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residenthughes · 4 months

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opera house - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x afab reader

word count: 2.5k

tags/warnings: +18 nsfw, so minors dni, oral sex (m on f), dirty talk (if you can call it that?), no mention of y/n, pet names (baby, princess)

summary: reading is your favourite pastime. jack makes it harder than anticipated.

notes: so...🫣 this happened. it's a small little thing that started out with me just wanting to write about how pretty jack is only to turn into the respectful pile of filth. don't write smut much so apologies if this isn't to your liking, but hopefully i'll be back with something better. also, the sentence in italics is a quote from the book mentioned in the fic. much love! <3

As the cold November climate nips at your flesh and colours the sky in hues of grey, you nestle in the cosiness of your home, warm and sheltered with your treasured fuzzy socks on as you curl up on your bed with one of the books you’ve been meaning to read. Jack says it’s a bad habit of yours: buying books that collect dust on your shelf, to which you quickly argue that he’s the one enabling your ‘bad habit’ by constantly buying them for you - your Goodreads profile bookmarked in his phone for safe keeping. An endearing act of service, all of which he is no stranger to - gifting said books in the form of a bouquet every time he leaves for a long road trip, taking out the trash because he knows it’s your least favourite chore, curling up with you now, sweetly bundled in between your legs as you two find peace in the silence you share. It’s like a warm hot chocolate on a chilly day like today, your connection smooth and comforting, wrapping you in the warmth of its embrace.

You peer beyond the top of your book, catching an eyeful of the back of Jack’s head and his loose curls, the soft clicks of his gamer control sounding as his eyes focus on the TV screen a few metres ahead. Your sugary thoughts of how endearing your long-term boyfriend can be - always is - overflow like lava, the smile on your face terribly enamoured as your fingers card through his hair, curling the soft locks around your index finger.

Like clockwork, Jack leans into your touch, slouching further into his position in between your thighs, laying a chilly cheek against the flesh of your thighs.

You squirm against the brush of his eyelashes against your skin. “That tickles.”

“Uh huh,” he absently answers, tapping away at his gamer control. “Does this?”

A delicate kiss marks you, Jack’s head going back to laying against your thigh as he directs his attention to the game set out against the TV.

“No,” you blush. “But, that was nice.”

A huff of amusement sounds from Jack and instantly, you know what position you've put yourself in by saying that. “Bet it was. Aren’t you busy with that book of yours?”

You bite back, the muscles of your thighs tightening their grip around your boyfriend. “Sometimes a distraction is necessary.”

The clicks of his gamer control halt and silence envelopes the room, your eyebrow raised as his on-screen character dies as a result of his negligence.

Jack clears his throat, his body shuffling against yours as he readjusts his position, restarting the game. “Maybe you’re right about that, baby.”

A pout remains settled against your lips as your eyes squint at your partner, your suspicion towards his action not enough to distract you from the habitual motion of your fingers as they thread through Jack’s hair. You raise your opened book back to eye-level, not batting an eyelash.

It’s when you’ve gotten perhaps three sentences into your book that Jack breaks the silence. “What’s the story about?”

“The book I’m currently reading?” Jack hums in reply. “Oh, it’s a spinoff of a series I’ve been meaning to read. It’s basically a college romance story about a girl aspiring to be on the national ice hockey team and her getting help from this guy she met years ago, called Ryder. Unexpectedly smutty, 10/10 would recommend.”

Jack laughs with you at your nasty comment, body vibrating against yours as his chuckle courses through him. You lower your book again.

“You and your smutty books,” Jack snickers to himself, eyes trained ahead of him. There’s a pause before he speaks again. “In what ways is it unexpectedly smutty?”

Despite how long you’ve been with Jack and the comfort you've established living alongside him, the question does make you a bit flustered, crimsoning as you look away, avoiding any view of him. “Well, it’s pretty raunchy up front. Like how they’ve done some naughty things in the shower - quite tame, but I’ve also just read that Ryder did some things when they went to go see the opera.”

“What things?” Jack asks, point blank.

Now, it’s time for you to clear your throat. Cheeks tinted. “Do I even have to say, Jack?”

The pause screen displays itself against the TV, the clicks of his controller no more as Jack shifts once again within your grasp, body turning as he lays his stomach against the comfort of the mattress, pools of azure staring into yours. Your heart thuds in your chest.

“Yes, I wanna hear what things you’re reading,” he says easily as if he isn’t inciting violence in your chest right now, the corner of his pink lips curved softly as he tilts his head against your thigh. “All of it.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the room escalates from toasty warm to scorching hot, a familiar flame in the pits of your stomach igniting as you’ve somehow found yourself in such a predicament - backed into a corner and at a loss for words.

“He,” you stammer, averting your eyes because all Jack’s eyes do is look at you, his burning gaze elevating the heat that dances against the surface of your cheeks. “He fingers her in the opera.”

You whisper that last part but Jack hears you judging by the faint chuckle coming from him. “He fingers who at the opera?”

He accents his point with a kiss against your thigh, this time the gesture conjuring a polar opposite sensation as goosebumps riddle your skin. You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t known you were holding, looking again at your partner to still find him looking right back at you, eyelids heavy and eyes dark. You have to look away.

You gulp. “Gigi - her name is Gigi.”

You finally muster some sort of courage you’ve had to find within your situation when you hear Jack shift again, eyes capturing your boyfriend’s arms coming up to circle around your thighs, eyes never leaving yours as his hands find purchase against your skin, thumbs absently caressing the surface much like you did earlier with his hair.

“Is that short for something?” Jack accents his question with another kiss, his touch searing.

“No,” you gulp, voice foolishly unsteady as your eyes study Jack’s movements with caution. “I mean, Ryder jokes that her name is Gisele, but that’s-”

“Guys like to tease,” he kisses a little higher against your thigh as if to prove his point. “Especially with girls they like.”

“I don’t think that’s appreciated, Jack.”

You’re talking about a completely different thing now - a conversation within a conversation.

“I don’t know about that, baby,” whilst still staring at you, his teeth manage to nip at a small sliver of your skin, numbness plaguing your limbs. “Read it to me.”

Your brows knit together, puzzled as ever. “What?”

“You heard me,” declares Jack, his kisses abundantly littering the expanse of your thigh as your mind begins to spiral. “Read it to me.”

Your mind is frazzled, brain working overtime to comprehend the sudden turn of events, all the while Jack takes it upon himself to sit pretty in between your legs and touch you as if made from porcelain - delicate and tender, a sharp contrast to the emotions bathing you in lust. Jack glances up at you one more time, button nose nuzzling against your inner thigh as he gives you a knowing look, his lips preoccupied. You obey wordlessly, uneasy eyes still on him as you bring your book back upwards, its previous position altered so you can manage to steal a look at Jack out of your peripheral.

Out loud, you begin to read to him the aftermath of the opera scene, a more tame development following as you manage to get through the next page unscathed. Jack’s kisses at first, are a bit distracting and have your voice betray you, but they’re sporadic and by the time you’ve turned the page, you’re already used to the sensation. You even achieve some comfort in his touch, but that doesn’t last long because when you’re in the midst of your storytelling, you feel Jack’s fingers hook around your shorts’ waistband.

Immediately, you lower your book, a chill running down your spine. “What are you doing?”

He bats his long eyelashes, almost mockingly. “Listening to you.”

“Jack.” For once, your tone is firm, watching aimlessly as he inches the material past your hip bones.

“Lift your hips a little or I won’t be able to get these off you,” he insists, a convincing smile settled amongst his charming features that express his pleasure in this all. “Unless you wanna keep them on?”

It’s a rhetorical question, a trap set up to see if you’ll bite and despite it all, the excitement of what’s to come leads you right where Jack wants you. Lifting your hips with an embarrassing ache in between your legs as you lie in anticipation, continuing on with your reading as Jack goes back to teasing you endlessly.

“Gettin’ pretty worked up over this story, huh?” echoes Jack. “I can tell.”

To demonstrate the meaning of his words, he blows a cool breeze against you that makes you mewl and draw your thighs closer at the sensation. Heart thudding against your chest, your bewildered gaze gravitates back to Jack who kisses you through the fabric of your underwear and has you fumbling for words.

“I didn’t say you could stop reading,” Jack removes his lips, peering up at you with a look that melts you into a pathetic pool of yourself. “You stop, I stop. Sound fair?”

That sounds anything but fair, but who are you to say so? He clearly holds all the power in this situation, you dancing right in the palm of his hand. This has escalated beyond a point of no return and you’re not backing out now so you oblige, opening your mouth to read but uttering out nothing more than a moan as Jack pulls your underwear to the side, his fingers gliding through your wet folds.

“So satisfying to tease you when your reactions are this good,” he rasps, followed by a low chuckle as his calloused fingertip circles around your clit, eliciting the buck of your hips and the waiver in your voice. “Anyways, you were saying?”

You’re grasping for straws here, trying to tie yourself down to the little sanity (and patience) you have as your frantic eyes try and find where you last left off, straying away every couple of words as Jack does nothing more than use his fingers to distract you.

“Words, baby. Use your words,” he instructs, and it’s the sexist thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life. “We follow...”

“We follow..the people,” you falter, voice wobbly. “We follow the people in…”

Somewhere in that sentence, a hefty exhale blows past your mouth as Jack moves two fingers into you, the curl of them accentuating the end of your sentence with a moan.

“Always sound so pretty with my fingers in you,” muses Jack, tone low and memorised as he works said fingers in and out of you, your slick building all around his fingers. “Can’t get enough of it.”

You do a subpar job of reading the next few lines as Jack’s fingers pick up the pace, moving deeper in you to milk every reaction you give him mixed in with your slurred words. Your attempt at remaining coherent diminishes completely when Jack’s lips find their way to your swollen clit, a light press of the lips against the hood of your clit before he’s sucking on the bud.

Your words come out in stutters, voice trembling pathetically as he wraps you around his fingers, making a mess of you in the form of kitten licks against your clit and nibble fingers coaxing your building orgasm out of you. His motions stop every time you get lost in the feeling of him sucking your clit, fingers tangled in his locks of hair. And with a whine, you compel with his previous instructions, reading along with the world’s prettiest distraction in between your legs.

Somehow, you make it to the next page without much delay, Jack’s mouth trained on you as he laps up every bit of you, tongue drawing all kinds of figures against or around your clit. You’re clenching around his fingers more than you can forgive yourself for, body running hot as the sounds of your slick echo throughout the room, the pit in your stomach only growing.

“Just like that, princess,” he hums against your clit, the sensation drawing a tight-lipped whimper from you as your hips follow the vibration. “How many more pages until the chapter’s finished? I don’t think you’re gonna last long.”

And, it’s all true. Body twitching, toes curling and cunt spasming around his fingers that curl in you. Your brain can barely keep up at this point. “So many.”

Jack tsks, his thumb replacing his lips against your clit as he moves it in slow circles. “You think you can hold on till then?”

You answer truthfully, however embarrassing it may be. “No.”

He laughs briefly when he hits that spongy part inside of you, your back bowing off the stacked pillows behind you as Jack continues to hit the exact spot that has you seeing stars.

“How ‘bout a compromise?” Jack starts, your hips lifting to meet the insistent thrust of his fingers. “You tell me how badly you wanna come, and you get to ditch the book whilst I make you come. Sounds good?”

An awfully generous offer considering how your brain has turned to mush and can barely keep up with any of the inked words on the page right now. So, you agree. Enthusiastically.

“Please,” you mewl with a puckered forehead, gazing down at your beautiful boyfriend with his tousled hair and glossy lips. A sight for sore eyes. “Please, J. I wanna come.”

“How bad?” He doesn’t miss a beat, eyes challenge yours.

“So bad,” you keen when his other hand lays over your stomach, applying pressure to the spongy spot that teethers you on the very edge. “Fuck, it’s only you. Only you can…make me feel good. Please, J.”

The begging works. It always works and with that, you drop your book, long discarded amidst the mess of the sheets as your fingers tangle in Jack’s hair as he sucks roughly on your clit again. Rocking up against his mouth, the angle of his fingers renders you completely at his mercy, uttering stuttery breaths as he brings you over the edge, applying pressure in all the right places because he knows your body better than you do, gushing slick flowing from you as you ride out your high, brain reduced to syrup.

He doesn’t even wait before you’ve caught your breath that he sends you a flirtatious wink in between your quivering thighs. “So, opera date next week?”

#jh86 #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #smut #nhl smut #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #jack hughes #residenthughes

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makoodles · 1 year

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tìtunu | tsu'tey (part 4 | nsfw)

pairing: tsu'tey x human fem reader

word count: 10k words

warnings: nsfw, jealousy, hurt/comfort, size difference, p in v sex, doggy-style, rough (?) sex

notes: i really though that i was finished with this, but y'all got me with the asks about jealous and protective tsu'tey 😭 (also this gif makes me fucking FERALLLL)

read it on ao3

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part 4 (nsfw) masterlist

Tsu’tey doesn’t think he’s ever been so smug in his whole life.

He survived the battle with the Sky People, he has healed from his wounds and come back even stronger, and he has been successful in his mating advances with his chosen mate.

The fact that his chosen mate was one of the little sky demons that he hates so much, was a surprise to the whole village (he had surprised himself too, truthfully) but everything is different with you. You are not destructive, you are not harmful – you study the flora and fauna of his planet with the reverence of a wide-eyed child, and he finds it terribly endearing. You are so small, and his planet can be such a harsh place for one as soft as a human. It’s a constant source of frustration and concern, despite his best efforts to handle and minimise possible risks.

“You are certain?” He demands of the Sky Person in front of him.

The man is one of the so-called scientists that live in the pathetic excuse for housing that the alien demons had built in the forest after the rest of the Sky People had been forced off the planet. There’s not many of them; the ones who stayed were approved by the few loyal demons, and they are largely respectful of the native populations as they try to integrate as much as they are allowed. That does not mean that Tsu’tey trusts them, and it certainly doesn’t mean that he likes them.

“Yes,” The little man in front of him says, visibly nervous. He swallows thickly, his heavy breaths fogging up his odd little mask. “Yes, we tested all the fruit you brought, and they all came up safe for human consumption. A human digestive system wouldn’t be able to break down something like meat from Pandoran animals, but the fruits you brought should be fine. Chemically, it’s quite similar to fruits we have back on Earth-”

Tsu’tey just grunts. He does not care about Earth's fruits. All he wants to know is whether he can feed you some of the fruits that he has foraged, and now that he has gotten his answer he is not inclined to stand around and listen to the little man bumble along any longer.

Without another word he turns and strides away, reaching his pa’li and pulling himself astride her with ease before urging her forward into the forest. At a swift pace, he reaches the village in no time and from there he moves quickly to find you.

Unsurprisingly, he finds you beneath one of the pxiut trees. You have your notebook open in front of you as you lay on your belly making your silly little notes, totally absorbed in your work. As he approaches, he takes the opportunity to look you over.

You appear content, head bowed over your work as you write. The bright sunshine filters in through the trees overhead, sending dappled patterns over your exposed skin. Seeing your strange human form dressed in the traditional clothes of the Na’vi always sets Tsu’tey alight, and his tail swishes appreciatively as he admires you.

“Hello, demon,” He murmurs when he reaches you, lowering himself to his knees out of pure habit. It has become second-nature to lower himself to your level when he’s around you – he enjoys the closeness of it.

You hum. Though you don’t lift your eyes from your work, a smile is beginning to curve your lips. “Is that any way to greet your mate?”

Tsu’tey’s lips quirk in response, and he leans in so his nose is nuzzling into your hair. You lean into him in a move that’s mostly automatic, and he feels a flare of smug pleasure at the ease with which you melt against his side.

“My little demon,” He corrects himself with a sardonic little grin, enjoying the way you roll your eyes fondly. “I have brought you food. Will you eat?”

Your eyes dart to his immediately, visibly uncertain. He already knows what you’re thinking, and he tries not to wince.

“It is safe,” He says quickly. “I asked one of the tawtute. They did tests.”

Your expression changes then, your grin growing sharper. “Aw, look at you taking care of me, huh?”

He can tell by your tone of voice that you’re teasing him, but that doesn’t stop the swell of pride in his chest. Yes, he is taking care of you. It’s always gratifying when his efforts are noticed, and he tries not to look too smug as he reaches out to touch you.

You are laying on your belly with your notebook in front of you, so his hand comes to rest on the back of one of your thighs. You are so small beneath him, so soft and squishy compared to the lean hardness of most Na’vi bodies. He can’t resist squeezing just slightly, just to watch the squidge of your thighs poke out between his spread fingers.

You roll your eyes at him – you know exactly what he’s doing, after all. He has not been very successful at keeping his fascination with your little pliable body a secret, and why should he? You are his mate, and you belong to him as surely as he belongs to you. Getting to touch you like this is a privilege belonging only to him, and he wishes to get as much out of it as he can.

“I always take care of you.” He says, and your smile softens.

“Yeah, big guy, you do.” You say, and the fondness in your voice is so obvious that it makes Tsu’tey’s hardened heart tremble a little in his chest.

His hand slides up your plush thighs and comes to a rest over the swell of your backside, relishing the heat of your skin even through the tewng covering you. You’re even softer here, nothing but squidge, and he allows himself a moment to indulge in squeezing you here too as you laugh.

“Alright, pervert,” You snicker, closing your notebook and pushing yourself up. “You can’t just start feeling me up – we’re in public.”

Tsu’tey’s hand falls away as you move to stand, and he has to fight the urge to pout hard. “The People know that we are mated in the eyes of Eywa.”

“That doesn’t mean that it’s okay to traumatise them all like this.” You snort. “I don’t think anyone wants to see you groping me in broad daylight.”

Many of the People have a sort of morbid curiosity about how mating with a tawtute works, so Tsu’tey isn’t entirely certain that you’re correct in that assumption. There are many who would be only too pleased to watch. But he doesn’t argue; you are beginning to push yourself to your feet, so he stands too.

“What is pervert?” He asks, looking down at you as you stretch your arms overhead and yawn.

Truthfully he gets distracted for a moment, admiring your soft belly and exposed skin in Na’vi clothes – if he could burn all your human coverings without you getting angry at him, he certainly would. He wants to see you dressed in the clothes of his People all the time.

You laugh as if he had said something very funny. “A pervert is what you are.”

“Is it a bad thing?” He wonders, reaching out so that his hand rests on the back of your neck across your shoulders.

Your eyes flutter closed as he kneads lightly at the base of your neck. “No,” You murmur softly. “Not when it’s you.”

He relaxes, nodding decisively before reaching for your small hand. “Come. You will eat and watch me train.”

It’s become almost like a routine for him to drag you with him to practice fighting or sparring. While you don’t come with him every day, he has managed to bring you often enough that the sight of you trailing behind him towards the training ground is a familiar one for the young warriors in training.

As he leads you towards the training grounds, he sees the few young warriors gathered around the archery practice range turn to watch his approach. Their eyes flicker towards you – though they never say anything about it, he knows that their curiosity is burning at the sight of you at Tsu’tey’s hip. The apprehension and caution about the Sky People is still very much embedded in their hearts and minds, and yet you are probably the least intimidating thing they’ve ever seen in their lives.

Tsu’tey imagines that his own interest and desire for you only fuels their curiosity further. He had gained somewhat of a reputation for himself before he had met you; he is the strongest warrior in the clan, he had been trained from a very young age for leadership, and he is a prominent and well-respected figure within the village. He was much desired as a mate by many women in the clan.

So when he chose you, the small and soft demon that is entirely unsuited to their planet, it was a source of surprise to many. Yet he is lucky – his people are supportive, even when they do not understand his choice of mate. Even if some of the women remain slightly disgruntled with him.

“You will sit over here,” He pushes you gently towards a clearing, out of the way of the other Na’vi that tower over you, to a spot where you will be safe. “You can see well, from here.”

It’s important that you have a good view, after all. He likes it when you watch him – it’s satisfying to give you a display of his physical strength and his skills, to remind you that he is a strong mate for you.

You just sit down where he’s directed you, and smile eagerly at him. He knows that you enjoy watching him too, and his tail swishes in anticipation. If you are pleased with what you see, it can only mean good things in store for him later.

“What are you up to today, then?” You ask, lounging back in the soft mossy ground against the stump of a tree.

“Spear training, and then hand to hand combat.” He says, reaching into the small bag around his waist. He pulls out the soft wrapped leaf package that he had prepared earlier and hands it to you. “Fruit. Eat.”

You take the wrapped fruit from him and peer at it with curiosity, poking at it with your small fingers. You seem pleased, and take a breath before lifting your mask so you can pop the fruit in your mouth before replacing it.

“It’s good,” You say, smiling, before tilting your head up at him with a faux-innocent expression. “So, do I get to see you all oiled up and wrestling some other super muscly man?”

That makes him chuckle, and he reaches out to stroke a single finger over the top of your head. “Would you like to see that?”

“Oh yeah,” You hum, and your grin behind your mask is unmistakably suggestive. “Definitely.”

His own grin grows sharp, and he bends on one knee so that he can be at eye-level with you. “I can oil myself up and show you wrestling later, after eclipse.”

That makes you laugh, tilting your head back with delight. “Oh, that’s so corny.”

He has no idea what that means, corny, but you look happy so it must be a good thing. He leans down and kisses the top of your head before straightening up. From behind, he can hear some of the younger warriors in training begin to call his name.

He gives you one last lingering look before turning and making his way towards the others.

Training takes the better half of the afternoon.

He demonstrates spear throwing techniques, he corrects postures and methods, he shouts criticisms and praises by turn. Every so often he glances towards you, mostly out of habit – you have pulled out your little book at some point, and are making notes again. Every single time, without fail, you look up as though you feel his eyes on you. And every time, you beam at him and his heart stumbles a little in his chest. Burying his reactions as best he can in front of his fellow warriors, the most Tsu’tey allows himself is the flick of a single ear.

