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tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year

Text

Never Meant to See You Again

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend, Jake Seresin, confesses how he really feels. Meanwhile, it's raining, so he looks sexy af doing it.

CW: ANGST - sorry, my loves. I know it's Valentine's season but sometimes you just wanna hurt so good.

WC: 1600+

This fic was written for @roosterforme's love is in the air tgm challenge! Inspired by the song I Wish It Would Rain Down by Phil Collins.

Masterlist

“Hey!” you hear the desperation in his voice even with the deafening wind. “Y/N!” he shouts when you don’t stop walking. “Will you just” – he pleads, the sound of his voice growing closer despite your quickening pace – “Just for one second, just” –

You feel his hand close around your arm and you whip your head around. Jake watches you with a grimace as the wind pummels his face. “What?” you ask aggressively.

Jake lets go of you and shrugs, spreading his arms to indicate that he hasn’t thought this far ahead. “We have to coexist, Y/N.”

“Great,” you respond. “Let’s do that.” You start walking again – briskly because the sky is darkening and your hair is starting to escape its bun and swipe violently at your face.

You hear him sighing just before a boom of thunder drowns out his approaching footsteps. He falls in step with you despite you trying to keep your distance. “We’re on the same team,” he says, loudly enough that you can hear him despite the howling wind.

You glance up at him distrustfully as he slows his pace to meet your gaze.

“Y/N,” he starts again.

“Don’t.” You shake your head, tearing your eyes away from his overgrowth of stubble, still walking.

“Look,” he says, taking a hold of your arm again to get your attention. “I know that you don’t need me,” he pauses, watching you steadily. “You don’t need me in your life.” He sighs, regret stealing over his features. “But you might still need me up there.” He points up at the rolling clouds overhead with the same hand that’s holding his helmet, because his other one is still firmly wrapped around your forearm.

You glare at him mutely. Jake Seresin might have been a shitty boyfriend, but he’s a hell of a pilot and you know that he’s right.

Jake lets out a resigned breath. “Wasn’t my idea. I never meant to see you again, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s temporary,” he says and you wonder if he’s referring to the mission you’ve both been called back for or him calling you ‘babe’.

“We should go inside,” you say stoically as the weather that’s put your training on hold for the day deteriorates further.

Jake nods, his eyes still lingering on yours, stalling. He takes a moment to run a hand through his hair, longer these days but no less obnoxiously becoming. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Not now, Seresin,” you say flatly, starting for the hangar again. You feel the first drop of rain land on your forehead.

“Y/N,” he says.

You turn to see him standing there defeatedly, watching you with a miserable expression. You can tell that he’s still hurting and, despite utterly hating his guts, it isn’t easy to see him in pain. The year of distance has tempered your loathing, much to your dismay, and now you find yourself almost feeling sorry for the man. Almost. “Was there something else?” you ask, trying to keep your breathing steady as you meet his gaze.

He gives you a small smile. “Just that, it’s good to see you.”

You exhale sharply as his words send a jolt through your body. “It’s starting to rain,” you state, wavering on the spot while Jake stands perfectly still. Further down the flightline, the maintenance crews are retreating after having secured the last of the equipment before the storm.

Jake takes a step forward while you focus on remaining upright against the gusts of wind. But his growing proximity isn’t helping you feel steady on your feet.

You let him come right up to you before finally taking a step back. “I’m not getting caught out in this storm,” you say, retreating.

Jake glances up at the skies as though he’s welcoming the impending shower. “It’s just a bit of water,” he says as the rain starts coming down harder. “It’ll be over soon enough.”

But he knows as well as you do that you aren’t one to wait around, hoping that the storm will pass. You don’t have that kind of patience. “I can be civil,” you call, walking backward as the downpour intensifies.

Jake watches you through the heavy rain pelting the tarmac. You try to catch your breath as it washes over your face and trickles past the collar of your flight suit, soaking your undershirt. “Me too,” he responds.

You flex your hands, curling them into fists as your pace slows to a halt when you see that Jake isn’t budging. When he finally takes a step forward, you sigh, trying to summon the hatred you once felt toward him. Unfortunately, all you can muster is despair.

Jake is moving slowly, as though he’s half-expecting you to run, but the truth is, you can’t move a muscle because you’re entranced. It’s ridiculous how attractive he looks with rainwater dripping from his soaking hair. He approaches cautiously, his eyes meeting yours as he presses his lips together solemnly. “I let you down,” he says, his eyebrows converging as he frowns. “And I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that. I’m not expecting it.”

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling as your eyes well up. Finally, the pouring rain exhibits an advantage – masking your falling tears.

“But I need you to know that I am sorry,” he continues, his eyes searching your face. “I’m an idiot for ever letting you go.”

You lower your gaze, blinking through the water – whether it’s tears or rain is irrelevant at this point. Jake’s hands come up and he places them on your arms, so gently that you wouldn’t feel them if you weren’t watching them in action. You let out a shaky sigh as he takes another step forward and, when he presses his lips to the top of your head, you squeeze your eyes shut.

“God, I missed you,” he breathes as his mouth moves to your forehead.

You shake your head, lifting your face to grace him with a reproachful look. You’ve spent an entire year getting over him. Twelve months coping with the pain of losing your best friend. Three hundred and sixty-five days adjusting to his absence. And he has the nerve to tell you that he’s missed you? “Come on, Jake,” you say, not quite able to suppress the hint of malice in your tone. “Doesn’t look like this rain is going to be letting up anytime soon.”

Jake studies your face. “One day, maybe.”

You scoff. “Meanwhile, it’s getting uncomfortable.”

Jake smiles sadly. “I don’t mind it,” he says. “As long as I’m with you.”

You take a step back. “You’re not.”

“I know.”

You let out another frustrated sigh but you can’t seem to hold it together any longer. Dropping your helmet into the puddle at your feet, you break down in tears.

Immediately, Jake closes the gap between the two of you and takes your face in his hands, his eyes flitting between yours urgently despite the wall of rain between you. “Please don’t,” he begs, his face contorted as he tries to hold back tears of his own. “Please.” He rests his forehead over yours.

You push at him and back away. “Then stop!” you yell, your words barely audible over the pouring rain. “Stop making me hurt!”

Jake bows his head, running a hand over his face as his shoulders start to shake. When he glances up at you, his eyes are red and shining. “I can’t stop, Y/N,” he croaks, his voice breaking when he says your name. “I love you.”

You roll your eyes and let out a spiteful laugh but, when Jake steps forward again, cupping his hands around your cheeks, you bite into your bottom lip, falling silent.

“You might not need me anymore,” he says, “but I still need you. And I know that’s selfish, and I know that it’s never gonna happen, but I’m not gonna stand here and pretend to be okay. I’m not okay.”

You watch him solemnly, trying to subdue the trembling of your body. Whether it’s the rain or his words causing you to vibrate uncontrollably is anybody’s guess.

“I’m never getting over you,” he whispers, his lips hovering just over your mouth.

It’s taking all of your strength to hold back a sob; to keep from falling into his arms and letting him shelter you from the rain. Jake has always been an expert at testing your self-control. “We should go,” you mutter. “Before this storm gets any worse.”

Jake sighs over your lips. “It’s just rain, baby,” he whispers. “It’s always gonna pass.”

You close your eyes, feeling yourself submitting to his pull. “It’s getting cold,” you counter.

“I can warm you,” he breathes.

And suddenly, you’re letting out a whimper and grabbing a hold of his flight suit and drawing him impossibly close. At the same time, Jake lifts your face, finally locking his lips with yours. His kiss is so needy, so fevered that it’s making your head spin. His hands leave your face as he wraps his arms around your neck, moving further into you as your fingers clasp behind his back, squeezing him against your body.

You aren’t thinking about the past when his tongue is pushing urgently against your own. You aren’t thinking about the future when your palms travel up his chest, slipping up the wet skin of his neck until your hands are on his face, your fingers stroking the stubble on his jawline. The storm is far from over but perhaps you’ve got what it takes to ride it out.

Jake clutches your waist as he layers your mouth with kiss after kiss. “Oh, baby,” he mutters apologetically. “Baby, I swear I never meant to see you again.”

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2K notes · View notes

darkdemeter · 2 months

Text

𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

A/N — Ey yo let’s go! Here it is, part 2!

