#Daybreak's greetings

[thegoodmorningman]

good morning! i just discovered your existence and the rest of my day is all the better for it

Daybreak's Greetings Mushrooms Loves You, I hope the rest of your days are a Good Morning!!! Your friend forever, Bud☀️🧙🏼‍♂️✌🏼

[grox-empire]

SEASON'S GREETINGS!

I've had this drawing planned since the start of this year :)

[killjoy-prince]

DAYBREAK MENTION FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 65 CHAPTERS!!! BABYGIRL I MISS YOUUUU

[dawnled]

tag post #5 ( au verses #2 ) !

[ofbatsandballads]

recently got reminded of Jason’s “hello bed, hello pillow,” line and how deeply I feel that reflects his character and his longing. so here’s some yearning!jason because that boy loves deeply and profoundly down to his very soul. have I mentioned I love him? also once again the romanized arabic at the end translates to “my life” and it’s quickly becoming one of my favorite terms of endearment for Jay to use.

Thinking about Jason Todd and how deeply he yearns for you. He’s waited so long to be loved in the way he craves, has been so hungry for it that the ache in his belly has never really gone away. He’s been a wraith, a corpse, a man starving for affection and sweetness. And then you come along and change everything for him. How couldn’t he yearn for you? How couldn’t he long for you every moment that you’re not in his presence? Revere you and worship you every moment that you are?

Thinking about Jason Todd who treats you like something divine, something holy. He kisses the bruises you get from bumping into countertops or tripping along the crooked cobblestones in Gotham Heights. He ghosts his thumbs over your closed eyes when you lay down with him to sleep in the early hours of the morning. Jason Todd who holds you so, so close to him. He knows you run cold and he runs burning hot, so it’s only right that he wraps his entire body around you to keep you warm and safe. It’s proof to him that the two of you may be something fated, something that life and death can’t touch. How perfectly you suit each other. His fire to your coolness, his strength to your gentleness, his storm to your clear shining day.

Thinking about Jason Todd who clings to everything he’s ever loved and lost with bloodied fingers from how tightly he holds on. His fingers aren’t bloodied with you though. He doesn’t have to dig his nails in, bite down with his teeth, and force you to stay. You remain peacefully in his arms. You lie there content like you trust him, like you love him. That’s what makes his yearning all the more fierce—it’s returned by you. He used to doubt it, used to think he was unworthy and undeserving and that no one could possibly pick him out of all the people in the world. But you’ve stuck around and proved him wrong. So when he yearns for you, it isn’t with the pain of clawing into something bound to leave him. It isn’t with the bone-deep terror of loss. He yearns for you with the peace of coming home.

Thinking of Jason Todd who comes back from patrol just before daybreak. The sky is the same blue-green as his eyes and exhaustion weighs down his body. Still, his soul lifts when he sees what he’s been longing for for the past three hours. A warm bed, a soft pillow, and his heart snuggled up under the blankets.

“Hello, bed,” Jason says as he pulls his helmet off and sets it on the dresser.

“Hello, pillow,” he greets as he lays his gear on the balcony railings to be cleaned tomorrow.

“Hello, hayati,” he whispers with a kiss to your hair as he climbs into bed and pulls you into his arms.

Just…thinking about Jason Todd who yearns for you.

[clare-875]

Morning Company (Sanji x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Sanji x Female Reader Summary: Sanji wakes before the dawn breaks, and so you find yourself doing the same to keep him company Warnings: Fluff [One Piece Masterlist] _____

Sanji wakes up before five every morning to prepare breakfast for the crew and prepare meals for the day. He is used to waking up to the chill that comes with a dawning day and pulling himself from the warmth of his bed. But the one thing he despised most was leaving you beneath blankets and having to begrudgingly remove you from his embrace. You always looked so beautiful as you slept, and his heart could only beat faster when you reached for his warmth as he pulled away, only making him want to stay.

He was in awe of your love; he couldn't believe you were his.

The pleasant company of you in his room was a stark contrast to the dim kitchen where he would be left to prepare meals for the day alone. Despite the sound of Brook playing his violin into the early morning, he could not help but selfishly miss your presence in the daybreak. He was so used to your words frantically reaching the air or your presence next to him, that he could only wait for the sun to bring you from your slumber and back to him again.

However, unbeknownst to Sanji, you have started to take more notice of the fact that your boyfriend would often be gone from bed whenever you woke. In fact, rarely did you wake up to his warmth next to you, and his peaceful face as he slept or stared adoringly to you. So, you had decided to embark on a secret little mission of yours, one that may require earlier nights, but hopefully result in mornings spent with your beloved.

Today, was the beginning of those mornings.

You can feel Sanji stir from next to you, and trying to hide a smile, you pretend to be asleep. You can feel his arms shift from around you and you hear his sigh as he realises he needs to get up for another day. A few moments pass before he gently shifts you from his arms, and places a soft kiss on your head. "Good Morning, love." His words are soft-spoken as to not 'wake' you but low from his sleep, and it makes your heart jolt in your chest. He then groans and pulls himself to his feet, before stepping to the door and leaving for the kitchen.

You wait two beats before deciding to join him.

Sanji has only just started retrieving ingredients from the fridge and picking out utensils when he hears the creak of the door behind him. Figuring it might be Brook who sometimes comes in for a cup of tea, he doesn't turn at first. "Morning Brook," he says casually, but what greets him instead is a sudden but familiar warmth that has his heart hammering. "Morning, love," you say, pressing your face into Sanji's back and relishing the warmth of him in contrast to the cool morning air. "Expecting someone else?"

Sanji pauses for only a moment in pleasant surprise before he turns from within your arms so he can look down at you. You smile sleepily up at him, and you appreciate the way his eyes seem to enlighten as he looks at you, a gentle smile on his face. "Love, why are you up so early? Aren't you cold? Tired? You can go back to bed if you-" You shake your head against his chest, shushing his concerns and rolling your eyes. "I'm fine, Sanji. Besides, I wanted to keep you company."

One of Sanji's hands reaches for the loose strands of your slightly dishevelled hair, tucking it behind your ear and lingering there. He stares at you in silent wonderment for a moment, how someone so kind and beautiful and loving could care for him in the way that you do. He places a delicate kiss on your head and you smile up at him at the action, just as you hear Brook's violin gently start to play a tune into the early morning. "This is actually kinda nice," you murmur and Sanji's fondness only grows.

"Let me make some tea for you, love."

Sanji's gentle voice interrupts the rhythm of slow swaying but it is you who pulls away from the confines of his arms. "No, no, you continue with your meal prep, I can make us the tea." Before your boyfriend can say anything to retaliate, you have reached for the kettle, and so Sanji joins you by your side as he heats up the stove and starts cutting up vegetables. You teasingly bump his hip with yours, as you reach for two mugs and start boiling the water.

Time passes in the ease of the other's presence; you sip your tea and help Sanji prepare breakfast. During the quiet of the morning, the two of you find yourself comfortable in the domesticity of it all, as Sanji guides your hands to a variety of tasks. You spill your words easily into the morning air, of your plans for the day, of funny things you saw the prior day, of anything that's on your mind. Throughout, all Sanji does is smile softly and nod to your rambling with keen interest.

You only stop when your tasks are finished and you feel you have been talking too much, hearing too much of Sanji's silence. "Love, are you okay? You've been quiet." You ask as you carry finished plates of breakfast to the dining table. But Sanji only looks to you with an expression adorned in love. "Everything's perfect, love. You are perfect." He walks over to you and suddenly you are in his arms once more, as he leans down and captures your lips. You kiss him back with equal fervour and he feels your own smile on your lips.

The both of you pull away just in time for the kitchen door to slam open.

"Sanji, I'm hungry!!"

"Morning Sanji-kun, [y/n]!!"

"Good morning!!"

"Hey, cook! Where's my breakfast?"

The rowdy crew enter the confines of the dining area and makes their way happily to the meals that have been prepared and are waiting for them. Suddenly your quiet morning has disappeared, replaced by a lively atmosphere. "Morning," you reply back in a sing-song voice, smiling as Nami gives you a knowing glance. But you simply take Sanji's hand in yours and guide him to the dining table as he obliges to your actions in contentedness.

"All right, let's eat!!"

Luffy's voice is all it takes for everyone to start their meals, and you do the same, but Sanji can't help but sneak glances at you throughout. When you finally meet his gaze and smile, a light blush adorns his face.

All of a sudden, the morning becomes his favourite time of the day.

[goodeapple]

divine timing, or something like it (alpha!aemond targaryen x omega!oc)

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : ABO dynamics (which imo, comes with obvious dubious consent), dreams of knotting, the standard Targcest good times that is my bread & butter

word count : 6,000+

note : i can't believe this thing is actually seeing the light of day and (hopefully) breaking me out of my writer's block. hope ya love it, idc if ya hate it <33

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Gods, she can't fucking breathe.

Ysilla gasps wildly, one desperate inhale after another. She rips at the soft sweetheart rise of her dress' neckline with frenzied hands, nails sharp and fraying the delicate stitchings. Good, let her ruin it then, if the soaking rush of slick that's wetting her thighs hasn't stained the fabric beyond measure already.

Her cunt is a river, the swollen lips of her flower sopping and sliding along one another, and if she clenches her muscles just so, hot tiny tingles burst like sparks in her tummy. There's a pressure building, not quite unlike the kind that has her relieving herself at daybreak, but something just south of there. More pleasant, more tight. 

She careens into the side of a writing desk, the wind whooshing out of her as her stomach greets the sturdy wood. Her fingers scrabble for purchase- to anchor her down, to tear her forward, she is unsure. All she knows is that every inch of her body hurts and she'd do anything to make it better.

Her chamber door opens and it seems her prayers for help have been answered. 

"What have you gotten yourself into now, Niece?" Aemond spits, barely concealed fury fizzing and frothing at his edges. Dinner was a fucking disaster, one he enjoyed aiding in. Riling up the Strong boys had brought him more joy than he could ever remember experiencing, but the long night to get there made him want to sever the very head from his body.