When they finally do get to hand to hand training, he sees you visibly perk up and his ego inflates significantly. It is so very gratifying to be able to train and show off in front of you, especially when he successfully overcomes his opponents.

He can feel your watchful eyes on him all the time, pushing him harder and harder as he wrestles with warrior after warrior. The young ones in training watch on too, eager to learn, but the only gaze he truly cares about is yours.

Eventually, he takes a break from tumbling around the square that had been cleared off specifically for training and steps to the side so that he can observe some of the young ones in training practice their form. While he attempts to focus on calling out constructive criticism, he can’t stop his eyes from darting towards you occasionally.

Though your notebook is splayed out front of you, you are making no effort at all to hide the fact that you’re watching him. His chest is heaving and a thin layer of sweat coats his body, and he can feel the weight of your stare dropping slowly over the length of him. It makes him feel hot and itchy, and he has to fight to keep himself from marching right over to you and doing something very stupid indeed.

He is so distracted by your stare that he almost doesn’t notice when one of the other warriors sidles up to him. It is Takuk, and he is watching him with an amused sort of expression.

“Brother,” He greets him, offering the customary gesture of respect. “You are distracted today.”

His statement is nothing but the truth, but Tsu’tey bristles anyway. Takuk had been a hunter trainee not too long ago himself, but has developed into a man in the last year; he has claimed an ikran, he wears a battle band around his waist, but he has not yet taken a mate. Tsu’tey dislikes the way he is looking at you, considering you are already claimed.

“I am not distracted.” Tsu’tey lies through his teeth. His tone is sharp enough that he hopes it will dissuade Takuk from this line of conversation.

Takuk just hums, clearly unconvinced. He has grown irritatingly confident since his iknimaya. He looks over to where you’re sitting; you’ve lowered your head once more to scribble in your book, and Takuk takes the opportunity to squint at you.

“What is it like, being with one of them?” He asks, casting a slant-eyed glance back at Tsu’tey. “Is she not too… small?”

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes around his ankles, though he keeps his expression carefully contained. He is proud to be mated to you, but he does not like questions like this. He does not like to think that Takuk is imagining you like that.

“She is small,” He acknowledges, his voice clipped. “But not too small.”

It is enough to answer his question without giving him details, but Takuk grins as though what he has said is much more revealing than it truly is. When he looks back over in your direction again, Tsu’tey tenses.

Takuk notices, and sighs. “Brother, I am only asking. We are curious about your mate. You are so protective of her.”

Tsu’tey rolls his shoulders, considering. This is not untrue. The curiosity of his people is blatant, and mostly harmless; perhaps he has been too protective, but he has always been a private man.

“It works.” He says at last. It feels a little as though the words are being pulled from him by force. “She is small, and strange, but it works.”

Takuk’s ears twitch forwards in amusement, but he wisely decides not to make a smart comment.

“Even though she cannot make tsaheylu?” He wonders, low and quiet.

Ah. So that is the source of all their curiosity. Tsu’tey supposes he cannot blame them for that. It is a most unusual relationship he has with you, after all. Tsaheylu is the building block of all life on Pandora, and it is how every living creature interacts with the world around them. To have taken a mate that is unable to make this bond would be almost unthinkable to many Na’vi. Tsu’tey supposes he cannot blame them for that morbid curiosity – it would have been unthinkable for him once, too.

“Even though she cannot make tsaheylu.” Tsu’tey confirms quietly. “She sees me anyway.”

Takuk is thoughtfully silent at that, which Tsu’tey is mercifully grateful for. That was a little too vulnerable for his tastes, and he ends up clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders in an attempt to regain some of his authority.

“Back to training.” He says firmly, reaching out to push at Takuk’s head. “No more making eyes at my mate.”

Takuk just laughs, his ears twitching with good humour. “It is not me you need to tell, brother,” He says, before tilting his head pointedly in your direction. “It is the trainees that are so curious about her.”

Tsu’tey follows his gaze. Sure enough, you are no longer alone in your spot at the side of the training grounds. Several of the hunter trainees are crouched near you, watching you with big curious eyes as you chat to one of the young Na’vi that has been bold enough to creep forward. It is At’u, one of the foremost young men in training.

Tsu’tey’s ears flatten when he sees the way At’u’s tail is coiling. It is the universal signal of interest among their kind, and the audacity of the younglings infuriate him.

Without waiting another moment, Tsu’tey strides your way. He can hear Takuk starting to laugh from behind him, but he ignores him; he is precision-focused on you and the jumped up little shits around you.

When At’u reaches out to touch the hair on your head, Tsu’tey’s vision goes black around the edges. Anger bubbles up in his chest; curiosity is one thing, but having the insolence to touch you right in front of Tsu’tey’s eyes is another thing.

When Tsu’tey reaches you, you look up at him with a smile. He doesn’t return it; he’s too busy levelling a dark glare At’u’s way, his ears flat and tail held low. The youngling’s tail coils low in response, but he does not move away from you.

Tsu’tey hisses at him, baring his sharp teeth as he rounds on the rest of the trainees. They scatter almost instantly, scrambling to flee back to the training area. At’u flees too, flinching hard before following after his friends.

“Tsu’tey!” You hiss at him, visibly horrified. “That was so rude! They were only curious-”

He’s still glaring at the backs of the young trainees as he crouches down in front of you, but after a moment he turns to look at you. Your brows are scrunched, your eyes flared a little in outrage as you scowl at him. Oh, you look angry with him. It’s more adorable than you probably mean it to be.

“They do not know their place.” He mutters, scooching a little closer to you.

“They’re children!” You protest, rolling your eyes.

“They are training to be hunters and warriors.” Tsu’tey grumbles. As cute as you are when you’re angry, he doesn’t like being on the receiving end of it. “They know what they’re doing. They will be eligible to pick a mate after iknimaya.”

That makes you pause, and your eyes flicker carefully over his face.

“Are you…” You begin slowly. “Are you jealous? They’re going to pick Na’vi mates. Besides, I already have a mate.”

Warm satisfaction pools in his chest, and he scooches closer to you yet again. Something deep within him eases now that you’re within arms reach.

“Did you not see the way they were twitching their ears at you?” He murmurs, brow furrowing. You hesitate, and his tail lashes in agitation. “I knew it! You do not even see how they act-”

“Oh, hush,” You sigh, reaching out to pet the side of his face. “You’re being silly. Why would I want anyone else when I have a big handsome beefcake like you, huh?”

Tsu’tey has no idea what beefcake is, but you sound pleased when you say it so he imagines it is a good thing.

Your thumb strokes over his cheek, and then you frown and reach out to wipe under his nose. “You’re bleeding.”

He had received an elbow to the face at some point during hand to hand combat, but it feels only mildly tender now. Still though, when you begin smoothing away the blood with your thumb he leans into your hands. It feels good to be cared for.

“Does it hurt?” You wonder, peering closer as you try to assess the damage.

“No,” Tsu’tey snorts, a little offended. How weak do you think he is? But then you start to pull away, taking your little hands away from his face, and he’s quick to add, “A little. Will you care for me later?”

That makes you laugh, and his ears wiggle smugly when you lean forward to bump your forehead against his.

“Yes,” You whisper, grinning up at him. “I’ll take real good care of you.”

His tail thumps off the ground, his mouth beginning to curl in an eager smile. Your eyes are lingering around his sweat-slick chest and your thumb strokes over his bloodied nose, gentle over his bruised skin. He fights the urge to lean in further into your grasp, though it’s difficult.

“You watched me train?”

You huff a soft laugh. “Of course. Couldn’t tear my eyes away. You looked good, big guy.”

Tsu’tey swears he feels his whole heart thump heavily in his chest. There is a bone-deep satisfaction that settles over him at the confirmation that you see him as someone worthy, a good mate. It soothes the edges of his jagged pride and makes him feel whole.

“I am happy to have pleased you,” He murmurs sincerely, tucking his ears low as he meets your eyes. Your eyes soften, and you brush the last remnants of blood from his nose before taking your hand back. “Would you like to watch further?”

You hum in thought for a moment, before shrugging. “I think I’ll head back to the kelku. I wanted to cross-check some notes I took today with my other research.”

Tsu’tey has never been able to make much sense of your science talk, but he inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Then I will meet you back at home, ma’yawntutsyìp.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Tsu’tey’s feels as though he’s crawling out of his skin. He runs through the rest of his duties on autopilot, offering criticism and compliments by turns to the young warriors and hunters throughout the day, but his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of you the whole time.

It’s a struggle to stay focused. He keeps thinking of your eyes tracing over his chest and stomach, of your soft hands on his face, of your coy promise to take care of him later. It feels almost physically painful to force himself to finish out training with the others, but he pushes himself anyway.

It’s nearing evening when he finally begins to finish up, delivering his last few instructions to the young hunters as they begin to ready themselves to return to the village. He’s antsy, watching impatiently as the young ones push and laugh at each other.

When Takuk approaches him again, he has to fight not to roll his eyes – he has picked up too many of your little human mannerisms already.

“Your aim has improved.” Tsu’tey grunts, preoccupied with slinging his bow back over his shoulder.

Takuk perks up, visibly pleased with the compliment. He inclines his head in thanks, before leaning his weight casually back on one leg as he watches Tsu’tey pack up. He’s no doubt noticing that he’s moving with an unusual sense of urgency.

“Your mate is waiting for you, hm?” He asks, his mouth twitching.

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes in warning. He doesn’t like Takuk’s teasing tone, but he can’t help the anticipation that’s building in his stomach at the thought of getting back to you after your teasing throughout the day.

“Yes,” Tsu’tey grunts. “I will bring her fruit.”

Takuk nods, clearly approving, before looking to his feet. He appears to be thinking, and Tsu’tey waits as patiently as he can for him to speak again.

“I am thinking of taking a mate soon,” The young warrior says at last, still keeping his gaze low. “Do.. Do you think that Kaey’ra would have me?”

Tsu’tey pauses to give his question some thought. “Yes. I think she would. It would be a good match.”

Takuk’s shoulders loosen, and his ears rotate forward in satisfaction. It is a confidence booster for Tsu’tey too – it is nice to have his opinion so valued by one of his past students, now a peer. He is happy for his friend, and Tsu’tey claps him on the shoulder.

“I must plan a courting display,” Takuk murmurs, his brow lowering thoughtfully. “I will-”

He cuts himself off, staring somewhere behind Tsu’tey’s shoulder. Frowning, Tsu’tey turns to follow his gaze only to be met with the sight of one of the young warriors approaching him with his tail tucked low between his legs.

“Ma’Tsu’tey,” He greets, his ears flattened anxiously against his head. “I am sorry-”

“What.” Tsu’tey interrupts, his eyes narrowing. The sight of the youngling all twisted and anxious leaves a bad feeling settling into his stomach. “What is it?”

The youngling looks as though he would rather be anywhere else other than right there. “It’s just.. Your mate is-”

Tsu’tey’s stomach plummets to his feet, and he takes a step forward. His teeth bare without conscious thought. “Where is she?”

The young hunter flinches, but to his credit he doesn’t step back. “She is with tsahìk-”

It feels as though Tsu’tey’s brain has been filled with static panic. He’s hardly aware of turning away from the warriors and racing away, his feet pounding hard against the ground as he shoulders his way past the young trainees that are still lingering around the training area.

The only reason for you to be with Mo’at is that you are injured, and the thought fills Tsu’tey with a bone-deep, nauseating fear. He was only apart from you for a few hours at most – how could you have gotten hurt in such a short space of time? He thinks of your fragile bones, your thin skin, your diminutive stature; he knows that the answer is all too easily.

He can’t help himself from conjuring up worst-case scenarios – he imagines you broken and bleeding, unconscious, crying from pain, calling for him when he’s too far away to hear you. He feels sick as he reaches the village, making a beeline for the tsahìk’s hut.

“Move,” He snarls at someone who walks across his path. He’s blind with panic, hardly even sees who he’s snarling at. They jump out of his way as he storms past, practically diving his way towards the tsahìk’s home.

Usually, Tsu’tey prides himself on his grace and agility. He has always been the best warrior in the clan, and one of the most decorated hunters – his training has left him swift and dextrous. And yet now he finds himself stumbling, acting like a fear-stricken fool as he ducks his way into the hut.

Mo’at doesn’t even glance up at his unceremonious entrance, though you do. You’re perched carefully in the corner, with the tsahìk hunched over you as she carefully wraps your forearm with plant-fibre bandages. The whole space smells like the medicinal herbs used for healing – he guesses that she’s spread healing paste over you.

Something loosens in his chest at the sight of you unbloodied and conscious, though he doesn’t relax just yet.

“Oh, shit.” You sigh when you see him, before offering him a weak little smile.

“What has happened?” He demands, ducking his way under the dried herbs hanging from the woven ceiling as he makes his way towards you.

Mo’at still doesn’t look away from her work. “Where are your manners, Tsu’tey?”

Her tone is sharp enough to chasten him, but he does not relent completely. He comes to a stop over Mo’at’s shoulder and attempts to lean over her in an attempt to see what she’s doing, his tail whipping anxiously around his feet.

When he spots your arm, he makes a wounded sort of noise. Your wrist is all swollen, and if he looks closely he can see the beginning of discolouration around the joint as it begins to bruise. He ends up dropping to his knees beside you. In his haste, he almost pushes Mo’at aside, oblivious to the sharp look she sends his way.

“What happened, ma’muntxate?” He demands, reaching out to take your wrist in his hand so he can get a better look.

Mo’at knocks his hand away with a resounding slap before hissing a sharp warning at him. “Do not touch while I am bandaging!”

“Is it broken?” He asks, whirling to face the tsahìk. His tail curls around your thigh, squeezing tight as he seeks reassurance in the form of your soft, warm flesh.

“It’s fine-” You start to say, but Tsu’tey isn’t listening to your attempts at placating him.

“It is a sprain.” Mo’at says. Her tone implies that she is sick of dealing with him already, but he pays her no mind.

“How did this happen?” He asks yet again, shuffling forward on his knees so that the bulk of his body is curling around you. There is no danger here in Mo’at’s tent, but it makes him feel better when he hunches protectively around you.

“It’s no big deal,” You say quickly, clearly attempting damage control. “I just- I fell, and I landed a little awkwardly-”

“Fell where?”

That makes you pause, and Tsu’tey’s expression flattens as he waits for your answer.

“Um.. The ladder,” You murmur, glancing down at your lap. “The ladder that leads to the kelku. I slipped climbing up it, and fell. But it wasn’t from very high.”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but he feels his stomach sink even further at that. Fuck, it was his fault. The vine ladder he had woven for you was only meant to be a temporary measure to help you climb up into your shared kelku in the high trees until he could get around to building a more permanent solution. He had considered the possibility of you falling, but never seriously – not even children would fall so easily.

He must look stricken somehow, because your own face begins to contort in response.

“It was my fault,” You say hurriedly. “I wasn’t paying proper attention, and I slipped. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

He lets out a soft, low sound, before shaking his head. His jaw is clenched tight. What a stupid mistake for him to make. His tiny soft mate, so frail and weak. He should have known that the ladder was too risky for you to be climbing up and down. Only a sprain; he is so lucky that it was only a sprain. What would he have done if it was something worse?

Mo’at clicks her tongue, then sits back and surveys her handiwork. It’s as neat and meticulous as ever, the bandages wrapped tight around your injured wrist.

“There,” Mo’at says simply. “Rest it. It will be just fine in a few days.”

Tsu’tey hardly hears her at all. He’s too busy staring at the bandages, pale green against your bruised skin. This should never have happened. He’s meant to protect you, to keep you safe. That’s what he had promised you. What kind of mate is he, if he can’t even provide a safe way for you to enter the home he had offered you?

He’s pulled out of his cycle of self-flagellation by Mo’at swatting ungently at his head.

“Take your mate and leave,” She says, shooting him an unimpressed look. “No sulking. Just watch after her.”

“Yes, tsahìk.” He says quietly, inclining his head towards her out of respect.

When he turns back to you, you’re already watching him with big, guilty eyes. That only makes him feel worse – why should you feel guilty, when it is him that has failed you?

“Come, ma’yawne,” He murmurs, reaching out to hold you. “I will take you home.”

You open your mouth, no doubt to be stubborn and protest that you can walk yourself, or some other such nonsense, but he doesn’t wait to give you the chance. He just tucks his arms under your back and legs and hauls you up into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he stands.

With one last murmured thanks to Mo’at, he carries you right out of the hut and back into the evening light.

Tsu’tey is willing to admit that over the next few days, he is a little more… vigilant than usual.

“Tsu’tey, seriously,” You complain. “It’s a sprained wrist, it’s nothing!”

He doesn’t justify that with a response. Your injury is not nothing. It is a representation of his failure as a mate, and it hurts his pride to look at the bandages for too long. All he can do is commit himself to ensuring that something like this never happens again.

He brings you food and water in bed, he offers you gifts of books and the silly little glowing pads he manages to bully out of the tawtute in the human science encampment, and he makes sure the kelku is more cushioned and comfortable than ever before. His aim is to make sure that you have everything you need right there in your home, so that you won’t have to leave again – at least, not until he has finished safe-guarding the sloping rope bridge he is attempting to build for you.

Even now, your legs dangle from the edge of the kelku’s entrance as you watch him work on the wide branch below. You’re secure where you are, your hands holding tight to the edge of the tree branch that your legs hang from, but Tsu’tey keeps stealing looks up at you every couple of moments to ensure that you’re still there.

Around the twentieth time he glances up at you, you roll your eyes and meet his gaze with a challenging stare.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You ask, swinging your legs in the air. “It’s a nice day, and I haven’t been out in ages.”

Tsu’tey grunts, but doesn’t answer properly. His tail curls as he weaves another section of his makeshift rope bridge; it will be narrow and a little precarious, but he is certain it will be a better solution than the ladder you had fallen from.

From above, you click your tongue in dissatisfaction. “I know what you’re doing.”

He slants a glance up at you, lips pursed. Once again, he says nothing. Knowing you, you’re not finished speaking yet anyway.

Sure enough, his silence only seems to irritate you.

“I’m not staying up here forever, you know.” You say insistently, and Tsu’tey tenses when you lean forward to get a better look at him as he works on the branch below you. “I know you’re angry at me for getting hurt, but it’s only a sprained wrist and it’s not like-”

“I am not angry.” Tsu’tey interrupts, though he can’t manage to meet your eyes. His ears are pinned to the sides of his head; is that really what you think?

You let out a clearly frustrated noise. “You’ve hardly spoken to me for days. All you do is work on this stupid bridge-”

He finally looks up at that, lip curling in annoyance as he squints up to you. The rope bridge is admittedly rudimentary, but it’s for you. It’s true that he hasn’t been as demonstrative with his affections as usual for the past couple of days, but you’ve been injured. He couldn’t even think of touching you when you’re hurt – the remnants of bruising around your wrist makes him feel that sense of failure every time he catches sight of them.

When he fails to verbally respond yet again, you scowl at him. “Are you just not going to talk to me?”

At that, he sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

You set your jaw and glare for a second, before promptly shoving yourself to your feet. Tsu’tey tenses once more as you stand, so nerve-wrackingly close to the edge of the kelku, before you turn on your heel and march back inside.

Once you’re gone, Tsu’tey allows his shoulders to drop. Damn. He probably could have handled that better – communication has never been his strong suit. He’s never really felt the compulsion to explain himself or his thinking to anyone before, and now he finds himself at a loss for how to approach his feelings with you.

You think that he’s angry with you, which is absolutely untrue. Are you angry with him? Fuck.

Sighing, he finishes one last knot in the rope he was working on before dropping it. He needs to sort this out.

It only takes one jump for him to catch the edge of the kelku with his hands, and then he hauls himself up with ease. Part of the reason that he had been so startled when he realised you had been injured climbing the tree was because it was something that should have been so easy, something that just came naturally to the Omaticaya. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might have been possible for you to fall so easily.

When he steps inside the kelku, he spots your little form curled up on the woven rug atop the cushy leaves he had padded the wooden floor with. You’re holding one of the glowing pad things that the tawtute are always tapping away on, although you don’t appear to be reading anything off it – it seems more like you’re simply staring fixedly at it in an effort to avoid meeting his stare.

He moves slowly towards you, tail held low in as non-threatening a manner as he can manage. You don’t look up, though he can see the way your eyes slide subtly toward him. When he kneels down by your side, you’re forced to raise your gaze towards him.

“I do not mean to upset you, Säsrätx,” He murmurs, his voice low as he bends his head towards you. He does not want you to be angry with him – the thought curdles in his stomach.

You take a slow inhale through your nose, the breath fogging lightly against the clear material of your breathing mask before dissipating.

“I’m not made of glass, big guy,” You mumble, glancing back down at your hands. “You can’t treat me like a kid just because I got a minor injury.”

Tsu’tey makes a soft grumbling noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t argue. You’ve never been annoyed at him like this, and he’s surprised by how much he doesn’t like it. He’s never been one to put too much stock in the opinion of others, but this is different. You are his mate, and he doesn’t want to make anything worse.

He adjusts his stance so that he’s crouched at your side, his much bigger body curling over yours as he looms over you. You’re just so small, it makes his palms itch. He hasn’t touched you properly in days, so afraid that he’ll make your injuries worse, but now he’s finding it difficult to keep his hands to himself.

You must be thinking the same thing, because your gaze drifts from his face down over his shoulders and chest, lingering around his woven necklaces and his battle waistband. Tsu’tey preens a little under your eyes, his chest puffing out a little.

“You should not have been hurt like this,” He murmurs, reaching out for your hand. “The kelku should have been safe for you. This was my fault.”

You just sigh, and shake your head. “Don’t be stupid. It was an accident. These things happen.”

Tsu’tey grunts unhappily. He’s too busy peering carefully at your wrist; your wrist and hand look so fragile in his much larger palm, and his lips press together tight as he strokes a careful thumb over the lingering discolouration on your skin. The bruises are almost gone, but he can still see the faint traces remaining.

