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inherdaze · 2 months

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jungle — kiyoomi sakusa

kiyoomi x f reader

18+ content, pining, slow burn, sakusa wears dog tags mmm, smut, acquaintances to lovers. kind of a historical au? (think 1930s) idk bro it's like all made up. mentions of pregnancy

summary: kiyoomi seeks serenity after coming home from war.

There’s lots of commotion outside. Hollering, cheering, squeals and shouts paired with the sight of lovers reuniting, families coming together, men picking up their children and spinning them around in the air. You watch from the kitchen window as you wipe down the dishes, see some people carelessly pick the flowers from your yard to bunch up and give to wives, children, husbands, the like. Normally, you’d scold them for being so careless and probably offer a pair of garden trimmers so that they wouldn't crush the surrounding flowers, but you let it pass. Everyone is happy. The war is over.

Your mother watches as she stands next to you, handing you over the dishes to dry once she’s finished washing them clean. She looks at you from the corner of her eye, gouging out your reaction before clearing her throat.

“Do you remember Kiyoomi?”

You freeze for a second, plate and rag in hand as you try to think. “Mm. No?”

“The Sakusa family?”

“Oh,” And then you start again, rubbing the plate dry. You don’t really remember the boy, only that your mother was friends with his mother and that apparently the two of you played around as young children. You don't remember the last time you saw him. Probably couldn’t even point him out in a crowd.

“He’s coming home.”

“From the war?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like me to gather some flowers for him? There’s plenty in the backyard, too. None of the crushed ones.”

She sighs before placing the plate she held back into the sink, turning to face you entirely.

She says your name softly. “He’s coming home. Here.”

“Why? For dinner?”

“No– well, yes– but he’ll be staying here. With us.”

You slowly put out the plate face down on the long countertop cloth to let it air dry. “Since when?”

“We’ve been exchanging letters.”

Ah. You had been wondering what that was about. Each time the mail came in, your mother would scurry to get it before you could, holding it to her chest protectively before gently slicing it open in the study, purposely keeping it from you. You thought she had been exchanging letters with some sort of admirer, so to speak. You thought she’d be afraid to tell you she’s moving on after years of your father’s death.

She continues, “His parents passed a while back– they both fell ill while he was away. He just needs somewhere to stay in the meantime so he can get back up on his feet. I'm sure there are plenty of other families that would be more than happy to host a soldier, but I suppose he would feel more comfortable here. I mentioned the garden and the chickens and he said he’d help you out with those. Don’t let him, though.”

“Huh? Why not?”

Your mother lightly swats your arm and gives a quiet scold of your name, “He isn't here to work. He’s here to rest. He’s been through a lot, you know. Just let him be while he’s here.”

You roll your eyes. Your mother can tell that you're not really annoyed.

“He seems very reserved in the letters we exchanged. If he’s formal with you, insist that he don’t be. We are friends of his. Make him feel comfortable, okay?”

You hum and nod. “Okay.”

There’s a pause.

“When will he be here?”

Your mother nearly answers before you've even finished asking.

“Tomorrow.”

You’re an early bird. Even when you don’t want to be, you must. You have to tend to the chickens in the morning, tidy up and make breakfast for your mother before she goes out to the market to sell the eggs.

The morning dew that sits atop the grass kisses at your shins as you trudge towards the coop, face lit by the oncoming sunrise. The sky shifts from deep blue to a lighter blue to purples and pinks until the sun finally reaches the top of the sky.

As you get closer to the coop, you hear the familiar and pesky repetitive clucks, appreciative that the coop is farther out into the yard and not by your window.

You slide the coop door open, stepping to the side as they rush out with curiosity.

“Mornin’ kids,” You start before emptying out their dirty water, tossing it into the grass before turning on the hose to fill up the bin.

You replace the water, give them more food, collect the eggs that are deemed ready, and hang out with them for a good thirty minutes to make sure they’re healthy and roaming around like normal. You sit on the grass, knees to your chest as you absentmindedly say hi to them when they pass by or stare at you.

Once the sun has almost fully risen, you grab the basket of eggs and make your way back into the house, slipping out of your boots before stepping inside.

The morning goes as always; Your mother wakes up, thanks you for handling the chickens, thanks you as you place her breakfast on the table, gathers all the eggs she needs to sell, and kisses your cheek before she heads out to the market.

“Kiyoomi should be here later, once I’m already home. Please make sure the spare bedroom is clean, with fresh sheets. If he happens to arrive early, be nice.”

“God, don’t act like I’m insufferable! I won’t drive him out.”

She smiles knowingly. “I know, my dear.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but swiftly turns on her heel and takes her leave.

The rest of the day is spent cleaning up the spare bedroom to make sure it’s nice and welcoming for when your new guest arrives. You smooth out all the bed linen and wipe down the dressers, making all photo frames and little trinkets look presentable. It doesn't take long for you to set it all up– the bedroom has always been very empty. You wonder how it'll look like when it’s more lived-in, with boots and coats and whatever else he may carry laying around.

You slip into the kitchen and wash your hands, preparing to make lunch. With the curtains on the kitchen window drawn shut, you fail to see the man that climbs up your porch steps, eyes downcast as he raps his knuckles on the door a few times.

You freeze in your spot almost violently. It’s much too early for him to be here, and when you glance at the clock on the wall, you’re convinced that it has to be someone else– perhaps the neighbor?

Drying your hands on the apron tied to your dress, you draw back the kitchen curtain to get a little peep.

You almost squeal as you back away from the window, covering your face with your hands like you’ve just seen something you weren't supposed to– but you had just seen him. He was… big. That’s all you could think.

When you open the front door, the two of you stare at each other, silent.

Yes, he’s big. Broad shoulders, gifted with height, and his chest seems…. inviting in the military uniform he wears. You finally make eye contact with him, scanning over his handsome features, the two little beauty marks that rest atop his eyebrow, the pretty curve of his lips—

“Hello,” He says with an air of formality, and you clutch at the skirt of your dress.

“Hi… hi.”

He stares at you blankly.

“I, ah— come in, Kiyoomi,” You start, standing to the side as he takes off his boots and leaves them by the door, following diligently as you lead him to his room. He doesn’t even spare a glance to look around the house, eyes trained on your back.

“Here,” You say, opening the door to his room. “The bathroom is down the hall, my room is right there– right across, and my mother’s room is the farthest one down the hallway. There’s a, um, study if you'd ever like to read or spend some time in there. Do as you like,” You explain gently, a warm smile on your features. “I was just making lunch. Are you hungry? Would you like some?”

“No thank you,” He says immediately, looking down at you. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Of course! My mother should be here in a few hours. For now, the house is all yours– er, ours, but– well, yeah, yours…” You trail off with embarrassment, looking into his eyes for help, hoping he’ll finish your sentence or laugh it off with you.

He doesn't.

As soon as you back away and start walking back to the kitchen, he shuts the door softly and coupes himself up in there.

You frown to yourself, remembering your mother’s words. He seems very reserved, let him be, he’s been through a lot.

You do just that, careful to not make any noise as you prepare lunch, then sit by yourself at the table to eat. There’s a light clink and clatter of the dishes as you wash them, but you can only hope he doesn’t mind.

Noon turns into night and you’re still alone. You haven’t heard Kiyoomi leave the room or rummage around at all. It’s like he never even arrived.

You’re not surprised when your mother comes home and deems the house empty (besides you being there) and exclaims that the both of you must rush and start working on dinner because Kiyoomi deserves nothing but the best. You feel your skin prickle hot for some reason. She wasn’t wrong, but if Kiyoomi had heard her say it, it sounded like she was one of those old ladies who desperately fawn over younger men. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

You laughed nervously and bumped her hip with yours, quietly telling her that he had already arrived.

She gasps dramatically, hand flying to her heart as she scolds you.

“Why didn’t you invite him out here to sit with you? Has he eaten lunch? Did you offer him lunch? Goodness, my dear, this is no way to host someone. Ask him to step out! Did you show him around the house, at least? Oh, heavens– did you change the sheets?”

Your ears feel terrifyingly warm, knowing very well that your mother was loud enough for Kiyoomi to hear her through closed doors. Just thinking of him overhearing you get scolded made you want to scuffle away and complain in embarrassment to the chickens.

“My apologies, miss.”

The both of you whirl around to see Kiyoomi, who looks absolutely delightful, you think.

His curls are mussed as if he had been sleeping, uniform ditched for a skimpy white undershirt tucked into some slacks, the planes of his chest peeking out and greeting you handsomely. The dog tags that are strung along the chain around his neck glint in the kitchen light, almost like they’re saying Hi. “It’s not her fault, I assure you– I had turned down her offer for lunch, and I just wanted some time to myself after arriving. No hard feelings at all.”

He speaks in such a collected and calm manner, and his face and eyes look empty. He’s good at containing all his emotions.

“Oh,” Your mother breathes out, a wistful smile creeping onto her face. “Oh, my lovely Kiyoomi!” She rushes towards him and cups his face, smushing his cheeks in her hands, beaming up at him. The action makes his eyes widen, hands immediately flying up to push hers away, but he stops himself just in time and lets them fall back to his sides.

“How you’ve grown! My goodness, it’s been ages, my love, please– please sit down, we’ll make some soup, okay? Just rest. Tell us, how have you been? Any good stories?”

She greets him like a mother would, and for a second, you think you see his features relax. Not wanting to get caught ogling at him, you turn and face the cutting board, lining up all the vegetables needed for the soup.

The two talk the entire time, your mother silently leaving the task of cooking up to you. You don’t mind at all, keeping your back to the both of them to hide the look of shyness on your face. Every time Kiyoomi speaks, you feel your hands stutter.

The conversation is mostly your mother gushing over him and how much he’s grown, telling him he’s such a handsome young man, asking him how his trip over here went, and then she asks him if there is a woman in his life. You know that it would be normal for him to feel a little flabbergasted from such a question, but you don’t know why you feel so embarrassed as well.

You figure it’s because if he says he does have a special someone in his life, your mother would turn around and berate you (in front of him) for not being ‘out there’ enough and for not seeing someone already.

To your surprise, he weakly mentions that no, he doesn’t have anyone like that in his life. He quickly excuses it by saying that he had been too busy during the war to worry about such things.

Your mother laughs good-naturedly, flailing her hand around, “Oh, of course. Silly me!”

By the time your mother opens her mouth to tell him that there are plenty of riveting people around town that he may like, you announce with your back still facing them, “Soup’s ready.”

You serve your mother and Kiyoomi, keeping your head down as you approach him and place his bowl on the table. He thanks you in a quiet, rumbly voice that makes you go completely still for a split second.

Conversation dies down as the three of you eat. Your mother has pulled out as much as she can from Kiyoomi. He avoided a lot of questions about the war, about his experiences, about what he saw. You can’t help but wonder.

Your mother interrupts the silence as she subtly turns to face you.

“How are the vegetables doing?”

“Growing,” Is all you respond as you stuff another spoonful of soup into your mouth. She’s grasping at straws to not let the atmosphere turn awkward.

You figure that if Kiyoomi is going to be staying here, may as well be casual, treat him like anyone else (despite the fact that he looks like he came down straight from Heaven).

You shift in your chair, the wood creaking. “Tomorrow, could you buy some more flower seeds from the market? You can pick which. I need to fill in the spaces that were crushed yesterday from all the people.”

Her eyes light up, “Of course, dearie. Thank you for reminding me.”

The two of you talk about mundane things for the rest of dinner, topics you usually discuss. Kiyoomi finds it comforting. Makes him feel more at home.

The next morning, you rise before the sun kisses the sky, as always.

You pull on the short linen clothing you use for working, old stains of mud and grass forever tainting the articles. As quietly as you can, you pad around the house before reaching the back porch, tugging on your work boots before stepping into the fresh morning grass.

Unbeknownst to you, Kiyoomi is also an early riser, a habit that he has cultivated over years of training. He watches you from the backyard’s dutch door, the top half open. He rests his elbows on the bottom half and leans forward, watching and listening as you greet and coo at the chickens like they’re your children. His eyebrows twitch up when he hears you reprimand one– Stop putting grass in the water, Harold!

After you dump out the water, you pick up the water bucket and take it over to the pump, working the water into it. With your back turned to Kiyoomi, you don’t hear as he steps through the grass towards you.

“Good morning,” He greets politely, and you yelp.

Whirling around with the half-full bucket in hand, the water flies out and crashes right into him, soaking his torso and the entirety of his pants.

You drop the bucket.

“Oh my gosh– oh, Kiyoomi— I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry, oh my goodness– I didn’t– I’m so sorry—”

You're petting his torso worriedly, as if your hands will soak up all the water that has been spilled. He knows you have good intentions and are just trying to help somehow get the water to dry, but your touch makes him stiffen.

You’re repeating that you're sorry, and the more that you ramble on, the more he can hear the tremor in your voice as you squeak and swallow and try to push this upcoming embarrassment down. Kiyoomi lifts his hands and places them right on your arms, completely stilling you. “It's fine.”

It comes out clipped, like it's not really fine, but you can’t tell if he's annoyed. His face remains stoic.

“I’m so sorry,” You whisper.

“It's okay. You weren't aware that I was here. I understand.”

You look over him again, the bottom half of his cotton shirt soaked and his pants clinging onto his legs like paint. You’re so embarrassed and ashamed that you can't even find it in yourself to admire him.

“You’ll– you’ll get sick. Let’s go inside,” You plead, stepping away from his touch and gathering your skirt in your hands to run back into the house, hastily kicking off your boots before prying the bottom half of the door open.

He watches you scurry around the house to make him some tea, pouring water into the kettle and sorrowfully letting him know it’s gonna take a few minutes. You advise that he changes but don’t push it on him too much, not wanting to be over controlling.

He disappears into the room and shuts the door, and you plop onto the dining table chair. Resting your head in your hands, you mentally chastise yourself for messing up like this, and on the first day that he's been here, too.

The kettle whistles. You pick yourself up to see Kiyoomi already looking at you, in a pair of clean clothes. Embarrassment crawls up your spine.

“I’m sorry.” You say again, turning to silence the kettle and pour the water into a mug before adding a few loose tea leaves.

“I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I know, I know but– I’m really sorry.”

He only sighs. You take that as a sign he’s frustrated.

“I’m stepping back outside,” You say, “Still have to get stuff done.”

He nods stiffly. You walk with your tail between your legs to the backyard porch, putting on your boots and this time shutting both halves of the dutch door.

You confide and whine to the chickens as you clean up and spread out their food.

Despite the incident, Kiyoomi insists that he help you out in the mornings. He follows you out to the back porch and manages to slip past the threshold before you can shut the bottom half of the dutch door to trap him inside (he can always just open the door and walk by, but you tell him it’s the prospect of trapping him inside that matters the most. His eyebrow twitches at that).

He lingers as you talk to the chickens, which you do quietly now that you know that he’s there. He pretends to look away when you tell Harold good morning.

When you finish saying your greetings to the birds, you tell him to go back inside. This is your job only and he should take this time to rest or get some extra hours of sleep– but he insists. He tells you he can’t sleep for any longer, he’s spent years rising early and getting straight to work and if he were to lay in bed he’d just lay restless.

You know your mother will scold you later, but you offer him some work to do anyway. You tell him to replace the water while you give them fresh food. And he does so gladly, falling into a rhythm with you that, if a stranger looked at the scene, would convince them that he belongs here and always has.

There’s this sort of look of serenity on his face, like he’s content to be doing something rather than staying in the house (which is what your mother has been pressuring him to do).

The rising sun kisses his face, reminding you of his beauty. His skin practically glows and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on the moles on his forehead.

In this kind of lighting, you see faded scars on his hands and arms, earned from hardwork and fighting and war and other things you cannot even imagine. They make him seem gruff (more than he already is) and in a way, scary. But the way he handles the chickens and the land and the water with such a tender touch tells you otherwise. For a brief second, you wonder if he would hold you with such care as well. You shoo the thought away.

Kiyoomi stays with you while you watch over the chickens. He stands while you sit on the grass.

“Talk to them,” You encourage.

He lifts an eyebrow. “And what should I say?”

“Ask them how they are.”

Kiyoomi clears his throat and looks at one of the chickens, “My… My dear Harold,” He starts, “I hope you are in good health.”

You laugh, “So formal, Sakusa.”

He finds himself humming. Humming. Humming in amusement.

When you're done with the chickens, you tell him he can go back inside and relax while you check up on all the vegetables, but he tells you he wants to help with that too.

You untie your apron and start checking on and picking the ripe vegetables, bundling them in the cloth. Kiyoomi, truthfully, seems a little lost as he handles pulling out the vegetables and leafy greens with a sort of hesitance as if he’s afraid to hurt them. You scoot over closer to him and offer some help.

“They won’t cry in agony, Kiyoomi.”

“I–” He starts, embarrassed. “You mistake me.”

“How so?”

He doesn’t answer, runs out of excuses. Suddenly Kiyoomi thinks the sun feels warmer when your hands brush over his own to guide him, encouraging him to pluck at the vegetables. He gets the hang of it, bundling up all the produce in your apron before the two of you make your way back inside.

When your mother sees the both of you step in, kicking off your boots and hands stained with dirt, she tsks at you.

“I specifically told you not to ask for any help.”

Embarrassment blooms in the depths of your chest. Getting scolded in front of Kiyoomi will be the death of you. You want to defend yourself but you don’t want to throw him under the bus, either. You hold the bundle of vegetables and greens closer to your chest, almost protectively.