Rhaenyra and her doting bitch of a husband, with their identical downturned scowls and judging eyes, laughing and snorting carefree at the end of the table. His ghoulish corpse of a father forcing them all to lend an ear to that insufferable speech. So many sons, they all blurred one into the other, all sharing the features of their mother and that of whomever their fathers may be. The hair color used to help keep them sorted but now, two fair haired sniveling brats have been added to the brood and Aemond can't keep track. 

And then, of course, there's Ysilla, with her nose upturned and self-righteousness a thick cloud perfuming her. The firstborn to the King's favorite. Destined to only receive the best and apparently, from her attitude, it's never enough. 

And now, even after he's done his duty to his mother and put on the best face he could manage tonight (before it all went belly up), it seems he still cannot escape the bastards of his blood.

"No, no, no, get him out of here!" Ysilla screams at the petrified servant girl, who doesn't even have the good fucking sense to fake like she's trying to obey the future Crown's wishes, and instead flutters soft lashes to the Targaryen son in hope of help. The girl is a waif of creamy alabaster skin and yellow blonde hair, all of it pinned underneath a sage colored cap. Her cheeks are a pinched red; delicate circles of color that match the flush of her lips. And she's looking at Aemond like he'll save her from the hellish wench that she's been stuck waiting on since Ysilla and her family returned to the capital. 

Ysilla snarls, angrier than a dragon with a toothache. "Fine then, if you are so miserably incompetent, then you leave!" Her mother would smack her in the mouth if she heard her being such a pain, but Ysilla would spit at the King himself with the agony that churns in her gut.

 

Damn these people, don't even know how to listen to the heiress. Ysilla growls, before a clenching cramp bows her over, sending her grasping for the edge of the desk before she can crumple onto the top of it. 

"You sent her for help, and this is how you treat her?" 

"Help? You?" Her snort is indignant but she deems it appropriate. 

"You are so like your mother, aren't you." It isn't a question as much as it's an accusation. Ysilla bristles at the disgust layered in between the clearly enunciated words. Aemond speaks to be heard- their family dinner drove that point home like a stake through the ground. And for him to disrespect her mother- the heir- so blatantly and in front of others, makes her vision glow crimson. 

"And damn proud of it." She spits out, watching through blurry eyes as Aemond holds the door open for the maid and softly hushes her quivering apology. He's so gentle with her, even pushing the door shut with less force than a strong gust of wind, as if he doesn't wish to frighten the girl anymore than Ysilla apparently has.

But yet, whenever he looks at her- his own kin- it's with a roughness that rivals dragon scales. Ysilla's skin shivers in annoyance, and she tears at her bracelets until the bangles free her wrists and fall to the floor in a bejeweled rain. 

"What's happening to me?" She whines, fear starting to creep over her. Mayhaps she's coming down with a fever. It would explain her scorching complexion, and the delirium plaguing her good sense. She's just not familiar with any sickness that makes her cunt wetter than the tides. 

"What is the meaning of all this?" Aemond's barbed words cut off in a choke, his hand flying to his nose as if to shield himself from something hideous. He sputters, his solo eye wrenching shut before he sucks in a heavy breath. 

The rise and fall of his chest grows labored, and Ysilla watches cautiously as he blinks himself back into the moment. His eye, once calculating and acutely focused, has gone hazy and the black dot in the center seems to have gulped down the silver steel of his iris. He looks at her then, truly looks at her, for the first time in years and takes stock of what lies in front of him. Ysilla feels no better than that roasted pig on the silver platter, left untouched on the dinner table. 

Every spot on her body that is roamed over by his singular sight erupts in a flaming burst, every sinew and stretch of supple skin being forged anew under her uncle's attention. The look on his face is one she's never seen before and she tries to find it within herself to be scared. Frightened. Petrified. Because all of his lingering animosity is absent, his signature sneer long gone and in their place, hunger has laid waste to his beauty. The Princess whimpers, the tightening behind her navel becoming nearly unbearable.

"Seven above… you're presenting." The awe in Aemond's tone is soft and it feels like balm on a blister. His voice is spiced wine and she wants to steal a sip. Ysilla blinks at him as his words register, annoyed confusion poking through the airiness of her uncle's voice. 

"What am I presenting?" 

Aemond looks at her, before he laughs. He laughs! Ysilla wasn't sure her uncle even knew how to do so. His laughter dies down into a chuckle, and he hums. "My silly girl… my Silli girl."

Ysilla melts into an even bigger puddle. Her shorthand from his lips is enough to have her swooning- he never calls her by her name. Never has he said it before so sweetly, gently, either. She enjoys it- no, she adores it. She wishes he'd say it again. She wishes for him to be closer, too, so that she can smell the musk of his odor, feel the rise of his chest… taste the flavor of his mouth-

Dinner, fighting, turmoil, all flow back into her mind, drowning her lust in a tidal pool of sense. 

"Qyybor, wait- do you know what's happening to me?" Ysilla will never doubt her willpower again as she pushes away from the desk and further into her apartments (further away from him). She shadows the wall, a shaky hand drifting along the cool stone to keep her steady. 

"Your true nature is coming through. The dawning of your destiny, burning its way through your very veins." Aemond's melodic tenor drops out, and Ysilla bites into her cheek to keep herself from begging him to continue. "Did your mother not tell you of this?"

"No, no, I don't- she didn't- ugh, I don't even know what this is! My 'true nature'? Speak plainly, Uncle. If you're here, help me." She groans, stilling in her movement. Walking is perhaps not the right answer. The continual brush of her thighs, the clenching of her abdomen, it all makes her cunt pound.

"Easy, Ysilla, relax." 

Her name again. Her spine jolts uncontrollably and she gasps. She presses her forehead into the wall, traitorous tears being summoned by the exquisite burn casting her aflame. 

She spooks like a frightened fawn as fingertips ghost over her exposed shoulder. Flinging herself away, a full circle now, Ysilla finds her back to the door and Aemond still in front of her. His hand remains outstretched, as if cast in plaster, frozen in a moment of emblazoned curiosity.

Or more, in a moment of desperate desire, per Aemond's swirling thoughts. He swings his head slowly to face Ysilla, the pearlescent wave of his hair slicing over his shoulder like a star through the sky. He feels too big for his skin, the very tissue of him, the sweet marrow in his bones pulsing, begging to be set loose and allowed to feast on the pretty little pound of flesh being presented to him. He wants to… well, he knows what he wants to do.

Her moans are soft, sweet, like succulent summer fruit, ripe and juicy and beseeching a hungry mouth. He presses a kiss to the corner of her lips to accompany the rough roll of his hips. His swollen knot tugs at the delicate tissue of her stretched opening, and the hot rush of ecstasy through her veins has gooseflesh rising along her naked skin. 

The rattle of the doorknob draws Aemond's attention to where it's demanded- on his Omega niece. Her fingertips just barely brush over the handle of the exit, one if she were to disappear through, he's sure she would be gone forever.  

"Don't run, zaldrītsos," Ysilla stumbles for breath at the Valyrian croon, wrapped up in the pretty bow of her uncle's spiked honeyed tone. He's so big, when did he get so big? Where was the boy she had stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her whole childhood? In his place now, a man grown. A man with strong, spread shoulders and capable hands, long legs and toned thighs. A man with a face chiseled and sharp, but soft in the perk of his lips. And an all consuming want in his eye for her.  

"I'll catch you. And I'll make you regret leaving me."

Something ancient inside of her roars to life, and the pulse between her legs and the beat inside of her chest are one in the same. 

"You don't own me…" 

Her uncle raises a brow, lips quirked up in a sinister sort-of smile. Ysilla bites at the tip of her tongue, keeping herself quiet, his name dancing at the backs of her teeth. 

You don't own me, Aemond.

You're still not good enough, Aemond. 

I'm meant for someone else, Aemond.  

He will accept none of the unvoiced.

She sees the muscle in his jaw flex and like the prey she is, she takes her chance. Ysilla is out the door and flying down the hall in a matter of seconds, her feet faster than her mind. She passes others, faceless smears of startled eyes and miffed mouths, not allowing her eyes to stray from the focused path in front of her.

One foot in front of the other, her skirts hiked high to her knees, slippers threatening to skid across the stones. Ysilla's lungs burn as she rounds another corner, dashing down a narrow staircase with far too much speed. She streaks through the night air like a lightning bug, her own gasps for air roaring in her ears. And if she strains her hearing just so, somewhere close behind the thundering of her heart, there's heavier footfalls in pursuit. In pursuit of her. The echoing memory of Aemond's laugh rings like sept bells in her head. 

I don't want to run from this. I don't want to run from him. 

The very appearance of that thought has Ysilla stilling in an instant. Her heels screech into the stone beneath her, the muscles in her calves twisting in tight terrible spasms. The hall she's found herself in is a well lit tomb, the final resting place of the girl she used to be and not yet the woman she'll become. 

Arms snake around her waist and the warmth of them sinks through the fine thread of her clothes. Smoke and citrus, oranges if she's being specific, wafts into her nose and she's never before felt a hunger like the one that bursts to life within her.  

"Got ya." Aemond whispers into her ear and Ysilla trembles at the dampness of his breath. He's caught her- he's won her. To the victor go the spoils. 

She's already rucking up her dress skirts to her hips to meet Aemond's hand palming at her mound. He presses hard into the bush of curls contained by her small clothes before guiding his touch further beneath her. He dips his fingertips just slightly in, pressing her soaked under slip into the blossoming folds of her core. 

"Ohhh, you're drenched, sweet girl." Aemond coos, his forearm a bar over her chest, caging her in from shoulder to shoulder. "Is this all for me?" 

Ysilla burns, in face and in cunt, letting her head drop back against his chest. He brushes his lips over the edge of her brow, and she lets a full body shiver race through her. 

"It got worse… when you were near me. I noticed it at dinner." She kept stealing looks all night at him, and for the life of her, couldn't figure out why. From where she was tucked by her mother, it had been easy to peek around her and drink her fill of her silent, brooding uncle. 

