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rosedom · 10 days

Note

Consider, male Naga reader (with character of your choice because I'm indecisive) using our tail to wrap around the character and hold him down as we pleasure him because he's really sensitive and keeps subconsciously trying to wiggling out of our affections even thought he very much likes what's going on and is completely consenting 🤔 Maybe, it's our first time with the character (or at all/vise versa). Size difference would be so hot with this, too, don't you think? Perhaps, we're eating him out, perhaps were dicking him down- either way it would be very hot. Wait, what about a stomach bulge because that could be either our penis or our tongue since snakes have longue tongues. Also, think about how a forked tongue would probably feel on his insides 😵‍💫. I'm kind of rambling, I think, but what about like a hissing pronunciation if we ever say a word with an 's' in it and we could also have scales on parts of our body besides our tail? We could even be able to open our jaw super wide, too! Hehe, I'm going to stop, now. Sorry if this didn't make a bunch of sense, by the way!! English is my second language and I'm more used to speaking it than writing it; the punctuation is the only thing I'm confident about 😶‍🌫️

"an unnamed player has invited SHIKANOIN HEIZOU to play . . . a practice of form

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, naga!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!heizou, he's j human, cunnilingus, vaginal/anal fingering/sex, size difference + stomach bulge, creampie, aftercare implied but not written .

A/N : it made perfect sense, don't worry !! i hope what i wrote does . . .

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

There are perks to being a naga. There's the sensitivity of your tastebuds, for one, and the way warmth can seep into you oh-so easily.

So, really, it only makes sense for your tongue—this long, forked thing—to delve across the contours of Heizou’s body. He squirms under you, breathless, the heat of his blush seeping into you. Like this, you could simply swallow him up.

“Ssso warm, mm,” you murmur, all tipsy-like off of his body.

You’ve been absolutely aching for his warmth recently, the blood in your veins far too chilled to provide you any comfort; after all, the sun’s been hiding behind the clouds all week, and with its disappearance comes a pain that you can feel in your bones.

It’s lucky, then, that your partner doubles as your own personal heater. Even though he wields Anemo, he runs warm: many a time, Heizou’s created small gusts of winds to cool him down (or, alternatively, warm you up.

Your favorite remains skin-to-skin, though; or, rather, skin-to-scale. Is that even a thing?).

“And you’re so colddd,” Heizou whines, squirming away—that is, until your tail wraps around his middle and successfully pins him in place. He visibly gulps.

The bob of his throat is irresistible, and you lean down to lick at him there, too. It's so warm, here, tucked into his throat like this, the heat emanating from the thin surface of his skin down to his veins, to the heavy thrum of his pulse.

“You said you could take me like this,” you coo against him. “Backing down now, little detective o’ mine?”

He pouts and says, “Of course not;” and in his eyes is nothing but bare want.

(“I can take you,” Heizou had said, all that time ago.

You had him wrapped up in your human arms, your markedly human legs tangled with him, and it was, for all intents and purposes, a normal night—the two of you, curled up together, the soft hum of the radio lulling you to sleep.

That is, until Heizou broke that sea of tranquility with that one dirty promise.

“I dunno, Hei,” you had murmured. You had hesitated, at first, trying desperately to deny the heat that you felt in your belly at it. For a man with cold blood, you swore it had singed, right then and there, with him squirming in your lap, all those naughty fantasies of his running around in that smart lil’ head.

And, as you thought of little, you murmured, “You’re just—you’re so little that I fear I would hurt you.”

“No pain, no gain.” He had laughed, but you went on and pinched the humor out of him.

“No, Heizou.”

...

Obviously, you acquiesced in the end; and you can’t deny how much the idea aroused you, even back then. After all, Heizou, sat up in your lap like that—he had certainly felt the swell of your cock.)

“Okay,” you murmur, finally, the silence—save for Heizou’s barely-laborious breath, from the heartbeat that pounds in your ears—broken, “but you will tell me when it hurtsss, won't you?”

He scoffs. “You won't let it hurt.”

Your heart does something silly, a hiss crawling from your throat that you smother into his bare throat. “You’ve never taken me like thisss before, Hei, I can't promisss—” and then his lips are on yours, devilish little tongue probing into the “o” of your gasp.

His tongue—this small, cute thing compared to yours—licks across your palate before you regain your bearings, the muscle swiping your breath as you take control again. He melts easily when you wrap your tongue around his, teasing and tickling his mouth as you bully your way into his, instead. You can taste a hint of the chicken katsu he had earlier in his spit, dragging your tongue through his mouth in a desperate bid to swallow him right up.

You pull back at that. “S-sssorry,” you murmur, embarrassed. You knew your instincts were strong, but—

“Quit apologizing, babe.” Even as arousal simmers in his eyes—heady enough to taste, and, oh, how you want to—, his emerald irises are gentle, soft. “I’m into it, okay? And I’ll tell you if—” he looks at you pointedly, “—you hurt me.”

Melting into the hands he has beneath your jaw, you sigh, nodding. “Okay,” you repeat. “Okay.”

He grins this toothy thing, then, and tries to scoot aside, tries to get out from under you; but what neither of you expect is the way your chest aches, the way your tail lashes out and curls tight around his middle to keep him firm in the coil you’ve wrapped him in. Even through your thick skin—covered in emerald scales, some spanning the width of a small nail to an entire hand—, you can feel the erratic pitter-patter of Heizou’s pulse.

He is trapped, and he loves it.

“If I’m going to fuck you like this—” you let your words hang in the air, your breath fanning hot across his blushing face, “—then you’re going to be a good boy for me and ssstay exactly where I leave you.”

He says nothing.

“Heizou, darling,” you coo as you lean down—just enough for him to go a little bit cross-eyed—, his lips parting for a kiss that never comes. “Did you hear me?”

When he nods, you tut. “Words, please.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slow, and his tongue darts out to lick across his dry lips. “Won't you kiss me?”

Who are you to deny him? Immediately, your eyes soften, and you lean in quick to pepper kisses across his face before you land on his lips. His arms wrap around your neck as you do so, and he squirms, body twisting in the grasp of your tail; yet even as he writhes, you admit, he does stay still. He never makes like he's trying to leave your embrace; he’s merely overwhelmed by the sensation of you throughout his body.

Soon enough, you're leaning back, chuckling at the way Heizou tries to chase your lips. You squeeze him, though, preventing him from doing so.

He pouts. “Why'd you stop?”

“I can't sssuck your cock if my mouth’s busssy kissing you, sssilly,” you coo, but you do lean back in for a quick, parting peck.

Heizou’s certainly not complaining anymore. “O-oh,” he murmurs, nodding rather dumbly. You gently grin at him before, with the help of your tail—and absolutely no help at all from the man himself, manhandling him as if he weren’t over a hundred pounds of limber muscle—, laying him flat on his back. Like this, your tail acts like the perfect support for his lower back—with the added benefit of leaving him fully exposed for your greedy sight, your salivating tongue.

“You're ssso gorgeousss.” You run your hands—cold, scales brushing across his flanks—down his sides, fingernails barely-there marks of white that fade quickly.

Eventually, you tire of the same motions; so instead, you lean down, holding yourself up by your forearms, and lick at his skin, at the moles dotted across his torso.

He squirms again, then: “You’re—” he giggles, “—you’re tickling me!”

Though it’s far from the first time you’ve ever licked your sweet partner—and, truly, the taste of him is nothing but sweet across your tongue—, Heizou still can’t seem to get used to the sensation. Though, to be fair, you’re not exactly playing fair, here: with each swipe of your tongue, you tease the forked end of it in small circles, the tips terribly ticklish.

“‘m sssorry, lovely,” you say, not sorry at all. You squeeze his middle again, once, this gentle thing that forces a shaky breath of air ricocheting from his chest; and, speaking of chest: “God, you’re divine.” You trace the ragged scar that sits below his chest—on his heart’s side, closest to where it steadily beats for you—with your tongue, delighting in the way Heizou is torn between pressing his chest into you and saying away from the attention.

Soon enough, you slide over to the other side of his torso, letting your tongue rake across the twin scar there, too. One of his hands comes and tangles itself in your hair, and he lightly tugs to pull you away from his skin; you succumb to his pull, but only after nipping at his nipple. (He can hardly feel it, anyway, but it's the thought that counts.)

“Stop teasing,” he says before his hand falls from your hair to rest against the tail you have curled around him. His hands are a welcome pressure against your scales, and you find yourself almost purring at the sensation.

“Ssso hard already,” you murmur, lips brushing the ruddy head of him. You can feel his hips try and jump, but, held down as he is, he’s resolutely stuck in place. “Easy, easy—” you grin when you see the way your breath makes his cunt clench around nothing, his cock throb beneath your lips, “jusss’ relax. I’ll be gentle, jusss’ like I promisssed you, yeah?”

But, you decide your beloved is right: it is time to quit teasing. “Fine, fine,” you acquiesce, beginning to nose down his belly, nose rubbing through his faint happy trail. The hair’s soft against your cheek and well-groomed, leading down to the thatch of hair that hides that which you so adore: his cute, chubby cock.

“Y-yeah,” he mutters, voice shaky in a way that is, really, so unlike him, the revered Shikanoin Heizou, detective. His voice never shakes like this, outside of this—and you love it, the possessive snake you are. (It’s a good thing Heizou loves it, else this would become awkward quick.)

Every single time, you forget just how big Heizou is: his cock fills your mouth perfectly, its weight heavy on your tongue as you lave at it. Your tongue curls around it, once, twice, the forked tip of it rubbing incessantly against the head of it. Throughout it all, Heizou whimpers pitifully, hands twitching on your tail as he can’t quite decide whether to pull you away or pull you closer.

“Please—” he cries out, and you swear his cock grows thicker between your lips. Beneath it all—where your chin juts into his leaking cunt—, you can feel him clench erratically, cunt empty yet wanting so terribly for something to fill it up. “In me, in me, please, baby,” he begs.

Around your mouthful of cock, you hum to the affirmative, delighting in his shrill cry; after, though, you slowly retract your tongue, letting it unravel from him bit-by-bit. The split at the end of your tongue rubs either side of him before you retreat fully, and then you’re fucking it into him, inch-by-inch, sliding in slow and easy, slick from him and your saliva combined. Your tongue—wholly in your control and rather sensitive at that—rubs against a swollen spot deep in his cunt, and he cries out, head falling back into the pillows as you press at it relentlessly.

“Oh, oh, please—” When he’s drunk off pleasure like this, Heizou always begins to babble: it’s always nonsensical things, little pleas and pleads for more, more, more. “‘s so deep!”

“Mhm?” you hum against his cunt in reply, tongue deep ‘nuff in him that you begin to eye a small, barely-there bulge below his navel. A moan tumbles out of you at the revelation, one of your hands coming up to press into it. The pressure makes Heizou scream.

“Fuck!” he yells, hands scrabbling for the one you have pressed on his belly. He thrashes, writhes, and you only grin against him, tongue bullied in deep; but, oh, you can go deeper, can’t you?

The perks of being a naga, you suppose.

You hum a soft warning against his blushing cunt before you gently crack open your jaw, letting your mouth fall open impossibly further. Heizou makes a wrecked sound when he realizes just what it is you’re doing before it grows louder, the sensation of your tongue going even deeper making him sob. If your eyes weren’t closed—if you weren’t enjoying this meal so terribly—, you’d notice the fat tears slipping down his cheeks.

Alas, you can kiss them away later. With your jaw cracked open like this, you’re able to run the base of your tongue against the hot jut of his cock as the end of it undulates inside of him, thrusting shallowly; but you’re favorite part?

Speaking of your cock—it’s, frankly, this ridiculous thing, long and thick and the same emerald color as your tail. It alone, however, is hardly anything noteworthy; no, instead, it's the fact that you have two in this form. It's these two twin cocks that scared you so, and it's those two twin cocks that urge you to pull out the fingers you've got knuckle-deep in Heizou’s cunt to press them, one-by-one, into his ass.

The way the added space gives you plenty of room to slide a finger below your own mouth, adding one, two, three fingers into his cunt as your tongue bullies relentlessly at the front of his walls. Like this, you can’t curl your fingers very well—not without uncomfortably jabbing through your own tongue—, but you can stretch him plenty and prepare him well enough for your cock.

His cunt would surely break with both of them.

“‘m ready, please,” he mumbles, cries, reaching for your head to pull your face away from his cunt. You don't make the prettiest sight, jaw unhinged and stupidly long tongue lolling out of your mouth, but Heizou doesn't mind it. Besides, it's easy to click everything back in place, wipe away the slick and saliva that coats your chin, and reach for Heizou’s face with the hand that was in his cunt. The fingers of your other hand still work at his ass, loosening him up for you.

“Mm,” you hum, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Now you are.” Your fingers leave him with a quiet pop, a sound that makes Heizou’s ears flame red. At his reaction, you gently laugh, nuzzling at his cheek. “Don't be embarrassssed,” you say, fumbling over the double s. (It’s hard enough saying anything with an “s” in it, thank you.” “‘sss hot.”

He huffs at you. “Quit talking and fuck me,” he grumbles, before adding a quiet, “please,” when you lean back to look him in the eye.

“Can’t fuck you ‘til you get my cocksss out, sssilly,” you murmur, taking him by the hand and guiding him to the soft scales beneath your belly. They're hardly noticeable, indistinguishable between the scales of your tail, but, like this, aroused and swollen, the slit of you is more apparent. As your fingers—and his—work in tandem, these small, gentle motions that get your cocks to peek out and grow, the relief of no longer being stuck inside you makes you hiss in pleasure.

Once your cocks are out, though, your tail tugs at your lover’s middle in order to get him hovering above your lap. The mess between his thighs dribbles onto your cocks, mixing with your sticky pre-cum. “Go on,” you coo, “sssit on my cocks.”

He gulps.

“We can ssstop at any time, lovely,” you add, but Heizou’s eyes turn hooded as he lifts his chin at you in challenge. “Alright!”

Heizou, the minx, lowers his hips further, supported by your tail and your hands gripping at him, ‘til his cunt and ass brush your cocks, smearing your pre-cum between his thighs. He mewls when one of your cocks bump into his just right, and, for a moment, he lets himself grind against you, still terribly empty. “Please,” he murmurs, “Fill me, please, you promised—”

“I promisssed I’d be gentle, Hei,” you say, letting his body weight be held up entirely by your tail as your hand takes hold of your cocks, instead, slowly aiming them in, regardless of your chastising tone, “and ‘m not gonna go back on it just ‘cos you’re impatient. Be ssslow, okay?”

Finally, Heizou nods, letting you lead until your cockheads pop into him one at a time, first in his cunt and then in his ass. He moans at the stretch, his breath shaky, fresh tears budding up at his waterline and threatening to spill over when he begins to slide down, down, down. You’re not even halfway in when Heizou’s body seizes up, forcing your tail to wrap tight around him to keep him still lest he fall too quickly and hurt himself.

“You’re so big,” he manages through labored breaths, “fuck me, fill me, please, please—”

“Easy, lovely,” you mumble, taking over and drawing him off your cocks incrementally before tugging him back down, allowing him ample time to stretch with each gentle thrust until he’s fully seated on your lap, cunt and ass full to brimming. “There we go.

“Do you feel good?” you ask, tail keeping him upright as his body threatens to crumble with the pleasure of your cocks filling him. He’s so warm inside, and your cocks, normally as cold-blooded as the rest of you, absolutely singe with the heat emanating from him.

In lieu of reply, though, Heizou tips his head up and begs you, oh-so sweetly, to “please, move.”

How could you resist?

It’s hard (hah), moving Heizou in this form of yours. You’re scared of hurting him—of the scales across your skin nicking him, of your tail squeezing too tight, of your cocks stretching him too painfully—, yet he moans so prettily, so unabashedly, bouncing on you as the sweetest of melodies spill past his lips. Your tail dwarfs him, and you’re taken by the size difference between the two of you. So easily, you could snap his back; he could be your prey, but here he is, boneless with trust and pleasure in your lap.

“Please, please,” he begs, delirious, eyes open and heady, aimed at your lips. You lean in to kiss him, entranced by the way his eyes flutter shut as your face gets nearer to his. Like this, you can swallow up every one of his sweet moans, his delicate cries: it is delightful.

On one particular grind, though, paired with an adjustment of your tail around him, you feel a subtle bump against his abdomen: your cocks. Just like your tongue prodded through him earlier, so, too, are your cocks, enormous inside of his small body. He seems to notice it just as you do, leaning back from your lips with a loud gasp as a shiver wracks his frame. “Oh, oh—”

“You’re ssso sssmall,” you mumble, moving him quicker and quicker as he erratically clenches around you. Like this, he won’t even need his cock touched to tumble into orgasm; and it’s this thought that makes you realize how close you are, the rope in your belly terribly close to snapping. “‘m gonna cum,” you warn, leaning into his throat to lick at his salty skin. “Gonna cum in you, fill you up even more—”

Heizou’s mouth falls open. “I-I’m—” He tries to warn you, too, but it’s too late: his body tenses as his orgasm crests over him. The sight, the sounds—it all serves to make that knot snap, following close behind him in your own orgasm.

The clench of his cunt and ass around your swollen cocks makes your orgasm feel like it goes on forever, cum spurting out of both twin heads and filling him up nice n’ heavy. He moans and mewls, whimpers and whines, clutching at you as his oversensitive holes cling to you. “Ssso good for me, lovely, Heizou, you were lovely,” you say, delirious, cocks softening and beginning to retract, sliding out of him and back into the scales below your belly. You’ll be sticky and messy inside, later, but for now, you’re worried about your beloved.

He’s limp in your hold—the hold of your tail and hands both—, twitching every now and then at the way thick, opaque cum begins to dribble out of both of his used holes, smearing across his inner thighs and you. It’s going to be a bitch to clean up, you already know, but you merely sigh, tugging him closer into you until you’re pressed chest-to-chest and you’re laying on your back.

“You did ssso good,” you repeat. “Was it what you wanted?”

He nods. “Everything I wanted and more,” he mumbles, voice barely-there. You grin.

It’s time to get used to this form: Heizou’s going to want to be fucked like this again soon. (Preferably in another week, though; he already won’t be able to sit tomorrow.)

if u noticed any spelling or grammar errors, no u didn't. i hope this fulfilled your fantasies, anon !! >< this ask made me think sooooo hard . . . but i ultimately kinda-sorta burnt out, ergo why i didn't write an aftercare scene. it is there, though: aftercare is the most important part of sex !!

don't forget to support palestine with your free, daily click.

2 JUN. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#��✦【 ASKS 】#this was over 3k words btw . . haha . .#sub heizou #heizou smut #shikanoin heizou #heizou x reader #sub character #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #trans smut #ftm nsft #dom reader #top reader #amab reader #aaaand that's a wrap (a wrap of ur tail around heizou)#o(*////▽////*)q

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scarletssienna · 3 months

Text

Beggin' for Footnotes

Summary - Some things aren’t meant to last forever. And despite you and Wanda loving each other you’re not sure if it’s going to work out anymore. 4.0k word count

Warnings - Hurt (not much comfort), heavy angst, swearing, mommy Wanda, oral, fingering, face slapping, sub!reader, degradation, praise, begging, dom/sub dynamics, aftercare, hair pulling, mean Wanda, edging, face-sitting, thigh riding

AN - This is my first post on here! I’ve done writings in the past but I thought I’d try a new format and space to post it! :)) I plan on continuing this if I can find the energy lol!

Part 2

18+, minors + men dni

Not every love was supposed to last. No matter how great, how wonderful, sometimes things still end. You knew Wanda like the back of your hand. And she knows you all the same. So when one of her vices came up after one of your worst fights, you could only watch. Wanda stood out on the back porch. Cigarette between her two fingers as she stared off into the darkness. There was this empty sickening in both of your stomachs that this may be the end. At this point, all options and solutions had been exhausted. You knew it was time. You watched out the kitchen window, unable to tear your eyes away as she slowly inhaled before a large cloud of smoke dissipated into the air, the cold temperatures enhancing it. Your fingers squeezed the sponge from the sink as soapy water flooded between your fingers. The dishes had been long forgotten lately as neither of you had had the energy to wash them. This was unusual for Wanda as she liked to keep the house showroom ready at all times. You forcefully ripped your eyes away from her as you began to wash the dishes, trying to make up for anything you could. To fix what you could in this messy situation.

The house that had once been so loud with laughter and joy now lingered in empty silence. Your playlist of every song you two had loved played softly over the speakers around the house. If it had been several months ago you would have pulled her closely in your arms, dancing around the kitchen despite her laughs and teases about how cheesy it was. Her nose would crinkle as you sang along in Sokovian to one of her favorite songs. You butchered the pronunciation, but you would try, she could tell. She would have given in eventually and threaded her hands in your hair as she rested her forehead against yours. You would have kissed her, kissed her as if she was going to leave the second you let go. In this reality, she very well might.