“I have waited a long time to take a mate and have a family of my own,” He murmurs without looking up at your face. He tilts his head, a wry sort of smirk beginning to grow on his face. “I did not expect it would be with a tawtute, but I would not change things. I have lost too much over the years – I could not take it if something happened to you.”

Your expression wobbles, and then you toss your little piece of technology aside and push yourself up to your knees.

“Tsu’tey,” You whisper, eyes turning soft. “It was only a sprained wrist.”

His tail lashes, but he ducks his head down towards you so that you can cup his face in your little palms. Some of the restlessness in his chest begins to settle now that he has your hands holding his cheeks.

“I do not want you to think less of me as a mate.” He says quietly, reaching up to lay his palm flat over one of your hands on his cheek. “I should have ensured you had a safe way of entering our kelku-”

“Less of you?” You interrupt, choking out a laugh. “Are you kidding? I thought that you would think I was a total skxawng for falling like that. I had literally been promising you earlier that day that I would look after you, and then I ended up hurt like an idiot.”

Tsu’tey just makes a soft, rumbly noise in his chest in an effort to soothe you. To his relief it seems to work, and you relax into his chest.

“You can take care of me when you are better.” He says, his lips pulling up into a little smirk. It is something he looks forward to.

You hum, tilting your head back so you can look him in the eye with a coy grin. “I’m better now, big guy.”

Tsu’tey starts to snort, to pull back with an eyeroll, but to his surprise you continue grasping at his hand. When he blinks at you, he finds you staring up at him with a determined sort of look about you.

“I mean it,” You whisper, eyes all liquid and pleading. “My arm is fine, Mo’at said so. You haven’t touched me in days.”

Tsu’tey pauses at that. He looks at you properly; behind your breathing mask, your eyelashes are longer and darker than usual, and your lips are glossier. He recognises the traces of what you call makeup, and his ears twitch backwards in surprise. He knows that you wear this when you’re trying to catch his attention, and a little jolt of realisation rockets through him as he looks at you.

“Oh,” He breathes, reaching out to capture your jaw in one hand. “I see. My little mate feels neglected, is that it?”

Your cheeks grow hot in his hand, your eyes flickering away in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Despite your plea for him to touch you, now you appear flustered.

“Yes.” You whine, tilting your head into his hand. Despite your embarrassment, you manage to appear semi-confident when you finally raise your chin to look at him. “I want you to touch me.”

The edge of your breathing mask digs into his palm, and he starts to grin as he winds his long fingers into your hair. Oh, that soothes his wounded pride. Despite his mistake with the ladder, you still want him.

He ducks his head and presses a kiss to your neck, humming in satisfaction when you tilt your head back immediately to allow him access to your throat. Tsu’tey lets out a soft breath, and reaches for your waist so he can pull you into his lap. You go eagerly, clambering onto his thighs with a grin. You’re just so pliable, so trusting and needy. As soon as you’re settled in his lap, you start to grind yourself down against the growing stiffness beneath his tewng.

He lets out a quiet, surprised little huff. You really do want him to touch you, and your eagerness rushes straight to his head. He really has been neglecting you if you’re reacting like this just from a simple little neck kiss.

“I will make you feel good, ma’yawntutsyìp.” He promises – he is determined to make up for the last few days of distance between you, and he wants so desperately to taste you.

But when he begins to kiss his way down your chest, your belly, towards your thighs, your fingers weave into the roots of his hair and you tug lightly to stop him.

“As nice as your mouth would be,” You breathe, your mouth curving into a grin. “I said I’d make you feel good, didn’t I?”

His ears twitch, and he tilts his head as he eyes you carefully. You look earnest, but he’s not sure if he understands. You do not want him to use his mouth on you? Why not?

When he doesn’t make any immediate moves, you appear to take initiative yourself. You reach out to take his hand in your much smaller one, and pull it down beneath the hem of the little tewng that had been specially made for you. When his fingers make contact with the wet heat of your cunt, he goes stock still.

“You…” He starts, his brow furrowing as his fingers slide along the slickness between your legs.

He dips one finger inside, awed by how easily it slips in. It seems like you’re already all stretched out, far wetter than natural – he recognises the texture of the tawtute-made liquid you used on occasion to make the size of him easier to take. Lube, you call it. He slips another finger in, and you moan softly at the slide of it.

“You are ready.” Tsu’tey rumbles in surprise, his fingers twitching inside you.

“I’ve been ready for days,” You complain, dropping your head against his shoulder as you move your hips, attempting to get his fingers working deeper. “Waiting for you to get over your stupid worry and just fuck me.”

That just about sends him over the edge entirely. You had prepared yourself for him just to save time with stretching? The thought of you walking around the kelku for days, all sloppy and dripping down your legs as you wait for him to emerge from his brooding mood and please you sends his thoughts scattering. Fuck. How could he have been so preoccupied with his stupid rope bridge when you were sitting waiting for him to pay attention to you?

“I will fuck you,” He breathes, nuzzling at your jaw eagerly. The human term is harsh on his tongue, but he enjoys the coarseness of it.

“Don’t be gentle.” You blurt, still writhing against the bulge beneath his tewng and sending zings of pleasure shooting up his spine. “Fuck me like you mean it. I won’t break.”

Tsu’tey lets out a soft hiss. Well. What kind of a man would he be if he did not obey his little mate’s orders?

Though you have been making demands, it still seems to surprise you when he launches into movement. He grips your hips and flips you around – it’s a quick movement, and it takes you a moment to regain your bearings when you find yourself on your hands and knees on the soft leaves he’s padded the kelku’s bouncy floor with.

“Fuck, yes.” You breathe, guessing where he’s going with this immediately. You arch your back, pushing your ass back eagerly into his hands as he unties your tewng and tosses it aside.

Tsu’tey bears his teeth in a grin, lowering his face to lay a hot, biting kiss between your shoulderblades.

“Needy girl,” He rumbles, groping at your ass as his thumbs roll around your puffy, slick pussy and pull you apart so that he can admire the sticky strands of arousal that drip from you. “You are so swollen here. My poor, neglected little mate. I will make this up to you.”

When brushes his fingers through the puffy lips of your cunt and then pushes inside, you can't quite stifle the whine that escapes you. It drives him crazy. You’re still squirming even on your hands and knees beneath him, and Tsu’tey hunches over you so he can plaster his big chest over your back.

His erection presses thick and heavy against your ass. He grinds into you at the same time as he reaches around and rubs quick, tight circles into your clit. You practically choke, alternating between pushing back into his erection which is laid flushed and hot between your thighs, and pushing forward into his hand, which is still toying with your pussy.

“Come on then, big guy,” You say, your voice wavering slightly as he rubs at your clit. “Stop telling me how good you can fuck me and actually do it.”

That makes Tsu’tey snicker into the hot skin of your neck. Oh, how he can’t wait to fulfill the orders of his bossy little mate.

Grinning, he reaches out and places a hand on the back of your neck before exerting gentle pressure to push you down onto the padded floor. You go willingly, until you’re face down and ass up in a position that has Tsu’tey’s mouth watering. He can smell your arousal, so sweet and dizzying as you lay exposed and waiting for him.

You crane your neck around so that you can see him as he eyes your arched back and exposed behind eagerly. You look flustered, but your eyes are still challenging as you watch him and wait for his next move.

“So impatient, ma’tawtute,” He rumbles, amused.

He smooths a hand over your waist and down over your hip and ass. A quick, open-palmed smack is delivered to the soft, squishy flesh of your ass, and you rock forward with a choked gasp. He was careful to control the pressure he used, but even still the hint of force makes your soft cunt flutter around nothing.

“Come on, big guy,” You gasp, laying your cheek flat against the padded floor as you push your ass back towards him eagerly. “Come on, come on-”

With you all spread out and wet and begging beneath him, his self-control crumbles. He tears off his tewng and grabs at his cock, stroking it with a growled rumble before rubbing the sensitive tip against the slick folds of your cunt.

You’re gasping already, before he even begins to press inside, and he can’t help but feel impossibly endeared by your stubborn nature. Look at you – so determined and eager to take him.

When he does begin to push inside, you drop your head down to the padded floor and moan, clearly just short of overwhelmed. You’re so tight, Tsu’tey swears he nearly blacks out. He pushes in slowly, his front plastered to your little back as one of his arms reaches under your stomach to support you. The two of you are breathing heavily; you from the struggle of accepting his size inside you, and him from the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“Breathe and relax, my small mate,” He grunts, squeezing his eyes tight as he nuzzles into your shoulder. “You are taking me so well.”

You do as he says unthinkingly, gasping a breath and forcing yourself to relax as he presses inside of you inch by excruciating inch. You can't seem to decide if you want him to hurry up and get it over with or go slow and gentle, and you keep alternating between twitching back on his cock and flinching away from it. Tsu’tey, however, is careful to keep a very medium pace; he pushes evenly and steadily until he's seated inside of you, hunched over your back, and then pauses to let you adjust.

As you tremble, face pressed into the floor as your pussy flutters frantically around his cock, Tsu’tey presses soft, insistent kisses all around your back and shoulders. It feels as though you’re trying to squeeze his cock right off, and he grunts a moan into the soft flesh of your bare back as you finally begin to ease up around him.

Then, finally, he begins to move.

"Fuck!" You gasp, squirming a little as he starts up at a steady pace.

When his hands come down to grip your hips and keep you in place, you grab at the leaf-padded floor, fingers scrabbling for purchase as the thrusting of his hips rocks your whole body forward.

He's barely started fucking you at all, but Tsu’tey’s thoughts are already scattered and his body feels like it's close to overheating already. There’s something about seeing you so hungry for him that sends him wild – he’s never taken you from behind before, but the view of your ass stuck up in the air as your cunt sucks him so greedily makes his head spin.

"You feel so good," Tsu’tey murmurs into the side of your throat before biting at it, "So tight around me. Oh, fuck, that's it."

Each thrust pushes you further up the floor, until you’re forced to stop grabbing at the leaf-padding and instead to reach behind you and grab at one of his hands. He takes your hand eagerly, wrapping your odd little five-fingered hand in his own four-fingered one and pinning it to the floor as his other hand uses your hip to pull you back into him. You moan quite happily as you bury your face into the leaf-padding as he fucks you into the floor.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts as best you can, and he bares his teeth at the sight beneath him. You’re just adorable – you glance over your shoulder and smile dazedly as you tighten up around him. He makes a soft sound of pleasure and wraps his arm firmly around your stomach to keep you close to him.

“Come on, ma’yawne,” He rumbles, nipping lightly at the juncture of your bare shoulder as you shudder beneath him. “Talk to me.”

You manage an embarrassingly breathless little moan in response, and Tsu’tey snorts a wild sort of laugh. It feels a little as though he's coming apart at the seams. Tsu’tey is big, a fact which is apparently emphasised even further in this position, and it's overwhelming but it's so good — you feel so delightfully perfect, all wrapped around him like a vice as he fills you up.

He must be hitting a spot inside you that makes your legs go weak, because your jaw is slack and you keep making senseless little gasping sounds as you go limp as he fucks into you. It’s so sweet that he thinks momentarily about relenting, but you had asked for this. You did not want him to be gentle, not tonight.

"I didn't hear you." He says, a warning in his voice. His fingers weave into the roots of your hair and fist at the base of your skull, before he pulls your head back so that your face is no longer buried in the floor. “I want to hear you talk to me, my girl.”

"Oh, fucking goddamn shit-" You manage to choke out. His hand pulling your hair has somehow caused you to go semi-boneless as he fucks into you.

He picks up his pace, his hips rolling into yours so that your breath is catching in your chest and your eyes are rolling wildly. When his hand slips under you to start playing with your clit, you make a soft, broken-sounding moan and throw your head back eagerly.

Tsu’tey is so close to coming that his head is actually swimming, his thoughts slow as molasses as every nerve and synapse tunes into you beneath him so that the only thing he can actually focus on is the feel of you gasping and writhing below. He has always taken mating with you seriously, but right now it feels as though his only purpose is touching and stroking and fucking you so good that you forget everything other than him.

“Oh god,” You wheeze, your little hand squeezing tight around his fingers as his other hand uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into his thrusts. “Oh god, oh god, oh god-”

He recognises that frantic edge to your voice, and he bares his teeth in pleasure as he realises just how close you are to coming. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, and he can feel the way they begin to tighten and draw up as his thrusts get faster. He’s close himself, his teeth practically buzzing with his oncoming orgasm, but he clenches his jaw as he attempts to hold it off. He wants so desperately to come inside you, but only after he’s experienced you creaming and squealing around his cock.

He adjusts his angle just slightly, but it's enough to have you dropping bonelessly back to the floor as you gasp.

"Fuck, there, don't stop!"

He snickers, though it trails off into a winded sort of snarl. His bossy, demanding little demon of a mate. Your orders only make his cock harder, and he lets out a whole body rumble as he feels his cock start to pulse inside your soft, wet, tight insides. He needs you to come now, before he completely loses his mind.

“Come, ma’yawntutsyìp, my precious one,” He grunts, leaving nipping kisses along the length of your spine. “I want to feel your release around me.”

The combination of his cock rubbing and grinding against the soft spongey part inside of you and the messy stimulation of your clit has your legs trembling and pussy quivering wildly. It feels like you’re being strung tighter and tighter under him as your orgasm draws closer and your breath begins coming in rapid pants.

You just manage to get out the words "Oh, yes-!" before the pleasure growing in your belly seems to crest and your back bows as you start to cum. All of the pressure that's been building up in your body is set free with the sweetest release, made all the sweeter by the fact that Tsu’tey keeps rocking into you the whole way through, the heavy head of his cock grinding hard against your G-spot the whole time.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth drops open as your orgasm rocks through you, and Tsu’tey watches with wide eyes and avid interest as your entire little body shudders and shakes beneath him.

“Yes,” He breathes, his whole face contorting in toe-curling pleasure as your cunt clenches and ripples around him. “Yes, my love, so good.”

Your orgasm seems to last forever, leaving your chest heaving and back glittering with sweat, but eventually you reach back and slap at his thigh.

“Turn me around,” You wheeze, sounding winded. “Keep going, I want you to come in me-”

Fuck, how he loves it when you make demands. He doesn’t even wait for you to finish speaking before he pulls out, gripping your hips and flipping you around so that you’re on your back. He pushes back in immediately, snarling out a desperate groan as his cock splits you open all over again, you wrapping him up all snug and tight inside.

One of his hands snakes under your back and curls around your waist to pull you up against him as he pounds into you. With the other arm, he's balanced himself on his forearm beside your head for leverage as he drives into you hard and fast. He is still conscious of your limits, of your soft and fragile little human body, but his head is reeling from the sheer sensation and from the squealing little moans that are escaping your mouth. He’s still careful not to hurt you, but he’s also rolling his hips into your more frantically than he’s ever done before.

When you hike your little legs up over Tsu’tey’s narrow hips and squeeze tight around him, he lets out a rather wrecked, desperate sounding whimper. He drops his head to your chest, shoving the woven chest covering out of the way so that he can suck one of your tits into his mouth, sloppily rolling your nipple around on his tongue and clutching at your ass with one hand when you arch into him.

“Oh, fuck,” You gasp, arching your back so that your breasts are pushed further into his face. Your voice is hoarse — you sound absolutely wrecked. “Oh god, yes, please-”

He's hovering right on the precipice of orgasm — it's obvious by his desperate open-mouthed panting, the way he hunches over as his thrusting starts to turn clumsy, and the way he's messily sucking at your tits.

What really pushes him over the edge, to his honest surprise, is when you moan out, “Fuck, I.. Tsu’tey, I really love you-”

Tsu’tey lets out a choked, desperate groan before dropping his forehead to your breastbone as he comes inside of you. It’s like a wave of white rushes through his mind, wiping everything clean inside his head as he strains desperately against you. The motion of his hips stutters and falters as his brow pinches, and he lets out a long, low moan as he grasps at you, his eyes squeezing shut tight as he feels his cum flood your cunt and overflow, dribbling down your ass.

"Oh." He groans, shivering as his elbows give out and he drops down on top of you so that you’re plastered together from head to toe. He tucks his face into your neck and kisses under your ear, enjoying the heat from your overworked, sweaty bodies while also being hyper-conscious of crushing you.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, which makes your bodies slide slickly together whenever either of you move. Tsu’tey’s hand drifts down over your ass, and he squeezes lazily at the soft, squishy flesh there.

“Are you well, my mate?” He rumbles, still a little dazed as he lifts his head to squint down at you. “Did I- are you hurt?”

You’re staring at the ceiling, mouth softly ajar as you take deep, heaving breaths. His question makes you laugh, though it’s a quiet, breathless little sound.

“No,” You whisper, your mouth curving in a dopy sort of smile. “Only sore in the best way. Fuck, that was good.”

The positive affirmation is exactly what he needed to hear, and he feels his tail begin to sway in slow satisfaction. You had been right, after all – you could take it, and you were not necessarily as delicate as he had feared after your injury. The lazy, contented smile on your face only reassures him further that you are happy and unscathed.

He pulls out carefully, his ears twitching as he leaves your perfect, wet warmth. You hiss at the sensation too, and he rumbles a quiet apology before running the pads of his fingers over your swollen, puffy pussy; his come is dripping slowly out of you, and he rubs absently at the wet white trails to massage it into your skin.

“Bring me to the bed,” You say, though it lacks the demanding edge of the previous requests you had made. You sound sleepy, as though he had entirely worn you out.

His mouth twitches, and he reaches down to scoop you into his arms. You go easily, your head rolling around on your neck as you nuzzle into his chest. To his surprise, his own knees feel a little jelly-like when he moves to stand and put weight on them. Damn, he doesn’t think an orgasm has ever left him reeling like this afterwards.

When he lays you out on the tawtute-style bed he had made for you out of plant fibres and leaves, he crawls up next to you and stretches out, his tail undulating in lazy satisfaction. You roll over and shove your face up against his still glistening chest, burrowing close to him.

“Told you I could take it.” You say. You sound exhausted, but so damn pleased with yourself.

Tsu’tey just laughs, a tired sort of chuckle as he nuzzles his nose into your sweet-smelling hair.

“You take it so well, ma’yawntutsyìp,” He assures you fondly, pressing a little kiss to the top of your small, blunt little ear.

When he takes your hand and pulls it up to his face, he gives a small smile and presses his mouth to the near-invisible remnants of bruising around your wrist. He bares his sharp teeth against your fragile skin as he murmurs, “And I love you too.”

#tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey smut #tsu'tey #avatar wotw #avatar x reader #na'vi x human #na'vi x reader #terato #fics #tsu'tey fic #alien x human #avatar 2 #avatar 2009

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lucyandalexiafan · 3 months

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I’m scared | Alexia Putellas x reader | part 1

Summary: after yet another attempt to pretend to want to have sex with Alexia, the blonde tries to understand why you don't tell her that you don't want to have sex with her and why you are so scared every time she touches you.

Warnings: angst. This work is talking about past sexual abuses (not in a detailed way, but to explain why reader doesn’t want to have sex with ale), so if it’s trigger don’t read, please. Fluff in the end (?).

Words: 3k

I tried to write with “you” to refer to reader, i don’t know if I did it in the right way but I wanted to try to write in this way; as usually, if something is wrong, say it and I’ll correct.

I’m really emotive involved in this work, so pls be kind and respectful 🫶🏻

This is part one of this ask: ask

You and Alexia are walking.

The weather is perfect: clear sky, the sun that warms despite the winter cold.

The dirt road without potholes.

There is no one but you two.

The pace of the walk is slow.

Calm.

There's no hurry.

Barcelona is on your right, veiled in the January fog.

You're walking her favorite trail, but Alexia hasn't explained to you why she asked you to take this walk on a Sunday after lunch.

The blonde had asked you if you would like to go with her to a Barça under 11 girls' match where she was supposed to be present, and then eat at the sports center; at the end of it all, while you were in the car, she asked you to take that walk.

You nodded, smiling, even though an unfamiliar feeling was invading your body.

She had been weird since this morning.

Cold.

Thoughtful.

You bite your lip while you kick some pebbles.

You tried to make conversation a couple of times and she always ended any dialogue in its tracks.

She has her hands stuffed into the pockets of her blue jacket.

Her hair loose.

Her forehead is decorated, every now and then, with wrinkles.

Her lips closed in a line.

She looks older today.

More tired.

Today there is no trace of the woman who looks five years younger.

Is it your fault?

Did you do something?

She runs a hand through her hair and tucks a tuft behind her ear.

Her posture is rigid.

She smiled less today.

She sought less contact than usual.

She is weird.

She swallows her saliva in an attempt to ward off that anxiety.

You are also relatively distant on a physical level.

She opens her mouth a couple of times to speak.

And, when she doesn't say anything, she pretends it's to sigh.

Should you ask her?

Speak?

But she cut off every attempt to do it before.

Maybe she's sad, or something happened and she just wants to stay quiet. After all, many times you have been quiet, at her house or while walking around Barcelona, and she says that she likes it.

That she feels comfortable with you in silence.

But she looks so uncomfortable today.

She takes a deep breath.

“I have to ask you something,” she announces.

You look at her.

She is serious.

No smile.

Her lips are a flat line.

She doesn't turn to look for you, her eyes fixed on the road.

You invite her to continue.

You scratch your forearm nervously.

What's taking her so long?

What should she ask?

What did she do?

What have you done?

“But I would like you to be honest”

You nod.

What happened?

Why all this preamble?

Usually, it's you who does it, who makes a thousand assumptions.

“Why do you pretend to want to have sex when you don't want to have it?”

You stop, frozen.

The hand that was scratching the forearm is still, the nails still in contact with the skin.

She closes her eyes.

Her voice is neutral.

But is she mad?

Disappointed?

She turns to look at you.

Your head is bowed, your position is arched, your shoulders forward.

She stands straight, rigid.

"You did it last night too - she sighs - Last night too you tried to pretend and I think it's the fifth or sixth time in the last month"

You swallow the saliva.