Dark, pirate Bucky — possessive Bucky, also feat. possessive reader — profanity — angst! — mention of alcohol — pet names ("Siren") — SMUT 18+ Minors DNI — unprotected (given) p in v sex — mention of marks/hickeys — there be depiction of wenches/prostitutes — semi-exhibitionism — mention of memory wipe through magic — minor cigar consumption (not reader) — very brief depiction of harm against a crew member — Rumlow, he's a bit of a sly creep — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You are his siren. Why do you insist on your curiosity when you know it will only get you into trouble? In your captain's search for the ancient treasure, a temple only you know the location of, the voyage will take momentary port in Nassau. Mina, a fellow siren, reveals to you the dark truth that you have been blind to. Lied to. She encourages you to take back the necklace. The time to be a siren is now, to lure your captain into a false sense of devotion, that your sights and desires only draw to him; and not the necklace bound to his hand and the secrets he's been keeping from you.

*6.1𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89

───────────��────┘

Dawn kisses the horizon’s rolling waters, erasing the wicked hue of intermingling black and blue with colours brighter, more promising, to bloom over sky and sea. A sight that portraits serenity in order to inspire a welling of hope. The flaming orb of heat commands to stir the once slumbering crew into action. Little does it work to awaken your captain, already awake and buried deep in the channel of your cunt, his cock surges forward aggressively, tip kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

Relentless, he rolls in tandem with the rock of the ship, a string of grunted breaths and deep, stuttering groans thrum in the cavern of his large chest, heart hammering against his ribcage.

He pulls from you another countless orgasm to add to another countless hour of this tortuous bliss. A flushing, white and hot, seizes hold of you and beckons your body to respond accordingly, trained in his art of greed your legs drag over the terrain of defined muscle to bring him impossibly closer. Skin melding to inked skin, sweat laced bodies mingling in heated, frictional euphoria.

“Y’love that, Siren? Huh,” he pants on the shell of your ear, “love it when I have you full of me?”

You mewl a small, whiney sound.

“Yes—” you intake sharply, “C-Captain…”

“Aye, say it again.” He growls deeply, teeth nip the lobe of your ear, his nose buried in the crook of your neck inhales deeply the sweet dew of your flushed skin. Rough and strong, his hands have yours pinned, as he does your entire body, pressed against blood-red and snowy white velvets and silks and dark, exotic furs once belonging to pompous princes. Now, they belong to the king of the sea and his siren. Hips rolling together in time, fingers interlacing, woven together in bound strength to hold each other as guarded lifelines, the webbing between your slender digits draws and withdraws from their tucked beds of skin. Pupils conflict between dark, slitted lines and circular globes of blackness blown in pleasure.

“Shit… fuck– so fuckin’ tight, Siren!” he hisses, “mine… only mine.”

Already your core burns enticingly, welcoming another orgasm that follows closely behind your one just prior. His navel arcs to brush your clit, the girth of his cock strikes true each time, he pummels harder and faster, his tip the only portion to remain before he thrusts forward with a moistened glide.

Corded notes of pleasure are threaded into hitched knots, producing small, hiccuping whines as your abused, slickened walls constrict around his cock to milk him of every drop. The small bridge of your back arches, the smooth surface of your salty skin gliding over the defined divots and scars of his muscular front, inch by inch you feel him everywhere; both outside and inside.

He’ll never let you go. As a man who prides himself in the fine freedoms of piracy, he’s a blackened heart that guards you with vigorous possessiveness. Nor do you think you’re capable of ever leaving him. He is all you have. He is yours just as much as you are his.

The treasure he covets with unmatched greed. No woman on this earth could ever encounter what you have above you and between your quivering legs that loop tightly over his strong waist. And because of this, you equally covet this treasure of yours.

His cock ruts your cervix roughly, tugging forth a long, high noted yelp underlined with a breathy huff, the rhythm of his hips stutters at the sound. His pink lips find yours, tongue drawing over your own, your submission allowing him to do as he pleased. He feeds off the chorus of your breathless song, a song meant just for him. Because of him.

“Fuckin’ hell…” His voice rasps, teeth sinking into the bend where your shoulder and neck meet. “Love it when y’sing for m— me.” A gut-emitted groan reverberates in his chest, Skin meets skin in synchronised slapping, raw and primal with need. Wooden legs rub and claw the floorboards with heavy creaks.

“L–look atcha… huh, whiney and cock drunk– mmm, gonna make you scream for me, Love.”

His thrusts grow as ruthless as the brewing storms of the sea, lashing and rocking you beyond the point of refusal. There is no denying, no pushing away. Not when it comes to your captain.

“C’mon, Siren—” He pants with a series of rushing thrusts that pin you down. “Sing for me.”

The erected peeks of your breasts are tender as they push against his chest. You whimper softly.

“Captain…”

“Aye, louder,” he growls. Of his flesh hand, his knuckles whiten dangerously until the skin melts over bone. Another harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling on the verge of your orgasm.

“Captain—” you gasp and he bites down into the bevel between your collarbone with a rasping growl. “Captain!”

Your velvety walls tighten around the hardened length penetrating you, filling you, his cock encumbered by the vice of your cunt. The blinding flash covers your vision and heat spreads through every corner of your body, leaving nothing but a siren blinded in lustful bliss. He groans with each drag and push, muscles glistening in the soft glow of the rising sun. The flowing wave of his precious seed finds purchase in your lower abdomen.

It’s not until he completely empties his hot load, does he finally slow his pace to a stop. Above you he pants heavily, each breath reminding you of the sea’s spray and sun-tainted breeze that tousles the darkened locks of his hair.

Your energy sapped from the unbridled temper of your beloved captain, you find reprieve in the gentleness of his tongue tracing the numerous dark marks covering your skin - his marks.

“Know this…” His voice rumbles lowly, his flesh hand harbouring the necklace dangles it mere inches over your parted lips. “There is nothing for you to find in a dried pearl, Siren. I am all you need.”

Metal squeezes your jawline, pursuing your understanding. The pink tip of his tongue wets his lips and he arches a brow.

“Yes…”

You needn’t be jostled twice by the threat of his grasp, you whisper, voice barely audible, “…Captain.”

“Atta girl.”

Arriving at port in Nassau means safe haven for the crew of The Avenger, a chance to rekindle spirits with a few dozen barrels of liquor and a woman’s belly to keep any weathered sailor happy. In the Caribbean’s turning and heating morn, gulls scavenge for pickings of food, the white banks of sand converging with the blue tinged tide bathe the nudity of your feet with absorbed heat, it brings an irate wince to cross your features. Over the vast stretch of beach and headed further inland, the jolly tune of harboured pirates emit from the wooden, creaky shacks, if not counting the ruckus of noisy patrons enjoying their paid company.

Never did your captain have need for such sleaziness, such lazed women who lounge in wait for coins to fill the near-always empty drawstring bag tied to their thigh. He had you. To hold you close to the scorching warmth of his battle hardened body, to passionately entangle your limbs in an endless thread of desire, and to bask in the radiance that is one another; the possession of a companion no other can have.

And your own guard for your beloved captain doesn’t go unnoticed, by either him or the hungering gazes of those women yet in wait, your arms encircling around the bulk of Bucky’s flesh arm, in your neck the muscles strain as your fangs become elongated in a threatening display, the disguise of your eyes falters into narrow strips of glaring obsidian.

These women are no strangers to the presence of sirens, in spite of the limited number of population, a siren’s prize is never to be taken from her.

“Easy, Lass,” Bucky coos, lips drawn on either side into a charming grin. “There’s none suiting my fancy but you.”

His assurances brighten refocused pupils and the lines around your mouth pull into a smirk. The now scornful glares of ladies unworthy of his time burn into you, and you in turn purse the tip of your tongue between your lips in retaliation. Behind, you hear a few members of the crew huff in their amusement.

With the crew tailing loyally behind their captain, each body a weighted husk ready to drown themselves in all that Nassau offers, the striking colour of a scarlet coat saunters forward in the corner of your vision. In a briefly stolen glance to your side, the brilliance of her green irises invade you with a soulless engagement, full lips drawn into a thin line and below the crimson stripe of her bandana, her brows are furrowed.

It comes to mind Bucky’s attendance on deck to anchor the ship at port, and so too does the possible thought that during that increment amount of time, Bucky could have very well informed Wanda of your curious skirmish ending in upheaval, caught red handed in the act.

And yet the events, the memory of what you experienced - the estranged bond you shared with the necklace - all of it remains. No bouts of stomach churning nausea or blurred hazes that leave you to stumble on your two feet, abandoning you to the mindless plane of confusion where memory is your worst and forgotten enemy.

And you prefer to keep it that way. These invasions that leave you more curious, sensing something greatly amiss the more of its occurrence is known, perhaps it’s best if you surrender the search. Your captain is all you need. Nevermind the ghostly songs that haunt the realm beneath the surface. Maybe, just maybe, there is good reason why you don’t remember anything. And if you cease this affair, then maybe with the grace of your beloved, that there will be no need to be swallowed into the misty thicket of her dark, scarlet magic.

I am my captain’s siren. I must remain with him. He is all I have. All I want to have…

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hmm~hm~mm… mhm.,.’