You watched out the window again for a moment before getting distracted by the dish you were washing. The knife in your hands harshly tore against your flesh and you quickly dropped the knife into the sink, a soft yelp leaving your lips. You backed away quickly as blood began to drip down your hand. It was a quick scramble for the kitchen towel as you tried to stop the bleeding. Wanda had always been there to comfort you when you were injured in the past. You bit the inside of your cheek trying to stop it as tears quickly began to fall on your face. You let off a soft sob as you abandoned the dishes, heading upstairs to your shared bedroom. Hurrying into the bathroom you discarded the bloodied towel onto the sink countertops and washed the wound before messily bandaging it up. You had never been very good at doing it yourself so Wanda had always insisted on caring for you but you didn't think that was very well an option at this point.

Tears flooded down your face as the events from the night tore your heart into shreds. You were no longer crying due to the injury. It was a different kind of pain. You stumbled over to the bed and threw your pants onto the floor before climbing into your side of the bed. The sheets were quickly pulled up to your chin as your hand covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sobs. Quickly, you drifted off into a tired and pained sleep.

When Wanda returned inside she hadn't expected to see dishes washed especially as she investigated further and saw the drops of blood on the floor and a bloody knife in the sink. Despite the fight, she still cared and loved you. She quickly rushed upstairs in an attempt to find you. When she noticed the door slightly ajar and silence in the room she quietly peaked her head in. She sighed relieved when she saw you asleep in bed, seemingly uninjured from her view. The smell of cigarettes covered her and she wandered quietly off to the bathroom to take a shower, shutting the bathroom door behind her. For everyone but you her walls were high. She hardly let anyone in. and when she did, it felt as if it always ended this way. The feeling of being cursed towards relationships had set in. She washed her hair, going over the fight in her head as she wondered what could have gone differently, how she could save it. If it was even worth it at this point.

Tensions had been rising over the past couple of weeks. You both had been working too much recently and had hardly had time for one another. It seemed as if every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, sleep, repeat. It had been killing you both. The littlest things set you both off. It would end up in screaming matches and sleeping alone every time. What set you both over the edge this time was not so little. Natasha, your mutual friend, had begun flirting with you. While she respected your relationship, she had always believed you two were not good for each other. So when you fought last week and you ended up at her house she had done nothing but comfort you. You thought nothing of Natashas' intentions but Wanda knew otherwise. This had sent her into a fit of rage when Natasha dropped you off this morning and kissed your cheek goodbye.

You both fought for hours, arguing about anything that came to mind, but mainly Natasha. Had you understood and been able to read her mind as well, you would have understood her intentions and sided with Wanda, not seeing Natasha anymore. But you couldn't and this frustrated Wanda. When she attempted to control your mind you quickly noticed and this sent you two further down the line of fighting. You hated it when she used her powers on you. When you thought to yourself that you wished you could just forget everything that had happened Wanda broke. She had misunderstood. Thinking you had meant forgetting her. Silence fell over the fight and she went outside to have a cigarette. Her thoughts consumed her as her heart hurt.

With how often the fights had been recently as well as how busy you've been, you'd not been intimate in weeks. The tension begins to tear you both apart. When she finished her shower she pulled on an old t-shirt and shorts before popping her head out the bathroom door to check if you were still sleeping. When she saw you, she had to determine what to do. Did she sleep with you? Or did she go to the guest room? She decided that you wouldn't want her in bed and quietly tip-toed to the guest room based on what she had misunderstood. That night she cried herself to sleep as well.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

When you woke up the next morning you sat up groggily and sighed to yourself as you didn't see Wanda in bed, the memories of the night prior sinking in. Despite your anger you went to see where she had slept for the night, mostly just wanting to make sure she hadn't ended up locked out on the porch freezing to death. You saw her asleep in the guest room, her makeup smudged and muddled from tears, and her shower. You sighed and went back to your room to get ready for the day. It was unusual for you to be up first and you made use of it, quietly leaving for work before she awoke.

You returned home late that night, having gone to the bar after work with a few co-workers to unwind and relax. All you could think about was Wanda and the ache between your legs grew. You were mad, but maybe you needed that. You quietly entered the house, making a note to lock the door behind you before heading to find Wanda. You weren't extremely intoxicated, but the anger, lack of quality sleep, stress, and tequila were having a bit of an impact. You could tell she had been home for a couple of hours, the discarded takeout garbage by the trash. Suddenly she caught your eye outside on the back porch. Of course, she was smoking again. You thought to yourself before acting on impulse. You went to the door and harshly pulled the sliding door open. She let out a startled gasp that didn't happen often as she always seemed aware of your presence.

“Get inside.” You said firmly in a tone that had been unusual for you to take on with her. You had always been the more submissive in the relationship. The words shocked you both a little. She obliged anyway, out of more surprise than anything. She put the cigarette out before coming inside. You shut the door behind her, looking into her eyes before quickly pressing her against the door in a bruising kiss. She yelped out of surprise before kissing back, her hands tangling into your hair. She ignored the taste of tequila on your lips as she knew she tasted like cigarettes and couldn't defend herself for that.

You made quick work of snaking your hand underneath her shirt, groping her chest as your tongues began to fight. She had never seen this level of dominance out of you. While it surprised and intrigued her, she couldn't have it. You both knew you were just trying to get a reaction out of her as it had been entirely too long since you two had done anything together. Her hand tightened with a grip of your hair as she roughly pulled your head back, quickly beginning to kiss and nip at your neck. You let out a moan as she tugged at your hair, stumbling backward slightly as she pushed you off of her.

“Upstairs. “ She muttered firmly. You could see the darkness in her eyes and did not question it, quickly moving upstairs to your room. The past few weeks your dynamic had been shallow and lacking. You both needed rules in life. You need a guideline to follow, and she needs an outlet of control. When you got upstairs you looked around the room, taking several deep breaths before going to crack a window to get some airflow. Your jaw clenched as you took a few deep breaths trying to focus on relaxing. You closed the curtains forcefully, a little too forcefully perhaps as they, along with the curtain rod came tumbling down. Your heart sank as tears filled your eyes, threatening to fall as you knew Wanda would be mad. As you heard her footsteps approach you quickly tugged off your shirt, tossing it in a pile alongside your discarded pants. You had already dug your grave and it was getting deeper. Thoughts raced through your head about what punishment would come. The more you thought the more your legs pressed together for any kind of release you could gain. Just as you sat down on the bed the door swung open. “What the hell was that?” She asked. Her voice was angry and her accent began to peak through her words as she spoke. Her head quickly turned and noticed the window. “Did you do this?” she asked in almost a patronizing tone. She knew you did it, the guilt on your face was obvious.

You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth as she spoke, gnawing on it nervously as you considered your options. Slowly, you shook your head, the hesitation clear as tears brimmed your eyes. She walked over to you, one eyebrow raised in a way that she knew made you weak in the knees. She raised her hand before a loud echoing slap hit your cheek. You let out a moan and pressed your legs together harder as tears finally fell. “Lying gets you nowhere. I'll ask you again, Detka.” she paused, faining tenderness as she wiped a tear away from your face. “Did you do this?” every word she spoke was drawn out and stern as she raised her eyebrow and held your chin in place, forcing you to look into her eyes. Slowly you began to nod, bracing yourself for the slap you knew was about to come. When she raised her hand a slap did not come. Instead, she giggled at your flinch and reached down, snapping your bra snap on your shoulder. “This is what happens when little girls try to do things that are too big for them,” she spoke slowly, making sure each word sunk in. “You didn't even have time to fully undress for Mommy.” she shook her head and snapped your bra strap once again before pushing you to lay back on the bed. She climbed on top of you, straddling one of your thighs as she ground her hips, working herself up.

“Please Mommy,” you whined out softly as your hips raised into her, begging for any amount of pleasure you could get. Another slap fell hard across your cheek and you felt your thoughts slowly drift further into a fuzzy headspace. You moaned at the feeling. Her hand was wet from the tears that had fallen down your face and she made it a point to wipe her hand on your bare stomach.

“I didn’t permit you to speak. Did I?” She asked firmly as she leaned down, kissing and nipping at your neck. You shook your head frantically as you struggled to keep your hands by your sides. She slid her hands back up your stomach and muttered under her breath. “Good girl.” Before pulling your bra down to reveal your breasts. She wasted no time as she quickly kissed down towards your chest, taking the small bud into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around your nipple as her hand snaked down into your panties, finally touching you where you needed it most. She gasped dramatically and pulled her head up, locking eyes with you when she felt your wetness. Your face turned a deep shade of red as she proceeded to tease and taunt you for how wet you had been at her from only just slapping and teasing you. All of your thoughts were consumed by her in a fuzzy bliss.

Without warning she slipped two fingers inside of you easily. Her fingers made quick work of pumping in and out, stretching and curling them just where you needed it most. You moaned loudly and wrapped your arms around her back, pulling her body closer to you as you hid your face in her shoulder, biting down softly on the tender flesh. This depicted a soft moan from Wanda as her hips jerked slowly against your thigh. She pulled her body back with a grin as she began to bite softly across your jaw.

“Let me see your pretty face baby. I want to see you while I fuck you.” She said her fingers worked faster, her thumb reaching up to touch your throbbing clit. You blushed red as you looked into her eyes. The moon was shining through the window casting a moonlit glow across her face, a smirk forming across it. Just as quickly as she worked you up to an orgasm, she stopped. She pulled her hand away quickly and you found yourself frantically reaching for her wrist as your hips jerked underneath her.

“No! Mommy!” You yelled out exasperated as tears fell quickly from your eyes at the loss of sensation. She smirked down at you, her tongue slowly licking her lips.

“You didn't think I'd let you cum that quickly after what a brat you've been the past few weeks little girl?” She asked in a patronizing manner as she pulled her hand out of your panties and brought her fingers to her lips. You moaned at the sight, her tongue licking her fingers clean, making a show of the process. Her fingers then slid into your mouth and you groaned at the taste of your arousal mixed with her. Your tongue swirled around her fingers as you proceeded to suck her fingers.

“Please Mommy.” was all you could seem to muster out after she pulled her fingers out of your mouth. Your mind was clouded and fogged and just where Wanda wanted it.

“Silly me,” she smiled as she looked down. “Mommy has been giving you all the pleasure, she completely forgot to undress.” she motioned towards her clothes before standing up. You groaned and reached for her when she stood, no longer touching you. You let out a soft murmur as your hands grabbed at her shirt, pressing your legs together. She stripped before walking back towards you. She tugged your panties down your legs and tossed them towards the pile of clothes before doing the same with your bra. You couldn't help but notice the wetness that had soaked Wanda's panties and now glistened her thighs. Your mouth watered at the sight as all you wanted to do was taste her.

You knew how often you had fought lately and how the arguments left you due for punishment. You just weren't exactly sure what form it would take. Anticipation flooded through your body as you looked up into her eyes, your eyes wide and innocent.

“You're going to eat me out until I cum, maybe then I'll give you what you want,” she stated firmly as she squeezed at your hips. Her touches were not gentle. Her fingers dug into your tender flesh, all of her anger, stress, and tension coming out onto you. You moaned at the touch, more sensitive and aware with each touch and mark she left across your body. She let go with a slap to your thigh and you groaned at the loss of her. You sat up and watched as she moved around the room, sitting on the bed in the middle, spreading her legs for you as she watched with dark eyes. “Come make Mommy feel good.” Her voice dripped with arousal as her words of encouragement enticed you further, not that it took much at this point though.

Quickly you moved and settled yourself between her legs. You slowly began kissing up her thighs, licking the path of arousal she had left for you. She grumbled impatiently above you, clearly already ready for attention where she needed it. Her hand snaked through your hair, gently at first as it stroked your scalp. She then grabbed a fistful, tugging your hair harshly as she forced you up higher, pushing your head between her legs. At the tug, you let out a loud moan as you cursed under your breath. You got the hint and stuck out your tongue quickly getting work between her legs. Your tongue licked up her slit before it brought fast attention to her clit. You brought your fingers up and slipped two fingers inside of her. You were kinder than Wanda had been to you, moving your fingers less harshly and aggressively. It worked nonetheless as she quickly rose to an orgasm with the combination of both your fingers and tongue. Her grip on your hair did not loosen as her hips began to jerk against your face. As she reached her peak she let out a loud moan, her hips moving frantically as she tugged harshly at your hair. The taste that hit your tongue made you moan as you quickly lapped up as much as she would allow before pulling your head away.

Her chest rose and fell heavily as she caught her breath, a gentler hand moving to your neck. You leaned up her body as you kissed her passionately. When her tongue slid across your bottom lip and your mouth you eagerly allowed it entrance. A smile grew across her face as she pulled away. You whined at the loss but it was quickly relieved when she pressed a singular finger to your lips.

“Mommy.” You moaned out as your hips began to grind against her stomach. Her hand snaked down her stomach to touch you, her fingers ghosting over your clit.

“Come sit on my face Detka.” She said firmly as she adjusted her positioning, letting your thighs rest next to her head. You were hesitant yet eager as you slowly lowered yourself down, moaning loudly as her tongue finally made contact. Your hips jerked against her face as you ground against her tongue. You were worked up quickly, faster than ever as she seemed to know exactly where you needed it. She mumbled out from underneath you as she worked you up towards an orgasm. “Beg for it, Malyshka.”

Quickly words began to tumble out of your mouth as desperation to cum was needed. “Please, Mommy. Please!” You practically yelled as your hips jerked more, her nails digging into your thighs. “Please let me cum.” You begged. She complied with a grin.

“Cum for Mommy, Detka.” She said as her tongue moved rapidly beneath you. Instantly you reached your peak, reaching for the bead frame in front of you to steady yourself as you moaned loudly. When Wanda felt you had settled enough she gently pulled you down next to her and into her arms. You shook a little in Wanda's arms as she held you for the first time in weeks. Her fingers tangled in your hair as she slowly combed through the mess she had made, taking time to massage your scalp. All the thoughts of your fights had completely melted away and you were consumed by her and her embrace.

“Mommy.” You murmured as tears began to fall on your cheeks again, your face nuzzling closely in the crook of her neck.

“You did so good baby, so good.” She praised quietly as she kissed behind your ear. Her fingertips found a gentle pattern of scratching up and down your back with one hand while the other massaged where she pulled your hair. Praise was whispered into your ear as she held you closely, not wanting to let go. Never wanting to let go. Slowly your sobs calmed and you settled into her embrace, slowly lifting your head to leave soft kisses across her jaw and neck.

“I love you, Wanda.” The words left your mouth for the first time in weeks and a soft smile crept across your lips. Wandas' face glimmered with love as she pulled you into a kiss.

“I love you too, Detka.” She whispered through kisses as she could only hold you closer. After a while of the silent embraces Wanda's thoughts of the fights crept back into memory. “We’re going to be okay.” She hesitated and looked towards you. “Right?” She spoke softly, her voice filled with fear at the thought of losing you. You nodded and kissed her softly, your mind foggy and cloudy as all you wanted was to be close to her. That night you slept close, tangled up in each other's love, neither wanting to pull away.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning when you woke up snuggled up in Wanda's arms felt different. The bliss that usually followed had dissipated and all you could think about was the pain of being with her. You gained a sinking pit in your stomach as guilt and fear coursed through your body. The flight response kicked in. You couldn't be with her, not now. Tears began to fall as you quickly but carefully left the bed and Wanda's embrace. Hurriedly you moved for some clothes as you threw on the closest things you could find without waking her. You reached for the door handle but paused. One glance back to Wanda confirmed it. You couldn't be here. So where did you go? Who greeted you with open arms? Natasha.

#wanda maximoff #wanda marvel #marvel #wanda #mommy wanda #smut #hurt/comfort #angst #wanda x reader #wandavision #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wandanat #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wanda maxmoff x y/n

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forever--darling · 1 year

Text

the outsider | neteyam x avatar!reader

summary: tension can only run so thick, so suffocatingly so until it brings you down with it. or so high until it snaps. after weeks of learning, it's clear that nothing has changed between you and neteyam. he still treats you like the outsider you are and after stepping on his toes just enough and with the help of lo'ak it seems all of the tension has built just high enough. so much so, it eventually snaps right in your face.

pairings: neteyam x avatar!reader

word count: 12.0k

warnings/notes: swearing, angst, slow burn, jealous neteyam with a splash of attitude, a flirting lo'ak (the usual), lo'ak x avatar!reader (one-sided), arguing, minor fluff

series masterlist | one of us: part three | requests are currently open for now

Pandora is so much more than the biology and the greed it had portrayed itself as for so long to the sky people. It’s so much more than all of it. It's about reading the trails, the tracks of the land, the tiniest scents and sounds. There is this constant flow of energy within everything: the spirits of animals, of the Omatikaya, and the way it all connects with the planet. That deep connection of the forest resides with the people. Neteyam talks about that network of energy and how it flows between all living things. He says that all energy is only borrowed and one day it has to be given back.

It's something you couldn’t fully understand through the journals and the video logs. It’s something no real sky person can understand until they live it. That’s what you were doing, every day. Living. Jake was right that at some point it all becomes backwards like out there is the true world, and in here is the dream. That had become your life — somehow overnight, within a month, you had felt like you had become a completely different person and you weren’t even close to being finished with your training.

The days began to blur together and before you had even known it, it had been a month. Four weeks of lessons and four weeks of settling into this completely different life. You were faster, your feet had gotten tougher and you were able to run farther every day. You had to learn to trust your body to know what to do, something you had been told the very first day.

With Neteyam, it's keep your mouth shut and learn fast or die. So you learned how to do that. No more getting angry with him and his attitude or questioning what he says. You just shut up and do it. It became easier for everyone that way. In fact, you had never even addressed that second day with one another. The day you had first rode a direhorse. No, after a few hours spent washing the mud away, you returned after dinner ready to learn again. He made you stay late that night and work on your pronunciation and it was never mentioned again. You had fallen asleep in front of the camera that night, the video log still running and Norm had to help you to bed.

That was another thing. Norm and Max were still making you do those and they had become far easier, your ability to speak your mind freely in front of a camera felt as if you were just talking to another person. It was natural, honest, and what they were meant for — real concrete evidence for the study. Your change was noticeable and everyone in that lab could see it. Max and Norm especially as your video logs had become longer and more animated, going on and on about energy and the relationships within the forest as well as the biology.

They saw Grace in you those nights. It was the tone in your voice, how you swung your hands around in the air as you talked about these people. Specifically, they took note of how you talked about the eldest Sully son, the future clan leader. You were still convinced he didn’t like you in the slightest but no one would ever believe you based on those video logs that you felt the same about him.

It had been a month and though you hadn’t had any more arguments, and continued to follow what he said, you were sure his hatred for you hadn’t lessened at all. He was bossy just as Kiri had told you the second day you were here and moody but he held it all in, sticking to his role with perfection. He didn’t budge an inch and it was difficult for you to get anything out of him about himself. It was like conversations about anything other than the Na’vi culture or your lessons were prohibited. If you tried or asked anything unrelated to that, he would give you this stern look; his brows furrowed, lips formed into a fine line. You would drop it then and there. Over the past four weeks though, you noticed more and more that the only person he ever gave that look to was you. Sure, he liked to put his brother in his place more than anyone but still, you were the only one he would look at that way.

“Again.”

His voice was unwavering, his eyebrows raised as he nodded at the bow in your hands. You sighed under your breath, already feeling the soreness within your muscles after having already pulled it back so many times that day. You knew why the lesson had gone too long though, you were unfocused, missing the target with pore posture. A posture that you both had spent hours upon hours for weeks perfecting. Just a few days ago you hit the target's center with a strong core and fingers that weren’t ripped open from the chord of the bow.

Somehow things had changed, your habits had reverted and you hadn’t hit the target once that day. Your biceps were tired from the constant pulling on the muscles, and you were sure your fingers were bleeding due to how the string rubbed against them. He wouldn’t let you go until you hit the target once. Only a few more lessons until he would allow you to go hunting for real.

“Pull back the bow, Y/N,” he stepped closer, eyes staring holes in the side of your face.

You were so close to rolling your eyes, so close, but then you remembered that he was already on edge and any sudden movements could piss him off. Instead, with a deep inhale, one that brought out a crack in your voice, you pulled your arm back stretching out the bow. You have to bite your tongue from wincing at the way the muscles in your back stretch creating pain, just as the already blistered skin of your fingers rubs further against the string of the bow. Based on the way Neteyam’s ear flickered and his eyes scanned your form, you knew it wasn’t good, possibly all wrong. You held the position though as he began to circle you, eyeing you from a different angle.

He gripped your forearm of the arm that held the bowstring, pushed it up higher, and stared at it for a second to ensure you kept it where he placed it. The burning between your shoulder blades worsened. You continued to stare forward knowing that if you turned your head to look at him he would just make you turn it back. He circled you again, his hand pressing firmly against your stomach, the touch making you shiver slightly at the contact. If he had noticed it, he didn’t react in any way. His palm pressed against your abdomen just above your belly button and pushed in to signal to you that you needed a stronger core. Something he knew he didn’t have to tell you after all these weeks.

“Better?” you asked, but he ignored you fully and instead walked around you so he was no longer in front of you but behind you. You felt his breath on the back of your neck and his hands ghosting over your sides.