“She did no such thing,” Kiyoomi interjects before your mother can continue. He stands tall, seems bigger, voice collected but strong enough to cause the both of you to jump. It’s been ages since you and your mother have been in the presence of someone as powerful as Kiyoomi.

He visibly slackens, clears his throat. “She didn’t ask for my help– told me to go inside, actually. I took it upon myself to help her.”

“Oh,” Your mother breathes out, tone suddenly sweet and forgiving. “I see.”

The silence that rests between the three of you could pierce your ears. You skitter into the kitchen to wash all that you’ve collected and leave your mom and Kiyoomi alone. In a matter of seconds, she’s already cooing at him and telling him that there’s no need for him to be working, it’s fine if he wants to rest inside, there’s plenty of time for him to spend his days off. He’s silent in response.

After you make breakfast and your mother leaves for the market, you gather all the dishes and make a beeline for the sink, pouring hot water over the dishes to scrub them clean.

Kiyoomi follows up behind you, rolling up the sleeves of his cotton shirt, bunching it up right above his elbows. You watch as he leans forward to grab a washcloth, swallowing when you see his dog tags swing low as he dips down. They clink back onto his chest when he stands upright.

“Thank you,” He says suddenly, eyes focused on the plate in his hands as he wipes it in a circular motion.

“What for? I should be the one thanking you, Kiyoomi. You defended me in front of my mother.”

He takes a second to formulate what he wants to say. “I must thank you for letting me work with you. I know your mother has good intentions, and I appreciate that she insists I rest.”

You tilt your head up at him, silently asking if he will continue.

Kiyoomi, unbeknownst to you, is facing an internal battle with himself. Years of being in war and surrounded by men who believe vulnerability is weakness often leaves him staying quiet in moments where he wishes to speak. He mulls over what he wants to say again, wondering if you’d laugh him off and tell him to not be silly. But he knows that you sense something is up, your eyes taking on a glimmer of understanding and kindness before you look down at your plate. “I won’t force it out of you, Kiyoomi.”

He looks at you affectionately, but you miss it as you stack the plate on the counter.

“Well, since you’re practically pleading me to share my thoughts, I’ll tell you.”

That makes you laugh. You laugh a gentle little laugh, and Kiyoomi has to turn back and face the dishes so that he doesn’t lose his thoughts.

“Your mother, I… I know she means no harm. I know that she may believe that I need rest and time and some sort of recuperation period. I don’t mean to be rude, but she… it feels as if she is doing worse than good, for me.”

You nearly freeze on the spot, worried about what he’ll say next. You’re scared that you and your mother have ruined his whole stay.

Kiyoomi breathes out your name, “I assure you that I am not a wounded dog that must be left alone to rest and sleep the pain away. I want to live a normal life, now. I’ve faced enough estrangement in the war. Please, allow me to work and live with you just as anyone else would.”

It’s a simple, simple request. A simple request that would have anyone cheering and clapping and showing him to the damaged flowers in the front yard and putting him right to work. It’s a simple request that makes your heart clench and twist in the caverns of your chest, knowing that he wants to live a life of normality and serenity. Knowing that he has opened up to you about being shunned away. It makes you feel trusted, and in a way, sought out.

You’re silent for a beat too long and Kiyoomi looks like he wants to scrub away all the words he just said with the way he resumes at washing his plate. As you set another one to dry, you tell him calmly, to prevent the feeling of pity arising in the air, “Of course, Kiyoomi.”

The corners of his lips twitch up when you tell him the bushes out front need to be trimmed.

You tell your mother of Kiyoomi’s request that same night, and she scoffs and frowns and throws a little fit before she caves. She initially insists that you only give him light work, but eats up her words at the glower you throw her way.

He helps you trim the bushes, the weeds, helps you with the vegetables and the chickens and watches eagerly as you prepare food so that he can take on that task later on.

You stir the soup around in the pot, sprinkling in some herbs and seasonings to add some more flavor. He asks you how much you use, you tell him you just know in your heart when to stop. When the kitchen falls quiet, you pick on him and teasingly ask, And how should you cook? And he answers, suppressing a laugh and an eye roll, With love.

You peer down into the pot.

“Okay. Kiyoomi, I am trusting you to deem it ready. Have a taste. The fate of this dinner falls on you.”

He bites his cheek at your dramatics.

You bring the ladle up to his lips and Kiyoomi has to lean forward a little to meet you halfway. You press the spoon to his lips and he lets the liquid in, his eyes locked on yours as he takes a sip. You feel small in some invigorating, exciting way.

He pulls away to think about the taste. “A little more rosemary.”

You eye him carefully but take his word, dipping the ladle back into the pot and sprinkling in a few more leaves. After a few stirs, you scoop the liquid back into the spoon and hold it up to him again.

He leans forward without being told, almost eager to have you press it to his mouth. Again, he keeps his eyes trained on your face as he has a taste.

When you pull the ladle away, he remains close to you, face inches away from your own.

Your fingers twitch.

“Yes,” He breathes out, your lashes flutter. “It’s ready. Made with love.”

You can’t tell if your mind is playing tricks on you, but he seems to be inching closer and closer, your grip tightening on the end of the ladle as you start freezing up, debating whether or not to shut your eyes.

You watch as his pretty eyes close, and with your heart leaping and palms sweating around the ladle from nervousness and the heat that remains in the small space between you two, you let your eyes slip shut.

You know it– you know it, it’s coming, his lips right against yours, you think you can already taste him—

“I’ve arrived early!”

The both of you jump backwards and the ladle collides with the floor.

“S-Sorry,” You whisper to Kiyoomi, picking up the ladle and tossing it in the sink before grabbing a different one off the kitchen rack. His shoulders sag and you think you hear him sigh, but he composes himself quickly as your mother makes her way into the kitchen.

She sees the two of you in front of the soup pot and beams, missing how stiff the both of you look and how you’re wiping your sweaty hands on your apron.

“Teaching Kiyoomi how to cook? Good! Good good, more men should partake in household chores. I cannot wait to taste how Kiyoomi’s soup comes out, should he cook for us soon.”

He nods curtly, watching as you dip the new ladle into the liquid. You look shaken up, movements jagged and nervous, and he fears he’s done something terribly wrong.

“Did you teach him the most fundamental lesson in cooking, dearie?”

At that, a smile slips onto your face.

“Yes. Cook with love.”

When the three of you eat dinner together, Kiyoomi mulls over the fact that it was made with love. Your love. He wants to eat so much that he feels full of your affections. He wants so much of it that he cannot help but decline anyone else who offers food, because he’ll be full of your love.

You two never bring up the almost-kiss. Kiyoomi is scared that he’s pushed a boundary and you’re scared that you misread the situation– so the two of you remain silent and try to fall back into the familiar pattern of days, the rhythm you two share.

The tension is nearly unbearable when the two of you are less than two feet apart. It almost hurts. It hurts Kiyoomi to look at you so longingly and you never notice. It hurts you when you try to scoot a little closer and all he does is move away. You think it's because he's disgusted with you. He just wants you to feel comfortable.

Days pass and the both of you pack the incident up and back away into the furthest crevice in your minds. Everything seems alright again– you both talk to the chickens, trim the flowers and cook dinner by each other's side.

You’re preparing to cook and pull your apron off the hook rack that’s nailed right by the kitchen entrance. Kiyoomi watches as you slip it on and watches when you huff in frustration as you try to reach behind yourself and tie it off. Your arms start getting sore from the awkward position they've been in, the apron straps unraveling again and again in protest. You’re about to let the damn thing flail loose until you hear Kiyoomi clear his throat behind you.

“Let me help.”

Your cheeks burn.

He delicately takes the straps into his hands, making the base knot against your back and pulling it. “Is that good?”

It’s a little loose.

“Tighter, please.”

He pulls. It’s almost like you’re drawn backward, nearly knocking into his chest. He starts tying up a little bow and you feel the brush of his fingers against the small of your back, shivers running up your spine and shoulders. You have to hold yourself back from twitching.

“There,” He says, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork. He keeps his eyes trained on the bow, tries to hold himself back from drinking in your entire figure.

It’s oddly domestic, intimate. It has you drifting off in thought, has you confirming all your wonders about his touch that had crowded your mind ever since that day when you saw him pull out the vegetables. He is gentle. You can only hope that the softness of his touch is a testament to his feelings (more specifically, his feelings about you).

You cough. You make it awkward. You thank him in a quiet, choked up voice before gathering all the pots needed for dinner before scrambling away to start on the food. Kiyoomi thinks he made you uneasy and this time, stands farther away from you when you show him how to prepare the food. Your heart aches at the same time as his. Both of you are back to square one.

The following days are painfully repetitive. It’s a cycle of the two of you falling back into place, and then your hands brush his, or you catch him staring, or you lean in too close to him, and then the both of you are creating more distance and relapsing into silence and copious amounts of space.

On this particular night, the two of you are sitting far apart, him on the rocking chair with an open book, and you on the other side of the living room, pressed into the far corner of the couch, embroidery hoop in hand.

You could trick yourself into thinking that there’s a sense of peace that blankets the two of you, a scene of quiet comfort and domesticity before there’s a dull knock on the door.

You both freeze. You’re the first one to get up to go check, and Kiyoomi is a little too late in his reaction as he tries to tell you that he’ll get it, a weird sense of protectiveness overcoming him.

The door is already open and the air is knocked out of your lungs.

Before you stands a tall, handsome man, brown hair slightly disheveled, a smile growing as he looks down at you. He is very attractive. But not as charming as Kiyoomi, a voice in your head whispers.

“Well, well, well,” He starts, leaning onto the door frame. “Didn’t know Omi was staying with a pretty little lady.”

“Miya,” You hear from behind you, nearly jumping as your skin burns hot knowing there are two striking men trapping you.

“Ah! My old friend!” The man cheers, his eyes searching yours for approval to step inside. Without any hesitation, you grant him access, slowly backpedaling into Kiyoomi’s chest with a squeak before he moves out of the way, the two of you letting the man inside (much to Kiyoomi’s dismay).

“Miya,” Kiyoomi starts again, gaze hardened. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t be like that, my good friend,” The man, Miya, repeats. “Hurts when you address me by last name.”

Kiyomi doesn’t retort. He won’t play into the man’s tricks of beating around the bush.

Finally, he fesses up.

“Bo and Shoyo and I are going to meet up at the pub in a bit, thought you’d like to come along.”

You see Kiyoomi make a face.

“I have suffered enough from your presence over the last few years. Please do not try to rope me back into your antics.”

“Omi!” The grown man whines, face falling before he remembers that you’re standing there. Slowly, his face shifts into a wicked smile, and Kiyoomi’s frown deepens.

“Ah ah ah,” He starts, dipping down and leaning in closer as if he’s examining you. “I know why you’re so adamant about staying. Find yourself a pretty little wife?”

The both of you choke.

You’re about to protest, but Kiyoomi is pushing Miya out the door, effectively letting you hide behind the broad expanse of his back, but you peek out from behind him to see what’s happening.

“If I– If I go with you this time, will you swear to not come back?”

“Don’t be like that, Omi.”

“Miya.”

“Just say Atsumu! And fine! I won’t visit after this. Won’t steal your pretty lady away.”

“You are unbearable.”

Your cheeks feel hot as Kiyoomi turns around to face you, face irritated.

“I’ll be on my way. I should be back before it gets too dark out. Please stay safe.”

You give him a meek goodbye as you watch him pull his coat from the rack next to the door and slide it on, watch closely as he threads his arms through the sleeves, watch as the article fits snugly against his form, watch as he again proves that he is a sight for sore eyes.

After you shut and lock the door, you rush to the kitchen window to get a peek at the both of them descending the porch stairs, watch as Atsumu laughs and hangs close to Kiyoomi as the latter tries again and again to maintain the space between them and throws unimpressed looks his way.

When your mother comes home, you tell her Kiyoomi went out with his friends. She smiles and thanks the heavens, happy that he’s finally getting out there. She tells you she hopes he finds someone he may like while he’s out.

You only hum in response.

Hours pass and Kiyoomi is still out. You and your mother have already eaten dinner and she’s already fast asleep. You’re already in your nightgown and tired of waiting around.

You step outside and stand by the chicken coop. You watch them sleep and some of them scatter around and you talk to them as if you’re sending wishes to the universe. Tell them you hope Kiyoomi is okay. Tell them you hope he gets home safe.

As soon as you’re stepping back inside the house, there are drunken laughs and weak knocks at the front door. Not wanting to seem too excited, you take a few deep breaths to pass time before you hear that Miya boy holler out a muffled Pretty lady, come and get him! Which is nearly cut off by a familiar groan. Kiyoomi throws some swear words around.

You open the door and find that the two of them were using it as support as they nearly fall into you. Atsumu catches you before you can trip on your own feet and fall backward.

“Hi,” He breathes out into your face, and you have to hold back from scrunching your nose. He smells of liquor but his steady arms keep you rooted in place, his physique nearly swallowing you whole.

“Hello,” You start, hyper aware of how you look and if you have any blemishes on your face and how close the two of you are, but before you can think of anything else to find a flaw in, Atsumu is pulled back by Kiyoomi.

“Stop terrorizing my host,” Kiyoomi hiccups out, trying his hardest to remain stern and imposing, but his friend only laughs brightly.

Atsumu slurs out your name, “You must know,” He starts, leaning his arm on the door frame, trying to pose coolly. “Omi mentioned you an awful lot tonight. Think he might have taken a—”

“Miya.”

“Yes, my most beloved Omi,” Atsumu professes, cheeks pink and dewy from all the alcohol. “I’ll leave you two be.”

He clumsily spins on his heel, trips on his way down the steps, and crushes another flower bush.

Your eyes flash with pain and Kiyoomi shuts the door before you can see Atsumu trip into anything else. He’s rather good at composing himself, straightening his face and posture as he looks at you.

“Would you like some dinner?”

“Yes, please.”

You find out soon that Kiyoomi is mouthy when he’s drunk. After you reheat what was left over from dinner and slide the plate towards him, he asks that you sit down with him. His face flashes with disappointment when you sit across from him instead of right by his side.

In his drunken state, he spills all that he’s kept inside without you even needing to probe. Tells you he plans to get going soon, has his eye on a place, tells you he's ready to move on and start life from scratch. He tells you he's tired of you avoiding him like the plague, but there's no malice behind his voice– only pure disappointment, like he’s sulking. At that, you perk up and lean forward, guiltily trying to fish some more out of him.

“Hate that you stay so far away,” He grumbles before stuffing his fork in his mouth. “Always jumping and skittering around me like I’m, I’m– frightening. Hate that you think I’m scary.”

He hates that you keep your distance, hates that you've deemed him untouchable, hates that you see him as some warlord man who will crush you beneath the soles of his shoes if you utter something incorrectly.

“Miya,” He suddenly blurts, and for a second you think he thinks you’re the man that just left.

“Miya told me to confess to you.”

Your blood runs cold. Confess…?

Kiyoomi is quiet after that, finishing up his food with sad eyes. He wants more and more and more, any drop of your love that he can get, he will take it.

You don't ask if he means confessing by telling you all that he hates or if he means confessing something else. Something else that has your stomach stirring, heart doing odd twists as your fist the skirt of your dress. It's hard to think about it when he's right in front of you and slurring his words and clumsily pushing his plate away. It's something you must think about later, in the solace of your own room.

When he’s done, you help him shrug off his coat, watch as the expanse of his back reveals himself to you. You guide him to his room, expecting him to close the door as soon as he steps in again, but this time, he turns to face you and leans on the frame. He swallows as he looks over you, eyes droopy and tired, and he looks so vulnerable in this light. He’s loosened up, mouth parted only slightly as he lets his eyes wander where he usually doesn't when sober, lets his mind think what he usually holds back on any other day.

He breathes out your name. You look up at him curiously.

“I wish you could come with me.”

You stiffen. You gently place your hands on his chest and push him back into his room slowly– your touch makes him smile.

“Goodnight, Kiyoomi,” is all you say.

“Goodnight, angel.”

Just like the almost-kiss, neither of you bring up what Kiyoomi said that night. It's an elephant in the room– at least, to you. You’re not sure if Kiyoomi even remembers what he said. (He does).

The two of you delve into another game of dancing around each other in circles, putting on a show that makes it seem like everything's alright and that your hearts don’t ache. Neither of you are aware that when night falls and you're in your respective rooms, the both of you dwell and worry about what you've said and done.

As of late, Kiyoomi hasn't been around. He still helps you with his morning tasks, but after breakfast, he slips out of the house and tells you he will be searching around town for work with his friend Miya. You know that he doesn't owe you any explanations, but some part of you appreciates it.

(Kiyoomi knows this, too. He wants you to know he isn't seeking anyone else out there).

Day in and day out, he's around less and less. You start to think that Kiyoomi is now trying to get rid of his feelings ever since you didn't exactly reciprocate what he said that night, when he was drunk.

One heartbreaking evening, Kiyoomi announces that he’ll be leaving soon over dinner. Your mother has a big smile on her face as she congratulates him and cups his face and cries on and on about how proud she is and that he deserves all the best. You nod along to everything that she says, but your vision blurs and all the twines of your fork blend together and it’s hard to see what you’re eating. It's even harder to hold back your sniffles as she starts asking him where he’ll move and where he’ll be working and if he's met anyone. She's always on his back about that last one. It makes your heart feel bitter and heavy.

The next morning, your mother insists that she go out to the market and get Kiyoomi some farewell gifts. He reassures her that she doesn't really have to, tries to convince her to stay as she's already putting on her coat, and then she's walking out the door.