"That's why you were looking at me." He chuckles, smothering his face into her hair. He breathes in, filling his lungs with her sea salt scent. He caught a whiff of her earlier, when they all gathered to break bread, and not a scrap of food on the table was as tempting as her. 

Spurred on by the realization that it must've been him, the two of them in such close proximity after how many years apart, that has brought forward the truth of her blood is all the justification Aemond needs to take what is his. 

"Only for me." His voice is a rumbled growl and his fingers move faster, rubbing little circles over the covered peak of her clit. 

"Only for you." Ysilla moans, unable to think anymore. Her backside curves on an animal instinct, situating herself into the spread of his masculine hips. It hurts too much to wage a war with the screaming inside of her body. All she knows for certain is that Aemond's touch upon her heated flesh casts a most welcome chill and all of the layers keeping them apart is only fanning the flames scorching her innards to ash. 

"Take me, Aemond. Take what you want." She guides the hand once across her chest downwards, until the large sweep of his grip is full of her breast. He squeezes the heavy handful of it, and the hardening of her nipple cuts through the bust of her gown. Aemond wants them in his fucking mouth but he resists, if just barely, to whisper in here ear:

"No no, sweetling. Take me, Alpha." 

Ysilla screws up her brow- that's not a word she's ever heard before. She racks her brain for a possible Valyrian root but comes up empty handed.

"Alpha?"

Aemond's arms constrict around her tighter and his hips pitch forward, and the thick pulse of what's behind those leather breaches of his has her drooling. 

"Yesssss. Say it again." He commands, the threatening thunder brewing in his voice spilling over, and dripping hot into her ear.

Ysilla feels the sturdiness of him at her back- his legs planted, arms encircling her, his chin tickling at her temple. He's strong and firm and fit. He'll take good care of her, she just knows he will. Her blood, her bone. She may still be in the dark about what's overtaking her but her fear has fled. A white knight he may not be, but Aemond will be her savior tonight. 

She turns in his arms, blinking heavily at him over her shoulder. "Take me, Alpha. Now." 

A tethered force, their lips draw nearer and nearer, until suddenly, finally, they brush against one another. 

A blade meets Aemond's throat and Aegon rips him backwards and away no, no, come back to me from where Ysilla fights against sliding down the wall and melting into a puddle of dribbling want. 

"Let me go! Let me go!" Aemond thrashes about but for Aegon's credit, he plants his feet and holds strong. Dark Sister's fine point brushes at the bob of his throat, Daemon's aim too good to convey it as anything but a warning. He could spear him through with so little as a twitch. 

Ysilla shakes her head, as if to physically sort her thoughts. Without Aemond's citrus leather spice fragrant and cloying in her nose, the pain returns to her limbs tenfold and she clings to the cracks in the wall for support. Hands pat at her back, a soothing, sturdy tempo to accompany the blissful aroma of smoldering freesia. Her mother, certainly, and… Ysilla groans, and it has nothing to do with her growing discomfort. Lovely, her whole family is here to witness her debauchery. 

Jace whimpers, eyes blown big and Ysilla can see nothing of the oak brown irises that have always looked upon her with warmth. Luke, Baela, and Rhaena's heads all try to drift into focus but they're kept back and away from the dramatic scene by a sturdy line of armor-clad guards. Jace starts forward, to do what, she doesn't know because he doesn't get far. Daemon pushes him backwards, barking an order to a floundering servant to take him the fuck away from here. 

"It's okay, honey bee, it's okay." Her mother hushes her, tucking the curls Aemond had strewn about behind her ears with quivering fingers. Ysilla tries to focus, the cacophony of noise fading until it's just her and her parents in the once booming hall. But it's awfully difficult, her vision tunneling on her almost paramour. 

"Where did he go? Alph- Aemond. Where is he?" Ysilla tries to look down the corridor he had been hauled through, where a shouting Alicent had followed closely behind but it's a moot point. 

Rhaenyra looks horrified by something she said and she glances at Daemon for aid. Her stepfather stares at her and the weight of his attention is suffocating. Ysilla pulls at her dress, trying to look the least disheveled she can. Embarrassingly, the need is still there. The slick sweltering heat between her thighs still purring for attention, her breasts still peaked from her uncle's interest. 

"I'll handle him." Daemon spins on his heel, hand clenched at the hilt of Dark Sister and Ysilla frowns, worry creasing her forehead. Before she can think to do anything, her mother is pulling her away from the hall and further from the scent of Aemond still lingering in the air. 

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The cells are olid and damp. Rats scurry about in the darkness, the scrape of their nails like the chattering of teeth. 

Aemond could see how men could lose their minds down here, how they could conjure things out of the dark that would rival their worst nightmares. How every small sound could echo down the twisting tunnels until it returned, warped and wicked before burrowing into their ears. 

Thankfully, the torches along the walls are lit- he's not a prisoner for real, it's all show. It's what he had quieted his mother with- if she were to scream any louder, he's sure the vein in her forehead would've popped. 

"Just until you've come back to yourself, Brother." Aegon had panted out, exhausted from wrestling his much taller sibling down several flights of stairs and into the bowels of the castle. "Didn't think you had it in you." Praise from Aegon was not something one usually strived for. A skewed needle on a moral compass, anything that impressed the firstborn son was certainly not of the highest caliber and not worthy of a response in Aemond's opinion. But still, the leer of Aegon's pride chafes at him something nasty.

His grandsire was there as well, something Aemond hadn't realized in his stupor, and the disappointment on his face had sobered him in an instant. He winces, thinking of the scene that his family must've come across. 

He can still feel Ysilla against him. The soft scent of the Essosi oils braided into her hair clings to his shirt where she had strained against him. The phantom press of her hips and how they had rocked against his palm, desperate for anything he was willing to give, keeps him awake and stubbornly aroused. 

A door opens and it sounds far off. Anticipation builds in Aemond's gut as someone draws closer to his cell, every small sound reverberating off the shadows. He stiffens his spine, prepared to take the brutal lashing from his mother, the decimating disapproval from his grandsire, the aberrant council from his sister. 

The caged Prince's visitor drifts closer until he stands, tall and proud, on the open side of the cell door. Aemond stares, in weary disbelief. Is he not being punished enough. Daemon smiles at him. Aemond frowns. 

"This suits you." Daemon gestures to the locked cell door, and he yanks on a stuck bar for emphasis. "After all, these lodgings are deserved of your kind. When I headed the Kingsguard, before your seed even found its way into your mother's womb, I oversaw the punishment we'd dole out onto the vermin of society. Thieves, murderers… rapists."

Aemond shoots to his feet, glaring daggers into the man he's ashamed to share blood with. 

"I did no such thing."

"No? I saw plenty- as did her mother, as did yours. Ysilla straining against you, heat sick and desperate, and you," Daemon sweeps him over with an acrimonious appraisal.  "You, a knothead Alpha, twice her size, flooding her senses with your stink, drowning her in it until she couldn't even command her own body. Hmm, I wonder what my brother will say, when he is told his favorite grandchild was nearly defiled by his own son. If he lets Rhaenyra chop off your balls, I'll make them into earrings for her."

"Why did you let her out of her chambers then? Why does she not know what she is?" Aemond grits out, fists clenching at his side. He still has his blade and he brushes at the hilt of it. 

"Or, was that it? Was it your plan to parade her in front of us all, and see who would take the bait so that you could banish us all down here and throw away the key?" 

Daemon doesn't grace him with an answer; he only stares, with thinly veiled fury deepening the wrinkles of his forehead. 

Aemond pauses, teeth in his tongue like it's a tough piece of meat. He'd rather swallow glass and shit out each piece instead of pleading with his father's brother. But he will not have himself be thought of as someone of such a vile nature. He won't have Ysilla think that. 

"I didn't know, Daemon. I didn't know she was an Ome-"

"Of course you fucking knew." The Alpha timbre of Daemon's voice makes the iron bars caging Aemond in quiver like a worm on a hook. "You are your grandfather's shadow. You have his gall, you have his arrogance, you have that same fucking glint in your eye that he has everytime he looks at my brother. You saw opportunity in the dawning of my daughter, and you jumped on it." 

"You're wrong."

Daemon tsks, walking backwards, drawing the curtain on his loathsome visit. "The thing is, Nephew, I'm not."

"You can't keep me here. You can't keep me away from her." Aemond doesn't have to shout, his voice reaching farther than he can follow.

"We'll see."

And then it's just him, alone, in the dimming darkness. The thoughts creep in, unbidden, like the rats, to gnaw at the edges of his mind.

The scent of Ysilla's slick, the sweet pheromones exuding from her every pore, both had sharpened when he finally had her in his arms. She had said it, had purred it, letting it drip off her lust-slick tongue. Take me, Alpha. Now.

She had wanted it. She had wanted him. 

Hadn't she? 

.

The screech of ancient hinges resounds from somewhere in the dark, and the accompanying fall of footsteps is thunderous in the still, silent air. 

"If this is the torture part of my stay, I'd rather put it off until the morrow. I'm tired." Aemond drawls, tucked into the furthest corner of his cell. Whomever his unwelcome guest is, stops in front of his locked door and stares from behind the darkness of their shroud. 

"… Uncle." In his would-be torturer's place is a tiny cloaked thing, who pushes back their hood to reveal the placid face of his niece. Aemond forces himself to rise on slow, steady feet instead of surging towards the bars like a man bewitched. 

He gets close enough that he catches the oceanic bloom of her perfume, and the sweet salt of it chases away the headache that was left after he was snatched away from her. He regards her in silence for a moment, letting the weight of what they had done together settle in the air around them. 

"How'd you get down here?" His voice is thicker than normal and Aemond has to clear his throat. 

"The guards, of course. I'm their future Queen- they know it's best to listen to me." Ysilla sniffs, digging the toe of her boot into the spongy earth below. The haughtiness in her tone is flimsy, as if she's not used to speaking in such a manner. Aemond finds that hard to believe- firstborn daughter and all. "And I may have also said I would feed them to Vhagar if they refused."