“I want to understand why you don't tell me that you don't want to have sex - she stops for a moment - It's not a problem if you don't want to, but you have to tell me, do you understand me?”

You nod uncertainly.

How did she understand it?

What can you tell her?

From her voice, she sounds more worried than mad.

She closes her eyes.

It's true what she said.

During the last month, you have pretended to want to have sex several times.

Then, each time, she interrupted the attempt.

She laid next to you.

She kissed you.

She rested her arm on your hip or belly.

And she closed her eyes.

You clench your jaw.

"I…"

“Look at me, please”

Is it urgency?

It doesn't sound like a reproach, an order.

But more of a request.

You would like to deny it, to say that it's not true.

Say that she's lying.

But what's the point of it?

She understood it.

She understood that there is something.

And if she's talking about it, for how long had she thought about it?

Does it make sense to deny it?

Lie?

Telling lies to cover up something so obvious?

“I… I… - you sigh - I'm scared”

You whisper.

Your voice weak, maybe overwhelmed by the breeze.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation, shame.

"About what? What are you afraid of?"

Did she really not understand or does she want you to say it?

She always understands everything about you.

It's like you're predictable with her, it doesn't matter if you've been dating for more or less four months, camps and games aside, she always understands.

Does she have any ideas?

Maybe she hopes this isn't what it is.

Maybe she wants an excuse to dump you.

“That you… that you do it even if I don't want to”

She asks you what it means.

What does she think of you now?

What does she think of this unhealthy fear?

You point your gaze at the panorama.

You stare at a flock of birds.

They move haphazardly, as your thoughts.

“I almost got raped by my ex-boyfriend - you close your eyes - He gaslighted me… he said it was my fault if we didn't have sex, that if I hadn't had it I would never have felt ready, that I was ungrateful because he also thought to my pleasure"

You sigh.

You put your hand on your eyes.

You wrinkle them.

You are trembling.

What will she think of you now?

What will she think of you after she finds out?

“One night I had to sleep at his house and… he tried to penetrate me several times - a sob escape from your lips - He said that I had to stay still, that nothing would happen”

You never talk about it.

Never.

To nobody.

Three or four people know.

You are so ashamed of yourself.

You know that it was not your fault, that you don't have to feel that guilt, but you can't do other than feel it.

It happened years ago but it is as fresh in your mind.

“He also did it two nights later, when I was forced to stay at his house because I was quite ill and unable to come back home with my bike”

All you need is one wrong touch and you remember him.

You remember that moment.

That scene.

You relive it endlessly.

Relive that fear.

That terror.

That rejection.

That trying not to think of the worst.

That cry when, months later, you understood that what had happened wasn't normal.

“I… I risked losing my virginity through rape”

A whisper.

A faint, insecure phrase interrupted by panting.

The trembling voice.

“He did so much gaslighting that he ended up dumping me because we weren't having sex and telling me it was my fault – you swallow your saliva – But before dumping me he tried several times to do it, to penetrate me”

You sigh a couple of times.

She is silent.

You don't dare look at her.

You don't want to see the look on her face.

You bite your lip.

“I... I know you won't do it, really - you sigh - But subconsciously I'm afraid that you'll break up with me if we don't do it and I try to convince myself that it's what I want”

You mess up your hair.

You pull the sleeves of your shirt up and down several times, nervously.

“I'm afraid you'll get bored of me if we don't do this or that-”

You close your eyes.

Will she hate you if you say it?

What will she think?

Will she scream?

Will she hit you?

Will she insult you?

Or maybe she will go away.

She will return to the car with the idea of returning home without you and never seeing you again.

She doesn't speak.

Why doesn't she speak?

“Subconsciously I'm afraid that you... that you'll do it anyway - you sigh, your voice broken by the crying that threatens to start - that you'll fuck me anyway, so I try to convince myself that I want it. So... so if-if you do it maybe-maybe I'll live it better"

The tears that flow.

If she dumped you, you would understand.

On the one hand, you don't satisfy her.

You are full of trauma.

You can't even have sex when she wants.

On the other hand, you defined her as a possible rapist.

Cruel, that you think only of yourself.

“I know you wouldn't do it, really - you add urgently, the fear that she will interrupt you - But subconsciously I'm afraid of it”

You hug yourself.

As to protect yourself.

As if to ward off any sort of reaction.

"Why did not you tell me?"

Is it sadness?

Penalty?

Compassion?

You shake your head.

“What did I have to tell you? - the sarcastic tone - That I'm subconsciously afraid that you're a rapist because the first one I did something with almost raped me? That for everything I have one trauma that might annoy you?”

You clench your jaw.

You laugh sardonically.

“Romantic as a conversation to have after a few months of dating”

There is a pause.

You don't look at her.

Why doesn't she scream?

Why doesn't she hit you?

Why doesn't she react?

“Have I ever done anything when you were pretending?”

You shake your head nervously.

Quickly.

"No. Never - you giggle nervously - You always understood somehow”

“But we almost had sex that night. I touched you"

You nod. “I wanted it, that evening”

She sighs.

Her eyes stained with pity, with compassion.

"Why did not you tell me? - you don't answer - Little one, I would never get mad if you didn't want to have sex with me"

She's not sincere.

It is not true.

She's lying.

How can she not get mad?

“It's just that every time I want to have sex you seem to want it and I try, and then sometimes in you change... I feel you change - she shakes her head - I would never do anything to you that you don't want, little one, but you have to tell me”

Why can't you believe she's sincere?

You have too many problems.

Too much anxiety.

Too many traumas.

Why can't you trust her?

“I'm scared,” you whisper.

You're really afraid that the woman you're falling in love with will rape you.

That will abuse you.

To convince you that it's your fault.

That you wanted it.

Would you really be able to walk away, to escape, if she did that?

“It's true that you stopped those times, but if I told you in the meantime, how would you take it? - you shake your head, tears falling to the ground - I'm afraid that you will hurt me like everyone else has always done"

She doesn't say a word.

You sob.

You gasp.

“I know you wouldn't do it, really... but I'm afraid that you would hit me or yell at me or that I would disappoint you - you sniff - I don't want this relationship to end because I only have traumas and I only cause problems”

“Baby, I will never hurt you because you don't want to have sex, ever”

You shake your head.

The tears falling to the ground.

The chest is invaded by contractions.

“I know, really… but when we're there I have an irrational fear that you will - you wipe your eyes - I know it doesn't make sense, but it's as if that fear comes over me”

She doesn't come close.

She doesn't move.

She is still.

You look at her.

The wrinkles on the forehead are more noticeable.

The mouth is a thin line.

Did you disappoint her?

Is she exhausted by you?

“It's like those times I can't control myself”

The tears that run relentlessly down your cheeks.

You open and close your eyes several times waiting for them to go away, let them disappear.

Admitting it, it hurts.

It burns the chest and inflames the sense of guilt.

Saying it out loud is a stab.

“Have you told anyone about this? A psychologist”

You shake your head quickly.

“No, never… I… in the end, it's just how I saw it, you know?"

You feel so humiliated.

Stupid.

Pathetic.

“And then he hasn't completely done it, so it doesn't make sense that I feel so bad. In the end... in the end, it's nothing, it's me who exaggerates"

“Baby, he almost raped you - you lament at the word - Amor it's not a normal thing, it's not a small thing. Don't deny what he did or try to justify it."

You shake your head.

“I'm not saying it is, but that... it's not serious enough”

“Baby yesterday you got scared when I touched your hip while I was kissing you - you look at her suddenly - You reflexively moved exactly like at the beginning when you were scared I would hit you”

You close your eyes.

“And it's not the reflex you have when you get scared because you don't hear me entering in the kitchen while you're cooking, it was fear. I saw that light of fear in your eyes for a few moments"

“I… please, sorry”

The nausea that invades your body.

You feel so guilty.

So wrong.

So stupid.

Why can't you enjoy something?

Did she feel guilty because of you?

Did you make her suffer?

Did you hurt her?

“Baby, don't apologize, please - she sighs, as she tries to get closer - It's not your fault”

Take a step back.

“But it is! - you almost scream - I'm the one who can't have sex with you, you're not him!”

Your chest rises and falls quickly.

You gasp.

You're out of breath.

You hate screaming.

To lose control.

But you don't like talking about the topic and you're afraid that she will use your words to leave, to look for someone better than you.

“Little one, this is a trauma independent of the person in front of you”

There is silence.

You do not answer.

What should you say?

You are standing still, a few steps away.

“I… I understand if you want to leave me - you hesitate - If… if I'm too full of problems, if you want someone easier…”

You leave the sentence halfway.

You hope she completes it.

But she doesn't.

She doesn't say anything.

She doesn't say a word.

“Amor, it's not a problem if you don't feel like having sex with me, either when you're scared or normally, really - you look at her - But you have to tell me because only then can I understand and not hurt you”

The tears that continue to flow from your eyes.

“Baby, I don't want to break up with you, least of all for this reason. I just want to understand."

She moves closer to you.

You lower your head, shrug your shoulders.

Does she want to hit you?

Does she want to hurt you?

The truth is, you wouldn't stop her.

You wouldn't stop her from hitting you.

After all, why shouldn't she?

“Seriously baby, I don't want to break up with you or hurt you… I just wanted to understand - she sighs - So we can act consequently, so I can help you”

How long did she think about it?

How much time did you steal from her?

You drag your hands down your pants.

Why is she so nice to you?

Why is she so normal?

So emotive available?

She hugs you.

You rest your head on her shoulder, you close your eyes.

You breathe her scent.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry” you say it over and over again.

Her hand runs down your back in a steady motion.

Relaxing.

Consolatory.

“I'm sorry,” you sob.

“Why don't we do something? - she asks you when she moves away from your body - Next time you will take the initiative - "

“No, no please no” you whisper interrupting her, looking at her scared.

Eyes more open than usual.

The vision blurred with tears.

“Baby, I don't want to force you, I want you to understand that I don't want to hurt you, that I can wait”

“But I know!” You interrupt her urgently.

With fear.

“Baby I want it to come from you, I want you to understand that we don't have to have sex every time we see each other. It's normal not to want it if you don't feel ready for it, if we do other things than sex"

You look down.

“It's really normal baby - she pauses - It's normal not to want to have sex when you don't feel like it”

“But… but what if you and I… what if after doing it I don't want to do it for a while, I don't feel ready for it?”

“Baby it's normal, it happens to everyone - she stops, places her hand under your chin, applying pressure to be looked at - Even more so in this situation”

Is she sincere?

Do you seriously think so?

“I'm just afraid that you won't want me anymore”

“Baby, I'm in love with you for the person you are, not for the sex”

You look at her.

Her eyes are wide.

Is she in love with you?

She smiles embarrassed.

Shy.

She is - is she really...

In love.

You smile through your tears.

You look at her in disbelief.

Did she really say that?

She has that sly smile on her face, that smile that she made you fall in love with.

She won't hurt you.

At least her, her won't hurt you.

#woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #alexia putellas fanfics #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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alotofpockets · 3 months

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Final four | Leah Williamson

Pairing: Leah Williamson x Dutch!Reader

Summary: Playing against your girlfriend was never easy, but playing against her team for a spot in the final four of the nations league was tough on another level.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8k

-----

Playing for a different country than your girlfriend meant that you would have to play against each other from time to time. You had never been a fan of having to play against her, since it always meant that only one of you could win. Playing with Leah was much more your cup of tea. Arsenal was where the two of you had met and fell in love, you had played there together for years now.

Going into the Nations League, you knew that you were going to be competing in the same league, but you cursed yourself when you found out that both The Netherlands and England had been drawn into group A1, meaning that even if everything went well for both your teams, only one of your teams was going to make it into the final four.

You were nearing the end of the group stages, just two more matches to be played, Scotland vs Belgium, and The Netherlands vs England. The Netherlands and England shared the first position in the group, only England taking the lead on goal difference, meaning that the winner of tonight’s game was going to qualify either Leah’s team or your team.

In the locker room you were gearing up nervously, your mind stuck on the fact that it was going to be either you or Leah. You sat in your cubby next to Viv, the only person who knew exactly how you were feeling. While neither her or Beth were captaining their teams, she was in the same boat, it was either going to be her or her girlfriend moving up in the competition. Viv was a close friend of yours, as you played for the same club and county, you had known her for years, and she knew how to read you well. “The high’s and low’s of football are so close together. I know it seems stressful right now, but no matter what happens, it is going to be okay.” She said with a reassuring hand on your knee. “Thanks Viv.”

You didn’t feel like you should be the one giving the pre-match speech right now, but as the captain it was your duty to do so. “Alright team, listen up.” You stood in the middle of the room. “This is a big game. As you all know, only the winner gets a spot in the final four. We have been performing well, but don’t forget that they have been as well. I want each and everyone of you to give it your all out there.” You looked around at your team proudly. “Let’s show them what we’ve got. Team on three.” Everyone stood and put their hands together, “One, two, three.” You count off, and the room fills with one loud “Team.”

The team starts lining up in the tunnel, you put your game face on and try to get in the game zone mind wise. The England squad lines up next to you, this was really happening. When Leah stood next to you she reached out her hand, with her head still facing the field in front of her. You take her hands, and give it a squeeze, before looking up at the sky and closing your eyes. The moment of the two captains was of course filmed as the camera crew was ready to film the teams entering the field, a moment that you would forever treasure no matter today’s outcome.

With one last deep breath, you let go of Leah's hand, as you both lead your teams out onto the field. Both national anthems are sung, and one more quick team huddle was held, before you made your way to the middle of the field. You shake hands with the referees as well as Leah of course.

Before you walk back to your respected places on the field, you give her one last hug. “Give it your all.” You whisper in her ear. She gives you a final squeeze with the words, “You too.” While it was stressful playing against your girlfriend, it was reassuring to you to have moments like this with her before.

The teams were well matched, possession of the ball was switched around constantly. It was getting frustrating for you as a forward to not get the ball further onto the field than a little past the halfway line before it was intercepted by an England player.

When Jackie intercepted the ball from a bad pass between Keira and Georgia, she lifted her eyes to see you running along the flank. Her pass came in your direction, and with a perfect first touch, you managed to run forward. It was the first time either team had really been able to build up an attack, and you wanted to make the best of it. Though before you could build up further Leah slid in with a slightly late tackle, making you crash into the ground. “Shit, are you okay?” Leah was by your side instantly, her hand placed on your back as you fell face first onto the pitch. The referee blew the whistle for a free kick, while you answered her, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Leah helped you up and patted your back.

Sherida lined up to take the free kick, and you made your way into the penalty area with the rest of your teammates who had already made their way over. Since the game had been so even, without any shots on goal, this free kick from a promising position had to be taken advantage of. So, when the ball came soaring your way at the far post, you headed it with all the power and spin that you could give it. You didn’t see the ball hit the net, but by the eruption of the crowd you knew you had scored. Your teammates flooded in around you, patting your head and cheering you on. “Come on, let’s keep this up, ladies!”

Sadly your lead on the opposition wasn’t for long as Alessia made the score not even two minutes after your goal. The half time whistle sounded and the score was still level as you made your way back into the tunnel. Time in the locker room flies by, after short pep-talk and some hydration, you head back onto the field.

The sixtieth minute was coming closer and subs from both teams were warming up along the sidelines, getting ready to replace some of the tired legs on the field. The speed of the game seemed to pick up again after the substitutions were made, as England came charging forward. Beth tricked one of your defenders and the goalkeeper by making it seem like she was going to set up Alessia with the ball, but taking the shot herself. Her ball hit the back of the net, way out of reach for Daphne.

Your team wanted to get the ball moving again quickly, waiting in the middle of the field for the whistle to blow. Luckily it didn’t take long for Daan to shoot the ball over the top, for Damaris to pick up. Damaris ran forwards as Mary came charging forward to get the ball, with one swift motion she lobbed the ball over the English goalkeeper, to once again make the score level.

Both teams were fighting for the goal to put them ahead again, but as the minutes passed by, that goal didn’t seem to come. The ninety minutes had been played, you had just four more minutes of added time before you would have to go into extra time, something you really weren’t hoping for. You knew your teammates well and could see that they were exhausted from the match already.

You were in the last minute of stoppage time when Vic managed a clean tackle earning her the ball. She looked up and kicked it to you, but you were quickly surrounded by England jerseys, so you passed the ball off to Esmee. The young player didn’t even look before lining up her shot, knowing that if she took her time she would be surrounded the same way as you were. You watched the ball fly into the penalty area where Viv and Damaris were ready to head the ball towards goal. It was Damaris who managed to connect her head to the ball. Time seemed to slow down as the ball moved towards the goal, and right over the tips of Mary’s stretched out hands. It sped up again once it hit the back of the net.

Damaris ran to the rest of the team at the sidelines, with all the players on the field following behind. Ending in one big group hug, with people jumping on each other, and tumbling over in excitement. A stoppage time goal to send you through to the semi-finals.

Celebrating that moment with your team came first, but once you stepped away from the group, you looked for Leah instantly. You found her standing on the other side of the field, her hands on her thighs as she was leaning over in defeat. While you were happy for your team to make it to the next round, you were also gutted for her.

You hug the England players you meet on your way to her, all of them being your friends as well, since you’ve been with Leah for years. When you made it to your girlfriend she had fallen onto her knees in the grass with tears falling down her face. You sit down on your knees in front of her and wrap your arms around her, “You played so well, darling.” You knew that no words were going to stop her from feeling this tough defeat, but you wanted her to know that she did good. “Made your team, and your country proud.” She buried her head into your chest, and you held her while rubbing your hands up and down her back.

When Leah’s tears stopped flowing, the two of you sat down together. You wiped the tears of her cheeks, “I know that right now it might not feel like it, but you can be proud of yourself for your performance during this competition, both as an individual player, and the team captain. I know that I am, Leah, I am so proud of you.”

Even though the defeat stung, Leah wanted to make sure that you knew that she was happy for you. “We’ll since we’re on the topic of being proud.” She started and you saw a slight smile appear on her face. “You did incredible, and you deserve to be a part of the final four. I am very proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself as well.” She hugs you tight, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

While playing against each other wasn’t easy, you knew that you would always be happy for the other, be supportive, and be proud of each other, no matter what. Your love for each other was bigger than the highs and lows of football.

-----

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 months

Text

It’s hilarious how Vaggie made herself a ‘sinner’.

How that linked her up with Charlie is such a weird, round about truthful way, even when she was lying by omission about it.

And how amazingly dumb it all makes Adam and Lute look.

Thousands of helpless souls killed by her, but she didn’t do anything ‘wrong’ until she wondered if what she was doing was right. The divine powers in her life only took her wings and condemned her to hell after she doubted their orders, their idea of justice, and quietly chose not to completely follow them.

“You fucked up” they tell her “your mistake” she “left the band” “tried for a solo career". It’s so pathetic. They're so butthurt over the idea of one of their own having a mind of her own.

It’s also so funny, because they spin her simple act of whispering “Go, run. Now!” to demon kid she’d been holding at spear point like it was big defiant move- which makes it into one- even though she never challenged them openly, or threatened them.

Hell, Lute’s “You always were weak” plus exorcist Vaggie always frowning while her murder sisters all grin with glee as they kill sinners- it paints a picture of Vaggie never having been as into exterminations as she ‘should’ have been. Too weak to be a proper exorcist no matter how good at killing she was, not just “the traitor” but also “the failure”.

And she was scared of that. She didn’t want anyone seeing her spare that child, whispered her words to them in a back alley, out of sight.

She was scared of what would happen and didn’t even fight it when Lute took her eye and wings- she was scared and no threat in any tangible way, but apparently refusing to do one single murder is enough to freak Adam and Lute the fuck out.

One woman. Doesn’t do exactly what she’s told. After who knows how many decades of being one of the “top girls” at murder, a “bad bitch” named after “the best thing ever”, and they still get spooked by that tiny moment when she wasn’t under their total control. Like it's such a betrayal to them, her daring to so much as think this level of violence isn’t justified actually, and for a split second act on that thought.

It’s an instant ticket to ousting her from the exorcists AND from heaven, while they fly the fuck off again.

“If angels can do whatever, and remain in the sky-”

and they do. After doing that to one of their own. They did that, to someone who was supposedly meant to be in heaven. They didn’t wait for divine justice- took it, and her eye, and her wings, and her halo, into their own hands and tore them away from her. Then happily, they spend the next three years up in heaven, slurping smoothies and doing more murder sprees.

until Vaggie comes strolling back with the princess of hell, there supporting her girlfriend and the idea that all the shit she did for so long really was and IS wrong.

oh and Adam and Lute are pisssssssed about it. They take her being there PERSONALLY, wanna solve it with VIOLENCE

She hurts them without even trying. Without even noticing they're there.

They're told to fix the princess of hell situation and they have no concept of forgiveness, of caring about sinners, so they guess (rightly) that Vaggie hasn't told Charlie about her past and bet (wrongly) that Charlie would never forgive her if she knew, and also assumed (rightly) that Vaggie would be terrified of that

But they don't get that she's scared of hurting Charlie. Of Charlie being hurt by her. It's a selfless thing. That's her whole PROBLEM.

Her running to hold Charlie after the reveal- her NOT breaking down when Charlie takes alone time in the aftermath, respecting that right up until she thinks Charlie's actively in danger- afraid FOR Charlie when the deal with Alastor is made, no crumbling that Charlie went to someone else for help, when being helpful to Charlie is basically her raison d'étre- agreeing to go alone to an overlord, after learning she can DIE and THIS OVERLORD knows how to do it- all this for the sake of Charlie's dream, their shared goal, their hotel. Their friends, resigned to despair in the hotel lobby, losing hope and maybe hours away from losing their lives

No shit she was never going to bow down to the blackmail?? It'd be like turning herself inside out. Charlie isn't just some "little hottie" or whatever, they're partners. They're in this together. Even when Charlie out loud doubts if that's true, it still is.