Kiyoomi asks if you could help him tidy up before he leaves. It’s more of a statement than a question, so you oblige.

You help him take off his sheets and load them into a basket to wash later. You wipe down the dresser and the desk, help sweep the floors, help him fold his clothing neatly so that his suitcase shuts securely.

When everything's done, you wipe your hands nervously on your apron and give him a curt nod, turning to leave the room.

“Stay,” He suddenly blurts, fists clenching at his sides. “I have to tell you something before I go.”

And so you turn and face him, letting your hands fall to your sides. He steps closer to you.

“Before I go,” He starts, eyes scanning your face for any emotion, but he gets nothing. You look numb.

“I don’t expect anything from you in return, but I must tell you, or else I don’t think I can live with myself. You,” He hesitates, feeling like he instead wants to turn away and save it for another day.

The curious glimmer in your eye pulls him back in.

“You have captured my heart,” Kiyoomi says breathlessly, “The entirety of my soul. I have no regrets in opening myself up to you, in letting you in, and I can say that you have made me a better man. I want to be vulnerable with you as I am now, time and time again. I want us to be one, but to be our own all at once.”

His eyes search yours frantically, “I love you.”

Your mouth drops open.

Hands shaky, you try smoothing out your dress and formulating a response, the right response, one that tells him you feel the same.

Kiyoomi begins to lean away, taking a step back, face calm. “As I’ve said, I don’t expect anything from you in return. You can leave, if you wish.”

You stay rooted still.

“Kiyoomi,” You finally squeak, voice cracking like you're on the verge of tears. The tone of it makes him stand up a little straighter, like he's worried about what he's done, but then you're beckoning him forward with your hand.

He comes in closer, approaching you like you’re injured- gentle and calm like he mustn't startle you any further. You try to lean into him, try to pull him closer, hands wrapping around his shirt and bringing him towards yourself, voice shaky as you manage to get out, “And I you.”

It’s all he needs. It’s all he needs before he’s dipping down, lips slotting against your own as you sigh out wantonly. Days and weeks and months of pent up feelings and unspoken words all pour out in one kiss, a kiss that has you stumbling backward and grasping at his shirt, his hands roaming down your back and pulling you into him, closer and closer and closer, like he is going to fuse the two of you together.

(He wants to).

It isn’t long until you find yourself pressed into his bed, both of your clothes thrown into some corner of the room, underwear torn off as he hovers above you, licking into your mouth and grinding against your cunt.

“Kiyoomi,” You whimper once he pulls away. “Please.”

He dips down again to kiss and nip at your chest, the metal of his tags stinging your skin and giving you shivers. Kiyoomi hums into your shoulder, licks a stripe up your neck before lifting himself off the bed, planting his hands on your hips. He drags you closer to him, lifting you up as he drags his cock over your warmth.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he groans as he slips in, eyes falling shut when you immediately flutter around him. Kiyoomi almost falters, almost curls in on himself and leans atop of you again before he collects himself and starts dragging his cock in and out, hissing at the way you clamp down on him.

It’s a build up, Kiyoomi starting gentle and slow until you’re bucking up your hips and whining at him to go faster, till the only thing you can get out is a weak string of please please please.

Kiyoomi cages you beneath him again as he starts drilling into you, broken cries slipping past your lips as your hands race up and down his back, leaving light scratches that make him moan so prettily right by your ear.

He brings his hands to your thighs, pushing them up and trapping them against your chest and your eyes roll back, body falling pliant to him. He’s so close, all up in your face and humming about how wet you are for him, how fucking good you feel, how you’re made for me, doll, all for me.

His breath fans your face as he thrusts into you desperately, making the bed shake. The tags on his chain bump into your chin, clinking softly like little chimes and bringing you back time and time again as your mind spirals under the feeling of him pounding into you. Kiyoomi grunts and lifts himself up for the fastest second, taking the tags in hand and ripping the chain off his neck, metal grazing the wood floor as it slides away. His irritation with it makes you want to laugh, but the sound gets caught in your throat as his cock hits the sweetest spot in you, making your toes curl as you cry out his name.

He watches you as your hands sneak down, nimble fingers spreading apart your folds to try and get a good look at his length sliding in and out of you. Kiyoomi looks down, watches the spot where the two of you meet, watches as his dick comes out covered in slick before pushing himself back in.

“Fuck, fuck, angel, you’re so– so good, such a good girl for me.”

Your head bobbles up and down in a nod, weakly whimpering out his name, “I want to cum, please let me– let me cum all over you, Kiyoomi!”

He shudders, hand coming up to grab at your jaw. “Look at me. Look at me when you cum.”

You sob out pathetically, legs shaking and twitching as you tighten around him, gushing for what seems like hours until you fall limp, tears invading your vision. Kiyoomi murmurs praises into your cheek before planting both hands on your hips again, using you to reach his high, and you let him, let yourself be his little doll.

You feel his warm seed trickle into you, stomach fluttering at the sensation before he collapses on top of you.

Kiyoomi nestles his face into your chest for a few minutes before rolling onto his side, cupping your cheek with his big hand. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, trying to scoot in closer to him, albeit weakly.

“I love you, Kiyoomi.”

He smiles. He’s beautiful, you think. He opens his mouth to return the affection, your hand coming up to brush his curls away, but there’s a telltale sound at the door that alarms the both of you.

In an instant, you two are up, laughing and tripping over your own feet, Kiyoomi hustling into his slacks as you awkwardly slide your dress back on, thumping into the footboard of the bed as your mother chirps out like a bird, “I’m home!”

“Your mother,” Kiyoomi says in a hushed tone, leaning close to you as he buttons up his shirt, “Always has to go and interrupt us.”

You smile up at him cheekily, and he catches the mischievousness in your eyes.

“Just means that you must take me with you, I presume?”

You step out into the grass of the backyard, the sun already hanging in the sky since you’re a little bit late to your task. Nonetheless, you head straight towards the chicken coop and unfasten the doors, the chickens pouring out and clucking around obnoxiously, as they always have. The rest is muscle memory– throw out the old water, replace it, add in fresh food, sit with the chickens. The familiarity of it all soothes you– not that you need soothing. You simply feel in touch with your roots again.

“Good morning, Harold.” You jeer at one particular chicken, who eyes you warily. You laugh. “Now don’t be jealous, I’ll always come back to check on you.”

He gives an approving cluck.

You gather yourself and get back up, slipping off your boots on the back porch. As you approach the dutch door, you see someone already leaning onto the bottom half of it, a little bouquet in hand.

“He told me to give this to you,” Your mother swoons, holding out the bundle of flowers to you. A laugh bubbles at your lips as you observe the flowers, holding the stems together, “Aren’t these from the front yard? Such a romantic,” You joke, rolling your eyes as you make your way inside. You tuck the flowers into one of your mother’s vases to keep them safe.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” You call out, despite it already being later in the day and, technically, lunch time would be rolling around.

“Oh no no,” You mother gasps, a sound that you had become all too familiar with when Kiyoomi was around, when she’d clutch her chest in shock.

“You rest, my dear, I’ll start working on the food.”

“Mother,” You press, “You need to go rest. That’s the exact reason why we came over here!”

“Nonsense!” She chimes, pushing you down to sit at the dining table as she pads over to the kitchen. You remain still for a few moments to appease her, but then the front door creaks open and you’re on your feet immediately.

“Hi lover,” You say almost bashfully as Kiyoomi approaches you, wiping the sweat off his forehead as he sinks down to kiss your forehead, your chin, your lips.

“Hi, my little doll,” he mutters against you before pulling away. “Did you like the flowers I got you?”

You laugh, observing the green and brown stains on his white undershirt, evidence of his hard work in the front yard. “I shouldn’t be praising a thief, seeing as you took my mother’s flowers right from her yard.”

“Oh?” He suddenly challenges, “I think this thief deserves a little praise, seeing as I successfully made your heart mine.”

You can’t help but scoff, tongue poking at your cheek with how embarrassing he is, how corny he’s become now that he’s in love.

Your mother scurries back in with two plates in hand, telling you both to Sit, sit! like dogs, and Kiyoomi looks at you with a knowing smile on his face. Always interrupting things.

As the three of you start eating, your mother points her fork accusingly at you.

“And you, my sweet girl, better eat up. You need more nutrients for when a baby is on the way.”

You choke. Kiyoomi smiles into his cup as he takes a sip.

“We’re not expecting,” You scold, stabbing your fork into your food. “You can’t just say things like that, mother—”

“How come? You never know! With the two of you in that new big home, you’ll surely want to fill in some space. You’re young! There’s no shame!”

“You’re the one who may as well fill up the space, visiting nearly every day!”

“Oh honey, I’m just excited for you—”

The bickering is all in good fun, Kiyoomi knows. He takes your hand into his underneath the table, finger brushing against the golden band that encompasses your own.

Yes, he thinks to himself, heart swelling. Perhaps it’s time to start filling up the space.

#sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #sakusa kiyoomi smut #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #sakusa fluff

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prickly-paprikash · 7 months

Text

The Bishop in the first Castlevania season is pure evil who believes himself good. He's nearly every crime and hypocrisy of the Catholic Church distilled into one neat, wrinkly, putrid man. He is easy to hate. He is supposed to be despised and we are expected to cheer and rejoice when Blue Fangs chewed on half this man's face.

He uses god to control and manipulate the powers and people that be. While his belief in god may be true, the church and the faith are more tools for him to retain control. It is glaringly obvious that this man is power-hungry.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing at all redeemable about that asshole.

The Abbott is every conservative relative who genuinely loves you, but is a blind idiot holding on to institutions simply because they are "right".

While the Bishop's character is real, most of us won't encounter him. We see him on the news. I'm not even American (been there once for two weeks) but even I've seen his like on news and media. He's a televangelist who consolidates wealth, clout and power through the fanaticism of his followers. He is drunk on the authority he possesses. His belief in god isn't the point; whether or not he holds faith, the man cares solely about power.

The Abbott is someone in our lives we know well. Your conservative mother who refuses to even show a modicum of tolerance towards queer people. Your father who is buying into the religious side of Youtube and Tiktok. Your brother who has grown up to carry terrifying, fascistic beliefs. Your sister who feels lost and found some semblance of acceptance in a church who still believes women are lesser. Your aunt who despises vaccines. Your uncle who tells you that you should've become a priest or a soldier.

The Abbott, deep down, has some redeeming features. But it's not enough to forgive him for his idiocy.

Ask any child who had to grow up with a religious parent, especially a Catholic or an Evangelical. They fucking love the story of Abraham sacrificing his child to God, and finding a ram in its place.

Evangelicals are bent on this tale. They will always preach that god comes before children. That children and their suffering and their needs must always take a backseat to the word of god.

A trans child asking their parents to understand—their words will fall on deaf ears because god and the holy man told them that 'transgenderism' is a vile philosophy that seeks to groom and twist kids. A college freshman debating with their parents about free healthcare and immigration will be stonewalled because the charismatic preacher said that god will provide. god will heal. god did not invite these foreigners into this land.

It is Maria, begging her father to listen and having her pleas fall on deaf ears.

The Abbott is someone I hate more than the Bishop.

Men like the Bishop exist, but they are few and far in-between.

But the Abbott? The Abbott is someone I share a table with at dinner. He's someone I see during family reunions. He's someone who shares misinformation online, and I see it on my timeline because we're social media friends.

I fucking hate him so much and I hope he gets what's his.

He never deserved Tera. He never once deserved Maria.

#netflix castlevania #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #maria renard #tera castlevania #tera #maria castlevania #the abbott #paprikash ramblings

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m1d-45 · 7 months

Text

dancing soldiers

summary: meka are infallible. meka do not stray from their path.. except when they do.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: spoilers for fontaine (name and mechanics of open world boss)

-> gn reader (you/yours) and aether as traveller

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd

< masterlist >

fontaine was known for a wide variety of things, from their ornate fountains to the elaborate clothing it seemed nobody was without. any visitors from other nations were greeted by sweeping architecture and the sound of bubbling fonta, and swimming was a must. but even through the shine of the great lake, their fantastical clockwork meka was definitely the star of the show. every traveller was quickly starstruck by the machines roaming the streets, fitted uniforms not masking the clunking of gears within their chests. even underwater, scanning for raiders and filtering the water, keeping the water clear and cool. faceless, cold, employed both privately and for government work, the perfect tool for their job. they had one job, and they did it well.

meka were designed to protect. to guard. to defend their charge, whether that presented as patrolling a barge of merchants or leading the blind through the winding streets of the city. powered by indemnitium and equipped with efficient charging ports, every meka is intended to outlast their creators. few actually do, whether weakened by arkhe or attacked by those opposing their duty, but it remains a fact that they stick to their orders until the last spark fades from their circuits.

they are perfect workers. they do not disobey, they do not stray from their task. their actions are calculated in a split second, every movement taken to further their given goal.

lead.

support.

shield.

“dance!”

maillardet threw aside the screwdriver in his hand in frustration, kicking at the frost gathering in the arena. behind him, unmoving, were his magnum opus… though they refused to move.

“dance, dance. what’s the point of you?”

they did not dance. they did not move. they stood, hand in hand, one beside the other. coppelius and coppelia, the only signs of life being the frosty wind that would occasionally sweep by. they were in standby, with deflated skirts and unmoving hydraulics. normally, them being still would make maintenance easier, but their plates did not move as they should. he couldn’t even remove coppelius’ hat.

it was convenient, just not for him.

“looks to paimon like might just be the fault of poor design.” you watched from between the hairline gap in coppelia’s skirt, seeing paimon cross her arms. your traveller was stumped as well, merely shrugging.

“theyre infused with opposite arkhe,” aether said simply. “maybe they finally reacted with each other?”

“that’s impossible! the arkhe is held within them, far from where the other could react with it, and only one of them are externally charged at any one time.”

“so… why not reset them? paimon remembers one of the melusines saying that most meka around the city just need to be reset from time to time.”

“in those cases, the meka are given conflicting orders, typically by children. all these two need to do is dance, and-“ his voice choked, aether and paimon moving out of your field of vision to presumable comfort him. you try to shift and see, but coppelia’s skirt twitches inward, keeping you where you are.

you’re sheltered between the two meka, coppelius’ cape-thing making up for the gaps in coppelia’s skirt. you were lucky you hadn’t been seen yet, truthfully… but you didn’t want to stress out maillardet.

“what am i supposed to do?” he asked, words shaky. “i promised the chief justice i’d keep them functional for the divine one, and now- you know what they’re like, and they’re both broken-“

“h-hey, it’s okay! paimon’s certain you’ll get them working again! besides, they still seem to be functional, right?” she flies up, and you flinch at the knock of her hand on metal. it echoes around you, much louder than it should be in your hiding space. “oof, still as cold as ever…

“you should just restart it.”

“are you sure? what if something goes wrong? i can’t even perform maintenance, what if i can’t turn them back on after? you know how they acted last time—if lady furina wasn’t there, then..”

“..it’s better than nothing. besides-“ metal skidded over ice, and you see the flicker of aether’s boot as he kicks the discarded screwdriver back near maillardet’s bag of tools. “-you could always just not put them in stand-by. if they’re broken like this, just leave them dancing. i doubt they’ll notice, and it’ll buy you time until they want to visit again.”

”yeah! you only have a handful of hours until they arrive in fontaine, and it’s not like anything worse can happen!”

“i..” he sighed, and a long moment passed. “i guess trying is worse than doing nothing..”

“that’s the spirit!”

your hands twitch into fists, only partly from the cold. the ‘god’ they spoke of so highly, the one that got you into this mess… who were they, anyway? even you didn’t blame maillardet for needing maintenance between fights, but from his fear it sounded like they’d kill him for a malfunction.

you put those thoughts aside, pressing close to coppelia’s core as the meka were powered down. both of them slumped forward, a shift in their plating allowing a cold wind in. you shivered, and briefly considered praying before deciding against it—what god would answer?

gears clicked and switches flipped, both meka making various hisses. the elemental power seeping from both of them slowly ceased, and your heart picked up. how would this end? after a reset, would they remember to hide you? or would you get crushed beneath their skates as they danced?

“…you two should leave the arena.”

“why?”

“is something wrong?”

“no, but if they begin to dance again, i don’t want you to get hurt.”

“what about you? let me do it, i’m more experienced with combat.”

“it’s alright. in the early stages of their development, they didn’t even have a standby mode, so i’m used to repairing them while they’re dancing. don’t worry, i can get the memory you need unharmed.”

memory?

their memory? when aether had first approached, you’d assumed the ‘sabotage’ maillardet was talking about was the fact that neither of the meka would move. it made sense to want the memory to show which direction the saboteur left in, but that memory would show you, the most hated person in all of teyvat, and the melusine that had helped you hide from the gardes. veleda… you couldn’t let her take the fall for whatever crime you’d committed. she didn’t deserve that.

you take a breath, preparing to make a run over it, when you hear a small click. all at once, coppelia’s skirt snaps back to it’s normal formation, and you catch a glimpse of the traveller’s shocked expression before you’re pulled up and away. coppelius pulls you into his arms, coppelia smoothy following, spinning circles around the two of you like a top. when the two you skid to a stop near the edge of the arena, you quickly get your bearings, only mildly motion sick from the ordeal. maillardet is sitting in the middle of the arena, knocked off his feet beside his tools, and aether and paimon stand on the pathway leading back to the fountain. nobody says anything for a good few moments, the silence tense.

