies. The nursemaid is a mousy little thing, wringing a towelette between her nimble fingers. Her skin is ashen and sweat lines her upper lip, rich chocolate eyes darting frantically around the hall, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice trembles and Beron thinks something has gone wrong with his daughter's birth.

“What is it? Is my wife alright? My daughter?” he asks frantically, stomach dropping to the chestnut wood below. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his wife by his side, how he could possibly take care of a daughter all on his own. His heart slams in his chest, eyes darting to the open door.

“They are both alright,” she assures him, cheeks glowing red from having set him worrying for no good reason, “Both alive and well.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, releasing a breath he was unaware he was holding. “Thank the Mother.”

“Very good news, Sir,” the nursemaid agrees, and he’s not sure why but she has a spooked look on her face, wringing her towel between her hands anxiously.

The baby cries out again and she jumps, worried eyes flitting to the door.

“May I see them?” He asks, although he doesn’t need the permission, it’s his turn for nerves. The thought of seeing his beautiful Amaretto and daughter, half-his, his heart flutters at the thought.

There’s something about how the nursemaid is acting that’s off-putting, but no more so than the storm raging outside of the palace walls. Usually, when royal babes are born in the Autumn Court it is a joyous occasion, everyone involved, basking in the lifted spirits of the Higher Lords and Ladies.

She gives a slight nod, bowing her head. Her hands are shaking as she pushes open the door and he stops at the sight of his wife, a tiny little thing bundled up in her arms. She’s as beautiful as the day he met her, even if her hair is drenched with sweat, exhaustion pulling at her bright eyes. She startles slightly, sending a look to the nursemaid that has her spinning on her heel, fluffing the blankets in the bassinet built for the babe.

“Come closer, my love,” Amaretto urges, a smile so small that it has that male hesitating. “It’s time to meet your daughter.”

Beron makes his way closer, steps slow and calculated, sensing that something is not quite right. Each inch towards them he’s preparing himself, clearing his mind, breathing even until–

Beron freezes in his spot as he stares down at you, heart screeching to a halt in his chest. The babe looks everything like her mother, nose, pink lips, but then she yawns and her beautiful eyes flutter open–

They’re not like hers. Or his.

His mate clutches the babe closer to her chest at the sight. Tears burn his eyes as he stares down at his child and it all begins to make sense, the dry summer, the burning sun, the brightness of your gaze, gold gleaming in your eyes.

You are not his daughter, but a child of Day.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Ever since you could remember your father had not been a nice man.

You had chalked it up to being a female. You weren’t different from your brothers in any aspect other than that. You had the same pale skin as them, the same ruddy red eyes as Eris, a smattering of freckles like Pyrolas, and the same shining auburn hair like Lucien’s.

Yet you were treated like you did not matter. You hardly saw your father for things other than awkward family dinners and the occasional times he’d stop by your training, assessing how you were developing in weaponry and hand-to-hand.

He cared little of your studies, reading to your heart's content long after the faelights had been turned out, huddled up under the thick blankets, a soft glow you emitted from your chest the only light.

It was unlike Oak’s powers over flame, how he could conjure a lick of fire with a single snap of his fingers, or how Conleth could grow the raging infernos in the hearths when his temper struck. You could do both of those things, or would be able to with a little more training, but you could do other things, things that you’d never seen them do.

Along with flame, you could omit a glow, only faint enough for menial tasks like reading late at night or lighting your path to the restroom in the early hours of the morning when not even the sun had awakened. Useless perhaps, but it always puts a smile on your face. It was your little secret.

Beron stands at the entrance to the training ring, hands clasped behind his back, watching you closely as you work with the instructor, your first time using a steel blade in your training. You were good, he could admit that as he watched you block and parry from the blow your teacher had sent your way. You’d be able to compete with your brothers soon enough.

You’d been studying, not only by practicing when you were unable to sleep, but from the books in the library that Lucien had told you about. You drank in the knowledge the pages had to offer, learning everything that you could and implementing it in your strategy. Even your instructor was thoroughly impressed.

And you catch that gleam in his eyes, so distracted by it that you miss the next block, the cold metal of the trainer's blade slicing cleanly across the skin of your arm.

You gasp, nearly dropping your own weapon in favor of clutching the wound to your chest.

Your heart jumps as you stare down at the wound and Beron’s eyes go cold at the sight.

He stalks from his spot, snatching your arm to get a better look. You yelp as his harsh grasp tugs at the slowly closing wound, glinting in the daylight.

You’re just as confused as he is. There should be red blood dripping from the wound, but instead it’s golden, catching the rays of the sun and cuddling them close. You can feel the warmth as it leaks across your skin, looking like molten gold itself.

It’s then that Beron realizes that the omen wasn’t that you’d save his court, but that you’d burn it to the ground.

“Dad?” you whimper as his hold flexes and his eyes darken, and though he’s been convincing himself of his hatred for you for fifteen years his heart still burns in his chest. The auburn eyes of his own that he’s glamoured on you since he saw you for the first time are wide, scared, your pale skin marred with injury. It wouldn’t be the last time either.

But his gaze is harsh, unrelenting as he stares at the wound. The honeyed blood only proves what he’d known since he first laid eyes on you.

You are far more dangerous to his court than he could’ve imagined.

Beron meets the eyes of the trainer, a friend for many years, the one to train all of his sons and now you, staring between you and the hurt, brows pulled taut in confusion.

The High Lord grimaces, taking the sword from you gently, and in a swift move he shoves it up into the trainer's head from the swell of his throat, steel sticking out the crown, his eyes rolling back as he falls limp at the both of your feet.

Your blood curdling scream scares the ravens away, Beron’s grip tightening on your arm as you try to prize his fingers off of you.

It is the second fae of his court he has slain because of you. The first, the nursemaid that had birthed you, slaughtering her before she could gossip to the other healers about the Day born female in his court. He’d snapped her neck in a sudden movement, and Amaretto had clutched you tighter to her chest as the sound of cracking bone woke you, her rich brown eyes terrified of her husband as he neared.

But he simply waved a hand and your teary golden eyes had changed to a replica of his own. If he had to deal with his wife bearing another of Helion’s miscreant children in his court, she would deal with the fact that every time she looked at you, she was staring at him.

The High Lord of Autumn had left the both of you with a last sad look.

Tears stream down your face, you couldn’t stop staring at your instructor, laying limp at your feet with a sword embedded into his skull. Why would your father do such a terrible thing?

Beron swipes the gleaming blood from your arm. The wound has healed but left in its wake is a sliver of a golden scar.

If anyone saw it they would know immediately, and he couldn’t have that.

He personally dragged you to the chambers beneath the house himself, hardly struggling as you put up a fight, thrashing and screaming until he’d lit a fire inside of your throat, the burning so intense you could hardly breathe.

You gasped for air as he threw you into a chamber at the bottom of the stairs. It smelled of burnt flesh and it was damp, the dirt floors moist and clinging to your fighting clothes, your exposed skin.

You scramble to your feet, lunging as the iron doors clang shut. You reach between the bars, sobs silent as you couldn’t make a noise, the metal biting into your skin. There was no light down here and you already felt suffocated, not from the stifling flames clawing at your esophagus, but because you couldn’t see or feel the sun.

You swear for just a moment that you spot regret in his gaze, stepping away from your reach. He doesn’t have to do this, if he would just explain what was going on maybe you could–

Beron’s mask falls into place again and the glaring look he gives you is so cold that it makes you shrink away from the iron bars.

He spits at your feet, muttering something in a language you hadn’t learned yet before he spins on his heel, leaving you all alone in the foxholes of the Woodland House.

#azrielxreader #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel/you #azriel/reader #azsazz #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acotarxreader #azriel #vanserra!sister

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lonleydweller · 3 months

Note

If you could, could you write a little drabble or fic of a yandere nubbins chasing his darling who's trying to escape?

🥀Run, run, run piggy!🥀

!warnings!: yandere trope, violence, murder, spoilers for tcm 1974, cannibalism mentioned, violence and injuries towards reader, sadism, failed escape attempt

Yanderes are OK to enjoy in fiction. They should stay fiction. They are not example of healthy relationships. These behaviors are NOT okay in real life. This is for entertainment purposes

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The hot dry air of the texas summer was suffocating as you ran. The sun's golden morning rays breaking over the vast fields of sunflowers. It would have been such a pretty sight. Oh how it could have been such a pretty sight to enjoy with your friends. Shame you'd never get that opportunity now. Your lungs burned, your head pounded, your cuts stung as you hobbled along. You weren't even that far away from the house yet, in fact, you were still close enough to where you could hear the sound of clamoring footsteps on the porch behind you.

You don't know why, but you turned your head a brief moment to see. Even when you knew who it was. You don't even haft to look for more than two seconds to recognize the lanky, greasy, feral thing of a man chasing you. Your body answers your plea of flight to the best of its ability. Pushing past the pain and hobbling just a bit faster. You can hear his voice crystal clear stammering behind you.

"H- hey! W- where do you think yer gettin t-to?"

He wasn't far behind. You can hear his footsteps quickly catching up to yours. You had learned early on, during your first few attemps of escape, that he was quick. Nimble too. Any crawl space you could squeeze yourself through, he could damn well weasel his way into too. A never ending game of hunter and prey.

You can hear his stiffled giggles and squeals of excitement even over the thunderous sound of footfall. You had pushed your luck hadn't you? So desperate for escape. So desperate to be free of the stench of rotting meat, decaying bodies, dirt, grime, blood, all of it. Foul. A home built on people's bones and skin. Never able to return to their own. Nothing more than pigs lead to slaughter.

It didn't help that they even tasted like pork too. The taste had flooded your mouth when he forced you to eat the disgusting meals his brother had prepared. Shoving the vile concoctions down your throat. One night head cheese. The next chili. The next steak. Not a single bit of animal meat present. God. Why couldn't they have just killed you too. Why couldn't you have just been turned into a stew like the rest.

Instead you have to suffer a monsters sick delusion of what he thought love was. It wasn't of course, it never would be. It was torture. Of wich you were quickly reminded of as his blade made contact with your back. Tearing through your shirt and at your skin with ease. You cry out in pain, the only sound you could muster anymore. He had gained on you so quickly, and you were only growing slower.

One, two, three, more painful cuts land on your back as he makes animalistic noises of excitement. His hands feverishly grabbing at your shirt, desperate to snacth you up once more. You're barely able to put up a fight as you desperately try to pull and writhe away with what little strength you have left.

"I gotchu! I gotchu, I gotchu, I...gocthu!"

Pure glee taints his voice. He knows he's won. You do too. Even then you still flail and struggle as he wrangles you to the ground, up until you can taste the dirt road beneath you as your face is smushed against the ground. You can can feel him shift above you, quickly followed by a sweeping pain in your legs. A familiar burning feeling as he relentlessly slashes at them. It feels like forever before he finally stops with a shakey laugh.

"T- there! You can't g- get nowhere if your legs don't work c-can ya?"

You can hear him taunt. 'Pffbt! Pffbt!', the sound of him blowing raspberries like an obnoxious child only adds insult to your many, many, injuries. It was a game to him. It all was. One he won everytime. No matter how hard you tried. You can feel his arms slink around you as he hauls you to your feet. Well partially anyways, you're more at a slouch as he starts to drag you back towards the farmhouse.

You don't bother to struggle anymore. You simply can't. You can't even walk now with the condition you're in. Still he held the cold steel of his hunting knife against your neck, just to make sure. In just a couple minutes you'd be trapped inside the house again. In worse condition than before. You hadn't even gotten that far away from the house. Even if you did, where would you go? There was nothing for miles. No help for miles. No hope for miles.

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#writers on tumblr #dweller's writing #yandere slashers #slashers x reader #cw: yandere #nubbins slaughter #nubbins x reader #nubbins sawyer #tcm x reader #tcm fanfic #tcm 1974 #the hitchhiker #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm nubbins #Yandere tcm #Please give feedback I poured my soul into this #anyways

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shu-box-puns · 10 months

Text

You wanna be one of them (Tsu'tey x Reader) Part 7

Previous Chapter <- Act 7 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Word Count: 11,295

Summary: Tsu'tey is not happy. And then he is.

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

That was the last time you’d do anything nice for Jake. You vowed wordlessly, expression thunderous as you were escorted through the unforgiving undergrowth of Pandora by a squad of marines, who had bound your wrists in bright orange cuffs and left your jaw swelling from a point blank punch. In your comfiest pyjamas no less! Which were now soaked through with river water and matted with mud.

Never again would you brave the dawns of Pandora in search of water, when it could easily wait for a few more hours and the assistance of an avatar to hide behind. Never again you would risk your neck whilst Jake remained comfortable in his bunk. Next time, you vowed you would turn over and put your back to him.

But this time you hadn’t. Because you were an idiot.

You’d been so high on happiness with the victory of your courting advances, that you’d felt particularly charitable that morning. So charitable in fact, that you hadn’t even cursed as Jake when he woke you at the butt crack of dawn to go down to the river. You’d simply slapped on an exomask, pulled a jacket over your pyjamas and grabbed the water jug before practically skipping down the hill.

The marines had found you whilst you were knelt by the waters edge, filling the jug and humming softly to yourself. There had been the distant roar of a thanator echoing from upstream, which had blinded you to the more pressing threat at your back.

When the first man had grabbed you by the back of your jacket, it had startled you into dropping your freshly collected water, which had immediately been swept away by the current. To your credit, you had fought like hell. Exchanging just as many punches as were landed, even after they’d knocked your gun away. You’d even headbutted one of them, making the glass of your exomask groan warningly as it shuddered within its delicate frame. But of course, there were more of them then there were of you, and you’d been quickly, and embarrassingly easily overpowered by the well-trained soldiers.

Which led to now, a full day having passed with how long you’d been walking. Long enough for the sun to begin dipping behind the moon once more.

Your body ached from the unprompted exercise, especially after so long relying on your avatar. There was a decently sized cut in your forearm from where a marine had wrestled you to the ground and kept you there using their utility knife. Whilst your shoulders aching from the amount of times you’d been yanked or shoved to hurry the fuck up, when all you wanted was a drink and to curl back up in your bunk. You wanted to return to the compound, to maybe remain in it long enough that Tsu’tey would come knocking and you could tempt him into laying down with you.

Eywa, Tsu’tey was going to club you to death for getting kidnapped.

Despite the situation, the thought was enough to amuse you.

You could just picture him now. Grumpily trying to wake your avatar, only to huff and give up when the still body did not stir at his attempts. He would decide to leave it of course, glaring at it from across the camp as he went about his daily chores. Growing more and more inclined to trek up the hill in search of your lazy ass.

Logically, you knew that your chances of rescue were next to nothing. Not only had you passed out of Omaticayan territory several hours ago, but the tracks you left behind would be too hard to follow, especially after the marines dragged you into the river and walked through the shallows for several miles to conceal both your footprints and scent.

It was dark enough that the plants were illuminated when you were dragged into a concealed human camp, which consisted of a couple lean-to shelters and a modest fire pit that spluttered and hissed from the lack of proper fuel. The fire barely gave off enough light to upset the steady light of the surrounding plants, whilst the lean-tos themselves were covered in a healthy layer of soil with replanted bushes and vines methodically draped over them to conceal them from the air. It had been done in such a way, that the flora still thrived upon their new home, glowing merrily like the rest of their brethren. It was clever. Allowing this patch of forest to carry on as if it had never been disturbed. Not to mention, it would keep ikran riders from noticing any suspiciously dark patches in the undergrowth.

No wonder there had been no reports of such a camp. The na’vi simply hadn’t been able to find it.

The sense of unease that crawled up the back of your neck upon entering the camp, came from how quiet the forest was beyond the weak firelight. By now, you had grown used to hearing the natural nightlife of Pandora, so much so that its sudden absence beyond the normal scuffle of human noise was unsettling. The hairs on your arms rose as you realised that there were not enough people - barely two military squads worth of them - around to have disturbed the wildlife into moving on.

There was something out there. Something dangerous that had encouraged the birds and beasts to seek shelter.

Unexpectedly, your captures dragged you wildly off course from the fire and into the mouth of the largest lean-to. Your knees retaliated with sharp twinges as you were manhandled into a kneeling position, your cuffed hands dropped carelessly into your lap whilst the mouth of a gun pushed itself between your shoulder blades. Threatening and sweet as a promise.

You glared at the clear leader of the little squad, who, through the heavy shadow of his helmet, you could tell was grinning at your misfortune. Not that you could find enough pride in you to care much. You were just tired now, and wet, and bloody, and dirty on top of everything else. There was little more they could do to humiliate you further. Not to mention, there was an especially sharp stone digging into your right knee that you couldn’t seem to shift comfortably off of.

Movement from within the lean-to drew your scowling gaze to a large, scar faced woman. Decked out in camo-gear and sat lounging on a foldable chair with the confidence of a queen on her throne, you were frozen in place by her piercing eyes. From the double golden arrow badge adorning the upper bicep of her uniform, you recognised her to be a corporal. Her name and face escaped you however. Being so absorbed in your research, you hadn’t bothered to learn many military faces around the base. Quaritch had been the exception of course, considering how many times he and Grace had bumped heads over petty little disagreements. It was hard to miss him really, with that oozing confidence and swarm of military personnel that instinctively flocked to complete his every whim.

The corporal that sat before you now, reeked of arrogance. Watching you down her nose with a sense of detached boredom, barely acknowledging your presence before she barked at the man who had smirked, sharply demanding to be informed why you’d been dumped outside her tent.

“Ma’am, this is one of Grace’s scientists.”

She rolled her eyes, “are you expecting a raise Private?” She drawled, and you watched with mild satisfaction as the one who had answered visibly withered under her attention. “Your mission was to gather intel on Jake Sully or Norm Spellman. I was expecting blueprints of Hell’s Gate, not some na’vi wannabe you found naked in the forest.”

“But Corporal,” a second man piped up, holding up a tablet for her to look at. “This is Y/n L/n, one of Grace’s lead scientists.” That seemed to capture her attention. With a sinisterly slow turn of her head, and a slow but loud puff of her exomask, the woman lowered her gaze back to you sprawled in the dirt. You stared back, expression mercilessly blank. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose before motioning for the tablet.

It was handed to her immediately. The screen hovered within its metal frame, visible to the corporal and you kneeling at her feet. Although the text was backwards from your vantage point, you could clearly make out your security photo staring down at you. The corporal’s face was unreadable as she skimmed through the profile, scrolling past images of your research and colleagues. She paused on a photo of Jake’s face, reading the caption, whilst your eyes were drawn to a blurry picture of Tsu’tey.

“An accomplice of Jake Sully then.” The Corporal remarked. “You got an avatar?” You didn’t answer her.

She huffed and went back to scrolling. Lingering on a picture of Grace, then Norm before an image of your avatar rolled onto screen. She visibly paused.

Without looking away from your avatar, she barked out an order. “James, pull up incident FireFly.”

One of the soldiers at your back broke away to retrieve a second tablet. Within no time, he pulled up a poor quality image of an avatar’s face barely visible through some bioluminescent plants. Greedily, your eyes flickered over the bioluminescence of the plants in the foreground of the photo, the curl of the avatar’s upper lip and the scrunch of its flat nose. Looking as ominous and dangerous as any na’vi hunter.

You immediately knew when the photo had been taken.

The corporal frowned, holding up her tablet beside the new one. You didn’t need to see the crease between her brows ease, to know they matched.

“You’re a driver.” She told you, “you attacked our ground force a few weeks ago, by the Tree of Souls.”

“They were trespassing.” You returned sharply. “Your people should be back at Hell’s Gate preparing to return to Earth, not loudly spying on a battle ready clan.”

“So you don’t deny it.”

When you didn’t respond, her smile turned predatory. “Answer me Doctor, my patience is not what it used to be.”

You refused.

The corporal tipped her head to the side, her words predatory as she continued to verbally prod. “There is a video, do you want to see?”

She clicked play, not bothering to wait for your silence this time.

From your position in the dirt, you could just make out the screen. There was a grainy image of yourself this time, in night vision, with the camera zoomed in on an avatar crouching between two bushes. You recognised your atokirina hilted knife clutched tightly in its fist.

The camera kept cutting the avatar out of frame as the soldier filming was distracted by the distressed screaming of their comrades. It did however, briefly manage to capture a five fingered, alien hand erupting from the undergrowth, grabbing onto the back of another soldier’s uniform and dragging the unsuspecting soul backwards into the darkness. They screamed and fought as they were dragged into the foliage. A sound which was promptly cut off a second before the video ended.

“That was your avatar.” The corporal told you, “and you killed my marines. Good people who were simply following orders. Good people who were on a simple scouting mission-” “They were armed and invading territory that the RDA knows belongs to the Omaticaya.” You cut in sharply, refusing to listen to her repetitive spiel. “Rather poorly might I add, because we heard them from the Well of Souls whilst they were still trampling around in the forest. With stealth like that, they were asking for a fight.” She scoffed, her facial scars pulling horribly as a condescending grin slipped onto her face. “There were no survivors.” She told you, in a tone you assumed was supposed to make you feel guilty. “You killed your own Doctor.” She told you, “you may wear the skin of those monsters, but you’re still human. To my knowledge of drivers, you still life primarily in this body-”

“Do not tell me how I do my job.” You cut in again, completely ignoring the fact you knew she outranked you. That you knew she had at least two squads of marines at her disposal, all of which were armed and ready to kill you with a simple flick of her wrist.