Taking in a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter to a close, trying to ignore how badly you wanted to drop the position, to let your back and your arms rest. You knew better than to go against what he said so even though you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, you remained still, back arm pulled up high and core flexed.

“What the hell happened these last few days?” he snapped, his voice gravely within your ear.

“What?” you turned your head slightly but before you could ask anymore a gasp was being ripped from your throat as his hands took a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his chest. You stiffened underneath the foreign touch as after all these weeks, Neteyam had never once communicated through physical touch. He only really touched you when he couldn’t explain through words.

It was surprising how hard his grip was on your skin and how it seemed to rip a shiver out from you, starting at the base of your spine and traveling to your neck. “Your back needs to be straight like this. We’ve gone over this. It’s like you don’t listen to a fucking thing I say.”

His hand wrapped around you pressing against your stomach, demonstrating the way your back was straight and pressed up against his chest. “Not slouched and definitely not arched. Your pullback is weakened, which I thought I had taught you at least a week ago.”

He stepped away, clicking his tongue and though the burning was now completely unbearable, you kept it. This time your back remained straight even without his body pressed up against it, reinforcing it. Walking around you one more time he nodded in approval. You kept your eyes forward, staring at the target on the tree that Neteyam had marked two weeks ago when you started bow training. You felt like your arm was going to snap in half and like you were running out of breath, but you waited and waited for him to ensure that everything was perfect. Taking in a deep breath, you felt your abdomen contract and the string rub even worse against the blisters.

His eyes shifted from the side of your face to the target on the tree. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “Release.”

At the sound of his voice, you exhaled and let go of the string, letting the bow snap just as you felt your back was going to. The arrow plunged forward, quicker than you could follow but you felt a pit form in your stomach. As well as the need to scream in frustration as you didn’t hear the thunk it usually made when it hit the tree, piercing the bark. Instead, it flew by the side of it by no more than an inch, disappearing into the bush. You had missed the target and the entire tree, which meant your aim was completely off.

“Fuck,” you groaned, your arms dropping to your sides, “That’s like the fourth time I’ve missed today.”

“Go again.” That was all he said and somehow that alone made you forget about your pact with yourself to not piss him off.

You glared over at him, “No.”

“No?” he tested the word, it made his tail swish in annoyance and his head tilt to the side.

“No,” you repeated, “I am not going to go again. My body is killing me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” he shot back, eyebrows raised as he crossed his arms over his chest. You noticed the way his biceps bulged but quickly looked away, worried he would see it. “I don’t know what’s been going on the last few days, but you have to get it together because we don’t have time for this. We can’t afford for you to take two steps back every time you get something right.”

“It’s not like I am doing it on purpose,” you sighed, peering down at your fingers to find that the blisters had broken open. You hissed as they brushed against one another.

“I don’t believe that,” he said, challenging your every word.

“Are you serious right now?” Your face pinched together in both surprise and anger.

He wasn’t being kind in the least but an annoying pain in your side. It was like he wanted you to yell in his face and tell him that he was wrong. It was like he was doing everything in his power to make you snap and scream at him. To scream and walk away. Almost as if he found satisfaction in your frustration. The slight quirk in his lips proved that. Though he was exasperated with you, a part of him found this completely amusing.

“Then what is it?”

“What is what?”

He took a step forward, so close that if you leaned any closer your chest would brush against his arms that still sat firmly crossed. His gaze narrowed at you but you didn’t look away this time. “You’re distracted. Unfocused. There’s something clearly on your mind and I am getting fucking tired of it.”

“Excuse me?” you asked.

You were unfocused because of him. He was making you crazy and even when you weren’t here, you were constantly thinking about the village, about him, about the fact that he hated you. He hated you and you had no idea why. That’s why you were so unfocused.

“You’re wasting my time. The longer it takes for you to learn, the more of my time you’re wasting. So whatever is distracting you, you need to fix it. Do you understand me?” he explained, not backing down from you but neither were you.

His words had completely pierced through your skin to the inside of your body and if he kept looking at you like that, you were sure that at any moment you would give in to him completely. If that spring in your stomach would snap, you weren’t sure if you would slap him across his face or do something else. Something far more stupid than the former and something you knew you wouldn’t be able to take back.

Instead, you held your composure, your pettiness rising to an all-time high as you lifted your hand to rest against your chest. Your expression softened for a few seconds as if you actually felt bad for him. Like at that moment you were pitying the great warrior and the fact that he had to deal with you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize that you were the only one that has actual problems. I’m sorry that you have to hold up so much on your shoulders all by yourself. Oh, poor Neteyam. Poor future Olo’eyktan Neteyam. Your life is so hard.”

He fumed and it was clear for a moment he had fallen for your soft eyes and puckered lips. For a single moment, he thought you were being serious, but at the end of your sentence with the shift in your tone, he realized you were just being condescending. You were trying to hit him where it hurts, piss him off more than he already was. His arms fell to his sides, his hands tightening into fists as his breathing became more erratic. He glanced from your ears to your mouth and he realized all that he saw when he looked at you was fire.

You chuckled in annoyance, your hand tightening around the bow in your hand. Glancing down at it, you looked back up at him to see him still staring right through you, chewing on the bottom of his lip enough to make it bleed. He could taste the blood but he didn’t stop.

“You know what,” you paused and shoved the bow in his chest as hard as you could, “I think we’re done for today.”

He didn’t even flinch or shift backward but just took it from you anyway. No other words were expressed and all he could focus on was the fading sound of your footsteps as you stomped away. As soon as you were far enough away, he chucked the bow to the ground as hard as he could. He groaned and as much as he got under your skin, you left a permanent imprint on his.

Staring down at the bow, he cursed at himself. He had touched you. He had let his hands linger and pull you flat against his chest when you both knew he could have actively told you in minimal words what to do. Instead, he did the worst thing he could do. It was like he could still feel your warm smooth skin under his hands and your firm back pressed against his chest.

He screamed again, angry at himself and even more infuriated with you. He shouldn’t think of you that way, especially when you did nothing but make his life more difficult. You were talkative and argued with him, and did everything you could to waste his time. At least in his eyes, that’s what you were doing.

You made it back to the village just as the sun was setting, still stomping, cursing profanities underneath your breath. People stared at you as you walked by as they always did even after a month. They didn’t approach you. Some of them had started to in the past week and it was a great way to practice the language but they were still timid. Even now they were able to point out that your brows were furrowed, your lip tucked away in between your teeth and you walking too aggressively to not be upset. They watched, mumbling to one another as you walked, your tent the only place in mind to go.

Even the youngest Sully son could hear you from a few feet away and he stared as you approached him. You were stuck in your thoughts, talking to yourself, that cute angry look plastered across your face. He more than anyone noticed the pinched look and the fierceness that occupied your eyes. He also knew more than anyone that the cause was his older brother.

He watched as you walked right by him. Smiling, he called after you, “Y/N.”

“What?” you said, harsher than either of you expected as you spun around to face him. When your eyes met his, your entire body language shifted, the expression on your face softening. “Oh, sorry. Hi.”

“Done with lessons already?” he asked, curiously glancing over his shoulder, surprised to see Neteyam hadn’t followed you out of the forest.

You didn’t respond but instead peered down at your feet, that angry look returning to your face. That furrow in between your brows pinching together as your ears twitched. He then glanced around you to see your tail swishing rapidly back and forth.

“You okay?”

Slowly, you lifted your head and met his eyes, the same ones that resembled his brother’s way too much. You didn’t answer that question either, not feeling the slightest bit inclined to discuss it with anyone, especially Lo’ak. You knew it would only make you angry all over again and then you would say something you would regret; either spitting out names you wished to say to Neteyam’s face or worse admitting that you liked the way he handled you a little too much.

“You know you’re cute when you’re angry,” Lo’ak said, voice lowering as he said it.

At that, you felt your shoulders relax and you couldn’t help but smile over at him, his flirting usually annoyed you but at that moment you accepted it willingly. He watched as the sharpness in your eyes and the angry twitch of your tail disappeared. Instead, your head tilted curiously to the side, ears raised high and a small smirk forming on your face.

“Lo’ak,” you warned, staying put as he stepped closer that smug look slapped across his face.

“It’s true,” he said, “Might be even hotter in blue.”

“Watch it,” you laughed, shoving his shoulder.

Your laugh. He took in the sound and realized he could never get over that sound. He also knew that as cute as you were when you were angry, he found you even cuter when you had that smile on your face. He wanted to see more of it. The way your fangs poked out and a gleam entered your gold eyes. He wanted to hear the sound of your laugh again and again. He also knew no matter what Neteyam did, he couldn’t fix it, but more than anything he could distract you from it. Lo’ak was good at many things; getting into trouble, doing all of the things that were opposite of what he was supposed to do, and being a distraction. He was a great distraction.

“You want to get out of here?”

“Lo’ak, it’s almost dark.”

“Great Mother, my brother has made you into such a rule follower,” he rolled his eyes but his smile never left his face. “Oh wait, you’ve always been one of those. Once a fun killer always a fun killer.”

“Lo’ak—”

“We don’t have to go far.”

You closed one of your eyes, swayed from side to side, and tried to keep a smile from reappearing on your face because it would mean he had you right where he wanted you. He would have you giving in and running off with him to who knows where. He was enticing and he knew it. He was a troublemaker and he was asking you to give in to his white smile and his glimmery eyes. It was easy with him and it always had been though anyone else would disagree. They would find Lo’ak difficult, unable to follow the rules, and a complete pain. But he wasn’t that to you. He was Lo’ak — the fun and easy Sully son who just liked to make you smile.

The corners of your lips lifted up and he knew he had you. His ears twitched at that look on your face. “Yes?”

You nodded then. His own smile widened and he walked by you bumping your shoulder with his. He continued forward a few steps and then peered back at you, that smugness as evident as ever. “You coming?”

A part of you wasn’t sure how it had happened. How you had allowed it to happen. One minute you were standing in the middle of the village, just as the sun was setting, and then it was like you blinked and you were somewhere else. In the forest past dinner alone, looking every which way unsure of where to go. The foliage behind you was lit up like a bioluminescence trail of where you had come from and there were so many different creatures and insects lighting up the sky. It all provided so much light and you still had no idea where you were.

You couldn’t believe you had let Lo’ak talk you into this. One moment you were just walking through the forest talking and the next thing you knew he was telling you about this game. Before you could even agree, he was already gone, quietly like a thief into the night.

You felt like you were prey as you had ran and ran, eventually slowing to better calculate your steps. And your predator? Lo’ak. It felt like a weird game but you submitted to it anyway. You were to get back to the village before he could catch you. It was that simple but easy? Not so much. You were looking at the tracks, taking in the scents around you but it felt foreign. Because any moment you felt like you were close, you heard him nearby, getting closer and closer to catching you. Then you would run off, sprint as far as you could in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest, and then you would have to start all over.

Your thoughts shifted to the idea of something else catching you, a real predator, something far more dangerous than Lo’ak but he had assured you that you both would be fine. That you would remain close enough to the village and that it was still too light out for anything to come out and provoke you. Now, as you stared forward at the dark forest with far too many shadows you weren’t as convinced.

Bending down, you let your fingers trace your own tracks in the mud as you looked up all around you. You could just follow them back to where you started and to where it felt safer, but you were hesitant to go back in the direction you were sure he was. You could take a different route, though risking you getting more lost, you could avoid Lo’ak. Where safety would be the better option, you were also just as competitive with a desire to win.

As you were trying to decide in your head, you heard the sound of a twig snap behind you, so loud it had to have been from a person or something else. Your head turned in that direction, your ears twitching hoping to catch any other sound but it was silent after that. Too silent and then it was as if something was watching you and waiting. Waiting for the perfect moment to jump out and claim its prey — you. Slowly, you stood to your feet and took a deep breath, knowing you had to make up your mind fast in case it wasn’t Lo’ak.

After a few seconds, you began to take off, in the opposite direction of the tracks, away from the village and towards the inner depths of the forest. As you run, though, more noises are heard, and they weren’t that far behind you. It was the sound of quick footsteps following you, closely. You felt your heart rate pick up, a small inkling of fear forming as a part of you worried about the worst possible scenario. All you had on you was your knife, your bow you had thrown at Neteyam hours ago. No other weapon to protect yourself in case this had turned into an innocent game gone wrong.

All of your thoughts disappeared though as the sound got louder and then two strong arms were wrapping around your waist, almost making you both fall to the ground. The individual came to a stop and lifted you up off the ground, their grip too tight. You were squirming, able to feel their chest pressed along your back, their blade, from where it sat upon the person’s chest, poking in between your shoulder blades. Your hands fell to where they had you and that’s when you felt their hands. Hands all too familiar to you. Five fingers. You sighed then, relaxing against their form.

“I got you,” Lo’ak announced proudly in your ear as he carefully set you down.

You turned around and punched him in the chest, harder than you normally would. His hand reached up and touched it as if it had actually hurt. Of course, that’s how he had played it too, being the dramatic type, “Ow!”

“You scared me,” you admitted, looking around at the darkness around you, occupied by less flora than there was before.

“You kidding?” he chuckled, following your gaze to find nothing around you but trees and plants, “It’s fine. We’re fine. There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I just…” your voice trailed off as it all came back to you. He was right. It wasn’t that late and you weren’t entirely that far from the village but there was still that feeling in your stomach. That this was wrong and that something could have happened despite how fun it had felt at first. “Can we go?”

He noticed the shift in your tone and suddenly he realized that your feelings had changed. “Yeah. Yeah, we can go. We probably should anyway. I think we’re late for dinner.”

You nodded but then let some of that fear fade from your face, replaced by a smirk he knew all too well, “Race you back to the village?”

A smile began to form on his face but before he could respond, you took off bolting in the direction where you both had come from. You didn’t make it very far though. Maybe a total of two feet before you collided straight into something, or in actuality someone. The person shifted backwards a couple of steps to steady themselves in addition to you. Their hands moved up to take your shoulders in them. Their grip was firm and you hissed under your breath as you happened to recognize their touch as easily as you had recognized Lo’ak’s.

Slowly, lifting your head, you felt your stomach drop as you found an angry Neteyam looking down at you. Not as angry as he had been earlier that day when you left him alone in the forest but it was close, too close. It was like steam was going to come out of his ears any second, and there was a permanent crinkle in his nose. His hands didn’t drop from you when he looked up over your shoulder to Lo’ak.

The younger Sully leaned back on his heels, stopping short in front of you, and couldn’t help the way the smile slipped away from his face. His entire body slouched as the look on his face was too entirely familiar, “Shit.”

“What the fuck do you two think you are doing out here?” Neteyam questioned, the tone of his voice making you stiffen under him, “And don’t you dare say having fun Lo’ak or I swear—”

“Well that’s exactly what we were doing,” Lo’ak raised his arms, matching his brother’s tone easily, “Having fun, but oh wait you don’t know what that is, right Neteyam?”

“Lo’ak,” he warned his younger brother as his fangs began to poke out from behind his lips.

“You know you’re the reason we are out here in the first place. If you weren’t running your mouth the way you have been lately then we would be back at the village with everyone else. Instead, though, Y/N needed a break from lessons, the attitude, and the orders. Mostly she just needed a break from you.”

You heard Neteyam growl under his breath as one of his hands dropped from around you, stepping forward intimidatingly so towards his brother. His other hand slid down from your shoulder all the way to your wrist where he kept a firm grip. Not hard enough to hurt you but enough that you couldn’t run off.

“Lo’ak it’s dark. It’s not safe out here.”

“Safe?” Lo’ak laughed, “Are you serious? We’re fine. I can take care of us just fine.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

Neteyam took a deep breath as if trying to calm himself down, not daring to steal a glance at you as he tried to talk down his brother, “It’s almost curfew. There are rules for a reason. You shouldn’t be running around in the dark. Just, please go back to the village.”

“Did Dad order you to come out here? Send you out here to find us and save the day, yet again.”

You couldn’t help but look up at Neteyam as Lo’ak said that, the blow hitting him straight in the chest. His eyes faltered for a second, something flickering in them you couldn’t quite decipher. But then as if it was never there, they hardened again and he didn’t back down. “Lo’ak enough! Mom and Dad make the rules. We don’t. Go home!”

Lo’ak backed down, knowing it was an endless fight he wouldn’t win. As his brother’s words registered in his ears though, he glanced over in your direction and then at Neteyam’s hand that was still wrapped around your arm. “What about Y/N?”

“I need to talk to her for a minute,” he explained, still refusing to look over at you. He hadn’t even asked you but made a decision again for you. “We won’t be far behind you. Only a couple of minutes.”

Lo’ak opened his mouth to argue but Neteyam lifted one of his eyebrows as his lips curled into a scowl revealing his fangs again. You felt his tail flick you at how hard it was moving back and forth. His voice a warning, “Lo’ak.”

You watched as the younger boy raised his hands in the air, surrendering completely. He gave you one more look before he stalked off, hitting his brother’s shoulder as he walked by. You found yourself watching him until he disappeared among the trees and the foliage. As soon as you could no longer see him, you were reminded of the person in front of you and the grip he had on your wrist. Tilting your head up, you found him already looking at you, silently with rage.

You held his stare for a second before you found yourself pulling your arm free from his grasp, “What is wrong with you?”

“Why are you out here with Lo’ak, Y/N?” he took his own question and directed it back at you.

You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest, trying to ignore how that same feeling from earlier returned. The one where you felt like your body was burning. He made you so angry but somehow you knew that what you were feeling deep within your stomach wasn’t anger and it only pissed you off more. “I should have known. You didn’t come out here because your father asked you to, did you?”

“Except that my dad did ask me to come find you and Lo’ak,” he argued.

“Yeah, you said that already. Really there is no other reason?”

He was quiet for a moment, eyes straying from your face and the way you were looking at him, so intensely. You were demanding answers and no one other than Jake asked that of him. Suddenly then, he shook his head as if he had finally found an answer, “No.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you, a pause before he stepped closer to you. This led to you taking one back, your glare not faltering in the slightest. He asked again, “Why are you out here, Y/N?”

“Ugh,” you yelled as your hands reached up holding your head in them. You inhaled and dropped them back to your sides, letting your next sentence fall freely from your lips without a second thought. "You are fucking unbelievable, you know that? I just don’t get it.”

He turned his head to the side curiously as if silently urging you to go on. He was biting onto his bottom lip so hard, he thought he was going to reopen the cut that had formed earlier while his eyes traced over your face and your pinched expression. A look that was commonly reserved for him. You didn’t look at anyone else that way. He noticed it. He noticed it too often.

“I don’t understand you,” you sighed, your hands forming into fists at your sides, “Everyone goes on and on about their future Olo’eyktan Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk’itan. This young warrior who has grown up perfectly into this strong leader. They say he is fiercely loyal, independent, and exceedingly respectful. For weeks I have been hearing people of Omatikaya describe Toruk Makto’s first son as a brave soldier with a strong heart. But for some reason, I haven’t seen any of those things. I have spent all this time with you and this Neteyam they talk so much about I have never met.”

He groaned because once again you were saying things you shouldn’t be saying. Going on and on about things you had no idea about. As if you knew who he was or the type of life he was set up to have, but you didn’t. No one really knew him at all. Everything that people said about him, everything they claimed he was, was handpicked by his father and entrusted to him at a young age. He was chosen to be the future Olo’eyktan which meant he had to be brave, loyal, and respectful. A strong heart. That is what they said about every warrior. It doesn’t mean it’s entirely true.

He doesn’t say anything, not at first. He stands still and holds his ground as he scans your face. His heart begins to speed up in his chest as he watches for a second as the anger dissipates from you. The rage that had settled between you two and that had been going back and forth for weeks was no longer there. Your expression had softened and it was almost as if it had been replaced with desperation. As if you were hanging onto every word you were whispering out loud to him.

“Just why? Why do you act so differently around me? Why do you have to be so difficult?”

His ears perked up at the way you had called him difficult. The brief moment between the two of you, where the anger and the resentment had seemed to disappear because before he knew it, he felt his statue tense up and that familiar feeling that came with arguing with you appeared again. Annoyance. Anger. Fear. It all was there and suddenly his walls were pushed back up to where they were before. Shown in the way he chose his next words.

You opened your mouth as if you were going to say more, but his voice silenced you completely, “It’s because you’re not one of us. You think that I am difficult but it’s only because you don’t belong here. You aren’t one of us and you never will be."

The words pierced through your heart and as you stared up at him in complete shock, you felt them rip your heart completely into pieces. A gasp fell from your lips, your hands wrapping around yourself as if it was the only way to remain standing. The worst of it all was how he stared down at you without even the slightest sign of regret. He said it and he said it without any hesitation and because of it, he cut you so deeply - like he had reached your core.

The Omatikaya had never liked outsiders, you knew that. You knew how they felt. They expressed it visibly and without remorse but, this wasn’t something you were expecting. Especially from him. You didn’t get along, not in the least, but out of anyone who could utter those words to you, you never thought it could be the understanding future clan leader and the son of a past dream walker. But there it was, right in front of you and you couldn’t hide from it any longer. The truth. The truth you had been trying to run from for years and more so this last month. He solidified it for you, no matter how hard you tried, if you managed to pass all the training, you would never be one of them, not truly.