“…at least we know where they went?” paimon asks nervously, and aether draws his sword. coppelia sweeps in front of you and coppelius as he begins to walk towards you, and maillardet quickly gets up. he briefly slips on the icy floor, but quickly intercepts him, his words barely audible.

“traveller, the meka-”

“was tampered with.” his voice is cold, and you shiver at the weight of his glare. “don’t worry, i got it.”

“listen to me, please. coppelius and coppelia follow all the standard guidelines for meka-”

“this isn’t about you!” he shouts, “this is about something much more important then your meka!” his sword points at you, a shining blade despite the name. “this is about a crime too large for your opera house to handle.”

coppelius holds you tighter. the sound of his anger- of his hate makes your heart burn as it sinks, leaving an empty pit. you knew fontaine wasn’t the best at justice, but…

“traveller, have you ever read the machining requirements for battle meka?”

“why is this relevant? why am i talking to you?” he pushes off his hand and begins to walk, leaving paimon behind. after a moment, she gasps loudly, rushing forward to pull on his braid.

“wait! freminet lent paimon his copy of those guidelines once! she knows what maillardet means!”

“so what?”

your twin meka begin to slowly skate away from aether as he nears, ignoring paimon. maillardet is looking through his bag, searching for something, but all you can see are the traveller’s eyes. your traveller’s eyes, all your months of gameplay boiling into his rage.

maybe if the circumstances were different you’d forgive him for being so angry, but as it stands you’re barely convinced you’ll live through the hour.

“one of the clauses was about a special line of code that all the battle-capable mekas had to have- stop walking and listen!”

“how does that connect to this? don’t you care for our god? why are you stopping me?”

“because it’s about our god! don’t you remember? navia told you when we stayed with the spina de rosula!”

he does stop, then, staring paimon down instead. “fine. what is it?”

she lets go of his braid, waving a hand between the icewind suite and maillardet as she talks. “mekas have a special override wired into them in the case that the abyss got ahold of them which shuts down their combat functions when faced with the creator! it’s weaker when triggered through their vessels—which is why their attacks are limited instead of stopped—but is mandatory for every meka that’s combat ready, including coppelia and coppelius!”

aether turns to you, conflicted. you still carried in coppelius’ arms, you hidden under the plating of coppelia’s skirt, you who made the meka disobey their creator. you, the creator of those that made them.

“…maillardet?”

“it’s true, cease your fire.” he lifts a plain notebook from his bag, not that aether turns to see it. “i have my maintenance notes here. that override was the first thing i added, even before i gave them their weaponry. let’s bring our findings to the iudex and let our lord relax. please.”

aether’s sword dissolves into dust, a mix of shock and confusion still lingering on his face as he’s pulled away by paimon’s hand on his shoulder. maillardet packs his things and follows, taking some time to pick his way through the frosted floor. once the arena is cleared, coppelius skates to the center, setting you down carefully. then, he takes coppelia’s hand in his, leading her away. they begin their dance around you, gears clicking with elaborate pirouettes, leaving you in the middle of it all to wonder what just happened.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #sagau fontaine #sagau aether #aether #paimon #sagau paimon #icewind suite #genshin self aware au #gender neutral reader #this was meant to be out an hour ago #but i’m on the road and the connection is inconsistent #ACTUALLY it was meant to be out two days ago when it was finished but i procrastinated editing #which is why i normally don’t edit

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adoreeenina · 5 months

Text

I wanna be yours - Ch. 12

(Recom! Miles Quaritch x Sully! Reader x Recom! Lyle Wainfleet)

(Warning for this chapter: smut, oral(f receiving, loss of virginity, virginal penetration, first time, cockwarming, size difference, talk of past trauma, talks of mating, feelings being revealed, and much more)

A/N: this is the longest chapter I’ve ever written, so please give me feedback. This is my first time writing something like this so I hope you enjoy and I would love to hear your feedback. Love you and you support and most importantly your patience)

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“No! You can’t force me into this!”

“You will be the next Tsahik. It is done” Neytiri informs you. You gawk at both of your parents.

They had inform you will be engaged to be wed to Tarsem. Tarsem is one of the fierce warriors from the clan. He has proved himself many times and you agree he will be perfect to be the next Olo’eyktan. But you didn’t agree to be promised to someone you clearly have no romantic feelings for.

“You can’t do this to me! It’s-“

“Enough! Don’t talk back, Y/n! It’s what’s good for the people” Jake scowls deeply.

Your upper lip twitch, a hiss threatening to spill.

“What about what’s good for me? Have you thought about that?”

Your father sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “this will be good for you”

“Good for me?! How the hell will this shit be good for me?” Neytiri eyes you warningly, hooking her fingers around your arm to tug you along.

“Hey, lose the attitude before I lose my temper. Where I come from, you’d have that sour face slapped clean off.” Jake warned, earning a sharp glare from your mother.

“Then why don’t you? I know you want to” you coldly remark. Neytiri looked between you and Jake , utterly appalled by what was being said.

“You and Tarsem are engaged to be wed soon. Is this how the future Tsahìk behaves?” Jake says and jabs a finger into your sternum. Neytiri swatted his hand down, hissing at their behavior.

“I never wanted to be Tsahik in the first place!” You shout. Your skin boiling as angry tears fall.

You turn to face your mother, “you were betrothed to Tsu’Tey, were you not?” Jake jaw ticked and your mother seemed taken back by the question.

“Then father came and took you away?”

“Hey!” Jake shouts at defensively, “that’s enough out of you!”

“Or what? You’ll hit me? Fuck you!” You snarl.

“Y/n” Neytiri gasp, she tighten her hand around your bicep, “you forget your place, Ma’daughter”

“Watch your mouth. Or I shut it for ya” Jake growls, “I didn’t raise you to be a fucking brat”

“Ma’Jake”

“Get out of my sight before I lose my temper, young lady” Jake warns you with a look that basically says ‘I dare you to talk back’

“You know what, dad?” You sigh defeatedly.

“What?”

“You protect everyone but you seem to forget to protect the people that’s supposed to mean the most to you” Jake harden gaze slightly falter, but you keep going.

“I’m not a soldier, a comrade, or one of your warriors. I’m your daughter. Someone that needs you. But you can’t even do that. You put others over your own children. You treat us like a squad but we’re your family. You always say ‘I’m a disappointment’ to you and yet you don’t realize how much that hurts to hear from someone who is supposed to be my protector”

Jake and Neytiri watch you with parted lips, Jake holds up a poker face but Neytiri eyes scarce with glossy residue.

“You’re a good Olo’eyktan and husband, dad…” you pause, “But you’re not a good father” with that, you leave, ignoring the way your name is muttered when you do.

Jake watch you scurry off with an emptiness he hadn't felt for a very long time.

You readied the harness on Rawm, attaching your bow and quiver to it before readying your queue for the connection. “Y/N.” You halted at the voice of Spider. She glanced at him, smiling. “Hey.”

Spider jogs up to you and seems to be in a hurry to catch up to you before you leave.

“What is it?”

Spider stops in front of you with his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths like he had run a marathon. Once he finally calmed his breathing, he stands to his full height and looks up at you.

“I heard what happened” that made you sigh frustratingly and look to your left, facing the outside of the cave.

“The word spread fast, huh?” You laugh bitterly.

“I’m worried about you. I know you didn’t take it well being promised to Tarsem” you shrug nonchalantly.

why would it matter? Your father is dead set on having you betrothed to Tarsem without your consent.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel, Spider. I just have to go through with it, whether I like it or not”

Spider bites the inside of his cheek. He knew you better than that, sometimes better than you knew yourself.

“You don’t have to put up a front with me, you know. You’re my sister, I’m always going to be here for you. No matter what” tears prick I’m the corner of your eyes.

You should’ve known better than try to hide how you really feel, Spider could see right through you. You could never lie to him.

“I know, Spider” you whisper, voice cracking, “I hate this. I hate this so much”

You kneel down in your knees in front Spider, and you let him wrap his around your shoulders, trying to comfort you.

“If I were Na’vi maybe we could go and mate right now so you don’t have to mate with Tarsem” Spider jokes lightly. You snort when you pull back and slightly push at his shoulder.

“Don’t be gross” you smile warmly at him. You know about Spider’s insecurities, you know he hates being human and wishes to be a Na’vi like you. But you love him just the way he is and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Spider, you’re more Na’vi than anyone I’ve ever known. Even me. You’ll always be my brother”

“But I’m not-“

“No! You’re mine. Our blood may not be the same, but you’re my family and always will be”

Spider couldn’t look at you feeling a little embarrassed at being vulnerable. You carefully cup his cheek and make him look at you.

“To the sun and the moon and all the stars” you say, Spider smiles up at you and wraps his hand around your wrist.

“Stay true to who you are” he finishes warmly.

——

"Is all this really necessary?" You ask, running your fingers along the heavy duty guard secured around Miles' ikran. It was made of a similar material to the Recom's vest, so there was no way it was comfortable.

"It's gear. She likes it."

Cupcake let out a weak screech in disagreement, obviously not liking it. Ikran were meant to have light and form fitting saddles, not pounds of kevlar and gear. You roll your eyes, but smiled when Cupcake nudged at your side, wanting attention and sympathy.

"Seems she likes you too." Miles spares you a glance as he continued to load the side bags with ammo, food, two spare respirators for Spider, and everything else they'd need. Since they now had regular transportation, the Recoms were going to start longer recon missions in the field as they no longer needed to check back into Bridgehead as often.

"Ikran usually aren’t affectionate with anyone other than their bonded Na’vi."

"Well, I do like when you're all lovey dovey with me. Rubbin' off on her like you do me." You easily caught Miles' obvious attempt at a flirtation as you continue tracing the pattern of Cupcakes face.

“If I’m not mistaken. It was you rubbin’ off on me, Colonel” you say, switching your gaze from the ikran to Miles. His back was turned to you , but looks back with an amused grin.

“We headin’ out, boss?” Your spine stiffens hearing Lyle not that far behind you.

You didn’t know how to proceed after that make out session back at their room. You know you’re making it awkward but this was a dangerous territory for you. One is the reason you have a bullet wound on your side and the other is the reason why you’re here and forced to teach them.

You’ve tried to create distance between the two of you. But it’s been hard when you’re near each other 24/7.

“Yeah, get the squad ready”

“Yes, sir” you glance over your shoulder, intending to just to take a peek but Lyle’s eyes are already trained on you.

“You ready, darlin’?” Miles question was enough for Lyle to tear his gaze away from you and move along to his own Ikran.

Switching your gaze from Lyle to Miles. You nod.

“Am I allowed to ride on my own?” You ask.

Miles eyes you with his hands on his hips.

“I won’t fly away if that’s what you’re worried about” you respond, annoyed that he would even think that.

“It’s not like I could” Then you clutched the collar on your neck and jingled it loudly in front Miles.

Miles kisses his teeth with a hard glare towards the collar before looking down at his watch, trying to distract himself.

“Fine, darlin’. I’m putting my trust in you” he points at you with a warning look in his eye.

“Yes Colonel” you smile bright making smiles gaze soften for a moment.

You turn to jog toward the edge of the docks . You yip, summoning Rawm.

Cupcake's jaw dropped slightly as if the animal was excited to hear the noise; the other ikrans around did the same as their heads perked to attention.

Rawm, who soon appeared in front of you. You coo at the Ikran, holding the red and black plate that protruded from the underside of Rawm’s jaw as you stroke her.

“Can I go with you?” You turn to smile down at Spider who is standing close to you, he pats Rawm who chitters at the new affection.

“Is it okay with the Colonel?” You ask before glancing up at Miles, who is busy talking with Lopez and Z-dog.

“I think so” Spider shrugs. You raise an eyebrow at Spider who grin’s sheepishly at you. You couldn’t fight back a smile.

“Fine” you respond. Spider fist bumps the air before climbing on Rawm. You turn towards the Colonel’s directions, cupping your hands around your mouth.