The corporal fell unnaturally quiet. Studying you. Eyes raking over your face, to your dirty pyjamas, to the defiant way you held your body. Her tone was accusatory when she next opened her mouth.

“You’ve been pretending so long, you’ve forgotten what side you’re truly on.” She made it sound like some grand realisation. Something that was supposed to make you pause and think about your actions. “You’ve fooled yourself into thinking you’re one of them.”

You swallowed down your knee jerk corrections. The fact that you knew that in the eyes of the People, you were one of them. You had earned your place. You had passed your iknimaya. You had tamed your mount. You had carved your bow from the wood of HomeTree before it had fallen and had been loyal to the clan. In every way that mattered, you were one of them. Regardless of the skin you currently wore.

“I’ve seen this before you know.” The corporal continued to speak, as if she could talk you round. As if she could pretend to sympathise with you and coax you into some truce. “I’ve seen it in my own men naturally. You spend so long playing nice with the enemy, getting your information, that you forget it’s all a lie. Just like Jake Sully. But don’t worry Doctor, we can cure you. We can help you see sense.” A dangerous undertone had entered her voice now. Something that made your heartbeat kick up and your neck start to sweat. You were suddenly incredibly aware of the gun digging into your back. Of the fact that you would be shot with little more of a nod from the corporal.

“I’ll give you a fair trial Doctor.” The corporal continued, “at a price of course.”

You swallowed despite yourself.

“I don’t make deals with pigs.”

Her smile faltered but she covered it up quickly. “Fine. Have it your way.”

The soldiers at your back shifted, the gun between your shoulder blades eagerly pressing down.

“Ma’am, permission to shoot.”

The Corporal kept you in suspense for several breaths before addressing him. “Not on my floor. Take them into the forest, I don’t care where, just far enough away that that blasted thanator won’t come sniffing round here again.”

The squad’s inaudible confirmations were muffled as you were roughly hauled back to your feet. You could feel yourself going numb as the reality of your situation set in. You were going to die. Alone. Out here. And without being able to send word to the clan about their enemy lurking just beyond their borders.

Blinking back the panic, you allowed the tight grip on your shirt to steady you as you were dragged away from the lean-to entrance. You could feel your resolve hardening. Like hell you’d just lie down and take it. Not after everything you’d been through. Not with everything you’d be leaving behind in the process.

Somewhere in the darkness, there was the familiar hiss of an arrow loosening from a bow. Too quiet for anyone who wasn’t used to it to notice, but you heard it. Even if the marines were oblivious.

The arrow soared straight into the lean-to you were being dragged from and shot the corporal dead on impact. The marines cried out in alarm as the bolt embedded itself squarely between her eyes, shattering her exo mask screen and sinking in deep with a sickening crack of flint splitting bone. Her smug grin remained frozen on her face as her body slumped backwards from the force and tipped her foldable chair back into the dirt.

The soldiers around you immediately leapt into action whilst you were still stuck staring at her corpse. The arrow sitting tall and visible behind the capsized chair seat.

A second whistle of an arrow finally snapped you out of your daze as the roar of a palulukan shook the lean-to.

Hands wrapped around your wounded bicep, yanking you painfully to and fro as you were dragged behind another lean-to and shoved down on your stomach into the dirt. Your mask collided with the earth, the edge cutting into your swelling jaw as people started screaming. More arrows hit their targets. Guns went off and the fire was snuffed out at the centre of the camp.

There was a moment of stillness as the marines organised themselves. Bodies ducked against the lean-to around you, guns were reloaded and the palulukan grumbled threateningly from somewhere between the trees.

“How the hell did it find us?” Someone hissed from the dirt, panting hard as they held themselves unnervingly still. “I don’t fucking know. We’re nowhere near any clan’s territory.” Someone else responded through their teeth. “Must’ve tracked us.” The first one growled. “They’ve got a wicked sense of smell.” “So you’re saying I got my socks wet for nothing.” “That is what you’re worried about right now?”

“Shut up!” The other whisper shouted and the marines fell still. “It’s on the ground.” “What’s it doing?” An audible swallow. “Getting more arrows.”

<”Where are you?!”> The voice that spoke was so overrun with a snarl that you could hardly make out the words it rumbled. There was fury there. Panic hidden beneath thick currents of rage. “What’s it saying?”

“Not a clue.”

“Perhaps we could use ‘em for bait? Draw it into one place and open fire.”

“Might as well give it a try.”

Immediately, the pair of marines tucked behind the same lean-to as you turned on you.

To their credit, they tried. But through a combination of sheer stubbornness on your part, and an enormous four fingered hand punching through the fabric and wooden skeleton of lean-to and dragging one of the soldiers through it, they didn’t get very far. The man screamed the entire time he was hauled through the shelter by his ankle, fingers uselessly raking through the dirt. His companion dove after him, cursing and promising that he had him, that he would be fine.

You threw yourself over the soldier’s back, startling him into letting go of his friend’s hand, before you hooked your bound wrists around his throat and yanked upwards so the cuffs cut into his windpipe. He put up a valiant fight as you choked him, uselessly clawing at your forearms, as you yanked his body backwards into a harsh bend. Gasping horribly, he scratched and spat at you, eyes bulging as you pulled harder. Fury fueling your ruthlessness as you watched his vision unfocus and his wild scrambling reduce to weak pulls at the chain cutting across his neck.

His friend had stopped screaming for him.

And he fell limp in your hold; unconscious.

Beyond the lean-to, something snarled. Low and guttural.

Your body instinctively fell still, as your ears strained to hear it. It was quiet and quick. Poking around inside the lean-to before scampering off with light footsteps. You heard more men scream as it found someone else to shoot. The twang of a bowstring splitting the thick silence.

Taking your time, you quietly slid off of the motionless body between your thighs and unstrapped his gun from the holster at his hip. It was light weight, but would be difficult to accurately fire with bound wrists. However, you knew you needed it, there wasn’t a chance you would be able to leave the camp without some sort of protection. Even if the weapon would only be useful in issuing a warning shot to give you a few extra seconds.

Shuffling towards the edge of the lean-to, you peered around it, towards the centre of the camp. With the fire reduced the embers, you could only barely make out the distorted shapes of several collapsed shelters. And then the shifting, star flecked skin of a palulukan gorging itself on the fallen marines. Even from that distance, you could hear its colossal teeth easily snapping through bone as it feasted. Only briefly pausing to spit out the twisted metal of a gun that had gotten stuck between its teeth.

Whatever had been grabbing the soldiers or shooting them had slunk back into the shadows and out of sight.

”IT’S IN THE FUCKING TREES!”

Nevermind.

The closeness of the yell had you spinning in place, gun held up like a shield as you turned just in time to watch an arrow bury itself in the speaker’s forehead. The body swayed backwards a step before buckling at the knees and hitting the lean-to with a wet slap, causing the delicate structure to buckle and collapse under the sudden weight.

“Shit.” You whispered, eyes wide at the precision of the bullseye.

More people screamed, and more arrows found their targets, whilst the palulukan purred its approval at the thick stench of blood in the air. It was dark, but the plants on the lean-tos were still glowing, and you could see the shine of dark pools of blood soaking into the dirt. The numbness was flooding back into your system now, as unforgiving and final as the blood beginning to seep into the earth. Returning nutrients to the soil.

Guns fired off. Another round of arrows exploded from the canopy, always coming from different spots as if the archer was working hard to leap from branch to branch. Their precision with the bow was extraordinary. And here you were, standing stupidly in the middle of it all, an easy target. With your heart in your throat as you watched people crumble and bend like reed stems in the wind.

Something heavy and large landed behind you. You sucked in a breath, feeling the ground shake from the force of the things footsteps.

<”Yawne?”> That same, growling voice from before. Speaking in na’vi but using a word you did not recognise despite your extensive knowledge and research.

Gun up, you rounded on the person behind you. Glaring down the barrel of the weapon, all you could register were twin embers glowing in the half darkness. They flickered out for a heartbeat before burning brighter.

Blinking, you realised.

They were eyes.

The creature was breathing hard. Backlit by the light from the forest, it straightened from its landing, all long limbs and sharp angles. It moved with the grace of something inhuman. Slow but confident. Its proportions were all wrong. Torso too long, legs unnaturally thin for something clearly so strong.

And those eyes. Fuck. They made every fight or flight instinct you possessed shrivel up and die. Pinning you in place. Leaving you ridiculously vulnerable as you failed to pull the trigger. The sound would startle it. Perhaps you could use the opening to slip-

A gun went off at your back. The controlled explosion illuminating the face of whatever was staring at you.

The na’vi flinched. Hurriedly dropping to all fours and effortlessly seeking refuge behind a surviving lean-to as the gun kept firing. You glimpsed bared fangs, pricked ears. The light had been so brief you could hardly make out anything else.

Why hadn’t it killed you like the others?

Shoving the thought out of your mind, you spotted the gunner hiding behind a nearby tree. Your aim was horrendous with cuffed hands. But it was simple enough to shoot them whilst they were reloading. Once in the thigh, and again through the shoulder when they knelt hard into the dirt at the pain.

They had barely collapsed before someone grabbed you from behind, knocking you off course so that your killing shot bounced harmlessly off of the tree trunk they’d collapsed against. With great difficulty from your struggling, your assailant knocked your gun from your grasp. Teeth gritted, you ripped your head backwards, wincing as your skull came into contact with the hardened acrylic of their exopack. There was a cut off curse, the sound of cracking acrylic. You shifted your weight, driving your shoulder out and up into their sternum, listening as the air was punched from their lungs. They staggered, fingers failing to keep a proper grip on you.

Tearing yourself away, you tried to run only for another marine to tackle you around the middle. You shrieked in irritation as you hit the ground chest first, instantly winded on impact.

The na’vi returned your wounded sound from deep in the undergrowth. A truly horrifying noise that wailed in the otherwise eerily still clearing. It was circling, you realised, collecting its arrows and biding its time. Allowing the marines to pick each other off one by one in their panic.

The soldier on your back, sat himself down hard against the back of your thighs, one hand shoving down hard on the back of your head to keep your mask pressed into the dirt.

“More trouble than you’re bloody worth.” He muttered to himself, weight shifting as he yanked something from his pocket.

You were expecting the prick of a needle, or perhaps a bullet through the back of your skull, but certainly not the soft pop and light hiss of the tubing to your mask being cut by a knife. The effect was immediate. You choked on your inhale, the air too thin. Unsatisfying. Before your lungs had fully expanded, you were fighting to suck down another breath. And another. But it wasn’t enough. You couldn’t breathe. IT WASN’T ENOUGH!

Vaguely, you thought about how cruel of an execution this method was. That the man on your back was watching you suffocate. Ensuring you couldn’t get away to steal someone else’s mask.

All too soon, the na’vi was back.

From where you were choking in the dirt, you could see the soft glow of its markings as it loomed between the trees. The glowing galaxies adorning its body contorted and shifted as it rose from its hunches. Taller and taller. Seeming to stretch towards the heavens.

Ethereal, you realised.

There was the controlled twang of a bow string, quickly followed by a wet thud. The weight on your back pitched sideways and off of you as the dead marine’s corpse toppled, but you couldn’t do anything but struggle to suck in another desperate breath.

All you could hear was the distant warning of the RDA medical instructors, about how you’d be unconscious in twenty seconds and dead in four minutes. How long had it been? You couldn’t tell.

<”Yawne?”>

The voice came from above you. Your eyes were unfocusing as your lungs began to give up. There were enormous hands cupping the sides of your face, turning your head upwards. Vision blurry, you were able to make out the familiar dusting of glowing freckles along the na’vi’s nose, markings you had wanted to trace for longer than you would dare to acknowledge.

There was a wild glint in Tsu’tey’s glowing eyes, which reminded you of a cat’s when you shone a torch at them. They were not the usual warmth of the man you loved, but instead sent a pang of unease down your spine. There was a dangerous curl to his snarling lips as your eyes traced the blood splattered across his cheek, dripping down to his jaw and dirtying his chest.

<”YAWNE!”> His hands cupped your cheeks, shaking you with agonising urgency. Words were beyond your grasp at this point. The darkness no longer simply from the lack of light.

His face twisted into a terrifying snarl as his head snapped up, braids swinging as he glanced to and fro. His enormous body disappeared from your sight. The safety briefly provided by his towering frame leaving with him.

You wanted to call him back, but your throat was too tight. Your limbs too heavy.

He was back before you could really miss him. An exo pack in hand and a determined scowl permanently printed on his expression. Absently, your eyes traced the bullet scraps across his biceps, the trickle of blood leaking out from under his cummerbund.

With a clatter, his arrows were in the dirt, his bow cast to the side with them.

“I’ve got you.” He growled, more furious than reassuring, before leaning you up towards his chest so he could clumsily get at the clasps that kept your current exomask secured to your head. In no time the straps loosened, and humid night air swept across your damp forehead, not that you had time to enjoy it because he immediately slammed the new mask over your face. You jerked at the force of the mask colliding with your face. The action startling a gasp out of you. Which rapidly shifted your focus to greedily sucking down sweet, breathable air. Relief flooded your system as your lungs stopped spasming and your vision cleared. Eywa, that had been too close.

Whilst you evened out your breathing, Tsu’tey busied himself with the straps, pulling them tight around your head so they sat neatly above your ears. Only then did he seem to slump.

Urgently, large hands slid under your sweat slick back, fingers bunching into the damp fabric of your night shirt, before you were hauled into his lap. You went willingly, powerless to so much as wiggle as he effortlessly pulled you against him. In turn you buried your face into the skin beneath his necklace as he curled around you, feeling the adrenaline begin to slip away at the contact. You huffed at the inconvenience of the cuffs, wanting more than anything to wind your fingers into his braids. Instead, you settled for melting into his touch, in relishing the feeling of his fingers digging into your back, holding you closer, his chin burying into the crown of your head.

His chest rose and fell harshly beneath your body. Words barely audible falling from his lips like secret prayers.

You could feel his shaky breath against your scalp. The tremble in his fingers even as he held you so tightly.

You pressed into him. Losing yourself in the comforting weight of him against your back and curled all around.

Something shifted beyond the hug. Like a second enormous body taking tentative steps towards the pair. You stiffened as a wet nose dragged along the back of your neck, an unnecessarily deep sniff making your skin crawl.

Tsu’tey let fly a sharp hiss at whatever was smelling you. One of his hands peeling away to shove at the muzzle of a THANATOR? You gaped at his actions. Watching as the large predator snorted at the sensation, blood dripped from its mouth. It tried to go in for another sniff test, but again Tsu’tey pushed it away with a sharp prod to its snout. The thanator sneezed, an honest to Eywa scowl narrowing its eyes, or one eye, since the other appeared to be blind, before it turned and trotted away.

<”Okay, what the fuck?”> You croaked, voice cracking and warping as you stared wide eyed at the gigantic predator until you were sure it wouldn’t turn back and choose you as its next snack. <”How the hell did you befriend a palulukan?”> <”It is an irritant.”> Tsu’tey hissed, a hint of a growl still laced between his words.

Instead of elaborating further, he returned his sharp gaze back to you. His nose twitched, pupils contracting as he frowned at the cut along your bicep. Then he tutted as he ran a finger over the cuffs.

Wordlessly, he pulled his knife from its sheath and cut them off with a single strike.

He busied himself with checking the rest of you. Scowling harder when he noticed fresh bruises or small cuts, and outright growling when he noticed the swelling of your jaw. Ears pinned down, he grumbled inaudibly to himself about the state of you, uselessly brushing the dirt off your pyjamas with little success.

You said his name softly, trying to pull him out of his anxious state. His ear flicked but he did not acknowledge you. You tried again, reassuring him that you were fine, but he snapped at you this time. Full on teeth cracking together as his tail slapped the earth in displeasure.

Falling still, you let him finish his check. Watching as his throat bobbed heavily, knowing that some untold emotion was getting the best of him.

You’d seen him mad before. Had watched him scream and yell, destroying everything in his path. But you had never seen him quiet angry. Usually, his rage was explosive. His fear was a double edged sword. His grief vocal.

Tsu’tey did not do quiet well. Not when it mattered.

The hunter was silent now as he finished his checks, eyes still glaring at that gash on your bicep before he pulled something from his weapons belt. Shaking it out in one hand, you immediately recognised your jacket which the soldiers had removed whilst strip checking you for concealed weapons. With considerable gentleness, Tsu'tey used it to wrap you up tight and comfortable like some kind of human burrito. It was surprisingly effective.

<”Never do that to me again.”> He finally growled, <”stupid, stupid little demon!”> There was no real bite to his tone beyond an underlying tiredness as he tucked the sleeves of the jacket into the hem under your chin.

Despite yourself, you snorted. <”Wow, you sure know how to make me blush.”> You replied dryly, <”it’s not like I went looking for kidnappers.”>

<”Stupid.”> He repeated more firmly. <”Wandering the forest like this. No hunting party. No knife.”> <”I had a gun.”> <”Had.”> He repeated, tone thick with displeasure.

Rolling your eyes, you tried to wiggle out of his grasp, despite the comforting pressure of the jacket. If he was going to be a dick, you would prefer he grumbled more productively by walking back home whilst he did so. Stubbornly, Tsu’tey tightened his grasp on you. A hint of fang peeking out from between his lips.

<”Now, I know you’re not about to hiss at me.”> You chastised, furiously wiggling in a failed attempt to point an accusatory finger at him. You're not entirely sure he noticed considering your arms were so tightly bound to your side from the jacket. <”And if you are, put me down and sulk where I can’t see you.”>

He took a moment to think about it. <”I fear you’ll get into trouble again if I do.”>

<”Asshole.”>

<”Idiot.”>

<”I think I preferred the other thing you called me. What was it?”>

He ignored you.

<”Tsu’tey?”> More radio silence as he plucked up his bow and discarded arrows. You squeaked as he righted himself, one enormous arm tucked under your ass. His arm cradled your back, ensuring you were leaning heavily into his chest.

<”Put me down.”> You demanded, although it sounded weak even to your own ears. And must have looked and sounded amusing with how your cheek was pressed into his pec. <”I will not.”> He told you simply. <”I would like to hold you longer.”>

You huffed. <”What happened to you shyly asking to pick me up, huh? Where’s that bashful Tsu’tey gone?”>

He stiffened, glancing to the ground as his ears fell. <”Do you want to go down?”> He asked in all seriousness. You could tell he didn’t want to, but he would if you asked.

Just to fuck with him a little, you took a moment to think about it. His eyes never left your face as you fell deep into thought, swiftly sweeping from your eyes to your frowning mouth. You even saw the ghost of a glance to your ears before he remembered they didn’t move when you were like this and would therefore tell him nothing.

<”I’m just joking. You’re comfy.”> You eventually admitted, melting into him. He let out a slow breath. <”Good. We will be able to move faster without you falling over every root.”> <”HEY!”>

>_<

The palulukan shadowed Tsu’tey’s retreat back towards Omaticaya territory.

He could sense it following, curious but not predatory. Like a cub would follow its mother on her morning routine. He paid it no mind, knowing that the beast had seen his skill with his bow. He also hoped that after its feast, it would not be foolish enough to challenge him. He knew he was far too keyed up to be fair if they came to blows.

Luckily, the palulukan remained a respectful distance back, merely watching as Tsu’tey followed his trail home. He was mindful to keep quiet, despite eclipse coming to an end. He knew that other, more dangerous predators, would still be wandering around before returning to their dens at first light. Therefore, he only dared to pause when checking the movement of the stars through gaps in the canopy, before he altered his course and continued on.

Against his chest, he could feel his mate beginning to slip into a fitful slumber. The gentle sway of his strides and the continued pressure of his arm secure around their back seemed to ease them out of their earlier adrenaline filled fight mode. In contrast, they fell limp against him, trusting him to keep them safe as he carried them home.

It soothed the raw thing in him to see them lying contently across his chest, one of their arms slung over his shoulder whilst they cuddled into his neck. The wild thing deep in his chest, which had set his instincts alight when they had been taken, was finally beginning to calm now that he had their weight pressed against him.

He had gotten there on time. He reassured himself, giving his mate a light squeeze to which they let out a sleepy sigh. He could feel his scowl melting away. The Sky People had not been successful this time, and he had gotten them back. His mate was safe.

He repeated those words over and over again to himself as the dawn broke and the sun began to warm the forest. The glow of his freckles dimmed as the day grew, chasing away the horrors of the previous night, but also illuminating the evidence of his deeds. He was absolutely covered in blood. A lot of which was not his own. It was mostly dry now, but was rubbing off onto his mate and staining their skin and clothes.