Lute and Adam don't GET what it means, that Charlie assumed Vaggie was a sinner already. That the thing she'd be hurt about was the lying, not the murder. She was scared of not really being loved by Vaggie- of everything else wonderful between them being a lie too, all that support and faith empty empty- she wasn't afraid of loving Vaggie, whoever Vaggie had been, she was afraid of who Vaggie might be now and that she'd never really believed in Charlie at all.

Charlie was angry at the thought that Vaggie didn't think she would've accepted her. The idea of not really being understood or trusted by Vaggie, that's what hurt.

And it goes against everything Lute and Adam are, Charlie actually caring about sinners while knowing what they've done- about an exorcist after finding out who they'd been- really trusting that people can change. Lute and Adam hear her say it and see her stand up for it and they just want her to shut up and die

again though, no shit she was going to stick with Vaggie after the truth came out, in the end. Once she had a moment to take a breath and step out of her head long enough for a reality check

Vaggie didn’t say to Charlie what she'd done or who she'd been. But she’s been and keeps doing what she can to follow that idea, unvoiced, from that day when she couldn’t kill a sinner- something Charlie didn't know about but now knows must have happened- A final death means no second chance and no worth as a person, but Vaggie didn’t think that, even before meeting Charlie she didn't think that.

She's always been on Charlie's side. They were on the same side before they ever set eyes on each other. All this time, for three whole years, and now she's off to go find a way to protect everything they've built together.

"-words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth"

Charlie never really stopped trusting her. Maybe she wondered if she should, but even then, she had Vaggie go to Carmilla to find the key that might save them all.

"She killed an exorcist in the last extermination. She knows how they can be harmed."

"But… I- I didn't even know that was possible."

"If you did, would you have told me?"

So Charlie asked. A pretty painful thing to say- and she said it even as she sent an angel to go find out a way to hurt other angels.

She DID trust that Vaggie WOULD tell her.

The irony of all this happening thanks to Adam and Lute trying to keep it from happening, and all of it leading up to Vaggie getting back part of what they took from her, because now she doesn't need them or heaven to be an angel anymore.

Charlie has faith in her. Enough to send her off on an important mission even after Vaggie hurt her- and send her right to the person who end up helping Vaggie get back her wings.

“The rules are shades of gray when you don’t do as you say”

Vaggie’s new fucking wings are gray when Lute sees them. When Vaggie’s standing over her, sparing her life, her wings and that one, fucking unexplained stripe separating her from the other exorcists, all of it is GRAY.

That visual gut punch of, you’re. Fucking. Wrong. You’re wrong about sinners, you’re wrong about supposedly protecting heaven, you’re wrong thinking you can just DO this shit. That imagery of an angel who DIDN’T stay in the sky because she DIDN’T think being angel meant everything she did had to be right- who’s here in hell, trying to protect sinners from heaven’s slaughter-

And Lute wanted Vaggie to “correct” HER “mistake”? Vaggie’s???

That’s Lute, admitting that people in hell can get second chances and make up for what they did. Admitting that “Sinful filth” like Vaggie can be redeemed in some way, by following Lute’s version of what’s right.

But wasn’t her and Adam’s whole thing the idea of blowing your shot? Getting no other chance after it?

Oh yeah. Vaggie doesn’t believe that though. Not for sinners like her, not for angels like her.

She let’s Lute live. She does it to make Lute suffer, but there are a lot of ways to make someone suffer- an eye for an eye for example- and Vaggie chooses the one that doesn’t hurt Lute more than it has to, that leaves her alive, and leaves Lute’s suffering to be something completely of Lute’s own making (a HELL of Lute's own making, if you will) (Lute choosing to tear her OWN arm off to continue the fight-).

She's totally dismissive of the woman who was just going after her remaining eye like a dog after a bone.

Why is it that nothing Adam and Lute to do her matters?

Why don’t THEY matter to her at all?

Walking right past them, being so done with them up in heaven, not caving to the blackmail, only being worried about Charlie afterwards, not letting that crack in their relationship stop her from doing what she can for their hotel, Lute threatening to take her other eye and BLIND her just making her snark- even the vague threat to Charlie only gives Vaggie the oomf she needed to defend herself.

“Pathetic” she calls Lute. She’s right- they’re so pathetic, both them, Adam and Lute. They’re so scared of being wrong. So pissy over the idea of being less than great and perfect.

It breaks them. Adam’s last words are him having a meltdown in the face of not actually being hot shit. Where’s his respect, he wails, they should all be worshiping him! But they’re not. One of his random decedents stabs him to death because he would’ve done the same to her, and one of the last things he hears is Vaggie- the fuck up, the traitor, his former grumpy top girl Vagina- whooping with glee as he dies.

And Lute lives knowing that could’ve been her, too.

If it wasn't for Vaggie.

Being not all that didn’t break Vaggie. Finding out she was wrong got her to stop and think and change, not run straight on blindly into a fight that ends up with her (with HIM) dead.

Why does she go from terrified of Lute and Adam, to dismissive and annoyed and just all around not caring about them at all?

They gave up all her respect for them when they demanded the death of a child.

The father of humanity wanted a child killed. A helpless, whimpering kid, sacrificed to his ego and bruised pride, and for shits and giggles. His first lieutenant saw failing to do so as a sin worthy of hell. All this over a child. How could she ever take them seriously after that.

She came down from high and chased the child and held a blade over them on divine command.

Then, somehow, she saw the HORNS in her own shadow above them- even though she wasn’t WEARING her MASK, and she stopped.

She was her own messenger angel.

She chose to give the child mercy, and became the sacrifice herself.

Vaggie stuck it to the man. Didn’t steal that life. And, terrified of what would happen to her next, acted selflessly. The same thing that got her left behind in hell should have earned her place in heaven, according to Adam-

heaven was shit to her though. Made her into a soldier. Sent her to kill and kill and kill. Taught her trust on the battlefield- in heaven, of all fucking places-

Timeline wise we see her very first smile when she meets Charlie. When a stranger does- again- the bare minimum for someone else.

When she’s back up in heaven later she isn’t wistful, just angry, uncomfortable, annoyed. She isn’t happy there. It’s not home to her, like her and Charlie’s room back at the hotel is. Why should it be? What good did she ever find in herself up there?

Down here though, she's happy. Hell is where her heaven started. So I guess in the end, she did find what she’d earned after all. Or it, Charlie, found her.

When “The rules are shades of gray…”

Sometimes they’re wrong, and you have to break them.

People like Lute and Adam would rather crack under the pressure and die instead, but not Vaggie. They're out for blood. She's out for love.

Sucks to be them~

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #charlie morningstar #chaggie #speculation #silly headcanons #fans of adam and lute im sorry if this shows up in your searches- please scroll on if you don't like your blorbos being called pathetic..#repeatedly #for #several paragraphs...#hmm #anyway tldr: the irony of vaggie's history amuses me greatly #she did like the bare minimum and got fucked over so badly for it she just went Fuck It Now I KNOW You're All Assholes #amazing

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skipper1331 · 7 months

Text

Baby // Esme Morgan

a/n: based off this request. Enjoy:)

"My love" the blonde whispered as she hugged from behind, trailing soft kisses along your neck. You couldn‘t help but melt in her grasp, your skin tingling at each brush of her lips. "You‘re so beautiful" her hands rested flat on your growing stomach. Ever since you told Esme that you were pregnant, her sweet girl personality just turned sweeter. She was the happiest person, you were her wife and soon the mother of her child. Everything felt perfect, Esme treated you with so much respect and love, cared about you like no one else did.

"I missed you today" you whispered, your head falling against her shoulder as you softly swayed to the soft music in the background.

"I missed you too but I’m also a bit mad at you" she matched your voice level, still pressing featherlight kisses along your skin.

You stopped your movement, turning in her hold as you looked at her confused, "why?"

"My girl, I told you I’d go to the grocery store yet you did it by yourself" she stated.

"But you were at training and I had nothing to do" you grumbled, crossing your arms as you glared at her.

"you’re not supposed to carry heavy things" she smiled down at you, so much adoration in her eyes. She looked at you like you hung the moon.

Every day, she thanked the universe that she could call you her own.

"Baby!" you whined, "I can still do things in the household"

With her finger on your lips, she shushed you, "Firstly, you carry our baby, so don’t carry heavy stuff. And secondly, you help enough already by motivating me with your existence" she grinned, littering kisses all over your face, to which you responded with her favorite sound: giggles.

"Hello, here is your mama" the defender mumbled against your tummy, her thumbs drawing circles at your sides, "I love you very very much. And your mommy, I love her very much too" Esme looked at you, loving eyes already staring back at her. Your heart fluttered at each of her words, your skin tingled at each touch and your mind was consumed by the thoughts of Esme interacting with your baby. She’ll be a great mama. "I‘ll raise you as the biggest City fan. You will walk around with a little jersey and then you‘ll meet your aunties." the city player stated.

The answer came straightaway - a kick.

The blonde gasped loudly, sitting up, "That was an agreement!"

"No it wasn’t" you laughed, "he‘s going to be raised as a gunner"

Esme left your touch, immediately, her expression unreadable. You never saw that kind of a look in her eyes. She seemed shocked, happy, confused and- you couldn‘t tell. Did you say something wrong?

"It‘s going to be a boy?" she breathed out.

Shit! You didn‘t mean to ruin the surprise of the gender.

"Esme- I’m so sorry!" you tried explaining, your hands grabbing her own as you were about to cry, too many emotions filling your body.

"Hey, don’t cry. My love, don‘t cry" she was by your side in an instant, her arms around your body as you cried in her chest. The defender whispered sweet nothings into your ear while she tracing patterns on your skin, in a manner of calming you down.

As your tears stopped rolling you down your cheeks, you looked up, the lioness smiling at you with her own tears in the corner of her eyes, "it‘s going to be a boy."

nothing but pride shone through her eyes as her smile showed her happiness.

"What if he doesn‘t want to be a sky blue?" Esme asked as the two of you laid on the couch, the tall girl absentmindedly playing with your hair. "What if he wants to be a red devil? That would be the worst" she grumbled, continuing to ramble about the choice of club.

Chuckling into her chest, you couldn‘t help but admire her, she often told you about the things she wanted to show your baby boy and let you feel like the prettiest person alive by just looking about you. It was amusing that she was seriously concerned which club your little man would support. "You know I think red is the better colour"

"I know" the blonde groaned, hiding her face, "you‘re lucky I love you"

"I love you too"

Pulling her in for a sweet kiss, she smiled against your lips. Gently, her hand slipped under your shirt, fingertips dancing across your spine as you melted with one another. Kissing Esme will always be one of your favorite things to do.

"I love our boy even if he doesn‘t support City"

It was the 28th March when the two of you finally met your baby boy.

"Are you my favorite boy, yes you are" Esme smiled, your son in her arms as he looked at her with wide eyes, somehow a smile plastered on his face.

Esme loved being a mum, the same as you did. It fulfilled her heart with so much pride, love and passion.

"Look at your mommy, she‘s the most amazing person in the world" she held the boy who was looking everywhere but at your sleeping figure on the couch.

"I love her very much" she continued, "and she makes me so happy."

"I met her when I was 14, that‘s a little bit older than you are at the moment, my boy and I immediately fell in love with her"

"I‘m so sorry" a young Esme apologized over and over after she had bumped into you, your books and notes falling out of your hands. In a matter of seconds she was squatted down, picking up your stuff while you joined her, "i didn’t see you" she muttered, desperately trying to pick up each pen.

"It‘s okay"

As she went to grab the last pen, your mind had the same thought. Your hands touched for a brief of a second, the blonde looking up, her breath caught in her throat, "now, i see you" and you were absolutely breathtaking. Esme had never seen someone as pretty as you.

"9 years later, i still think the same. Your mommy is breathtaking" she smiled fondly as your son looked at Esme with big eyes.

"I asked her to be my girlfriend through a love letter. She made me felt like a poet, lovely words ran through my mind, your mommy running through my mind all day long, even at night."

The sun was setting, the sky beautiful with it colours as the two of you walked through the streets. Esme, the sweetheart she was, not accepting "I can walk home on my own, I’m old enough"

She walked beside you, your hands softly brushing against one another’s. You wanted to hold hers but you were too shy to take matters into your own hands, so you accepted the touch of brush.

Esme didn’t.

After the third brush, she just slipped her hand in yours, your heart racing at her gentle touch. "Is that okay?" she asked, not looking at you.

"Yes" you replied.

So while one of her hands held yours, the other one was hidden in her jacket, the love letter between her fingertips.

"Thank you for walking me home" you smiled, your hand not leaving hers, not yet.

"Always"

You looked at each other, soft smiles displayed on your faces, "um, this is for you" shyly and with red cheeks she pulled out the envelope, your name written in cursive on it.

You were about to open it as she stopped you, "don‘t. not now"

She looked vulnerable - you respected her wishes.

"I still remember what i wrote in that letter"

'My y/n,

As i sit down to write this letter, my heart, my body and mind is bursting with emotions.

Forgive me, if some sentences don’t make any sense - my mind is spinning, consumed by the thought of you.

I love the way you laugh, the sound of your giggles music to my ears.

I love the way you smile, how it reaches the corner of your eyes.

I love the way you talk, your voice expressive and gentle.

I wake up with the intention to make you smile and laugh.

I go to be with the hope that you follow me into my dreams - you do.

I dream about you at night, at day and about the future, our future.

The moment i laid my eyes on you, i knew that my heart would be yours - forever.

I respect you.

You make me feel happy, dizzy and relaxed - i feel safe with you.

Yet words will never be enough to describe the things you let me feel.

You are special.

I want you to be my girlfriend, so I’m asking you: do you love me the same way i love you?

-Esme:)‘

"Your mama was very romantic" the blonde chuckled, her index finger softly caressing along the boys cheek as his eyes fell shut every now and then. It didn‘t stop the City player - she continued talking.

She continued with the story, how she asked you to marry her and talked about your reaction, how she asked every important person in your life for their blessing, something you appreciated so much.

"One day, someone will love you the way i love your mommy" she whispered, your son fast asleep in her arms.

Pressing a tender kiss to his forehead, she laid him in his crib, admiring as her heart swelled with love. What she failed to realize was that you weren‘t sleeping anymore - that you were wide awake, listening to the things she told your baby boy.

Gently, you snuggled her arms around her waist, the girl frightened for a moment before she realized it was you. Her favorite girl on earth.

"You‘re still a hopeless romantic"

She turned in your hold, her own arms wrapping around your waist as yours changed their position.

"What else did you hear?" the defender asked, cheeks crimson red - you made her mind spin, knees weak and heart race, she felt shy and nervous. Even after years, you still had the same effect on her.

"Everything"

"Do you want to surprise your mama?" you asked the boy who babbled about something, happily accepting the fact that he was in your arms, small hands gripping your shirt.

Esme was at training, the boy and you at home while you got your son ready for her surprise. Yesterday, the surprise finally arrived and you couldn‘t be more excited to see her reaction. You bought a mini city jersey, the name Morgan displayed on the back with her number 14.

Your son looked absolutely adorable.

Excited, you waited patiently for her to return, occupying the boy with some simple things.

"My love, I’m home" she called after what felt like an eternity, "wow" she stopped in her tracks, the sky blue catching her eyes immediately. "What‘s this?" she asked confused.

"What does it look like?" you hand her the boy who clapped his hand as she eyed his outfit. Esme’s heart made jumps as she saw her baby boy with her jersey, "you‘re such a cute little boy" the mama stated happily as she caressed his cheeks.

"Where‘s yours, my love?" she asked, eyes on you as she took a step towards you to peck your lips.

"In the drawer" you looked at her, raising a brow, "do you want me to put it on?"

Enthusiastically she nodded, "pretty please"

5 minutes later, you walked in the living room your two favorite people seated on the couch. As soon as you entered the room, Esme’s eyes lit up, "you look beautiful" she breathed, the sky blue making her happy as the jersey hugged your body perfectly. You took a seat beside her, your head falling against her shoulder while one of her arms made its way around your waist. Your son was already asleep in her touch, the boy never one to stay awake for long if his mama held him.

"I know you‘re a gunner, my love, but seeing you in this shirt makes me so incredibly happy" she mumbled, "and our little boy also wearing one, I can‘t describe the things i‘m feeling."

"Even though I prefer red over blue, sky blue will always be my favorite" you smiled, leaning up to kiss her, softly.

Wrapped up in your own little lovely bubble, it caught you by surprise when your son‘s first left his mouth.

"mama"

#esme morgan #esme morgan x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #lionesses #engwnt x reader #engwnt #lionesses x reader #manchester city x reader #man city x reader #man city #man city women #manchester city women #manchester city

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percki · 25 days

Text

on my knees

tags: 18+, mature content, MDNI, Gale x reader, f!Tav, 2nd person pronouns, act 3, semi-public sex, porn w/o plot, lap dance, explicit consent, bondage, restraints, dom/sub, switch Gale, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), lap sex, hand jobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, praise kink

ao3 link

“Urgh.” Rolan stands up, wiping a smear of Lorroakan’s blood off the sleeve of his robes. “Your aasimar friend is… violent.”

“I’m so sorry for the mess, Rolan. We can clean everything up –” You glance around the upper level of the tower, at the holy fire, congealed mud, pasty mixture of water and ash, and a fair amount of blood. At the wizard’s broken body, his face swollen with bruises, his mouth agape, sprawled at the foot of his throne of books. “– Um, but it might take a while.”

Rolan waves one long-nailed hand in your direction, his discolored face grateful – if not a bit exasperated. “Don’t worry about it, my friend. You have already done so much for me – consider my debt forgiven, and all will be well.” You smile at that, watching the tiefling wizard grunt with exertion as he hauls Lorroakan’s body towards the portal. “And, erm – help yourself to any treasures you come across, of course. I’ll be… downstairs…” He pushes the corpse through the shimmering portal, and sends you one last earnest, sharp-toothed smile over his shoulder. “...Burying a body.”

With that, Rolan pushes up the sleeves of his robes (sorcerer’s robes, trimmed in silver, unbefitting for a wizard, but they suit him well nonetheless) and steps through the portal, no doubt bracing himself to break the news to his new employees. ‘Hey, so remember those adventurers that just came in? They killed Lorroakan, violently, and I’m your boss now. Surprise!’ You’re sure the staff at Sorcerous Sundries have endured worse surprises; working for Lorroakan sounds akin to an eternity of torture in the Hells.

Aylin sheathes her sword and crosses over to you, removing her helmet. Her ash-blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and her gold-streaked face glistens with blood and sweat. “I shall be at your camp, if you have need of me,” she declares, and inclines her head in gratitude. “You fought well – as you have before. I remain thankful for your assistance.” Less wordy than usual – Lorroakan’s death must be weighing on her. You don’t blame her.

“Thank you, Dame Aylin,” you say, and bow in respect. She smiles at that, silver eyes gleaming.

“Ooh, wait!” Karlach runs up to you, her arms full of wine bottles – no doubt pilfered from Lorroakan’s hidden stash. The woman has a nose for alcohol – she could find a bottle of Baldur’s Grape blindfolded, disoriented, in the middle of a rainstorm. Shadowheart is close behind, a new cloak slung over her shoulders and a fair amount of gold filling her pockets. “We’ll probably go back to camp, too – Fringe and I have to try all this wine.”

“To make sure it isn’t poisoned,” Shadowheart adds, green eyes twinkling with humor. “You can handle yourselves without us, can’t you?”

You grin. “Save a bottle of Mermaid Whiskey for me.”

“Blech. You can have it all.” Karlach sticks out her split tongue, her smile wide. “See ya!” She bolts through the portal head-first: dangerous, with the amount of alcohol in her arms and the fiery infernal engine in her chest. You hear a distant crash, and wince.

Shadowheart follows close behind, calling, “Save the Tyche Pink!”

You hear the rush of wings and look over – Aylin is gone, too, a flash of silver in the clear blue sky. You watch her fly, the wind buffeting her white wings – deva-like, altogether unnatural, inhuman, beautiful in an untouchable, deadly, frightening way – as she soars. The sunlight seems to collect around her, like a remnant of her celestial mother’s power lingers, still, even after the heat and rage of battle is done.

“And then there were two.”

Gale’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. You look up, meeting his eyes. Dark brown, deep, gentle, shining with a light all too familiar. He’s standing by the throne of books, his right hand resting on a copy of Folktales of Faerún: The Angelic Aasimar.

You kneel over the ashes of the water myrmidon, sifting through the remains for treasure. Nothing. “I suppose Rolan will take a while…” You look around the tower once more, keen eyes picking out chests, display cases, bookshelves – anything that could hide a nice new set of robes for Gale, or a dagger for Astarion, or perhaps some armor for Wyll… “Will you cast Feather Fall? I want to look on the lower levels…” You trail off, reading something in Gale’s eyes. His fingers flex on the spine of the book, his shoulders thrown back, his lilac robes fitting his form well. Is he… posing? You smile and straighten, dusting ash off your sleeves, and move to his side, twining your left arm with his right, leaning comfortably against his side. “The Annals are in the vaults,” you say, knowing his primary objective here, halfheartedly attempting to lift his spirits. Thoughts of the Crown are dangerous – you have seen how easily the lure of power can corrupt, a thousand times (with Kagha in the Emerald Grove, with Minthara at the goblin camp, with Ketheric and Gortash and now Lorroakan). But despite your reservations, you know his ambition fuels him, that it drives his fire, that thoughts of greatness and respect do raise his spirits. “We could go down ourselves…”

Gale turns into you, resting his forehead on your shoulder, his beard scratching at your neck. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, and sighs deeply, inhaling your scent – blood and smoke and sweat, and the faintest hints of his cologne lingering on your skin. “I… Not yet,” he says vaguely, and kisses your neck again, deeper this time. Your breath hitches as he trails long, searing kisses up your neck, along the line of your jaw, leading up to your lips.