The melody chimes to lure your attention, the trickery of the voices blooms thickly throughout the forefront of your mind. You press to ignore the empty promise of their secrets revealed. This search ends now. No more. In defiance to the woeful, bleeding song of murmured hums, your arms hold tighter to Bucky, his chin dips low as his blue eyes look you over, gorgeous eyes of the ocean, captured within the handsome sculpture of his visage. A forbidden make of marble, carven with perfection in mind.

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hm—’

“Something the matter, Siren?” thrums the husky drawl of your captain. You turn your eyes - your entire form of attention - to him, devoting it to him alone, and not to the tune that wanes with grieving cries that drown in the mists of that plane. You shake your head with refined elegance and bring a smile to grace him with.

“Nothing, my Captain,” you purr sweetly. Voice soft enough to easily die in the crashing of heavy waves, but so throbbing to the heart that the lilted beat of your voice could never be lost to him. Bucky grins at your words, respite is found in the security of your vow. Not only does your answer satisfy him immensely, but it draws Wanda’s intense focus away from you.

The quartermaster, Steve Rogers, is met in an engulfing embrace by a striking brunette with bouncy curls, lips bright and red and grinning, brown eyes sparkling in the Nassau’s brimming sun. Truth be told, she was far too pretty to be a mere human, her beauty akin to a glistening ruby, and maybe it saddens you the littlest bit that she foresees you with eyes of weariness rather than friendliness.

Perhaps if she were a siren herself, you’d both have settled together rather fondly as friends - as bonded sisters. But alas, with her own treasure now ashore for now, she takes to him and welcomes him with moaning cords and absorbing kisses, Bucky chuckles slyly with a wink to his exhausted friend.

Weather-beaten tables score the large deck of the tavern, most of them being vacant outside, but given the beginnings of your skin drying out, Bucky takes care to situate you as close to a shaded spot. Something you are noticeably grateful for with your cheek nuzzling into the openly revealed space of his chest, the belted strips of leather strapped over his chest warm your skin as well as his skin.

Casting you in flittering shadows are the swaying palms, their long and prickly spine leaves howling in the sea’s constant winds driven ashore. While other members of the crew flee to their own affairs to relax, those of Bucky’s inner circle remain close, like cards held to his chest, and you being the winning ace of his games, are held the closest.

“Restock of the ship’s supplies will take all day, not to mention, the girl needs a few restorations herself,” says Bruce, spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose, eyes finalising his scrawlings as his voice confirms. His hand runs over the plump of his cheek with a drained sigh, middle finger pushing the brass loop of his glasses upwards.

“And that’ll spend us… half our funds.”

“Wouldn’t need to waste so much coin on crackers ‘nd other shite, had someone not snuck ‘round like a rat.” Clint’s eyes squint in his accusation towards none other than the master of maps and navigation, Stark, who partakes in defending himself behind a weak shrug.

“There’s actual rats aboard. T’wasn’t me.”

Clint’s upper lip curls into a sneer, the ship’s cook primed to render Stark into salted meatloaf, a dullened knife he took to using in both battle and kitchen is held in his nimble fingers.

“Fuckin’ thievin’—”

“Quit your squabbling,” rumbles your captain, “strike what isn’t needed for the voyage. Double on reinforcements and armoury.” His gruff voice sends tingles through your still connected cheek to his front, content in hearing its booming and steady beat. Bruce nods and returns his gaze downward to his leatherbound companion, quill resipping ink, he scribbles into his book once again, humming and murmuring to himself.

Bruce Banner, though quite brutal in the midst of battles, is a relatively quiet man who tends to keep to himself for most of his membership as a crewmate. Often he dwells below decks, counting stock, taking note of damages and overall engaging the skin of parchment rather than a woman.

Not to completely disregard the sometimes scarce glances between himself and the fiery, flintlock dancer herself, Natasha, eyes meeting between the wooden blanks separating their worlds from dark to light. If history is planted there, there is little to know in your knowledge - your hazy knowledge. From what you’ve gathered, Natasha has a tongue that leaves many of the males on board chest torn and heart bleeding, in dire need for her to bandage them with a moment of her time. Time that she rather spent either dancing in the heat of conflict, pulling the ship in order or occupy herself with you.

In comparison to the neighbouring woman often skulking silently by Bucky’s heel like a prowling animal on a leash, Natasha offered you what nobody else truly had; a connection. Someone you can maybe call friend.

By no means is she completely softened around you, she pushes you beyond your limits, but in her interactions with you, she layers herself with a bout of steadiness and calm to keep you level headed at best. She even takes the time to teach you letters and words of human speech. Too nervous to ask such a tedious task of your own captain, it had been Natasha called upon to teach you.

Under her mentorship, she had governed you away from the native tongue of your sea dwelling folk, and what had at first been mistaken as the ship’s adored feline, Alpine coughing up a fish bone, had just been you taking the first step in learning to speak the language of humans. Only then and afterwards did your captain also take part in your teaching, albeit through a more erotic means of lessons behind the closed door of his cabin.

Steve returns with a sway to his step, Peggy held snug to his hip, the two bound by invisible, sticky sap that glues them together. “We’ve drinks comin’, Cap!” He laughs with a clap to Bucky’s broad shoulder, jostling you forward with a startled whine, eyes stinging and dry in alertness.

You miss catching it at first, the sharpened glare of ice in his eyes towards Steve for his abrupt disturbance of you, the blonde haired man, lass-drunken already, clicks his tongue with a grimace of offered sincerity, uttering a quiet apology under his heated breath.

Bucky is only willing to let his scowl go after you assure the quartermaster that there is no harm done, excusing yourself that your fatigue had gotten the better of your guard.

Flared tempers now cooled, Steve leans back against the rickety stage of the deck’s plank railing. The ruffled skirts of his companion’s dress ride a little higher on her thigh as she rests it over his lap, drawstring bag visible… and fattened with coin. Paid very early in advance. Paid full with at least three weeks worth of salary strapped to her leg.

A chorus of cheers spill out into the open air when tankards of foam-headed refreshments are delivered. Tony’s chapped lips bend around a cigar stick, catching a flame to his match by the heel of his boot, he lights it and puffs a smog that brings your nose to wrinkle and lungs to jump.

“Right,” he says, the end of the word lost in its pronunciation, “Down ter business.” The master of maps of navigation procures from his coat rolled parchments and lays them flat to the wooden rot, he knocks a knuckle hard in indication of the pirate’s haven.

“We’re here, Lassy. Show us where it is.” Silence falls over those of the inner circle, each pair of eyes lace between the strewn papers and your expression, gauging the lines around your eyes that speak of your concentration. In wait for either your truthful answer or another lie.

The tips of your fingers run the inked lines that describe the landmarks of islands, points of interest, known ship routes and x marks, whilst your captain’s own fingers trace along the outer of your thigh teasingly beneath the cover of your robe and the table. His touch is distracting you, but could you be to blame for their failure in search of the ancient treasure? After all, your memory wasn’t of best quality these days.

Tony rolls his fingers in a drumming pattern, each minute it grows louder and pounds in your eardrums, the wafting curtain of thick, cigar smoke clouds your senses.

Your captain, scowling at this, shoots his metal arm forward and plucks the cigar from Tony’s mouth and pushes the burning ash and tobacco into the veiny hide of his bare hand. Tony bites a string of curses as his hand retracts.

“Next time, it’s shoved down your fuckin’ throat, got it?”

“Aye, Cap…,” mutters Tony. He shoots you a seething glare but nevertheless, relinquishes his attempts to intimidate you into answering.

“You forget, sirens speak a certain way.” Comes the low purr of his lilt, breath hot against the shell of your ear, the encouragement of his hand snakes your thigh over into his lap, leaving your core, though hidden to others, exposed to his addictive touch. Your breath becomes latched in your lungs, struggling to be free and your toes curl as his flesh hand slips between your parted legs. “You just need to know how…”

You barely hide the hiccup in your erupting breath. His thumb, rough and firm, toys with the delicate bud that spurs the welling of arousal to moisten your folds. Behind the sealed line of his lips, he breezes a rich chuckle that courts you with promised, devoting attention to your clit, circling it slowly as the long, thick body of his middle finger runs further down your folds. The chill of gold grinds into your skin gently, the pearl hums lowly in the deep reverie of your mind once more, grazing your skin with a harmonic resurgence against the combating of Bucky’s explorative touch.

If the air had been thick with the sun’s heat before, then it was downright unbreathable now, your skin aches and itches to be submerged in the tranquil waters. You all but claw a single rocky formation on the far edge of the map. All eyes zero in on the point, taking in the towering form of inked rocks.