Tsu’tey scowled to himself, tail thrashing as he glanced at the sun's position. A brief rest would not set them back too much, he could afford to find the river again and clean them up.

And so he did. Despite this part of the forest being outside of his clan’s territory, Tsu’tey had made an effort to familiarise himself with as much of Pandora’s forest as he could in his free time. Whilst usually he did so upon his ikran, he was good enough of a navigator to pick up the sounds and smells of running water and ended up on the bank of a river.

His gaze immediately fell on some large, sun warmed stones half submerged, and after setting his bow down on the bank, he stepped into the current and approached them. The water was deeper here than in his own territory. Easily sliding up his body towards his thighs, but the current wasn’t strong enough to stimulate his usual unease. This was fine. He reassured himself. He was just here to clean up his mate so he could take them home. There was nothing in the water. Just him and the reeds.

The fact that the water was clear helped to ease his discomfort as he easily held his mate above the river. They were beginning to stir now, letting out confused little sounds as Tsu’tey waded in deeper, his tail quivering in the freshwater, pretending to be calm.

<”Yawne? You need to wake up.”> Tsu’tey called, peeling his little mate away from his chest, to which they grumbled.

“No. Fuck off.”

Tsu’tey felt himself smiling warmly at the casual use of English, when usually they refused to address him in nothing but Na’vi. A rule they’d instigated to try and better their grasp on the language and its sentence structures during day to day use. To see it all go out the window simply because they were tired was incredibly endearing.

<”None of that.”>

“Fight me.”

He did not. Instead, he settled them down on a rock that jutted out of the water and began forcibly removing their jacket. They wiggled in his gentle grasp, futilely grabbing at their jacket whilst Tsu’tey fought to remove it from them. Although the thing had done well to keep them warm during eclipse, it was dirty with all kinds of things that Tsu’tey didn’t want to know the origin of. Naturally, being much bigger than them, he managed to unwrap them from the jacket, which he promptly dropped into the river to allow the water to start working on.

“Now that’s just rude.” They grumbled as Tsu’tey kept them steady. They were still groggy, grabbing onto his forearm whilst his hand curled around their shoulder. Their fingers fiddled with his arm guard, clarity only just beginning to trickle back in.

<”Good morning Yawne.”> Tsu’tey mused, leaning down to press his forehead into their hair before, slowly lowering himself to his knees before their rock so as not to let any waves he created get them wet.

Their eyes tracked his movements, all quiet appreciation. “Mornin’.” They let out an obnoxious yawn to which Tsu’tey rolled his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?” <”We’re almost home.”> Tsu’tey replied, not quite dodging the question, but implying enough for them to work it out on their own.

They frowned, opening their mouth to no doubt annoy him for continuing the journey and letting them sleep, only for them to gasp instead as Tsu’tey grabbed one of their arms and dripped freezing cold water onto it. They jerked, trying to pull their arm away from the shock, but Tsu’tey soothed them by rubbing away some of the dried blood. Realising what he was doing, they let him.

“A warning would have been nice!”

“It is cold.” He said, and did it again with a wicked grin on his face.

They scowled at him but didn’t retort, allowing him to focus on cleaning them up.

Tsu’tey found himself getting lost in it. His hindbrain purred at the sight of all the blood and dirt washing away, leaving behind mostly unblemished skin. There were a few bruises starting to collect beneath the skin at places, but they were largely uninjured. Tsu’tey took that as a good sign and moved on to the other arm. Here, he found the scabbed over wound of a blade upon their bicep. Although it wasn’t deep, he ensured to clean it thoroughly. He knew little about treating wounds compared to Neytiri who had learned directly from Mo’at, but he wasn’t so clueless as to leave the wound dirty.

”You can wrap it with those plant leaves over there.” His mate instructed him, pointing to a plant growing in the shallows by the far bank. “The lime green one with the purple flowers. It’s hella absorbent.”

Tsu’tey found himself nodding along. <”When did you become an expert in healing?”> “When I stopped you bleeding out in the bloody forest.”

<”But we were not near a river then.”> Tsu’tey mused, stepping away to cut a couple of the leaves free. Offering a quiet prayer of thanks to the plant, he returned to his mate and sank back into his kneel. The leavers were rubbery on the top, with a cotton like texture along the underside, but would do nicely. “Eywa sent an Atokirinia to guide me to a similar plant.” His mate said nonchalantly, which immediately still Tsu’tey’s hands.

<”Eywa sent me a sign?”>

“I mean technically, the atokirina was for you.” They told him, “you came stumbling out of the undergrowth following it. Nearly scared the shit out of me. For whatever reason, Eywa wanted you to find me.”

<”And then you healed me.”> “Don’t sound so surprised.” They scoffed. “As if I would leave your sorry ass to bleed out. It’d be way too quiet without you.” Tsu’tey felt a swell of affection threaten to choke him as ducked his head. Instead of responding, he busied himself with rolling up the sleeve of his mate’s sleep shirt and carefully wrapping the plants around the freshly cleaned wound. They suctioned on easily.

From there, he allowed the conversation to drop as he went back to his previous task of washing them.

Once or twice, his mate tried to protest as he took off their shoes and set about cleaning their feet, to which Tsu’tey growled warningly. <”Let me take care of you.”>

Something in his voice managed to get through to them and they begrudgingly relented. Pouting cutely as Tsu’tey continued with his ministrations. He liked that they trusted him to do a good job. That for once, they could allow themself to slow down and enjoy his attention without needing to jump to the next task like they tended to when stressed. It was nice.

By the time he was rolling up their pyjama leg and getting at the dirt that got caught beneath, Tsu’tey had pretty much removed everything he could without leaving them damp and unbearably cold during the rest of the walk back.

Satisfied, he moved back up their body to their face. He was reluctant to remove the exomask so soon after the disastrous incident earlier, so he settled for wetting his hands and getting at the skin that wasn’t covered by plastic and glass. His touch was feather light; gentle on tender areas. His thumb idly traced the blossoming bruise just beneath their exo mask where the plastic met skin.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

He grumbled instead of offering a proper response as he traced the mark. It didn’t take a Tsahik to figure out how it had gotten there. And judging by his own split knuckles, several of the corpses back at the demon camp would have similar, if not larger, markings if they had survived.

That was all he could do for now, he knew, but once they were back in Omaticaya territory, he would find them some new clothes and offer them a proper bath in the heated pools the clan preferred to occupy instead of the rivers.

Nodding to himself, Tsu’tey finally backed off so that his shadow slid off of them and instead warm sunlight began to warm them up.

“Where are you going?” They immediately demanded, sounding somewhat panicked.

Tsu’tey smiled encouragingly before cupping river water into his palms and bringing it to his face so he could remove the blood obscuring his markings.

“Let me.” His mate offered. Tsu’tey’s ears pricked at the soft command in their tone, and he opened his eyes to find them offering their hands to him.

He declined their offer. <”You need to rest.”> “Tsu’tey.” They reflexively grumble, to which the hunter merely stepped back further. The water rose a little higher on him, but with his attention on his mate, he couldn’t find his usual unease. Instead, he made a show of allowing his hands to slide more slowly along his abdomen. More tantalising. Caressing rather than doing anything productive. The effect was instant as his mate’s fell into quiet appreciation, if only for a moment.

<”Rest Yawne. I will be done shortly.”>

They snapped out of it at the sound of his voice. “I swear to god, you infuriating man, let me help.” <”No.”>

They scowled, in that familiar challenging way of theirs. It sent a thrill down Tsu’tey’s spine. A thrill which was rapidly doused by the sight of his mate sliding their feet into the water, and promptly hopping off the rock. Judging by the abrupt widening of their eyes as their feet failed to touch the pebbled floor, they hadn’t taken into account the size difference and quite rapidly were submerged. Tsu’tey’s playful grin was swept away on the current as he practically dove after them. His heart hammered, eyes wide and panicked as he scrambled to find them beneath the water.

He could see the shape of them beneath the water, kicking against the current, rising gradually, but not fast enough for Tsu’tey’s liking. They were so small. Their lungs were not as large as his - in that moment, he had completely forgotten about the breathing mask strapped to their face. Surely they would drown!

Fear kept him from dunking his head under, not that he dwelled on it for long, because his fingers brushed against them and then wrapped tightly around their shoulders. He dragged them up, pulling them clear of the water and all the way up to his chest. They were soaked through now, Tsu’tey mildly grumbled to himself, erasing all of his careful attempts to keep the majority of them dry, not that he cared much.

<”That was deeper than I anticipated.”> They mused dryly, <”but at least I’m properly awake now.”> He could tell. They were back to speaking na’vi again.

<”Don’t you ever do that again!”> He growled.

<”Chill. It was actually really pretty under there. There’s tonnes of plants and smaller creatures near the bottom-”> They were cut off by Tsu’tey’s flinch. Now that they had put that image in his mind, he couldn’t help but imagine something bigger, more deadly, lurking beneath the surface. Ignoring his mate’s confused questions, Tsu’tey decided that he’d prefer to clean up at home, where the water was warm and clear of anything bigger than a fish.

<”Tsu’tey? What’s wrong? Did something bite you?”>

His ears flattened at the thought and he shuddered. The water was getting shallower with every step, his bow was in sight and he was pleased to realise he hadn’t wasted too much time judging by the position of the sun. But then he remembered the jacket he’d tossed into the current and loudly groaned to himself.

<”Tsu’tey!”> They were being more demanding now. Reaching up to cup his face between their hands and force him to meet their gaze. <”What’s wrong?”> They pressed.

<”Nothing.”> Tsu’tey returned firmly, even though he felt anything but fine. He didn’t want to go back in. He just wanted to bask in the sunlight, dry off a bit and get home. But he knew that if he didn’t get the jacket, then they would try to instead, and somehow that just made him feel more panicked. It was best to leave them on the bank where they’d be safer. <”Look after my bow.”> He instructed, sitting them down beside his weapon before forcibly unhooking their arms from around his neck.

To their credit, they resisted, but Tsu’tey was stronger.

He could feel them glaring at his back as he forced himself to walk back into the river. Without them in his arms to distract him, he was more aware of the texture of the rocky bottom against the soles of his feet. Of the plants growing out of the river bed and the potentially hundred of little things they were concealing.

Gritting his teeth, Tsu’tey ignored the anxious flick of his tail and rounded the rocks to find the jacket stuffed between them. It was reasonably clean now, thanks to the current beating out most of the dirt, but would be useless with how wet it was. Hopefully, it would dry off before too long on the walk back.

<”What has gotten into you? You were angry earlier, but now you’re just scaring me. Is there something in the water?”> Eywa he hoped not. He’d just been kneeling in it after all. <”Tsu’tey? Talk to me.”> <”I do not enjoy the water.”> He said simply as he turned and began wading back to sure. His mate watched him for a moment, eyebrows drawing close together. Tsu’tey felt shame curdle his stomach. His tail tucked between his legs as he stepped up onto the bank, dripping water everywhere with the jacket hanging limply from his hands. He found it hard to meet his mate’s gaze again.

<”You’re afraid of water?”>

<”I am of the forest, not the sea.”> Tsu’tey defended, feeling himself heat up at such blatant vulnerable honesty. <”I do not share a connection to water like one such as a Metkayina might. This is a natural concern!”>

He watched his mate’s eyebrows jump at his sudden outburst.

<”I see.”> They replied thoughtfully. <”Well, thank you for cleaning me up regardless.”> He nodded in acknowledgement. <”Now allow me to return the favour.”>

<”I believe I have spent more time in the rivers than I would like today.”>

<”We need to clean your wounds.”> <”I will be fine until we return.”> <”I’m not asking you.”> They grit out before taking his hand and pulling on it, encouraging him back to the water’s edge. He humoured them, knowing how stubborn they were, and only briefly paused to lay the jacket out on the grass so it could begin to dry.

They nodded in appreciation and once again, Tsu’tey found himself standing beside the stupid river.

<”Sit.”> They instructed, when they reached the bank, close enough to the current to touch, but far enough away that they were not in the water.

Sceptically, Tsu’tey did as instructed and dropped into a crouch. That earned him a pleased hum and a comforting squeeze to his shoulder before his mate stepped closer to the river. Before he could stop himself, Tsu’tey’s hand snapped out and grabbed onto the collar of their nightshirt. They paused before twisting awkwardly to shoot him an unimpressed look. Reluctantly, he unwound his fingers and retracted his hand, feeling properly chastised.

There was the sound of fabric tearing, making his ears twitch, before they were before him again. Eye level with him thanks to his crouch. Their touch was gentle against his cheek as they dragged the wet fabric of their torn shirt down his cheek, wiping away anything he had missed. Despite his best attempts, Tsu’tey felt his tail wagging embarrassingly at the attention, an action that his mate politely ignored as they moved onto his chest, tutting absently at the shallow cut concealed below his cummerbund.

<”Doesn’t need the plant.”> They mumbled absently, before winding around him and focusing on his back.

With a steady grip, they moved his kuru to the side and started wiping him down. Despite himself, Tsu’tey shuddered at such a careful touch on one of his most sensitive areas. It wasn’t anything erotic or suggestive, just a loving gesture to keep the precious limb out of the way whilst they worked.

<”Am I hurting you?”>

<”No.”> He said breathlessly, revelling in the sensation of little fingers wrapped around his braid, steady and confident in their touch. <”Keep going.”> <”Demanding.”> His mate mused, their touch around his kuru loosening before sliding down it. Fingers periodically tightening as they travelled down, down, down…

<”Tease.”> Tsu’tey growled wetly, swallowing down the saliva that had collected in his mouth as his mate retracted their touch.

They smirked at him, stepping out from behind him to return to the river and refresh the cloth. They took longer than before. Stalling, Tsu’tey realised.

When they straightened, they wouldn’t meet his eyes. He knew, because he was watching their face now, observing them mull over a question, turning it this way and that before allowing it to take shape. Tsu’tey remained quiet as they thought it through, content to feel them move onto his arms, then the back of his neck.

<”When we bond.”> They finally said, punching the breath from Tsu’tey even though he half expected a question of this variety. <”Would you bond with my avatar to get the full connection? You know, because this body won’t allow you to feel anything.”> Tsu’tey swallowed. Hard. He had asked himself the same question countless times. Even more so after seeing his mate in their human form. <”Just because it has not been done before, does not mean it cannot be done.”>

Their hands still on him, and Tsu’tey turned slowly. <”So you want to try? With me?”> They pressed, struggling to keep the hope from their voice. Tsu’tey immediately softened in seeing his own unease reflected back at him. <”I would want nothing else, Yawne. Always with you.”>

They smiled, allowing him to pull them in with a touch to their hips. <”What does that mean?”>

<”In your tongue, beloved.”>

<”Sappy.”>

Tsu’tey laughed, relieved and happy and excited, all rolled into one roiling tempest in his gut. His hands shook as he pulled his kuru forward over his shoulder. The neural whip itself was tingling beneath the protective hair, as it usually did before he communed with Eywa or was anticipating forming a connection. The pull was constant now, and Tsu’tey knew who it was drawing him to.

<”Be gentle.”> He warned, warmed by how they nodded eagerly. <”It is very sensitive.”>

Hesitantly, they reached for him, fingers unsure but tender as they admired Tsu’tey’s neat braid. He allowed them to explore, letting go of his kuru and allowing his every shudder and uneven breath to be obvious. Every reaction only seemed to encourage their exploration. Igniting that familiar fire of curiosity in their eyes as they gradually made their way closer and closer to where Tsu’tey wanted them.

It felt like forever when they finally reached the end of his kuru, and gently held it up to their eye level. Tsu’tey’s cheeks heated as the hairs parted to allow his tendrils to slip free. The wiggling nerves were not shy in searching for something to bond to. They wound around each other, spread wide again and flared as his mate watched.

His mate glanced at him for permission before they moved to connect anything, eyes full of wonder. Tsu’tey nodded eagerly, suddenly desperate for what it would feel like to finally bond with them. To finally See them in their entirety, and for them to See him in return. He was hungry for it. Starving in a way that could not be satiated in any other way.

Once again, they took their time observing him, carefully examining and coming to conclusions before they raised their exposed wrists and offered them to Tsu’tey’s eager tendrils. The effect was immediate. Like a kenten to honey berries, his tendrils darted forward, wrapping around the exposed skin with a suddenness that made his mate gasp.

Tsu’tey was quick to soothe them, his hands grabbing at their waist and leading them to come sit in his lap as he shifted to sit on his heels. They followed his lead, pupils unusually wide and unseeing. Feeling nothing, Tsu’tey busied himself with running his hands up and down their back as they breathed through it, the tendrils wrapped around their wrist glowing in time to Tsu’tey’s heartbeat.

“Fuck.” They breathed. <“It’s like sensory overload.”> Tsu’tey’s languid touch froze. <“Is it bad?”>

<“No. God no. Just.”> They trailed off, blinking slowly. <“Different. Can you feel this?”>

<“I cannot.”> Tsu’tey admitted. <“What can you feel?”> <“All of it.”> They told him. <“Everything. It’s like I’m back in my avatar.”> He hummed.

<“Can you feel me?”> They nodded, so he continued. <“Try reaching out to me, through the bond.”>

They nodded. But for a while nothing happened, even as their eyes slipped closed and their eyebrows drew together in concentration, Tsu’tey didn’t feel so much as a ripple. With his mind linked to theirs he tried to keep his disappointment down. Tried to push feelings of happiness and content down the bond instead of the internal discomfort of having everything he <i>was</i> visible to them, only to feel nothing in return-

There!

He felt something on the edge of his consciousness. Weak and phantom like but no doubt real.

<“That is it.”> He encouraged, <”try again.”> And they did. This time, the contact was like hands coming together and holding on tight to one another instead of a passing touch of fingers tracing down someone’s palm. Tsu’tey lurched to grip back, his consciousness holding on tightly.

It slammed into him like an ikran at full speed. His mouth dropped open at the flood of sheer feeling that suddenly overwhelmed every corner of his mind. His comforting grip on his mate turned bruising as he tried to anchor himself in the real world and not drift away in the current of them. In the back of his mind, he knew they were still out in the open, and getting too wrapped up in one another, but it was addictive.

No wonder his People put such an emphasis on Tsaheylu. The bond was everything. It was comfort and reassurance. It was give and take. To have and to give. To own and be owned in return. To be Seen.

And oh did Tsu’tey See.

Everything they had ever gone through was laid before him at that moment. From the difficulty of their life on a dying planet, to the turmoil of signing said life away. He felt the grogginess of waking up in an alien environment after six years of slumber. He marvelled at the internal structure of Hell’s Gate, feeling glee as they did when they were officially given an office and link unit, and then he felt the freedom of linking up to an alien body for the first time. In a brief flash, he saw his own snarling face as he glanced up through the branches only for the avatar to come crashing down on him and his pa’li. He felt the affection through the bond at the memory. The happiness at finding him. The relief of no longer having to blindly navigate an alien world, even if he was a reluctant teacher.

From there, he is in the flashes more frequently. Finally Seeing himself through another's eyes and being continuously overwhelmed by the sheer volume of mounting love and adoration that swelled with each memory. Their hope threatened to drown him. Their loneliness tried to reduce him to tears.

And through it all, Tsu’tey held them close. Clung to their body as they grabbed at his, holding on for dear life as he in turn was laid bare before them.

This was Tsaheylu in its entirety, and Tsu’tey mused that he was already becoming addicted.

Gradually, the intensity of it all began to slow and reduce to background noise. Never fully, but just enough that he could remain connected to them and focus on the forest at the same time.

“Fuck.” They said again, in awe. “You feel so much.”

Tsu’tey scoffed in amusement. If anything, he feared he felt too little. Especially since the demons had shown further interest in his home. Even more so after he became Olo’eyktan and the safety of the clan was pressing constantly down on his shoulders. Definitely with the threat of more demons lurking in the very forests that were supposed to be safe for his People-

Something warm and soothing washed away his anxious thoughts through the bond and Tsu’tey let out a relieved breath.

<”Focus on me, mate.”> They encouraged, idly tracing the stripes that curved over his cheeks. The gentle touch had him melting into them. Before he could stop it, a purr was rumbling to life deep in his chest. Full and unfiltered in a way it hadn’t been in years. <”There you go.”> They praised him quietly, fingers feather light against his thick skin, tracing the phantom of his freckles along the high of his cheeks and then up his nose to his temple.

<”I See you Tsu’tey.”> His mate whispered, setting his heart alight with affection and relief. <”My Olo’eyktan. My hunter. My friend. My mate. My Tsu’tey.”> They said his name with notes of worship woven into the syllables. The way the People more commonly speak Eywa’s name instead of a mere mate.

<”You are everything to me.”> They assured him, having felt the insecurity riddled in his thought process. <”I acknowledge everything you were and everything you could be. I see all of you Tsu’tey, past and present.”> And oh Eywa, if that wasn’t the most perfect vowel Tsu’tey had ever heard.

His throat was thick with emotion, overwhelming and unexpected as his sheer affection towards this sky person slammed into him at full force.