“We’re ready when you are, Colonel” you shout, you heave yourself onto Rawm’s back, with Spider in front of you, you reach behind you to grab your kuru and slid the tendrils of her queue into Rawm’s.

~~~

“Why do I have to fly with you?” You complain for the third time, leaning back against Miles.

Your height difference was perfect - your temple pressed right into the juncture of his shoulder. If he turned even slightly, his lips were at your hair line. Not that he'd thought about it once or twice. Maybe more but that’s besides the point.

“I already told you…” He leaned down to your level, ears pinned back in irritation, “after that stunt you pulled I can’t trust you on your own”

“I said I was sorry..” You mumble, refusing to look at him, actually feeling guilty.

You and Spider thought it would be funny to cut few of the recoms off as a prank, but you didn’t think it through when Rawm pushed Prager off his own Ikran. But it was an accident you swear.

“I promise I won’t do it again” ears pinning to the side of your head, you turn to look up at him with doe eyes.

Miles grins smugly before leaning down close to your ear - so close that you could feel the ghost of his lips on your ear, making you shudder.

“I know you won’t, babygirl” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear. One of his hands sliding up your thigh and fingering at the strap on your hips of your loincloth.

Your breath catches and your eyes widen as your thighs try to squeeze together, combating the rush of arousal that Miles words send straight to your core.

What the hell is wrong with you?

“You’re going to behave, sweetheart? Will you be a good girl for me from now on?” He ask.

“Y-yes” you stammer.

“Yes what?” He taunts.

“Yes sir” Miles pulls his hand away with a pat on your thigh before placing both his hands on your hips.

Damn you, you cocky prick.

After a few moments you couldn’t handle the silence much longer and having Miles hands on you like this.

“Where are we going? Are we there yet?” You ask with bored tone.

“You’ll see, darlin’” he assures.

You lean forward, trying to peer between Cupcake’s neck and wing to survey the terrain a little closer. Miles cursed and tightened his hold on your hips, pulling you farther back along the ikran's neck, as he imagined you slipping off and plummeting into the trees below. He tried not to look down at your bent over form - your ass was almost on full display and pressed into his crotch. Mental images of your bent over for him in other circumstances flooded his mind.

Your hair wasn't pulled back - only the front pieces were pulled back with your hand carved bone pin.

You groan annoyed when your hair wraps around your own face, and pulls it across one shoulder. With the hair secured down, your entire back was exposed.

Over the past few days, Miles and the other had grown used to the amount of skin your outfit reveals, especially the top - which had little coverage across your back. Besides a few cords that secured the front panel down, there was nothing across your entire back. Miles' eyes were drawn your back being littered with scars, some bad, some old.

It was an antagonizing half an hour before Miles finally ordered everyone to land. His blood was pooled at one spot of his body and it certainly wasn't his head.

The moment you touched down, Miles didn't have to worry about the warmth emitting from your body as you slid off the ikran, not even bothering to wait for him to disconnect the bond.

You look around the forest with a large river with a waterfall close by. You turn to look at Miles confused.

Why are we here?

“We’ve been flying a lot longer than we thought. We should camp out here for the night” Miles informs the squad.

They all excitedly start unpacking when Spider walks to your side and you both watch silently.

You notice a familiar ball of fiber in Miles hands. Your eyebrows raise in surprise.

“You kept it?” Miles turn to look at you before looking down at the hammock in his hands.

“It’s useful” Miles shrugs. You admire him, you didn’t think they would have kept it, you assumed he would have thrown them away.

“Hey mami!” You turn away from Miles to Lopez.

“Want to hunt with us?” Lopez points behind him at Ja and Mansk. You glance at Miles and Lyle. Miles seems to be looking at you in the corner of his eye. Lyle shamelessly looking at you as he unpacks.

You turn to look down at Spider. “You’ll be okay on your own?”

Spider smiles at you assuredly, “yeah go ahead, I miss the food from here anyway”

“Okay, I’ll be back soon” you smile before turning and following Lopez to the river.

As the day grew into night, the Recoms had settled around camp. Lopez and Mansk managed to catch two big fish from the river and Spider wanted to show off to the Recoms by demonstrating his cooking skills to everyone over the fire Mansk has built. The dish lacked a few key elements, but it was much better than any type of MRE the RDA had to offer and they couldn't survive on fruit forever.

“So Y/n” Z-dog says out loud which caught everyone’s attention, “I’ve been meaning to ask” she gestures at her own body before pointing yours, “how did you get those?”

“You mean my scars?” You ask with a raise brow. Z-dog nods. You sigh.

“I’m known being a trouble maker back at home. I always end up getting myself into situations that ends me getting hurt” you shrug.

You jerk back when you felt fingers trace over your back, and turn to whoever it was with a defensive hiss with your ears pinned back.

“Sorry” Lopez throws his hands up apologetically. You nodded for him to continue, your eyes squeezing shut as you inhaled a deep breath.

“I remember the ones on your back were fresh when we first took you. How did you get those?” Your ears peek at the question and you met the ember eyes of the man who had his lips on yours 2 days ago.

“I got them from the train tracks” you admit. Miles frown at the information you have given.

“Train tracks” Miles whispers under his breath until realization dawns on him and turns to look at you, “you were there when Sully hit the mag train”

“Yeah, I was too close when one of your Gunships starts launching missiles at us”

“What the hell were you doing there?” Miles growls, surprising himself from his reaction.

“Cause of Lo’ak” responds Spider. Catching Miles attention.

“Who?”

“Lo’ak. My younger brother. The one you had at knifepoint back at the shack” at the reminder, Miles looks down at his hands, trying to force down the guilt he’s been feeling.

“The one that flipped me off” Miles snorts. Yeah there’s no mistake Sully is the father of the kid. He got guts, he can respect that.

“Lo’ak is much of a trouble maker than I am. He wanted to be near the raid when we were supposed to be the look out. He went against order. I followed him. That’s when it happened” you mindlessly roll the beads of your songcord in between your thumb and forefinger, “We ran to get away, a missile was launched straight towards us, I didn’t have time to think, So I pushed him out of the way and I got hit instead. I got pretty banged up and got scolded for it” you roll your eyes when the memory of your father scolding you flashes in your mind.

“You’re the oldest?” Ask Ja.

Since you’ve been with them, they never really ask anything personal, it’s not because they didn’t want to more because they didn’t want to tick you off, afraid they’ll set you off at the time.

“Yeah I’m the oldest of five children”

“Five?” Shouts Lopez, you jump back in surprise by Lopez reaction.

“Lopez!” Scolds Miles.

“Sorry sorry” Lopez waves Miles off making him roll his eyes at him, “Damn, imagine still being with the same woman for that long, have that many kids and still love them”

You look at Lopez confused, what did he mean by that? Are humans rituals different?

“Na’vi mate for life” Spider says. That catches everyone attention.

“Life?” Ask Prager.

“Like I said before. Tsaheylu. The bond, is one of the most important thing a Na’vi can have access to when wanting to connect with the world and nature around us. and that includes each other” you watch as each of them look at each other before grabbing onto their own kuru.

You heard giggling on your left side and see Lopez and Prager jokingly push each others queues a little to close and pull them back when the tendrils slightly graze each other

“Hey!” You slap the back of Lopez head and pull on his ear, making him wince in pain.

Everyone watches you in amusement, fighting back grins, a few looks at Miles to see if he’ll stop you but surprisingly they see him smiling fondly at you and let you torture Lopez.

“Shit!” He winced, “ow, ow, ow, okay okay, I’m sorry”

“You yet to understand how deep and sacred a bond is, Skxáwng. you won’t be able to look at anyone else, you’ll be obsessed” you finally let go of his ear.

Lopez pouts as he touches the back of his ear and tries to soothe it. You look over at Prager who quickly covers his ears to avoid getting his ears pulled next.

“Once you make Tsaheylu, Muntxa si is connection to you, them, Eywa and no one else! It is honouring and making new life. You will not be able to mate with another both spiritually and physically”

The recoms listen tentatively, they don’t know much about the Na’vi culture or their traditions. They didn’t think the Na’vi mate for life, or they didn’t think much of them at all to bother learning their ways, until now that is when you came along.

“What would happen if they accidentally connected their braids? You’re saying they’ll be mates for life?” Jokes Ja, making a few chuckle, you frown at their childishness.

“Yes” that made them shut up real fast, they look at you with wide eyes,"You mate and once the bond is complete, it is a bond for life. It is a connection unlike any other. Once you share the deepest, most intimate part of yourself there is no going back. No action or amount of distance could manage to break the bond, only death."

Ja nudges your shoulders with a snicker, "so, you gettin' down and dirty with anyone before you mate?” The word felt foreign on his tongue as he ask the question.

“No” you respond with an eyeroll.

“You don’t fool around with anyone before mating? You know, have a taste of anyone else?” Ask Z-dog.

"Your culture is very strange. The Na’vi do not mate until they find the one, that what makes Tsaheylu very special for mated pairs” you wish to have that intimate experience with the one you choose for the rest of your life but sadly you won’t experience that instead you’ll be mated to someone you have no feelings for.

“And you’ll mate with this Tarter guy?” Lyle waves his hand. You deadpan at him, you know he’s saying Tarsem’s name wrong on purpose.

“Yes. My father made arrangements for me to be mated to Tarsem”

“Arrangement? Wait a minute,” Miles holds out a hand towards you, he pauses as he tries to process what you said, “you’re telling me you’re having an arrange marriage? What are we in the 1800’s?” He laughs in disbelief. He thought you were possibly in love with the guy to want to mate with him. He never thought Sully would be the type to force his daughter to be with someone.

You look at Miles confusingly, you don’t understand the human innuendo.

“Arranged marriages are quite common in our culture, more for the future Tsahik and Olo’eyktan” you respond.

“Atleast Jake didn’t make you have a third. Remember he almost wanted to wed you to Nanti” Spider shifts in his seat next to you before looking at you.

The memory of Nanti makes you roll your eyes, of course you remember. How can you not? Your father thought it would be good to have two Tsahik and one Olo’eyktan in the clan. Originally he wanted you and Nanti together and added Tarsem but you and Nanti didn’t get along. She was too controlling and jealous. You were glad your father ended the arrangement with Nanti.

“That a Na’vi thing, darlin’? Takin’ on a third?” Miles ask.

“Wait a sec… Polyamorous is a thing here?” Ask Ja in surprise.

“Polyamorous is unheard of but it’s uncommon. It’s rare but it could happen. But it’s best if they mate together” you explain. The recoms look at you confused. This was new and interesting information. They’ve never heard the Na’vi could have more than one mate.

“What do you mean?” Ask Z-dog

“They’ll have to mate at the same time. Two cannot mate then mate with the third or the fourth. That’s misplacing and disrespecting them in the mating ritual” you explain. You watch as the faces of recoms go deep in thought.

Everyone was listening intently at this point. After all, their job was to learn, absorb, and apply knowledge regarding the Na'vi to fulfill their mission. The Recoms were silent, processing the information. Rather than seeing how these mating bonds are the ultimate form of weakness within the Na'vi community, most of them became envious of the utter devotion mates have for eachother.

You didn’t realize how little they really know about the Na’vi, you might have taught them your ways but only the basics, not the culture or traditions.

“Soooo…” Lopez drags out, sparing a glance at Miles and Lyle, “what I’m hearing is you’re a virgin”

You gasps dramatically, eyes widening in disbelief at his giggling face. You hit Lopez shoulder with the back of your hand, “that is none of your business, Lopez!”

Lopez grins as he holds your wrist to avoid being slapped by you again, “I’m not hearing a no” he cheekily responds.

“Gah” you sneer when you pull your wrist out of his grip, Lopez laughs heartily, the corner of your mouth twitching. You know Lopez is just teasing you.

You move to stand up and dust yourself off, you were already walking away when Miles calls for you, “where you going?”

You pause half in the darkness “I’m going to the river to wash up. Do I need your permission to do so, Colonel” you sass. Miles grins as he licks his canines.

“Don’t be a brat” he lightly scolds you “you’re not going alone” he nods towards Lyle, “Lyle go with her”

You cross your arms over your chest, “I’m not going to make a run for it” you snarl. Miles outstretch his arm towards you a way to tell you to calm down, he means no harm.

“That’s not why, darlin’, it’s dark out. It’s for your safety, there could be predators out there” Your harden gaze soften at that, maybe you had reacted a little to fast.

You turn your gaze to Lyle who is already making his way towards you. You don’t know how to feel being alone with him again after what happened last time, you’ve been ignoring him for the past 2 days.

“C’mon baby, let’s go” Lyle places his hand on your lower back and gently pushes you forward.

The walk to the river is awkwardly silent. You’re lost in your thoughts, Meanwhile, Lyle ambles along at your side, matching your pace perfectly. He’s equally as quiet, but he keeps darting looks at you out of the corner of his eyes. Lyle is many things, but he’s never been subtle as long as you’ve known him.

By the time you reach the river, hardly a word has been shared between the two of you. Lyle stops mid step as he watches you kneel down near the river.

Lyle has started tapping his fingers against his thigh, and the frequency of his glances have increased yet again. He clears his throat, and finally speaks up.

“You’ve been ignoring me”

Your ears perk up at attention to his direction, you look over you shoulder, making eye contact with Lyle, you see the saddening and the longing look in his eye, it almost made you feel guilty. You didn’t think it would affect him this much.

“I wasn’t” you deny before going back to washing your hands, splashing water on your arms.

Lyle bitterly lets out a chuckle, shaking his head, “you’re lying to me now?”

You ignore him and don’t bother to respond and he doesn’t like that, not one bit.

“It’s because of what I am, isn’t it?” Hearing the clear insecurity in his voice, you turn your body sideways to look at him.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n” his tone getting a little more aggressive. You were taken back by his tone. Not once has he ever raised his voice at you.

Hearing your name coming from his mouth sounds foreign to you, this is the second time he said your name but this time it sounds like it hurts him to say it.

“Is it cause I’m a sky demon? Is that it? I’m not good enough for you?” He says, the bitterness in his tone is very apparent.

“No! That’s not it at all! How can you think that?” You practically beg. You stand up abruptly and take a cautious step towards him

“How can I not? You’ve been ignoring me like I have some kind of disease or something” he practically shouts.

You could feel yourself cowering back. You can’t do this right now. This was a mistake, something that shouldn’t have happened.

“It shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake” you drop your gaze, mentally berating yourself.

“Mistake?” Lyle lets out a breath of disbelief and turns away from you, “You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t feel anything”

You pick up your head and see the pain in his eyes, more apparent than ever.

“Lyle,I can’t do this right now” you shake your head, you move your legs to attempt to walk around him but he instantly grabs you by your arm and pushes your back roughly into the closet tree.

You look up at Lyle with wide eyes. He has that crazed and determined look clear on his face.

You attempt to pull yourself away but his arm was like a cage around you, unbudging. Your eyes looked up at his begging to be released.

He let you go after a few more moments of you struggling. Letting his hands fall on your hips, he gently strokes your hip with his thumb, his way of apologizing for being a little too rough with you.

“Something changed between us, and I know you can feel it too” Lyle says, after a few seconds of neither of you speaking.

“No. Lyle, please don’t” you practically beg, pushing at his chest to let you go.

“Why? Cause you’re afraid to admit your feelings?” He presses on.

“It’s not that simple” you can feel anger boiling inside of you. Tears coming down your face as you shake your head.

“It is that simple” your hands starts pushing and hitting at his chest.

“No it’s not!” You shout at him, Lyle grabs onto your wrist to stop you from hitting him.

“Why not? Tell me!” He shouts, the anguish in his voice hurting you even more, all the while he struggles to hold you in place.

“The whole point I’m even here is for you to hunt down my father!” you cry out as you manage to pull your arms out of his grip, “it’s wrong of me to fall for my father’s enemies”

“I stop giving a shit about Sully a long time ago!” Lyle says, anger seeps through, almost like he wants you to understand.

“Why are you doing this to me? Is this some sick game you’re trying to pull on me?” You sob. No, you can’t let anything come of this. This is wrong.

“For fucks sake Y/n” he breathes out, clearly frustrated with you, “I’m trying to tell you I’m falling in love with you”

“No.” You shake your head, not wanting to believe Lyle could feel that way about you.

“Baby…” Lyle whispers as he tries to reach for you but your mind is completely lost.

“You’re not capable of such things” you cry out, pushing his hands away from you.

Lyle uses both hands to cup your face and forces you to look up at him, his gaze softening seeing the tears slide down your cheeks, with his thumb he wipes them away.

“I am capable of anything for you, never doubt the power you have over me” he whispers to you before leaning his forehead on yours, “I would leave everything for you”

Your hands planted softly on his face, pressing your forehead against his. He bumped his nose with yours, taking one of your wrists and mouthing your erratic pulse tenderly.

“You don’t know what you’re saying” you timidly pressed your palm against Lyle’s chest. You pushed him back with all the strength you could muster, eyes blown wide as he stared down at you.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, I only felt this way about one other person, and I never told them. I’m not making that same mistake with you” he responds, moving his hands to your hips. Not once taking his eyes off you.

“There is no woman out there quite like you. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. When I think about you, try to describe what comes to mind, I’m left speechless. No matter what I say I don’t think there’s words that could ever describe the way you laugh and how your smile lights up a room that makes me feel alive. You are a breath of fresh air, pure, honest, and loveable air.” The way he says it sounds so poetic, it makes your heart flutter. Feeling flustered, you looked away to avoid Lyle’s gaze.

“Baby, look at me.” He cups your jaw to make you look at him, “If you don’t feel the same, tell me. Look me in the eyes and tell me” He whispers, not being subtle when his eyes darted down to your mouth, watching your teeth bite into your bottom lip.

“Please, baby. I have to hear you say it” he begs in his raspy voice.

“I can’t”

“Why not?” he breaths out.

“Cause I’m falling for you as well” you finally admit. Lyle sighs in relief.

Bringing one arm up to your chin, he lifts you face more to him, leaning forward to softly kiss your lips. His face stays too close to yours, but nothing touches. “Lyle?”

“Yes, baby?” with every syllable you feel his lips push up against yours, and you want him closer to you.

“Kiss me again. Please.” Lyle’s hand glides around your neck, the hand on your hips pull you even closer to him until every part of your front is touching him. His lips crash into yours. Peppering kisses onto you until he stills, his tongue tickles around your lips, and you open your mouth, granting him access. Lyle took the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth, exploring your taste and groaning at your willingness to accept the intrusion.

Needing to feel even closer to him, you move to wrap your arms around his neck, stroking your fingers on the back of his head. Sliding his hands down your body, he cups your nearly bare ass, lifting you up to him. At the feeling of his tented pants, you mewl. “Oh baby, we’ve barely even got started,” the deepness of his voice makes you choke up, unaware of how with just the sound of a voice could make heat pool in your belly.

His mouth left your lips to explore the rest of your face. He began by leaving open mouth kisses along the sides of your face before nipping at the base of your ears. The sensation had your movements momentarily pause as your own pleasure took precedence. "Lyle..."

You could feel the lust pooling in your stomach and quickly migrating downward. You may not have been mated, but you knew what it felt like to touch herself. The touch of another was foreign, but that familiar feeling was mounting even without direct stimulation.