“You’ve to be jokin’,” Clint hisses quietly. Sam Wilson is the next to speak with a sigh, “That’s a death wish, Captain.”

“Siren, you’re sure?” Your head bows slowly to Bucky’s question and his thumb ceases its movement. Your finger situated over the landmark trembles, your throat is dry, saliva collects in thick rivulets and makes it difficult to swallow your despair.

Hushed whispers fall over the crew as Bucky’s smouldering eyes darken in thought, contemplating the high stakes. For your finger lands not just on the precise location of the temple harbouring the world’s greatest treasure horde any pirate or king alike could dream of.

It spans over into dangerous, uncharted territory. Territory that resides as a mass graveyard for ships and souls. The Misted Song Isles.

A bedded corner of the world untouched by sunlight, forever shrouded in a mist that never falters in its opacity, leaving many blinded to the ambushing predators that await them.

These cousins are the cause of your repulsion. They are not sirens. They do not possess the ability to sing beautifully anymore. That which haunts the mists are not curated melodies to turn a heart soft and a man stirred in longing, no, but devilish shrieks and wallowing howls that scream in revel of their kill.

“Captain, think about this for a sec—” The quartermaster, as is everyone else, silenced within an instant. You yelp and pull your hand close to your chest as the sharpened point of a blade punctures right where your finger had been. Your heart races against your ribcage.

“We set sail at dawn.”

His command goes unchallenged and hangs in the eeriness of uncertainty. His lips formulate into that smirk, daring of the course ahead, ready to face whatever thrilling adventure awaits him and his hardened crew.

“Prepare yourselves. We’ll soon amass a fortune like no other. Riches beyond belief,” Bucky preaches with a deepened, growling cord, thumb reviving the pleasing buzz between your thighs. Your head presses back into his shoulder, arching your core slightly into his hand. “I’ve never known those of my crew to shrink away from glory and plunder. So what of it, mates? Are you lot ready to take what’s ours?”

“Aye!” erupts a booming throng of cheers and hollering, tankards fly skyward with trickling, foamy ales, and fists pound the tables enthusiastically. From you, Bucky draws a softened, pleasured whine only captured by his ears, a musical note he licks his teeth in savouring delight.

“What a rousing speech, Captain Barnes. Touches my own heart.” The inner circle becomes disrupted, parting into a narrow corridor to give their captain sight of the outsider. Bucky’s thumb comes to pause again, much to the displeasure of your quiet grumbling, your eyes seek out the intruder and gape with widened eyes.

“Rumlow,” growls Bucky. His hand bares upon your thigh a tightening squeeze.

Brock Rumlow, captain of The Lady Strike, stands present, brown coat beaten and done in by the rough life at sea, tricorn equal in match to the rest of his dishevelled attire. Dark, matted and oily hair is swept behind his ears, stubble very much unkempt and in need of a shave. His brown eyes take in the near bareness of your form, your hand pulls the robe’s fabric over your already covered breasts, and Bucky curls you further inward, protecting you from the fowl leering of Rumlow’s dark eyes. His jaw is set hard as a deep, possessive growl emits from his large chest, the storm of his jealousy on the rise.

With a cock of his head, Tony shoves the plans back into the confines of his coat with a huff, missing the tangy flavour of his cigar.

By now, those of Rumlow’s crew move in behind him, a battle of glares and curled snarls, only one amongst the opposing crew brings a grin to fall over your face, eyes brightened in relief. Long, raven black hair sweeping down the curve of her back, strips of plaits are decorated with beads and small shells, A tall and lean build of a woman a few years older of your age, eyes the shape of almonds and disguised as kindly, sparkling hazels of greens and browns.

Her thin lips form a smile to match her tender features. You barely have another chance to second guess your next move, taking care to keep the intricately patterned robe around to protect your modesty, you push yourself away from your captain and fly into her open arms, her embrace a welcomed one after all these weeks.

“Mina!”

She greets your name with a softened breath, the calming lull of a siren’s power. The prodding of shells poke into your chest, but you pay little heed to them, too much absorbed into a fellow siren’s hold. To be held and nurtured by one so connected to the sea as you, and who is also held prisoner above its beckoning tides.

“My dear, your skin!” she gasps. Her lithe fingers skim the lengths of your exposed shoulders, shoving under the flowy sleeves to do the same along your arms. “How long has it been since—”

“She does not speak that way anymore.”

The voice of your captain is sharp, cutting right through to the bone, it chills you. You know you did wrong by your actions, caught in the flurry of your excitement to meet Mina. He hadn’t expressed his permission for you to leave his side.

Her eyes forecast the irritated slits, the ridge of her mouth shifting. You shake your head quickly. “Don’t…”

She listens to your plea and directs her gaze aside, retrieving back a more composed appearance. “Apologies, Captain Barnes. I forget her tongue falters and is now consumed by human speech. Please, forgive me.”

His eyes stare point blank akin to the barrel of his flintlock, finger locked ahold of the trigger and primed to fire a metal ball right between her eyes. He takes into account that her voice is dry in its sincere case that begs forgiveness. A case he finds unmoving.

And so it falls to you. Her arms fall from around you reluctantly, you press on towards Bucky, hands caressing the carved shape of his jawline. “Please, Captain… forgiveness?”

For a moment he is silent, his stare unwavering and unblinking, it churns your innards unassuredly. “Aye.” His response brings you to breathe again with a smile. You swallow thickly, steadying yourself with the words you have become accustomed to, at first rehearing it over in your thoughts before you speak.

“May I go to the Pools? My skin… is dry.” As if to further accentuate, the inflection of your voice matches your statement, having to clear your throat gently.

He nods. “Very well, Love. Hour’s half.” Ingratiating yourself in his good graces, you capture his lips in yours, his own chase after your brief kiss but the embarrassment that they give away just how parched your body is steers you away quickly.

You are blind to the narrowing of cold, steely eyes following Mina who walks at your side, arms encircling around you protectively, her own eyes meeting the ferocity of Bucky’s glare, her own hardened stare watered down to save you from being caught in the crossfire for her temper. She knows that you would suffer just as well as her if Bucky turned his decision around.

The conversing crews are drowned out noise in the back of your head, Mina guides you along the dirt path towards the haven’s centre.

The Pools, a central hub that extends low into the island’s heart, and a system of interconnected tunnels for sirens to rejuvenate their exerted bodies, confining them to an enclosure with no means to swim directly back into the ocean. By all means, it was a natural formation turned into a cage.

Peering over the rocky lips, the inviting waters below reflect minute glimpses of the sun, a portion of it concealed under the shrubbery and towering palms. The hue of bright blue blankets the surface before the long stretch of abyssal black that cascades down the rock walls.

The waters, as expected, are vacant of any other sirens, and those scarce few could only be seen in flashes of shining scales and shadows moving beneath, dipping into the mouths of the tunnels. Hidden from sight.

You shed the covering of your robe and set it aside, its luxurious fabric smelling of yours and Bucky’s intermingling scents, the decorative stitchwork and colours flaunt it as one of a kind, a nabbed piece from a Japanese merchant schooner Bucky and his crew pillaged, and which your captain presented to you as a gift. The first of many he would later present. Intriguing artefacts.

Mina didn’t have need to discard herself of human-given clothing, plunging into the heavenly waters before you, her attire made with the natural ingredients of the sea, leather strips and woven cords stretch around her chest and back with rings of shells to fasten over it, keeping her breasts pushed together. The wispy lengths of her skirt flows with sheeted seaweed, circling around her slim waist as a ghostly curtain. You follow not long after with an eager dive, your nude skin is soothed by the cool waters. Your legs morph together into the singular, powerful tendril of your trail, the webbed fins attached to your lower back flutter like the wings of a dove finding freedom on the winds.

Your bodies take refuge below the surface, skin no longer assaulted by the lacerations of the sun’s light and blazing scorch. How sailors could idle by whilst under the cruelty of it, you will never understand. Your back arches into a spiralling twist, a high pitched chirp bouncing from your throat and coursing through your gills.

You bask in the excitement with Mina who twists and bends, circling you with a teasing swish of her tail, she gargles a sweet note that bubbles around her lips, her forehead presses to yours affectionately.

She intends to regard you with the native speech of your kind but stops, brows falling into a firm, saddened line over her eyes. In shame, your head bows.

Those of your crew may have stripped you of your right to recollect the siren dialect, but if she can count on anything, it is the motion of her hands and arms. The common communication of one’s body.

In a sequence of expertise, her arms rotate and her fingers stretch and curl.

What do you remember?

Your eyes analyse her movement, careful to decipher her code. Not as fluent, given the occasional puzzled twist of her head, followed by a nod of understanding and correcting signal, she encourages through your hesitation, wanting for your answer.

I… remember a necklace. Bound to my Captain’s wrist.