<”Thank you.”> He whispered. For loving me. He didn’t say. For Seeing me and continuing to love me anyway. For Seeing every ugly part of me. Every bad decision, every explosive temper tantrum and every mistake, and continuing to look at me like that.

<”I know.”> They said aloud, because he couldn’t. Because he feared he would begin to sob if he dared voice anything he thought. He was still scared. He realised. To give form to anything that he couldn’t control.

<”I know.”> They repeated, and he believed them.

<”I see you.”> Tsu’tey whispered back, and the beam of a smile he got in return made everything worth it.

<”God, you’re gorgeous.”> His mate complimented him, hands gentle on either side of his face. And Tsu’tey found he believed them. Although normally he would use words like ‘handsome’ or ‘attractive’ or ‘strong’ to describe himself, he found that ‘gorgeous’ somehow fit too. But only after he’d seen himself through their eyes. Only after he’d witnessed the galaxies of his freckles through their eyes. Only after he’d seen the hidden expressiveness of his large, golden eyes and the ‘cute’ twitch of his ears. He understood, and he was overwhelmed.

He didn’t even have to part his lips to give word to his thoughts for his mate to reach for where they were connected. With surprising ease, they managed to untangle their wrist from his tendrils and return his kuru to where it had previously hung against his chest.

<”Better?”> They asked him, stroking down his cheeks.

He hummed, his muscles feeling like jelly as he leaned some of his weight into them, his face pressed into their stomach. Absently, he noticed he was still purring but couldn’t find it in him to care much, and in his next sigh, he allowed it to kick up a notch. To which his mate huffed in amusement and started fiddling with his ears.

<”We should probably get going.”> His mate prompted.

<”Probably.”> Tsu’tey agreed but made no attempt to move.

<”Come on mate.”>

That got him sitting up. Their expression was soft as they looked down at him, all open and content. A stark contrast to the panic of earlier.

<”Let's go home.”>

He nodded and forced himself to rise to his feet, only to pause as his mate too their hand from his face. Catching them by the wrist, he brought it back to his eye level. THe skin that had been fused to his kuru was discoloured now. Not in the way that suggested an incoming bruise. But in the sense that it had taken on the appearance of a year old scar, the skin darker in pigment and set in the pattern of his spiralling tendrils. Somehow, Tsu’tey instinctively knew that if he were to reconnect them both here and now, his tendrils would attach over the scar in an identical pattern as to how they did here.

<”Gorgeous.”> Tsu’tey breathed, thumbing the permanent mark his queue had left on his mate’s skin. Feeling something possessive awaken deep in his chest at the physical evidence of them being his. All his.

Previous Chapter <- Act 7 -> Next Chapter

#tsu'tey #tsu'tey x reader #avatar #bonding #kidnapping #feral Tsu'tey #protective Tsu'tey

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mara-tevith-solo · 1 year

Text

Sing a Little Song For Me

Part 1 of at least a few drabble-esque fics? They aren’t really in any particular order as their from a larger fic I’ve been writing that I’m afraid my brain won’t let me finish, so I’m sharing as much of it as feels completed. Photo also not mine, obviously.

Warnings: Talk of death, Canon levels of Violence, Canon levels of hunting, Quaritch is his own warning let’s be fair, beginnings of a relationship, enemies to lovers, they’re kinda idiots

Pairing: Colonel Miles Quaritch x named Na’vi/Avatar reader/OC depending on how you want to see her. I never truly describe her.

Rated 18+ so if you don’t meet that, kindly gtfo, I don’t write kid appropriate material.

Words: 2.1k+

I'd forgotten how freeing flying on a Toruk was. The wind whipping through my hair as we sliced through the air. It felt like freedom, true freedom. I whooped loudly, clicking my tongue a few times afterwards as we passed over the ship, waiting as the Recoms and their Ikran joined us in the air. Zdinarsk was the first to join, followed closely by Quaritch and then Wainfleet, Mansk, Ja, and Prager. Spider cheered happily from his place in front of me, pumping his fist in the air like a victorious warrior coming home. Our next classroom island was in the middle of seven spire islands that made it inaccessible by the ship, and the water was too shallow between the spires for the boats, so by air was the only way to get in.

Our island getaway was bigger than the last, but was not a very desirable location for a village because it could only support a small fruit grove and not anything near enough for a group larger than ours. Even our group was going to push it if we stayed longer than a couple days. As soon as we landed I unpacked the tent poles from Thor and began to set up our shelter, a storm brewing on the horizon that didn't look entirely inviting. Quaritch and Wainfleet immediately stepped in to help, the two easily the tallest of the group, easily getting the canvas over the center pole as the rest of us worked on securing the edges to the bases of trees so that the canvas wouldn't have a chance to fly away if it got windy. Once the main part of the shelter was done, we all unpacked the interior bits like the sleeping mats and the cooking implements before letting the Toruk and the Ikran leave for the spires to weather out the storm. "Well this puts a dampener on the evening." Wainfleet yelled over a crack of thunder.

I picked up my spear from where I'd left it in the sand, breathing in the charged air with a soft smile "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone!"

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Prager yelled after me as thunder cracked across the sky again "You'll drown!"

"I'm from Hawaii! This is just another Tuesday!" I laughed back as I entered the water, instantly calling for an Ilu the moment my head was under. It clicked and danced around me in greeting, smiling in that uncanny but adorable way that they did before it offered a kuru. We hunted until the sun set and the storm passed, only an hour in reality, a string of fish slung over my shoulder as I brushed wet hair out of my face "Sorry that took so long, the fish went deep." I apologized with a bashful smile as I replanted the spear in the sand near the tent "They're already cleaned, and ready to cook."

"Hell ya." Wainfleet cheered while taking the string from me, taking it back to the cook fire in the middle of the tent.

"What was that you rode? Looked like a dinosaur." Zdinarsk asked, motioning vaguely towards the water from her seat in the doorway.

"That," I smiled as I began wringing out my hair in sections, twisting each one tightly before letting it go and moving on "is an Ilu. They are amazingly friendly creatures. A lot like dolphins, but much, much less homicidal." I stopped to think on her comment for a moment, smiling absently when I realized she was right "Huh, I guess they really do look like plesiosaurs. Good eye."

She smiled with pride as Prager clapped her on the back before going to help Wainfleet with the fish as a curse sounded from inside the shelter. "Where'd you get a fur pelt? I thought there wasn't a creature alive on this moon that bore fur." Ja asked suddenly, leaning against the center pole on the opposite side of the fire.

I twisted all of my hair together as I looked to him, ignoring my reflection in his glasses as I worked "It was a gift, just before the battle of the Tree of Souls. There's only one animal I know of that has fur, and they're very highly prized by the Plains Clans." I began making my way inside when my hair was sufficiently wrung out, though it was still a little wet. I didn't want to talk about those days, knowing that they were a sore subject for most involved.

"Got an admirer back home?" Wainfleet teased lightheartedly, like he was ignoring the elephant in the room and encouraging all of us to do that same. I didn't miss Quaritch scowling out the door as soon as the question left Wainfleet's mouth.

I laughed, taking the bait and happily running with it "Nah, no one waiting on little ole me." Quaritch's attention snapped back towards me, though he quickly looked away as soon as our eyes met "It was a courting gift from a Chief of a Plains Clan. He wanted the chance to get to know me after the battle." I shrugged with a smile, sitting on the pelt that made up my bedroll.

"So he was trying to buy your affections?" Zdinarsk asked, shifting in her seat to face the interior of the tent.

"No," I shook my head "A courting gift is meant to show interest and respect. At no point during courting are the two parties obligated to the other. Either one of them can break the courtship at any time, for any reason, with no ill will." I stretched in my seat, not paying any of the others any mind "After dinner we'll do a night exercise, just a little light exploration of our safe haven, nothing big."

"Isn't it dangerous to swim at night?" Prager asked, looking around everyone nervously.

I smiled softly, trying to reassure him, all of them. "On Earth, yes. Here, the planet does not sleep. Daylight hides the true beauty." The moon was higher in the sky after the fish were done cooking and everyone had eaten their fill, Spider going to sleep instead of exploring with us "Come." I encouraged, shifting to Na'vi with a warm smile, up to my knees in the water already. They all followed with much less hesitation, trusting me completely. As soon as we were all submerged, their eyes were wide at the wonder of the bioluminescent world around them, turning this way and that to take in as much as they possibly could.

I motioned for them to fan out and explore, they were all adults, they all knew how to mind their air. I made my way to the barrier reef, wanting to explore it more thoroughly. Right as I reached it, a hand closed around the tip of my tail, tugging at it gently, just letting me know that someone was there. I turned over, smiling widely at Quaritch as he continued following me, his own expression relaxed as we swam. At the barrier reef I motioned for him to follow me up to the surface for air, the man staying a respectful distance away as we both breathed in the crisp air before diving back down. I was inspecting the bottom of the reef, having seen a gap that we could have potentially fit through on Ilu, measuring it with my height until Quaritch was tapping me on the arm and pointing towards an opening in the reef. Curiosity no doubt got the better of us both in that moment, neither of us really thinking about it before going inside. It was large enough for Quaritch to swim comfortably, and stayed that way the entire way through until it suddenly moved upwards and opened into a small cavern. We were in sync as we breeched the surface of the water, breathing in the damp, murky air of the cavern. The walls and ceiling were covered by twinkling grubs and fungus, all emitting blue or green light into the darkness "Beautiful." He murmured softly, eyes soaking up every single detail that he could see.

I turned to him, my face pulling itself into a smile that I couldn't gauge as I watched him "It really is." I hummed softly, afraid to break the moment. He turned to me, a word dying on his tongue as soon as our eyes met, his pupils dilating further as he licked his lips. It was suddenly like he had his own gravity, some force pulling me closer to him until I could feel his heart beating against my flesh, feel the heat he radiated envelop me like a comforting blanket. Feel his skin against mine. I moved slowly as I placed my hands against his chest, afraid that we would both wake up, that he'd rebuff me with thunderous anger. He didn't, one of his hands closing around the small of my back delicately like he was afraid I'd bolt, the other continuing to tread water. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he began leaning in, his eyes half lidded as he watched me, watched as I leaned up towards him as well, just as slowly. The moment our lips touched it was like a bolt of lightning was lighting up my nervous system, everything felt so alive and tingled so good and I wanted so much more of him. I groaned against his mouth as my hands drifted up from his chest and to his shoulders, one of them cupping the back of his neck. His own grip increased, his hand splayed wide on the small of my back, pulling me into him as tightly as he could without causing pain. My heart was beating so fast I was almost sure it would explode as he deepened the kiss, giving up fully treading water to tangle his fingers in my hair to pull me in further. I reciprocated, wanting everything that he was willing to give me as I became slightly dizzy from the blood rushing around. I thought I was going to faint when his tongue brushed my lip oh so lightly, begging entrance that I wasn't going to deny him. He tasted like fish and salt and something entirely just him, and it did the last bit of competent thought I had in my head in.

He pulled away after a moment, just gazing down at me like I was something he'd never seen before, watching me blink away the kiss drunk haze that was trying to swallow me whole. "We should get back, before the others think we've drowned or something." He frowned in regret as he spoke, his tone hesitant and unwilling as he watched my expression shift.

I knew he was right, I knew it to my core. The others would think something bad had happened, and would do something stupid to try to find us. But that stupid part of my brain, that tiny bit of hopeless romantic moron, decided that his words were a rejection. That, despite kissing me like that, he didn't actually want me. That I was still his enemy. And always would be in some way. "Ya," I nodded, trying so hard to not look upset, fighting irrationality with rational thought, but my emotions were having little of it. I held my tail out to him before he could ask why I was blinking so much "So we don't get separated." I explained, beginning the swim back as soon as his hand closed around it.

We were the last to arrive at camp, and the others were sure to take the piss out of us "Find somewhere nice and cozy?" Wainfleet teased with a knowing wink, the Recoms obviously knowing something that I didn't have a whole idea of.

Quaritch just half-heartedly growled at him, waving him off to go dry off in the tent "We found a cavern off the barrier reef, its filled with glowing grubs and fungi. It's absolutely stunning!" I smiled warmly, beginning the whole process of wringing out my hair again. The thought of cutting it short entered and exited my mind quickly, knowing I'd never have the heart to have shoulder length hair ever again.

"Was there a nice sandbar in it?" Zdinarsk asked with a wiggle of her eyebrows, furthering the teasing of the others.

I raised a brow at her but decided not to entertain their antics, rolling my eyes when I realized what was going on "Nope. Not a scrap of dry land in there. I'd wager it floods, judging by the smell." I wasn't going to give them shit, and I was going to enjoy it.

"You're killin' me." Wainfleet pouted, catching on pretty quick.

"I live to please." I grinned as I twisted "We should catch some rack, we've got a long ass day when morning comes." I blinked at my words, wondering when the reversion had begun, but I didn't comment on it, and hoped they didn't either.

#miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #colonel miles quaritch #na'vi #na'vi reader #lyle wainfleet #zdinarsk #smut in later chapters #Miles Quaritch x oc #enemies to lovers #soulmates #technically

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idontknowreallywhy · 4 months

Text

5 - Essence

I did it! I finished a fic!

*makes note in calendar for this is a day to be MARKED*

Never mind that I already have a spin-off idea… this is complete. And, I’m actually really proud of it. There are clumsy parts, I can always see things I want to improve but I think the ideas are good and I like it.

Hope those who’ve enjoyed the previous chapters think I’ve done this part of Scotty and Virgil’s story justice. And will forgive how viciously I’ve tortured a metaphor…

Presence, Absence, Divulgence, Patience…

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Virgil and Scotty’s plan was simple. 726 meant 7th floor. His room was 625. So he just needed to get up one floor and along a room… unless the numbering was haphazardly allocated. But it probably would be fine.

They slipped out of the door and hurried away from the ruckus happening elsewhere on the psych ward. Virgil took a moment to wish whoever it was improved health very soon. They turned the corner. Well, Virgil did, Scott cut through the corner just to show off. Then they were out of sight and could breathe for a moment. Virgil clutched the pillow he’d brought in one hand and the waistband of the undignified pyjama pants in the other. Which meant no hand free to hold Scotty’s but he was in the lead and half way down the corridor anyway. So Virgil followed.

They’d get caught on the main stairs or in the lift so they were going to use the fire escape.

Scott hung back as they approached the door and let Virgil do the honours of leaning on the bar to open it. He jumped in horror as alarms blared and he clutched the pillow to one ear while trying to block the other with his shoulder, waistband still clutched with a white knuckled grip. Scotty gave him a meaningful look so he swallowed hard and leapt out on to the metal staircase. They were… a long way from the ground. As his brother had suggested, he dropped the pillow over the edge and watched it fall and land in a hedge. Then he tiptoed as quickly as he could up one floor and crouched by the door… hopefully nobody would look up. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the harsh clanging noise which seemed to be trying to split his brain into two. The scent of cut grass and sun baked concrete was overwhelming after the antibacterial monotony of the hospital ward.

It worked like a dream. Three people came rushing out on to the stairway, one spotted the gleam of white below and they thundered down and down and down the stairs, the vibrations making Virgil’s teeth rattle. He hardly dared breathe. Scott however, refused to be stealthy and was standing on the railing doing a ridiculous victory dance. Virgil hissed at him to get down. He knew Scott wouldn’t fall, his balance was borderline superhuman, but it would be bad if he was seen.

Right, he had made it this far and still had his pants. Now to get on to level seven.

This part did not go to plan. They had forgotten… the fire doors only opened from the inside. Scott facepalmed in despair and Virgil told his brother not to blame himself… he hadn’t thought of it either. Ok. Take stock and work the solution.

The door wouldn’t give a millimetre. Scotty suggested smashing it with a rock but the rocks were seven storeys down along with the people he could still hear hunting them. Virgil looked around desperately. The window to the room nearest the fire escape was cracked open. It would have to do.

Scotty took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye, smiling encouragingly. Virgil felt encouragement was all very well but how was he going to climb over there with one hand unavailable? He didn’t want to risk falling to his death without his trousers either. Scott suggested maybe if he’d got more rescue scout badges he’d be able to fix them. Virgil scowled at the familiar dig because he’d spent more time on music than tying knots and whatever.. but it did give him an idea. Mr Made-it-all-the-way-to-Falcon didn’t seem willing to part with his belt, so Virgil tore a strip off his pyjama top and bunched the waistband tight, tying the excess fabric together. Then cautiously let go. It held.

Alright.

He did feel a little wobbly as he climbed over the railing but hoped that was just a natural reaction to the horrifying drop below him rather than any lingering effects of the sedatives. Scott gave him two thumbs up then rubbed the back of his neck as he frowned over at the window. Virgil hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts because he couldn’t do this by himself. He hooked a foot around the railings behind him and feigned a confidence he didn’t have to bolster his brother by letting himself tip forward until his hands caught the windowsill. Ok. He pulled at the window to open it more and froze in horror.

It was a hospital. Of course every window would have a limiter on it to restrict how far it opened. So people couldn’t climb out.

Or in.

He looked back at Scotty who was in full pacing SmotherHen mode. Virgil could just ask his brother to pull him back and they could come up with another plan but found he didn’t want to give up yet. Resolutely not looking down he kept a firm grip on the windowsill with one hand and slipped the other into the gap, feeling for the mechanism that was causing all the trouble. There was a screw. He put all of his strength into forcing it loose, fortunately the fine motor control seemed to have returned along with his strength. He grunted with the effort then bit his lip. It wouldn’t do for someone to hear him now.

It moved! Then it spun and came off in his hand. He let it clatter to the floor, too late for stealth now, and pushed the window open wide. Thankful for the years working on his upper body strength he heaved himself through the window and slithered to the floor, landing with a thud and his trousers round his knees. His face burned and he scrabbled to make himself decent, looking in panic around the room for anyone who might have seen but… the room was empty. He sighed in relief and got to his feet.

This room smelled different. It was a different kind of empty to the ward he’d been on. The sort of empty that had recently been full then emptied suddenly but not yet scrubbed clean. Maybe the occupant had gone home. He hoped the occupant had gone home. Virgil stood there, a little lost all of a sudden, wondering whether he and Scotty would both get to go home one day.

Scotty squeezed his shoulder. That meant he was proud. Virgil glowed. It had been a pretty awesome stunt all things considered. They were a great team. And they were nearly there.

He opened the door slowly, silently and peered out. All was quiet. He started moving stealthily to the next room, but had to turn back to shush Scotty who was whistling nonchalantly. He’d get them caught! And worse, it was horribly off key. Virgil was sure he did it on purpose to annoy him.

The next room said 726! This was the one! He went to high-five Scotty and over-balanced slightly as his childish brother moved his hand away just in time. He really was an idiot. But he was Virgil’s favourite idiot so it was good he was here. He looked around one last time then tried the handle and pushed open the door.

And froze.

He’d got it wrong… must have misheard the number. This was some old guy’s room. The stench of antiseptic and panic was strong in here. Virgil clenched his fists in frustration and turned away. He’d just have to check every single room in the place. He knew his brother was here somewhere and he wasn’t sure when the chance to sneak away would come again.

He took three steps then froze as his brain caught up with the information his eyes had sent through moments before: Dad’s jacket was hanging on the back of the chair next to the bed.

Huh?

He shuffled back and looked again. Maybe just a similar jacket? A foot was sticking out from the bottom of the sheets, the man was tall like Scott, but it was thin and frail. This guy was about 80 and had a beard and looked… done. Poor guy.

He glanced at the name card that had been inserted into the slot at the foot of the bed.

Tracy, Scott Carpenter

His heart soared and plummeted within a single breathless moment. It must be a mistake… everything was wrong. The little of this body not padded by bandages was skeletal, ancient-looking. Where there should be strong warm hands were wires and splints and the darkness of bruising. The man’s cheekbones were like knives, below deeply shadowed eye sockets in which reddened eyelids flickered. Sweat beaded his face. The little hair visible beneath the dressings on his head was too long, the beard too… beardy. The click and whirr of the machine breathing for the stranger was alien. The heart rate monitor was agonisingly arrhythmic and definitely too fast. His brother’s pulse was always steady - Virgil had felt it many times through a tightly gripped wrist as they stood somewhere way too high and Virgil’s own heart raced in anticipation of the next crazy stunt. Or through a gentle thumb in a handhold when he was nervous. Or best of all ear to chest when surrounded by his brother’s arms.

There was a familiarity but… no. This wasn’t his brother. It couldn’t be.

He looked up at Scotty who smiled at him sadly and tilted his head towards the haggard face on the pillow. Virgil crept closer and slipped into the chair to study it. The ears were the same, except a little swelling behind and even more bruising. He couldn’t even start to think about any human could get into this state, let alone…

Virgil’s eyes dropped to the faint white scar on the bottom of the man’s jaw, just to the side of his chin. The relic of an old misadventure, barely visible under the patchwork of red and black and purple, but instantly recognisable to the boy who’d tried to tape it together with sticking plasters. If they’d owned up and his brother had got the stitches he needed at the time, it would never have scarred. But, as with so many things, those blue eyes had pleaded with him and he’d done his best to help.