"She'd love that." He draws dryly. The silence they fall into is uncomfortable and he isn't the first to break it.

"Are you alright? No one… hurt you, did they?" Ysilla's voice is tiny, as if she's strengthening herself for an answer she may not like.

"Why?" Why do you care? 

The silence returns, heavier now, and Aemond sighs. He concedes, finding no delight in the worry written in the downturn of her mouth. "No, Niece, no one hurt me." 

The breath she releases sounds like a relieved one, or perhaps that's simply wishful thinking. Aemond rubs at his temples, the weight of the day starting to settle atop of him. 

"You look… more here." He means that she looks less likely to fall to her knees and swallow his cock, but he doesn't want to be crude. Maybe, there will be a more appropriate time for that later. 

"Well the tub full of water my mother dunked me in certainly helped." That explains the burst of her curls, springing from her head like an obsidian bouquet. 

"Did she tell you more about… earlier? About what happened to you?" About what nearly happened between us? More unspoken words, more half-truths and not quite-lies.

"She did. I'm still… letting it all sink in. Betas, Alphas… Omegas. The whole lot of it. I just wish she would've told me, obviously before what transpired between us. I wouldn't have put you in that position if I would've known. I would've… given you the option, I wish. To truly want me and not just the allure of my second sex." 

Aemond blinks and does so again, and yet her words still ring in his ears. He wonders idylly if that truly slipped from her mouth, or if the dungeon is doing it's duty and twisting them into what he wants to hear. He didn't force her. He didn't hurt her. A wisp of hope rises as if from a snuffed out candle, and he stamps it out before it can blossom into anything tangible. 

"What happened before was just your instincts talking. I… I shouldn't have let it get that far. You made me lose control is all." It's a coward's way out, blaming her for his absolute lack of resolve. But he can realize now, without her lithe body pressed invitingly against him- tucked so tightly to him, filling his every jagged edge with the bloom of her curves- that there's more at stake here than just the purity of Ysilla's virtue. 

"No! You made me… feel things. Things I've never, ever felt before. Not for anyone." Tension builds, stacking like stones, as she lets her gaze caress him from head to toe. Aemond shivers, heat trickling into his belly, a pot that sprung a leak. "I want to feel them again." Her voice is firm, even if her eyes are wide. 

Aemond swallows, feeling as if the ground beneath him has started to rock. Again. It means so many things. A repeat of what happened in that hallway only this time, no one would be there to stop them. He would take her to his apartments, spread her over his sheets, and take his time unburdening her of every suffocating layer of clothing. And then, when she was naked and bare for him to feast his famished gaze on, he'd ravage her. 

Again means hope (of a future, of a family, of happiness.) And he can't stomach it- when he nearly knows for certain that he'll never be allowed alone with her after tonight's happenings. His voice is hard when he speaks again.

"Our family is on the brink of shattering. We can't even have dinner together without being at each other's throats."

"Mayhaps we can fix that." She shrugs, a careless shift of her shoulders and a lovely little peak of a smile accompanies it. Aemond is starting to realize he'd do anything to see joy warm her face into that glorious pink flush, and same as before, he tears any chance of bliss into pieces.

"Us fucking could save our family?" It's crass and unlike him to say, but he must. He has to make her understand. 

Ysilla shakes her head, resolve bright in her burning indigo stare. "Us mating could save our family." 

Aemond stares at her as if she's grown a second head. 

"Don't speak of things you have no knowledge of."  

The weight of his influence is crushing and Ysilla fights the urge to bare her neck to him. A stubborn growl manifests instead, her annoyance overtaking whatever urge her "true nature" tries to make her bend to. She is well-read, she is smart. And it's as if every shred of knowledge she possesses is now for naught in this new life she's been tossed into. 

"Then teach me, Aemond." Ysilla stresses, and the tremble in her voice is a surprise. Why is she crying? "Don't leave me alone in this."

Despair turns his stomach inside out. She's upset, she's scared. She needs me, me, I'm her Alpha. The Targaryen son breaks, from no less than three tears swimming over his niece's lashes. 

"Sweet girl, come now, there's no need for your sorrow." He presses himself to the bars to get as close to her as allowed. 

"No, no." Ysilla huffs, lips wobbling in frustration. Aemond looks at her with worried confusion, his fingertips still chasing away the teardrops staining her cheeks. 

"Say my name." She demands in a shaky voice. "Not niece, not sweet thing. My name."

His hand overlaps her's, sharing the bar they both grip onto as if it's a lifeline. The brush of their skin, so simple, so decorous, sends them both plummeting into oblivion. 

"Ysilla."

Their lips meet through the gaps in the bars, the space not nearly wide enough to make it a proper kiss but it will have to do because Ysilla needs a taste of him. 

Maybe if she hikes her legs through the slats, he can pull her close enough to slide his cock inside of her. The vision of that, of Aemond throwing himself against the iron keeping him caged, hips pummeling as he works himself up between her thighs before finally, finally emptying his seed into her womb, has Ysilla sliding her hand to the back of his head to pull him in harder to suck at his bottom lip. Aemond moans at that and moans even deeper as she cards her fingers through his silken strands to tug. 

She has to retreat, air desperately missing her lungs. Aemond hums, the vibration echoing through his chest and scattering the shadows about the chamber. He kisses the side of her mouth and then the dip of her chin, and then lower to that long line of her throat before the blasted door gets in his way. 

"Just wait until I get out of here- I'll show you how a Princess should be treated." He growls, sucking an obvious bruise at the hinge of her jaw.

"Why not now?" Ysilla whispers, finding his loving mouth again before her tongue sweeps forward to meet his.

Like a sweet dream, visions of little Targlings running amok through the halls of the castle spring forth in her head. Boys with violet eyes and snow white hair tumble about, while little girls of a chestnut pallor clothed in black and green laugh a musical sound. 

Aemond's palm finds the small of her back, his hand wide enough to the thumb at the edge of her spine and massage the bud of her buttocks. He impels her to him and the iron gate digging into the soft flesh of her breasts has her whimpering. 

"The first time I take you," he pulls back to look into her eyes. Her lips are puffy, the color of crushed berries and she tastes just as sweet. It's only the two of them, again, and it's exhilarating. "The first time I knot you, will be in a place worthy of a princess."

Mmmm, knot, is it? For the first time that day, Ysilla doesn't feel the stinging strike of her ignorance. Whatever Aemond means, from the way he whispers that promise to her, assures her he will only bring her the greatest of pleasure. 

"Then I best get you out of here, shouldn't I?" She steals another kiss and nips at his lip for good measure. A love bite. Aemond groans as she pulls away, and the palm on her back slides down to cup the back of her thigh. He squeezes the pillowy softness of her, and tries not to bust out of his breeches at the way her body just gives for him.

A question in her gaze is answered by the apprehension in his. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles and gives him that grin again, and all feels right in the world.  

"I'll be back, promise."

He dusts his lips over the back of her hand, scenting her with his spiced attar. He likes the perfume the two of them make- it'll smell even better when his bed is soaked in it. 

"I'll be waiting."

.

.

.

Qyybor . Uncle

zaldrītsos . little dragon

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

♡ Release ♡

Simon Riley x Female Reader [Requested prompt!]

The team finally has time to rest after months of hard work. Pent up, you and Ghost find a good outlet for release— each other.

Heed the warning below! There isn't much kink to this one tbh, just a mild hint of public play. If you want a spicier fic, check out the last one I wrote in this mini series. Ao3 and everything is in the notes at the end.

Enjoy! ;)

Word count: 3,479 | Chapters: 1 | Tags: Fempov, missionary, slow build, risky

Long, sleepless nights weren't an uncommon occurrence for you. It wasn't often you got respite during times of high tensions and potential war. Echoes of gunfire tarnished your dreams; stains of blood penetrating your body bone-deep, even when it's scrubbed clean of any signs; a reminder that you were forever marked by death.

As for Simon, he knew the experience all too well.

Words were hardly exchanged, just knowing looks and observations. You tightly wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the edge of a couch in the common room, the digital clock mocking you with the ungodly hour. Simon, his tired eyes and partially masked face, standing by the counter waiting for the coffee pot to start bubbling.

It started a few months after you got assigned to taskforce 141. You piece together from Ghost's slow acceptance of your presence that he's done this a while now— snuck out of the barracks in the middle of the night to make coffee or simply sit in the silent, empty room. But it wasn't empty for long. You'd make it to the room after him, often times. At first, you wouldn't acknowledge him, assuming Simon wanted it that way. But then that turned into small nods of greeting, then to sharing a pot of coffee while you two leaned with your backs to the counter, and then, somewhere in the mix, a bond grew.

It wasn't an every night occurrence. While deployed, your relationship with him was business as usual, and when you weren't shipped off to God knows where— well, it took days to recover. Days spent alone and half-asleep in a dark room with stashed weapons for all of the ‘what ifs’ your mind could conjure.

Dark circles sag under your eyes, matching Simon's. The team had been stationed here for a week now, and it was only just tonight that you decided it wasn't worth tossing and turning until daybreak.

A steaming mug of weak coffee sits on the counter. You greet Simon with a barely-there smile of appreciation and wrap your hand around the ceramic curve, your fingers curling over the handle. It has a marines logo on the front, faded and stained from time. Amusing, to say the least.

Simon is sitting down at the small fold-up table with his own mug, the liquid half gone. Something about him seems… off. He's more jittery than usual, and that's not the caffeine speaking. His eyes bore into the tabletop, his eyebrows pulling together; tense. The lower half of his face is covered by a black mask, missing its iconic skull design. It makes it hard to tell what he's thinking or feeling. You suppose that's the point.

“Price mentioned an intel mission earlier. Looks pretty secure, if we can get it in time.” You murmur quietly, breaking the tense silence.