Neteyam watched as all light faded from your eyes. You took a step back from him, your whole body caving in on itself. He shouldn’t have said it. He knew that, but he did it anyway. He put all of his frustration and his anger in one place and somehow that was you. You didn’t want it and you sure as hell didn’t ask for it but it was too late now.

He noticed the way your eyes glassed over, your face was so bright under the flora and it was like he was seeing every one of your emotions under a microscope. A tear slipped past your waterline and he couldn’t help but reach his hand out to you. You looked up at him incredulously, your body becoming cold as you suddenly felt completely exposed, as raw as the blisters on the divots of your fingers. It was like he could see every part of you; every emotion, every weakness, everything you hadn’t granted him permission to see. It was enraging because at that moment he not only had all of you, but he had all of the power.

You watched as his hand froze mid-air stopping from grabbing onto you. His eyes had softened, desperately trying to meet yours but you wouldn’t dare give him anything else. Just as you felt more tears falling from your eyes across your cheeks, you turned around and took off. You ran faster than you had ever had before, the sharp intake of air paired with the quiet whimpers made your lungs burn.

Your legs felt weak and your vision was blurry, so blurry that you found yourself tripping every few seconds but you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t and within a matter of minutes, you could see the lights from the village accompanied by the sounds of voices. You bursted out through the forest but you couldn’t stop. The ache, the pain that was still ripping through your chest made sure you wouldn’t stop running, not until you were away from it all. You felt eyes on you as you pushed by people, your lungs gasping for air.

You felt your foot get caught on something, digging so deep, and a second later you felt a sting of pain. Even when you knew something had cut you, you couldn’t stop as Neteyam’s words haunted you. They pierced your eyes just as they had your soul. Wiping at your face with your sweaty hands, you cried out just as the pain worsened.

Neytiri, Kiri, and Tuk were standing near your tent waiting for you as they had heard you were talking with Neteyam after he had found you with Lo’ak in the forest. Jake was busy lecturing his youngest son and both of the women wanted to be there in case you were next. They were talking to one another but their conversation was interrupted by the uproar that seemed to be taking over the village. They heard the mumbles and the lingering words from people across the village about you, what they had seen. Soon enough, their attention shifted when they saw you appear sprinting your way through the village.

Kiri called out your name but you blew past them, ignoring her completely, the only thing you could focus on was getting away, far away.

Tuk tried to go after you when you didn’t acknowledge them or even say hi to her, “Why didn’t she stop? I yelled her name loud enough didn’t I?”

Neytiri shared a look with her oldest daughter as they both noticed your tear-stained cheeks. Neither of them said a word though as they looked forward again to find Neteyam emerging from the forest, walking hurriedly towards them, stress evidently strewn across his face. Neytiri’s stare had hardened at her son, connecting the dots rather quickly as you had faded completely from view towards the far side of the village. She still hadn’t fully accepted you, knowing she couldn’t until you proved you could be one of the people, but for weeks she had spent hours upon hours talking about you with Jake.

He told her about your life, where you came from, and the type of person you were. She couldn’t help but become far more understanding than she had been the first night you had arrived in the village. You were a bright young woman, beautiful, with a pure heart and she knew that even if you weren’t one of them yet, she couldn’t stand the thought of you being hurt, let alone because of one of her sons. Somehow she just never thought it would be Neteyam.

He approached them, something heavy clearly weighing on him and within seconds of seeing them, he could see the looks his sister and mother were giving him. They were stern and entirely scary. Neytiri’s ears were flat, lips curled down, her fangs poking out. Kiri stared daggers over at her brother, as she had become the most protective of you over the last few weeks. His eyes widened innocently almost as if he hadn’t don’t anything wrong. They both could see right through him though.

“What did you do?” Kiri asked, her voice demanding as she pointed a threatening finger in his direction.

He didn’t respond but instead looked over at his mother. She lifted a brow up disapprovingly. “Neteyam?”

“You did what?”

Neteyam flinched at the sound of his father’s voice as his stare was locked solely on him. He looked over his father’s shoulder to his mother who stood just a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest expectantly. She had been outside when you had run through the village and it was evident she saw how upset you were. When she asked him herself what had happened, he didn’t have the words to explain. Just as he thought he had found the right words, Jake emerged from their tent, Lo’ak followed him that usual look slapped across his face after having been lectured. His lips were in a fine line, his shoulders slouched, and his head hung low to the ground.

Jake found them standing out there and instantly caught onto the way the two women were looking at Neteyam. He looked around and once he didn’t find you anywhere he knew that something had obviously happened. His eyes narrowed at his oldest son after having just dealt with his youngest and he sighed, cautiously asking where you were. It was that question that led Neteyam to be stuck in his family’s tent with his mother and father both staring at him the way they were after he had told them what he had said.

“I obviously didn’t mean it,” Neteyam argued, voice raising.

“Then why did you say it?” Jake yelled back, eyes drilled onto his eldest son, the one he never had thought would do this.

Neteyam didn’t have an answer for that, instead, he just let his head drop, his eyes finding the ground. Jake exhaled, one that only spoke volumes of disappointment especially since he had spent so much time trying to make you feel comfortable to ensure that you would be okay here. But instead, you were completely exiled but his stupid son.

“Skxawng," Jake stepped forward, examining his son from head to toe, the supposed future Olo’eyktan.

Something had clearly been off ever since you had gotten there and it was then that Jake had finally noticed it. The countless eye rolls, the bickering, the way Neteyam was always tense if you were ever in close proximity. He was pushy, bossy, and insubordinate. Jake glanced over his shoulder at his wife who hadn’t even said a single word since Neteyam had explained what had happened, what he had said. Nothing. As their eyes met, Neytiri nodded toward their son, urging her husband to say something more to make Neteyam fix this.

Turning to look back at Neteyam, Jake took a deep breath to try and calm himself, “Neteyam, look at me.”

The eighteen-year-old boy hesitantly lifted his head but didn’t back down as he met his father’s eyes. Jake’s hand firmly took hold of Neteyam’s shoulder, “What is going on?”

“Nothing,” Neteyam said without hesitation.

“Really?” Jake asked, not believing him in the slightest, “Because ever since she has gotten here, you have been acting differently. You’re distant, hesitant, more annoyed than usual.”

“You told me to teach her and that’s what I have been doing,” Neteyam snapped back, the tone taking both of his parents by surprise, “You want me to be Olo’eyktan one day and you said this is what I have to do. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“You want to be clan leader one day then start acting like it,” Jake said, “This isn’t you, and you know it. Whatever is bothering you, get over it. Do something to get it out of your system. I don’t care what it is. Just figure it out because I am not going to deal with this again, do you hear me, boy? You don’t want to tell us what’s going on… Whatever. Fine. But you will go say something to her, do you understand me? You will go apologize and fix this.”

Neteyam didn’t argue because his father was right. He had been distant, cruel, everything that they hadn’t raised him to be. It was eating away at him for weeks. This anger inside of him, he shoved down for years, slowly coming back up like bile. It was acidic and sickening and yet he didn’t know how to stop it. Instead, he had seen glimpses of it when he was with you. A rage that scared him, spiting out of him when the two of you were together, yelling at you as if you deserved any of it. Because it was easier, easier to take it out on you rather than his father, his siblings, or his village. You were the outsider, the last one in, so why not make you out to be the problem.

It was horrible, wrong in so many ways, and it weighed heavily on his chest as he left his parents' hut ignoring the glares his siblings sent his way. They stood outside listening to every word and he felt the guilt begin to swallow him whole as he stepped into the forest. You hadn’t gone far and within a matter of minutes, he had found you, sat within a tree on a branch, your arms wrapped around your legs. You had them pulled tightly to your chest, your chin pressed against your knees, your head tilted up towards the sky. The air nipped at your face which was stained with tears and you were shivering unable to stop the clattering of your teeth. Your ears were flat, eyes wide and still glassy, and all energy was drained from your body.

He stood afar for a few minutes just taking you in, the way you held yourself, and the diminishment of your frame. The sky was bright enough to reveal your face and the tears still clouding your eyes. Sighing, he walked forward unable to hide the way his footsteps echoed loudly among the trees. It made your ears twitch and due to the sound, your head snapped towards him, arms dropping as your body stiffened.

Below your swinging feet, the ground glowed under his footsteps, his broad figure stalking its way through undergrowth already peering up at you. As your glassy stare met his, your shoulders relaxed, but your frown deepened. Rolling your eyes at him, you wiped at your face trying to hide the tears that still coated your cheeks.

Neteyam felt even worse as he looked at you, realizing his words' full effect on you. Stood just under the tree, he watched as you actively turned away from him, looking back at the sky. He scratched at the inside of his arm nervously, suddenly unsure of what to say to fix this. He couldn’t take it back and wasn’t sure how far an apology would go when he hurt you the way he had.

“Can we talk?” his voice was quiet but firm as he asked the question.

You scoffed at the fact that he would even ask that. You shook your head, “No.”

He looked at you expectantly, noticing how his face pinched together in seriousness, which looked entirely unreadable. He kept his ground though, his golden eyes staring up at you, unwavering.

Sighing, you glanced down at him, the earnestness clear as day. That didn’t stop the image from earlier crossing through your mind. You could still see him snarling, eyes filled with rage, body not showing an ounce of remorse as he managed to say the one thing that could hurt you the most. You are not one of us.

You took in a deep breath, feeling the way your chest began to tighten up again. That lump in your throat was rising and the anxiety began to swarm you. You couldn’t do this. Not anymore.

Sighing, you brushed your hair out of your face, over your shoulder, and stood from where you were sitting. You climbed down from the tree and jumped down, the luminescent green color of the leaves immediately lit up as your skin connected with the plants. Unable to look at him any longer, you stepped by him. As you did though, you heard your name fall off of his tongue lowly, no more than a whisper as he managed to grab your elbow, keeping you from walking any further.

He leaned closer to you and at the feeling of his hand and the sound of his voice, you felt your entire body shift away from him, that pain reappearing in full force. It was like you were being slapped in the face for him to come here out of obligation to his father. Huffing loudly, you ripped your arm from his grasp just as you had earlier on the other side of the village.

“Stop!” you yelled in his face, no longer worried about hiding your face or the betrayal you felt, “Stop saying my name and stop grabbing at me. You have no right. No right to come here after what you said to me.”

“Y/N,” he said it again, this time louder than he had before and you hated the way it made your heart pick up in your chest and your stomach tighten.

Two feelings you were still unable to comprehend when it came to him. It only made you angrier that your body would react to him this way.

“I know you’re here to apologize just because your father told you so, but I don’t want it,” you admitted, a single tear slipping from your eye and falling down your cheek. His eyes followed it as you didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I don’t want your empty apology or your lies. I can’t, okay, so please just go.”

He couldn’t look away from you, his feet somehow stuck to the ground as he took in your face underneath the night sky. Your bottom lip was chewed to the point that the skin was starting to break open. Your face was flushed, eyebrows raised, and a worry line evident in between your eyebrows. Streaks extended down across your cheeks and more tears were slipping past your water line as he refused to walk away from you. Instead, he held his ground, arms pinned to his sides, eyes wandering across your face trying to take in all of you and everything you felt in that moment.

“Neteyam,” your voice cracked as you said his name, trying desperately to make him leave you alone. Even the sound of his name didn’t break his gaze that was permanently locked on you.

Just as your lips parted again to say something else, he interrupted you, letting the question fall quickly from his tongue, “Can I show you something?”

“What?” you whispered, unsure if you had heard him correctly.

His face remained stoic, serious, the question falling of his toungue again, “Can I show you something, please?”

Your eyes widened and your lips parted in shock. He leaned closer to you, the word please having completely taken you by surprise. You didn’t owe him anything. You knew that, even after everything he has taught you, you had every right to walk away from him and not give him any more of your time. But somehow you couldn’t. You found yourself standing there in front of him, unable to look away from him and walk away. His gaze, so different than you had ever witnessed had you glued there in front of him just trying to decipher it. So, you found yourself with so much hesitation nodding, giving into him entirely.

His lips lifted up at the small action, relief washing across his entire body. The smile dropped though after a few seconds as you continued to look up at him skeptically. Nothing else was said. He began to walk in the opposite direction of the village and you followed him. Silently, you walked side by side. As you pushed your way through tree limbs and bushes, you followed closely behind him, able to feel his body heat radiating off of him. He kept glancing in your direction, his gold eyes tracing your side profile from the curve of your nose to the shape of your lips.

However, you stared forward into the dark forest, even as you felt his fingers brush against yours. After about the third time though, you wrapped your arms around your waist to prevent it from happening again. Under your fingertips, you were able to feel the flush of your skin and for the rest of the walk to this place he wanted to show you, you denied that it could have been because of him.

Eventually, his steps slowed to a stop just behind the secluded area. He brushed the drooping leaves aside and stepped into the glowing space. As the forest broke open, it revealed the river, one of the few that ran within the forest. The sound of flowing water filled your ears and you closed your eyes for a moment to listen to the peaceful sound. As you opened them, you noticed a small waterfall hidden off to the side of the river, slightly out of view by some smaller trees.

Additionally, flora occupied the bank bathing the area in bright neon colors that reflected off the clear blue liquid of the river. Bioluminescence was the sight of this secret spot; from the plants to the water, to the insects that floated around in the air. Your head was on a swivel, looking around at the spot that seemed to be perfectly hidden within the forest and untouched by anyone.

As you looked over at him, head tilted up innocently, you found him already staring down at you. “Is this it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking in the soft curve of your lips and the doe-eyed expression that had snuck up on your face, “I come here when I need time to think and to just be by myself.”

He began to walk forward and you followed him quietly, listening to the way his deep voice was interlaced with something different. Something more uncommon than you had ever heard before. It was the same way with how he was looking at you as if all the anger had been flushed from his body and this was an entirely different person in front of you. He approached the edge of the river and took a seat, the ground glowing at the contact of his body. His long legs dipped into the water, ripples forming around them. You looked down at him for a moment, examining the way he stared forward at this small sliver of his world. A world he had never shared with you.

It was that observation, that fact alone, that convinced you to sit down next to him, close enough that your knee brushed his as you dropped your own legs into the cool water. “Have you ever brought anyone else here before?”

Your question took him by surprise and he found his gaze meeting yours, the water reflecting off of both of your faces. His gold eyes glistened and you couldn’t help but trace them as well as the soft smile that formed on his face. He shook his head, "No."

He watched as your face pinched together and you turned your head back towards the river, confusion taking over your features. Your bottom lip found its way in between your teeth and you were pulling on the tips of your fingertips, mind obviously busy with something. At least based on how you appeared and all the telltales your body was giving away that’s what Neteyam figured.

He looked at you and saw all of the little actions you weren’t even aware you were doing. He just studied you as if you were some problem that couldn’t be solved which was ironic considering he was the one who had been pushing you away from the start and doing everything he could to keep you at an arm’s length away. Truthfully, he was the problem that couldn’t be solved.

Softly, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and your head snapped back into his direction. As his golden gaze slipped down to your lip that was still in between your teeth, you released it. “Neteyam, why did you bring me here?”

“I came to you just as you originally had thought, to apologize,” he said, pausing to watch your reaction unfold, but you didn’t give him an inch, “But it wasn’t just because my father asked me to. I shouldn’t have said it. Any of it. I knew it even when I was saying it but…”

“You said it anyway,” you finished sadly.

“Yes and it was wrong. I am sorry, Y/N. I know that might not mean much but it’s all I really have.”

Those words felt just as heavy as the ones he had said earlier that day. You are not one of us. Somehow for a completely different reason within an opposing situation. You didn’t think you would feel again after that, especially anything for him. He had hurt you right where it would the most — the most fatal spot within you. The need to belong had become your entire life and when he said that it felt like you were destined to be alone, not quite fitting into the lines of any certain place or established group.

Your heart felt as if it had been taken from your body and plunged with an arrow dipped in the deadliest neurotoxin. That was the only way you could describe it but now sitting in front of the very same man who had created that feeling for you, who had made you feel crazy for weeks on end, was in so many ways reviving you. I am sorry. Who knew such three little words, three little words that had become meaningless over so many years somehow in that single moment had regained all of their meaning at once.

“It’s just you don’t understand,” he started, suddenly unable to look at you as he tried to figure out his next words, “My entire life I have been taught to be a protector. I have to put everyone’s emotions and wants above my own and keep everyone safe, no matter what. My siblings, my family, and someday the entire village will be under my authority. I have to worry about everyone.”

His ears flickered as he lifted his head slowly to peer up at the sky, the thousands of stars that reflected down onto Pandora — one of them happened to be the dying planet your parents were from and where his father was from. Somehow of all them and everything that had happened had led to this moment; you and him sitting together.

He sighed and shook his head, almost in personal disappointment, “You just became another thing I had to protect and watch over. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be responsible for another person. My anger and my dislike towards you was never because you’re an avatar or because you ended up here in the village. It was because I felt like I had to look out for yet another person without even being asked what I thought.”

You were staring at him, he could feel it, your lips slightly parted as you tried to process everything he was saying. A part of you wondered if he told anyone this but based on how he had never even brought anyone to this spot, you weren’t so sure. For his whole life, just like Lo’ak constantly argued with him about, he was trying to be the perfect soldier; the perfect son. Someone had to take orders, had to make sacrifices.

There had to be a next Olo’eyktan and Neteyam took that responsibility selflessly and he was the only one paying for it. It was doing so much more to him than you had originally thought and suddenly his outbursts, his condescending tone, and his cold glares all made sense. He couldn’t mess this up. He couldn’t let anyone down, let alone his father. Somehow you had added so many more things required of him on a stack and there was no one he could express his frustration or direct the blame to other than you. That’s what it all had been. An angry young man repressing it all to only have it burst out at you, a mere outsider.

“Neteyam,” you said his name, so quietly he didn’t even shift his attention until your next sentence came slipping past your lips, “Would it be better if I left? Left the village and didn’t come back. Would you want that?”

It was the only solution that you could find as the two of you had sat in silence. You were the extra weight, the overwhelming hours of his long days, and how could he alleviate that stress and those harmful effects? Remove the weight that’s causing it.

Suddenly, the stars were no longer an interest to him. Your questions had him turning his body towards you, enough that his knee pressed firmly into the side of your thigh. At the foreign touch, you didn’t even flinch or lean away, but almost like a part of you wanted it. His eyebrows had shot up on his forehead and you felt his tail flick so hard, it hit you in the back. The question had shocked him completely. “What? Why would you ask me that?”

You bit onto your tongue, looking down in between your bodies surprised to find you’d be this close to him, ever. He shook his head as he searched for your eyes, leaning down until yours flickered up to his. “I was given an order to teach you the ways of Omatikaya and I will do just that. My father was right if I want to be—”

“Olo’eyktan, yes, you’ve said it so many times,” you cut him off, his answer somehow leaving a lump in your throat, disappointment at his words the only feeling you could register in your chest, “I know that’s what your father has asked of you but what do you want Neteyam? Do you want me to leave? Would that make this easier for you?”

His brows furrowed and his fingers twitched from where they sat, pressed into the ground. Tilting his head to the side, he shook his head slowy almost as if he wasn’t entirely sure of the answer himself. “No, it wouldn’t.”

You nodded slowly and he glanced down at the sight of your hand pulling on the ringer finger of your other. The answer was satisfactory, it wasn’t expected, but it was what you thought you had wanted to hear. To know, that you were wrong and he was wrong and that he never hated you like you originally had thought. Somehow though that disappointment still remained, lodged in your diaphragm.

“Tsap’alute si (I’m sorry),” you suddenly say, your pronunciation perfect. You knew because the corner of his mouth twitched lightly, proving he had picked up on it. “For having been so difficult.”

“You weren’t. I was the one being an asshole, remember?”

You laughed, the sound gracing his ears and suddenly that twitch at the corner of his mouth developed into a full smile, teeth and all. Something you weren’t entirely used to seeing and you couldn’t help but stare at it, trying to take in the moment as long as you could in case it would be the only time he would smile at you. “Only a little bit.”

“Sure,” he chuckled, denying your hospitality to his rudeness, “I used to like to think of myself as anything but an asshole.”

You hummed softly, struggling with the urge to let your hand fall down on top of his. It never did though and instead you just hugged your arms tighter around your waist, deciding the touch of his knee was enough. “So, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing. We’re going to continue what we have been doing for the past month. Except now I will be less of an asshole. I can’t promise you I won’t be bossy and lecture you once in a while though.”

“That’ll be expected coming from a soldier who accepts orders and follows through with them. I wouldn’t ask for anything else,” you smiled, and it was like he was seeing it for the first time that night. At least the first time he saw it actually being directed toward him.

He rolled his eyes slightly but was amused by your comment. As both of you became quiet after a moment, stealing glances at each other while turning to the river, you suddenly felt him bump his arm with yours. “So… this means?”

You held your hand out towards him, your thumb facing upwards, palm outstretched for his, “A truce?”