And what did this necklace look like?

Again, it takes you a moment to find the rhythm of your response, her eyes narrow in their deep seated concentration, almond curved eyes that widen upon realisation.

You tell her of the golden chain, sleek and elegantly thin yet strengthened, the many, tiny crystallised pearls that line the gilded netting over one larger pearl, with a finer shaped one looped beneath it that dangles.

Given her momentary pause, you nervously motion.

What is it?

She raises her hand over her head, webbed fingers fused together, she rotates her wrist in circles.

Royalty. Pearls represent royalty.

The sudden confusion presently blinking in your eyes gives Mina reason to continue. She moves quickly, it’s hard to exactly understand, you motion for her to pace herself, that you’re struggling. With an apologetic chirp, she starts over.

You must get it back. That necklace is more significant to you than you realise. Undoubtedly, a gift from your late mother—

I don’t understand! What… of my mother?

Mina truly sees the sickening infection of your hazy memory, all too aware that it’s the doing of that scarlet witch, tainted by the dark magics that spawn from the mangroves, the teachers there no strangers to utilising sirens as part of their rituals. And all by the order of your captain. A crew lacing you with deceit.

Her waterline is touched by tears that form into uplifting bubbles. She organises her words slowly. Each one brings a sharp pang to your chest and your stomach to drop further and further down into the abyss below.

Your mother - the Queen - is dead.

Your heart is scored by the penetrating daggers of Poseidon's trident, the creeping of unnatural coldness sweeps the back of your neck and down over your shoulders, you huddle into yourself. You shake your head and it ensues into a maddening display of denial, your body trembles, the water grows increasingly troubled, once a calm settlement over the surface now laps at the surrounding edges of the enclosure.

This cannot be right, this cannot be the truth. No, you don’t wish to believe it. A weight is crushing around your chest, you want to resurface. For the first time, you crave to be out of the water. All you seek now is the scent of your captain washing over you, drowning you passionately in his possessive devotion, to be treasured by him and him alone, bathed in his dominating presence. His shadow.

At this point, you’d happily let him fuck the knowledge out of you.

In your abrupt desperation you take to moving swiftly, your head breaches through the barrier with a sputtering fit of coughs and gulps, but Mina follows you. Her webbed hand catches your wrist, her voice plucks through the ripples like the baritone string of a guitar. She calls for you to wait. Gently, she coaxes you to delve below once more, her eyes imploring you to remain, to not go running off to the very same man who wants for you and holds you captive.

The milky glaze of your eyes brim with tears, tiny bubbles run to the corners before they float upwards.

She rests her head to yours, silky thumbs caring over the form of your cheeks, running smoothly under the bend of your tearful eyes. When she believes you have calmed, she asks another question.

What else about this necklace can you tell me?

I hear… voices. A-a melody. I don’t– don’t understand the words. It plays faintly.

If the crew who harbours you stays for the festivities tonight, get the necklace and bring it to me. I may be able to appraise it.

A lump catches in your throat, eyes bearing your terror, the harrowing thought of being caught again. You aren’t sure if the potential of another scarlet mist is worth the risk.

Steal it? I-I can’t! He’d know if I stole—

You cannot steal what’s already yours, young one. Besides, you know just the way to get it from him. I saw the softened regard in his gaze for you.

What she suggests is laughable, and your disagreement shows, your head shaking and throat bobbing in motion akin to a scoff. But still, her insinuation brings warmth to bloom in your cheeks. Her brows furrow at this display, tail idly swaying, the length of her hair creating a dark, winding halo behind her. She dissects the gestures of your words.

His gaze never softens to me…

In spite of this, she rolls her eyes, but they are hopeful in their stare towards you. You were done with the search… before. Now, you want answers.

“Siren!” A familiar voice booms, tone muffled by the watery barrier. Answering his summons, you return to the world above, sighing a deep breath of air, the few faces you recognise are mere blurs, unfocused in your vision. Your eyes meet the wintery cold of his eyes, not softened, and clouded in their ever present desire to have you under him - pinned skin to skin to him - and his beautiful lips shaped into a smirk. His stance high above you dominates you in his darker shadow that casts over the water.

“Hope you’re in a festive mood, my little Siren.”

#bucky barnes x reader #female reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky x reader smut #pirate au #siren reader #pirate bucky #bucky barnes x reader smut

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fleursbending · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒��𝐥𝐥𝐲’𝐬 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. | Sully Family

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : after the successful intervention, your family's hearts still burn for some good ol' revenge. luckily for them, an unfortunate event arises that allows them to do just that.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sully!family x sully!daughter reader

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i apologise that this took a lot longer than it should have to be posted! i initially wasn't going to do a part 2, but so many ppl wanted it i just decided eh why the heck not?? with that being said, pls read part 1 before this because i don't think this can be read as a stand-alone! mother!tiri really shines through this time so now i'm just healing your mommy and daddy issues atp.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : bullying/teasing?, hurt/comfort yk the drill, angst, fluff, lo'ak pummels ao'nung, pissed mom!tiri, tonowari pops tf off, dorky brother neteyam, ao is a dickwad here!

𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 : (actually highkey proud of this i'm trying to use more na'vi in my stories from now on) Tsmuke - sister, Skxawng - moron/idiot, Tsmukan - brother, Yaymak - foolish/ignorant, Sa'nok - mother, Txavä’ -disgusting, ‘Itetsyìp - little daughter (term of endearment), Tsamsiyu - warrior, Muntxate - wife/female spouse, Olo’eyktan - clan leader, ‘Ite - daughter, Itan - son, Sempul - father, Uturu - sanctuary, Oeyä - my (possessive), ‘Awsiteng - together.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.9k words !!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @pandorainmymind @eywas-heir @spicycloudsalad @missdreamofendless @prty-poisxn @scarlettwitch-4 @23victoria @avidreader3107 @purplehyacinthss @itssiaaax @neteyamoa @tsireyasgf @nijirozzz @useryourbut @yua-himari @sweetheartlizzie07 @grierpilots @reneehillary69 @fruitsalad1 @forasgaard @iwaslikeblah @dumb-fawkin-bitch @theicemav @narutoboi

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 today, it had been storming the last few days. Now you and your siblings were making the most of the sunshine. Things have been really good the past few weeks, and slowly you were finally beginning to warm up to the ocean. The past had to stay where it was, now you were gradually moving on.

Y/n remembers her dad's words then, "It's the little steps that end up making the biggest difference."

He was right, they really did.

"Neteyam", Y/n giggled as he splashed water at her whilst she sat at the edge of the platform they used to easily access jumping into the water when calling for their Ilu's. Her legs dangled over the edge, peering down at her siblings.

"Tsmuke, you are being silly! Come join us in the water!" Neteyam tried to beckon you to join him and Tuk as they played with their Ilu's.

"Yeah, come on Y/n!" Tuk whined, only to be cut off by ecstatic laughter as her Ilu nudged their head onto her back.

Y/n held her hands up then, an unfinished anklet dangling below the palm of her hand.

"I am finishing this, you skxawngs." She reminded them, wanting to give it to Tsireya once it was finished.

As Y/n began to reach out of her reserved shell, Tsireya swooped right in. She, Neteyam, and Tsireya had become a trio of sorts. She was hoping to make matching anklets for all of them.

"Alright, we're going to ride our Ilu's further out. Is that okay, tsmuke?" Neteyam called out to you, pointing further out.

You rolled your eyes at his worried tone.

You love your family, really you do. But the one downside to the confrontation you had with all of them. Well, they've been treating you like a little baby ever since then.

The doting and attention were very much appreciated at first. But it escalated to your siblings trailing after you everywhere you went, for the most part. They'd become increasingly overprotective whenever Ao'nung and his crew were in close proximity to you. The kicker? They implemented a curfew for you now. You had to be home an hour before dinner was ready, a whole hour!

Basically, your freedom and alone time had been cut in half. Stripped away from you. While you looked a lot more healthy and since perked up in the past few weeks - your family continued to remain on the edge. They just didn't anything to further happen to you, especially now that you've progressed so much.

The Sully's knew you were a strong girl, but the pieces you were starting to put back together could easily be ripped apart again. So for the time being, they'll do whatever it takes to prevent it.

Unfortunately for them, such an event was just right around the corner.

Y/n scrutinized Neteyam and in return, the eldest son wiggled his nonexistent eyebrows in a taunting manner.

"Yes, tsmukan. Now go!" You urged him to leave as Tuk waved bye to you.

Letting out a happy sigh at the silence that filled you, wow - this was really nice. She thought to herself. Just the waves rippling beneath you is what accompanies you.

Neteyam was about to dive into the water when he turned to look back and check on you. There you sat in the same position, back hunched and eyes focused as you continued to weave the unfinished anklet.