Ghost nods his head, but doesn't look up from the table. He makes a small “mmn” noise in agreement and you figure he's not talkative tonight. No big deal. He usually isn't one for talking during these late nights anyway. You usually aren't either, but you're worried. You can't help it.

Sipping from your mug, you approach the small couch facing away from the table. There's a small, old tv in front of it, balanced on top of four crates with a board laid across them. There isn't enough funding distribution for a tv stand or good mattresses, but there's an endless shipment of coffee to keep your team functioning. Go figures. You're not one to complain though; You're lucky you even get entertainment in this place.

The tv is set to low, playing a random movie from the 80’s. You spot a VHS tape in one of the crates and wonder who the hell brought that along for a set up like this. While the intro to a murder mystery plays, you hear footsteps behind you, and Simon appears in the corner of your eye.

His gaze is on the tv, reading the title screen that flashes in bright colors and a font that’s distinctly from that era. You shuffle over to provide more room, and he hesitates before taking a seat, one arm staying propped on a small couch cushion wedged into the corner. He's man-spreading, but you don't mention it. The way your knees just barely brush against each other— it's the closest you've gotten to him outside of the occasional encouraging pat on the shoulder before a mission.

It's been ages since you've last felt someone's touch.

You curl your legs in so that they're tucked underneath you, your cold hands keeping the mug steady. Simon’s watching you from the corner of his eyes. It makes your heartbeat quicken.

Fifteen minutes go by. When you next bring the mug to your lips, you realize it's empty, having disappeared while you idly drank and stared in the general direction of the tv. You couldn't bother paying attention right now.

"Do you need help?" You ask quietly.

Ghost looks at you. He blinks.

“You look jittery.”

“I’m not jittery.” Ghost grumbles.

You raise a brow and he lets out a defeated sigh and looks up at the ceiling. After a few moments of silence, he puffs out a soft breath, calm and controlled, and shakes his head like he’s shaking himself free of the endless turmoil bubbling inside his head.

“Whaddya have in mind?”

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It starts out with cards.

Poker; Cribbage; Go Fish. Ghost has an unfair advantage with poker because of the mask, but he refuses to take it off when you point it out to him, so he ends up switching the game before you two even start.

Holding your set of cards like a fan, you peer over them as Ghost stares at the tabletop with an intense look of concentration.

Slowly, he reaches for a card in his own little pile (you expected him to be neat with his own cards, but he’s not. It’s chaotic. Nevertheless, it suits him)— and he glances up at you, his voice gruff when he asks, “Any queens?”

You pretend to study your deck. You know you have none, but you still take your time. Something in you doesn’t want this to end; To go back to your bunks, exhausted and alone, and wait until the next time the universe grants you both a respite.

Sighing, you can’t help but smile as you finally answer, “Go fish.”

Ghost draws from the deck, but you reach your hand out before it’s fully across the table. The touch is electric, and it causes Ghost’s eyes to flick up to meet yours. You realize just how brown they are. A deep brown, with hints of hazel. They stand out amongst the black of his mask— even more so when he’s got black paint smudged around his sockets out on the battlefield. You never really noticed it until now. Goosebumps rise on your arms, hidden beneath the sleeves of your sweater.

You were meant to say something, anything, but you can’t find the words.

Ghost finds them for you.

“You’re bored.” He says it like a statement, not a question.

You nod, slowly.

Ghost makes a humming noise of agreement and nods too. Then he brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, his gaze idly watching your fingers slightly twitch. The air feels charged and heavy and tinged with uncertainty. You find it difficult to properly breathe, your chest tight and body tense; your mind a race of he’s touching me, he’s touching me and I can’t handle it, he’s touching me and I can’t remember the last time I felt this— have I ever felt this?— would it even matter?—

You haven’t a clue what’s going through Ghost’s head, but you can see that something is affecting him. His chest rises and falls faster, those broad shoulders taught with a newfound tension you hardly recognize. Preparing himself. Ghost isn’t like this unless he’s looking down the sights of his rifle. All poise and concentration, he tightens his grasp like he’s pulling a trigger and he’s dragging you out of nowhere, guiding your upper half across the short table under you’re leaned over and inches away from his face.

You say nothing. Hell, what could you say? Stop? Don’t?

You want this.

Fuck, you need this.

You use your free hand to tug his mask under his chin and you kiss him.

It’s firm yet hesitant, and your mind races with all the ways this could backfire. But Ghost is warm and his stubble is rough, scratching against your chin and lips as he leans into it, pressing into you as though he’s giving himself permission to allow this.

The kiss breaks when you run out of breath. You pant as you try to catch up, your eyes blinking open to find Ghost’s half-lidded gaze searching your face with a sense of desperation. Realization has set in: the floodgates have opened, and there’s no going back now.

You lead this time around, scooting yourself out of the shitty metal chair and rounding the table to him. Ghost stands, his eyes never leaving you once, and he’s tall and broad, towering over you, even as he bends his head down to meet your lips with a feverish kiss. You taste the coffee on his breath and the warmth from his tongue as it glides against yours clumsily. His hands grip your hips and suddenly you’re pulled upward like you weigh nothing and set down onto the tabletop with your legs spread. Ghost fits himself between your knees, his hands trailing down to grip your thighs, squeezing the flesh.

A rush of heat fills your body. You can feel a blush on your cheeks, heat prickling the back of your neck. The space between you and his chest is hot as well, practically radiating off of his body— the body that keeps you trapped against it with your legs locked and hands scrabbling at its shoulders; the body that’s firm and muscular and alive under your touch, reacting to each grind of your hips as you desperately rock against him.

“Fuck.” Ghost murmurs against your lips, low and breathy.

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes. You’re giddy with the feelings knotted inside your chest. This is happening. Holy shit. And you can’t come to terms with this, that’s it’s taken so long to happen. The tension wasn’t not there. Subtle glances and lingering looks were just the start, not to mention the jokes Soap, Gaz, and even Price made about you two— about how similar you were; quiet and brutal and deadly, two lone wolves watching their pack’s back.

Even so, Ghost has more resilience than this. You thought you had more— hell, if your self control was hanging by a thread during the last mission, then it’s practically been snapped now, and by your own two hands.

You’re tired of feeling tired. And Ghost is more than eager to quell the chaotic energy inside of you both.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as you tilt your head and grasp for the back of his neck. You flinch, the pain incredibly brief, and he makes a low groaning noise that sends a bolt of heat straight between your legs. Your thighs clench around him, and he soothes the nip with his tongue as an apology, but all it does is make you whine with need.

Lips tingling, you break the kiss to the sound of a zipper. Ghost bites his bottom lip and follows your eyes down to where your hips lay flush together. His boxers are exposed, belt flayed open, and he’s hard and he’s big too. Bigger than you anticipated— and you haven’t even properly seen it yet.

You slide a hand down his chest and palm the bulge with deft fingers. Ghost groans again, and it’s right then that you decide you want to hear more of that noise.

It takes some maneuvering, but your cargos find the floor in no time. The tabletop is cold against the backs of your thighs, but Ghost's hands are burning hot against your skin. His eyes remain between you, looking down at the (frankly embarrassing) pink panties you're wearing. There's a hint of amusement in Ghost's gaze, like he's tempted to make a comment on it, but instead he just presses his thumb to the front of the fabric and rubs, slow and precise.

For all of the training you've had— the long night's waiting hours in the cold for the perfect moment to strike; the torture that you stayed resilient through; the second-hand nature of your brain thinking logically over what you actually wanted— seemed to be all in vain in this one moment.

Whether it was a long time coming or not, you struggle to even stay still as Ghost’s thumb presses harder, seeking out the shaky breaths leaving your parted lips. It sinks even lower, to a forming wet patch on the thin fabric, and Ghost practically rumbles when he sees the evidence of your desperation.

He wastes no time in pulling the fabric to the side and adjusting your position, pulling your thighs up until you're resting on your lower back with your legs bent and bowed out. Ghost murmurs something that sounds like praise, but you're too caught up in the sound of your heartbeat thumping away in your ears.

First, it's just a finger that enters you. Ghost’s hand trembles so slightly you almost miss it, and he pumps the digit in and out a few times before eagerly adding another. You aren't quite prepared for it. The burn of a stretch would otherwise deter you, but now— now, all it does is drive you up the fucking wall.

“Ghost.” You whine, voice warbly.

Ghost curls his fingers and your head tips back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Simon—”

Now that causes Ghost to falter.

You open your eyes and glance down your body to see his reaction, afraid you might've crossed a line. If his eyes were any indicator, you have a feeling you just skirted the line. You also realize he shed his own cargos at some point and pulled down the hem of his briefs to his mid-thigh, exposing the long, hard curve of his cock. It reaches his navel, the tip wet and catching the dim sterile light of the room.

“Simon.” You repeat carefully.

Ghost pulls his fingers out, grabs under your hips, and drags you even closer to the edge of the table. You yelp, but it's no deterrent. He's feral in a way you've never seen— desperation and nerves and frustration all coiled into his determined expression, truly like a wild animal. It isn't often you get to see under the mask. What doesn't make sense is why he's letting you while he's vulnerable like this.

Your eyes meet as he lines up and rubs the tip against you, hot and slick.

And then he pushes in, and your eyes close once more as every feeling in your body narrows down to just this. This stretch, this heat— everything. The way Ghost’s chest vibrates as he groans, how he feels inside, thick and real; it's so much to handle, all you can do is lay back and try to catch your breath until he reaches the hilt.

Buried deep inside, Ghost grinds his hips and grunts when you whimper in response. His hands are gripping under your thighs, right below the bend of your knees, and he's using the contact as an anchor to drive himself in and out like he has no time to waste. And with how you've been treated lately, there really is no time to waste. God knows how late into the night it's gotten, but the thrill of what if—

And oh god. What if.

*What if someone comes in?*

The windows are foggy with condensation, the frames coated with dust and grime and who knows what; But you can see the beginnings of a washed yellow peeking through the thick trees outside, right past Ghost's shoulder. You catch a subtle reflection from the overhead light bouncing off the glass pane, transfixed by his rippling muscles as they bunch and strain while he practically pounds into you with all his might.