And just like that as his hand slid into yours with perfect ease, clasping around your smaller hand, warmth began to spread from your fingertips down to your arm and you knew then that he had melted the icy walls around you. And that weight that seemed to be pressing down on your chest and shoulders was gone, blowing away into thin air as if the pain was nothing but a ghost.

His next two words just confirmed everything you had been working to deny. That he had more of an effect on you than anyone had before. “A truce.”

It was late by the time you emerged from the link pod and as you swung your legs over, you felt as if the world before you was nothing but a dream. You stared down at your hands - your hands, that appeared so foreign to you, and your legs felt weak. Weaker than ever before as for over a month all you did was sit and lay down in a metal machine. The air in the lab felt like it was suffocating and as you closed your eyes you swore, you could still feel his hands, his touch, feel the way his breath fanned across your face. His voice filled your ears and for a moment you could believe you were still in the forest with him.

You heard heavy steps and as you opened your eyes to find Norm standing in the doorway, you felt it all hit you too hard. That you were starting to feel things you had never felt before and for someone you should’t be. You were a human, an outsider, and somehow the life you were suddenly seeing before you was just another reminder of what you didn’t want for yourself.

“You were out late,” Norm said, watching as you stretched your arms above your head, “Who were you with this time? The younger Sully boy or the eldest?”

He watched the way your face flickered with emotion at the end of his sentence. You avoided his stare and just like that chuckle fell from the older man’s mouth. Your silence was confirmation enough for him. “Really? You and the future Olo’eyktan?”

Sliding down from the link pod, you sighed not ready to face your own feelings, let alone express them to anyone else. You shook your head rapidly as he continued to look over at you, laughing.

As you stood on your own two feet, you felt the effects of them being stuck in a small box for hours on end. They were asleep but as you took a step forward and stumbled over nothing but yourself, a strange feeling appeared in your chest.

Grabbing onto the nearest desk, you leaned over it, your breath feeling heavy within your lungs — almost as if they were struggling to even operate properly or take in oxygen. Shown in the way you began to cough, your hand reached up to hold your chest. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Your breathing stabilized again as well as the strength in your legs.

“You okay?” Norm asked.

You nodded but you weren't entirely sure yourself.

#avatar #avatarimagine #avatar way of water #neteyam x reader #writing #fanfiction #neteyam imagine #avatar imagine #avatar fanfiction #lo'ak imagine #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak fanfiction #neteyam fanfiction

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wolfish-chan · 4 months

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More of my batfam headcanons since you guys liked them

- After Dick moves out, Alfred finds Bruce in Dick’s old bedroom staring aimlessly

- Sometimes, especially in the beginning years as Batman, Bruce has days where he can’t stand to look in the mirror because those aren’t his eyes staring back at him — they’re Martha’s

- There’s a lullaby that all of the family knows because Alfred would sing it to them on their hardest nights, even when they were adults

- Alfred has made the habit of becoming fluent in all the languages his family speaks

- Bruce tries to do the same, but he’s not nearly as fluent. There’s still a lot of proper pronunciation he can’t get right and the kids make fun of him for it constantly

- Alfred speaks with them in their preferred language as often as possible, but usually sticks to English when they’re all together

- Everyone is a polyglot, except Cass, who currently only knows English and ASL

- Cass doesn’t speak often, as she’s still not used to having the ability to, but she wants to become a polyglot eventually, too. Her brothers help her practice

- It’s become a running joke amongst Bruce’s kids that whenever Father’s Day rolls around, they make cards for Alfred instead of Bruce

- Alfred keeps every single one

- No one has any idea what Alfred’s room looks like. Stephanie is convinced he doesn’t have one and that he sleeps in the cave (“I’m telling you guys! He sleeps upside down like a bat!”)

- Bruce is impossible to sneak up on, unless it’s Cass. She likes jumping out from behind corners and spooking him.

- He doesn’t react aside from throwing whatever is in his hands into the air. One time he threw an entire cup of hot coffee in his own face without so much as blinking

- Tim absolutely despises Country music, but Kon listens to it non stop and it’s drives Tim crazy because it’ll get stuck in his head for weeks on end

- Dick and Wally love going to haunted houses together, but only the intense ones where you have to sign a waiver

- They tried to take Starfire with them once, but she knocked out one of the employees when they jumped out at her so she now has a permanent ban

- Dick used to keep those alphabet fridge magnets at his apartment, but he kept finding them rearranged to spell swears and he still has no idea who was doing it

- Tim has a photographic memory which he uses to spout off random facts when someone annoys him

- Bruce: “try that again and I bench you” 13-year old Tim: “well did you know pigeons can be trained to tell the difference between Picasso and Monet paintings” Bruce: “okay”

- All of the younger bats think Jason was the problem child, but it’s actually Dick. Bruce tells them this constantly and they never believe him

- Jason doesn’t visit the manor often, but when he does, he always makes sure no one’s home. He’ll sit in his childhood bedroom that Alfred has kept immaculately clean with all the lights off for hours. He slips out as soon as he hears someone come home

- Jason chooses to ignore that his bedsheets are always newly washed because he knows Alfred is doing it in case he ever decides to come home

- He doesn’t know that Alfred used to do it when Jason was dead, too

- Alfred only ever lets Duke wash dishes because he’s the only one he can trust not to break them

- Dick is ridiculously good at juggling

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rowwiz · 3 months

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so is nobody else aware that L and Light's names are technical opposites of one another?

ok, so, this requires a lot of elaboration, so bear with me here. first thing to clarify is Light's name. without too much deliberation, Japan has this phenomenon (to my western understanding) wherein certain parents will name their children after English words. (this could potentially include other western languages; i am unsure.) as japanese is a syllabary, most of the time, these words cannot actually be pronounced properly in japanese. these names are often also written with presumably completely unrelated characters. light's name is one of these, having to be pronounced as "raito" in japanese, and written (as he so kindly explains to naomi) with "tsuki," the character for "moon." these names are called "kira-kira names." i am not joking. (that L never made a joke about light's name being literally a "kira-kira" name leaves me with a harrowingly destitute void in my soul.)

last thing we need to do is look at the translation for "Yagami," which approximates (to my knowledge!) as meaning "high," as in "high in power" (not "high" as in "stoned," because that's probably more like L's thing).

so, if we take an extrapolation of this, and replace light's names with their written functions—his forename as being a kira-kira name and being written as moon, and his surname (depending on how it's written) meaning "high"—we can evaluate an interpretation of light's name as being, extensively, "kira-kira moon high."

maybe my fellow death note crazies can see where i'm going with this. now, let's look at L's name, which is far more self-explanatory. his name is L Lawliet (in case you are somehow on the death note tags and were not already aware), which is pronounced "L low-light." (which, as s a side note, is a hilariously unintuitive pronunciation for his name, implying that Light (if he ever heard it) would almost certainly misspell it (made even more likely as a native japanese speaker, even given how good his english is) and potentially make him immune to a human using the death note by misspelling it six times.)

so, if we put the *phonetic* pronunciation of L's name next to the *written* extrapolation of light's, and reduce light's name to its logical conclusion, we get "L low light" and "Kira moon high." (hyphon in L's name and hyphon + second 'kira' in light's removed, as light himself is not both kiras, and removing the second kira also removes the hyphon in his name, whereafter we then logically can remove the hyphon in l's name. like homoerotic algebra.)

furthering the analogy, and allowing a little leniency (given all the other obvious similarities) that "light" can be taken as the opposite to "moon"—as in, "sunlight," and furthermore, "sun"—we output "L low sun" and "Kira moon high."

if you interpret L as the sun and Light as the moon, then congrats, it's already spelled out for you. if you interpret L as the moon and light as the sun, then it's like they carry the symbolic celestial analogies of one another in the other's name, which is some crazy soulmate shit. if you're like me, and interpret them as being both but in different ways, then both ways are true simultaneously. (to me, it speaks to how similar they ultimately are that you can interpret them as being both the sun and moon, albeit in different fashions.)

either way, they have gay ass little names and i can't believe i've never heard anybody talk about this before. so eat up, death note tumblr. enjoy your meal.

#lawlight #l lawliet #light yagami #death note #deathnote #gay men #lawlight easter egg #am i just wildly insane or was this intentional

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acotarxreader · 1 month

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Shadow and Flame pt 4

Azriel X Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions but no description of torture, mentions of burns, punchable High Lords

A/N: Okay Part 4, added action and suspense with higher stakes hehe Please let me know what you think, your words are so encouraging. Also as an aside Lúdás is an Irish word for traitor, a little trivia in there for you, without the fadas for ease of your own pronunciation.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

*********

Drip, drip, drip.

You rolled the back of your head along the damp brick, trying to release tension from your shoulders, knees cuddled into your chest for some ounce of warmth. Your hollowed eyes resembled the deep chasms beneath the Autumn Court where your cell rotted and shuddered. The soaking air leeching any semblance of inferno from you.

Drip, drip, drip.

You groaned at the sounds of your Father's guards passing through the jail corridors, throwing a glance towards you as they marked your presence. Three months of the same routine. Three months since your father rebroke your bones and shattered your soul but Azriel was safe, Velaris was safe. A consolation prize. You had stopped crying soon after being locked down there, mourning a life for a moment you thought you could have.

Drip, drip, drip.

*********

“At what point do we just get a big net and steal him away in the night?”

“It's not funny Cass” Feyre reprimanded the Illyrian, the Inner Circle gathered for a family dinner in The House Of Wind, Azriel notably absent. Plates piled high with food went untouched as you were once again the topic of conversation.

“Well it's gone beyond sulking, he's locked up in his room, staring at a candle he won't let anyone blow out, he's frightening the staff'' Amren glanced towards the staircase leading in the direction of Azriels chambers.

Elain lurched forward suddenly, the table turning to her in confusion.

“Something is- something is wrong with Lucien” the table looked frantic between one another. No one had seen Lucien since Azriel had all but banished him from the circle. Cassian flew from the chair up the stairs, crashing into Azriels chambers to find it empty.

“Azriels gone!” Panic grew in all of them. Had he gone back for more? The table dispersed in chaos, darting in different directions to where they believed they'd find the two.

*****

“Azriel, this is becoming very much too Illyrian for me” Lucien stood suppressing his shaking legs, blood running from his face.

“No such thing” Azriels eyes were wild, scorch marks scratching his leathers. The two stood warrior stance ready, books, papers, and furniture askew across the scope of Lucien's office in Velaris. Azriel had had enough, enough waiting, enough wondering, enough hurting. He believed you ran from him that night three months ago and he had become determined to find you again, to beg for clarity. Lucien had the information he needed, he was able to get to you before and he would help Azriel get you now, even if Illyrian persuasion was needed.

“I will not tell you about YN, I do not know the answers to your questions” Not all untrue for the Prince of Foxes. He had begged his father for leniency towards you, offered himself for replacement but it was no good, he was iced out by his family's court once again. Lucien couldn't tell him any of that, he didn't want Azriel chasing Autumn's Daughter enraging their father further

“You lie!”

“I do not! And I do not understand this infatuation-”

“Infatuation! That's what YN said I had that day in the woods, that came from you! Now tell me your meeting place!” Azriel threw his shadows to slam into Lucien, knocking him for a moment off balance. That's all Azriel needed, he sprung for the Emissary, pinning him to the bookcase of his study, sending more books crashing. Truth Teller now in hand, Lucien allowed panic to show in his eyes as Azriels raged in storms and clouded pain.

“I-will-not-tell-you-where-my-sister-is” Lucien choked out, face rapidly losing colour. Sister. Sister. Sister. The word crashed over Azriel, he released the pressure stepping back. Lucien caught his throat and massaged his crushed windpipe. Shit he thought, blaming the temporary cut-off of oxygen on his admission.

“Azriel!” Rhysand winnowed into the chaotic scene with Cassian by his side. Azriel stood, pale face, processing.

“You lie again Emissary” he seethed

“I do not, she is the Autumn Court's daughter, my…our father's pride and joy. She is…she is his to use” he slumped slightly, the nature of the Court of Autumn's conduct always a source of disgrace for him. Azriel pushed his mind from having an existential crisis, his whole purpose for existing was to know everything about everyone and you had fully slipped through the cracks, what else had he missed in work?

“Oh my Gods, Az you fucked Lucien's sister” Cassian broke the silence in a very Cassian way, Rhysand hitting him in the chest.

“You. What?” Lucien bit out, flames came to his side once more, cocking his head in challenge.

“I-” Lucien leapt forward tackling the conflicted Shadowsinger, sending him sailing to the ground as they rolled in hand-to-hand combat. Cassian caught Rhysands arm, pulling him back from intervening with a “let them at it” facial expression.

“FIRST YOU COME FOR MY MATE! THEN YOU COME FOR MY SISTER! IS NOTHING SACRED TO YOU HEATHENS!” Lucien blared as Azriel rolled, using his wings for the upper hand, rolling until he was on top of Lucien.

“YOUR FUCKING SISTER IS MY MATE” Azriel had Lucien pinned by the arms to the floor as he roared, the air almost sucked from the room at the silence that followed. Azriel let Lucien's arms go with a thud before standing again, dusting the soot off his leathers. Lucien pushed up off the floor, wiping a forearm along his bloody lip.

“Az” Rhysand tried softly as Azriel strode over to look out the window of the study, down on the winding streets of his beloved city. He raised his hand without facing the three, needing a moment of reprieve.

Lucien looked at Azriels two lost Illyrian brothers before moving cautiously behind the Shadowsinger, laying the most gentle of hands on one of his shoulders, soft heat radiating through.

“Azri- Az we will get my sis- your Mate back” Azriels wings slumped slightly at his frenemy's words.

A maroon envelope burst into the room to land on Luciens desk, the four looking conflicted towards it.

***************

“Stand” the darkened figures' chilling voice carried through the dimly lit passageway and across the cell bars. You released a breath from your long broken soul before standing on weakened wobbly legs, the weighted shackles tethering your wrists grinding against your movement. Rings of water encased in the shackles for good measure.

“Arm” was grunted at you as the cell door unlocked itself allowing the males to step in.

“Ludas, we went to training camp together. Can you at least look at me when you order me around?” you raised your eyebrow to the tall male figure in front of you. The back of his hand sliced into your face with centuries of training and force, sending you crashing to the floor swearing as you slammed into it.

“Do not speak out of turn”

“Oh I am so telling your mother when I get out of here” you scoffed, spitting the blood in your mouth at his shoes and pushing back off the rocky wet ground, the male slightly tensing at your words.

“Get it over with, whatever lashings you have” you threw out your arm and closed your eyes waiting for the whip that didn't come. Only a weight release from your wrist. Your eyelids shot open to find your shackles smashing to the floor, metal bracelets filled with water replacing them. Before you could question, a hood was thrown over your head, and a weight shot into your stomach as you sailed over Ludas’ shoulder.

You landed with a thud on a cold solid floor, the sound of flame whispering sorrows for you. The hood was snatched, blinding sunlight sent your head screaming as you tried to adjust after three months below the Court.

Your focusing eyes landed on Eris' face, who looked as though he'd seen a ghost and in some way that's what you were. Your copper eyes greying, mud and moss coating your hair, shirt and trousers torn to shreds from the beatings and rats you fought off nightly. A long call from the copper princess he saw you as the last time he saw you. Another deserter you thought to yourself.

“Stand and smile Daughter-” your screaming eyes shot to the male sitting on the throne of your people.

“-it's the eve of your wedding day after all” vertigo. You felt vertigo. Your eyes spinning in your skull, unable to summon any ounce of strength until darkness met you once more.

******

Lucien walked slowly towards the envelope as if it could strike him at any moment. The three watched, Azriel’s stomach beginning to do turns on itself. The headed paper slipped from its casing, the Autumn Court emblem proudly on display. Lucien's sorrowful gaze read down the sheet as if it were his very own life sentence but it was yours. The paper fell from his shaking hands to the floor beneath him as he turned and vomited into the filing cabinet adjacent. A wedding invitation addressed to the Night Court members.

**********

You woke up to the warmth of fire, fire not belonging to you, unsettling you instantly. You sat up in the brick red sheets, ignoring the whirlpool headache growing in you. You felt different, you felt clean. You looked down to see deep forest green silk covering you, your hand shooting to your now soft and shiny hair. Your trembling legs brought you to the mirror in the room you didn't recognise. You had returned to your beauty as if the past few months never happened. But there in the mirror, you saw the staunch reminder that it very much did, the metal and water bracelets swirling around your wrist like the bonds they were, tethering you without chains. Your hand found a small scar along your lip where Ludas had marked you, it still trying to stitch together under your weakened powers.

Your eyes frantically searched the room for the door out, with none to be found, you had been winnowed into this new plush cell. You felt yourself roar. Roar and roar and roar.

“YN! You'll wake the hounds!” You whipped around to your father's voice, how long had he been there? He looked so put together, so reserved, nowhere near the man who roasted your skin on flames of rage three months previous.

“Leave me go, I've done my time, I-”

“Now does that sound very like me?” Beron laughed sickly, sitting himself down on the sofa, arms spread along the back, the picture of ease, his wild flame daughter tamed. He looked at you like you were his pawn to play and you had never felt so much so.

“The Shadowsinger was an interesting side quest for you wasn't it?”

“Stop” he laughed at your attempt at defiance, you couldn't hear him speak of Azriel, he'd shatter you all over again.

“Tomorrow you will marry the General of the Vallahan Legion-”

“-I will do no such thing!” You snapped, your father standing back to his feet.

“This back-chatting is getting out of hand, where's my malleable piece of copper gone?”

“You killed her” you said so eerily calm, unwavering steeliness growing in you.

“Well I suggest she resurrects herself ahead of her nuptials” ice dripping from his voice as his searing touch caught your wrist pulling you in.

“Vallahan will be powerful allies and I have graves picked out for you and your brother's precious night court. You will behave. You will do as I say or you will join them in the dirt”

“I will go to my grave regardless if you make me marry him”

“That can be arranged once you've signed the dotted line for all I care” and you believed him. He didn't care once his pawn had moved into place who took her out. He stood again, easing over in your direction, his flames leaping to life, willing to ignite chaos at their master’s will.

“I hope you’ll cheer up dear, you’ll make your guests so very sad seeing a weeping bride, although not that they’ll be smiling for long” you went cold at his tone, what does that mean you screamed inside your head and he laughed as if he could hear you.

“Well now YN, you know very well that I enjoy killing two birds with one stone”

“What are you planning?”

“Oh please don’t say it with such hatred. I’m giving you a wedding present, one last look at your beloved Shadowsinger” your eyes went wild at his words, you moved to lunge for him in pure unadulterated anger but his flames wrapped around you pulling you to the ground without burning you.

“Sleep well my piece of copper, big day for you tomorrow, I'm so proud” he caught your chin so roughly, eyes piercing through you, releasing your face with a jolt and dissolving into flame.

******

Part 5

Tag list: @sunshineangel-reads @skylarkalchemist @tele86 @saltedcoffeescotch @impossibelle @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @fightmedraco @st4r-girl-official @mp-littlebit @naliyahmaria @judig92 @st4r-girl-official @circe143 @minnieoo @honk4emoboyz @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @hanatsuki-hime

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ninyard · 2 months

Text

The monsters and their ability to pick up languages is so interesting to me so here’s some random HCs about monsters + languages that are definitely not original at all:

- Neil learned French in Europe before him and Mary found their way to French-speaking Canada. He essentially had to semi-adopt the language discrepancies while he was there, and even though his fluency is in French from France, sometimes he messes up and pronounces things weirdly or differently (and Kevin frequently makes fun of him for it)

- Kevin has some rusty Japanese that he was forced to learn growing up. He can understand it pretty well, and can somewhat speak it to a lower level, but he can’t read or write it. He’s not fluent, and probably couldn’t hold a conversation with a native speaker, but he could understand his Japanese counterparts in the Nest when he needed to.

- In turn Kevin isn’t able to order in Japanese at a restaurant, but he could explain the rules of Exy to someone fairly coherently if he had to.

- This isn’t an original thought by any means but Neil and Kevin definitely speak in French when they’re by themselves just to make sure they don’t lose it.

- They sometimes make calls to each other on the court in French, and because of this, most of the team picks up very basic calls in French. None of them can actually speak it, but Andrew picks up a little more than the rest, having spent so much time with Kevin. Again, couldn’t hold a conversation, but every now and again he recognises certain words in their conversations.

- Neil is like a walking version of those White Guy Speaks Chinese And Stuns Waitress (he can understand her?!?) polyglot youTube videos. It becomes more of a hobby for him once he’s settled and the FBI are off his back, but the foxes are constantly shocked by how many languages he can speak. He is fluent in English, French, and German of course, with some conversational Spanish, but he can pretty much have a basic interaction in most of the languages of countries he’d been in. His Dutch is the worst, because he could never quite grasp the proper pronunciation of things, but one time he speaks to a waiter in Italian and Andrew can’t believe it.

- (RIP Neil Josten, you would’ve loved duolingo)

- When he goes to the Olympics he’s like a kid in a candy store. It’s like a subconscious bingo game for him to speak to someone from every country at least once.

- Aaron loves listening to music in German. He would definitely drag Nicky to a rave if they ever found themselves in Berlin.