He looked back over his shoulder to where Scotty had been standing guard, seeking his reassurance.

But he was gone.

He turned back to Scotty in the bed, heart torn into shreds by his inability to help this time. This was beyond sticking plasters and hugs and promises not to tell. His head swam and the other words that voice had said to his father, the ones he had refused to acknowledge or understand, came floating to the surface. The possibility Scott might not…

No. Not while Virgil still had blood in his veins. They were together now and everything would be alright.

He reached out a tentative finger and stroked the one small area of cheek that wasn’t obviously injured and then rested his head gently on the pillow alongside his brother’s, close enough that his face brushed the side of Scott’s but not so close he might cause painful pressure. Little brother inhaled deeply through his nose, seeking a semblance of calm to counter the fear rising in his chest and then held his breath, hardly daring to believe. Hiding behind the antiseptic and the plastic and the soap and the hollow cleanliness of it all, something was filling the emptiness. A faint melody, unique, as familiar as his own. A music that meant safety, and that he wasn’t alone. A music that meant home.

The constant erratic beeping noise slowed, almost imperceptibly, and fell into a steady rhythm.

A brand new score had been opened. But Virgil knew the notes now. They’d compose this next version together.

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #scott tracy #virgil tracy #Tw: mental health #Tw: hospital #Tw: war #Presence fic

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

Text

New Rules

Part 1 of You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader, Past! Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You feel adrift and lost when your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw crashes and burns around your ears. As quickly as your relationship ended, you're not expecting to find something new as fast as you have. And especially not with Jake Seresin.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: Cheating, Cursing, Sex, Sexual Themes

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 5191

A/N: Without further ado, here is the first installment of the You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes Universe. I hope you all like it! This is going to be a relatively short three-part story which I've been calling the Before, During and After verse.

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Rain collects in pools on the metal deck in front of you, droplets skittering into the night. It's quiet, only you, the clouds of your breath, and the drumming of fat droplets as they spatter on the metal deck. The deck roils under you, rising and falling without rhyme or reason in the undulating waves. It’s storming where you are in the Pacific Ocean, not that you can place precisely what longitude and latitude the colossal naval carrier you’re perched on is at.

But you’re miles away from everything that hurt you and even further from everything you love. You’re officially alone. You might as well be a paper boat in a tempest, at the mercy of the sea. But, as lonely as you are, those feelings are the last on your mind. Your mind is hundreds of miles away, wrapped in the sun, the sand, and a calmer, sunnier sea, trapped in a dream that turned into a nightmare. You get jolted back into yourself when an arm nudges you, and a body sinks down next to you on the cold decking.

"Heya, Bitsie." He's amused. He's always so amused, southern drawl stretching every word, including the pet name he persists on calling you by. "Whatcha doin' out here? I don't know if you noticed, but it's cold and rainin'."

"I noticed." Your voice is dull. Two weeks since you've been on dry land. You feel like a stranger trapped in a body you don't know, with a face you barely recognize in the mirror. The first morning on the carrier, you'd nearly screamed at the sight, seeing your eyes in a face you couldn't, wouldn't recognize. It shows in your actions, too, you know. It feels like your authentic self has retreated like someone is playing at controlling your body like a video game character.

"Oh! I know what it is. You miss your Chicken, dontcha? I bet you wish you were huddled up under his wing right now. Well, if that's all, you should head inside and call ole' Roostie. I'm sure he'd jump for joy at hearing your voice and seeing your face."

Hearing someone say your boyfriend's callsign, even a teasing nickname for it, shouldn't fill you with dread, seeping as cold as ice through your veins. If only he was still your boyfriend.

"He's not my anything, Bagman." Your voice is barely audible over the thunder of rain across the deck. You're not even sure he can hear you over the din.

"What happened?" His voice is more subdued than you've ever heard it.

A flash of lightning rips through the sky, glinting off two pairs of shiny boots as they're stretched side by side next to each other. But you're spiraling, pulled into the undertow of everything that happened. The joy and pain of your latest failed relationship crash over you in unyielding waves as if you're adrift in the middle of the storm.

The dead-eye laser Lieutenant Miguel 'Fanboy' Garcia had encountered had nearly jeopardized the entirety of the Uranium mission. The Uranium mission would have failed without a stroke of near-divine luck. Everyone, from Admirals to the Secretary of the Navy, had decided unilaterally that something like that could not happen again. So you and your team, composed of mechanical engineers and computer scientists alike, had been shipped to Naval Air Station North Island to work with the squadron who’d run the Uranium Mission and improve the lasers, their targeting systems, and their software.

That was when you’d met Bradley Bradshaw, callsign Rooster for the first time. It was like you were in a fairy tale. A perfect ray of light had shone over his head, illuminating strands of his hair golden. You felt a breeze brush over your hot cheeks and heard bird songs. The two of you had just clicked. It was easy, talking to him, hanging out, flirting. You nearly hadn't believed it when he’d asked you out for the first time. Bradley Bradshaw? Wanting to go out on a date with you? Obviously, you had said yes.

It had been a whirlwind romance. Bradley was precisely what you had thought you wanted in a man. He was sweet and charming. He never ignored what you were saying and was your partner in every sense of the word. The sex? That was dynamite, too. You’d be the first to openly admit you weren’t sexually experienced. But Bradley had never once made you feel less in your relationship. He’d swept you off your feet, starting with your first date and then every day since. You’d gushed to your family on the East Coast about how much you loved him and thought he was the one.

Sure, maybe two months into a new relationship, your only adult one was too soon to be making those overtures, but you fell and fell hard. It sometimes felt like you had been skydiving; he was the only parachute in sight. You'd consoled yourself that at least he'd fallen for you, too. And at least with Bradley, you'd never have to explain why you were leaving on a mission or a deployment. He'd understand it, just as you would when it was his turn.

While your relationship with Bradley changed and evolved and deepened, you'd also come to enjoy working with the other pilots and WSOs on the squadron. Bob, Fanboy, Halo, and Harvard were all brilliant and helpful in pinpointing exactly where the lasers seemed to fail. Their pilots were great, too. Other than Rooster, you weren't quite as close with the other single-seater F-18 pilots.

Hangman, in particular, had been intent on rubbing you the wrong way. His laugh, his demeanor, everything about him had set you off. From the very first day, he'd been calling you Itsie Bitsie or Bits or something like it. And he'd never told you why either, no matter how much you pestered him. You'd given up after a while. He didn't mean it maliciously, and it pissed him off more if you ignored him.

It helped, too, that Rooster had pulled you aside one afternoon when Hangman was being particularly dickish, kissed you until your knees were weak, and whispered in your ear, "Don't worry about him, lovely. He's just trying to get your attention or get you in trouble. I've got your back. Whatever you need to do to get him to stop, I'll help. But, if you're a good girl and can withstand him when we get home tonight, I'll let you sit on my face until you scream and then fuck you until you're all filled up with my cum." That was the end of that conversation, and as your panties flooded, you'd quickly forgotten about Hangman.

As your team and the Daggers blended and became cohesive, all those personality clashes also eased. Hangman was great to work with when he wasn't acting like a dick, and you always laughed when talking to him. And well, you're only human. You liked the look in Bradley's eyes when Hangman made you laugh. He made you feel wanted when he looked at you like that. You could've sworn that he knew you would only ever go home with him.

The sex was incredibly intense when you'd been polite with Hangman, just enough to send Bradley's jealousy skyrocketing. One incident involving a screwdriver and you in mechanics overalls resulted in fogged windows on a scenic overpass just off base. That afternoon had been especially memorable since base police had rapped on the back window of the Bronco and gotten an eyeful. You had escaped with just a warning, thankfully.

Things changed going into the sixth month of your relationship, your eighth overall in Miramar. Bradley would act the same at work but habitually ignored you when you were at the Hard Deck. He was usually clingy and sweet, always keeping an arm around your waist or kissing your skin. The sudden distance, physical and emotional, had been jarring. By then, your team and his squadron were close friends, decompressing at the bar over copious amounts of alcohol, laughter, and inside jokes. Then there were the nights you’d made plans, and he’d stood you up, calling hours later with plausible excuses. In hindsight, you never should’ve given him the benefit of the doubt.

In your defense, things had been crazy with the announcement from Admirals Simpson, Mitchell, and Bates of a six-month mission testing out the new software for one pilot, one weapons system officer, and two members of your team, one with mechanical engineering expertise and the other software. The competition had ticked up, and tensions were high, at least for the aviators. The Pentagon selected who would go on the mission from your team and gave the names to the admirals. The Admirals kept the names close to the vest until they selected their pilot candidates. You'd chalked Bradley's exhaustion, frustration, and general downturn in mood to the pressures of being selected as the pilot for the mission.

If only you'd known the actual reason.

The Admirals announced the team on Friday afternoon, dismissing everyone afterward. You'd been selected as the software engineer, and one of your closest friends, Mara, was the mechanical engineer selected. Your team had cheered you both excitedly before the admirals called everyone back to order and announced the pilot going on the mission. You'd smiled reassuringly at Bradley, keeping your fingers crossed against your side in a silent plea for him to be selected.

"The pilot on this mission is Hangman. The WSO, Fanboy."

The words had rung out with a sickening finality. Your head had swiveled so fast to look at Bradley that you'd nearly given yourself whiplash. But no matter how you'd craned your neck, you couldn't find him. You’d battled through the celebrations and raced out to the parking lot, only to see exhaust plumes pouring from the Bronco as he drove away. You texted him, offering to come by his house off-base for combination victory sex for you and conciliatory sex for him and to talk about how your relationship would last while you were in the middle of the ocean for half a year. But he left you on read, and you'd assumed he wanted to lick his wounds in solitude. So you'd left it alone that night.

You'd messaged him on Saturday, wanting to make the most of any time you had left before you were trapped on an aircraft carrier with only Hangman, Fanboy, and Mara for company. He hadn't responded to those messages either. That had been when you'd started worrying. You'd talked yourself off the ledge of calling the police half a dozen times, imagining scenarios where he'd gotten injured or was drunk and then been injured. Or… or… or. You were half afraid he would think you were overly clingy if you'd called him. You'd slept uneasily that night, worrying about your boyfriend's health. Incommunicado wasn't his thing.

When you woke up the following day, you decided to go to his house. You had second-guessed your decision until 11 o'clock, not wanting to wake him after he'd been so tense for so many weeks. Bradley never slept well when he was stressed about something.

Everything looked alright as you pulled into the driveway behind the blue Bronco that was his pride and joy. He'd given you a spare key a couple of months into your relationship with an open invitation to join him in the house he'd inherited after his mom had passed away. He’d told you with a sheepish, sad, soft smile that it was too big a house for one person. It was an offer you'd taken advantage of before in your relationship, albeit after calling first. As you unlocked the door and stepped in, you'd rationalized that Bradley would be safe and sound if nastily hungover in his bed at the very moment.

The foyer was the same as it always had been, except for the stupidly sparkly and tall high heels sprawled across the floor. Bradley had always been a friendly guy. One of his friends probably crashed at his place. You'd felt for the poor girl looking at the shoes she'd been wearing the night before.

But if he had company, the house would be full of the smells of breakfast and coffee, with his favorite eighties playlist blaring from the kitchen. The house was absolutely silent as you trod up the stairs. You didn’t want to disturb him. You resolved to leave a note if he were sleeping. That resolve had fallen flat when you'd heard the breathy moans that spilled through the open bedroom door.

Your heart had cracked a little, then the denial set in. Maybe he'd been watching porn? It had been a weak excuse, even in your own head. You had crept forward breathlessly, and that's when your heart shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Shards that had cut into the softness of you. Shards that were still lodged in your chest. He was home, but you doubted the girl bouncing on his cock was a friend. She was gorgeous, with her head thrown back and perky tits jolting with each movement. She was thin and blonde, waspish, her hair long and dangling down her back as he grasped at the silken strands.

"Yeah, baby, come on, just like that." His voice was a hissed whisper, sweat dripping down his face as he mouthed at her skin, at her flushed pink nipples.

"Oh! BRADLEY!" She'd simpered and screamed, "Bet I give it better to you than your girlfriend ever can. Come on, baby! Oh! Oh! Oh! You give it to me so good. You’re so big!"

"God, yes! She's such a goody two shoes, Britney!"

The sound of flesh smacking wetly echoed through the room.

“She’d never even been fucked. Did you know that?” His curls were sweat-matted and falling into his eyes. It had been her hand that brushed them away. She’d laughed then, as something sick had pooled in your stomach.

“I had to teach her everything. I can’t believe I took a bet so far!”

Bradley had growled about how much he hated you, that a couple hundred bucks weren't worth six months playing pretend, and you couldn't stand there to hear anymore. If you were a bolder woman, you'd have burst in there and broken up with him on the spot. But instead, you'd driven away as fast as you could.

You'd broken up with Bradley Bradshaw in the parking lot of an In-n-Out hours later over a text message, passed along your affections to Britney, and called her a whore and him an asshole. In a genuinely vindictive turn, you’d told Bradley that Carole would’ve hated the man he grew up to be and then blocked his number.

"Bitsie! Hey, Bits!" Bagman sounds worried. "Are you back with me?"

You loll your head exhaustively to look into Hangman's sage-green eyes. He looks just as worried as he sounds.

"You're crying."

You lift your hand, touch your cheeks, and stare without comprehending at your tear-stained fingertips.

"What happened, Bitsie? You're usually as sunny as can be!"

"Sometimes," You choke out, "the sun gets hidden by a storm, and paper boats get ripped to shreds by the pounding waves."

He tugs you against his chest until your head is pressed over his heart. His hands rub your back, and that's when you let your pain and frustration out. You know it's probably not right, crying in his arms, but you can't help it. He's one of the only friends, or as close as you have to friends, on this miniature floating Naval city, and he somehow feels like home. What feels like hours later, you finally sit back, letting your hand thwap solidly against the metal you’d been resting against. But you don’t hear the sound or feel the harsh sting. A hand gently cradles your head instead.

“I’m okay, Seresin.” Your voice is all stuffy, your head fogged with the pressure in your sinuses after a good cry. It doesn’t feel right to call him by his callsign or the bastardization of it, not when you’ve just sobbed unflinchingly in his arms.

“If this is okay, darlin’, I don’t want to know what fantastic looks like.” He’s speaking so gently with you right now, proffering one of those typical mom pocket packs of tissues at you. Your smile is tremulous when you accept the tissue, turning your head away from him to honk into the feeble gauzy square like an elephant with rhinitis. You’re sure you look a sight when you turn back, eyes swollen and puffy, with the tip of your nose irritated like always when you’ve been crying and had to blow your nose. He’s still looking at you exactly how he was earlier, though, like a baby bird with a broken wing. Like you're some tiny precious thing that's injured and needs protection.

“You’ve cried now and done your best impression of a circus elephant.” You can’t help your watery giggle when he tweaks the tip of your nose.

“Do you want to tell me what’s happening with you and Bradshaw now?”

“I don’t know if I can.” Your voice is whisper-thin, and your vocal cords feel like you've gargled glass. "It hurts too much."

"I know, darlin'. I can see it in your face. Wouldn't it be nice to tell someone if it hurts badly? To share that burden?" He's trying to wheedle the information out of you. And you can feel your resolve wavering. But, in the months after the Uranium Mission, Jake and Bradley had become something akin to friends. They had set aside all of the rivalries they'd had before, and while they ragged on each other, it was friendly. Could you destroy that relationship so quickly?

"Jake. You and Bradley just got to a good place. I don't want to change your relationship with him."

"Darlin’, tell me. Remember, we're on a carrier far away from him for the next six months, give or take a couple of weeks." He's smiling softly at you. "I promise I won't punch him in the face when I see him next for whatever he did."

"How can you assume it was something he did?" You ask, tired of seeing all of your faults in technicolor. You don’t argue with him, though, childishly curling your fingers into your palm, leaving only your pinky out. "Pinky-swear on it."

He blinks his eyes at you a few times before twining your pinky with his own. After pumping it twice, like kids on a playground, he just holds your hand captive.

"There's your pinky promise, darlin’. You asked me why I could assume it was something he did?" He inhales deeply, chewing on his words before he continues. "I know because I've seen how you are when you're in love with someone. They're your whole focus when you're with them. While you were on Chicken's arm, he was all you focused on. I won’t say he consumed you because you paid attention to all of us. But there was something special about how you acted with him. When we were at the Hard Deck for drinks after work, it was like he was your True North. You always knew exactly where he was. You gave all of yourself to that relationship. He's the guy who leered happily at any piece of ass that walked by."

What does it say about you that someone with a reputation for being self-absorbed saw what you couldn't? You chuckle dryly before letting the whole tale spill, every salacious detail, including what Britney and Bradley had been saying about you in the bedroom. Your words finally run out as you stare at the clouds, tracing the lightning bolts as they zip through the ether. When you turn to look at him sometime after the last words have left your lips, he's glaring at the roiling sea off the deck. His jaw is clenched as the lightning makes his eyes shine golden.

"He dated you because of a bet? And then he cheated?" He sounds angry, angry, and shocked. "He's supposed to be the most decent guy in the squadron. I promise you, I didn't know about the bet. If he made it, it wasn't with me."

"Did he ever bring her around to you guys?" Did you know? You're not sure if you want to know. But you have to. How many of your friends, your colleagues, had seen Bradley Bradshaw make a mockery of you? Condoned his cheating and lying? Had they covered for him? Had Jake? Who made money on you and him?

"Darlin, I would've told you the minute I had known if he had brought her around. We all would have." His eyes seem so sincere and soft as he looks at you. You can see pity on his face. You know it is. But it feels so good. To have a shoulder to cry on, to have someone tell you you're valid for feeling the way you do.

"Her name seems familiar, though. I think she's one of the badge bunnies that always goes crazy when he plays the piano."

You have to laugh at that. The resulting sound is something insane choked out between sobs. Six months of a relationship and your complete devotion, love, care, and affection, not to mention your virginity, and he picked a badge bunny over you?

"I'm sorry, darlin'. He's a fool. C'mon." He's standing before you now, blocking the brunt of the pouring rain from drenching you. "It's wet," he wheedles, wiggling his fingers until you place your hand in his, "let's get you inside. A hot shower, something to eat and drink, and a good night's sleep. That's what you need right now. I'll help you think of what to do about Bradshaw tomorrow, ok?"

You let him drag you up and usher you through the deserted carrier hallways, stopping to shield you from prying eyes with his broad back at every intersection. You can only assume what the rumor mill onboard will say if anyone sees the two of you like this. His uniform is colored caramel, rain soaking every inch, and his boots squelch unpleasantly as he walks you to your quarters. He waits, eagle-eyed, at the door to your quarters until you let yourself in.

"Go shower, sweetheart. I'll do the same and bring you some food from the commissary."

"I thought it would have closed by now?" You ask, your voice pitched low since you know from experience that everything echoes in the belly of the ship.

"The Officer's Lounge never is. I have granola bars in my quarters. I'll bring you a few and a cup of coffee. Cream, no sugar, yeah?"

He smiles at you before turning on his heel and striding away. You go about your shower by rote but spend much longer than usual under the hot water. It's all quiet when you step out and dress in the warmest sweats and sweatshirt you've packed in your luggage.

When you open it, you're not expecting anything in front of your door, but there they are. A single hot paper cup of coffee, prepared just as you like it, and two granola bars, the good kind, with chocolate! You eat and drink quickly, feeling hungry and thirsty after your cathartic release. Sleep tugs at you, and the last thing on your mind is that while Jake Seresin may not look like it, he is a sweetheart on the inside.

You wake up the following morning feeling like the night before is a glorified dream. Did you really cry all over Jake Seresin the night before? On deck in the middle of a typhoon, no less? You feel good, really good. Bradley’s betrayal still hurts, but not as much as the night before. You’ve learned so much about yourself; as much as you miss him, you can admit that he is not forever material.

You’re finally starting to see the sun through the clouds mentally, and from what you can see out the portholes, it’s a beautiful day outside. You dress quickly in your uniform and meet Mara for breakfast in the commissary. Your morning is spent far away from the pilots, making final adjustments to the laser targeting system. It's lunchtime before you see Jake again. He's got a ridiculously cocky smile on his face and a pep in his step.

"Hey, ladies." He's oozing charm as he sits beside you, setting his tray next to yours. This afternoon's flight tests are going to be interesting. He looks like he’s in the mood to fly more recklessly than usual.

"How has your morning been?"

“Great! Mara and I finally have the laser targeting system ready for the first flight tests this afternoon.”

You can see the excitement in his eyes at the thought of flying and flying fast too. Mickey, who'd been following along behind his pilot for the mission, takes the seat next to Mara, and for a few minutes, it is just light-hearted chatter amongst the four of you as you talk about the test flight route and air conditions for the first test of the new systems. It's Jake, of course, who shatters the veneer of professionalism by slipping you a piece of paper. Scrawled on it in surprisingly neat cursive are four numbered points.

Don't pick up the phone. You know he's only calling when he's drunk and alone.