Lyle bit at the base of your neck before licking over the reddened area. He didn't break skin, but if he used any more power he would've easily drawn blood. The sensation of his teeth dragging over your neck satisfied something primal within both. Your head lulled to the side to give him more access - a clear display of trust and want.

He mentally curses at the colt around your neck, disturbing him to claim you even more.

After allowing Lyle to continue for a minute, you pull back as his mouth chased after your skin. Your eyes were blown wide with lust, glimmering as the night light of the forest danced along your skin, deepening the shadows of your features. A glistening trail of saliva covered the entire right side of your neck, running from your collar one to your ear as light bruising was intermittently laid out. The sight had Lyles' pants reach a level of uncomfortable tightness. Your free hand pulled at his vest, despising the gear from keeping his chest out of reach.

Once he was within reach, you returned his favor from earlier, tentatively pressing a soft kiss to the base of his jaw before growing bolder and left sloppy, wet kisses up and down the base of his neck. Lyle groans - how could someone so sweet do this? His hand released your neck and found purchase on your waist, kneading and squeezing at the soft flesh. With the newfound range of motion, you were able to reach up and bite at the base of his ears as well. Lyles' knees nearly buckled at the sensation - the way his fingers tightened around your waist was going to leave fingerprints for a day or two.

"Fuck, baby."

Both of your pupils were blown wide - a side effect of the dim lighting and the lust building in each of your systems. Before Lyle made a move to further your little dance, he hastily unlatched his vest as the material suddenly became constricting.

You smiled before Lyle slowly lower you down onto the ground, his knees in between your legs, keeping your thighs spread, ready to ravage you for all you’re worth. He wasn't going to stop till you were shaking on the ground from too much. He needed you as much as you needed him.

Your hair splayed out beneath you - you looked like the sun. Bright and warm. An essential part of life - you were an essential to his life now.

“Baby, I can’t have you passing out on me,” Lyle’s fingers untie your top, pulling it aside to get a full view of your breasts. Cupping and fondling them until his mouth sucks on each nipple. His tongue circling around until they’re hard and pebbled. His eyes roll up to look at you, but his lips still trail down your body, and you’re overwhelmed by every touch.

Lyle smirks as he slowly traveled down your torso, pressing a sloppy wet kiss at the base of your sternum, “You drive me crazy, baby."

His lips kiss at your stomach, leaving a trail of saliva as he licked up the sweat that collected earlier in the day. You shiver as the moisture cooled instantly in the cool of the night. Lyle pause at the base of your naval before hovering there to glance up at the writhing woman who begged for him to return. Your hands found their way to the back of his head, trying to push it against you but he resisted the temptation to continue teasing you.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, baby”

You could barely form the words, your rebuttal coming out as breathy pleas for his touch, "please, Lyle, I need more."

Lyle nipps at your freshly exposed hip bone, “don't you worry - I'm going to take care of you."

You try to help as Lyle slips the rest of the fabric down your legs. Once rid of your loincloth, Lyle travels back up your legs, beginning at your ankles. Light touches and soft kisses were a juxtaposition to the harsh squeezing and bites as he passed over your knees. As he grew closer to the apex of your thighs, he could smell your arousal. You shifted against the ground in attempts to entice him into doing what you wanted, but there was no need for that. Lyle felt like he was already drunk off your pussy without experiencing it yet.

He inhaled sharply and peeled his gloves off, before throwing them aside.

The way your entire body twitches in excitement as he trailed his index finger along the inside of her thigh. The way your head would roll back and your back arched slightly off the ground, making the dark bruises around the base of your throat more apparent. He loved it all.

You whimper, slightly grinding into Lyles' hand, "Lyle, please."

"Gotta stretch you out first, baby, can't go hurtin' you," Lyle kiss your clavicle, feeling your heart racing in your chest. His voice trailed off, "wouldn't forgive myself."

Holding eye contact, Lyle ran a single finger up the length of your slit before slowly pressing inside, meeting little resistance as your slick eased the entry. He remained slow, especially as your face twinged in mild discomfort as one of his fingers was the thickness of two of your own. Lyle took your pleasurable whimper to continue, beginning to pump the single finger before adding another once your face relaxed.

"Shhh," Lyle hushes you, his large arms curl around your upper thighs and you were sharply yanked down towards him, "I want to taste you. If you'll let me."

Your eyes widen in desire as Lyle starts placing small kisses on your stomach, caressing the soft, rounded curves of your body with his tongue until he's between your legs, staring up at you ravenously.

He lets out a content sigh bathed in lust as he kisses the inside of your thigh, reigniting that fire his fingers had stoked. He kisses up the inside of your leg, closer and closer. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your aching pussy.

Lyle’s ember eyes meet yours for a moment, then they're gone, and you let out a moan of indescribable pleasure as Lyle’s warm tongue meets the heat of your pussy, sliding between its folds as he buries his nose against your clit.

Parted your lips the only thing that was released was a guttural groan when a warm mouth enveloped your throbbing clit.

"Lyle!" you whine.

Lyle licks and kisses your folds, occasionally letting his tongue dive between your slick folds to lap at the wetness there.

"Mmm, God Y/n you're so sweet," Lyle moans, using his teeth to gently take your clit between his lips. Your back arches in response and you let out a cry of pleasure as his tongue dances across the sensitive nerves, sending rivets of white-hot pleasure up your back, causing your vision to blur.

Jerking your hips and grinding it slightly, your hands flung forward to grasp Lyle’s wrists. You can feel Lyle smile against your heat, and your grip around his wrist tightens as his tongue dips deeply into your core, plunging into your entrance for the first time and wasted no time exploring.

Your hips spasm as you thrust against the feeling of his hot, slick tongue inside you - your walls squeezing tightly as your back arches.

"H-Hey, ah~!" Your breath was caught in your throat when his thick appendage purposefully grazed over both the shallow and deep sensorial spots inside of your walls.

Your grip on his wrists tightens as you tugged him harder - closer - against your cunt. Lyle let out a soft shaky whine and the hold he has on your thighs was almost unbearably tight.

"Mmmm," Lyle moans, his hands finding your hips as he pulls you even deeper onto his tongue.

"Fuck, Lyle, please," you beg. "I-....I need more," you plead.

Lyle obeys, and your eyes roll back as his cheeks hollow. He sucks and laps at your slick arousal, groaning in pleasure as he sends vibrations through your entire body - drinking from you as if desperate.

Your eyes clench shut as the pressure of Lyle’s tongue penetrating into you had your stomach fluttering. Your toes curled, thighs fighting to be released from his tight hold that was around your thighs.

His tongue reaches all the way down inside of you and tenderly stroked the soft entrance to your womb. You had never felt such a sensation, no this was something else - foreign.

Your stomach tightened and the muscles in your legs flexed. The overstimulation was begging to become overwhelming and you wanted him to stop so you could catch your breath.

However, Lyle did the exact opposite. He pulls away his tongue to swallow the juices he had accumulated before driving it inside deeply and basically stealing your natural lubrication.

The tugging on his wrists only grew harsher the more the ache in your belly grew. Lyle growls in such a low wavelength you almost wouldn't have heard it if it were not for the moan stuck in your throat.

Cool sweat coated your skin while your hair stuck to your jaw and the back of your neck.

Lyle’s tongue was like heaven with the way passion jolted and spread up your abdomen and legs. You were consumed in a hazy lust, entrapped in intense eros that had your tongue lying heavy in your mouth.

Drool dribbled down the corner of your lips and slid down the sides of your jaw. Your eyes were practically rolled into the back of your head as you ground against his face.

The sharp pointed edge of Lyle’s teeth lightly grazed over your clit that was beating like a nervous heart.

It instigated this feeling in your lower abdomen, it was a pulsating sensation that was growing stronger by the second, alerting you of your nearing climax.

Your throat was dry, your neck muscles ached from the strain, and you felt fatigued. It was already such a long and hard day that the slightest bit of energy you possessed was being seeped out of you.

With the nearing of your climax, your spine had a small divet in it that was arching off the ground. Your legs that were still forced into the mating press jolted and twitched in Lyle’s massive hands.

Lyle suddenly hums and graze his sharp teeth over your clit while his tongue inside of you still wiggled about.

Your hips bucked against his face. You were so close.

The feelings you were experiencing were unspeakable. All you knew was that everything just felt so good but so overstimulated.

You were approaching a beautiful release, right at the edge of the cliff where you'd plunge into a reservoir of dazing fulfillment.

And when Lyle forces your hips to grind against his face, your org*sm collided against your nerves and flushed all through your body, surging through your bloodstream while pounding your head with white bliss.

"N-Ngh, ah~!" You cry louder than you should have, bellowing out within the forest that you were sure anyone close by could hear.

Your stomach contracted, and the abdominal muscles were tight from how much you sucked in your gut. You clenched as tightly as you could, squeezing down on Lyle’s tongue.

You let out a loud gasp as Lyle slides two fingers inside you beneath his tongue, pumping them in and out as he never stop sucking and licking sending you into a dizzying spiral of sensations.

“Lyle” you cry out, your hand fisting his wrists as your hips thrust against his tongue. You throw your head back in ecstasy, bringing your other hand to your mouth to muffle your scream of pleasure as you release on Lyle's face, twitching and spasming as Lyle eats out your orgasm, his lips never leaving your sensitive folds.

You could feel that familiar build deep with your stomach. In the few times you experimented and touched yourself before, it had never felt like this - never this good or building this quickly.

With your spine arching from your climax, you lay your head back against the grass floor with your lips parted.

Unadulterated euphoria that displayed on your face was something that you would have been embarrassed to ever show anyone, but at the moment you didn't give a damn.

You were blundering mess from his tongue. Literally, you were seeing stars with your eyes that were still rolled into the back of your head.

If Lyle could have you like this just with his mouth, who's to say what you would become if he used anything else.

As you basked in your afterglow, Lyle devours the liquids of your climax, greedily consuming your essence as if it was the air he needed to breathe.

You pant, gently pulling on his wrists to bring him back up your body. But Lyle gives you two more stubborn sucks, causing you to jerk and shudder beneath him. It had you shaking profoundly underneath him, fidgeting from your oversensitivity.

You glance down at Lyle, holding his eye contact as he made his way back up. He was much slower on the return, nipping and biting at certain patches of skin, as he crawls up your naked body, placing wet kisses all over your skin along the way until he reaches your neck. But you turn your head at the last moment, catching his lips with yours as Lyle hums in surprise.

As you pull back, you admire how your juices linger his face, his entire lower face still covered in your arousal. And you feel a small, heated flutter between your legs once more.

Lyle reaches behind your head and gently caress his fingers over your kuru, making you shiver in anticipation. “Don’t” you whisper.

Lyle instantly removes his hand, respecting your wishes and boundaries.

Lyle grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer against him. Your weeping cunt pressed against his own hardened member, trapped under layers of clothing.

He stands up leaning back on his knees, he untucks his shirt from his belt and peels the shirt off his skin. Your eyes can’t decide where it wants to look at, constantly changing locations on Lyle’s muscular body. Discarding the shirt before unbuttoning his pants, smirking at you nearly drooling over him. Watching intently when he removes his boxers, his cock finally on full display and you gasp. “It’s okay, baby, you can handle it.” With the size of him, you’re not sure. Your body trembles as he kneels down between your spread legs.

“H-hold on,” you tell him breathless. Lyle stops his movement. Adjusting himself to hover over your body. Resting himself on his forearms his face is right at yours.

“You, okay?”

Lyle still lingers over you. His golden ember eyes soft as he watches your face. “Baby, we can stop.”

“No! I don’t want to stop. Please don’t stop” you say breathlessly.

Balancing his weight on one arm, Lyle bent over your torso to move closer to your head. Your eyes were entranced by his every move - his single arm wasn't straining in the slightest, even though he was balancing hundreds of pounds of muscle on the single limb.

Once close enough, Lyle hums again, nudging his nose against your cheek to move your head as he wish. You completed instantly.

“Jesus Christ, baby. You’ll be the death of me." he gives a soft kiss on your lips in which you hum, eyes fluttering shut. he wraps his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times before guiding it to your wet entrance while putting his other palm beside your head to support his weight. He rubs his tip along your little bundle of nerves before slapping his cock against you. The quick jolts of your body has him even more excited.

You bite down on your lower lip trying to suppress a moan when he slides the tip up and down your cunt. mumbling a low ‘fuck’ at the slicky sound of your wet cunt. another loud groan rumbles off his chest when his cock slips in. Lyle stays still for a while before he sits up straight, hooking his hands underneath your knees, telling you to wrap your legs around his waist.

“I’m gonna go slow, okay?” you nod, holding tightly onto his biceps. Sliding his tip through your walls, you freeze, body stiff, as tears sting your eyes. “Relax,” his voice grunts out. You try, you really do, but your body is just tense. Feeling every centimeter of his cock while it slowly slides in.

The tears escape your eyes with the pain of his girth stretching you out. “I’m sorry, baby. You can take it. I’m only halfway.”

“Lyle,” you whimper. You wince a little, wriggling uncomfortably as Lyle pushes further in.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you gently.

“It hurts.”

“I know, baby,” he kisses you again, deep and slow, “it’s gonna a little, but you’re doin’ so well. Almost there. Just relax.”

At that, he snakes a hand between you, using his thumb to slowly massage your clit, still tingly from your orgasm. Everything instantly loosens inside you and he slips the rest of the way in with a stifled moan.

“Oh good girl,” he emphasizes, placing another kiss to your lips. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, m’just… full.”

Removing his hand from your clit, while holding his position, he kisses away your tears. “Such a good girl for me. You’re doing so well baby”

His girth was the hardest to overcome, stretching you further than you’d ever been able to achieve on your own. There was a dull ache in your pelvis as he finally settled in.

Unknowingly, your vaginal muscles tensed as he pressed forward to the hilt, “fuck."

He was finally close enough that you could kiss him, trying to distract yourself from the ebbing pain as you grew accustomed to his length. He was more than happy to comply, but paused to suck in a breath each time your walls squeezed around him.

“Breathe, baby. Relax for me.” Lyle gently encourages you as he pulls away from your lips and on command, you take in a big gulp of air. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight. you feel incredible.”

You blink back tears as you focus on your breathing, a shaky exhale of air that escapes your heaving chest while you are slowly split open by his heavy cock. It’s moderately painful, the way the foreign object coaxes your tight walls into expanding around it, unmistakably different from the accustomed stretch of his thick fingers, but with it a warm and inviting sense of unfamiliar pleasure lies just within your grasp.

“Good girl. You’re doing so well.” He praises with heavy pants. His fingers digging into your quivering thighs are sharp, almost possessive in nature as he lays claim to your body, molding your virgin cunt into a perfect home for his thick cock. His advice serves as a reminder to both you and himself as you squeeze unforgivingly tight around him. “Just relax, baby.”

Lyle huffs, his grip leaving your thighs to tangle with your fingers against the grass, dropping his head to lay in the crook of your neck while he remains snug within you. You can feel him twitching inside of you, so unfathomably deep you’re sure he’s greeting your insides, you can only spasm in consequence as he kisses along your hypersensitive skin.

“You look beautiful like this. So full of me. Does it feel good, baby?”

You nod weakly as you whimper out incomprehensible sweet nothings.

“Shh, shh.” His thumb brushes gently along your cheek as he observes your disheveled state. The unabashed, unwavering amount of love, trust, and desire he finds pooling in your teary eyes leaves him breathless as he silently vows to care for you the rest of his days. To leave you rightfully worshipped and satisfied as he makes love to you for the first time, and surely not the last.

“Ready for me, baby?” Lyle softly whispers.

“please move.” You nod, he retreats slowly. You feel weird as he slips out, like your pussy needs him back. When he slides back in, it’s a little easier, but there is still some resistance the further he gets.

As he fills you all the way, you feel the weight of his pelvis. It’s a strange sensation, but one you already sort of enjoy, and you begin to anticipate it.

Lyle repeats the process ten more times, speeding up a little with each thrust, and you can feel yourself relaxing more and more as dull pain slowly melts into pleasure.

“Lyle” gasp out when he thrusts a little harder. “Oh, fuck.”

“You like that, baby?” You nod immediately.

“Want me to do it again?”

“Yes, please”

He does— gently at first until he’s fucking you at a pace that makes your cunt ache. You can feel your wetness drip around him each time he pulls out, and when he drives back inside you, it helps aid his momentum, filling you entirely to the root.

The movement caused your eyes to clench shut, but he continued as your muscles became more relaxed. Once those sweet little sounds started to spill from your mouth, Lyle took it as a sign that he could dial it up a notch.

You gargled between thrusts, your entire body shifting along the ground as the momentum pushes you upwards, "Lyle... you - it feels - so good."

“Such a good fuckin’ girl, aren’t you, baby?” he whispers against your lips, teeth nipping at your flesh each time he sinks inside you. “So good for me.”

Words get lost in the back of your throat.

Lyle lowly moans, "cunt is so, so sweet, babygirl. I'm one lucky man. It's mine, right?"

You whine at his possessiveness, "yours."

Without missing a beat, Lyle continues, "sucking me in so good. Doesn't want me to leave. You want it? You want my cum?" You nod frantically, walls squeezing at the thought of him painting your insides. Lyle smirks, "oh ho ho, I felt that. You want me to fill you up? Have you drippin' when we get back? So much that I need to push it back inside. Gotta keep it where it belongs, yeah?"

You release a high-pitched moan, scratching at his back as the familiar pressure began mounting in your lower abdomen. Lyle felt it as well, but he was trying his damndest to hold off until you came around him. He needed to feel you cum clenched around his cock.

His fingers wind down your body, quickly squeezing your nipple before skilled hand navigated to the juncture of your legs, expertly finding that little bundle of nerves, coasting down to your swollen clit. Creating small circles on your pearl that match his thrusts. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him down closer to you.

You felt light headed as everything suddenly was so overwhelming. You were deprived of air as Lyle continues to smother and kiss you. Your clit, already swollen from earlier, was being relentlessly circled with a heavy thumb. Your entire body continues to rock in time with his deep thrusts, each time pressing impossibly further into you.

"Lyle - I-" you blurt out, “I think I’m c-close

“C’mon baby, come for me. I want to feel you”

It all happens in a blur. Nothing but pleasure exists for a brief moment, however this time, the moment extends— prolonged by Lyle fucking you through it. It repeats over and over— your body seizing like you’ve been electrocuted, before sagging back against the ground, completely fucked out. Yet you keep jolting intermittently as lingering waves pulse through you.

In your moment of overwhelming pleasure, Lyle speeds up his hips in attempts to trail you as closely as possible. He holds you by the hips so tightly that it’ll be a miracle if you don’t bruise, and he snarls like a goddamn animal as he comes, emptying his balls deep inside you. half a dozen pumps of sticky cum lined your walls. His balls continued to tighten as they forced every last drop out, milking him for all he was worth