- Katelyn asks him whenever they have their kid if he wants to raise them bilingual, but he decides not to because he only really learned German for Nicky and his brother, and doesn’t really speak it at all after he graduates.

- Neil and Nicky study Spanish together sometimes. It helps Nicky stay close to his roots now that his immediate family is pretty much out of the picture. It means way more to him than Neil even knows.

- Another unoriginal one but Andrew and Neil definitely do learn sign language in the future. I could talk about this one forever.

- When Kevin gets frustrated, he finds it hard to speak ANY language. He messes up words in English, forgets how to say things, and occasionally is the butt of the joke when he combines a French and English word accidentally.

- Kevin watches anime when nobody is around. He thinks dubbed anime is a crime.

- Andrew thinks he’s pretty good at German until he tries to have a conversation with Erik and realises wow native speakers talk a lot faster than we do. You wouldn’t know, because even if he just understands half of a sentence, he can usually piece together what is being said 90% of the time, and he would never admit out loud that he needs Erik to slow down when he’s talking so he can understand him.

- He is, however, REALLY good at accents. He has a talent for speaking gibberish but sounding as if he’s speaking fluent French. It drives Kevin up the wall when he does it, but he also hates when he can’t understand what Kevin and Neil are saying to each other.

And Bonus:

- Jeremy is really bad at accents. He is initially frustrated by Jean and his French, but once he understands that it is Jean’s first language (that the Moriyama’s took from him), he makes an effort to try and learn. He’s just really, really bad at it. Jean cringes every time he tries, because he speaks with a heavy American accent. Jean is not pretentious about his language, but he is, at the end of the day, French. So when Jeremy says bonjour in that hideous so-Cal accent, it’s in part endearing that he’s trying, but mostly like nails on a chalkboard.

#this is so. pointless #and not original #but I just want to share :)#Kevin day #Neil josten #aftg #tfc #Andrew minyard #Nicky hemmick #jean moreau #jeremy knox #thank u for ur time

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ddarker-dreams · 10 months

Text

Chrollo tells you a story from his childhood centered around bread.

(Warnings for religious mentions and canon typical depictions of his hometown, Meteor City)

“Hm… how uncanny is that.”

Knowing that he’ll continue speaking cryptic phrases until you express an interest you most certainly don’t have, you sigh, and rest your cheek on your fist.

“What’s uncanny?”

Please don’t mean the bread, please don’t mean the bread, please don’t mean the bread—

“This bread loaf,” he inclines his head toward it, as if you couldn’t spot the table’s lone occupant, “It’s bringing up some memories.”

He’s really going to talk to you about bread. Fuck.

“Meteor City, destitute as it is, was an attractive prospect for missionaries. My friends cared little for the religious doctrine they’d expound, but I always found the teachings fascinating. It wasn’t uncommon to go days without eating, so they’d come along with me on the sole condition that food was being provided. The priest, knowing this, had me relay the message that at his next teaching, there’d be fresh bread. Children overflowed from the tent that normally only I would occupy. He preached his sermon.”

There’s a nostalgic air to him as he continues. “By the end, he presented us with a challenge: whoever capable of best verbally expressing their devotion to God could have the bread. Each child present wanted to be the victor. There was a great deal of murmuring and thinking. He had us form a line, where one by one, we’d give what we hoped to be the winning response. My friend Phinks was first. ‘If I’d been there, I’da stomped the shit out of that snake,’ is what he went with. As you can imagine, the priest kept going down the line.

Eventually, he got to me. I’d been closely monitoring his body language and facial expressions. From what I could tell, no answer so far had even come close. I decided to take a different approach. From his theology, I could tell he was of the Roman Catholic persuasion. And so I suggested that to best prove our love, we should have mass. I thought that by focusing on the collective rather than oneself, I’d meet his unspoken criteria. He intended to keep the results to himself until everyone had spoken their piece, but no sooner as the words left my mouth did I know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

After everyone had their turn, he brought the bread out for all to see. While we were all excitedly wondering who the lucky individual would be, he raised his voice and began admonishing us. He quoted Matthew, ‘It is written: Man must not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God’. With that, he left us there, so that we could ‘think about what we’ve learned’.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor.

“I intended to counter his points later that night to see if I could win the community the bread they were promised. While I was preparing, a few children happened by, eating the bread that was pulled from under our noses. I asked where they got it from — they said Uvogin. Apparently, he learned what had happened and was incensed. I went to go see him so I could ask how he convinced the priest to give him the bread. I didn’t find Uvo at the place he normally hung out at, but I did see the priest.

He was… shall we say, arranged in a way that’s strenuous on the body. All the while he kept chanting, ‘Pater, aphes autois, ou gar oidasin ti poiousin’, though he lay dying. It left a strong impression on me. Especially because his pronunciation was slightly off… but more than that, I thought it interesting he held firm to the belief which landed him in this position. A belief he didn’t even understand properly. He passed with a content expression. He must’ve fancied himself a martyr. It later became a popular joke that in the end, he did prove that you can’t live on bread alone, since it didn’t seem to do him much good.”

“How… how old were you?”

“Seven or eight, I believe.”

You get up from the table. You can feel his eyes following your every movement, from the suite’s dining room to the living space it's connected to. The suitcase you’ve yet to unpack sits patiently as you rummage through its contents. Grabbing what you need, you return to the table, where Chrollo regards you with a curious countenance.

Your antidepressants rattle inside a small orange container as you put it before him. How he gets the medication, you haven’t the slightest clue. It’s more convenient to receive them from your enigmatic kidnapper than an uninsured trip to the psychiatrist. He’s got one thing going in his favor, at least.

“Do you already need a refill?”

You shake your head.

“Just… after hearing that story… I think you might want to consider getting some of these for yourself. High dose.”

#fun story time with chrollo (?)#yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo brainrot #my stuff

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sailor-aviator · 4 months

Text

Amhrán na Farraige

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Selkie!Reader

Summary: For centuries there have been legends of beautiful women who disguise themselves as creatures from the sea, only coming to land to sate their curiosity about the world above. Bradley was a simple man who had a taste for simple pleasures. A whole life spent at sea meant he was accustomed to these tales, but nothing prepares him for the reality of them.

Content Warning: ANGST, smut (brief, p in v), Pregnancy, References to the supernatural, Third person narrative, Some fluff, Dub-con, Kidnapping, Forced marriage (kind of, you'll see), Stockholm Syndrome, Some domestic violence (against spouse and towards children. Nothing heinous, just some grabbing and shaking), Anger, Celtic myths/legends, Celtic songs, Depression, Lies, Men driven mad, Descriptions of blood. I think I got everything, but PLEASE let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 13.2k

Helpful pronunciations (not exact, but close):

Amhrán na Farraige - [oh-ron nuh far-ig-uh] "Song of the Sea"

Sidhe - [She] "Fairy" (Also there's a whole etymology thing with this but yeah)

Mo Chroi - [moh khree] "My heart"

Mo Ghrá - [moh graw] "My love"

Mo Mhuirnín - [moh wor-neen] "My beloved"

Mo Stóirín - [mo store-een] "My Little Treasure"

Song One (The cliffs) || Song Two (The end)

God was not real, of this Bradley Bradshaw was sure and certain. At the very least, if he had existed at all, he was surely dead now. Or perhaps he was a neglectful deity. Bradley had seen too much death and hardship in his life to think otherwise.

He had seen men gasp for an unhearing god as they lay on battlefields, blood coursing out the holes in their bodies as tears streamed down their unseeing eyes. He had seen children starve, begging their still mothers for food that would never come, not while hardship endured in the land. He had heard the wails of women as their sons, brothers, fathers, and husbands never returned home, hand reaching out for an embrace that would never be returned.

All eyes looked to God, but God did not look back.

The only thing Bradley was sure of, was the existence of the fair folk, the Sidhe his mother had always called them. The beings who walked the between, never staying long in this world or the next.

“That shadow that lingers in the corner of your eye?” She had smiled, stroking the hair out of his face. “That’s the fair folk, honey. Always watching, but never seen. If they see let you see them, Bradley, then it’s already over. They’ve gotten you.”

His mother had done her best to keep him sheltered from the horrors of the world, but death and famine followed the people along the coast. His father had died in a shipwreck off the coast when he was young, and while his mother had done her best to keep her sorrow hidden, Bradley often caught her eye turned towards the sea. She disappeared when he was only sixteen.

Bradley had heard stories of people being taken by the fair folk, lured to the hills beyond the town, some never to be seen again, while others came back different. He wondered if the men who had gone off to war had been taken, replaced with something hollow, something not quite all there. Had his mother been taken by the Sidhe? Taken to the land beyond to be with his father? Or had her sorrow and longing for her long-dead husband become too much all at once, the grips of the icy waters too tempting an offer to resist?

It didn’t matter anymore, though. Bradley was alone and took work where he could, soft hands of youth turning to calloused hands of adulthood. His once bright eyes grew dull from the monotony of the jobs at sea, life becoming routine as day after day he boarded a ship to earn his livelihood.

As he grew older, the wages from the odd jobs allowed him to purchase his own vessel, a small boat that rocked in the choppy waves as he hunted the seals that littered the coasts.

He remembered watching from the small house he and his mother lived in as the creatures hopped out of the water to lay on the rocks. He would inch towards the door until she caught him, a stern look on her face as she scowled at him.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” she scolded him, hands on her hips. “You leave those creatures alone. They’re not doing anything to bother you.”

“Elijah’s da’ hunts them,” he remarked once, only serving to deepen her scowl.

“He does,” she muttered. “And he’s a lucky man that the selkies are a forgiving lot.”

“What’s a selkie?” Bradley had asked, eyes lighting up in intrigue. His mother regarded him for a moment before gesturing for him to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Bradley settled in, eyes eager as he waited for his mother to explain.

“The selkies are fair folk of the sea,” she began, eyes serious as they darted above his head to look out the window towards the beach. “They may look like seals, but underneath their blubber and fur, they look like people just like you and me. They’re beautiful, Bradley, but curious to a fault. They walk on land in human form, shedding their seal skin once every seven years.”

“Why seven?” He had asked, voice small with wonder.

“Just the way the magic works,” she had replied with a shrug. “You can always tell when a seal is a selkie based on the size. The bigger the seal, the more likely it is to be a selkie, Bradley. Killing it and taking the skin will earn you pay, but you’ll have blood of the fair folk on your hand. Remember that.”

And he had remembered, for a while at least. He would watch the seals as they basked on the rocks, always wondering if the ones that met his curious gaze were one of the fair folk - a selkie.

Now the years had passed, grown from a small boy into a man of large stature. He commanded respect from those in the small, seaside village. Long had the days passed when his mother had warned him of hunting the seals and long had passed the days when he took those warnings seriously. He had joined the few who hunted the creatures around the rocky shores, braving the misty seas to earn himself a living.

He sat in his boat, the waves rocking him side to side in the way they often do during misty weather. Bitter cold clawed at his skin, numbing his fingers as he waited. Waited for something to come out of the water. Waited for any sign that he would earn a meal.

He fiddled with the ropes that lie around the floor of the boat, tying knots that he would need later. Undoing them, tying them, undoing them again. Anything to keep himself occupied while he lay in wait.

His breaths came out as white puffs of clouds, matching the ones surrounding him. Ice water clung to the whiskers on his upper lip, dripping down to run along his jaw and throat. He shifted, burying himself further into the warmth his coat provided. It was worn. He would need a new one soon. All the more reason to keep hoping for a prize catch.

The sound of disturbed water drew his attention towards the shore, and he slowly crept forward to peer over the side of the boat. A large seal bobbed at the surface, taking slow, deep breaths of the cold air that surrounded them. Slowly, Bradley reached for his harpoon, watching as the seal floated closer and closer. He raised his arm slowly, taking aim. He took a breath. Then another.

He released the harpoon just as a wave crashed into the side of his boat, sending the weapon veering off course. The harpoon struck the seal’s side, creating a gash that seeped blood into the water. The seal gave a pained cry, diving down into the murky depths of the sea, and Bradley cursed.

He stared at the spot where the seal had disappeared, already feeling the pangs of hunger stab at him. His nostrils flared as the desperate sense of anger welled up within him. How could he have been so careless? The size of that pelt would have brought in enough money to last him months. He heaved a sigh, pulling the rope to bring the harpoon back towards him. His fingers dipped into the icy water, the pain of it distracting him momentarily from his despair.

Bradley tossed the harpoon to the floor, the item landing with a thud as he slumped onto the bench. He buried his face in his hands, mind moving with blinding speed. He could still earn enough money to survive, he thought to himself. He could still do this. He just had to be more careful next time, should wait until he’s closer so he doesn’t miss. Still, his mind wandered back to the seal. The sheer size of it had his mind drifting back to the stories his mother had always told him. Of course, Bradley was older now, and he wouldn’t be scared by tall tales. However, the foolishness of youth still clung to him, for though he was now considered a man, he was barely twenty-two summers old.

Bradley heaved a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his hands together to create some warmth that would awaken his freezing fingers. He gripped the oars in his hands and began to row back to shore, the sun already dipping towards the horizon. He was always tempted to stay out past dark, but the older fishermen and hunters warned him of the dangers that came about at night. While Bradley was a fool, he wasn’t stupid.

He neared the dock that stood on the beach outside his home, moving to secure the boat to one of the posts when something caught his eye.

It floated in the water, a silvery grey blob that moved with the tide. Bradley’s eyes narrowed as he tried to place what it was in his mind. The blob slapped up against the side of the boat, and it was then that he realized what he was looking at. It was a perfectly preserved seal pelt, much like the one he had just seen. He supposed that it had fallen off a cart on the way to market, the winding roads by the cliffs being one of the few ways to make it into town. It wasn’t unusual for things to be knocked off of carts, finding their way onto the beaches and eventually into the sea.

Bradley wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, not after his blunder. He scooped the pelt into the boat, laying it out to dry before lifting himself onto the dock. It would be days before he could take it to the market to sell, and he hoped no one recognized it when he did make his way into town.

An odd feeling overcame him in that moment, a feeling of unease and tension winding up his spine and gripping his throat. The feeling told him he was being watched, but by what, he did not know. His eyes darted around, expecting to see one of his neighbors by the house, but no one stood atop the cliff. The wind picked up around him, the cold of it stealing the breath from his lungs, and he curled in within himself to try and preserve some of the warmth he had left. The feeling told him he was making a mistake, but he ignored it, surmising that what he felt was guilt at having come into fortune from another’s strife.

Bradley shook his head to rid himself of the feeling, taking one last look around before trudging across the beach and up the path to his home.

The house was cold, but not for lack of warmth. Bradley kept the rooms heated well. No, the house lacked the happiness that made it a home, and this was something he was keenly aware of. It had been a home once, way back before his mother had disappeared.

Now, Bradley existed within its walls, hoping one day that he would find himself ready to settle for one of the pretty girls in town, the ones that smiled at him sweetly whenever he deemed it necessary to venture in. Perhaps he would finally give in to Orla’s flirting. She was a sweet thing, always filling his cup more than she ought to, setting it down in front of him with a bat of her eyes. She wasn’t a bad choice.

Bradley shook the thoughts from his head. He couldn’t entertain the idea of taking a wife, not when his circumstances were so uncertain.

He settled further down into his chair, feet propped up by the fire, the glowing embers serving to help warm him from his time out in the cold air during the day. The wood cracked and popped as the fire consumed it, and Bradley soon found himself dozing off. Exhaustion seeped down to the very marrow of his bones, his muscles stiff from the hours spent hunched over on the boat. His eyes began to flutter shut, urging him to embrace the sweet oblivion that came with sleep.

His body jerked, eyes snapping open. He wasn’t sure what had startled him at first, his heart hammering away in his chest as he let out a shaky breath. His ears perked, eyes darting as he waited for whatever it was that had roused him. He didn’t have to wait long, a second cry sounding from outside.

It was one of pure, unadulterated sorrow. The cry of someone so grief stricken, they sounded almost like an animal. A chill ran down Bradley’s spine at the sound, and cautiously he moved to stand, heading towards the front door. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to leave well enough alone, but he worried that someone might be heart or in trouble. Grabbing his coat, he slipped back into his boots and walked out the door.

The cold was something he thought he should be used to at this point, but it still shocked his system every time he stepped foot out into it. The moon was the only source of light save for the faint, orange glow that filtered out of the windows of his house. The air stung his lungs, and he suppressed a shiver that threatened to run up his spine. The cry had sounded far, coming from towards the beach if he had to guess. He began to walk, boots crunching against the dirt path as it gave way to sand. The waves crashed against the shore like thunder, so loud that he almost didn’t hear the faint cries coming from further down the strip of sand.

He almost missed her huddled in the sand, back pressed up against one of the large rocks at the edge of the shoreline where sand met grass. Her head was buried in the crook of her arms, shoulders shaking as she cried, quiet whimpers wracking her body.

“Miss?” He called out once he was a few feet away. “Are you okay?”

Her head snapped up, hair falling in her face as sorrow filled eyes peered up at him. The look of her knocked all air out of his lungs, and for a moment he couldn’t focus on anything but how beautiful the woman in front of him was.

“Can’t find it,” she croaked. Her voice was still sweet sounding despite the hoarseness of it, and Bradley found himself captivated even further by her. His eyes left her face then, realizing for the first time that she was naked.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, rushing forward as he shrugged off his coat. “Here, take this.”

He wrapped the coat around her smaller frame, the material dwarfing her. Her lips trembled, though Bradley suspected it wasn’t from the cold. She didn’t seem to see him as she continued muttering to herself, eyes darting wildly between her hands and the sea.

“Can’t find it,” she said again, her voice growing in pitch as the desperation took hold.

“Can’t find what?” Bradley asked, brow furrowing in confusion as he glanced around the beach. “Did someone hurt you? Where are your clothes?”

A choked cry spilled past her lips as a fresh wave of tears began to stream down her face. She shook her head wildly, hands darting out to grasp at his shirt. Her fingers seemed to push him away and pull him closer at the same time as another wail climbed up her throat.

“Can’t find it!” She shrieked, eyes growing wider as she stared at the water. “Wanna go home.”

“Where is home?” Bradley asked, his own anxiety beginning to peak as he gripped onto the woman’s shoulders. Her eyes glanced to his, but they did not see him.

“Between the light, between the dark,” she whispered, eyes boring into him. “Between the cold, between the warmth. Between the moon, between the sun. Between the north, between the south.”

The between was something Bradley’s mother had always cautioned him about.

“It’s where the fair folk live, Bradley,” she had told him. “They don’t live here, but they don’t live fully in the other. They’re from somewhere in between.”

He shook the thought from his head. He knew he was being superstitious, ridiculous even. The fair folk were prideful beings, surely one wouldn’t be sitting here talking with him like this.

And yet, as Bradley looked upon this woman, heard how she spoke, a voice in the back of his mind whispered to him that there was something strange about her. Something…otherworldly.

“Are you alone?” He settled on, trepidation clear in his tone. “Is there someone I can go get for you?”

“Can’t go home,” she muttered, eyes turned longingly to the sea as tears streamed down her face. “It’s too late.”

Bradley heaved out a sigh. He would have to take her home, let her rest and try again in the morning.

“Can you stand?” He asked her. She said nothing, nails biting into the skin of her arms as she continued to stare out at the water. Bradley reached out to her, Taking her arms gently to help her stand. Her lips curled in a wince, hand flying to her side. His eyes flickered down, and for the first time noticed the dried blood on her side.

“You’re hurt,” he frowned, moving closer to inspect the wound, but she shied away from him, her own frown tugging on her lips. His tongue darted out to wet his own nervously, as he glanced from her to the house.

“My house is a bit of a ways up the hill,” he started, nodding towards it. Her gaze was more focused now, eyes flickering towards where he gestured. “Do you think you can make it?”

She didn’t respond, instead tilting her head to the side as she regarded the distance. Finally, she nodded, and Bradley felt his shoulders sag in relief. The wind whipped around them, and he was reminded of how cold it was. It would be best to get her inside as soon as possible, though he couldn’t help but notice that she seemed holy unaffected by the freezing temperatures even though she stood in nothing but his coat.

He waited for her to move towards the house, but she remained still, watching him watch her. Finally, he pressed his lips together and began to walk towards the house, boots crunching against the ground once more. The woman made no sound as she moved behind him, her gaze fixated on him the entire time.

He paused outside the front door, hand hesitating above the knob. Slowly, he turned to look at her once more. Her eyes stared back at him, eyes that reflected the orange glow cast into the night, eyes that swirled with knowledge that Bradley could only dream of. She said nothing as they watched each other, those sorrowful eyes watching him with curiosity, so much like seals that littered the shores. Bradley sucked in a quick breath before turning around to push the door open.

The warmth was welcome, and he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he stepped into the main room, turning to watch as the woman stepped across the threshold. Her eyes darted around, taking in the various pieces of furniture and decorations that were scattered about as Bradley closed the door softly behind her. She took a few more tentative steps into the house, head cocking to the side in such an unusual way as to further confirm what Bradley was slowly accepting.