Don't let him in. You'll have to kick him out again.

Don't be his friend. You're only going to wake up in his bed in the morning.

If you're under him, you ain't getting over him.

You can't believe your own eyes. Do you laugh? Or do you cry? Jake Seresin just handed you a piece of paper quoting Dua Lipa's New Rules. Laughter ultimately wins out.

"Oh, my god." You've got your hand over your mouth, choking back laughter. Mickey grabs the paper from you, and it's only a few minutes before all three of you are laughing as Jake's cheeks redden with a blush. You take the note back and get yourself under control, using a napkin to blot the tears from under your eyes.

"What's this, Seresin?" You smile at him gently, knowing he meant well, and wasn't trying to make fun of you. He sheepishly runs his fingers through his hair.

"I called my sister and asked what she would do if she was in your shoes. She cursed me out for waking her up at 4 in the morning, laughed her ass off until her husband kicked her out of their bed, and then gave me that list. She said you'd probably know the song, but it was good advice."

You goggle at him, surprised at the vehement emotion in his voice. You don't notice you've been staring into his eyes until Mickey clears his throat from across the table. Mara and Mickey are smirking at you, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks at the knowing looks they’re giving you.

"Why're you giving her the rules from New Rules, Hangman?" You can hear the confusion in Mickey’s voice.

Jake glances at you, looking for your permission. Instead of letting him tell them what happened, you speak.

"Payback will probably email you about it sooner than later, so here it is. I broke up with Bradley the day we shipped out." You take a deep breath before you spill the rest of the story, albeit without the graphic details you'd told Jake in the middle of the night. Mickey looks disgusted, as does Mara.

Mickey broaches the topic first. "You haven't been yourself since we came on board. Hangman noticed and pulled the whole story out of you, didn't he?" You nod carefully, taken aback at the anger growing on both their faces.

"I didn't know." Mickey's vehement in his denial.

"I know, Micks. Jake told me that any of the Daggers would've told me if Britney had been sniffing around and they knew he was cheating."

"Yeah, we would have." He inhales forcefully. "Wait. Britney?!"

You nod, sure you'll never forget the sound of that girl's name pouring out of your boyfriend's mouth as he pleasured her like he was only supposed to pleasure you.

"Shit. I did meet her. He told me she was his cousin from San Francisco. She was supposedly in San Diego for a couple of weeks on vacation. Phoenix backed him up about the lie. She told me she'd met Britney when she and Rooster were in Pensacola for flight training together."

You're aching to sock Bradley in the jaw now. Jake is, too. You can see it in how he’s clenching his hands tight, knuckles growing pale with force. You’ve come to terms with Bradley's betrayal, at least a little. Natasha's betrayal, though? That cuts deep. She was your friend, you'd thought.

As expected of the military, there aren't many women on Naval Air Bases. You, Callie, Callie's wife Meg, Mara, and Natasha had connected fast, taking turns hosting girl's nights and spa weekends. You'd thought the five of you had each other's backs in the man's world you all worked in. Natasha obviously thought differently.

"Let us help you plan your revenge, yeah? We have six months on a ship to brainstorm ways to make him pay. And that list, it just might be the perfect starting point." Mara's got a devious look in her eyes that promises pain for Bradley Bradshaw.

"I'll brief Callie and Meg on the situation, too, with your permission. Meg will think of the perfect way for Trace to get her just desserts, too." At your nod and a weak smile, the four of you go on your way. The flight tests will involve all of your concentration, so you put the issue of Bradley Bradshaw in the back of your mind.

When the boys are up in the plane, and the two of you are analyzing all of the data from the instruments connected to the targeting system a couple of hours later, Mara asks you a question in sotto voce.

"Hey. I know it's probably too soon for this, but Seresin's always looked at you differently from other girls flocking to those flyboys when they're in uniform. When the time comes, and you're ready to move on, promise me you'll give him a chance? I don't think the Southern Gentleman thing is an act. He also pulled you out of your funk sooner than anyone else could have."

She's right. Jake had made you feel miles better; he'd let you cry and helped you smile afterward. He'd be so easy to love if your heart weren’t as tender as it is now. You vow then and there to keep yourself from falling for Jake fast and hard. That way means disaster, you know as much after recent experiences. You'd take this burgeoning something brewing between you slowly, if only for the sake of your heart.

Taglist

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thissmallplace · 1 year

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Thor Fic: Thunder in the Land of The Sun

(Set between TDW and AOU.)

Chapter 1

Steve kept an eye on his good friend. He always did. Not because he feared for him, nothing like that at all. Nothing on earth could really damage him. And it was not that Steve distrusted his friend either. He knew he was noble and, of course, worthy. It was just that they were helping human, local authorities fight crime in a country that was not Steve's and he didn't want to seem like they were above the laws and authorities of that country.

Steve also knew that Thor was an almighty god, but he didn't have to be reminded of being respectful and careful. He always was. Thor's supernatural strenght and power never failed to make Steve a little nervous, though.

"Neutralise and arrest! I remember, my friend Steve! I always do, my captain!" Thor's deep voice reached Steve and there was humor in it. Was Thor reading his mind?

" Would you stop looking worried?" Thor asked and chuckled. No, Thor wasn't reading minds. He was just a good observer. As he spoke to Steve, Thor sent some controlled, tiny rays of light, tiny lighting, through his fingertips and tased the thugs they were trying to capture.

When they dropped to the floor unconscious, Thor grinned at Steve." Captured alive, captain!" He said.

One of the special forces members came closer to Thor.

"Sir, are they safe to touch?" The young man asked in Spanish. He was about to repeat his question in English when Thor replied.

" Yes, brave warrior, you can take them to your realm...country's justice." Thor said in Spanish.

"Allspeak?" Steve asked Thor, but he hadn't understood Thor's answer and when he had heard him use Allspeak before all Thor said was understandable for him.

"No, no. It was actually Spanish." Thor replied with a little shrug.

"Why not Allspeak? It seems so practical." Steve commented as they went to meet Tony, and the local authorities arrested the thugs they had helped hunt down.

"I only make use of the Allspeak for languages I haven't learned yet, Steve." Thor replied.

Steve's eyes widened." Do you mean...? How many languages do you speak?" He had to ask Thor.

"I haven't counted them. But they might be around 63,000." Thor said and seemed a little confused by Steve's surprised face.

" Compared to Midgardians, we have extremely long childhoods in Asgard. There's plenty of time to learn from our scholars and elders."

" Those are so many languages. And that's an understatement." Steve was really impressed.

Thor reached and gently patted on Steve's shoulder." And those are only some of the ones spoken in the nine realms. It might be impossible to learn them all. For those we haven't learned we use Allspeak."

"Did you take lessons to learn all that?" Steve asked as they walked to the quinjet.

"Of course, Steve! As princes of Asgard we received the best education. Our parents were really strict about it. Of course, we sometimes sneaked out of the palace for some mischief instead of taking our lessons." Thor smiled fondly at the memory.

"Your classmates and you?" Steve asked. Thor looked at him.

" We took our lessons alone. Only Loki and I." Thor replied and he looked down and blinked a little. Steve could see how his smooth eyelids got a little reddened and his golden eyelashes visibly darkened with tears.

"I was a good pupil, but Loki was a brilliant learner. Always. We had our tutors in the highest regard. I even got to love most of them as if they were aunts or uncles of mine. Loki loved them, too. But he was the one who tested their patience with his wit and mischief." Thor's smile was soft, sad." I remember our lessons fondly. "

"Are you telling me you were a studious little kid?" Steve asked trying to joke a little, to soothe Thor's sadness.

"Why do you sound astonished, my friend?" Thor chuckled gently and then he sighed." I was, indeed, a studious child. I am full of surprises."

Thor shook his head as he chuckled. There was something wry in his smile. He felt as if no one really knew him in Midgard. Even those he loved there, those he considered dear friends, had a wrong or limited idea of him.

"I thought you had always been a man of action. You have to admit, you don't look scholarly at all." Steve joked.

"You Midgardians have a strange way of pigeonholing people." Thor replied." Well, not only Midgardians. My Loki... I mean, my brother Loki looks more like the studious type for most people." Thor said the last sentences quickly after he said "My Loki".

Tony was waiting for them, arms crossed and leaning on a wall near the Quinjet.

" If you two hurried a little, I would still be on time to catch my game." Tony said.

" Baseball?" Steve asked and Tony nodded." And you didn't invite us." He smiled and shook his head.

"You are always invited, my work wife." Tony quipped." You are also always invited, Goldilocks." He told Thor who seemed a little distracted."Goldilocks?" Tony repeated.

"Apologies, Stark. I'm grateful that you invited me to your game of baseball." Thor replied and then he sniffled the air as if he were a golden retriever." It smells delicious near here." He said.

"Well, Point Break, smell quickly as much as you can before we go." Tony patted on Thor's shoulder.

"I am sorry I won't go to your game, friend Stark. I want to stay here for a while. It's been a long time since I visited these lands. I have some acquaintances here." Thor explianed."I'll be joining you later. You can send me a message if I am needed."

Thor noticed Steve and Tony seemed surprised and he wondered why. Then he remembered time was different for them. They were Midgardians, mortals, they weren't even ideas lost in the universe when Odin took all of his children on a tour around the nine realms. Loki and Thor had been really young children then, but his memories of their visit to those realms were vivid and happy.

He watched Tony and Steve take their leave a few minutes later. They had been summoned to help in the northern part of Mexico. The last time Thor had set foot on those lands he had loved it. It was sunny and full of colour and as you traveled south the variety of climates and vegetation had impressed him. There had even been snowy peaks and forests not so far from humid, lush rainforests and sandy beaches.

The Midgardians who thrived there were known by subsequent civilizations as the Olmecs. Odin had even taken them to meet some of the gods the Olmecs worshipped and who protected those cultured, refined people.

Thor wanted to explore. People in Midgard knew him by then. He had no need to try to blend in wearing Midgardian clothing though sometimes he wore it simply because he liked it. He flew with Mjolnir searching for the nearest city, but he landed on a small town, a little more than a village because of something he smelled. It made his stomach growl and his mouth water.

There was a temple in the middle of the town with a lovely, little square across from it and the Midgardians there looked up at him and pointed at him in awe as he landed.

TBC

#thor #thor odinson #loki #thor and loki #thor feels #fic: thunder in the land of the sun #my fic #thor fanfiction #thor and loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki laufeyson

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therenlover · 9 months

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Balm (A Medieval!Helmut Zemo x Maid!Reader Fic)

A/N: Guess who's back from a 2-year hiatus and dragging Zemo back into style with me kicking and screaming? ME! ME! ME! More explanation is to come about why I've been gone and what the plan is now, but for the moment, enjoy the most-requested unfinished fic I had from before my mysterious disappearance <3

Synopsis: Your forbidden dalliance with Baron Zemo, the lord of the house, has finally landed you in the dungeons, subject to the whims of the guards and the endless passage of time. As your sanity slips away, you wonder what will come first, your execution or the Baron's return?

Tags: Hurt/Comfort Heavy On The Comfort, Reunions, Medieval!Zemo, Maid!Reader, Dungeons, Psychological Trauma

Rating: M (+18)

Warnings: References to Recent Sexual Assault and Psychological Torture (Male on Female, No Graphic Descriptions), Imprisonment, PTSD Symptoms **Stay safe and avoid this fic if you need to, this was a personal project made to help me cope with my own feelings about my trauma**

Word Count: 5,800~

_________

“Where is the girl?”

Sharp voices, some unknown and some chillingly familiar, boomed against the dark walls that closed in on me by the minute, gaining ground with every agonizingly long second. They were still far out, at least a minute away from the wrought-iron door of my cell. Somehow, though, I couldn’t bring myself to care. No, not anymore. If my execution was finally rapidly approaching with the sound of armor and thundering feet, it would be much more to my benefit than anything else the men approaching could possibly do to me. Or what they had already done.

The thought sent a shiver down my bare form despite the hardness of my heart.

Was there any torture, commonplace or strange, worse than what I had already endured at the hands of men who considered themselves to be bringers of justice and keepers of peace? I could not fathom it. Even a painful, slow death in the iron maiden would be preferable to the time I had been confined to the dungeons of the manor I’d once called home.

A soundless laugh, weak and bitter and halfway to a rib-crushing cough, escaped my cracked lips at the irony of it all. I tasted blood with every swallow.

Yes, I decided death was a welcome friend a long time ago, even if with it came the moment I dreaded most of all. In the pitch darkness, I let my eyes fall closed, and somewhere down the hall, the cacophony of voices grew louder.

“Why was I not informed of this the moment I returned to the manor?”

“I assure you, my lord, we thought it for the best-“

“For the best? You ignoramus-“

My lord.

The words stirred nameless feelings in my chest. Screaming, sobbing, nameless feelings that pulled the dregs of my humanity back to the stony surface of my strong facade.

How long had it been since those words had left my lips, a veneration above all others reserved only for the man I loved, despite their demands? I couldn’t even wager a guess. There were no windows in the dank room that served as my personal hell, just darkness and torchlight. The only way of keeping track of the suns and moons that passed was through the changing of the guards, and I had come to anticipate those for an entirely different reason. Counting the days had ceased being a priority long ago. It was much more important to count the passing shifts in order to prepare for the true punishment, doled out by faceless men in near-identical leathers. Here I was little more than the Baron’s abandoned whore, and rather than counting days I counted the cycling of warm bodies in the frigid underground air.

Horror and shame and rage coursed hot in my veins at the thought.

Surely this amount of men could only mean I was to be escorted to your execution, but I wondered in the darkness: Would they defile me one last time before dragging me out into the square, heavy hands and covetous eyes taking and taking and taking until there was no chance of forgetting what they had stolen from me, even as I took my final breaths? Or would they feign justice instead, slipping my bruised body back into the rough prisoner’s uniform that had remained crumpled in the corner far beyond my reach since the first hours I’d spent at their mercy? Either way, their impure actions would be evident when they dragged me out to the town square, which was a small blessing amongst the terrors that awaited. Maybe it would not be clear to the public, but the Baron… he would know.

He had known every inch of me. He would have to know.

He would see the marks, so similar to those left by his own fingers and teeth and lips and palms, and he would know the truth of the cruelty I’d faced, but he wouldn’t turn away from the sight of my broken body. It was his job as a crowned head to witness my death to the end the same as any other prisoner, no matter how gruesome or horrible an end I met. Perhaps that was to be his end of the punishment for the beautiful crime we’d shared. Perhaps, in a turn of events that I could only now imagine in the depths of my despair, he wouldn’t feel pain or punishment at all. My head could roll to his feet with no more than a tired sigh from his royal lips.

None of those possibilities really mattered though. Nothing mattered because nothing could be changed. Not anymore.

Distantly, I wondered if they would hang me, burn me, or separate me from my head. If I was especially unlucky, which I usually was, they might choose to make an example out of me and choose to draw and quarter me instead. The thoughts hung heavy in my mind, and all the while the end of my life drew closer and closer, marked by angered shouts and the gentle glow of torchlight, growing brighter and brighter in the corner of my sight.

I closed my eyes to the oncoming reality.

Seeing their reaction to me, strung up nude and probably still dripping with spend, would be too much. instead, I allowed myself to listen. That was the one sense they could not sully or steal away from me. Besides, if I kept my eyes open I would be forced to behold the faces of the guards, and I would much rather not have features to put to the nameless, faceless shadows that haunted both my nightmares and every waking hour. I had managed to keep them anonymous in my mind until now, and I would prefer to keep them that way until the end.

Something clanged a few feet away from the cell door, loud and tinny.

A voice called out from beside the noise, low and raspy. Familiar in the worst of ways. “My lord, what are you doing down here?”

“Where is she?” A new voice replied, “Which cell?”

Or… perhaps the voice wasn’t new. It rattled something within me, and slowly my memories regained some of their clarity. His voice was louder than I was used to hearing it, rougher around the edges than I remembered, but it was Helmut’s voice nonetheless. A weak smile spread across my bloodied lips despite my internal protestations.

He had come.

For what reason I still couldn’t say, but he was right there. He had come back and he was searching for me. The sound of him, his heavy footsteps and thunderous timbre close enough that I could almost imagine grasping the sounds from the air… I could not begin to describe the strange feeling bubbling up through my chest at his very presence, so close and yet so far. Still, I did not dare make a noise, I doubted I could manage a shout or even a whimper if I tried to, and instead, I listened as intently as I could.

The frantic conversation outside only grew louder as the men approached my cell. It was hard to fully focus on it. Through my hazy delirium of starvation and pain and hope, I could only focus on the image of his face in my mind, smiling brightly down at me in the firelight as he had so many times before. His touch was a phantom on my burning skin. It was a memory so close to reality that if I kept my eyes squeezed shut, it was almost indiscernible from the real thing, down to the bruises on my hips and the ache in my legs. Still, it was a fantasy, the final beautiful dream of a scullery maid who had taken too much from this cruel world to be allowed to continue to live in it.

I relished in every single moment I was gifted with him; past and present, real and imagined. There was little else I could possibly do but wait and hope, and hope was a dangerous thing.

“I’m afraid you’re too late, Baron. She is… no longer with us,”

The words made all the warmth I’d gathered up through my dreaming turn sour and cold in an instant. This was why hope was such a dangerous game for me to play. It comes just as easily as it goes, but it never leaves without taking something with it.

“What?”

“Her womanly constitution was simply too weak for the dungeons, my lord. We did everything by the book, I assure you of that, but she couldn’t manage it past the first week. She. Perished in her sleep,”

The guard's voice was so sickeningly genuine that even I almost believed him.

“That cannot be true. I refuse to believe it is true,”

“Aye, my lord. Any of us men could verify,”

Metal slammed against metal in the distance as shouting began in earnest, but I couldn’t focus on any of it. No, my mind was far, far away as I pondered the consequences of what I had witnessed.

I began to think that they never intended to let me die. At least not in the way I had been meant to. Instead, they would kill my soul and rob me of my sanity until my heart simply gave out from the horror of it all, hidden away in the bowels of the Baron’s manor where screams of pain and wails for help would fall on deaf ears. No one would come looking for me again. No one would even know I had survived. A sob escaped my mouth, breathy and broken. Would the tortures never cease?

A sudden silence followed.

Helmut spoke again in a quiet, measured tone. “What was that noise,”

I sniffled as the faceless man outside the door clambered to cover up whatever had caught the Baron’s attention.

“What, my lord?”

“That noise. What. Was. It.” The T seemed to be spat from the baron’s quivering lips. “I thought you said no others remained in these cells as we descended, so what could possibly be making noise?”

“I can assure you it was-“

A slam echoed through the dungeon. “Tell me the truth, or I shall imprison you long enough to find out when someone of your… constitution would perish under these conditions.”

There was silence.

No one spoke or moved an inch. I couldn’t even manage a whimper in that soundless eternal moment that seemed to stretch on and on into the oblivion that surrounded me on all sides. Creaking armor finally cut through it all, breaking through the void, and like a spark on dry kindling, everything burned quickly from there. Something clattered to the ground, metal rattled, boots stomped and keys clanged on their loop. Still, I could not bring myself to open my eyes, even as the great iron door of my cells groaned open and exposed my bare body to a new rush of freezing air from the hall.

All at once, silence prevailed again, cut only by the wails of air rushing down from the stairway.

I couldn’t lift my head; it was far too heavy on my trembling shoulders with my grubby, matted hair falling like a filthy curtain in front of my face. I didn’t need to lift it, though, to know Helmut was there in the doorway, beholding me in all my shame. Another sob cut its way through my throat and body at the thought. I was so consumed in my pain that I almost missed the sound of soft footsteps on the packed earthen floor beneath me.

“Schatz?” He whispered. I winced at the tenderness of the nickname he had once grown so fond of. It was like I could slowly feel him comprehending the level of my suffering the longer I sat, eyes screwed shut. If I stayed just like that, unmoving and unseeing, I might be able to imagine it all away like a dream. That was easier than the alternative. He had finally seen me as what I had always been: nothing. It was only a matter of time before his kindness soured too.

Despite the gruesome scene before him, though, he did not turn away. He did not run.

Instead, the Baron took a few tentative steps forward. I could practically feel his presence before me. Then he inhaled, sharp, but stayed silent for a moment more. If I hadn’t dared to know him better, I would have thought he had reached out to touch me before choosing another course of action. He couldn’t have done that, though. There was no possible way he still cared for me, especially after seeing me in such a state of filth and shame. Right?

“Oh, my sweetest one,” Helmut murmured, “what have they done to you?”

And just like that, I shattered at his slightest word.

“M-my lord, I…” my throat burned in protestation, a thousand red-hot needles thrust with every breathy whisper, “I have failed you. Punish me how you see fit,” In a sudden rush of pain, it was as though I could feel every bruise and slice on my body, every aching muscle in my arms screaming for release from the manacles above my head. I didn’t dare strain against the restraints, though, because even with Helmut present I couldn’t fathom what might happen if I stepped out of line knowing the guards were just steps away at the door. Despite the fear, it was excruciating.