With one final thrust, Lyle presses as deep as he could, feeling his cock twitch as your walls continues to squeeze erratically. He holds you there for a long, long moment, letting your tight, tight cunt squeeze around him for just a moment longer before the feeling starts to edge into something bright and oversensitive.

Even so, he wasn't going to pull out anytime soon. No, he would stay deeply settled in the silky warmth. Pulling out now may be to jarring for you .

Once your full body twitching finally slowed to a stop, Lyle slowly rolls your conjoined bodies over so you lay against his chest. Nether of you knew it was possible, but you slip further onto his cock before falling limp against his chest. The first bit of cum slipped out, forming a semi-translucent ring around the base of his cock.

Leaning back slightly to look down at your sweat laden face, Lyle smiles at your first-time glow.

After catching your breaths for a minute, you begin tracing circles along his bare chest, “We should be heading back soon. They would be wondering where we are."

He presses a kiss to your sweaty hairline, trying to smooth it down, "let me worry about them, I want to hold you like this a little longer”

You hum, feeling exhausted.

After a while, you began to wince in pain as your hips tensed from the position. Lyle didn't want to lift you off, but it was going to happen at some point or another. He slowly sat up, making sure not to jostle you as you fought the urge to sleep.

Neither enjoyed the sensation as Lyles' strong arms wrapped around your torso to lift you off his soft cock. While the pressure was gone, you suddenly felt empty without him. Your walls constricted, forcing a glob of his cum to slip out of your stretched slit, landing right on his balls. Lyle groans at the sight, forcing himself to look away so he wouldn't grow hard again.

You fall limp against his chest as more of his cum began to slowly seep out, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you try to find a comfortable position to rest your exhausted body.

Lyle rubs at your bare skin, loving the way your naked body feels against his "get some rest, baby”

You nod your head in agreement. You weren’t going to fight on that one, "but we should be heading back”

“Don’t worry about that. Rest, baby. You need it”

Your breath evened out in under 2 minutes, letting sleep consume you.

(This is my first time writing smut, so I hope it reached everyone expectations)

Taglist: @alexandra-001 @commanderrivercc-3628 @henhouse-horrors @certainkittenpeach @multi-fandom-rando @zzedah @mrstargayen09 @loaksulluyswife @averagehorrorgirl

#i wanna be yours #recom lyle wainfleet #miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #polyamarous #lyle wainfleet x reader #spider x reader #polyamory #sully reader #throuple

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cienie-isengardu · 9 days

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Sokka's sexism

Sokka’s sexism from the earliest episodes is an interesting case, because the Southern Water Tribe, at least from what was presented to us on screen, doesn’t seem to operate that much on gender roles? Especially when compared to the Northern Water Tribe?

I mean, yeah, warriors (men) went to war, while women, children and the elders stayed at home. But as Hama’s story shows, when Fire Nation attacked Southern Water Tribe, both female and male benders were fighting against invaders arm to arm and it seems like they were the actual first line of defense there, not the non-bender warriors.

In contrast, during siege of North Pole, in the final of Book 1: Water, we don’t see any female bender helping defend their home except Katara, who was involved in protecting Aang when he was in Spirit World.

Since all the waterbenders were captured from the Southern Tribe, it makes sense that non-bender warriors stepped in and got involved with war, while the kids and elders were left under women’s care.

Another example comes from “a ceremonial test of wisdom, bravery and trust”, known as ice dodging. As Bato explained, it is a rite of passage for young Water Tribe members and in their village “done by weaving a boat through a field of icebergs.” When a child turns 14, their father was supposed to take them to ice dodging, so they could earn their mark. Though the episode itself was focused on Sokka’s ceremony, Bato never specified it as something that boys alone should do and not only Katara (girl) but also Aang (outsider) is allowed to take part in the ritual. Once Sokka proved himself, everyone of their group got a mark, as a sign they passed the test. Interesting thing to note, since Bato did not specify it is a rite of passage for boys alone, it suggests girls were expected to know how to sail in boats of the Southern Water Tribe. Of course, again, war didn’t allow to continue this tradition as men (Hakoda, in case of Sokka & Katara) left to fight against Fire Nation.

Later, when Sokka and Katara reunited with their father, Hakoda did not try to send away Katara nor relegate her to just a medic job during the invasion. In Northern Water Tribe episodes, we learned that teaching for waterbenders there was defined by gender - women were allowed to learn only how to heal, while men how to use their bending in fight. Hakoda, nor Bato nor other of their warriors even for a moment questioned Katara’s presence on the battlefield nor the presence of women in the ranks of their allies like a blind, 12 years old Toph or the female water benders from Swamps or female(?) soldier from Earth Kingdom

And during battle, Katara did not fight in rank with other soldiers, she first alone secured Appa during submarine attack, then alongside her brother and father took down guardhouses - Hakoda himself told her and Sokka to attack one when he took down the other one

showing how much he trusted his 15 years old son and 14 years old daughter while ordering them attack on Fire Nation adult soldiers hidden in well guarder place.

Later, when Hakoda got seriously injured and Sokka temporary took the command of their forces, we could see that Hakoda relied on Katara to follow his troops and not ever once tried to send her back “to safety” or argued she should leave him behind, as often it happens with heroic (male) figures. Quite the opposite. When Katara offered him to “wait here if you want”, Hakoda firmly said “I want to press forward with the others”, which meant his daughter needed to come with him directly into an already ongoing fight (even if they stayed more at the rear of their army, they were still on battlefield).

She and her brother, alongside with the youngest members of Invasion, were forced to flee on Appa once the battle was lost, but no other adult woman was included. During Zuko’s coronation, when all war prisoners were released, in the background we could again see the female character(s) from Swamps.

And let's not forget how impressive Hakoda was by Suki when she single-handedly captured the warden at Boiling Rock prison and did not try to stop her from fighting against Ty Lee alongside Zuko and Sokka against Azula.

Understandably, we have no idea how the Southern Water Tribe and its culture looked like before the war, even arguably, the characters themselves may not have a clear idea due to growing up in dire times. But my point is, Hakoda and Bato, the two main adult Southern Water Tribe’s warriors that Avatar: The Last Airbender allowed us to know more about, have never shown any direct sexism toward Katara or other female characters. And though Sokka was the oldest boy at their village, there is no reason to think women did not hunt in absence of men, because one person would not be able to provide for a whole community 24/7. Also, as Hama proved, the Southern Water Tribe’s waterbenders were capable of fighting and their gender did not play any vital role the way it happened in their sister tribe at North Pole.

Of course, Fire Nation’s repeated attacks affected residents of South Pole and their living conditions but from the little bits the show gave us, I think it is correct to assume if Sokka grew up with Hakoda around to guide him as he should, his behavior would be different from the sexism and dismissive attitude toward Katara or Kyoshi Warriors. For one, logically thinking Southern Water Tribe’s warriors need to do all the cooking, sewing and keeping their camp clean all on their own during war so it is not a “girly job” but a vital part of a warriors skills to survive and ensure their equipment is in the best condition. But Sokka doesn’t know it, because there is no one to teach him the importance of those skills. All Sokka had was father’s farewell words to cling to - and I’m not sure if Hakoda truly expected his son to be able to protect Katara and the village in his absence, or he just tried to make Sokka feel a bit less depressed about being left behind. You know, by giving him purpose and a Big Important Job to focus on and to feel needed and trusted.

Which leads me to think that Sokka’s sexism is not rooted in Southern Water Tribe’s culture itself, but in his own insecurity and pressure of being the oldest boy in the village. If girls could be warriors - and be better than him - it would put into question all his self-worth, purpose and the trust given by father. Once Sokka met Kyoshi Warriors and later all the skilled girls, it challenged him on a very personal level, but he accepted the truth and moved on and alongside, finally became a true warrior and a man.

And I find it indeed an interesting case, as Sokka’s sexism and dismissal of girls is not necessarily stemming from the culture he is part of, but rather is the effect of not knowing said culture & pre-war history of his Tribe. And of course, from his own insecurity.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #sokka #hakoda #just some thoughts #because bato and hakoda seems pretty okay toward katara and include her in rite of passage for sokka and invasion battle #like her age and gender doesn't matter #with dad and dad's friend (bato) like that where comes sokka's dismissal?#so i guess this is about sokka's insecurity and growing up without father to guide him #good suki straighten sokka up pretty quickly #i'm pretty sure SWT has some sense of gender roles but not so strict take like northern water tribe #no arranged marriages and no true aristocracy and waterbenders being fighters and so on #sokka though lives in destroyed by war tribe to understand yet what was done to his community i guess?

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intheshadowsbehindyou · 21 days

Note

Mercenaries finding random kid in the base. Who will punt the child and who will take care of it

Oh boy.

The TF2 Mercs finding a random little toddler in the base

Warnings: Thankfully none?

Scout:

- Oh god oh fuck oh shit. Stiffens up when a random fucking toddler runs by him in the hallway. He was just on his way to grab some more energy drinks from the fridge. Who let this little shit into a war zone?! Scout’s brotherly instincts kick in pretty damn quick and runs to grab the child before they could get into any artillery.

- Talks to a child how he’d talk to a normal adult. Just with less cursing and petty condescension. “The heck you doin’ here?” etc.. While the toddler completely ignores him. Bounces the little thing up and down a little. Scout’s actually had decent socialization with kids before due to his huge family.

- Scout doesn’t realize how comforting he is to a young developing mind. He’d make a great father and adamantly denies it. Partly due to his own father’s… untimely disappearance let’s just say. The other mercs are kinda floored how someone as annoying and troublesome as Scout has even the slightest amount of paternal instincts. Especially Spy. Hmm, for some reason he looks completely destroyed and devastated.

- Scout rolls a baseball on the ground with the kid and teases them lightly while Miss Pauling — stressed out of her mind — tries to find resources for this situation and figure out how a child of all things managed to end up in the middle of a battlefield. Let’s just pretend Spy isn’t standing there with his head in his hand. Realizing the consequences of his own past actions with utter depression written all over his outward body language.

————————————————————————

Soldier:

- DO NOT LET A CHILD NEAR SOLDIER. NEVER. DO NOT FUCKING DO IT.

- Are you insane? Are the parents insane? Is everyone in the world fucking insane? Soldier is practically an oversized toddler. He’d immediately make friends upon finding the child and give them a shitty nickname related to war in some way. Like “Captain diapers” or “Lieutenant Titsucker.” Now everyone else has to suffer soldier insisting the baby is his now.

- Tries to teach the child how to shoot a gun. Does not blow over well with literally all the mercs combined. Tries to read them the art of warfare and Heavy secretly has to switch that book out for a children’s fairytale mid story. Leaving soldier confused as to why the alleged warfare book contained faries and unicorns. “AND THEN MR. UNICORN SAID TO HIS FRIEND THE FAIRY: WHAT LOVELY LOCKS YOU HAVE. DEAR GOD!! THIS MUST BE SOME ADVANCED MILITARY STRATAGEM BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING! GOD BLESS AMERICA AND ITS OUTSTANDING STEADFAST PROGRESSION!”

- Miss Pauling is absolutely livid when she finds out Soldier gave the baby a buzz cut. How the FUCK is she supposed to explain that to the parents? How the fuck is she supposed to explain that their lost child will come back knowing half the entire history of WWI now and knows how to recite the pledge of allegiance at like two years old?!

—————————————————————————-

Demoman:

- Demoman is initially pretty awkward. Quickly downs like several glasses of water in one sitting because it would obviously be a horrible example if he was drunk in front of a minor. He sits them down and tries to ask questions like where their parents were, and failing to understand the child’s not yet fully developed speech. Demoman suddenly empathizes what people mean when they can’t understand his scottish accent. Well shit. Looks like he has a little goblin in his care for a few hours.

- Demoman has a headache now. Surprisingly not from the child’s excited screeching and playing but the previously mentioned alcohol he had to manage with water. “Aye.. Quiet down a bit there..” He says flatly. Miserably holding his head while the child bounces around with endless energy. Maybe babysitting while recovering from intoxication wasn’t the best idea. He gave the kid some empty bomb shells to play with. Even bothered to draw faces on them to humor the kid.

- The child holds one of the shells up to his face “This is bob! Say hi!” they exclaim. Demoman stares at bob tiredly. Taking the shell into two fingers. “Guess you could say bob is the bomb.” The kid manages to stutter out. Which then immediately snaps demoman out of his exhaustion for a split second and causes him to choke on the water laughing his ass off. The kid’s laughing too. Overall the least insane experience the poor kid could have in the team’s base.

———————————————————————

Engineer:

- A small baby is in the intel room, trying to reach the briefcase. Naturally, the sound of the intelligence shifting in the other room would catch Engineer’s ears faster than anyone else’s. Especially considering the stats on his PDA show something bumped against one of his sentries on its way in.

- He enters the room pretty slowly. He knew whatever it was, it wasn’t a threat. Nothing that could bap his sentry with the force of a feather would be strong enough to fend him off. Let alone the patrolling sentry — which should have activated and began shooting by now. A blank, emotionless expression on his face as always, Engineer’s eyes trailed to the level three sentry. Which kept idly spinning from side to side and beeping passively. Completely ignoring the… Little child near the intel desk?!

- Engineer grinned, put his wrench on his shoulder and went over, sliding the briefcase away from the little one. “Oop! You don’t wanna get your grubby little paws on that thing, pardner. That there is for the adults, ya got that?” He said in a lighter tone. Very much unlike his usual rasp and frankly unintentionally scary deep voice. He didn’t care that the poor thing started whining. Dell reached down and ruffled the child’s hair. “Now, now. I know it’s disappointing.”

- Not even when the child hugged his legs and called him dada, not even when Miss Pauling asked to watch them for a bit. Engineer was like a nonchalant father lion tolerating his cub’s obnoxious little bites. A child could push his buttons to hell and back and Engineer would just sit there like there wasn’t a screaming child on his lap while he read the Tuefort newspaper.

————————————————————————

Heavy:

- If heavy were to be near a child in any capacity, it would make him nervous. His sisters were a different story. They’re family. But wild encounters with the beasts? What should he do? He doesn’t know them, and frankly he hates the idea of having kids. They’re way too much work, money, and his inner child wasn’t healed enough to take on another one. In a weird sort of way he’d be taking care of two.

- as he stares blankly at the little devil in front of him, the one he found trying to touch Sasha, he contemplated throwing them into the stratosphere like a baseball. His strong disliking for children didn’t come from a place of genuine malice however. He was envious that they still had youth and time to pursue everything they ever wanted. Heavy wanted to do many things in his lifetime and he felt that it was ripped from him due to the poverty he lived through.

- He recalled the time he made a child one time during Halloween and decided not to repeat that. He’ll pick up the child and shove it into Pyro’s room.. With a million dollars in the kid’s hand.

——————————————————————-

Pyro:

- Speaking of Pyro, they’re quite similar to Heavy in the sense that their inner child isn’t healed. But Pyro is once again able to destroy everybody’s outlook on them when they are capable of adeptly playing with children without ever hurting them. Especially catering to their personal needs depending on age. Can and will silently warm up a teddy bear in the microwave and hand them a bottle of chocolate milk.

- Pyro is extremely good at this, all things considered. They seem to have a pretty surface level understanding of childhood psychology and the proper ways to enforce a gentle parenting style. Which only adds to the mysterious era of their humanity; surely a faceless monster couldn’t do the things Pyro was doing. They were too calculated, too thoughtful in their actions. It made the other mercs pretty upset to see this display. In a sense, it was border-lining uncanny valley. Nobody could shake the primitive instinct that something was inherently wrong with this. They don’t even ask for help.

- But nothing violent becomes of it. Pyro had successfully eased the child into feeling comfortable the entire time they’re there. Not a single word left their mouth the entire time. They were only staring intently and tilting their head like a curious animal at the child by the time Pauling finally found the child’s parents. Scout jokes that Pyro is simply playing with his own mouse like a cat and has to be backhanded by a very uneasy Heavy.

—————————————————————————

Sniper:

- His parents — whilst nice — had their own individual flaws that prevented them from teaching this area of life. They did not think Sniper would be ever fit to raise a child and thus neglected his want for a small family. To be fair they aren’t too far off. Sniper is an assassin for hire that drives around nomadically and eats crocodiles for dinner. In no way shape or form would that ever be a proper atmosphere for a child to grow. He took their words to heart as always. He never did pursue a child. His father was angry that Sniper even thought of the idea.

- So imagine the guilt upon seeing the little rat bastard who had wandered into the base and was stumbling around the halls. He quickly realized this kid was essentially doomed. He was the wrong person to find this poor thing. The others weren’t any better. Removing his weapons was the very first thing he does, trying his best to conceal his expression. He didn’t want the child to sense his anger and self loathing. (Kids are sorta smart like that.)

- He then…. Throws the child into Pyro’s room.

————————————————————————-

Medic:

- Walks into his medbay with a bunch of folders. Sees a child sitting on one of the hospital beds. Proceeds to freeze in place like a deer in headlights. Has to double take for a moment to make sure he’s not dreaming.

- Proceeds to ignore the child for a bit for some reason. Even when and if other mercs are present and question him, Medic hushes them for some reason. Medic is like…. Fully convinced that child is an enemy spy in disguise. He moves around the room and half-asses a “Ho! Would sure be a shame if somebody stabbed me in the back while I was organizing papers!…. I SAID it would be a SHAME if SOMEBODY STABBED ME IN THE BACK!” (He fully believes this’ll work because Medic’s superiority complex doesn’t stop at Spy. He’s fully confident that he’s smarter than Spy, and Spy is a complete bumbling moron. Like most people to Medic.)

- The child makes a weird child noise, and that’s when he knows something is up. Medic narrows his eyes and marches up to the bed, staring the child maliciously in the face. “You don’t fool me, you know..” He says, gritting his teeth. “Is your kit broken or something? I can fix it for you for free! It’ll cost you an arm and limb though! Ho! Literally.” He adds “It’s quite an unflattering disguise for someone such as yourself!”

- Child stares blankly. Toddler has no clue what’s happening right now.

- Miss Pauling walks in. “Oh! There he is! Sorry for the interruption Medic, we had a child wander into the base—“ she pauses. Seeing Medic holding his ubersaw up to the child’s chin.

- “What do you mean we had a child wander in?” He is dumbfounded, and horrified.

————————————————————————

Spy:

- Spy opens the door to his quarters and makes sure to lock it behind him, always. He has like a million booby traps set up on his door and in his room to ensure nobody goes snooping for his private information.

- He turns around, adjusting his tie. Getting ready for the trauma of the day….. Then he sees a child sitting right in front of him in the hallway. The two of them lock eyes for a moment.

- …….

- Spy cloaks away immediately.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #mod spy #spy x reader #medic x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #sniper x reader

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lazycats-stuff · 8 months