Arching your back, you dig your heels into his lower back and shudder when the angle changes, his cock brushing past the sensitive bundle of nerves buried inside of you. Ghost notices that you're distracted, but it's clear he doesn't know why. You can't tell if he's irritated by it or curious, but the worry doesn't stick around very long— he presses his thumb to your clit before you have the chance to regroup yourself, and that's all the stimulation it takes to stoke the fire burning in your gut. It's all you need to stop caring about the risk of you two getting caught. You both deserve this— surely, the team would understand.

You feel yourself pulse around Ghost's cock, an orgasm so treacherously close you can feel your thighs shaking with the force of its foundation.

They'd better understand.

You might die from this feeling. Forget the trenches, there's nothing that makes you shake, cry, and beg so easily.

“That's it,” Ghost grunts. The words, among the first he's spoken almost all night, prod at a part of your brain you thought was long shut down by now. And he keeps doing it, encouraging you with low, growly breaths and strained words; a mixture that makes your head spin— beyond the fact that you're nearly upside down with how high your back is arched, your temple nearly pressed to the tabletop.

Ghost bends over you to get a better hold, and then he's rapidly thrusting like a fucking rabbit, and oh God, you can feel it— it's too much, too quick and too overstimulating, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't slow down, and suddenly Ghost's hand is covering your mouth as you practically wail your release. It crashes over you like a tidal wave, all-encompassing and fueled by years of restraint.

Your pussy spasms around him, walls uncontrollably rippling, even fighting to push him back out. But Ghost only drives in deeper, and in one, two, three thrusts, he seats himself fully to the hilt and groans against the sweat-slick skin of your neck as a warm, dirty feeling floods your insides.

✩⋆---⭑✧⭑---⋆✩

It takes you a while to catch your breath. Ghost is right with you, propping himself up on his palms, hands on either side of your trembling body, as his cock pulses the last ropes of cum inside. He slowly pulls his hips back until there's a rush of hot liquid gushing out onto the tabletop.

Your thighs are a mess— hell, your whole body looks more run through than some of the exercise regimes you and the team are forced to do every couple of weeks. You definitely feel a lot sweatier, though the lack of mud, blood, and grime in general is a plus.

Your face burns with a sense of embarrassment as you look between your legs and notice the mess he left behind. Ghost's cock is still half-hard, but he carefully smears the tip along your inner thigh (and holy shit that imagery will never leave your mind from now on) and stuffs it back into his briefs, then zips up his jeans before adjusting the belt, each movement precise.

You half expect him to just leave you there, but Ghost's hands are gentle when they grab ahold of your arms and pull you up into a seated position. Knees bent, your legs hang off the table, feet a foot or so from the cold floor. Ghost says nothing as he quickly snags the blanket you dragged in from off the back of the couch and wraps it around your shoulders. He helps you shuffle side to side so you can adjust your panties until they're properly on again, and he even goes the full mile to help guide your feet into the pant legs of your cargos until they're on as well. Not like you can wear these again, considering how stained they'll be in the next few minutes.

“Feel better?”

It's the only thing you manage to come up with to break this weird, tense silence. Your voice is hoarse, but with a little more coffee, it'll repair itself in no time.

Ghost's eyes crinkle slightly, and something tells you that he's far more amused than the faux annoyed huff he gives to your little question. It eases the knot in your chest, and you can't help but smile as you help him adjust his face mask.

“Yes,” Ghost admits anyway, his fingers brushing yours gently, “Feelin’ better. Now come on, up you get. We've got some work to do.”

I'm so down bad chat. As soon as I finished writing this, I thought of a follow-up shower scene I might write next if y'all want it 🫣 Ao3 link is here! (I crosspost over there) Requests/prompts are currently: open! Thanks for reading :] And thank you Jax for the prompt!! ♡♡♡

[unoislazy]

Question, What Question? (Part 1)

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

Summary: Hiccup accidentally lets it slip that his father is expecting him to ask someone a question. Who could that someone be… and what’s the question?

Warning: has not been proof read, so bear with me

————————————————————

————————————————————

“Morning Chief!” You cheered, hopping off your dragon as the crowd continued to cheer for you. You had just won the weekly dragon race which was one of your favorite activities to participate in alongside your friends.

The man before you gave a bellowing laugh as he walked towards you, arms opened wide. “Well if it isn’t the best rider in Berk!” He shouted, announcing your title loud enough for all to hear. You knew he was exaggerating but it was still an ego boost that you wouldn’t say no to.

Besides, he’s the chief, what he says goes.

“Thor almighty, you put up a good fight out there! Now If only you could convince Hiccup to stay put to watch.” He joked, earning a laugh from you.

“Telling Hiccup to stay put is like telling a songbird not to sing.” You said, earning a laugh that led into a sigh from Stoick. He rested his hands on his hips as he looked to the ground, almost as if he was lost in thought. You had been around both Hiccup and his father long enough to know that when Stoick was lost in thought, it meant he brought something up to Hiccup that didn’t go over well.

You thought it better not to ask before whistling for your dragon to come towards you.

“I’ll find him, he may be a dragon master, but he’s not a master at hiding his tracks.” You joked again, hopping up on DayBreaker, your dragon. Stoick looked up at you with a soft smile, he appreciated how much you cared for his son. He had his own issues with how he had treated him over the years, but seeing someone who clearly loved him unconditionally… it warmed his heart.

Without another word you were off, it didn’t take long to figure out where Hiccup had gone. Once you had passed a blasted rock formation, you knew you were close.

As you neared the vast layout of islands sprinkled with beautifully colored yellow and orange leaves, you could hear faint shouting that was all too familiar to you. You directed your dragon to land safely as you watched Hiccup, who was hanging on for dear life onto his dragon being held over the ledge. You snickered to yourself as you continued to watch the two interact with one another before finally revealing your presence.

“Afternoon,” Hiccup greeted once he noticed you, “welcome to Itchy Armpit.” He said, showing off the rest of the land you hadn’t seen yet.

“Did toothless help with the naming again?” You asked, hopping off DayBreaker to let her and Toothless play. Hiccup gasped in a playful manner,

“Have you no faith in my naming capabilities?” He pretended to be offended as he put a hand to his chest.

“You named your best friend after the fact he had no teeth.” You teased, giving him a light punch on his arm. He smiled before returning to his offended demeanor.

“Oh you are asking for it.” He said in a teasing tone, one that matched your own.

“It would be a real shame if…woah what’s that?” He asked, convincing you to turn your head. While you weren’t looking Hiccup had raised his arms as if to simulate claws as he wrapped his arms around you, trapping you. You laughed, struggling to get out of his grasp.

You smiled mischievously before ‘accidentally’ elbowing the contraption on his chest, letting loose his new fin, resulting in him letting you go completely.

“Oh, that was a low blow.” He said, only the slightest bit annoyed as he began to rewind the fin.

“Survival of the fittest.” You said and just before he could properly respond, DayBreaker and Toothless had run past you, knocking you both over.

You had awkwardly landed on top of him, your chest entirely on top of his. You continued to laugh as you tried to get off of him, he was laughing but in a more pained manner as he had landed on a really odd spot on his back.

You helped him up as you moved to a comfortable seated position. Toothless and DayBreaker continued to play behind you as if nothing had happened.

The wind began to flow past, messing with the hair on Hiccup's head. You couldn’t help but admire him as he stared out to the other islands of Itchy Armpit.

Your relationship with him had been odd to say the least, you both had grown up around each other but you weren’t all that close. He was always running around doing his own awkward little thing, and you more or less just watched from the sidelines. It wasn’t until you had accidentally stumbled across him one day in the woods, riding a dragon of all things, did you actually begin to talk to him.

Once he had realized you weren’t going to rat him out, you two instantly hit it off and you became closer as the years went on.

At this point you two had been dating for about three years now, and while it wasn’t the smoothest relationship in the world, you two clearly worked well together.

“So… what did your father say to you?” You asked quite out of the blue. He looked over to you, shocked.

“He told you about it?” He asked, surprised his dad would mention anything about his personal issues, even if he didn’t give away any clear details.

“No, but he always goes into thought when you guys have had a disagreement of some kind… I figured something had happened.”

Hiccup's shock had dwindled quickly, realizing that you were just observant.

“Well… yeah. He had mentioned a few things to me this morning, just the general, ‘Son you need to get on this, son don’t forget this, Son you should ask the question, son-“ Hiccup continued on, but you were stuck in confusion on his last point.

“Ask who what question?” You asked, and almost immediately Hiccup froze.

“Question? What question? Why would I be asking someone a question?” He says, clearly nervous as if he slipped up in some way. Which you knew he had. The thing about being with Hiccup for so long was you easily picked up on his quirks and what they meant, and a lot of them were tell-tale signs for when he was nervous, annoyed, or if he had said something he wasn’t really supposed to.

“Hiccup, what question?” You asked again, to which he did not respond. You genuinely had no idea what he meant by it, or why he was acting the way he was.

He stood rigidly, tapping the sides of his legs before looking out beyond the landscape of Itchy Armpit, his facial features seemed to contort in confusion as he squinted his eyes.

“Something’s happening…” He muttered quietly. You scoffed in response,

“Hiccup, that’s not going to work on me this tim-“

“No look.” He says, gently grabbing your face with one hand and forcing you to look at the large plume of smoke coming from beyond the trees. Within a matter of a few seconds you had already forgotten what you were on hiccup about, much to his relief.

[vivid-ink]

'The Love Shack'

Part III - Blurring Lines

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22)

Part III Summary:

You've spent weeks now, meeting with Neteyam & Lo'ak at the old outpost to play... You enjoy them both, but your feelings for Neteyam are becoming harder to ignore. And unbeknownst to you, Neteyam is finding it difficult to share you too... He wants you all to himself, away from his brother and away from other prying eyes...