As if he could sense your agony, the Baron jumped into action. “Someone remove her shackles! Now!” He shouted back towards the door.

I could hear a bit of shuffling behind him, trembling as the noises grew closer and louder. There were people with us now, people who might witness firsthand the impropriety of my relationship with the lord of the house. People who would use that against me in the worst of ways. A whimper escaped my lips at the thought as I could feel them lean in to undo my hands from the bolts on the wall. Though no one else would possibly notice, the man above me still smelled like sex.

Helmut was a constant tether to sanity through the terror. A distraction from the world outside the two of us in each following moment.

“You have not failed me, little one,” he said, “In fact, I’m incredibly proud of how strong you must have been.” His voice was soft, one only ever used for me. It felt almost too good to be true.

I shook my head, ignoring the sharp pains that shot through my neck, eyes still firmly closed. I couldn’t allow myself to hope. Not yet. “Why have you come here?” I begged, “We cannot be seen together. Your reputation…”

He sighed softly, and a familiar hand came to rest on my knee. I jumped from the alien sensation at first but corrected myself quickly. It was just Helmut. I knew those calloused palms by touch alone, as sure as I knew my own. Those hands were just as incapable of hurting me now as they had been when I first held them in the soft lamplight of the harvest festival so many moons ago.

“I am the head of this manor and the Baron of these lands. If I wish to protect the woman I love, I am well within my rights to do so,”

“Don’t,” I protested.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me hope. Not now, not so soon before we’ll be parted again,”

With a loud clunk, my wrists were released from their manacles.

After however long I had been imprisoned in this dark, wet hell, the muscles in my arms had weakened considerably. What once was toned muscle from years of labor now sat taut against bone, withered away with time and disuse. I could do little more than let them drop to my sides as the Baron rubbed calming circles into my knee with his thumb.

Why couldn’t he see how much it would hurt to be apart from him after this agony? How allowing me to dream now would only mean those dreams could be crushed when he returned to his life above. I had committed a crime, after all. Even if the punishment I had endured until this moment ended, I would still serve the rest of my treasonous sentence to the death without him. Alone. It all made me feel so defeated that I could do little more than cry dry tears and memorize the feeling of his skin on mine. It would keep my mind with me longer once he had gone if there was a pleasant memory to cling to. I couldn’t decide, though, if keeping my mind would be a blessing or a curse.

Helmut didn’t give up despite my insistence on pushing him away. In fact, I could almost imagine he grew gentler as a few guards shuffled about behind him. “Where are the fine clothes I had given you, my love?” he asked, “How can I warm you?”

What little moisture had returned to my mouth dried completely in an instant at his words. I couldn’t rip the answer from my tongue if I was forced to with a dagger at my heart.

Still, the Baron tried again. “If they’re here, please try to guide me to them. I can have one of the guards retrieve them,” The moment he mentioned the guard, every muscle in my body tensed, trembling from the effort of it all despite my mental protestations to calm. I couldn’t raise any alarms. I was too late, though. Helmut took note of my reaction with a measured rage as his teeth snapped together. “Ah,” his voice was a low growl, “I see now. No need to fret, Schatz. I’ll have Oeznik bring you a fresh gown. You won’t need whatever they dressed you in down here from now on anyway,”

Distantly, I could hear the hurried rush of slippered feet disappearing down the stone corridor, and I could only assume it was the trusted manservant following his lord’s orders to fetch me some clothes. I was so focused on following the sound of footfalls up the stairs that I almost didn’t notice the warmth of a cloak settling around my bare shoulders, draping over my nudeness and surrounding me with the string musk of cedarwood and sweat. I almost felt safe there, within the thick fur and leather of that mantle. When was the last time that had been even partially true? I couldn’t honestly say I knew. Maybe was that Helmut was there, so close to my side, or maybe it was that my modesty was covered for the first time in gods know how long, but no matter which was true, a strange sense of relief began to flood my veins. It burbled up to the surface like some sort of warm natural spring flowing from the very core of my being. For the first time in ages, I could breathe without terror, even if not without pain.

After the initial rush, though, it almost felt as though not facing my imminent demise made everything worse.

If I wasn’t actively about to be executed at any given time, that meant I had to face the things I’d seen, the things that had been done to me… oh yes, things felt much worse when I had to confront them in the proverbial light of day.

All at once, I learned that there were fates far worse than death and that mine was one of them.

A gasp, wet with blood and spittle, escaped my throat as I burrowed deeper into the cloak, pressing my face to the collar where the Baron’s scent was strongest. He was quick to bring a hand to my face, but I pulled away from the gesture. I couldn’t bear to look at him. To let him look at me… it was unfathomable. Not as I was.

Despite everything, Helmut was as patient as he could be while I trembled there. He rubbed his calloused thumb slowly over my gaunt cheeks, hushed me, and dried my tears. Everything about him seemed to radiate comfort like the sun.

The switch flipped when one of the guards made the mistake of speaking.

“Baron,” the new voice said, voice low, “don’t you think it best to-“

He never got to finish his sentence.

No, before he had the chance to utter another syllable, Helmut was standing at his full height and grasping the man firmly by some piece of his armor, dragging him closer across the muck on the floor.

“What were you about to say to me?” The man did not reply, but the Baron refused to relent to his silence. “I asked you a question, worm. When your lord commands, you obey,”

The guard's reply was stuttered out as soon as his heaving breaths allowed him a moment's respite. Was Helmut… choking him?

“I was going to suggest that you return to your father to get an official pardon before you decide to elope with a rightfully imprisoned woman, Baron, no matter the nature of your business with her. Need I remind you that he is the true Baron of this manor until his passing, after all,”

That was, evidently, not the correct thing to say.

A growl ripped free of Helmut’s throat that could have been loosed by a wild beast as he shoved the man harshly to the floor.

I heard others move to defend their comrade, but they all seemed to still at the sight of Helmut’s ferocity. In an instant he was standing over the fallen guard with what I could only imagine was a murderous rage from behind my shut eyelids.

“Rightfully imprisoned? Rightfully imprisoned?” Rage dripped from every seething word, “There is no rightful imprisonment when you strip a prisoner of their decency- of their humanity! When was the last time she was fed? Allowed time off the rack to care for herself? Rightfully imprisoned… you lost the right to claim that the second you locked her down here without the advisory of my father, who has given me full permission to free her and return her to my quarters immediately,” Helmut paused for a moment before adding, gravely, “I shall call a healer for her there to confirm what I believe to be true, and if it is… well, may the gods have mercy on your souls, because I certainly will not,” With that, he spat into the face of the guard at his feet and stepped back, taking heaving breaths, though I could not tell if it was from the effort of his rage or the effort of holding it back.

The moments that followed beloved into sort of quiet chaos in the darkness of my mind. There was a shirt scuffle as the guard seemingly rose to his feet once more, aided by his compatriots, while Helmut stood silent. I could just make out the shaky sound of his ragged breathing. Everything else just melded into a cacophony of voices and loud, disjointed noises that seemed to jump out of the darkness and straight for me. It made me want to implode.

It was as if, all at once, everything became… too much to bear. The air was too thick and the sounds were too loud and every inch of my being was alight with small bursts of needling pain, driving far past my skin and deep into my bones as the room grew colder and colder around me. The sensations were nothing compared to the tortures I had endured before, physically or otherwise, but with the promise of freedom and safety waiting so closely to me in the form of the man that I loved, even the smallest of pains felt unbearable and unending. It was as if every bit of suffering. Had fought through at the hands of the guards to survive to see this glimmer of hope had been compounded into one, large pressure that threatened to crush me the second I clawed my way to freedom.

Helmut would never allow that to happen, though. Not again. Not after he had seen me in this state. I could only suspect that this newfound softness in him meant he wouldn’t allow me away from his side for quite some time, no matter how ridiculous or unbelievable such an idea seemed. In the deepest, most shameful corners of my heart, I could only hope it would be true. I wanted desperately to be tucked away someplace soft and warm and utterly mundane where I would never be forced to face another ounce of horror or darkness for the rest of my life.

Somewhere between the sudden influx of sensation and the daydream of peace, I forgot to keep my eyes shut.

My eyelashes peeled apart, adhered together with some sort of muck, revealing Helmut standing before me. The sight of him was enough to let me fight through the pain of the light and keep them open. A soft sob escaped me once more.

His body was tense and readied for movement, white shirt soaked with sweat and grime and what looked like it had to be blood as he stood with his back to me, one arm outstretched back towards me in a silent gesture of comfort he didn’t even know if I would see. He could not reach me, nor did I think he intended to, but it offered me security nonetheless. His other hand sat easily on the hilt of his sword, resting sheathed on his hip as it always did during long trips outside the manor walls. Had he come directly to me upon his return home, not even taking the time to shed his outdoor cloak and sword, only to find me missing from my place in his chambers? I banished the thought from my head. That was unimportant at the moment. What mattered was that Helmut’s body served as a barrier of safety between me and the rest of the world. It gave me just enough courage to keep my eyes hooded, but open.

It took a moment to adjust to the darkness. While the torches in the hall still burned brightly, the great iron door blocked most of their glow from reaching my gaze. The light was just enough to focus in on the world beyond Helmut’s silhouette, letting me catch sight of the glint of a guard's sword appearing from the dark corner of the room before the Baron did.

What once was quiet chaos devolved into loud, maddening chaos from there.

I screamed. That was certain, even when all else was not. It was a dry, cracked, raw thing that escaped me as the hidden guard broke rank and lunged across the room. There was no humanity in his ice-cold eyes, not the slightest glimmer of anything besides bloodlust and pure self-preservation crossing his face, and yet somehow, despite all the time I had spent at the mercy of him and his companions, I held no fear for myself. Instead, the terror that wracked my body was for the man who stood between me and the sword.

Helmut was the only thing in the world that could keep me from an eternity of torment and his attacker knew that better than even I did at the moment. He intended to kill the man I loved, a treasonous act, in exchange for the safety of his own hide. If Helmut was bested… I couldn’t even fathom it. The moment stretched on endlessly, and yet there was no time to think about the sight I beheld. As the Baron took note of the man, he drew his own sword. I urged my own abused muscles forward, managing to almost drag myself across the few feet of space that separated me and my lord and his hand, still outstretched towards me; a beacon of reassurance. The moment my fingers brushed his, I collapsed, muscles spasming against the dirt. I had done my part. From there, I could do nothing but close my eyes once more and wait for the telltale metallic noises of swordplay.

They never came.

Helmut jolted before me, hard enough that even from my spot on the floor I couldn’t help but wince, and I heard the telltale swish of his blade leaving its sheath, feeling the wind in its wake on my teary face. Still, the terrible fight I anticipated didn’t rage on. I couldn’t hear any of the other guards present so much as breathe. I found myself utterly lost in the darkness. My cluelessness towards the current situation was almost worse than seeing Helmut skewered, at least in that moment as I reached out and grasped fistfuls of dirt, desperate to hold on to something real. Someone groaned a quick, pained breath, and then everything ceased to be.

Time stopped there for a while. Maybe it was only in the prison of my own mind, but it was as if the space between breaths had extended out into the infinite darkness and fear that consumed me whole. He couldn’t be dead. Even if he was, I couldn’t bear to check.

The moment was only broken when a familiar voice cut through the silence. “Shall I have him disposed of, my lord?”

My eyelids were heavy, but I forced them up and open as I released my fistfuls of dirt and dragged my face up to look towards the door only to find Oeznik had returned. With a bundle of linens in one hand and a bloodstained sword in the other, he stood flanked by some of the elder Baron’s personal guards. If looks could kill, the man who had attempted to take Helmut’s life would have been in a much more merciful situation, and the baron stood before you, triumphant.

His blade remained pressed into the man’s neck, keeping the poor bastard frozen mid-swing for fear that one wrong move would take off his head. All the while Helmut’s face remained hidden from my view. If his body language was anything to go by, it was taking all of his self-control not to slaughter the guard right then and there, but he remained as still as a statue, unreadable and cold, as I reached a trembling hand up to his still extended hand like a lifeline. He squeezed my cold fingers in his own comfortingly the moment we managed to touch.

“Just ensure that he doesn’t move from this cell,” Helmut replied, “None of them should,”

It was as if the great group of men gathered around the door forgot how to breathe. I, on the other hand, felt freer than I had in an eternity.

“Shall I lock the door behind us?” Oeznik inquired.

Despite his hidden face, I could hear the pure wickedness and vengeance in Helmut’s grin. “Yes, Oeznik, and station a few of our best men at the door. One of them may still have a key, and all would be for naught should they simply remove themselves from captivity,”

“Right away, my lord,”

It shouldn’t have surprised me when Helmut let go of my hand and finally shifted himself to regard me once more. Still, the look in his eyes made my heart feel although it could stop beating. He turned and knelt before me, taking my muddied face in his hands and brushing a thumb over my cheek. His touch was so tender I almost forgot to breathe, as though taking even a gulp of air would break the spell and plunge me back into reality. The light, remained, though, even as he sank to his knees to assist me.

“There's no need for us to tarry here any longer, schatzi. Come along now,”

An almost childlike, hysterical wonder flooded my senses as I tried to pull his cloak tighter to my body. The warmth was addictive. “We’re going? Together?”

“Yes darling, together,”

“But what if someone sees us? Baron, I can’t let them see you like this, especially with me in such a state. If someone from town were to see-“

Though his face betrayed none of his emotions, the ice-cold tone of Helmut’s voice was enough to send a shiver down my aching spine. “I will cross that bridge when I’m required to. Now come. You’ve spent far too much time in this dank hole already and I refuse to let you remain here for even a moment longer,”

I needed no more convincing than that to take the Baron’s hand as he helped me up on unsteady feet.

Standing again was a strange sensation, to say the least. It was as if I were a fawn taking my first steps across the damp forest floor in spring. Helmut kept me upright against his side and jumped into action the moment he was needed, bracing my body on his as my legs gave out time and time again in the steps toward the door. When the struggle became too great for him to bear watching, he wasted no time before sweeping an arm beneath my knees and cradling me to his chest, making sure to keep me wrapped securely in his mantle along the way. From there I could do little more than let the shock set in, drifting in and out of the present as he carried me away from the hell hole I had believed I would never leave again. All the while, a loose, pained smile crossed my bloody lips.

On the way up the steep, winding stairs, I faintly recalled hearing Helmut muttering to Oeznik, who remained a few paces ahead of you during the ascent like a buffer. The contents of their conversation eluded me. I could only assume they were speaking of what had transpired, but I couldn’t say with any certainty. Not with the way my mind seemed to be covered in a thick fog as soon as I let my eyes drift shut once more, tucked into the furs that surrounded me on all sides. The only certainty in the world became the steady thrumming of Helmut’s heart and the heady musk of travel clinging to his clothes and skin.

As the last of my lucidity faded, I opened my eyes one last time, only to be greeted by the warm light of dawn. It streamed down upon me in a million colors from the stained glass windows lining the hall. I had believed so truthfully that I would never see the sun again, and yet here I was, bathed in the glory of a new morning. A new day.

Everything became lost to time from there as my eyes drifted shut once more, still catching glimpses of colored light from behind my eyelids until I lost my grasp on the present.

#helmut zemo #zemo #baron zemo #zemo x reader #daniel brühl #x reader #marvel fanfiction #falcon and winter solider series #technically there will be a part 2 to this but it'll take me a few days to edit it up

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wordsbymae · 2 years

Text

MINORS DNI

Title: The Viking

Pairing: Male OC x reader

TW: Violence, murder, generally bad things, implied non/con, no explicit smut but heavy Non/con groping!!, discussion of sexual slavery, mention of cannibalism, Christian elements but it is because I am and I am less afraid of stuffing up Christian stuff than other religions. If you are uncomfortable with any of that move on This man is not nice. Pet names: little mutt, little one and little lamb. Let me know if I missed anything let me know

ALPHABET HERE

Also, I tried to do Gn but as I am a woman, I automatically write with a female reader in mind. But!!!!! I have tried my very best to not mention gender. If something doesn't work please tell me. Reader discretion is advised! Also, I hope I don't need to say this but I will just in case, I do not condone these sorts of actions!!! Or any actions in any of my work. This is pure fiction. Also, all my OCs and the reader are over the age of 18+. and I'm not gonna add google translate because that takes forever and you guys won't even be able to read it so he conveniently speaks the same language as the reader.

Notes: Aaaaa! I have 21 followers! You guys are absolutely amazing! I never thought anyone would want to read my stuff let alone like and reblog. This doesn't take place in any place in particular, if anything I heavily rely on the climate of my home. I was though heavily influenced by Vikings and their nordic culture of that time, however, I had originally planned to make the oc a barbarian of sorts and not a Viking. But my inspiration dive into Pinterest left me with Vikings so here we are. I might write a nomadic barbarian fic later on cause I do see them as quite different in my mind but it depends where this goes, I usually write the notes and triggers before I start writing as a way of planning my thoughts so it might change halfway through.

Also the climatic event in the beginning, in my mind, is the cause of a volcanic eruption somewhere on earth, there was a year of just constant winter due to a massive eruption a few centuries ago and I wanted to include that and showcase how superstitious the people of this time were, seeing the winter as a foreshadowing of terror. And hell they were right.

Lots of love Mae xx

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It was far too early in the season for the cold winds to be here. Your father pretended to not be frightened but you could see it in his eyes. There was a fear lingering. You could hear your parents whispering in worry when they thought you were asleep. You could hear your mother sob as they discussed what it could mean. Your homeland was one of sun and thunder, but never frost, never snow. Yet, a chill had descended onto your lands. A frost had spread across the summer grass. Your bare feet crunched upon what should have been dried pasture, instead, they were chilled by a wicked frost. The sun that you would curse for its harsh warmth was now hidden behind constant grey clouds and you begged for it to return. The floods and storms you ragged against never came. No seasonal thunderstorms after the humidity of the day. There was just darkness. Travellers and merchants from far-off lands, journeying to the capital came through your village, speaking of the darkness that had spread. It seemed like no kingdom or empire was safe. The frost and darkness had come for all.

The first omen of their arrival was the frost itself. It seeped into everything and made the ground as solid as rock, the summer pastures shrivelled up and left nothing but dirt behind.

The second omen was the famine. The harvest failed and the livestock starved. Your father was forced to sell the heifers and cows and slaughter all calves and steers to provide for your family. Still, it wasn't enough. You heard gruesome tales of far-off villages butchering each other for scraps of meat from their bones. Your village was lucky, the sea still provided as much as it could.

The third omen was the dragons. Firey images in the night sky, leaving streaks of light hanging in the air. As soon as they appeared men cried out and women fell to their knees. It was a sign of a terror to come.

The final omen was a raven.

The skies had begun to clear and the winter rains had soothed the harsh scars left behind. Crops had been sown and the frost retreated in the face of the reappeared sun. You had all thought that the struggles of the last few months were over. Your father had been able to buy a cow with calf last week with money you made weaving baskets. She was a skinny thing even with the calf in her belly, but with the winter rain healing the land, you could see her regaining strength.

You had thought it was a crow when you first saw it. It did seem to be a bit bigger than the crows that waited patiently for your fish scraps by the pier. But you had never seen a raven before, so why think anything of it. It had flown in from the sea, flew over the village before fixing its gaze on your mother's garden. Your mother prized her garden, especially her roses, and had cried bitter tears when the frost killed the flowers, leaving thorny masses behind, but they had begun to regrow, leaving your families house surrounded by a beautiful arrangement of daisies and violas, butterfly pea flowers and lilacs. You had your favourites of course. In fact, you were picking them right now, happy to make a bouquet for your ancestors' burial place. As you were sitting and deciding which flowers to choose, the raven landed beside you, you watch in amazement as it plucked a flower from your hand and rose into the air and back towards the sea. Standing up with a giggle you chased after it in play until you reached your property's fence. You watched until it was nothing but a black dot in a sky of blue. If you had known what it had foreshadowed you would have wrung its neck.

They themselves came in the night.

They landed on the beaches and in silence drifted into town. Axes drawn and blood-hungry. The first death was the blacksmith. He was stumbling from the inn, stomach filled with ale. He saw them first, and let out a cry of warning, but it did not save him from a dagger sliding across his throat. The killer let out a howl. His comrades followed. The screams began.

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You had lost sight of your mother in the smoke of the burning village. Fire ragged towards the heavens. The smell of charcoal and blood ravaged your senses. The yelling and screaming were just a constant now. Like how a bird song drifts into the background. You stood immobile calling for your mother, begging her to reveal herself. Out of habit, you called for your father, but you were harshly reminded that dead men can't answer. You watched as the savages ripped men to the ground and let blood flow. They hadn't noticed you yet it seemed. A lone wraith shaking in the centre of town. In the centre of all the murder and mayhem. For a moment you thought you were dead. That the arrow your father had taken for you had indeed struck you and now you were wandering the mortal realm alone and afraid until St Peter called for you.