“Gale…” You whisper, voice low. “I –” He nips at your bottom lip, smiling against your chin, and you can feel your face heat up. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says devilishly, oak eyes sparkling, looking up at you through thick, dark lashes. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. “I can’t believe…” He blinks, as if waking from a dream, and cradles your jaw with his hand, straightening to his full height.

You kiss him, this time, tasting blood on his lips, and you stop, examining his face carefully. A bruise is forming at the bridge of his nose, blood tracing a path down the apex of his lips to his chin. You frown, brow creasing in worry. “You’re hurt.”

“Hm?” Gale touches his face gingerly, delicate, careful fingers prodding the quickly-purpling skin. “Oh. Yes. That. It’s quite alright –”

“It’s not alright,” you reply. “Let me heal you.” You take his shoulders in your hands and guide him into a seated position on Lorroakan’s throne, his back reclined against a collection of Ramazith’s annotated tomes. You kneel before him, positioning yourself between his legs, and summon a simple healing incantation, your hand hovering over his nose, the blue glow of the spell reflected in his eyes. “Te curo,” you murmur, and watch as his skin knits itself together, blood drying, swelling fading, the bruise vanishing beneath your fingers. “Better?”

“Better,” he admits, and looks at you with intent in his eyes, his gaze dark and focused on your features. “My love,” he starts, then hesitates. His face turns a delicious shade of pink.

“Yes?” You lean forward, hanging onto his words. He adjusts his legs, his thighs bracketing your shoulders, and you feel the slightest thrill at your compromising position, you in your armor and him in his robes, you kneeling before him like a supplicant at an altar.

“Rolan may not return for some time,” Gale says. “We could…” He stops again, biting his lip.

You guess his meaning immediately – your thoughts are remarkably in-tune. You can’t deny that you hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wished for… Well. For Gale. Your peaceful nights since arriving in the Lower City have been few and far between, interrupted as they are: by vampires, by nightmares, by Orin’s ministrations. It’s been some time since you and Gale had time to yourselves.

And now, it seems, you have all the time in the world.

“Do you want to?” You question, and his eyes darken, his pupils expanding infinitesimally. You lean forward, cupping his cock with your hand, and smile to feel him already half-hard beneath your touch.

“I – yes,” he breathes, and raises his hand to cast Mage Hand, the incantation on his lips, when you catch him by the wrist, holding him still.

“No magic,” you say breathlessly, and straighten back up to your full height, smiling down at him. “As mortals do, remember?”

Gale watches you intently as you undo the first few buckles of your armor, leather slipping between your fingers. He sits up, reaching out his hands to help –

And you push him back.

“Don’t move,” you warn him, and plant one hand securely on his chest, holding him in place, as you draw a piece of silken fabric out of your pack. You hold it up for him to see, and upon realizing your intention, his eyes widen, pupils expanding impossibly wide. “Do you want this?” You ask, and he confirms with a nod of his head. You narrow your eyes and lean in, your face centimeters away from his, your breath ghosting on his lips. “Say it, please, love.”

He swallows thickly, eyes locked on yours, and says, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I want you to tie me up.”

You smile, and reward him with a bruising, biting kiss. “Good boy,” you murmur, and relish the way his face reddens, his jaw going slightly slack at the praise. “Lean forward for me?” He acquiesces, already holding his hands behind his back, and you climb up into his lap to twine the silk around his wrists, your touch featherlight and gentle. You test the knot, and smile. Not too tight – but he certainly won’t get any ideas about spellcasting. “Does that feel okay?”

“Yes,” he says into your shoulder, his voice muffled by the layers of your armor. You stand back up and step completely out of your clothes, metal buckles and buttons clinking as your many layers fall to the floor, and then you stand before Gale in your undergarments, your skin rising with goosebumps from the cool air, his eyes roving a path up and down your figure.

You feel a little warm from the intensity of his gaze, but you steel your nerves and continue. You reach out with your senses, using the knowledge of the Weave that Gale taught you of so long ago, and you can feel a soft tinkling at the edge of your perception, the distant sound of music, and you pull it towards you. In one of the pleasure dens far below, a slow, sensual number starts up, and you filter the sound through the available space, filling the tower with music.

Gale’s lips part as he realizes your plan. “Love,” he starts, “I haven’t –”

You feel a twinge of self-doubt, standing there near-nude before a man who is completely clothed. You have no experience with this whatsoever – apart from what you have read and seen – and you’re not sure that Gale loves you enough to forgive you if you make a total ass of yourself. “This is okay, right?” You rush to ask, holding your hands out for his before realizing that he’s still tied. You tuck them behind your back, straightening your posture. “Um – I know this is probably unusual, but, you know, in the Quarta Sune –”

Gale grins, his dimples making a rare appearance, and the sight of it pulls at your heartstrings. “You are perfect,” he promises, lifting his dark eyes up to your face. “This is perfect. Please, keep going.”

The slight rasp of his voice goes straight to your core, and you step forward before you’re entirely conscious of your movements, looping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He leans into you with a groan, and you can feel his shoulders move, his hands resisting the bindings, and you pull back. “No touching,” you say softly, “right? This is about you.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, his expression adorably resentful, and you laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose.

“Later,” you promise, and with that, you stand up, and turn away from him, facing the windows, the setting sun illuminating your skin. The music restarts, strings amping up, and you sway your hips to the tune, letting instinct take over. One, two, three, you breathe, feeling the rhythm run through you, and as the music crescendos, you drop down onto Gale’s lap, your ass just brushing over his thighs, hoping your undulating body looks sensual rather than spasmodic, and your efforts are rewarded with a delicious, blinding groan from behind you. You turn back around to face him – one, two, three – and lean in close, your scent intoxicating, his body warming your skin, and bracket his legs with your knees, one hand carding through his hair and the other slowly unbuttoning his robes, your knuckles barely brushing the velvet-soft hair on his chest. You slide your hands down the planes of his torso, and then, just as he’s leaning forward, again, anticipating your lips on his –

You step back again, turning, lifting your hands over your head and letting your hair down, smiling to yourself as you peek over your shoulder at his exasperated face. One, two, three. You let your ass ghost over his lap again, closer this time, holding there for a few moments longer than he considers tolerable, and just as his patience goes and his hips buck, you return to your starting position, looking down at him chidingly.

“Please,” he whispers, and you raise your brows, your hands going to the clasp of your bra. He watches, rapt, as you slide the fabric off your breasts and let it fall to the ground atop your discarded armor, your nipples peaking in the cool air. You repeat the motion with your panties, and you’re sure Gale catches sight of the soaked fabric as you toss it aside: his face turns a flattering shade of crimson, his arms straining against his silken ropes.

“How can I deny you?” You say, and with smooth, uninterrupted movements, you slide onto his lap, rocking your hips back and forth, tantalizingly slow, atop him. His robes slip open completely, and you can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his undergarments, barely brushing against the skin of your thighs. Your hands roam along the skin of his chest, thumbs swirling careful circles in the dips of his collarbone and shoulders, your palms warm against his skin. “You’re doing so well,” you praise him, and lean forward to kiss along the line of his clavicle, then slowly up his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, tasting his sandalwood cologne, his soapy shaving cream, the sweat and salt lingering there, your tongue pulsing against his jaw. “So good for me,” you continue, running your hands through his hair, “you’re perfect, Gale.”

And then, surprising him, you slide off his lap and drop to your knees, slotting your body perfectly in between his legs, and in one swift motion, you free his aching cock from his undergarments and lean forward once more, fitting your lips around the head.

“O-oh,” he moans, straining to keep still as you take him deeper, your hands tracing patterns on the skin of his thighs, reaching up to his hips, your nails scratching lightly, and then, as you adjust yourself and push him back so as to get more leverage, you wrap one hand around his shaft and devote the other one to palm gently at his balls, still a touch too gentle. “Mmm – more,” he sighs, and you obey, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and then fitting it back in your mouth, deep enough to brush the back of your throat, pre-cum salty on your tongue. You hollow your cheeks, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and his mouth falls open, releasing the most pleasurable moans and groans, sighs and mewls slipping between his lips, chanted noises that may be words – you catch the sound of your name, and please, and yes, in the chorus of sounds that escape his chest, rising and falling in octave with every swipe of your tongue and bob of your head. “P-please,” he says again, “please, let me –”

You guess his meaning, and reach behind him; the movement sending his cock to the very back of your throat, and his back arches in pleasure; and pull the strings of his bindings, untying his hands. The moment he’s free, he takes your head in his hands, cradling your jaw, and lets his fingers twine in the strands of your hair as you suck with renewed eagerness, sliding back nearly completely only to take him in fully again, the feel of his cock in your mouth dizzying, intoxicating, sending white-hot shivers through your body –

You glance down, and through the haze of pleasure, through the shadows of sunset, through the sweat and slick on your body, you see a flash of blue cupping your cunt, and you can suddenly feel the gentle, not-quite-there brush of the Mage Hand’s fingers against your clit. You war between pleasure and indignation for a moment – and indignation wins. You pull back, Gale’s weeping cock inches away from your mouth but still suspended in midair, and he huffs, putting his hands over his eyes, his pleasure cut short just on the path to climax. “Why did you –”

“No magic,” you repeat, and you can feel the Mage Hand dissolve. Gale peeks out from through his fingers, caught, and not the least bit ashamed. “Do I need to tie you up again? Completely, this time?”

“I –” His cock twitches, beads of precum leaking from the tip, stunning the both of you into silence.

You let a devilish grin slide across your face. “Oh. You want me to tie you up, love? Top to tip, completely trussed up for me?” You pull away from him and reach in your pack for more ribbon. “Red or purple, my sweet?”

Gale manages an arrogant smile, his face still flushed red. “Purple, of course.”

“Good choice,” you grin, and stand, running the ribbons through your hands reverently. “This will only take a minute,” you promise. “Why don’t you take those bothersome clothes off before I get started?”

He does, and you let your eyes run over his figure appreciatively for a minute before going to work. Hands on the ‘arms’ of the throne, the ribbon secured around a stack of encyclopedias. His legs against the respective ‘legs’ of the throne, straining slightly against his bonds. You stand before him, and he angles his hips up slightly, his eyes pleading.

“So cooperative,” you murmur, running your hands gently up his thighs. “So patient. So good.” You lift your hand to your mouth and spit on your fingers, holding eye contact, and he breathes shakily as you wrap your hand around his cock, leaning forward, mouthing kisses along his neck and collarbone. You start slowly, tantalizingly, pumping your hand along his length with a careful, measured speed that makes Gale’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Please – more,” he moans, his lips chasing yours. “Faster.”

You acquiesce, moving quicker, twisting your wrist the way you know that he likes. His breaths come faster, too, a mindless stream of yes and please and more coupled with your name falling from his mouth. You kiss him with bruising intensity, feeling his cock twitch in your fingers, his body straining against his bonds.

He comes with a muffled yell, his eyes rolling completely back in his head, and you kiss him fiercely as his come paints your stomach and thighs where you sit atop him. “Please – gods – please, untie me, let me –”

You smile against his lips and loosen the ribbons, yelping when his arms encircle you with surprising strength, lifting you up by your thighs and laying you out on the tile floor of the tower, the ground cold on your skin, your head canted back as Gale trails kisses down your thighs. “Ah – Gale,” you sigh as his fingers whisper up the inside of your legs, your skin rising with goosebumps. “I can’t –” You try to lift your head, to see where he is and what he’s doing, but your neck won’t cooperate. “What –”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Gale murmurs into your thigh, his hand lifting your leg to his lips, his beard tickling your skin pleasantly. “There’s only so long I can go without magic, my love. I thought –” Here, his tongue slides up to your cunt, tracing around your lips gently, and you moan, your boneless body arching in pleasure. “I thought you might enjoy feeling how I felt. Constrained. At my mercy.” His tongue winds a circle around your clit, and your breaths come faster, your thighs shaking madly. “Do you?”

“Do I – ah – what?”

“Enjoy it,” Gale says into your cunt, and the vibration makes you shudder.

“I – yes, I – please, I want to touch you, I want to –”

“Mmm,” Gale hums, his tongue working careful, restrained circles around your clit, dipping down to taste your slick. “Not yet.”

It’s been less than two minutes, and you’re already shaking, riding high, your eyes unfocused, as Gale takes you apart with his tongue. The painted constellations of the ceiling dance in and out of focus, and your moans echo around the circular tower, a mix of yes and please and Gale falling from your mouth, a reminder of the way you coaxed Gale’s orgasm from him with delicate fingers not five minutes before. “Gale, I – oh, gods, I can’t – please, I want to see you, I –”

The spell breaks, and you lift your head to see Gale’s face completely buried in your cunt, his sweaty hair spread out on your thighs, his eyes closed in ecstasy, and the image is enough to send you over the edge, a scream in your throat, your legs shaking wildly as you come, Gale’s tongue still working at you gently, until the sensation is too much and you kick him softly, signaling get off me, because your vocal cords aren’t working at the moment.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and crawls up to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue, salty-sweet and heady. “But we should probably go before Rolan comes back. I suspect we won’t have an opportunity to take advantage of his hospitality again.”

“Gale…” You wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your eyes fluttering shut. “You might have to Dimension Door us out of here. I don’t think my legs will move.”

“I’ll carry you,” he smiles, and helping you stand, he laces his robes back up and aids you in buckling your armor. “Now come. There’s a bath at the Elfsong that’s calling my name.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head into his shoulder, and watch dreamily as he conjures the portal. “Wait – what about the Annals?”

“Oh.” Gale looks down at the lower levels of the tower. “I suppose we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” He looks almost downcast, but then the expression fades, and he’s just Gale again, smiling at you. “Let’s go.”

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spookypete-94 · 1 month

Text

"Under My Skin." GhostxFem!reader

Reader explains to members from TF141 what scares her. Ironically, in a way its what scares our loved big brooding specter. Trigger warning for mentioning of fears, dog bites, heights... some insect reference.

Dogs," Johnny said on the opposite side of the flames of the bonfire that was blazing between the five of them. The warmth was almost too much in places on your body, but still welcomed none the less.

"Dogs?" you asked, curious for him to elaborate.

"The big 'uns, the kind tha'll chase ye'." He said eyes closed and giving a little shake, "Big bastards."

It made you snort, finding big dogs far from scary. If anything they were just more to pet and love on.

"Heights," Gaz quickly answered while leaning back into his chair, legs anchoring him further to remind himself that he was grounded. "You know...for.. reasons." Eyes now looking up at the night sky while he also shivered matching the motion that Soap had just done. Price gave a chuckle, fully understanding the reference of being upside down after falling out of a helicopter- rope tied to his waist.

"You're alive sergeant, and on the ground," Price finally echoed the silence trying to remind him all was well. A warm smile on his face while he drank from his tumbler of scotch.

Gaz gave a scoff as he sat up in his chair, hands squeezing his hat anxiously.

"Ticks," you said plainly, trying to change the subject and get the spotlight off of Gaz, who was clearly uncomfortable still from his ordeal.

"Ticks?" Soap asked, laughing as he did- perhaps its amusing to him that you both are so far on the spectrum. He afraid of something large with teeth that could sink and leave holes, either choosing to grab ahold and not let go- or maybe even worse. Biting again, over and over.

But here you are... afraid of something that can be so small as a pin prick on your skin.

"Ticks," you said firmer sitting up with your elbows on your knees now. "You don't even feel them on you at first, all while they crawl up your skin." Fingers now dancing up as you talk with your hand. "Then before you know it, they make it up to your most vital and tender areas," hand now referring to your upper body and head. "Next they bite you, and sometimes you don't even feel that. Head burrowing under your skin, latching on to you to feed. Sucking off the life force that feeds you, slowly growing, becoming part of you. It started out so small, and now because they are so shady and stealthy, they have grown. Now you know if it. But once you do, you know now this thing has violated you in a way."

"Ya've put some thought inta this," Johnny said, wide eyed, his hands now brushing up and down his exposed arms trying to shake off the imaginary critters that were crawling up him.

"I have, the fact that something can get under your skin so easily is disturbing to me." You said leaning back into your chair.

All of their eyes returned back to the fire watching the flames dance and ashes sparkle in the night ... all except one. Ghost, all clad in black along with a mask sat opposite from you next to Soap. But his eyes locked on your glowing form as you took another drink from your cup. Brown embers like coal, hotter than the fire in between you that actively burned.

If the mask was removed, his face would be so readable. An image that would be almost paintable from the imprint that would have been left behind in your memory. It was shock. He was a deer in the headlights. Somehow, your irrational fear of ticks is the same irrational fear he held for you. You had come into his life. Slowly inched your way up to him in theory. The respect he held for you was great. A woman that had fought her way up to be at the same level they were all regarded in. From earning his respect, you had stopped at his heart, symbolically burrowing your way into it. Now you had latched yourself to him, finding a way to get under his skin. It scared him to his very core, and he is just now finding you latched on to him ... but he could never tell you.

Simon "Ghost Riley Masterlist

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 10 months

Text

Bluebird — Part VI — (Azriel x Reader)

Hi! Here’s Part VI! Thank you for reading 💕 hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none for this part.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It would be an outright lie to say that doubts hadn’t begun to sneak into your mind.

There were so many things wrong about this. So many things you imagined would have your mother turning in her grave.

A fae male — you’d willingly invited a fae male into your home, into your company. Into a situation where it would just be the two of you.

You should have been petrified. Sick to your stomach. Regretful and guilty and ashamed to have even considered any of this.

But the triumphant feeling of the entire following day was simply excitement. A nagging eagerness for night to finally sweep in, and for Azriel to return.

You’d laid awake in bed, trying to conjure up the sound of his voice in your mind. That lilting, graceful quality to it that felt like chills skittering over your skin. You ached to hear it again; to revel in it.

Your day dragged by torturously slow. The only visitors to the inn had been the two village guards who had paid you a visit to ask if you’d seen or heard anything around the time of Polly’s death.

No, you’d told them. I was here at home all night. The lie had come to you so easily. And you were past the point of trying to convince yourself that you’d ever tip the authorities off to Azriel’s presence in the village.

He’d be accused of the deaths in a heartbeat. And you knew — you knew he’d done nothing wrong.

So you passed your day wistfully waiting for the daylight to trick away. When your father announced he was leaving for the festival, you didn’t beg him, this time, to allow you to attend. You merely wished him a good evening, and dead-bolted the door shut behind him.

You knew that Azriel wouldn’t need to come through the door. Not with his…abilities.

The sky’s summer evening hues eventually bled into a dark blanket of stars above the village. It didn’t bother you, tonight, that you were the only one left behind.

Didn’t bother you one bit.

Not as you felt a strange, pleasant prickle of awareness on the back of your neck. You knew what to expect this time.

You turned just as Azriel stepped out of thin air, right in the inn’s main bar area.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your gaze slowly drinking in the tall, broad sight of him. He was resplendent in his dark, artistic leathers. His hair sat a little tousled and windswept on his head, his tan cheeks bitten by the breeze.

He studied you just as intensely, the caramel specks in his eyes seeming to darken.

But then one half of his full, sensuous mouth kicked up into a smile. “I didn’t frighten you this time.”

“No.” A breathy laugh escaped you. “I knew what to expect.

He cracked a grin far too beautiful for you to stare at for too long, lest it render you a speechless, boneless form incapable of thought. Lips tipped up into a smile, you quickly looked for something — anything — to say.

“Would you like a drink?” Making drinks was where you were comfortable; something you did day in and day out without a second thought. It occupied your hands well enough.

Azriel inclined his head. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

You breezed past him, fully aware of the pleasant tension that followed you, an entity entirely of its own. Azriel left a respectful distance as he followed.

There was something amusing about the way he perched on one of the barstools — just like any old punter that frequented the place. Except that your usual punters tended not to have wings or a level of beauty that seemed almost prohibited. An inexplicable, emotionally charged giggle wanted to force its way up your throat, and you quickly tamped down on it.

Clearly the thrill of such a clandestine meeting was having an effect on you.

If Azriel noticed your amused expression, he didn’t comment — though he did watch you closely, intensely, as you stopped behind the bar and reached for two glasses. You didn’t ask him what, exactly, he wanted to drink — another of your quiet talents seemed to be the art of taking one glimpse at a person and just knowing what their poison of choice would be.

You were curious to know if that extended to the non-human variety of person.

Your movements around that small area were entirely fluid; almost graceful. A routine that flowed from one movement to the next. You reached for the finest whiskey that The Bluebird Inn had to offer, its smoky aroma wafting up to you as you poured a measure into each glass. And despite the honeyed gaze that was trained on you, you were entirely at ease, natural—

Until a strange, cold, feather-like touch tickled the underside of your forearm. You yelped, almost dropping the bottle as you stepped back; just as a dark shadow skittered its way back to Azriel.

“I’m sorry. They’re curious about you.” His voice was soothing. “They won’t harm you.”

You studied them — really studied them, for the first time. There was an artistic quality to the way they coiled around Azriel’s figure like a dancing, protective shield. Like a sentient mist that moved entirely of its own volition. They were—

“Beautiful.” You breathed the word aloud.

Azriel’s cheeks seemed to darken slightly. He dipped his chin. “I command them, but…they can also act upon their own thoughts and feelings. Their senses.”

Indeed, you watched as one shadow — the very same one that had brushed your arm — snaked out towards the two glasses filled with amber liquid. It was with pure fascination that you observed the way it wrapped around one glass and dragged it closer to Azriel, as careful and firm as a hand’s grip.

“Did you tell it to do that?” You blinked in amazement.

“I didn’t — though I could have. It acted entirely of its own choosing.” Azriel accepted the glass, lifting it to his lips. He paused, glancing at the seat beside him. “Sit with me?”

Right. Because the bar felt like a barrier between you. A nuisance.

You felt too aware of every one of your movements as you took your drink in hand and traipsed round to the other side of the bar. You were too human; not at all graceful and masterfully elegant like Azriel was. The toe of your boot caught on one of the stools’ legs, sending your body hurtling forward and the liquid in your glass sloshing—

But Azriel’s hand shot out without a lick of hesitation, steadying your waist and keeping you upright. You could have sworn that his palm burned through your tunic.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat.