Read Part I - The Proposition HERE

Read Part II - Three is a Perfect Crowd HERE

Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI

Word count: 12.9k

Content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome, smut, sex toy play, squirting, anal fingering

Author's Note:

Greetings my lovely thirsty peeps! Here is Part III. The narrative is getting more emotional/angsty now too with all those secretly repressed feelings. But I hope ya'll still brought your 'thirst-gear' along because you'll need it towards the end of this part. Enjoy, my lovelies! 😘

Taglist: @teymars @eyweveng @leaveitbythewave @luvteyams @akiras-key @bajbr @qcswrites @reggiesslut @neteluvr @savvysscandles @dasaniix @emery-333 @vintaqestar @live-laugh-neteyam @itssomeonereading @strawberry-vamp0 @clairevoyancee @delacruzyari @bluecooki3 @aalex561-blog @frustrated-kitten @innercreationflower @wolf12thsworld @wheneclipsefalls @iameatingmyhair  @ele-sme @investedreader @oasiswithmyg @daeneeryss @pandorxxx @anonka01 @hunbomb @pandoraslxna @adrianarose7 @sunghoonmyluv @notnat02 @getthisoverwith33 @simp4myself @spicymayyo @animehoe1-800 @daddysmurfslefttoenail @iman-lu @creepytoes88 @flyingspacewhale @neteyamswifesworld @lostress101 @nilsavatar @cloudyw1ndzz @itsjazzsworld @solemnlover @asweetblueberry2 @blue-slxt @slutforderekhale @swaggygurlbae @c-h-i-l @justonesadlonelymoth @itchaboi-itchyboy @ntymavtr

Note: A reminder that I don't use the term 'Y/N' so the reader's name in this is 'Neyomi'. The name is not used often, only when stylistically required.

***~~~***

You were doing a commendable job of maintaining the status quo during the daytimes, Neteyam had to admit. Calm and collected, your face ever inscrutable, nothing in your behaviour betrayed any trace of the clandestine contract you’d entered into with him and Lo’ak. 

For many weeks now you’d stolen away once a week to the old outpost for your private ménage à trois with him and his brother, where you would very successfully abandon all your inhibitions and fall prey to their various ministrations. You would tangle with them both, giving and receiving pleasure until you were limp and mewling like a milk-gorged kitten. But come daybreak, when you fell in with the rest of the warriors for the morning briefing, there was no hint of the carnal nights you shared with them, not even the barest acknowledgement.

Unlike the other women, there were no demure glances or hushed giggles from you. You were purely professional.

You were so good at it that the morning after the very first night, when Neteyam had received nothing more from you than the usual dip of your head and a steady ‘good morning sir’, he’d believed for several surreal moments that he’d dreamt up the nirvana of the previous night. That is, until Lo’ak had looked from you to him and flashed him a wayward smirk that spoke of his own amusement at your cool behaviour.

Lo’ak had made it his life’s mission then to try to goad a reaction from you in public. However, you remained stoic, even pulling rank on him several times to make him behave during hunts and patrols. Then you’d threatened him on your second visit to the outpost with a firm warning that if he couldn’t keep what happened in the outpost at the outpost, that you’d end the arrangement and never return.

That had nipped Lo’ak’s jibing in the bud immediately. Your behaviour had remained a fascinating contradiction ever since. Aloof during the days, but a wanton little plaything during your nights with them…

To anyone else, you were just as you always were. Hell, Neteyam didn’t even know if you’d told your best friend, Tula… Tula certainly didn’t appear to know, based on the fact that she often told him and Lo’ak during group visits that she was still trying to convince you to come along. There had not been a single crack in your façade.

Until today.

It had been almost imperceptible, but Neteyam had caught it straight away: The clench of your jaw and the tight swallow that bobbed down your slender throat in reaction to the other woman’s words. You turned away, busying yourself with your own pa’li.

“What do you say, warrior? Tonight?” Silwey’s coquettish voice crooned beside him. Her warm palm smoothed in a slow slide up his arm to squeeze at his bicep while she pressed her side provocatively up against him.

Neteyam chuckled, undoing the ties and buckles of his pa’li’s saddle. It was a very bold move by a woman to be making such an uninhibited suggestion in such a communal setting as the pa’li pen, especially to the future olo’eyktan, but he had history with Silwey.

“It’s been a long day,” Neteyam muttered indecisively with a cock of his head, “Aren’t you tired?”

Silwey scoffed and bumped her hip against his, “Not too tired. Besides, we know stamina isn’t an issue for you.”

Though your back was turned to them as you attended to your own direhorse, Neteyam could hear your fingers working with the buckles of your own saddle. It wasn’t the usual slow and composed clink and slide of fabric against metal. It sounded like your fingers were fumbling testily with the material, the buckles rattling noisily.

A corner of his lips quirked upward. You were not so unbothered after all, it seemed…

Neteyam enjoyed the group liaisons at the old outpost, but it was true what the whispers said. He mostly liked to watch and maybe join in with his hands, lips and tongue, but it wasn’t often that he had sex with someone. He was selective like that and he didn’t like to share his playmates. He left the playboy behaviour to Lo’ak, who was more than happy to indulge the women in full use of his body.

There were only a few exceptions for Neteyam, over whom he tended to be fairly possessive. Silwey was one of them, as were you…

When Neteyam’s lack of response dragged on for several seconds longer than she liked, Silwey stroked a brazen hand over his chest and her voice turned husky to cajole him, “Come on, Neteyam. It was fun last time when it was just you and me, away from any audience.”

A muffled curse and a dull thud sounded as you dropped something.

Out of the corner of his eye, Neteyam saw you quickly stoop to pick up what you’d dropped before you shot upright again, proceeding to stride away in the next moment. You appeared very eager to get away before you had to endure any more of his exchange with Silwey.

Turning his full attention to the waiting female at his side, Neteyam regarded Silwey with apologetic eyes, “Can we take a raincheck on this? I’m quite sore after today’s patrol.”

Disappointment coloured Silwey’s expression and she pouted slightly, “Alright. Well you know where to find me if you change your mind.” She shot him a seductive wink and turned to leave with a deliberate sashay of her hips.

Silwey was an incredibly beautiful woman. A warrior too, her physique was lithe with toned muscle and shapely in all the right places. Her face was similarly pleasing. However, there was an air of conceitedness about her and she liked to be in control in matters of sensual play. Neteyam had found her sexual confidence extremely appealing at first, and he’d enjoyed grappling for dominance with her during their liaisons, but his encounters with her lacked a certain sincerity of connection.

Especially after their one private evening together away from the outpost, it was becoming clear to Neteyam that what Silwey appeared to enjoy most about being with him was being in control of him. She relished dominating him. She wasn’t fond of that role being reversed though and so she never submitted fully to him at any point in return.

She certainly didn’t surrender or abandon herself as wholly as you did when you were with him… And the complete and utter vulnerability you displayed was what really made Neteyam’s blood heat with lust.

Neteyam watched your retreating figure in the distance. He noted the darker cobalt of the stripes that lined your thighs and remembered the smooth feel of them beneath his lips. He watched as the long strides of your legs made your hips sway, accentuating the luscious curves of your pert bottom as you walked. He couldn’t see your face now, but his brain supplied a lusty memory of your beautiful face contorted in bliss, lips parted and mouth slack as you moaned beneath him.

He wasn’t keen on a private evening away with Silwey, but you… You were a different story. His mind yearned and his body ached to get you alone. You, he wouldn’t mind sequestering away somewhere all to himself without having to share you with anyone.

“I know that look.” Lo’ak sauntered up to him, adjusting his bow which he’d slung across his torso. “It’s the look of someone who’s been offered a sweet treat, but not of the flavour they’re craving.”

Walking to return his pa’li’s saddle to the storage rack, Neteyam cast his brother a wry grin over his shoulder, “Yeah well, some of us have a more sophisticated palate, bro.”

“I believe the simple term you’re looking for is ‘fussy’.” Lo’ak countered, giving the whickering direhorse an affectionate stroke of farewell down its muzzle before jogging to catch up with Neteyam.

A group of young fisherwomen passed them, twittering with bashful hands over their mouths. Lo’ak addressed them with a wink and blew them a kiss. He crowed at his older brother, “And the good thing about not being fussy is that you always eat well.”

Chortling at his brother’s flirtatious conduct, Neteyam rolled his eyes, “And the bad thing about people who aren’t fussy is that they’re often also greedy.”

“Ahh, I see. You want me to be a bit less involved next time Neyomi comes round, do you? I’ll just warm her up for you, eh?” Lo’ak waggled his eyebrows and jabbed his elbow several times into his brother’s ribs, “Then I’ll just kick back and watch, because by Eywa, she’s so beautiful when she comes undone.”

Neteyam couldn’t suppress the grunt of displeasure that left him at his brother’s words. He didn’t even want Lo’ak looking at you, if he was honest… He wanted you all to himself. He wanted your kisses to grace his lips only. He wanted the forbidden taste of your sweet flesh tantalising his tongue and no one else’s, and he wanted the sight of your writhing body for his eyes and his eyes alone.

“How about you just sit out entirely?” Neteyam spat with a jeer, though there was a jesting undertone to his voice.

Lo’ak hooted with laughter and blew a low whistle out on his next exhale. He clucked his tongue and shook his head, “Nope, no can do, bro. I’m going to change the name of the outpost from ‘The Love Shack’ to ‘The Sharing Shack’. Sharing is caring and those who won’t share aren’t welcome.”

The brothers were closing in on their family’s shelter now and they were careful to lower their voices. The last thing they needed was for their father or, Eywa forbid, their mother to discover their libidinous evening activities. Although, people loved to chin-wag and it seemed unlikely that their father hadn’t at least heard rumours. Perhaps their father was just closing a blind eye to things…

“Just because I don’t like to share, doesn’t mean I won’t. I know she enjoys playing with you too.” Neteyam muttered peevishly, narrowing his eyes and fixing Lo’ak with a pointed look.

Lo’ak smirked at his brother through keen amber eyes, “You just want a little bit on the side for yourself. You’ve got it bad for her.” At Neteyam’s scowl, Lo’ak snickered and aimed another playful sock at him, “It’s alright, I got you, bro.”