Your eyes reached towards the heavens and you began to beg for the angels to pluck you from this horror. Your arms wrapped around yourself as tears flowed down your soot-covered cheeks. You were broken from your prayers when you heard your name being called, your mother perhaps? Your eyes rushed to find her. No, you can't see her. But it was enough to have you moving towards the darkness and away from the light of the fire. With your arms still holding you tight, you began to stumble towards the outskirts of town. Once in the fields outside town, you could hide. Wait till they grew bored of your village and left in their ships to torment another village. You were reminded of a time when you were fearful of the dark. But now it was your salvation. Tripping over your feet you struggled to remain standing, leaning on the walls of yet-to-be-destroyed houses and holding onto the rungs of fences. You kept rushing forward, eyes onto the safety of darkness. You were close, only a few more steps.

A beast emerged from the darkness. His face burned with the light of the fire, and his axe shined with delight. His furs were matted with blood and encompassed his shoulder. His arms were bare save for strips of leather circling them. There was blood on his arms and hands as well, dripping onto the handle of his axe and onto the dirt below. You stood still, hoping perhaps you were dead. That he would just pass by and you could remain nothing more but a spirit. If death was without pain you would prefer it to the horrors the beast in front of you was capable of. His face was marked with blood, lines travelling over his forehead and down through his eyes. His eyes flickered with hunger and his mouth was turned up into a grin. He stood feet wide as if he was ready to battle, but his hand was loose on the axe, allowing it to dangle from his palm. He saw no threat in you.

A strange mix of sounds came from his mouth, while his voice was rough and stern, his words were lyrical and filled with rounded sounds and quick sharp notes. It left you confused and almost enchanted, like a deer in the gaze of a hunter.

His voice stopped and his eyes drifted down and then up. He gave a deep laugh at the site of your cowering.

"Come little mutt, stand tall" he chuckled with amusement. You whimpered at the sight of him, a beast of a man denying your freedom. He began to march towards you his axe swinging in his hold. You try to take steps back but he is quicker. You yelp as he pushes you towards a wall, his thick forearm resting against your neck as he peers down at you. You could see the scars littering his face and could smell the stench of blood dominating his body. You could feel the warmth of the blood from his arm smearing all over your neck and chest. You hated to think whose blood it once was.

"Little mutt has no teeth huh? What about claws? hm?" he questioned, joy in your torment in his eyes.

"If I was to fuck you now would you fight me? Would you claw at me or bite at my fingers?" he laughed at your obvious fear. He brought his head down to your neck and sniffed loudly. You cringed as his nose met your skin.

"You smell sweet little mutt. I wonder if you taste just as good"

you struggled as his tongue run up your neck, tears tumbling down your cheeks.

"As sweet as honey!" he cheered. His forearm dug into your neck further as you struggled to escape. He began to shush you, giving out soothing sounds like you would a crying baby as his body stepped forward to meet yours.

" Please don't kill me" you choked, eyes red with fear.

"Never little one!" he bellowed, his face of mock hurt. "Why would I kill you? hm?" he comforted, releasing his arm if only by a fraction. "You will fetch me a high price at the slave markets, little lamb. Men will go mad trying to buy you for their beds" he grinned, showing off his sharp canine teeth. You struggled once more, this time clawing at his arm and chest.

"So the little mutt has claws! Maybe I will keep you for myself. Use you to warm my cock. Would you like that little one?" he teased, he moved his face closer, his tongue darting out to catch the tears on your cheek.

" Get off me" you grunted, desperately trying to remove his arm. he teased you by feigning pity.

"Poor little lamb, you must be so scared. Trapped by a beast like me" he cooed, pushing his arm further into your skin. You watched as his eyes drifted to your chest below his arm. He dropped the axe in his other hand to the ground, it falling flat with a light thud. He looked you in the eyes once more. You could see mischief in them.

"I am torn between keeping you for my bed slave and making a small fortune on another man's desires. Let me see your wares and then I shall decide" he sang, his grin reaching higher and higher with each word. You could only watch in horror as his hands reached for the front of your night smock and ripped it. You tried to grab his wrists but he was too strong. In a mere moment, your smock lay tattered on the ground and you stood bare in the night air. His eyes drank you in, and his hands drifted over your body. He gripped tightly in some places and softly in others. Blood from his hands was left smeared all over you, like rivers on a map. His eyes found yours once more and glee was evident on his face.

"I have decided little mutt. You shall warm my bed and most importantly me" he proclaimed, laughing at the end. "I am to be your master and you the little mutt at my heels. But first, let me dull those claws, hm?"

You stood arms covering yourself confused at his words. You had no claws to dull.

You gave a shriek as he began to drag you into the darkness. His hand was tight against your wrists. You tried to use your body weight to stop him, but it only ended with you falling to the ground and him dragging you through the dirt. You screamed and kicked, shouted and cried. He just laughed.

The dirt turned to soft grass as released you from his grip. You shot up to your bare feet, only to be thrown to the ground and a foot thrown on your stomach.

"I admire your fight little mutt, but as your master, I cannot in good conscious allow you to disrespect me. it would not be natural." he cooed at you, his hair falling into his eyes. You choked out a sob at the thought of what he planned to do. You were both far enough from the town your screams would not be heard and you were both hidden by lush pasture. You began to pray, your words drowning in sobs.

"Our father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kin-"

"Enough!" shouted, falling onto his knees above you, a dagger glinting in his hand.

"Keep your God, fine, but do not expect kindness from me when you beg for his mercy" he sneered. You watched in terror as the dagger raced towards your head, only for it to land safely in the soil next to you.

"Now little lamb moan sweetly for me, will you?" he smiled, his grin one of filth. You lay there looking up at him in fear. "I said moan" he barked, his hand reaching for your throat. You gave him what he wanted, although it was tarnished by your terror.

"Like the music of the gods" he praised. He removed his hand from your throat and brought both to your knees, lifting them up and slotting himself in between them.

"Look at you little mutt, shaking and cowering in fear and yet I haven't even fucked you yet. You Christians are strange folk. If you knew of pleasure you would be moaning on my cock by now. You yourself would have begged for it. Begged for me to fuck your tight little hole on the ashes of your ho-" you slapped him with a furry. A rage releases from you, with you reaching for the dagger beside your head. His hand reached for yours first and punished it with his strength. He gave off a terrifying laugh as you were forced to drop the knife and he quickly threw it behind him.

"Maybe you aren't a little mutt but a little wolf instead. That fire in you will warm my cock and balls for years to come. But first, let me break you in"

You really did wish that arrow had found its mark in you.

#vikings #oc #gn!reader #viking oc #i noticed i write in past tense. I guess thats just my writing #i was going to tag yandere but it isnt #its just dark #viking x reader #oc viking x reader #dark fic #dark drabble #tw noncon

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bottlesandbarricades · 11 months

Text

The Hour of Ghosts

Summary: A short story exploring the supernatural consequences of the Dance of the Dragons. Word Count: 2961 Warnings: Major spoilers for House of the Dragon season 2 / Fire & Blood, Major Character Deaths, Suicide, Mental Illness, Violence, Graphic Injury, Spooky Themes A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing something hotd-related and is essentially my coming-out-of-writing retirement fic to ease myself back into writing. Big thank you to @beaconofthehightower for pushing me to finish this and @dreamymoomin for beta reading. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my silly little ghost story 👻

The Dance of the Dragons left deep scars on the Seven Kingdoms, political and otherwise. Although the literal stench of death was vigorously scrubbed clean, the stains remained, ingrained into the very fibre of the people and the world left behind.

The battered, burnt banner of fire, blood and loss hung over the ruins of a once noble house. Hastily patched and practically mended with rough hands attempting to salvage what remained of House Targaryen and restore order to the realm. The bitterness of it all stuck to the tongue like ashes in your mouth - it had been for nothing.

No one had won; everyone had lost.

The generations to come would debate the facts and wage their own war with words, for and against each side’s claim in volume after volume of biassed histories. Others would simply gloat with the gift of hindsight, suggesting that those involved should have foreseen that a war of kin slaying kin and dragon fighting dragon would never have had a glorious victor.

As the years passed, the memories of the war faded from the sharp, throbbing string of freshly cut wounds to aching battle scars. Moving into that part of the collective memory, where the lines between fact and legend become murky and confused. Truths became as tangible as wisps of smoke from an open hearth, sewn together with the thread of imagination by every wet nurse in Westeros.

Something haunted these lands - collective trauma manifesting and twisting into tales of ghosts, ghouls and fantasm.

From the North shore of the God's Eye, where the blackened ruins of Harrenhal sit decaying, it is said that some evenings as the sun drops below the Western horizon, a high-pitched whistle can be heard in the wind. A piercing unnatural sound that makes the blood in your veins run cold.

To the native smallfolk, this sound is a well-known harbinger, a sign to shutter your windows tightly and turn in for the night - less you wish to glimpse something eerie illuminated in the moonlight over the inky black water.

The story goes that the shrill sound of Prince Daemon's mount, Caraxes, is always followed, even on the clearest of nights, by a rumbling like thunder, so loud that it sends ripples through the lake - the roar of the once mighty war dragon, Vhagar.

Phantom snarls shake the ground, hailing the infinite clash between the Blood Wyrm and the she-ancient dragon of the one-eyed Prince, Aemond Targaryen.

The sound of wings that no longer beat and gnashing jaws that have long since crumbled to dust echo for dozens of miles. Sparks of white-hot dragon fire gone cold reflected in the water below. As spectral flashes of red and bronzy green scales appear against the colourless void of night, weaving and merging like a coil of translucent serpents, struggling and writhing for dominance.

Shades of memory replay - Caraxes’ jaw locked tight around the larger dragon's throat, as Vhagar clawed, bit, and ripped in bloody retaliation. Tearing scales from flesh, and flesh from bone with the ease of Valyrian steel.

However, most unnerving are the two pale princes themselves mounted on the ghastly long dead beasts, as silver as their hair was in life, both gaunt with death and cadaverous to the eye. Sallow skin pulled taut over their skeletal faces, cheeks stained with tracks of red from bloody tears, which ran from sunken eyes.

Two souls destined to be locked in a battle for eternity, forever to play out their mutually assured destruction. The elder fated to leap from his dying mount and drive his blade of moonlight into the younger’s skull - again and again overlooked by Black Harren’s accursed seat.

A sickening and frightening spectacle for mortal eyes to perceive, yet in the absence of fear you might say there was a chilling beauty to the scene. Always to end the same way - poetically some would say - in fire and blood.

To the south, high above the city of King’s Landing upon Aegon’s Hill, the mighty Red Keep plays host to many ghosts of its own. This is no surprise as many people would wager that enough blood had been spilt within its walls over the years to fill the Blackwater. The castle is plagued by ghouls from across the ages, some from the days of the conqueror, himself.

Folk could pass many a long winter’s night recalling the countless tragedies of that castle and those who were said to remain there. It appeared that this war of dancing dragons only added to that grisly spectral collection.

It is Maegor’s Holdfast, where servants don't dare linger alone and guards dread to be posted in fear of hearing her. The whisper of phantom sobbing that murmurs just beyond the reach of your ears or more terribly ghoulish shrieks of anguish that grasp your throat with fear and settle in your chest. It is the sound of grief-driven madness consuming a gentle, yet tortured soul.

Even as the years passed, the agony of Queen Helaena’s bereavement was palpable, the sounds of her anguished cries were enough to drive anyone to madness. They consumed you, drowning you in sorrow and dragging you down with suffocating melancholy.

Some say that Helaena’s haunting was part of what drove her Mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower to her own derangement in the years following the war.

Tormented, not only by the loss of her three sons but also by the cries and whimpers of her dead daughter, which echoed off the pale red stone. Confined within the very same walls that had been sweet Helaena’s home turned prison in the last half year of her life before she had flung herself from the window to her death, impaled on the spikes below.

Alicent Hightower had been harshly punished for her sins. The feeling of being trapped, one way or another, had been a constant companion throughout her life. Yet it seemed being locked away, like her daughter before her, was the final straw.

No needle and thread nor book could save her sanity.

She spent her time attempting to converse with people unseen, sickened by the colour green and longing to hold and comfort her dearest babe in distress whom, like the rest of her children Alicent could no longer picture the face of.

On her deathbed, it appeared that the raging fever quieted the madness and allowed for moments of clarity and reflection for the Queen in chains. As expected, Alicent spoke at length of her regrets and confessed her transgressions. It seemed for the first time in a very long time, Alicent Hightower was at peace.

“I want to see my sons again.” Alicent had said, as her life ebbed away. “And Helaena, my sweet girl.”

The Septa who sat in vigil over Queen Alicent that night, failed to mention everything that happened in the final hours of Alicent’s life in her official account. What the poor woman had witnessed as the rain lashed against the castle windows had left her shaken, clutching her seven-pointed star so tightly that each corner had left tiny cuts on her palms and fingers.

At the hour of the wolf, the Stranger had come for Alicent Hightower, but it appeared death was not alone.

The Queen’s breaths had become shallower and shallower until finally, the death rattle had set in. It was then that an eerie coldness filled the bed chamber, at odds with the raging fire in the grate. Gooseflesh prickled across the Septa’s skin as the chill engulfed her. A cold so biting that she could feel it seep through the numerous layers of her coarse linen robes.

It was strange and unnatural.

With an abrupt rush of wind, the fire was extinguished from the hearth. Snuffing out her last fragile defence against the fear that had suddenly taken hold of her. The room was consumed by darkness and the Septa’s only solace now was a handful of low-burning candles clinging to their flame within the bedside lantern.

She knew she should move; she should attempt to rekindle the logs that smouldered in the fireplace or call out to the guard on the door and yet she could not. Instead, she sat frozen in her chair and was forced to bear witness.

Between the hammering of her own heart, the rasping breaths of the dying Queen and the rain that pounded relentlessly at the window panes, it was hard for the Septa to hear them at first.

The voices started softly and indistinct, like overhearing a conversation in another room, but grew louder and more coherent with each passing moment. Till it was as if they were in the very bed-chamber itself.

Initially, she believed they were children’s voices due to their high and melodic quality. However, as the Septa strained her ears to hear, she soon realised these voices chopped and changed in tone with every few syllables, distorting into a heavier and deeper pitch and then swiftly returning to a higher register.

Stricken with fright, all she could do was listen. Discerning that the voices seemed more masculine than feminine, the Septa tried to focus on distinguishing meaning in the sea of words as the voices continuously talked over each other.

Then she heard it, the common thread. One word was repeated over and over.

“Mother.”

The realisation was scalding, in sharp contrast to the icy air that surrounded her. The Septa’s initial instincts were correct; these were the voices of children - Alicent’s children.

The blinding clarity only seemed to make the voices grow louder. Becoming more frantic and fractured, flicking rapidly between youth and maturity. It was chaotic and confusing, as if years of memories were trying to compress themselves into a single moment. Blurry, broken and half-remembered.

“Where are you, my loves? I can’t see you.” Came the weakened voice from the bed between laboured gasps.

The Septa’s eyes had now adjusted to the dark and she watched in horror as she began to notice the movement of unnatural shapes forming in the gloom.

Hearing them was one thing, but seeing them was another.

Twisting and bending, the four misshapen figures that manifested could not decide what they wished to embody. They shifted in stature and years in the same disturbing manner as their voices, morphing from adult to child and back again.

They crowded the bed, tugging at the bedclothes as they had once tugged at Alicent’s skirts in life, so many years ago. All the while their voices kept on calling for her. It was too much to bear.

This fresh wave of alarm seemed to bring the Septa to her senses and she did the only thing she knew she could. She began to pray, hands clasped together around her seven-pointed star. Shutting her eyes tightly as she recited the words, she wished to hear no more, to see no more.

Time seemed stagnant as each minute that slipped by felt like ten. The Septa focused on her prayers, drawing comfort from the words she knew so well. The familiarity shielding her from the ghoulish sights and sounds around her.

Until all of a sudden, she felt a shift in the air and the voices were gone, fading just as fast as they had come. A balmy glow now beckoned through her closed eyelids.

There was light and warmth as the fire returned to the grate. The logs were ablaze once again, heat flooding the room and banishing the chill which had consumed it.

The Septa took a shaky breath before daring to open her eyes, taking a moment to bask in the feeling of being warm and alive in the peaceful, blessed silence.

As the rain pattered softly against the glass, she realised the storm had passed, along with Alicent Hightower.

Across the water, clinging to the face of the volcano known as Dragonmont, sits the fortress of Dragonstone. A place of salt, smoke and brimstone. The ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a relic of Old Valyria forged by dragonfire and the forgotten magic of Dragonlords.

This castle was the grim and eerie backdrop where some say Aegon II claimed victory over his half-sister, the Black Queen. A hollow and costly victory, which hardly tipped the scales in the face of all that he had lost.

One final petulant jab in this bloody squabble.

Though accounts from both sides of the warring factions differ on many things, they find common ground on one exchange, which took place upon Rhaenyra’s arrival from King’s Landing to find herself betrayed and Aegon in situ.

“Dear Brother, I had hoped you were dead.” Rhaenyra called out at the sight of Aegon’s half-charred and twisted form. Delighted by the small triumph of his injuries and satisfied that even though she would almost certainly die at his hand, Aegon would spend the rest of his days bearing scars done in her name.

“After you. You are the elder.” King Aegon spat back with a pained grin, his jaw clenched hard as he fought to hide the agony that coursed throughout his broken body. He had refused milk of the poppy out of the fear of poisoning and paid tenfold for it.

“I am pleased to know that you remember that.” Rhaenyra replied.

Now friendless and at the mercy of the enemy, Rhaenyra Targaryen was forcefully separated from her son. Little did those present know that once the dust of conflict had finally settled, this child would in fact be King in his own right. But, for now, he was just a boy.

A boy forced to watch his Mother die.

The Realm’s Delight was served up to Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, who bathed her in red-hot dragonfire. As the flames consumed her, Rhaenyra raised her head skywards and shrieked out one last curse.

What didn't burn, was swiftly devoured. The final memorial to the Half-Year Queen being nothing more than the scorch marks left on the ancient flagstones.

The words and meaning of Rhaenyra’s dying curse are lost to time, but many suspect it was the root cause for the strange happenings that followed.

It started at the site of her killing, a peculiar sweltering heat rising from the stone for which there was no logical source. Those foolish enough to dare place their hand on the blackened marks themselves would come away harshly burned in searing pain. A mere moment's touch brought about hideous blisters that bubbled on the skin and left the surrounding flesh charred and cracked.

Then came the sightings, it was said that if you ventured to cross the courtyard in the dead of night you may catch a glimpse of the Black Queen herself.

A haunting apparition composed of swirling smoke and glowing embers. The flaming skirts of her gown twirled around her as long silver-gold hair burned bright like white hot iron. Flames licked around her once beautiful face, now reduced to nothing but ash and a pair of hollow eyes.

The smell of burning flesh and brimstone filled the air as an aura of blistering heat that radiated around her form, shimmering and distorting. No words came from her blackened mouth, only thick, choking smoke as she silently screamed, leaving trails of cinders in her wake as she stalked the castle grounds.

Rhaenyra Targaryen conveyed her displeasure through the flame, which had been her demise. Burning anything to which her spirit took offence. Newly hung tapestries were known to spontaneously combust and seven pointed stars melted in their holders.

She may not have held the Seven Kingdoms or sat the Iron Throne, but it was clear that Dragonstone was her domain and even in death she would remain its mistress.

As the decades passed, it appeared her restless soul seemed to quieten - the sudden fires becoming less frequent and sightings fewer and fewer. Till the tales of her spectre had become nothing more than a story to frighten children.

Theories to the reason for this change were in the dozens, some claiming that a young brave Septon had been to Dragonstone and bravely banished the fiery ghoul from the castle, casting her down to the Seven Hells where she belonged.

Others believe her spirit's suddenly passive nature was linked to an even greater shift, something was changing for House Targaryen itself. Where the air of Dragonstone had once been thick with Valyrian enchantment there seemed to be rot.

Their magic was dying, eroding away further and further with each generation.

People once said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men and yet it would seem that the sin of the dance had angered something much older and much crueller than the deity of several aspects worshipped by the faith of the Seven.

This was something ancient and primal that wished to punish them for tearing apart their house with the blessing of dragons that had made them Kings. Many argued that the sins of the Greens and the Blacks were the reason that after the war House Targaryens’ dragons declined, getting smaller and weaker as their power faded with each malformed dragon and unhatched egg.

In the end, the doom of the Targaryen dynasty was inevitable. The damage was done and the dominos would continue to fall uninterrupted. Without their dragons what truly separated them from the other great houses of the Seven Kingdoms?

How long would it be before others saw the mirage for what it was and another contender took their chance for the Iron Throne?

After all, power only resides where men believe it resides. Truth does not matter, only perception and once the illusion of power is extinguished, snuffed out with the dying breath of the last dragon, there is no returning to what once was.

#Rach Writes Sometimes #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd fan fiction #hotd #House of the Dragon #the dance of the dragons #fire and blood #Daemon Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen #Helaena Targaryen #Rhaenyra Targaryen #Alicent Hightower #Aegon ii Targaryen

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