“No need to apologise.” So gently, like he feared startling you, he prised your glass from your hand and set it down beside his. And then pulled out the stool directly next to him.

His hand continued to steady you as you climbed up. And only when you were seated — not at risk of falling flat on your face — did he retract it. You tried not to think too much about how cold your waist felt in its absence.

The position was…intimate; legs and arms close enough to touch, scorching gazes only centimetres apart. You lifted your eyes to his. Found him already staring at you.

You paused. “What is it?”

“I feel like we spoke so much about me last night.” Up close, Azriel’s voice was even more of a caress. “I want to know about you.”

This was the embarrassing part. You didn’t have five centuries of experience to share — didn’t even really have twenty-one years of experience, given how sheltered your life had been. When you stopped to think about it, you were really quite…boring.

“There’s not much to know.” You admitted, your cheeks flushing. You gestured to the room around you. “This is me. This place is my life. I’ve always been here, and I suppose I always will be.”

Azriel’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. “Through choice?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it were up to you, would you choose to always be here?”

You stared back at him, pursing your lips. You knew the answer without having to ponder it; gods, you’d thought about it often enough.

No, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t always be here. You didn’t mind helping at the inn — sometimes, you even enjoyed it. But if you were given half the opportunity, you’d snatch up a little more vibrancy to lighten up your insular life. Even if it was just…a few friends to meet with regularly, to break up the mundane. A chance to be your own person.

But everything your father had ever said and done was for your own good. He simply didn’t want you ending up like your mother.

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not quite liking the answer as you replied, “It’s irrelevant what I’d choose. This is my life.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked around the room, drinking in the polished wooden tables, their chairs stacked atop them; the wall at the back that housed bottles and bottles of wines and spirits; the scuffs in the floor and the marks on the walls and the dark, dingy stretch of room that never seemed to get much light.

Part of you was curious to know what he was seeing, thinking. Another part of you was scared of the answer.

“It seems like a lonely life.” He eventually surmised. “You…you’re always on your own.”

Your body tensed. He wasn’t wrong, but…to hear it come from somebody else…to hear it spoken aloud and not just clanging around in your melancholy thoughts…you were surprised to find your guard rising a little.

“My father needs me.” Was your response. It sounded as pathetic an explanation as it felt.

Azriel’s gaze landed on your face, searching your expression. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And what do you need?”

You shrugged. “Who cares what I need?”

“I care.”

You faltered. Stared back at him.

Why, you wanted to ask. Why bother? Why accept my invitation instead of laughing in my face?

You didn’t have the courage to ask, though. You grabbed your glass and knocked back the liquid in one go, fully aware that Azriel still watched you. Tension swirled thickly between you like shadows — his shadows.

But then he, too, reached for his glass and knocked back the liquid. And there was something light, playful, in the way he nudged your arm with his. “Do you want to know what I need?”

You coughed a laugh. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

His eyes glittered, a devastatingly beautiful smile tugging his lips up. “I need,” he said, leaning close enough that his scent shrouded you, “to hear you play your music again.”

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It was different this time.

Azriel didn’t put distance between you; didn’t keep to the corners of the room.

He perched at your side on the piano stool, watching up-close, in pure fascination, as your fingers danced across the keys. Every few seconds, your arm would brush his.

The only way you were still breathing, still concentrating, was by focusing entirely on the music. Because if you thought too much about the hard press of Azriel’s muscled forearm, or inhaled too deeply that intoxicating scent of his, you weren’t sure you wouldn’t just…cease to exist. Or at least collapse onto the floor.

Your heart galloped wildly in your chest, thudded loudly in your ears. And as you reached the climax of the composition, you knew Azriel’s gaze no longer tracked your fingers. It sat firmly, dedicatedly, on your face.

And even though he undoubtedly made you nervous — a fact you didn’t want to linger on for too long — you knew it didn’t come from a place of discomfort. At his side, you were entirely at ease. Not frightened, like you always thought you would be within such proximity to a fae male.

Your fingers slowed until the music faded out. And then silence blanketed the room.

You waited for Azriel to say something, anything. When he didn’t, you lifted your eyes from the keys to meet his. The intensity there was blazing.

“You…” He shook his head, as though he’d become a little dazed. “You are so brilliant.”

Your cheeks flamed at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I never really had the opportunity to learn.” He nodded to the piano. “But I kind of wish I had. The city I live in has an entertainment district that we call The Rainbow. The best performers of all types of arts put on shows there nightly. I’ve seen some excellent pianists there — just like you. It must be wonderful to be able to lose yourself in the music like that.”

The Rainbow. A place where people just…performed and appreciated art. It sounded like an absolute dream. And that Azriel had likened you to the pianists there—

You weren’t used to such praise. The compliment was almost too much to bear. Without thinking, you blurted, “Give me your hand.”

Azriel stopped short. Stared at you. “What?”

You cleared your throat, holding your own hand out. “I’ll show you how to play.”

There was a pause. A moment’s hesitation. But then his hand slid into yours.

He wore no gloves tonight.

The weight and warmth of his hand was startling — and dangerously pleasant. The scarred skin brushed against your palm in a way that made you wonder what it would feel like all over your body.

The thought almost had you jumping right out of your too-hot skin, out of your roaring thoughts. You may be entirely inexperienced, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about such things, like close proximities and heated touches—

Never like this, though. Never so…raw. So curiously.

You batted the thoughts to the darkest corners of your mind, focusing on the reason you’d even asked for his hand in the first place. Both you and Azriel watched as you slowly pressed his fingers against the keys, producing a sweet, simple tune that you used to absentmindedly play when you were much younger and certainly not as good a pianist as you were these days.

Azriel, too, watched closely. Your arms brushed against each other, and you wondered if he felt it as totally as you did; wondered what he might be thinking.

The tune came to an end. Neither of you moved your hands.

“There you go.” Your voice was a tad rough. You lifted your lips into a soft smile. “You just played piano.”

Azriel laughed quietly, not breaking his stare from your joined hands. “I certainly don’t think the pianists in The Rainbow will be feeling threatened by my skills any time soon.”

You couldn’t help your smile widening into a grin. “Keep at it and they won’t know what’s hit them.”

Another trill of your soft laughter mixed with his, the sound a kind of music of its own. It was beautiful, you thought. His shadows swirled around you contentedly.

Just like you thought his hands were beautiful. Painfully so.

You couldn’t help staring. Not because you meant to gawk at the brutal scarring, but because you feared the story behind it. Whatever it was, you knew, had to be unimaginable.

Azriel watched your hands, too. Still joined together, yours on top of his.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

Which such slow, careful movements, you traced a finger over the marred skin, introducing yourself to every brutal bump and jagged line. Azriel said nothing; you weren’t even sure he was breathing. And that seemed to be confirmed when you brushed your fingers over the back of his palm, and he sucked in a breath.

You paused your movements immediately, eyes darting to his. “Is it painful?”

“No.” His voice was tight, like…like he was trying to hold himself in check, or something. He shook his head. “Not painful, no. It’s actually quite…soothing.”

Soothing. You gently picked your movements back up, tracing his skin, exploring it. He found it soothing.

You couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of pain he must have experienced. After a short stint of silence, you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“What happened to you?” You whispered.

For a while, Azriel said nothing. Perhaps it was wrong for you to have asked — perhaps he simply wasn’t comfortable. You opened your mouth to apologise, to reassure him, but he beat you to speaking.

“I was the bastard son of a lord.” His voice was rough, raw. “I lived at my father’s keep, but I certainly wasn’t welcome there; my stepmother and two stepbrothers didn’t take kindly to my presence. The living conditions were…not good. And worst of all, I wasn’t allowed to see my mother very often. Just an hour every week. I think perhaps they were trying to break me. And when I was eight, my stepbrothers poured oil over my hands and set them alight. My father’s guards heard me screaming and found me, but…not soon enough to limit the damage it left me with.”

Every inch of your body had gone ice-cold.

It was suddenly as though there wasn’t enough air left in the room; like Azriel’s words had winded you. Bile rose in your throat that you swallowed down with the hard lump of emotion that had grown there.

To think that somebody could be so callous, so cruel…you couldn’t bear it. Hot tears burned your eyes.

Azriel was suddenly leaning closer, and he frowned. Studied you. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so sorry that happened to you.” Your voice wavered. “It’s so evil—”

His hand slid out from beneath yours — only to move up to your face and cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb caught the first tear that fell.

“Your compassion is beautiful.” He swallowed. “But that was a very, very long time ago. I bettered myself. I decided not to let them win.”

You stared up at him, hoping it showed on your face how…in awe you were, of such bravery. Such strength. You sniffed, blinking away further threatening tears. “I’m glad that you did.”

Azriel didn’t reply. But you caught the way his eyes shifted down to your lips, and his throat bobbed.

You didn’t need a wealth of experience to know what the look on his face meant. Both panic and hope warred inside you.

You wanted what that look meant. What it would bring. And when Azriel said nothing, simply stared, you found yourself spurring him on.

“What is it?” You whispered — as if speaking too loudly would rip him from the moment.

Momentarily, his gaze clashed with yours again. “I would…” he cleared his throat. “I would really like to kiss you.”

A heated thrill shot through you that you’d never experienced. Of course, you’d laid awake some nights and imagined kissing and touching and what it would be like to be…to be wanted like that. You were just as susceptible to desire as any twenty-one-year-old woman.

But you imagined most twenty-one-year-old women had probably had their first kiss by your age. Unlike you.

That was what had you hesitating. Not reluctance to give in to such desires, but to do it wrongly.

Azriel entirely misread your hesitation, though. He began to slowly move back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No—” you grabbed onto his hand so fast, you knew the redness of your cheeks deepened. “I want to. Really. I just…I’ve never…” you inhaled a slow breath as realisation dawned on Azriel’s face. “I don’t think I’d be very good.”

He stared at you, a strange, warm intensity in his eyes. And then his thumb swept over the back of your hand. A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I can show you. If you truly want me to.”

You knew your face must be flushing as scarlet as the blood that human and fae alike had shed over centuries. You were blushing like mad, as you nodded. And Azriel’s gaze seemed to soften even more.

You waited. Watched. Figured the best way to avoid doing anything wrong or unwanted was by just…keeping still. After a moment of silently studying you, Azriel slid his hands out from under yours. He brought them to your face, their warmth and roughness pleasant against your skin as he clasped your cheeks and slowly tilted your jaw up.

You knew you must be trembling beneath his touch. And as he lowered his own face until it was a mere hair’s-breadth from yours, you thought maybe you jolted. He exhaled, his breath fanning your lips.

“If at any time you want to stop,” he murmured deeply, “we stop. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Azriel adjusted his hands, moving them up just slightly until they each cradled one of your cheeks. And then his thumb was brushing your skin there. You couldn’t look away as he closed the gap between you.

You felt it — the exact second his lips made contact with yours — through every part of your body.

They were surprisingly soft, despite his harsh, rugged appearance. His mouth carefully slanted over yours, and you felt the beating of your heart in your chest and your head and your ears and your throat. Azriel probably felt it, too.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheekbone, and his lips applied just a little bit of pressure. You followed his lead, doing the same, meeting every touch and press with your own.

It was a sweet, closed-mouth kiss. The kind you expected of a very first one. But you knew it could go deeper, further.

You wanted it to.

Azriel paused, and for a split second, a bizarre worry jolted through you that you’d somehow communicated that thought to him without speaking it. His lips hovered at yours, barely touching, now, and you wondered if he was dissatisfied. If he didn’t want it to go further. You wouldn’t blame him.

But then he whispered to you, deeply, roughly, “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” You matched the volume of his voice. You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m more than okay.”

Before you could muster a response, he was closing that tiny gap once more. His lips moulded to yours, and a surge of confidence had you leaning into it and matching his pace. His thumb swept over your cheek, his palm clasping your jaw a little firmer.

And then you felt him run his tongue over your lips.

The sensation was…nice. More than nice. And your body reacted without much willing from you. You gasped, lips parting, and Azriel’s tongue tentatively slid in.

At once, his taste was storming your senses. He tasted…cold, in the most dizzying, lovely way you could imagine. Like those frosty winter nights you loved so much, when chilled mist hung in a thick layer over the village and froze the grass and had your breath clouding in front of your face. It was like bathing in winter, catching snowflakes in your mouth and your hair, feeling the chill bite your cheeks and turn them pink. And beneath the cold lay a warm, smoky undercurrent, the lingering taste of whiskey.

Azriel’s tongue swept around yours and tasted you just as thoroughly as you tasted him. And you…you felt yourself growing in confidence even more — figured he would have pulled away by now, if he wasn’t enjoying it. With a boldness you didn’t think too much about, you shifted on the piano stool so that you were sat astride it, and Azriel did the same, followed your movements, not once breaking from your kiss. You scooted closer to him, moving a hand up to thread your fingers within his hair. You applied pressure, kissed him harder—

Until he abruptly pulled away. He stared at you, panting slightly, his own cheeks flushed. His swollen lips were parted.

You studied him, wondering if you’d pushed it too far, done something wrong. You could only watch as his eyes shuttered.

“It appears I don’t need to show you how.” He breathed, opening those honeyed eyes again to meet yours. “Gods.”

You swallowed. “Was I…was it okay?”

“Okay doesn’t come close to what it was.”

You thought that was a compliment…maybe. Hopefully. But you didn’t care to think too hard about it. Or talk too much about it. You wanted that feeling and taste back. The pressure of his lips and the starlit frost of his mouth. Azriel watched you closely, reading every thought on your face as he brushed your cheek.

You glanced up at him. “Will you kiss me again?”

He swallowed. “Yes.” His voice was rough. “Gods, yes.”

It wasn’t as slow, this time, as he lowered his mouth to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you waited for that intoxicating sensation, for him to kiss you hard and fast—

A huge thud, thud stopped you both in your tracks. The bangs were loud enough to rattle the windows. Had you damn near jumping out of your skin. Azriel looked up, immediately on alert.

“Someone’s at the door.” You breathed, and another thud coursed through. You pushed clumsily to your feet. “I should answer it. You should…stay hidden.”

Right before your very eyes, he was moving fast as lightning, becoming nothing but mere shadow. The sight was so magnificent that for a second, all you could do was gape, but a fourth bang had you jumping into action.

You hurried through, unbolting the door and pulling it open. You fell still at the sight of Devin — the young, handsome Guard in training — on your doorstep.

He smiled at you as though he hadn’t been close to breaking your door in.

“Devin.” You breathed, suddenly aware of every place in which your lips and skin tingled. “What are you…why aren’t you at the festival?”

“I was.” He placed a hand on the hilt of his short sword. “I came to check on you. To make sure you’re alright.”

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“It must be disconcerting, being the only one in the village while everyone is at the festival. Especially with recent events.”

Right. Someone had died last night. Somehow, you’d managed to forget that startling fact.

“It is…disconcerting.” You’d been anything but disconcerted, in Azriel’s company. You straightened yourself up. “But I’m okay. The property is secure, and I have my dagger.”

Devin studied you, his pale blue eyes almost too assessing. He pursed his lips. “Still — perhaps I should give the inn a once-over and check that nothing is untoward.”

“There’s really no need. You should go back and rejoin the fun—”

As if you hadn’t spoken, he was ushering you out of the way and slipping past you. Your heart lurched as he strode into your home, his gaze seeming to be everywhere at once.

“You haven’t seen or heard anything unusual?” He reached out, checking the lock on a window.

“Nothing.” Your eyes darted cautiously to the door that Azriel was behind. “Really, it’s just been quiet. There’s no need—”

He rounded on you, a frown pulling at his handsome features. “You’re sure you’re alright? You seem a little…skittish.”

Gods. You were going to give yourself up from your behaviour alone.

“I’m fine.” You insisted. “Like I said…it’s just disconcerting. What happened to Polly.”

Devin nodded. “That it is.”

Before you could speak another word, he was striding through to the main bar area. “It’s barbarous, what those fae scum are capable of.” His eyes danced over the area. “Young women can’t even enjoy a village festival, anymore, without being attacked.”

You paused in the doorway. “You know for sure, then? That it was a fae attack.”

He whirled on you, his brow pinching. “Of course, it was, Y/N. What else would…”

At first, you didn’t know what had caused his words to trail off.

That was, until you followed his line of sight. To where yours and Azriel’s empty glasses from earlier still sat on the bar. Devin turned back to you as you stiffened.

“Have you had company?” He asked.

“Of course not.” You answered too quickly. “One of the glasses was my father’s. He had a drink before he left for the festival.”

The Guard studied you. And you knew…you knew from the set of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that he didn’t believe what you’d said.

You lifted your chin. “I just hadn’t got round to clearing them away. I got engrossed in playing the piano.”

There was a moment’s silence. You waited for Devin to question you, to dispute your story. But then he smiled. “You and that piano.” He strode closer, and you stepped back, drawing him out of the bar area and back into the entryway.

“I’m done playing for the night.” You told him. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

In other words — leave.

He stared at you, again, in that too-assessing way. And then he was stepping closer to you. “I understand.” He said. “I’m sorry if you feel like I barged my way in here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re safe. Because I care. You know that, don’t you?”

You pressed your back against the wall. “I know that.”

“Good.” A smile lifted half of his mouth. “Then I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some sleep.”

You didn’t think you breathed properly as he traipsed back over to the door and pulled it open. He turned at the threshold, glancing at you. “Don’t forget to bolt the door. You never know who could be lurking around.”

Surprisingly, you found yourself having to clamp down on your lips to stop a dangerous, hysterical giggle from crawling its way up your throat. You knew exactly who was lurking around. You forced your expression to stay neutral as you inclined your head.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as both his feet were out of the door, you couldn’t close it fast enough. You made a point of bolting it as loudly as possible, and pressed your back against its surface, waiting a beat, two.

After a few seconds, gravel crunched under Devin’s retreating feet. You blew out a deep breath.

Sudden awareness tickled the nape of your neck, and as quickly as Azriel had made himself disappear, he was materialising in front of you.

“Friend of yours?” He raised a dark eyebrow.

“Kind of…maybe. More of a customer, really.” Your eyes snagged on his lips. “He’s training to be a Village Guard. He came to check on me.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to the door, as though he could see right through it to Devin’s retreating figure. You weren’t sure you understood the expression that shaded his face.

“I got rid of him.” You said.

Hazel eyes dipped down to yours again, and a soft smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. “Still…perhaps we shouldn’t tempt the fates too much in one night. I should probably go…in case he comes back.”

Disappointment stormed you — even if you knew he was right. You’d enjoyed yourself so much tonight that you simply didn’t want it to end.

“I’ll be back.” Azriel promised, seeming to read your thoughts on your face. “I swear it. We’ll do this again.”

And you believed him. It was enough to satisfy you. You nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”

“As would I.”

His fingers reached out, brushing some hair from your face. He studied you as he tucked the strands behind your ear. “Rest well.”

You knew they were parting words. And you were filled with one last injection of boldness, of confidence. You didn’t want him to disappear before you acted on it. His shadows were already coiling around him, seeming set to carry him away.

“Azriel,” you breathed his name, and he and the shadows halted.

He tilted his head inquisitively. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed up onto the tips of your toes, capturing him in a kiss.

It wasn’t the hot, needy kiss he’d given you earlier — you weren’t quite confident enough to orchestrate such a thing. But its sweet, soft nature didn’t seem to bother him as he leaned into it, sliding a hand to the small of your back.

He kissed you gently, tenderly. And after only a couple of moments, he pulled away. A soft groan sounded in his chest, surprising you. “Do that, and I won’t have the willpower to do anything but stand here and kiss you all night.”

Your cheeks scorched, and you dipped your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Not for that.” He leaned closer, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

Soon. You really hoped so. You stepped back, giving him the space to leave before you did something stupid. Like kiss him again.

His mouth tipped up one last time into that beautiful smile, and then he was gone.

His taste wasn’t, though. It lingered in your mouth, on your skin.

You pressed your fingers to your swollen lips and smiled.

You slept well that night.

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azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @shannonsaid

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misguidedasgardian · 10 months

Text

Storm's End

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, mention's of children maiming, mentions of virginity loss and blood. READER MIGHT BE DEAD, OR MAYBE DEPENDS, COMPLETELY UP TO YOU, dragon's death though :(

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.5 k

Notes: I know this has been done before, but… this is my way to look at it. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra, she sends you to Storm’s End instead of Luke, and this is what ensues

You know you should have turned back the moment your dragon took flight away from Dragonstone.

There was something in the air

Grandmother Rhaenys, and your dear brothers flying by your side soothed you, made you remember you were not alone, but they soon parted way with you, Jace went North, as did Lucerys, Rhaenys went west, and you continued south

Towards Storm’s End

Those stormy clouds in the horizon must have been your first dark omen, but you didn’t pay attention to them, or to anything else really

Your mind was set

You had begged your mother to let you helped her, so she send you to the closest place, a short fly, a message delivered, and then you could return.

But what were you going to say?

you wanted to believe your mother’s words, that Lord Borros was going to be honored to receive you there, you were a young princess, no real threat, only a messenger, he was going to respect you, you were going to say your piece, and then you were going to take his answer back to your mother, as easy as that.

You held tightly onto your dragon’s reins as you flew amidst a cloud with rain within, getting you drenched within second

Karnax, under you, roared softly, feeling your uneasiness, trying to make you feel safer, and you did.

It was not relief what you felt when you saw the tall tower of Storm’s End in the horizon, it actually felt like your stomach had turned on itself, but that is the second sign you decided to ignore

Karnax was small, bigger than Arrax and a bit than Vermax, but he was still small enough to land in the outer courtyard, and you did

Your saddle was wet, and you slid right off of it, landing heavily with your boots in the ground.

You jumped when the light of a thunder brightened the sky for just a second, and then moments later the thunderous sound made the floor shake.