He nodded to himself then, satisfied that you were alright.

Yet the moment he turned his back and dove into the water, the infamous group you've been trying to avoid made their way into the nook where your mauri and outdoor area were.

Y/n tensed as the air shifted, hearing the sounds of multiple footsteps nearing her. A feeling of deja vu surged through her, oh no.

"Alone, at last, the great daughter of Toruk Makto!" Ao'nung jeered as their shrill laughter raked through the once peaceful aura you were just starting to settle in.

A not-so-subtle hiss escaped your lips, eyes closing in disdain. Can a girl not get any damn alone time around here?

"What's this then? Oh, an anklet!" Ao'nung had stalked over to you from behind, ripping the unfinished weaved strings out of your hand.

Defeat flooded your futures, not wanting to make anything of this. Y/n hoped they'd just say a few insulting comments and mosey on out of here.

"Who is this for, me? I love it soooo much!" Ao'nung mocked, sarcasm dripping in his tone as his friends cheered him on.

"No. It is for your sister." Y/n deadpanned, not finding the amusement they seemed to be in this predicament.

"Well, it's quite pathetic. I think you should start over if you want my sister to actually appreciate this." He teased, nimble fingers beginning to untangle the hard work you had just done.

Your ears folded back then, standing up and facing the idiots. Cracking your neck, a harsh glare was sent their way. Sticking out your open hand, palm up in front of Ao'nung.

"Just stop that and hand it back over. Then you can be on your own merry ways." You tried to appease them.

"When did you suddenly find your voice? I ought to stomp it out." Ao'nung sneered at you then, and in a blink of an eye, he had thrown your project into the ocean.

"Ao'nung!" She fumed, angry eyes scouting the water but you could no longer see it.

"Yaymak! Useless like my father had said, how do you even survive? Come on, take a dip!" He contended, bending down beside you to push you in-

A jarring snarl erupts from behind them. They all jump and swivel around, but are instantly stumped.

There stood your Sa'nok, gripping a basket full of fruit so viciously that it chipped - pieces of dried flax splintering and falling to the ground.

"Txavä’. Useless? I ought to show you how you can become useless-" She stormed over to them making most of the boys in front of you yelp in surprise and jump back again.

"Sa'nok! Do not!" You remarked, astonished at her shameless way of protecting you.

Ever since finding out about what had happened to you, she'd been so civil whenever in the clan leader and tsahik's son's presence. Now she realises how eery those actions actually were. Oh great mother, she was just doing it for your sake.

"Ma ‘itetsyìp, she is a fierce tsamsiyu. Unlike you!" She vehemently fired, pointing at Ao'nung.

He began to splutter out apologies, the realisation dawning on him that he was being reprimanded by one of the fiercest women Awa'atlu had ever come across.

Another figure popped out of the shadows then, Lo'ak. His fists were tightly clenched at his sides, eyebrows furrowed as indignation rolled off of him in waves.

"Yaymak?! He snapped, and before you could even fully acknowledge his presence he rushed forward - tackling Ao'nung who was receiving a scolding from Neytiri, into the ocean before you.

"Lo'ak!" Y/n fretted as she peered over the edge to see the two boys yelling and cussing each other out as they floundered about in the water.

"What in the world…" Jake whispered in question to himself as him and Tonowari rounded the corner - quickening their paces due to the faint sounds of the commotion they had overheard.

His eyes widened at the scene before him, the chief mimicking his expression as well as they stopped, stunned in their tracks.

Neytiri was still yelling at the group of bullies, an accusatory finger prodding at one of his shoulders as he looked down at his feet in embarrassment. She turned a blind eye to what he rebellious son had just done, deeming it was rightfully deserved.

Both their eyes then flittered over to Y/n who was basically dangling on the edge of the platform, hauling a battered Lo'ak back up.

His drenched body collided with the surface and he grunted, but that didn't stop him from turning around to flip off Ao'nung who was struggling to push himself up.

"Yeah, eat shit!" Lo'ak continued to provoke him, even while branding a busted lip and what looked like the beginnings of a black eye.

"Lo'ak…" You cautioned, pointing to your father and Tonowari's looming figures.

"Oh fuck." He cursed to himself.

"What is going on here?" Tonowari boomed then, stepping forward and making his presence known.

Jake trailed behind him, tail swishing in unease.

"Neytiri!" He called for his muntxate, grabbing onto her and pulling Neytiri into his side.

You walked over to stand by your parents, guilt crescendoing - this happened all because of you. Stupid, you didn't want to make a scene in the first place.

"I'm sorry Olo'ektyan. This is all my fault." Y/n confessed, tail drooping as all the attention was shifted to her.

"She is lying! My 'ite cannot carry this burden any longer, she will not. This is all your son's fault! He has been antagonising my ‘itetsyìp since we came here." She persisted, a sigh of irritation falling from her lips as she once again pointed at Ao'nung.

The mentioned boy wiped his bloody nose, ears shifting as Neytiri said his name with such harsh conviction.

"'Itan, is what Neytiri speaks of true?" Tonowari divulged as he dug into Ao'nungs pride with a mere look.

"Yes, sempul. What she speaks of is true." He blanched at the scrutinizing look Jake targeted toward him.

It was like he was about to walk into the battlefield, gun in hand and ready to rain blood.

"Look at me, boy!" Tonowari thundered, eyes now slits as he admonished Ao'nung.

The clan leader's son could've gotten whiplash from how fast his head turned.

"Go home, and work up an apology. Now." The chief ordered.

"But, I can apologise now-" He tried to reason, wishing to get this embarrassment over and done with.

"It would be insincere." Both Neytiri and Tonowari spoke at once, the former giving an apologetic nod to your mother in agreement.

Ao'nung tried to fess up some words, but Tonowari glared. His chest almost heaving from contempt.

"Go!" He bellowed. Ao'nung with his tail between his legs scampered off back to his mauri.

His friends stood there, almost comically. They knew they were utterly fucked and word of this would travel back to their own families.

"Why are you still here, shouldn't you be working on your apologies as well?" Tonowari antagonised.

"Oh, uhm- sorry!" One of them spluttered before being shoved by another boy as they all ran off.

Tonowari sighed in chagrin, a hand of his meeting his face. He stood straight then, turning to acknowledge your family.

Right in tow, Neteyam, Tuk, and Kiri were pulling themselves back up from the ocean.

Lo'ak went over to help them. Ignoring the worried hands of his older brother that looked over his bruises.

"As Olo'ekytan, I failed in my duties today. As a father, I also failed. I sincerely apologise to you, dear." He looked at you then, eyes full of guilt as he briefly placed his hand on your shoulder.

"I will be sure that he will see through a firm reprimanding, Jake Sully." Tonowari called to the man that had become his good friend.

"I raise my apology to the rest of your family as well. You came here to seek uturu. This will not happen again."

Jake motioned, Oel ngati kameie, to him. Tonowari returned the motion, bowing his head down lower than usual to try to convey his genuine upset at the situation his son had conjured.

"You are a fierce mother, Neytiri. Your Sa'nok would be proud." Tonowari added, before turning around and making his exit too.

Neytiri watched him leave, a faint smile on her lips before giving all her undivided attention to you.

"Oeyä 'ite, are you hurt?" She necessitated, lifting your arms up and checking for any wounds.

"Sa'nok, I am fine." You dejected, eyes flittering to look anywhere to ignore her studying gaze.

"What happened?" Neteyam interjected, rushing over to you and bringing you into a hug. He felt terrible for having left you alone.

"I'm never leaving you again." He whispered, holding your head to his chest.

While the words came with comfort, they made your chest constrict.

Agitated you shoved him away. In return, Neteyam fumbled backward in surprise.

"Y/n!" Kiri gasped in shock.

"I am fine! I'm going to be fine! I'm not dying or anything, I'm still here okay?! I appreciate the concern, but please. Just, leave me alone." Your voice grew fainter towards the end of your speel, tears welling up in your eyes.

Cursing to yourself you rushed into the family mauri, humiliation seeping into your conscience.

Jake began to follow you but Neytiri put a hand on his chest. It had emerged on her then, how a situation that seemed so minor grew to become a lot more vocal than any of them prepared for.

Y/n was not one for attention, let alone being stuck in the midst of it all.

"Give her a moment, then we will go and console her," Neytiri spoke with quiet empathy.

"Okay." Jake agreed hesitantly, all he wanted to do was comfort his daughter. But he knew how much you needed your alone time.

So they huddled, ‘awsiteng. They waited, ‘awsiteng.

Until the light escaped the sky, and your raspy voice cut through the gentleness of the night.

"You can come in now, you didn't have to just wait outside. I'm sorry."

Jake looked to his family then, before they all slowly got up and made their way into the Mauri.