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you could do the Batfam with a Teen Former black Widow ( sorry English isn't my first language)

Sure can do! Such a cool idea.

Summary: (Y/N) is a former Black Widow.

Warnings: mentions of the training, killings, is this a character study?,

(Y/N) woke up with a gasp. Another nightmare. Another night of remembering people he has killed. And another night of listening to Dreykov and Madame B.

Another night of near breakage. (Y/N) sighed, removing the covers. He sat up and went to his cupboard to retrieve the cigarettes he stashed. Alfred and some other members were against him smoking, but he wasn't even chain smoker.

He only smoked when he was really stressed out. Or when he couldn't really sleep and was plagued with nightmares. It was still weird for (Y/N) to have a supposed normal life.

More so, with Batman and the Robins.

He took the pack and the lighter next to it and opened the window. He climbed out and sat down on the roof. It was a chilly autumn night and the chill of the air felt great against (Y/N)'s overheated skin.

He took a cigarette, putting it between his lips and lighting it. He used his left hand to guard the flame. Taking a drag, his eyes wondered over the darkness. He squinted at the dark, exhaling the smoke out.

He has killed Dreykov and he destroyed the Red Room. He got rid of the person who nearly broke him. He got rid of the symbol that he carried.

But it is still something that is heavy on him. The Black Widow symbol and the Black Widow moniker is something that he will carry to his grave.

He took a long drag, closing his eyes. (Y/N) still remembers the training. Ballet, acrobatics... Weapons and martial arts... (Y/N) exhaled, opening his eyes.

He was thankful that he killed Dreykov. He couldn't lie and he had to honest. It was... A bittersweet moment. He got his revenge, he got the revenge for the regiment and training he went through... But Dreykov never faced justice for what he did to all of them. And by justice, he meant going in front of a judge, jury and the executioner.

He always like the sound of it. Judge, jury and the executioner. That's what he turned into when he killed Dreykov. He judged him, he gave him the decision and he executed him.

Well that is irony.

(Y/N) chuckled quietly, letting the smoke out. It was fitting.

Dreykov's best soldier, one of the most feared assassins in Russia, the weapon that both Madam B and Dreykov had created. Although nearly broken, he persevered.

He survived.

Only 1 in 20 children survive the brutal regiment and (Y/N) rose out of those other 19 children.

He closed his eyes once more. He recently got into ballet. Ballet is something that was ingrained into him, something that is, well, was used to make them unbreakable. Repat, repeat and repeat.

But despite it all, his passion returned. Bruce was supportive of it and said that if it makes him feel better, he should go for it.

(Y/N) finished up the cigarette and climbed back into his room. He didn't expect to find Bruce, sitting on his bed.

" Hi. " (Y/N) said, making Bruce chuckle.

" I'm not going to say anything about your smoking. " Bruce said, making (Y/N) nod.

" I'm here to talk to you about... Well, I'm going to be blunt. I think you need to go to therapy. Before you say anything, " Bruce said, raising his hand, " I know. But she is loyal and she will take your conversations to the grave. " Bruce said.

" I know. But the Black Widow part of me died when you freed me from the brainwashing. Sure, I will carry the name and the symbol to the grave, but that part of me died. I burnt that part of me. " (Y/N) said, looking at Bruce before looking away.

" I appreciate the thought, but I burnt it. When I destroyed the Red Room I burnt the Black Widow part. " (Y/N) said more securely, looking Bruce directly in the eyes.

" Alright. If you ever change your mind, just let me know. " Bruce said.

(Y/N) nodded, but he knew he didn't need it. He had his family. Jason, Dick, Tim and Damian.

His brothers.

Even Alfred was there.

He knew that with their help, he will heal.

#dc x male reader #dc comics #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader

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lixzey · 6 months

Text

Letters

info: mentions of blood, car accident, foster home, and death

The Eleventh Letter

Timothée Chalamet is one of the most loved actors in the world. He had girls all over the world who love him. But there's one girl, the most special in his eyes. Not that he's biased—or maybe he is, but Y/N made him feel things no other girl ever had. Timothée had dated his fair share of women: Madonna's daughter: Lourdes, Johnny Depp's daughter: Lily-Rose, hell he even dated Kylie Jenner. But none of them compare to Y/N L/N.

Yes, she was hurting—he couldn't deny that she was broken but Timothée hoped that she was alright and still breathing the same air as him. He wanted to help her or whatever it was she wanted. He didn't understand it, she was just another fan in the eyes of everyone else. Yet, here he was flying half across the continent to find her even if he had no clue whether she was at the address his Private Investigator found or not. It was a huge leap of faith, but he didn't mind. He needed to find her, he needed to let her know that he was listening, he needed to be there for her during her battles. But, what would happen when he finally sees her? Would she be happy?

Would he be devastated? Timothée looked at her picture again. Her beautiful smile, he could've sworn her laugh could light up the whole room. He wanted to run his fingers through her long hair—which made him feel like a creep for wanting to do that to a girl who he'll meet for the very first time. He wondered what it would feel like to have her in his arms. Y/N looked delicate like a flower—and if he'd wrap her in his arms, she would break. But deep down, Timothée knew that wasn't the case. Y/N was strong and brave, like a soldier going into war. Though, he still wanted to comfort her and tell her that everything would be alright and soon daylight will come.

Timothée closed his wallet and put it back in his pocket. He then reached for the eight unopened letters in his carry on backpack. He took the eleventh letter from the stack, and put the rest back. Timothée gently ripped open the envelope, it was dated August 5th, 2023.

Dear Timothée,

Can you keep a secret?

I want to tell you everything. I want to tell you everything so badly, I want you to understand who I am, who I was, and who I'm going to be.

Well, here it goes. I hope you don't 'betray' me. Who am I kidding? Anyways….

I was ten. I was ten fucking years old when life decided to fuck me up. My parents died in a car accident. I was in that accident, unfortunately, I survived. My mother used her body as a shield to protect me. I was crying loud because I was scared—what kid wouldn't be scared? My mother was bleeding, my father was unconscious, and still my mother was whispering softly in my ear that everything was going to be okay. Everything else was a blur, that's all that I remembered. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital—alone and confused.

I always ask myself, “Why did it have to be me?” I used to be this happy kid, with a happy family. And now? I'm this broken girl who doesn't know what else to do with her life.

You might as now call me The Girl Who Lived. Yeah, yeah, I know I quoted Harry Potter.

My parents couldn't have any children. My mother had been told that it was nearly impossible for her to bear a child, but then after years of trying, I was born.

I was a miracle, their little miracle. I was almost named Miracle, you know. My parents said I brought light into their lives. I made everything in their lives brighter and full of meaning. I was the gift they waited so long for.

My life was full of love and happiness. I grew up seeing my parents be in love. I always wanted to fall in love like how my parents did, as a kid I thought of their love story as something that came out of a fairytale book. It's kinda cliché, but I loved it. They started out in college as pen pals, it was random really, because my father wasn't supposed to get my mother's letters because they were for someone else, who had the same name as my father. They exchanged letters without my mother knowing that the one who's replying to her letters wasn't the one she really intended. But they fell in love. Yeah, my mom did get mad at my dad for lying, but dad was persistent. He apologized every day for that until they graduated college. After college, they met again at a café where mom worked. Sparks flew, and after two years they got married. After six years, they had me. Ten years later, they died.

I wish I had died in that accident too. I wouldn't have spent the past eleven years in complete misery. Two days after my parents' funeral, I was sent to a foster home, until my aunt from my father's side could pick me up.

The day my aunt picked me up, my life became hell.

I can't write anymore Tim, fuck. I'm sorry, I just can't write anymore—tears are clouding my vision. I'll tell you more in my next letter, I promise.

All my love,

Y/N, The Girl Who Should've Died.

p.s: sorry for the tear stains.

Timothée stared at the tear stains at the end of the paper—he could feel her pain just by looking at how much her tears stained the paper. He let out a shaky breath, before tucking the letter back in its envelope. He then looked at the remaining seven letters, waiting to be read. Timothée wanted to just teleport to where this girl was, if she was okay or not—he really wanted to hug her tight. This girl, Y/N, went through so much at a young age. He thought about what could possibly have happened when she started to live with her aunt. He assumed that her aunt mistreated her, and he felt a surge of anger course through his veins. How could someone hurt a child who had lost her parents? He wanted to hurt them, hell he wanted to punch someone right then and there on the plane. He was fuming, he was having trouble calming down. If he didn't he'd get arrested, and that won't be good. Timothée took a deep breath and opened his wallet again. The sight of Y/N's smile calmed him down.

“Y/N, oh Y/N. Why do you make me feel like this?” Timothée muttered, the pad of his thumb caressing the photo as if he was trying to wipe her tears away. Timothée wanted nothing more than to be there for her right now. Before Y/N's letters, he was a normal guy—a normal actor, technically—but Y/N made him travel across the country just to find her, or even get a glimpse of her. There was something, and that something was pulling him in deep—deeper than he had ever been before.

Who would've thought that Timothée Chalamet would fall in love with a girl who wrote him letters?

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @bobthe-turmpetman29

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darthstitch · 2 years

Text

every hundred years

Jessamy likes to follow along when the museum guides give their tours. It gives her something to do while Mummy's working with the paintings. At least, that was if Jessamy wasn't in school.

Her Mummy restores old paintings, brings them back like they were good as new. Most kids found that boring, but Jessamy didn't. She liked some of the stories Mummy would tell about those paintings. Of course, Jessamy couldn't be there the whole time, because it was fiddly, fussy work and Mummy needed to concentrate.

Today, Jessamy was trailing along a group that included a few kids close to her own age. They stopped in front of a painting that Jessamy recognized as one that her Mummy had recently restored.

"The Devil in the Tavern," the museum guide proclaimed with a dramatic flourish. "There's a rather spooky story attached to this, just in time for All Hallows' Eve. Don't worry, the painting itself isn't cursed, though. We keep those kinds of paintings decently covered up - we wouldn't want to lose our visitors now, wouldn't we?"

There was nervous laughter among the visitors and the children giggled.

"He doesn't look like the Devil," protested one very young little girl. "He looks like a prince in a fairy tale!"

"Yeah, he's supposed to have horns or scary burning eyes. That's what my nan says," said another little boy.

Jessamy had to agree. The "devil" looked rather handsome in his old-fashioned dark blue suit, with pale skin, bright blue eyes and long dark curly hair tumbling over his shoulders. There was a ruby set in the ruffles at his neck - Mummy called that a cravat, rather like an old-fashioned necktie.

"Well," said the museum guide, "if he had horns and scary eyes, he wouldn't be able to sit all nice and quiet in a tavern, aye? The story goes that the Devil and the Cursed Soldier would meet in a certain tavern, once every hundred years…"

Jessamy listened as the museum guide continued to spin their story about dreadful bargains made for immortality, a clever soldier who'd bested the Devil in a card game and won riches beyond imagination, and how every hundred years, the two of them would meet and plot and ensnare more unwary, greedy souls to drag off to Hell. The grown ups chuckled and Jessamy heard one scoff, "Stuff and nonsense!" But that was grown-ups for you. Some of them didn't like a good story, even if it was clearly all made up.

She lingered in front of the painting a while longer, even as the museum guide finished their tale and led the group to other paintings and things to see, moving on to different stories. There was something about this painting that was oddly familiar to her. Something about the look in the "devil's" eyes that seemed more sad to her, rather than sinister.

"That is not the Devil at all," said a deep, resonant voice just behind her. "And that soldier was never cursed."

Jessamy turned to see a tall, thin young man standing there. He was dressed entirely in black - black coat, black pants, black combat boots - which went perfectly well with his black hair and snow-white skin. He kind of looked like Wednesday Addams' older brother, which made her smile inwardly.

"Did the guide make it all up then?" Jessamy asked.

The man shook his head. "No, they told the story as they knew it. Stories tend to change as they're told over the years, but they will always go back to their original forms in time."

"So who was he really? What's the real story then?" Jessamy asked.

"He is the King of All Night's Dreaming," the man answered, a small smile playing about his lips. "He was rather proud, a little too full of himself at times. Since he knew the dreams and hopes of all humanity, he fancied that he knew all that he should of mortals. His sister, who was very wise and quite kind, decided to teach him otherwise."

"How? And who was his sister?"

"His sister was Death. And she pointed out the soldier to him, who was rather deep in his cups at the time. The man proclaimed to all and sundry that he had no plans of ever dying. She decided then and there, that she would grant him his wish. He would not die, unless he finally wanted it.

The Lord of Dreams believed that he would be begging for Death's gift in a century. And so they made a wager about it.

Still quite haughty, he swept up to the soldier and told him the news. And invited him to a meeting at that very same tavern, in a hundred years.

'Aye, stranger,' said the soldier quite cheerfully. 'I'll see you in a hundred years, then!"

Jessamy found herself spellbound by the man's voice and the way he told his tale. She hadn't realized that the two of them were now sitting on one of the benches in front of the portrait. There were other children now who were obviously listening as well and they'd settled down on the floor around them.

"So did they see each other in a hundred years?"

The man nodded.

"The Dream Lord expected, of course, for the man to beg him for death. For much had happened to him in the past century. He had fought in many battles, he had seen much of suffering and pain and many, many horrors."

The man paused and shook his head, looking rueful.

"But when the Dream Lord asked him to tell his story, the man told him about the wondrous invention of.... chimneys."

Jessamy and the other children giggled.

"And handkerchiefs."

More laughter.

The man shook his head at them mock-sternly. "He'd lived through a time when there were no such things and people would sicken and die from inhaling the smoke from a poorly ventilated hearth. To him, they were marvellous things.

When he spoke to the King of Dreams about his life, it was always the new things that he spoke of and there was such wonder and amazement in his tone, that he had lived to see such miracles and that he hoped he would live to see many more.

And so, when the Dream Lord asked if he still wished to live, he answered, 'Yes.'

Thus, the King of Dreams lost his wager with his sister. But he was, as I've said, very proud. And he was now quite intrigued with this fellow, with his talk of chimneys and handkerchiefs.

And so, they agreed to meet once more at that tavern, in another hundred years."

The man continued to weave the story of the King of Dreams and the immortal man, how they would meet at the tavern, to listen to the man tell him of the wonders he'd seen in the previous century. How he'd risen from his own humble origins as a peasant soldier to become rich and gain a title of his own, with a wife, a son and a baby on the way.

How, in the very next meeting, the Dream Lord would again meet the immortal man, but this time, he would see him poor and starving, having lost everything - his wealth, his wife and babe, and finally, his dear son.

Jessamy gulped. "Did he still want to live?"

"The Dream Lord felt quite sorrowful, when he'd beheld the man and heard his tale of woe. It had started out as a silly game between him and his sister, but this was now more than just a game to them both.

The Dream Lord also knew of loss and suffering and pain. There were times when he felt he would break under the weight of it. But he endured, for he had a duty to fulfill. There was no one else to carry the burden for him.

So he asked the man, with a heavy heart, if he had still wanted to live. Perhaps, he would offer this man a final dream to ease his way, a vision of the family he had lost, to comfort him.

The Dream Lord thought to himself that he would miss this man and his stories, but it was only to be expected. Humans could only endure so much pain. This was why his sister bestowed her gift to humanity. They were only too glad to see her, in the end.

But once more, the man surprised him.

"Are you mad?" the man told him. "Death's a mug's game. I've got so much more to live for."

So much hope still in him. How extraordinary."

"Did they meet again? The King of Dreams and the immortal man?" Jessamy asked.

"Did he get all better?" asked another little girl.

The man nodded.

He continued to tell them the story of the immortal's adventures. How he had done deeds both good and terrible. How he had learned from those dire mistakes, that had haunted his dreams and nightmares, which would have broken other men before him.

And yet, he had always looked forward, tried to do better and dreamed, always, to what new and wondrous thing the future would bring him. What stories he would tell the King of Dreams when they met again.

"All that, and still, the immortal did not truly know who the King of Dreams was."

Jessamy blinked. "Why? Weren't they friends already?"

The man laughed softly. "As I've said, the King of Dreams was a rather arrogant creature."

"He's very silly," Jessamy declared. "I'd rather like to be friends with someone who lives forever like that. And I'd see him more than just once in a hundred years."

"Then you are far wiser than the King of Dreams, little one. And a much better friend."

"Maybe the King of Dreams was afraid," Jessamy ventured. "I think he was lonely. He just didn't want to admit it."

"He was. Very lonely. And quite afraid. He had reason to be, for terrible things would happen to the people he loved. He did not want the same thing to happen to this man, his friend, who had become very dear to him. Dearest and best beloved."

"And how does the story end? Do they still meet in that tavern every hundred years?"

"How do you think the story ends, little Jessamy?"

Jessamy blinked. She wasn't sure if she'd told this man her name. But there was something in those extraordinary blue eyes, a look, that was warm and kind and knowing. Again, there was that nudge of familiarity to it, something that scratched at the edge of memory.

"You're the Storyteller," she told him archly. "You should know."

"Perhaps they still meet, even now, though the tavern is no longer there. They meet someplace new, a place that the immortal has built for his errant friend, a safe place where they can sit and drink and spend time together.

Perhaps, they meet a little more often than a hundred years, because the immortal man still has many stories to tell and the King of Dreams himself has learned his own lessons.

Perhaps, the immortal now knows his friend's name and asks the Dream Lord to tell his own story. As I tell it to you now."

The man smiled. And Jessamy finally tried not to think very hard about how the man looked exactly like that painting that was just in front of them.

"There you are, duck," said another man, walking up to them. He was only slightly shorter than the man in black, broad-shouldered, with warm brown eyes and the kindest smile. He paused in front of them, took in the scene of Jessamy and the children with amusement. "Telling stories again, are we? Do I know this one?"

"You know it quite well, dearest," the storyteller said, standing up to walk towards his companion. "I am rather fond of this particular tale after all."

"And how does this one end?"

"I think it ends happily ever after," Jessamy spoke up, looking at the two of them. She was suddenly very sure that she knew who they were. "That's how the best stories end."

"There you go, love, out of the mouths of babes," said the immortal man, who had been a peasant, a soldier, a lord, a beggar and many things more in all the centuries he'd lived. He leaned over to brush a kiss against the storyteller's pale cheek, smiled when the kiss was briefly returned, soft and sweet.

"As you say." The storyteller nodded regally at her. "Farewell, little Jessamy. Dream well."

Jessamy watched the King of All Night's Dreaming and his immortal walk away, hand in hand. She grinned. She was quite glad that her lord Morpheus had found happiness at long last.

-end-

*runs*

#the sandman #dreamling #dream/hob #dream x hob #dream of the endless #hob gadling #justice for jessamy #i crack what i want #shhh nobody tell neil

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