She walked past him, eyes glittering with intrigue as she came up to the fire. She crouched down, head still tilting to one side, and Bradley was captivated by the sight of this beautiful woman bathed in the light of the fire in his home. Before he could react, she reached a hand out into the flame, letting out a startled, pained yelp as she retracted it. A whimper left her lips as Bradley rushed forward, kneeling in front of her and taking her hand in his.

“Why would you do that?” He asked, no real heat behind his tone as he inspected her fingertips. “Don’t you know it’s hot?”

Her fingertips were a little pink, but otherwise no real damage had been done. She stared at him with an unreadable expression, eyes still studying him. He hesitated for a moment before moving to stand, keeping her hand in his.

“I can show you to your room,” he told her, tugging on her hand lightly. Her eyes scanned him from head to foot and then back again before allowing him to pull her to her feet. The two padded down a small hallway before he pushed the door open to a bedroom that had long stood unoccupied. He tugged her inside, motioning for her to sit on the bed. She sat obediently, watching and waiting for him to make his next move.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he exited the room. He made his way to the washroom, grabbing bandages, a cloth, a bowl, and a pitcher of water. He returned to the room quickly, finding that the woman had not moved an inch in the time he was gone. He sucked in a breath as their eyes once again met, wary meeting curious. He set the items on the bedside table as he gestured at her.

“You’ll need to take that off so I can see the wound,” he murmured, heat rising to his cheeks as he glanced at her uneasily. She paid no mind to his discomfort, easily shedding the coat and exposing her naked body to him as simply as if he had asked her to close the door. He cleared his throat, eyes darting down to look at the angry-looking gash on her side. The wound appeared to be superficial, but he couldn’t be sure until he cleaned it.

He turned to ready the cloth, keeping the bowl of water close so he could rinse if he needed to. Tentatively, he reached a hand up, running his fingers over the dried blood upon her skin, eyes darting up to search for any sign of distress. Her face remained impassive as she watched him, and Bradley’s jaw clenched as he began to wipe gently at the wound.

He had been correct in his initial assessment, the gash was more of a flesh wound and thankfully wouldn’t require stitching. He grabbed some of the salve he had brought in, applying a decent layer before wrapping a bandage around her midsection. Bradley tried not to think of how close he was to the woman, of how beautiful she was, especially when she seemed wholly unbothered by his presence.

“I, um,” he stuttered, cursing his nervousness, “I can bring you something to wear. I still have some of my ma’s things.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer, not that she would give him one if the last half hour had been any indication. He made his way down the hall to the door he had not opened in years, taking a deep breath to steady himself before pushing inside.

The room was just as his mother had left it all those years ago, the only thing having changed was the layer of dust that coated everything. Bradley moved quickly to the wardrobe on the far side of the room, opening it to reveal several different clothing options. He grabbed what he could carry, making sure to grab some of the sleeping garments before heading back down the hall. The woman sat unmoved once more as he appeared, draping the options on the chair to his left by the vanity.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he said lamely, gesturing towards the clothing, “so I grabbed what I thought might look nice.”

The woman’s gaze moved slowly to the clothing before she rose to her feet. She padded across the room, not a sound from her as she walked over towards where he stood. Her eyes darted up to his for a moment before back down to the clothes. Small hands reached out to pick up one of the nightgowns he had grabbed, eyes studying it with a frown. Her hands tightened on the fabric, a look of despair washing over her face and disappearing just as quickly before she slowly eased it over her head, letting it drape down her form. She reached her hands up to pull her long hair out of the confines, letting it run down her back as she stared up at him.

There was something inherently wild about her, something that sent Bradley’s heart racing as he looked at her standing there in the room. She looked so out of place but so at ease with her surroundings, and he could hardly stand it.

“My room is just down the hall,” he told her, shoulders pulling back a fraction as he regarded her. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

He gathered the things he had brought in, moving to leave when she grabbed his shirt, stopping him. He glanced at her from over his shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion as he waited for her to speak.

“Do you hear them?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. “They’re calling for me.”

Bradley listened in the silence that followed, and it was a second before he heard the quiet, distant barks of seals mixed with the keen of something he could not place - something not quite human, not quite animal. He looked at the woman, her eyes having grown distant once more as a tear slid down her face. Bradley sucked in a quick breath as a shudder ran up his spine.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “You seem like you’ve had a long day.”

The woman looked at him once more, sadness swelling within her eyes before she slowly nodded, letting him go. She turned towards the bed, padding silently across the room once more.

Bradley closed the door behind him as he left, hands shaking as he listened for the click of the latch before putting away the items in hand. He put out the fire, washing the room in darkness as he dragged a hand over his face. With a glance towards the hall, he crept towards the front door, opening it and shutting it behind him carefully as to not make a sound. The cries from before could be heard louder now, and Bradley thought his heart would burst from his chest from the unease that enveloped him.

The moon still shone bright, lighting his path down towards the dock and his boat. The waves lapped against the shore, the cries louder the closer he came. His boat knocked against the wooden stands of the dock with every crash of the waves, and sitting there, on top of the bench, lay the pelt.

Bradley’s heart quickened at the sight, a sense of dread filling him at what he might find once he inspected it. His boots clicked against the wood as he made his way down to the edge. He kneeled down, snatching the pelt from its perch and into his hands. It was soft, nearly dry. He ran his hands over it, inspecting it closely as he squinted in the dark.

He was lost in the sensation of the pelt, how smooth and soft it felt in his hands, and for a moment he allowed himself to close his eyes and compare it to how soft the woman’s skin had felt under his fingertips earlier. He was pulled from his thoughts as the soft fur transformed into a matted and cracked mess. His eyes flew open, breath catching in his throat as he took in the bloodied tear down the side of the pelt.

Right where the gash on the woman was.

There was no denying it in his mind now. The woman in his home was one of the Sidhe - a selkie.

The cries grew louder, and Bradley’s head whipped up to stare out into the water. He couldn’t see them, but knew they were out there, searching for a sister that was lost to them. His grip on the pelt tightened, and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. He scrambled back to his feet, boots stomping against the wood and then the ground as he ran back to the house. His mind raced with thought after thought as his lungs burned from lack of oxygen. His hand reached out to open the door, but he stopped short, fingers hovering over the knob.

The cries off in the distance sounded as he stared at his front door before looking down at the pelt in hand. He could return it to the woman, let her return back to the sea she called home. But a more sinister thought crossed his mind. Why should he give it back? The woman was safe with him, after all. He could protect her from those that wished to hunt her, keep her warm and fed like a man should. He could love her, give her a life beyond what the sea had to offer. The memory of her skin under his fingertips once again rushed to the forefront of his mind, and he allowed his hand to drop back to his side. Yes, he would keep the pelt. Keep it hidden away where she nor anyone else would ever find it.

He turned on his heel, running towards the small shack just a few yards away from the house, ripping the door open and stepping inside. The structure held mostly items necessary for fishing and repairing his boat, but an old trunk sat in the back, practically hidden by various tarps and other objects. The cries of the other selkies grew louder, almost like they could sense the pelt in his hands and were coming to find it.

Bradley pulled the trunk out into the open, moving to the workbench and grabbing one of the keys that sat in the top drawer. He kneeled down in front of the trunk, unlocking it and opening the lid with a quiet creak. Inside lay old photos and trinkets that his father and mother had collected over their years together. He pulled a few items out before placing the pelt gently into the trunk, covering it back up with the aforementioned items.

He closed the lid, locking it. The wailing cries coming to an abrupt and sudden stop as he did so. He stayed there for a moment, the only sound to be heard being his heavy breathing and the waves crashing against the shore below. Slowly, he moved to stand, shoving the trunk back where he found it and hiding it away once more. No one would think to look in there. No one would know what he kept hidden. He tossed the key back into the top drawer, stepping out of the shack and back into the night.

The air was still around him, eerily so, and Bradley made his way quickly back to the house. His fingers were numb, whether it be from cold or nerves he wasn’t sure, but the tension didn’t ease as he closed the front door quietly behind him, his back pressed against it for a moment as he listened for any sound that the woman might have heard him. Hearing nothing, he toed his boots off, setting them by the door before making his way quietly towards his room, noting that no light shone under the woman’s door. He changed quickly for bed, crawling under the blankets as if they might shield him from the consequences of his actions that evening. He took a few calm, steadying breaths before closing his eyes.

Sleep did not come easy to him that night.

The first morning had been awkward, Bradley rising with the dawn to find the woman already sitting at the dining table, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of the nightgown. Her eyes darted up to meet his as he entered the room, stopping short at the sight of her.

“You’re awake,” he murmured, shock clear in his voice as they stared at one another. She blinked at him, saying nothing. She seemed perkier this morning, albeit still cautious as she watched him walk further into the room. Bradley grabbed the box of matches from the shelf, taking one out and striking it with a pop. The woman jumped at the sound, eyes flickering to the watch as he leaned down to light the stove, shaking the match out once he was done.

“What is that?” She asked, and Bradley turned to look at her in surprise.

“What is what?”

“The colors,” she supplied, nodding at the burnt match in his hand. She pointed towards the fireplace. “They were in the cave over there last night as well.”

Bradley’s gaze flickered over to where she pointed before landing back on her.

“It’s called fire,” he started slowly, a frown tugging on his lips. “I use it to cook things and keep the house warm.”

“Fire,” she repeated, testing the word out on her lips. “It hurts.”

“It can,” Bradley agreed, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “You shouldn’t touch it.”

She nodded solemnly, clasping her hands out in front of her. She watched as he began to prepare breakfast, turning on the toaster and slicing up the fish to cook in the pan.

“I like those.”

Bradley turned back around to find the woman sitting with most of her torso on top of the table, her legs stretched to accommodate her. Eyes shone with delight at the sight of the fish, and Bradley arched a brow at her.

“Yeah?” He hummed. She nodded enthusiastically, tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

“There’s lots of them,” she told him. “They swim in groups and they’re easy to catch. The fishermen catch them using nets.”

“They do,” Bradley nodded, laying a strip of the mackerel down in the pan. It began to sizzle, and he was struck with how hungry he truly was.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped, turning to look where the woman now stood, eyes wide as she watched the fish cook down. He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the fish, flipping it over before it burned.

“I’m cooking,” he told her. The woman leaned forward, sniffing at the food before wrinkling her nose.

“It smells weird,” she muttered, and Bradley laughed.

“It smells fine,” he smiled, sliding the fish onto one of the plates on the counter. “You’ve just never had it cooked, I’ll bet.”

He ushered her back towards the table, setting the plate down at the spot she just occupied and handing her a fork. He turned back towards the stove, laying another slice of the fish down as the woman took a tentative bite. Chewing slowly, she perked up as the taste rushed over her, shoveling more into her mouth with a satisfied purr. Bradley soon joined her, chuckling as he watched her. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so light, the last time he laughed so freely.

“You should slow down,” he smirked, taking a bite from his own plate. “You don’t want to choke.”

She peered up at him, pausing in her feast as she considered his words. She cocked her head to the side in that curious way before taking a slower bite, looking up at him for approval. The two ate in silence for a few moments before Bradley cleared his throat, drawing her attention.

“My name is Bradley,” he said, glancing up at her as he swallowed a mouthful of fish.

“Bradley.”

“What should I call you?” He asked, and she frowned in confusion.

“What do you want to call me?” She asked him.

“Don’t you have a name?” He chuckled, disbelief coloring his voice. Surely even the fair folk had names to give. Her face drew tight in sorrow once more, and Bradley felt a twinge of pain in his chest at the sight. Her gaze slowly turned towards the window where the sea lay just out of sight.

“Only the water knows my name,” she told him, grip loosening on her fork as it clattered against the plate. “Only it can say it.”

Bradley watched her. Watched how her breathing grew ragged. Watched how her eyes glistened with unshed tears for a home she would not return to. Her lips trembled, and Bradley cleared his throat.

“I need to head into town,” he said. “Need to see a man about a job. Do you want to come with me?”

She turned to look at him, eyes still hazy from wherever she had let herself wander. She blinked once, twice.

“I suppose,” she whispered finally. Bradley nodded, clearing the plates from the table.

“You’ll need to change,” he told her. “You can’t go out wearing that.”

She looked down at her nightgown with a frown before looking back up at him.

“It’s, uh,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not appropriate for others to see you dressed like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just,” he blew out a breath, “please pick a different dress?”

She gave him a sour look before standing and disappearing down the hall. Bradley blew out a breath before moving to clean the kitchen area. The woman reappeared, wearing a simple, blue dress. Bradley nodded in approval before his eyes landed on her bare feet.

“Stay here,” he told her, walking down the hall to the far bedroom. He walked in, straight up to the wardrobe and began rummaging through until he found a pair of his mother’s old shoes. He reappeared in the kitchen, handing the woman the shoes with a shy smile.

“I don’t know how well they’ll fit,” he started, “but they should work until we get you some new ones.”

She eyed them distastefully, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I don’t want them,” she said finally, moving to hand them back to Bradley. He shook his head.

“You need them. They’ll protect your feet, and people will expect you to wear them.”

She scowled, pushing them forward once more, but Bradley stopped her.

“Please, mo chroi,” he pleaded. “Just while we’re in town. You can take them off as soon as we’re home.”

Her gaze softened at the endearment, and reluctantly, she shoved her feet into them. He helped her lace them, calloused fingers making nimble work of them, and soon they were ready to go. He grabbed a thin jacket for himself while he made sure to hand her the heavy coat to combat the frigid air outside. The walk to town took about an hour, and the weather was sure to still be cold and damp as it often was during the time between spring and winter.

Bradley turned to her, a thin-lipped smile on his face as his hand rested on the door. He gave her a once over.

She looked like any other person upon first glance, but if you stared too long, something wild shone on her person that drew you in. Like it would suffocate you if you stared too long. He sucked in a breath, torn between keeping her in his sight and making her stay. If she came, the townsfolk would surely be able to guess that she was not a mere human girl, but if she stayed? If she stayed, she might find the one thing he hoped she never would.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Let’s go.”

Weeks had passed, and the two had developed a routine of sorts. Bradley had started work as the lighthouse keeper, walking every day down the path along the cliffs to clean and polish the light that guided ships to shore. When he finished, he began work on the nets for when he ventured out into the sea to catch fish. It was a steady source of food, and food was not something Bradley took lightly. Memories of what it felt like to go hungry when there was so little to go around, fueled his drive to ensure there was enough, always enough and plenty to spare. He showed mo chroi how to prepare and salt the fish they couldn’t eat, showing her how to store it for future meals.

She was a quick learner, performing the tasks diligently as the days passed, and soon she took over most of the household chores. The widow Callahan checked in on them from time to time, her wise eyes studying the new woman of the house every time she came by.

“Be careful, young man,” she’d always say, dark eyes narrowed up at him. “You may have tamed her now, but the fair folk were not meant for gilded cages. Don’t give her what you cannot spare.”

Bradley would assure her that he wouldn’t, but in truth, he had no idea what she was telling him. He was content with how things were, content to have a partner by his side to help with the work he had done by himself for years. He still caught her staring longingly out at the waters she once called home, but the longing looks grew farther and farther apart the longer she stayed with him, resigning herself to her new life on land.

He was mending a tear in one of the nets when she appeared beside him, silent as always. He was used to it now, no longer startling every time she appeared around him without a sound. He became attuned to her presence, sensing when she came and when she left.

She said nothing to him at first, content to watch him as he worked, and he was content to keep working. It wasn’t until she kneeled beside him, gentle hand placed on top of his arm that he stopped.

“What is it, mo chroi?” He asked, gazing up at her. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, casting a faint golden glow onto the summer evening. Bradley couldn’t help but to admire her beauty in the dimming light, eyes glittering and skin smooth as porcelain as they looked at him. She wore only a white chemise, something she was prone to do when it was just the two of them. She didn’t like the heavy, scratchy feel of the dresses, only wearing them when there was company or when the two ventured into town. Bradley complied with her whims, finding it hard to say no to her.

“Why do you not have a woman?”

The question caught him off guard, eyes widening as his jaw went slack.

“What?” He blinked, scrambling to make sense of her question. She hummed, pressing closer to him. Bradley found it hard to think with the feel of her soft, warm body so close to his, one hand tracing over the planes of his chest as she continued.

“The men in the village,” she pressed, eyes never wavering as they bore into his own, almost hypnotic in the way they captured him, “they all have a woman to keep them company, to hold them, to love them. But you do not.”

Bradley’s eyes darted back and forth between her own, words failing him. She lifted a leg, resting it in between his own as she straddled his thigh. The hand that rested on his arm trailed up to play with the curls at the base of his skull, her body flush with his now as his hands came up to rest on her thighs. The hem of her chemise rode up to reveal smooth thighs that had Bradley reeling with lust. She leaned forward, a purr on her lips as she trailed her nose along his jaw and up to his ear.

“Is it me?” She asked softly, hand splayed on his chest as her lips brushed along the shell of his ear. A shudder ran up along Bradley’s spine at the sensation, mind growing hazy and clouded with lust for the creature before him.

“Am I yours?” She breathed, meeting his eyes once more. The air between them was charged, and for a moment Bradley could think of nothing but the way she felt against him. The way her lips hovered over his.

He lunged forward, pulling her impossibly closer as their lips melded against one another. He was spellbound, captivated, obsessed. His hands tightened on her thighs, and she sighed against his mouth, spurring him on to nip at her bottom lip. She granted him entrance, gasping as he licked hungrily into her mouth, the sweet taste of her driving him mad as a hand slid up to press against her lower back.

She wasted no time lifting herself off of him long enough to free him from the confines of his trousers, small hands gripping his hardening length. He let out a pleasured groan, head tilting back as she stroked him slowly before positioning herself atop him. There was no buildup between them, Bradley gripping at her as she slowly eased herself down onto him. A keen left her lips as he stretched her, mind numbing pleasure coursing through his veins as her velvety walls fluttered around him.

Her eyes were closed tight as she rested on top of him, her hips flush against his as her hands rested on his chest for balance. Bradley had never seen a more beautiful sight. Slowly, she rolled her hips against his, breathing ragged as she built a rhythm. Bradley laid against the wood of the dock as he watched her take her pleasure from him, a hand running up her stomach to rest between her breasts. He could die a happy man right then and there.

Her pace grew faster as she approached her climax, whimpers and cries spilling past her lips as she rode him, and Bradley pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to not disturb her. A hand rested on her back as he nuzzled into the space between her breasts where his other hand had just been. The sleeve of her chemise fell off her shoulder, and Bradley lifted his face to nip and lick at the skin there. He could feel his own high approaching as she ground down on him, and his free hand rose up to wrap around her throat, squeezing gently. She froze, hips stopping as they locked eyes. The only sound to be heard between the two of them was their ragged breathing.

For a second, Bradley thought he had crossed the line, but she made no move to remove his hand. The two stared at one another for a long moment before one of her hands came up to rest atop his own, squeezing them lightly as she began to move her hips once more, slower this time, drawing out the inevitable. He groaned at the sensation, feeling his stomach tense as her eyes never left his, her gaze intense as she chased release. Her walls fluttered and tightened around him, and with a final cry, she came, her head thrown back and her hot, wet cunt milking his own orgasm out of him with a shout. His spend coated her walls, leaking out around him as he shuddered and fell back against the dock with eyes pinched closed. Her hips still moved against his, drawing out every ounce of pleasure she could, giving herself to him with every movement.

She was his now, he had marked her.

Her hips finally stilled against his, and he could feel her staring at him. Her fingers trailed up his chest, along his jaw, before finally stilling on his lips. Bradley peeled his eyes open slowly, and he would have sworn he had died and gone to heaven for if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was looking at an angel. The setting sun cast a halo around her head as her hair blew in the wind, hypnotic eyes boring into him as the golden glow of the evening enveloped her. His lover smiled down at him softly, fingertips stroking his lips before leaning down to press her own against them.

She didn’t look to the sea much anymore, her longing gazes turned to brief flickers as she went about her days. Still, there were nights when her eyes would glaze over as the sound of seals calling out in the night made their way up to the confines of the house. Bradley would watch as her lips trembled briefly, the look in her eyes growing farther away until suddenly she would snap back to the moment, offering him a loving smile as she continued her mending.

Her stomach began to swell in the autumn months, and Bradley often found himself reluctant to leave her side. He would place a hand on her stomach, eyes lighting up in delight every time he felt a kick to it. He’d rest his head on top of her, muttering sweet words and promises to the babe that grew within. She would rest her hand on his head, stroking his hair soothingly as the fire crackled in front of them.

They were happy.

There was one night, however, when Bradley came back from the village to find his wife no longer at home, and panic overtook him. He tore through the house, ripping open every door he could find until he was faced with a horrifying possibility. He ran outside to the old shack, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges in his haste to open it. His eyes scanned the dark interior, his lantern casting shadows across the walls as he sighed in relief at the realization that his secret was still hidden underneath tarps and old traps.

His brow furrowed as he stepped back out onto the open cliffs, the wind whipping around him as he scanned the dancing grass. His eyes stopped at the edge of the cliff, terror gripping him once more at the thought that his lover might have done the unthinkable. Had she tried to return to the depths from where she came? Her body would not survive the plunge, not without the skin that lay hidden in shadows. He trudged towards the edge of the cliffs, the wind biting his skin and seeping to his bones as his heart thundered in his ears. He peered down at the rocks below, stopping only when a song sounded on the wind.