You were huddled in front of the fire, a blanket shrouding you as you blankly stared into the burning embers before you.

"Ma 'ite. You are not alone." Jake murmured as he sat by you, brushing away a stray strand of hair that had cast itself over your bloodshot and puffy eyes.

"I know." You acknowledged.

"Tsmuke, you are not alone." Lo'ak reiterated.

"Yes, I know." You acknowledged again, finally looking up at them as they all sat in a circle around the fire.

"‘Itetsyìp, you are never alone," Neytiri affirmed, having sat by your other side and giving your cheek a soft kiss.

"I know. Are you all trying to make me cry again?" You garbled, tears prickling in your eyes at the warmth you were receiving after giving them the cold shoulder.

"No, we aren't! I don't like it when you cry." Tuk remarked, jumping up from her spot and running over to you. Giving you a hug from behind as her little thumbs rubbed away the tears that began to stream down your face.

"Useless my ass! That shithead was so stupid to say tha-" It seemed Lo'ak was still hung up on what Ao'nung had said.

"Lo'ak!" You all chided, quiet laughter following.

Jake grinned down at you then, his teeth even showing a little as he watched his pride and joy laugh. "Baby girl, we mean it. We're all in this together…‘awsiteng."

"‘Awsiteng." You repeated, smiling up at him.

He combed through your hair, bringing you and Tuk into his chest.

"And you're right. You need some alone time, yeah? But we'll always be right around the corner. Okay?" Jake continued to reassure you, rubbing your shoulder - or what part he could reach since Tuk wouldn't let go of you still.

"Okay." You mumbled, arms wrapping around his shoulders and squeezing.

The pieces that felt so scattered and displaced suddenly puzzled back together.

This is home. Not the forest, not the ocean, not the mauri you all resided in.

As chatter overtook the silence, your parents began to cook up a late dinner. Your eyes met Neteyam's who sat directly parallel to you - he gave you a dorky thumbs up. Your little sign between each other that Jake had mentioned in passing that sky people do when you were younger, "Hey, are you okay?"

You returned it with your own equally as dorky thumbs up, earning a questionable look from your mother who after all these years - still could not fully grasp the concept.

This is home, the family that would always accept and love you through the toughest of times. Your family, that always made you feel whole. Complete.

As Neteyam yipped happily at your thumbs up, unable to hold his happiness under wraps. You thought then,

"Eywa, there is no other place I'd rather be."

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ˳೫˚

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 :

As your family began to prepare to sleep, Lo'ak tapped your shoulder.

You turned to him, giving him a questioning gaze.

"Yes, Tsmukan?"

He opened your hands before a familiar unfinished project was placed gently in them.

"I tried to dry it outside, I don't know how salvageable it'll be but I am willing to help. I know Tsireya really likes- oomph!"

You stood on your tippy toes, tugging him in to a gracious embrace.

He smiled then, hands wrapping around you as he swayed you two from side to side.

"I appreciate it so much, thank you brother."

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

#junie's library 📚✧.*#neytiri x daughter!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #sully family x reader #sully family #neteyam x sister!reader #atwow x reader #atwow #avatar imagine #avatar x reader #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #avatar james cameron #lo'ak x sister!reader #neteyam sully x reader #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #avatar

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workersolidarity · 11 days

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[ 📹 Distressing scenes from a multitude of decomposing corpses of Palestinians discovered in a shallow, mass grave in Beit Lahia, in the northern Gaza Strip, found underneath a sand barrier built by the Israeli occupation army prior to their withdrawal from the area.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🚀🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 192: ISRAELI OCCUPATION FORCES INTENSIFY ASSAULT ON CIVILIAN HOMES AND INFRASTRUCTURE IN GAZA

On the 192nd day of "Israel's" ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 7 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 68 Palestinians, mostly women and children, while another 94 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

According to Gaza's Ministry of Health, thousands of civilians remain missing under the rubble and debris of shattered buildings and flattened homes, with local ambulance and civil defense crews unable to reach them while under continuous occupation bombing and artillery fire.

In a slight bit of positive news, local members of the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) have managed to reopen, albeit only partially, the Al-Amal Hospital in Khan Yunis, in the south of the Gaza Strip, after the Israeli occupation army withdrew from the Khan Yunis Governate in the previous week.

At the same time, occupation authorities released today two PRCS crew members who were kidnapped over 50 days ago while attempting to pass through an Israeli military checkpoint in the Khan Yunis Governate while evacuating patients from Al-Amal Hospital as it was under siege by the IOF. Six PRCS personnel remain missing at this time, believed to be detained by Zionist forces, however, they're fates remain unknown.

Meanwhile, occupation forces renewed intensive airstrikes on the central Gaza Strip over the weekend, pummeling civilian homes, and opening artillery and gunfire on displaced Palestinian families.

In just one example, nearly 20 Palestinian civilians were wounded by artillery shells and live bullets fired by the IOF while attempting to cross from the south of Gaza, where the occupation's authorities originally sent civilians at the start of the special genocide operation, back to their leveled homes in the northern Gaza Strip by crossing the Wadi Gaza Bridge.

As result of the social media rumors, claiming the IOF was allowing families to return north, hundreds of Palestinians began the journey. However, upon arriving near a military checkpoint on Al-Rashid Street prior to reaching the Wadi Gaza Bridge, the Israeli occupation forces opened artillery and machine gun fire, wounding nearly 20 civilians, including at least one child who later died of her injuries.

Similarly, an Israeli gunboat also opened fire on the displaced Palestinians trying to reach their homes in northern Gaza, resulting in the wounding two civilians.

In the meantime, a young Palestinian child named Malek Haniyeh died of their wounds resulting from an Israeli occupation airstrike which targeted the child's family vehicle on the first day of Eid al-Fitr in the Al-Shati Refugee Camp, also known as the Beach Camp. Which is located near the shores of Gaza City, in the northern Gaza Strip. The child's father was also killed in the strike, along with several other members of the child's family.

In another horrific atrocity, a group of civilians who were also making their way up Al-Rashid Street to return to their homes were targeted in an Israeli airstrike, killing 5 Palestinians, including at least one woman.

The crimes of the Israeli occupation continued on Sunday when Zionist warplanes bombed a residential home east of the Al-Maghazi Refugee Camp, located in the central Gaza Strip, while occupation artillery detatchments shelled several neighborhoods to the west of Gaza City, while also concentrating artillery fire on the northern areas of the Nuseirat Camp.

In yet another criminal massacre; last night, IOF fighter jets bombarded a residential home belonging to the Al-Arabi family, north of the Nuseirat refugee camp, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in the martyrdom of 5 Palestinian civilians and wounding dozens of others.

Simultaneously, Israeli aircraft bombed the Hassan Al-Banna Mosque in the same area of the Nuseirat Camp, completely leveling the structure.

Occupation artillery additionally shelled a residential tower in the same neighborhood of the Nuseirat Camp, while Israeli artillery detatchments also fired at least one shell which hit the minaret of the Al-Qassam Mosque.

The horrific behavior of the IOF also revealed itself when a Zionist sniper tragically shot and killed a young Palestinian boy near the entrance of a displacement center housing civilians.

Zionist air forces also heavily bombarded the New Camp area of the Nuseirat Camp, resulting in a number of civilian casualties.

Elsewhere, local civil defense personnel working to recover the decomposing corpses of martyred civilians still trapped under the rubble of their homes, or littered across streets and sidewalks, discovered a mass grave containing a large number of civilians underneath a sand wall built by the IOF in the Beit Lahia Housing Projects, in northern Gaza Strip.

Local civil defense personnel also said they'd recovered the decomposing bodies of at least 10 Palestinians from previous occupation assaults on various areas of the Khan Yunis Governate.

The civil defense crews additionally made an appeal on Sunday asking the international community to provide body bags for the continued recovery of decomposing corpses from various parts of the Gaza Strip.

In one of the latest Zionist crimes, IOF warplanes went on to bomb a group of civilians gathered in the north of the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, killing two Palestinian civilians and wounding at least three others.

Israeli occupation forces also destroyed an uninhabited residence in the al-Manar neighborhood, to the southeast of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, wounding five civilians nearby.

As a result of "Israel's" ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the population of Gaza has risen in excess of 33'797 Palestinians killed, including upwards of 9'500 women and 14'500 children, while another 76'465 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

April 15th, 2024

#source1

#source2

#source3

#source4

#source5

#source6

#source7

#videosource

#graphicsource1

#graphicsource2

@WorkerSolidarityNews

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 18 days

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Anyway Stede has never thought Ed should apologize for anything and that's the point. He cares very deeply about the crew but Ed is his first priority 100% of the time.