Karnax whined when you touched him, trying to soothe him, he was nervous, and soon you learnt why

Another, even louder, more monstrous sound made you flinch, and when you looked over the huge defensive walls of the castle, there she was. Vhagar raised her head, dwarfing the constructions covering her, growling as a warning.

She was indeed the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world

And she was here

That means that Aemond was also

Probably doing the same thing as you, trying to rally Lord Borros to his cause, to his side

To the Usurpers

The prospect of seeing your uncle made you tremble in fear, you had always been afraid of him, ever since he lost his eye, even more so after the last time you saw him

You have eavesdropped a conversation in which he had asked for your hand in marriage and Rhaenyra had crudely rejected him, he did not reacted well

It did not help that it was the same day of the Driftmark trials

He had frighten you so much your mother send you back the same night, only a few weeks away

“Sobes Karnax, Lykyri”, you whispered soothingly, patting her snout, he whined, worried, but it was too late now, you couldn’t back down, you wondered if you were trying to calm him, or expected that he would sooth you back.

So ignoring your body, mind, heart, soul, dragons, the weather and everything in existence around you, you decided to walk towards the guards guarding the entrance to the Castle

“I have a message for Lord Borros from Queen Rhaenyra”, you said quickly, before you lose your momentum, they barely nodded and started walking, you followed suit, trying to fix your drenched clothes

The Storm had catched up with you.

You could still hear it raging behind you as you entered the main hall of the castle of the Baratheons, you had never been here before, and it amazed you the immensity of it, it was rounded and at least three stories tall, ending in a huge vault over your heads, front here you could see multiple passages leading to the rest of the construction, but you could look no more

“The Princess (Y/N) Velaryon”, presented the guard, “Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen”

Queen

You thought bitterly, as you found Lord Borros seated on his throne.

But your gaze was immediately taken away

Aemond

He stood at the side of the throne, standing straight by one of Borros’ daughters, as he heard your name he immediately turned

He looked dangerous

Dresses head to toe in black leather, his hair combed perfectly, the eyepatch cutting his face in half

You wondered if he could notice you trembling from that far

You guessed he could since he looked terribly amused at your presence, his naturally curved lips smirked.

But you didn't came here for him, you turned your gaze towards to the Lord of the Stormlands

“Lord Borros, I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen”, you didn’t realize you had a stone inside your throat until now, almost choking in our own words, you were thankful for the acoustic of the place or else nobody could have heard you

“Yet early this day I received an envoy from the king”, he said then, “so which is it? King or Queen? the House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it”, he was already crossed with someone or something and you cursed yourself for being so weak, sounded so pathetically

And then he laughed at his own joke and you shook, perhaps he was laughing at you

You looked fleetingly at Aemond

Perhaps to make sure he stood where he was

He frightened you

You begged the gods to make him stay there, as he stood, unmovable like the statues of Dragonstone

“What’s your mother’s message?”, the Lord of Storm’s End did not take well to your distraction, so you tried your best to reach with your arm and this one not to shake, to prove to everyone there, to Lord Borro’s daughters, him, your uncle, and the court, how scared you were

A soldier took your message hastily and gave it to the Lord

He sighed, frustrated, and call in the maester

In a silly second you thought fleetingly of your brother’s giggles when you tell them the rumors were true and indeed Lord Borros didn’t know how to read, you remembered fleetingly that you suggested it was because he had hit himself many times on the head while jousting

But you shook those thoughts away, when you felt the small hairs in the back of your hair stand up, as Aemond’s deep gaze was on you

For a second, only the wind making the stones whistle as sing could be heard, and then the ruffling of paper the maester made while reading the letter.

Your uncle’s gaze didn’t leave you for a second, so you tried to look away from him, only stealing glances to make sure he hadn't move

That he was still several feet away from you, with people in between you

You didn't want him near you

He frightened you

He hated you

You knew this

“Remind me of my father’s oaths?”, asked Borros, enraged, you turned to look at him, scared, “King Aegon at least came with an offer, my banners and swords for a marriage pact”

Poor girl, you thought briefly

“If I do what your mother bids, who of my household will you marry, girl? uh?”

“My lord…”, you could turn this around, you could, you needed to try, to explain, to plead to his honor, “I’m not free to marry, I’m already betrothed to Cregan Stark”, you said, and you were not completely lying, your big brother was flying North now with the proposal in his hand

Aemond hummed mockingly at your words, so your gaze landed on him again.

He still was amused, even more so now, you shook in your place, trembling like a leaf in the autumn winds

“So you come with empty hands”, said Borros, more angry than before, “go home pup, and tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up in need to set against her enemies”, he said rapidly

You had failed

You tried to swallow your tears as the stone in your throat but you just couldn’t do it

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, My Lord”, you whimpered, and when you looked at the pity in the daughters’ faces you realized your voice did sounded broken and defeated

Weak

You turned to leave, sad because you failed, but relieved that this had come to an end

“Wait”, you trembled in your place, stopping immediately at your uncle’s call.

You turned slowly, fearfully, to look back at him

“My lady Strong”

You whimpered

“Uncle?’, you were acknowledging him, but it sounded more like a question

Weak

“Did you really think you could just fly upon the realms, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You are the thieves

But the words never reached your lips, instead you wanted to hide your head between your shoulders, almost feeling ashamed

That much power Aemond had over you, the power to make you feel like you were in the wrong, and he was in the right

Ever since that night

When your little brother took his eye

The girl by his side took a step back, like giving him space, and that made you take a step back, less and less things could protect you from your uncle, your hand instinctively went to the pommel of the short sword your stepfather Daemon had begged you to carry, you didn’t know how to use it, but nonetheless… it couldn’t hurt

“I will not fight with you uncle, I came as a messenger”, you said, your voice, again, broken, weak, with fear and sadness

You had failed

“A fight would be little challenge”, he said dismissively

“I’m aware”, you admitted, if it came to blows, you stood no chance against his incredible skill with the sword, even if you meant a fight with words filled with poison

“No…”, his hand went to his eyepatch, and form one single movement he took it out of his face, revealing a sapphire where his eyeball should be

You whimpered, taking a step back

It had taken you by surprise, not that you found him monstrous, or anything, it was just… incredible

“...You brother is indebted to me”

You really wished, in the bottom of your heart, that he would have let this go, if not for your brother, for himself, but he didn’t he hasn't, and that made him so incredible dark, resentful, twisted and mean

And that is what you were most afraid of

“It was an accident…”

“I want you to pay instead”, you whined, taking a step back

“I have nothing…”

“A small payment in blood will suffice…”, you looked at Lord Borros, alarmed, he clearly was not meant for THAT, did he? Did he plan on slaying you there where you stood?, in front of all this people?

“...I will not breed you”, a single tear escaped your eye at his crude words, “I plan on gifting our bloodied sheets to your mother”, you looked back at the Lord of Storm’s End and he looked back at you, concerned

This was the man supposed to wed one of his daughters

“No!”, you cried, in defense of yourself

“So you are a craven as well as a traitor, as your brothers…”

“Not here!”, Borros finally intervened, but still you could not breathe, you were terrified

You never wanted to believe the gazes your uncle gave you were ones of desire, and dark intentions of bedding you, you never thought…

“GIVE YOURSELF TO ME, OR I WILL TAKE YOU BASTARD!”, you shrieked as he advanced on you with certain and long steps, you stumbled backwards trying to prevent him getting near you

“NOT IN MY HALL!”, the thunderous voice of Borros made him stop in his tracks, “the girl came as an envoy, I will not have bloodshed of any kind beneath my roof”

Lord Borros’ words came of little comfort, not when your uncle had taken a dagger of his belt and was threatening you with it, the storm outside, the lightning made his sapphire gleam meanly

“Take the princess back to her dragon, now!”, commanded Lord Borros and you, giving a titanic effort, managed to walk (and not sprint at high speed) out of the hall

Aemond watched you go and smirked, making the dagger dance in his hand

You were his to take

He looked back at the girl he had begun to court to notice she was far away from him now, clearly scared of him

“I will be back shortly to resume negotiations”, he said meanly

“Don’t bother”, said Floris, standing now next to a guard, she would not like to be courted by him now, “I’m not interested in a man that is pure bark and no bite”

When you stepped outside, the storm was raging, you were drenched in second, wet from head to toes, but you couldn’t paid no mind to such things now

Karnax felt your fear, how frightening you were and he advanced towards you whining and growling desperate

“Lykiri Karnax” [calm], “gūrogon īlva hen kesīr” [take us out of here]

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, you let your tears fall freely now that nobody could notice nor see you, another Lightning broke the skies from afar and when you turned…

Vhagar was gone

There was no way he could have left before you, it couldn’t, it wasn’t possible

He was in negotiations with the Baratheons, you had to go, so he wouldn’t catch you.

You thought he was going to let you be, because it had been your brother who took his eye, not you

Oh how wrong you were

“Why?”, you cried, trying to make sense of it all as you climbed onto your dragon’s saddle, “Sobes, Karnax”, you called, he growled but obeyed you, he also wanted to get out of here.

You needed to get back to your mother, to Dragonstone, to your brothers and stepfather, they needed you, but you somehow knew that wasn’t going to be possible, a crippling fear took a hold in your body, you felt like you could barely move, your body being so tense.

The rain hit your face with strength, the highers you flied, you only secured your staps tightly and held into your reins hardly

Karnax flapped his wings with difficulty, but he succeeded in keep flying, you wanted to relax, you were flying away from Storm’s End, the Baratheons, your uncle, everyone, but something told you it wasn’t going to be that easy

You wanted Karnax to fly faster, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach

You whimpered in fear

something was wrong, terribly wrong

You felt a low growl coming from above and you cried, lowering your head, not wanting to face it, face him, and what he was going to do to you once he had you within his grasp

He was coming for you

And the moment you took to the skies, you raised the bet, he was not simply going to take you now, he couldn't not flying like this...

He rode the largest dragon in the world and you one of the smallest

You grabbed into your reigns and hoped Karnax would fly faster, but you couldn’t ask more of him of what you were already asking

You gained the courage to look up and you got a glimpse of a large looming shadow over you

Why?, you whimpered, crying harder, and Karnax growled

Why you?, you loved him once, you were friends, you played, and read together as kids, you had promised you could share little Karnax, and he had agreed.

But he got his own dragon, the largest in the world, and from that moment he pushed you aside and called you a bastard despite your Targaryen features and the fact that he had never called you that

He almost killed your brothers and then Luke took his eye.

After what transcurred in Driftmark with the Queen and your mom Aemond had come to your room in the hour of the bat, you woke up with a knife in your cheek and him over you, his hand in your throat

You never knew why he had come to your chambers and not luke’s or jace’s

He always knew you were the weakest one

You were a woman, he was a man

You looked ahead and shrieked once again when you saw Vhagar coming at you amongst the dark stormy clouds, at full speed

“NO!”, she changed her trajectory, going up in the last second, her feet and claws passing right by you, you could even feel them passing right by your head

Please

You were going to die

You could hear Aemond’s laugh, ricocheting amongst the clouds

He was amused by you

He hated you

And now he was going to kill you.

Karnax growled, scared too out of his mind, you could feel him, deep in your gut, the pure and sheer instinct to fight or fly kicking in, and both of you opting for the latter

just when you thought you had lost him, you heard the flap of huge wings behind you, you turned to look, and Vhagar huge open jaws appeared trough the storm, ready to swallow you whole.

But Karnax was fast, and Vhagar liked to play with her food

“I see you!”, you heard from behind, and the sound that Vhagar’s jaws made when they close grabbing into thin air made your skin prickle, “Libōnos”, [bastard]

Your body was tense as a bow, you could barely feel your legs that were tightened around your saddle, the water, despite your leather cape, has got under the clothes, and froze you all over, that you felt like you were made of ice, you could barely move, your fingers were not going to survive this even if you did

Vhagar was still behind you as you commanded your dragon to fly downwards, to gain speed

You made him turn and twist in the air, but to no avail, the monstrous Vhagar had her eyes set on her prey and she was not going to let go, you use your whole body and strength to pull her to make her change her trajectory from one moment to another, she might be bigger, but you were faster

Deep down you knew it was all going to be for nothing

He was coming for you

He hated you

And you could hear his sick laugh as he was laughing in your ear

You soon could make out the sea under you and as you looked to your left there was a cliff splitted in two, a risk in the middle, you had a change, you might be able to flight in between, but Vhagar wouldn’t

Your dragon read your mind and went there, seeking refuge

It has worked, you looked back to see VHagar fighting to make her heavy body fly upwards, your uncle’s grunts cut trough the air reaching you, it was insane

He was insane

He had a grudge for 8 years, boiling and simmering in rage, anger, and sadness, and you were the one that was going to get the worst of it

You felt relieved even, that it was you and not sweet Lucerys

Better you than him

“JĒMELÃ GÊLŸNI ENKÂ!”, he screamed [you owe me a debt], “BYKA!”, little one

Karnax flied diligently through the cliffs and rocks, you looked up and he was still there, chasing you, looming over you

“I lied!”, you heard then, “I will give you my bastard”, a pain spread through your chest, all your sorrow, pain, fear, exploding, taking a hold on your body, preventing you from breathing properly, even with the skies falling upon your head, with your life in your uncle’s hands.

You screamed when Karnax again flew in open skies as the protection of the cliff was taken away. It was a scream of agony, frustration, and fear

Oh so much fear

But the gods, or whomever, granted you a small mercy, the clouds were thick and the sea was a few feet under you, they concealed you from your predator chasing you.

You took a shaky, long breath, despite the lump in your throat present since you left Dragonstone

You needed to get yourself together

Keep flying North, soon the skies will clear, you couldn’t let fear control you….

Fear

The last thing you heard was Vhagar growling, and Karnax high screeched when the biggest dragon in the world sank her teeth in him, catching his legs and tail, completely destroying him.

“AH!”, you barely got a scream yourself, she didn’t catch you, but so did half your dragon, now dead.

“VHAGAR! NO! NO VHAGAR!”, is the last thing you heard

The next?

The white noise of water, all around you, the cold grasping you, hugging you tightly, not letting you move as the water moved around you taking you prisoner

For better or worse, Vhagar’s had completely destroyed the saddle, releasing you, and now you were there, by a gift or a curse from the gods, amongst the dark tides of Shipwreck bay, sinking slowly, finally you didn’t feel more fear, only the instinct to survive.

You were a true Velaryon at last.

#misguidedhouse #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #misguidedhotd #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #targaryen!reader #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond

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wisteriaiswriting · 4 months

Note

Do you think you could write for Doomfist, Junker Queen and Zarya with a reader who like to really likes their muscles. Like they love to just rub their biceps and abs casually.

𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

Words: 390

𝔻𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕚𝕤𝕥:

As much as he loves you, never do it in public, he will melt and has a reputation at stake.

But in private is a different story. Then you can do almost anything you want, just let him work.

***

The event had lasted for many hours, and was still ongoing. Except you and Akande were done for the night, wanting some time away from everyone else. And that came in the form of your shared room.

When you return his first action is to lock the door, not wanting any more interruptions. Next was to remove his jacket, letting it sit on the back of a nearby chair.

You finished getting comfortable as he moved to sit on the bed, allowing you to sit on his lap. Almost instantly your hands were gliding over his arms, his body slowly relaxing as you continued.

𝕁𝕦𝕟𝕜𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕖𝕟:

Doing this will actively boost her ego, it will sky rocket to new levels.

Even if you do it once she will start encouraging you to feel her up, mainly in public as well.

***

It didn’t take a genius to realize your strange little likes, so she was pretty quick to notice. Especially for her abs, and she wasn’t quiet about this find.

“Finally, someone showing me some proper respect!” As she spoke she hauled you into her arms before throwing you into a bridal carry. Walking around in this position gives you the perfect chance to check out her arms.

ℤ𝕒𝕣𝕪𝕒:

Please don’t do it in public, she will get embarrassed. Meaning you won’t be able to touch her, for long anyways.

When in private you’ll have a lot more access to touch her muscles. Just be careful, as she is ticklish in some places.

***

The mission wasn’t unexpected per say, it’s the fact everything had gone wrong. Turns out the files you were given weren’t the current information, instead the first things they found out without clarifying. But even if nothing on the mission went correctly, one thing happened just after.

Both of you leaving the ship after it landed, with yourself hanging onto her arm. Even now she was a slight red, then you had to start feeling along her arm. Suddenly her face exploded into a bright red.

She debated rushing off but didn’t want to leave you, instead picking you up before leaving.

#overwatch x reader #overwatch x male reader #overwatch doomfist #overwatch doomfist x reader #doomfist x reader #overwatch junker queen #overwatch junker queen x reader #junker queen x reader #overwatch zarya #overwatch zarya x reader #zarya x reader #wisteria♥

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dragonfly0808 · 4 months

Text

How Daphne Haunts the Narrative

I love the concept of a character haunting the narrative. Just… ugh I can’t even explain it.

My favorite examples of this are Sejannus and Lucy Gray in the Hunger Games.

I always found the concept of Daphne to be a very interesting one in the OG, this girl who was a Nymph and an amazing fairy sacrificing it all for her sister and winding up a ghost in a lake.

But I felt like that concept was never used to it’s full potential.

So… I tried to do just that.

In my rewrite, Daphne is almost this larger-than-life entity. She wasn’t just Bloom’s sister.

She was an amazing fairy in her own right, she was a Nymph and the best Guardian of the Dragon Flame that’d been seen in centuries. On top of all of that, she was a dedicated Princess.

That’s part of what makes her tragic, she was the best, and she was still taken down.

Now, Daphne’s situation isn’t what I would call a proper haunting of the narrative, but she’s definetly very present in the way that, in some way or another, almost everything leads back to her.

Bloom is haunted by the idea of having to live up to Daphne, the more she learns about her sister the more she feels like she won’t be able to do just that.

Bloom’s haunted by the memory everyone has of her sister, everyone who remembers Daphne has an insane level of respect for her and misses her dearly. That’s something that can intimidate Bloom from time to time and even make her jealous.

Then, there’s the fact that, if Domino hadn’t fallen and Daphne hadn’t been cursed, then Bloom wouldn’t even be a fairy in the first place.

Daphne gave up, not just the Flame but also a big part of her own power in order to keep Bloom safe and give her the power she would need to be the Guardian of the Flame.

Due to this, Bloom is haunted by guilt and resentment. Guilt due to the fact that pretty much everything she has could technically be seen as something that was ‘taken’ from Daphne. There comes the guilt, which then meets… resentment. Guilty resentment towards Daphne for giving her the Flame and being the action that drops the dominoes towards arguably every bad thing in Bloom’s life.

So, Bloom’s view and relationship of/with Daphne, is complicated to say the least.

This is something I love, since it allows for Bloom’s complex feelings to turn into something that I feel a lot of little sisters can relate to, just the confusion of loving and adoring your sister but also feeling jealousy and resentment and just, not being sure whether you should be like them and trying to be your own person when you have the same teachers… I think it’s kinda relatable in a way. If you take away all the magical shenanigans of course.

This is how Daphne haunts Bloom specifically, but this is named after the narrative, so how does Daphne haunt the very narrative of Veiled Wings?

That, is a very interesting question that has a bit of a complicated answer.

There are two ways in which Daphne haunts the narrative.

The first is ala Star Wars; the story ‘rhyming’. I don’t know if you’ve watched this very old interview with George Lucas but he said something along the lines of “the story rhymes”, what this means is that the same beats occur in the story, in opposite or contrasting ways. They ‘rhyme’.

This is what happens with Daphne and Bloom, in a sense, their stories rhyme.

Both grow up a bit lonely, both find their heart and soul in Alfea. Both make life-long friends there. Bloom finds her connections with fellow fairies while Daphne preffered witches and warlocks and Palladins.

They meet Tabitha and Stella, both with similar personalities but opposite powers. Avalon and Timmy, with the same habit of diving head first into research about anything they’re passionate about and being just a little (unapologetically) weird.

Then there’s their romances. Both Daphne and Bloom have tragedies as romances. Daphne and Valtor started off great, it was their ending that was oh so tragic. While, for Bloom and Sky, it’s Valtor that turns them into a tragedy in the middle of their relationship.

Politea and Selina, both dear friends lost to inner darkness.

Bloom’s story parallels a lot of Daphne’s. (Even if a lot of it is stuff that I just made up that hasn’t really been mentioned or explained).

The second way in which Daphne haunts the narrative, is that, like I mentioned before, almost everything leads back to Daphne in some way or another.

A lot of the villains or people we encounter have ties to her or are situations that she began/participated in in some kind of way.

Darkar was created in part due to Daphne. Darkar attacks Daphne, in turn, Valtor curses him and he becomes the red skeleton we know and love. Daphne is his origin story.

Before Bloom fought Icy, Daphne fought Icy’s cousin and her coven, who was the first to awaken the Ancestral Witches spirit. That is one parallel that I really like just, adding to the fight even if neither Icy nor Bloom are fully aware of the history of previous family also fighting.

Teachers we know (Griselda, Tabitha and Avalon most of all though Codatorta and Palladium also fall here) were once friends with Daphne.

Valtor’s entire reason for fighting is avenging and trying to bring back Daphne. And of course, the Ancestral Witches are locked away in time back in Domino as Daphne’s final act as a warrior.

The end of Daphne’s story sets up the world the Winx start off in.

In a sense, all roads lead back to her.

The narrative can’t escape Daphne’s past actions, her choices, her story rhymes with Bloom’s and a lot of what happens in the story happens due to Daphne’s past and things that she once did.

I always felt like she was never fully utilized in the OG show and I really wanted to have her be a nearly constant presence, I wanted her to be perhaps even more than a ghost.

And thus, the idea of her haunting the narrative and Bloom.

#Veiled wings anniversary #veiled wings and shattered panoramas #winx club #winx rewrite #winx #winx headcannon #winx fanfic #winx headcanons #winx club rewrite #winx daphne #winx bloom #winx valtor

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when-pigsfly · 3 months

Text

WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here | masterlist

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

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