Little sister, sister hu ru

My love, my sister hu ru

Can you not pity o hol ill eo

My grief tonight hu ru

The voice was beautiful and full of sorrow, cries carried on the wind and out to the sea. Bradley swung the lantern towards the rocky path that led up to the lighthouse, the moon casting ribbons of silver that silhouetted the tall structure.

I am a poor woman hu ru

Sad and miserable hu ru

I climbed up o hol ill eo

Ben Sgrìobain hu ru

Bradley moved quickly through the grass and up the path, the sound of the song growing louder with each step he took. The stone structure stood proud against the backdrop of the sea, the waves crashing against the rocks below, almost drowning out the song as he rounded the walkway, finding his wife standing on the edge of the cliff.

I didn’t find there hu ru

What I wanted hu ru

A girl o hol ill eo

With hair like a daisy hu ru

Tears streamed down her face as he watched her, her hair whipping in the wind as her hands cradled her heavily swollen belly. Her feet were bare, and she wore a thin chemise that did little to protect her from the gusts that enveloped her body. No sobs left her as she finished her song, only the look of someone who had been lost, lost and never found in a world that was not her own. Bradley sucked in a breath, lips pressing firmly together before he stomped towards her. He dropped the lantern at his feet, the flame within dying at the impact as he gripped her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. Her eyes grew wide as his rage flooded to the surface, nostrils flaring and fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises.

“What were you thinking?” He hissed, shaking her with every accusation. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing out here dressed like this? It’s too cold for you to be out here with nothing to protect you. I thought you had-”

He gestured towards the cliffs, the words dying on his lips as he choked on a sob. The tears sprang to his eyes unexpectedly, rolling down his cheeks as his hands gripped onto her even tighter. If he held on tighter, she would never leave, would never return to the sea, would never leave him. He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone again, not when he had tasted a life that was shared.

She stared at him, eyes wide and searching as the wind danced around them. Her hand slowly reached up to cup his jaw, thumb smoothing over the stubble that grew there.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, voice almost lost on the wind. She leaned forward, and Bradley lurched back, eyes wide and scared as they watched her. The two stayed like that for a moment before she moved once more, hand holding his face in place as she brushed his nose with hers before pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Tears continued to stream down Bradley’s face as his eyes flickered closed, embracing her as different emotions swirled inside him.

“Never leave me,” he begged in a whisper against her, one hand dropping down to cup her stomach as he rested his forehead against hers. He opened his eyes to find her already looking at him, black water dancing in her gaze.

“Never, mo ghrá.”

Their son was born a month later, loud cries spilling into the night as Bradley waited outside with some of the older men from the village. His head perked up at the first wail, eyes shining with excitement as her screams were replaced by those of the infant. The widow Callahan opened the front door moments later, apron covered in blood as she wiped her hands on a rag.

“You have a son,” she announced with a small smile, and Bradley grinned so hard, he swore his face would split in two. The men around him clasped him on the back, cheers ringing out in the night as they opened up spirits brought with them for the occasion. Bradley was keen to see his wife and son, but one of the men shoved a mug into his hands.

“Have a drink first, lad,” he hollered with a laugh. “The misses and the wean will still be there after.”

Bradley downed the drink as quickly as he could, much to the amusement of the others. He shoved the cup into the hands of the man nearest to him, not waiting for it to be refilled as he made his way into the house. The widow Callahan was cleaning up her supplies along with her apprentice when Bradley entered the room. His wife lay propped up in the bed, a small smile on her face as she cooed at the small bundle in her arms. Her eyes flickered up to his for a moment before back down. He crossed the room, easing down gently beside her on the bed. The babe gurgled, eyes closed as he yawned, and Bradley felt his heart swell.

He reached a hand over to run a finger over his son’s hands, heart dancing in his chest when the babe gripped it, small hand so strong for someone who was only moments old.

“What should we call him?” Bradley asked, cuddling into her side, exhaustion seeping through her.

“I thought we might call him Ronan.”

Bradley paused. The meaning of the name was not lost on him, and his gaze flickered to her profile for a moment before nodding.

“Ronan,” he murmured, eyes turning back to his son, nodding. “Aye. I like it. Ronan it is then.”

The babe gurgled once more, and Bradley reached over to take him in his arms, cooing softly as the bundle fussed.

“We should let your mother rest,” He whispered to the baby, a small smile on his wife’s lips as she nestled into the inviting warmth of the bed, her eyes drooping as she fought to remain awake. “She’s had a long day, don’t you think? It’s not easy bringing someone into the world.”

He tore his eyes away from his son to gaze at her, adoration shining bright as he reached a hand to smooth the hair out of her face.

“We’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, bouncing the baby lightly as he moved to stand, his eyes already fixated back on the bundle in his arms. Her eyes followed him as he walked towards the door, lips curled into a smile as she slipped further and further into oblivion.

Bradley offered her one last smile as she fell asleep, walking towards the main room and sitting down by the fireplace, the orange glow of the fire bathing the two in the warm light. The men outside still celebrated, and Bradley rolled his eyes, smiling down at his son.

“I wanted to talk to you, man to man,” he started, rocking the baby in his arms. “I can’t guarantee you an easy life, Ronan. In fact, it might be a hard one. What I can promise is that I’ll be by your side as only a father can be for his son.”

Ronan cooed, opening his eyes for the first time to look up at his father, and Bradley’s heart soared.

“You’re born from two worlds, you know,” Bradley continued, a small frown tugging on his lips as he considered what this would mean. “A living bridge between the seen and unseen, but what does that mean for you, I wonder.”

The fire popped as it consumed the wood, the crackling the only thing heard besides the faint sound of Ronan breathing. The men had left to continue their drinking in the village, and soon even the widow Callahan and her apprentice left, bidding him a good night as they did. Bradley said nothing to them in response, eyes trained on the baby in his arms even as the sun rose above the horizon.

Ronan grew quickly, much to Bradley’s surprise, and soon he was toddling around and talking, a smart lad whom Bradley found he never had to instruct more than once, eager to take on the responsibility of being the eldest. Two years after he was born, another bundle joined their home, a boy they named Rían who grew to fill the house with peels of laughter everywhere he went. His wife showed no more signs of longing for the sea, too enamored with her children to pay much mind to the sea which she once called home.

Three years after Rían was born, they welcomed Cillian into their fold, a quiet babe who grew into a curious and bright little boy. Bradley was happy with his life and even prouder of his family. He soon began teaching Ronan how to weave nets for fish and how to fix the traps they used to catch the migrating salmon, and it wasn’t long until Rían joined them. Cillian was too young, staying behind with his mother as the other three made their way out to sea to bring home food for the next day.

Their evenings were spent sitting by the fire, the boys playing with their toy soldiers as their mother worked on her mending, Bradley resting from a hard day’s work as he smoked a pipe, a habit he had picked up to help ease the tension he often felt these days as he grew older. It was on one such evening that Cillian pulled on the skirt of his mother’s dress, eyes so much like hers as they gazed up in curiosity.

“Ma,” he chirped, earning her attention. She smiled down at him, setting down her latest project to give him her full attention.

“What is it, mo mhuirnín?” She asked.

“The people in town say you’re not from here,” he continued, earning the attention of the two other boys and Bradley as well. “If you aren’t from here, then where do you come from?”

The silence was heavy in the room, not a soul moving as the words hung in the air. His mother’s eyes glazed over slowly as she thought about the home she left behind so many years ago. A look Bradley had not seen since before their first son was born made its way onto her face, and his heart began to thunder in his chest. Time seemed to stand still as she considered her words.

“Between the here, between the now. Between the day, between the night. Between the land, between the sea. Between the awake, between the asleep. Between the real, between the myths. That is where I am from,” she told him, a hand coming up to cup his chin gently. In that moment, Bradley remembered the wild that dwelled within his wife, the constant call from within to return back to the sea. He remembered that while he grew older, she remained forever the same, never changing. He remembered the fear that gripped him each night at the thought that she might leave, and rage filled him.

“Enough,” he snapped, drawing all four pairs of eyes to him. Bradley was a kind, easygoing man, not prone to anger, and the sight of him now shocked his children, fear flashing in their eyes at the look of anger that clung to his face.

“I won’t hear another word,” he hissed, grip tight on the pipe in hand. He gestured wildly at his children as they sat, paralyzed with fear. “To bed, all of you!”

They did not need to be told twice, scrambling to their feet as they hurried down the hall, the sounds of doors shutting behind them. Regret filled Bradley almost instantly, but it was not enough to quell the fear that still raged on inside of him. His eyes watched the hall before sliding over to look at his wife. Her head was bowed submissively, an impassive look on her face as she continued her mending, and Bradley settled back into his chair, an air of unease settling in around him.

It was a few weeks later when Bradley had taken the two older boys off that his world turned upside down.

Cillian was a curious boy, too curious for his own good, one might say. He loved to experience the world around him and oftentimes found himself in more trouble than he could handle. His father had warned him to stay away from the old shack that stood by the cliff, telling him that there were things in there that could hurt him if he wasn’t careful. Cillian heeded the warning, but grew more and more curious the longer it remained unexplored. It was for that reason he found himself opening the door, the creeks of the old hinges causing him to turn around to make sure he wasn’t heard. Confident that his actions still remained a secret, he crept into the dark shack, eyes wide as he took in the different trinkets strewn about.

It was nothing of import, mostly old tarps and broken traps his father had not seen fit to fix yet. An old desk sat against the far wall, and as Cillian crept farther and farther into the room, he noticed how more and more things lay stacked atop one another, as if trying to convince him to turn back. There was something that called out to him though, and the need to find what it was became stronger with each passing second. The pull pulsed around him, almost like a heartbeat as he inched closer and closer to the far side of the shack. It wasn’t until he came upon an old chest that the energy suddenly calmed, almost like it disappeared and Cillian reached out his little hands to try and pry the lid open. It did not budge, locked so that prying eyes would not find what was not theirs to seek.

Surely there must be a key? His eyes scanned the area around him, frowning when one couldn’t be found. His gaze landed upon the desk, and he stumbled over the items strewn about as he made a beeline for the lone piece of furniture. His hand reached up to drag the top drawer open, little legs stretching as far as they could to allow him to look inside. There were several keys that lay on the bottom of the drawer, but only one was carved ornately enough to match the old chest. Grinning at his prize, he seized it in his little fist, scrambling back over to the chest.

He let out a giggle as the key slipped easily into the lock, twisting it until a click could be heard. Looking behind him to make sure he was still alone, he lifted the lid of the trunk slowly. He vibrated with excitement at the thought of the treasures he might find, only to be met with the sight of trinkets tossed haphazardly inside. He reached a hand in to rummage through the piles of junk, frowning at the piles of nothing. He was about to close the lid once more when his fingers brushed against something soft, and his breath caught in his throat. He gave it a tug, but the object did not move. Huffing, he wrapped both hands around the object, grunting as he tugged it free from the confines of the trunk. He fell back with the force, landing against an old crate with a thud and a shout. He scowled at the crate, rubbing his backside before turning his attention to the prize at hand.

It was a seal pelt, the silver reminding him of the moonlight that danced through his window at night, the same beams that glittered atop the water of the sea. His hands ran over it, delighting in how soft it felt against his skin, and with a grin, he wrapped it up in his arms and ran out of the shack into the late afternoon sun.

His mother was hanging laundry out to dry, the sheets billowing in the wind as she pushed hair out of her face. Her stomach was swelling once more, just enough to be noticeable through her dress.

“Ma!” He cried out, running to her quick as his little feet could carry him. “Look what I found!”

She smiled down at him, gaze adoring before landing on the item in his hands. Her smile faded, the faraway look from that terrible night when his father had lost his temper returning to her face as she beheld the pelt in his hands.

Bradley and his sons walked up the path, smiling amongst each other as they hurried home, eager to be reunited with their mother and brother. Bradley’s eyes darted up the path, itching for a glimpse of his wife when his eyes landed on the scene unfurling before them. Her hands reached out to the pelt his youngest son held up to her, and his stomach dropped as he blanched.

“No!” He shouted, breaking out into a sprint up the path, but it was too late. Her fingers wrapped around the pelt, and something awakened inside of her, something long thought dead. A grin stretched across her face as she snatched the skin into her arms, letting out a delighted cry as she ran down the path, narrowly avoiding her husband’s arms and past her children. Bradley stopped short, turning on his heels to chase after her, legs pushing as hard as they could in a desperate attempt to catch her, hand reaching out to grab her. He was so close, fingers brushing the ends of her hair, but the call of her nature was stronger than any love he carried for her. She threw the pelt around her shoulders, a laugh leaving her as her feet touched the water, and with a leap into the air, the woman was once more a seal, landing in the water with a quiet plop. Bradley continued after her, feet pushing through the resistance of the sea as he clawed his way forward.

“Come back,” he cried, water up to his waist now. “Come back!”

It was no use, his wife was gone, stolen back by the sea, and tears streamed down his face as he scanned the surface for any sign of her. The water was oddly calm given how frantic he had become, and the despair inside him rose to a fever pitch, released in a guttural cry as he unleashed his anguish for the sea to hear.

“You promised!” He screamed, throat strained with the force of it. He let his face drop into his hands, clawing at the skin of his face as his eyes darted wildly all around like he was a man possessed. Sobs wracked through his body as the reality of what happened settled over him.

“Come back.”

Bradley was not the man he once was, and he would never be again. The house felt cold and empty with his wife gone, and he could not find it in him to do much of anything. Numbness filled his bones, the sorrow of losing that which he loved too much for his mind to bear. Most days were spent along the shore, desperate eyes searching for any sign of his wife before one of his children was able to coax him back to the house, usually well after the sun had disappeared below the horizon.

He didn’t eat much, sullen gaze turned down towards his plate, but never eating more than a mouthful or two of whatever was placed in front of him. His face grew gaunt as the weeks turned to months, dark circles growing under his eyes.

A house that was once filled with laughter now served as a tomb, the once happy memories enshrined within its four walls. The children no longer laughed, no longer played. The love of their mother was no longer there to keep them warm. Few words were uttered amongst each other, and no one was quite able to meet the eyes of another.

Utensils scraped against each other, not a word spoken as all eyes remained cast downward.

“I saw a seal today,” Rían whispered, jumping as the sound of metal dropped against a plate. Bradley’s eyes bored into his son, a haunted look on his face as he turned to him.

“What did you say?” He asked, leaning forward, tears gathering in his eyes. Rían stared at his father before casting a nervous glance to Ronan. Bradley pushed out of his chair, kneeling in front of his son as his hand gripped his shoulders painfully. Rían whimpered, trying to get out of his father’s grasp.

“Where did you see it?” Bradley rasped, voice croaking from under use. His nails dug into the boy’s skin, a pained cry spilling out of Rían’s lips. Ronan scrambled up out of his seat, hand wrapping around his father’s arms to try and pull him away from his brother.

“Tell me where you saw it!” Bradley shouted, shaking the boy roughly, eyes wild and unseeing.

“Da please!” Ronan hollered, pulling with all his might, and Bradley’s grip loosened, sending Rían flying back into his chair with a cry. Tears streamed down his face as he stared at his father, limbs trembling from fear. Bradley’s eyes focused, seeing his son for the first time in that moment.

“Rían,” he whispered, eyes darting around to look at the other two. Cillian sat on the opposite side of Rían, tears streaming down his own face as his bottom lip trembled in terror. Ronan stood behind him, face unreadable as stone as he watched his father.

“I’m,” Bradley breathed, stumbling to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t wait for a response, exiting the room in a hurry.

The next day had them returning to their new normal. Ronan took charge of the fishing, bringing home what he could, which was just enough to keep everyone fed. Rían had taken up the housework in the absence of their mother, Cillian helping where he could at his young age.

Bradley’s days were spent at the shore, watching and waiting for a love that would never return to him. His thoughts often turned to the happier memories, of days spent in her embrace, the feel of her lips against his, the way she smiled at him. He longed for it. Longed for the time when he didn’t feel so alone, so listless.

The children had changed in the months since their mother left as well.

Ronan had taken up the mantle of provider, taking what he could to the village to barter and trade, but few would do dealings with someone who was not wholly human, mistrustful eyes that had once been focused on his mother now turned to him with disdain.

Rían’s once bright laughter was now nothing but a memory, something thought about only in passing now as he worked his way through the chores that needed doing. He slowly forgot how it felt to smile.

Cillian, who had once been the most inquisitive of the bunch, now never strayed far from his brothers, never moving far from sight. He did only as he was told, and his brothers started to wonder if he ever used to talk at all.

Much like every other night, it was Ronan who bade his father to return to the house once the sun set, frost hanging in the air now that winter was upon them. Bradley allowed himself to be pulled back to their home, head hung low as he trudged up the path behind his son. He sat in his chair by the fire, hand stretched out to hold someone who was not there as he stared into the flames, eyes unseeing, and his children wondered if they would forever see the unseen.

One by one, the boys left for bed, Ronan being the last to bid his father a goodnight, a frown tugging on his lips before shaking his head and disappearing around the corner.

Bradley sat motionless as the minutes turned to hours, still as a statue as he continued to mourn.

A knock sounded at the door, and he shifted in his seat. Another knock had his head turning in that direction. Who would be calling at that time of night? Slowly, he rose from his chair, walking towards the front door. He grasped the handle, twisting it and pulling it open.

The night was dark, the moon, which normally cast light onto the path that led down to the beach, was hidden behind the clouds. Bradley stared into the night, unfeeling and unmoving. He moved to close the door when a song rang out, the voice so alarmingly familiar.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mairg san tìr seo, 's mairg san tìr 'G ithe dhaoine 'n riochd a bhìdh Nach fhaic sibh ceannard an t-sluaigh Goil air teine gu cruaidh cruinn

His eyes alighted in recognition, tearing out of the house and onto the path as fast as his feet could carry him. The voice grew no closer as he ran, breaths coming out ragged as he gulped for air. The waves crashed against the shoreline as loud as thunder but never drowning out the voice he had longed to hear.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

'S mise nighean Aoidh mhic Eòghainn Gum b' eòlach mi mu na sgeirean Gur mairg a dhèanadh mo bhualadh Bean uasal mi o thìr eile

He stopped, spinning wildly in search of her, crying out in frustration when he saw no one. A scream ripped its way through him, desperate and haggard as he continued to spin, only stopping when he caught sight of something on the dock. The same dock he and his lover had spent countless afternoons on, basking in the glow of each other and sharing stolen touches. He walked slowly towards it, boots crunching in the sand and then knocking against the wood as he came to the end of the dock. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he kneeled down beside the small bundle.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

Thig an smeòrach, thig an druid Thig gach eun a dh'ionnsaigh nid Thig am bradan thar a' chuain Gu Là Luain cha ghluaisear mis'

His hands reached out, stopping when the bundle moved, a gurgle sounding. His heart skipped a beat, the cold seeping through him in the winter’s night. It was then that the clouds moved, allowing the moon to shed light down on where Bradley crouched.

It was often said that Cillian was the son that bore the largest resemblance to his mother, but gazing at the babe in front of him, Bradley knew that this was the child his wife carried before she left. His hands crossed the distance to pick her up, hands gentle as he cooed down at her. He was struck then by the discovery that she was wrapped in silvery grey fur, the same size as a seal pup.

The baby let out a tiny cry, and Bradley shushed her softly, rocking her gently. He and his wife had discussed different names before that fateful day, but only one stuck out to him as he gazed at the babe in his arms.

“Aisling,” he whispered reverently, holding her tighter to his chest as tears streamed down his face. Aisling let out another cry as Bradley moved to stand, never taking his eyes off of her.

“‘s alright now,” he cooed, turning back towards the house. “Your da is here now, mo stóirín.”

His fingers wrapped around the fur with a frown. The small bundle in his arms would never leave him, not like her mother had. He would see to it this time.

Hò i hò i hì o hò i Hò i hò i hì o hì Hò i hò i hì o hò i Cha robh mi m' ònar a-raoir

A/N: I kid y'all not, this fic has been on my mind for MONTHS ever since someone suggested it. Selkies have always been one of my favorite stories from Celtic legends, and I really hope I did this justice because it was such a pleasure to write and pour my heart and soul into. I highly recommend you check out the stories if you have time because a lot of the inspiration for this fic came from them!

Another quick note as I wrap up here, I wanted to touch on the meaning of the names I chose. Ronan actually translates to "seal" or "oath, promise." Rían (pronounced Ree-on) means "king" or "ocean" depending on the etymology. Cillian (pronounced kill-ian) means "war, strife." Finally, Aisling (pronounced Ash-ling) means "dream, vision."

The first song I actually looked up the English translation, but it's a song sung by a woman who was stolen by the fae, calling out for her sister to come and help her. I thought it would be interesting to see it used in the reverse. The second song is actually one said to be sung by the selkies themselves, very fitting for this fic, I think.

Thank you all so much for reading this one! As always, reblogs and comments are appreciated. You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time!

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