Is he sad that the crew got marooned? I think he forgot about it instantly, they're literally fine. Does he feel bad for Lucius? Sure, but it's more blaming himself for contributing to putting Ed in such a dark place. Is he mad at Ed for throwing his stuff overboard? Not even a little bit. Does he care about Izzy's leg/toes? Not at all. Stede's assumption is always, correctly, that Ed is not by nature a violent person and he wouldn't do those things without reason, and his strongest emotions are never blaming Ed but worrying about him and feeling guilty for hurting him.

All the takes before s2that Stede would be horrified about Ed cutting of Izzy's toes - I'm sorry but Stede learned that information and immediately forgot about it. The extent of his thought process was probably "eh I'm sure he deserved it. Poor Ed! Anyway."

Genuinely, without a doubt in my mind, if Stede walked into a room to see Ed punching someone, he wouldn't question it, he'd just immediately join in. He knows Ed better than anyone and he knows that it's actually pretty damn hard to provoke Ed to violence, so that guy must have done something really fucked up, and he deserves a Stede Bonnet Pummelling so Ed doesn't have to get his hands dirty

#ofmd #our flag means death

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ozarkthedog · 2 years

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𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞 · 𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧

gif credit: @r-pattinson

summary: lloyd finger fucks you and does lewd things with a lollipop. (it’s filth. that’s really all you need to know.)

word count: 1505

warnings: lloyd hansen x fem!reader. slight exhibitionism. fingering. dirty talk. pussy slap or two. squirting. explicit acts with a lollipop. rough everything cause it’s lloyd. don’t do this IRL. no beta.

author’s note: another object insertion fic in the books! ✨ lloyd hansen has my heart, pussy and soul. ✨

♁ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐎𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁

You quietly slink into the golden command center unbeknownst to the bustling crew. Anxious faces pace around the room and stare at computer screens following Lloyd’s every whim as he barks out orders until his eyes zero in on you.

His features are hard after hours of grueling work but they slightly soften as you make your way over to him. It’d only been 6 hours since you last saw him. Stuck in a corner of the historic stone building for safety while Lloyd and his men worked.

Gathering you flowing skirt you curl into his lap like a cat and weave your arms around his svelte shoulders. The soft buzz of his undercut grazes your cheek and memories of the night before flood your mind...

Lloyd ruts into you with heavy strokes, wetting his cock with your cream and easily holding you down into the mattress. “Thought you could be a big girl and ride my cock, huh?” His sinister laugh makes your insides clench producing another wave of arousal that coats his girth.

“Found out my cock is too big for you in that position didn’t we?” His condescending tone makes you whimper and clutch his biceps as he pummels into your warmth. “I give you an A for effort, Buttercup but I like feeling you wiggle underneath me the most.”

He kneels back and grabs your hips, shoving every inch of his length into your velvet, creamy center. “Love seeing you strung out and gaping on my c-”

You’re brought back to the present when Lloyd sighs into your neck and hugs you tighter. “You shouldn’t be here, Buttercup. You know this ain’t the place for you.”

He rubs your back calmly despite the lively energy that suffocates the room. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling… needy.” You quietly confess even though you know Lloyd would cut someone's ear off for eavesdropping on one of his conversations.

Lloyd quirks a playful brow and his eyes light up as a devious plan comes to life. “That so, Sunshine?”

You shift nervously on his lap and bite your tongue to keep quiet when your panty covered wet folds rub gingerly over his thigh. Lloyd playfully flexes the strong chord of muscle and your mouth drops open from the sensation.

Your fingers frantically dig into his yellow shirt as he moves his hands to your hips and makes you grind down harder onto his leg.

“Don’t worry about them. You pay attention to me.” He orders with a sharp shake of your jaw when he shoves his thumb into your mouth and presses on the underside of your chin. Your body goes slack at the command and instantly submits to him.

He slips his hand from your mouth and teases it up your thigh. You grasp his forearm with what little amount of sense you had left even though it was useless. “No, please. There are too many people.”

“Awe, it’s cute seein’ you all skittish.” He preens as he easily breaks your hold and rubs a deft finger along your soaked panties. “Don’t want them hearin’ how fuckin’ sweet you sound gettin’ off, huh?”

You go numb when he slides his fingers past the elastic and languidly circles your slippery clit. Anxious pleasure makes your belly tumble as he slides lower and traces your weeping hole.

“Such a shame. You make such pretty noises when you come.” He revels in your anguish of trying to keep quiet as he slowly spears into the slice of you and feels your core lock around his digits.

You shake your head desperately and bite your bottom lip hard as he scissors his fingers and spreads you open for him. He smooths over your silky walls, testing the waters, seeing what’ll make you bubble with noise.

Frenzied breaths puff from your nose and your eyes roll backward when Lloyd twists and curls his fingers against that spongy muscle behind your clit. You choke on your silent moans and swallow each one down as he zeros in and tortures that sweet spot.

You claw at his shoulders and make one last hectic plea for him to stop with a broken teary sob. Your lungs burn as you hold your breath hoping it’ll stave off your orgasm.

He takes pity on you and slows his thrusting fingers. “Use your words.” He was never one to back down easily.

You whimper softly, unsure if you could speak coherently and quietly enough.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He jokes cruelly as a rampant wave of arousal spikes in your core when he spreads his fingers.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath even though it burns your lungs. The words barely make it out, “Please, Lloyd.”

“Everyone out!” Lloyd bellows from his seated position making every person in the room freeze with quizzical looks. “You heard me! Get your sorry asses out in the hall until I call you back in.”

Feet quickly shuffle away and the large double doors close.

It’s just the two of you. He cradles you tight and holds your stare for a moment. All that needed to be said is exchanged in silence until he spins you in his lap and cages your back against his chest with a firm hand around your throat.

He tears your panties from your hips making you yelp as the elastic snaps against your skin. His fingers dive back into your shiny folds as his ironlike thighs spread yours open until your tendons scream from the pressure.

He nestles his chin into the crook of your shoulder and brushes his bristly mustache against your jaw. “Can feel that pretty cunt flutterin’. Just beggin’ to come.” He growls into your ear as your warmth swirls around his cream coated digits.

You’d be embarrassed by the sounds your gluey, slick cunt is making if you weren’t so close to the end. Willing with all your might to hold out until he gives you permission.

“You gonna make a mess when you come?” Your cunt gives you away as it clenches and sucks his fingers in further. “Naughty girl. Want you drippin’ all over me.” He slaps your sticky cunt, landing a solid blow to your clit causing you to shriek and writhe in his secure hold.

“Hush. I’ve done worse things to this perfect little pussy. You can take it.” He presses on your carotid artery with his free hand and your breathing hitches. Your brain pounds against your skull as he curves and thrusts his fingers over that tender spot that always made you come so fucking hard.

Your lips pout as you trip over your words, desperate to get permission.

“Come on, I want that sweet cunt to choke my fingers.” He grunts, allowing you to tumble over the edge.

Your brain goes foggy but the intense spark gets brighter and brighter until it envelops you in its blinding light. Syrupy goodness hits the floor in a wave as you hit your peak and scream out your release under his touch.

“See, you took that like a champ.” He touts, grinning from ear to ear. “Now for the real treat.”

As you slowly come to, you feel Lloyd shift and reach into his pocket. You think you’ve gone mad but he’s pulled out a lemon lollipop.

“Always wanted to try this.” He unwraps the candy and before you can stop him he’s pressing the confection into your cunt.

“Lloyd! What’re you-”

He barricades your limbs and thrusts the sucker between your folds. “These are sweet but I want a new flavor,” He fucks the small lollipop in and out lazily, trying to coat it in as much cream as he can. “And I’ve tasted nothing sweeter than this cunt.”

The idea that he was filling you up with a lollipop that he was then going to suck on made your world implode. “Fuck, Lloyd!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Get it fuckin’ creamy. Want it to taste like lemon meringue pie.”

You want to laugh at how ridiculous he is but that knot in your belly gets tighter and tighter with every shove of the sugary sucker until your squirming and creaming all over the lollipop.

“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.” Lloyd praises as he withdraws the now white coated candy.

He leers at the pop before shoving it into his mouth. “God damn! That’s fuckin’ delicious!”

You stare back at him in a stupor before he’s pressing a chaste kiss to your shocked, parted lips and helps you on your wobbly feet. You glance down at the puddle between your legs and grimace at the depraved scene.

A smack to your ass wakes you from your daze, “Get going, Sunshine.” Lloyd orders with a short smile before he taps his earpiece and calls everyone back in.

You shuffle through the doors, careful to not meet the curious eyes of his workers when you hear him bark out an order.

“Someone fuckin’ mop this up before I slip and die.”

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #Lloyd Hansen smut #the gray man #chris evans #lloyd hansen fanfiction

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