***~~~***

A droning hum of voices infused the atmosphere around you while the gathered clan members filled their bellies and socialised over a shared evening meal. The radiant heat of the communal bonfire was usually a welcome sensation against your skin as it provided a soothing contrast to the chill of the evening air. However, the warmth of the fire prickled irritatingly against you tonight.

You were in a cantankerous mood and you struggled to get comfortable, either feeling too hot closer to the fire or too cold if you moved farther away from it. Your sour disposition had put a damper on your appetite too, and you picked grouchily at the mixture of grains, roasted vegetables and morsels of sturmbeest meat on your food mat in front of you.

It was your arrow that had felled the fat sturmbeest cow for tonight’s meal. Ordinarily you’d be beaming with pride, but tonight you just wanted to sulk. It was immature and petty of you - plus you knew you also had no real right - but you wanted to wallow in your crankiness.

And it was all thanks to Silwey.

You’d never had anything against the other young woman. In fact, she was a well-respected hunter and you’d partnered with her very successfully on several occasions. She was confident, skilled and friendly enough. There was literally no reason for you to hold any animosity towards Silwey and the only reason you felt this way now was because you’d overheard her proposition to Neteyam.

He’s not yours… Your conscience warned. The arrangement you have with him and Lo’ak is purely physical…

But the knowledge that Silwey had been with Neteyam privately on her own was a thorn in your side, and you felt viscid, green envy roil in the pit of your stomach. You knew Neteyam was selective of the women he took fully as lovers. The gossiping murmurs amongst the other women about this fact was evidence of this, and Neteyam had even told you so himself. So, he must have taken a keen enough liking to Silwey to have sought her out on her own in the past. 

You felt your already black mood turn even blacker.

Tula nudged your side with an elbow, forcing you from your critical thoughts, “Your face looks like a thunder cloud. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sister.” You fibbed, refusing to meet her eyes.

This was another undesired consequence of your secret arrangement with the two Sully brothers. You and Tula had been joined at the hip since childhood and you never kept secrets from each other, but now you did. Part of it was your stubborn pride at not wanting to admit to your best friend that you had caved in the end and succumbed to the brothers’ charms. Another part was you selfishly wanting to keep your exclusive arrangement with Neteyam and Lo’ak under wraps.

No one else had their own dedicated evening alone with the brothers. All the other women participated in the weekly group sessions with whoever else that went along. And for the last several weeks you’d felt privileged, special even, especially knowing that Neteyam didn’t just fuck any and every woman that came across his path. But your newfound discovery about his solo tryst with Silwey was upsetting.

“I know you’re lying.” Tula pressed, uncrossing her legs where she was seated to shuffle in front of you, “I know you like the back of my own hand and you can’t fool me.”

Chewing on your bottom lip while a furrow pulled a deep knit between your brows, you groused, “Wasn’t trying to fool you, but it doesn’t mean I want to talk about it either.”

A sigh huffed out of Tula and she took your fidgeting hands in hers, “Ok, but it’s nothing bad, right? Like, it’s not serious? You know you can tell me anything. I won’t judge you.”

The concern in your friend’s voice was touching and your ears pricked upward, your eyes following suit to look at Tula. With a discomfited laugh you shook your head, “No, it’s not anything serious. It really is nothing, actually. It’s dumb and you don’t need to worry.”

Tula tried one last time, “If it’s dumb then you can definitely tell me.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.” Your words were firm and your tone unyielding.

Sensing that you wouldn’t budge, Tula relented, “Alright. Well if you’re not going to eat anymore of that food then we might as well make a move. Come back to mine and I’ll rub your shoulders and re-braid your hair? You look like some tender loving care might lift your mood.”

Rolling your shoulders and testing the sore muscles, you knew that one of Tula’s wonderful massages would help, but your pride obstinately insisted on licking its petty wounds and so you declined. “Thanks, but I’m tired and I’m just going to wash and call it a night.”

Shooting you a dubious expression, Tula gave a weary sigh and leant forward to buss your cheek with a kiss, “Ok, goodnight sister, sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your murmured your own farewell and watched as your friend left the gathered throng of people. Deciding it best for you to get going too, you looked at the bits and bobs of your remaining dinner. Not wanting to feel like an ingrate for wasting good food, you gathered what was left and ate it all. Gingerly rolling the food mat up, you got up and tucked it into the washing basket with a brief smile of thanks at the people who were on cleaning duty tonight.

You passed a cluster of warrior women on your way out and they called out their ‘goodnights’ to you. You noted that Silwey wasn’t among them and your brain unhelpfully supplied the bitter thought that she was likely off frolicking with Neteyam.

Your shoulders ached and you rolled them again with a grimace as you slowly ambled your way back towards the clan’s assemblage of home shelters that were scattered among the upper boughs and branches of the large woodland trees. The air was chilly and only the soft chirruping of nightlife accompanied you as you walked onward. Your plan was to head to the bathing springs, wash the grime of the day away, and then settle down to sleep with the hope that your mind wouldn’t keep you awake with agonising musings of what Neteyam and Silwey were doing.

Your ears twitched then, swivelling backward at the dull sound of thudding footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Sore, are you?” Lo’ak queried, stopping to stand at your side. He grinned when you turned to acknowledge him, the whites of his teeth glinting in the dim moonlight.

“That talioang cow was a heavy haul to bring in, so yes, my shoulder and back muscles are making their complaints known.” You didn’t need to look around him or over his shoulder to see that his older brother was not with him.

“It was a good kill. The clan thanks you for your service.” Lo’ak cocked his head to the side, regarding you with his signature smirk, “Can I help make you feel better? I’m happy to give you a nice rub down. You know, ease all that tension from your body.”

You barked out a laugh and threw him a cynical look, “Why do I get the sense that your rub down will end up more like a hump down?”

Lo’ak’s grin turned naughty and he snickered, “Hey, if that’s what you want, sweet thing, I won’t say no.”

You contemplated his offer, really thought about it. He was still wearing his cummerbund around his torso and you took a moment to enjoy the way it hugged his abdomen like a second skin, framing his ribs and accentuating the narrowing of his hips nicely. Your eyes dipped to the dark green loincloth that hung from his hips and a part of you was tempted. You knew, intimately, what hid behind that loincloth and you knew that the experience would be pleasurable if you spent the evening with Lo’ak. But when you closed your eyes and pictured yourself kissing him, it was Neteyam’s face that swam behind your eyelids.

With a quiet exhale you shook your head, “Thanks, but no thanks. I turned down Tula’s offer of a shoulder rub just now too.”

Lo’ak’s tail was swishing in a slow arc behind him and he was watching you intently. A toothy smile played across his lips and you sensed a cheeky jab on the horizon, “It’s OK, I get it. Wrong brother asking.”

Irritation flashed through you at his comment. You were really starting to hate the way he kept calling you out like that. It was difficult enough having to confront your own feelings, but it was much worse when someone else pointed them out.

You snapped at Lo’ak, “You need to stop that. If you will recall, I quite happily enjoy both of you during our get-togethers, so it wouldn’t make a difference who asks. I just want to bathe and head home tonight.”

Great Mother, you were turning into a such a liar… you would have accepted without hesitation if the offer had come from Neteyam…

“Alright, alright, I’m just teasing. I’ve genuinely got a suggestion that might help though.”

You raised a doubtful brow at him, your silence urging him to continue.

“There’s a small hot spring near my family’s home shelter. It’s in a secluded area behind it, away from the main village pathway.” Lo’ak broached genially, “The water’s warm and it’s great for soothing sore muscles. You’re welcome to bathe there if you want?”

“You have a private hot spring?” You queried in astonishment. There were a few hot springs in the nearby woodlands, but they were communal and there were often other people there. Having a private one so close to home was a real indulgence.

“Perks of being in the olo’eyktan’s family.” Lo’ak gave a casual shrug of his shoulders, “My parents picked that spot to build our family’s shelter at because of it.”

A hot soak and bath sounded absolutely divine, and a private spring meant you’d have some peace and quiet to yourself too. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be using it if it’s just meant for your family.”

“Nah, it’s fine. We’ve had friends over before and my parents are out tonight anyway. Come on, I’ll take you there.”

Enticed by the promise of the hot spring, you readily followed Lo’ak. You were familiar with where the Sullys’ home was, but as he led you round behind it, you glimpsed a mossy pathway that led down between the verdant flora towards a formation of rocks. Sure enough, you could see there was a pool in the formation’s centre, partially obscured by the taller rocks surrounding it.

The environment became humid as you approached the mouth of the spring, the hot water sending small plumes of steam into the air. You breathed out a sigh of wonderment at the sight before you. It was actually bigger than you’d initially thought.

The hot spring was surrounded on most sides by the high rocks, giving the space a lovely sense of seclusion. There was another set of tall boulders that parted the spring down the middle too and, though you couldn’t see it from where you were, you presumed it would lead to another part of the spring round the corner. On the adjacent side from where you stood, there was a bank with a bed of plush, bioluminescent moss. It looked like the perfect place to just sit and dip your feet in if that’s all one wanted to do.

You beamed at Lo’ak appreciatively, “This is lovely, thank you.”

“There are some bath and cleansing oils in a little basket over there on the bank. My sisters are morning bathers so they won’t be needing the spring now. You can enjoy your privacy.” Lo’ak stated with a smile, followed by a muted titter which he tried to disguise rather poorly as a cough.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

He waved you off, turning around and beginning to make his way back up the path, “No, it’s nothing.”

Arms akimbo as you watched him leave, you hissed, “You’re being weird. There better not be any nasty surprises in there!”

Lo’ak scoffed, stopping in his tracks to look at you, “No, of course not.” Although there was still that telltale mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you didn’t altogether trust. He shook his head at your apparent doubt and he gestured towards the steaming spring, “You’re safe here, don’t worry. There are no strangers here.”

With a reassuring smile, Lo’ak left you to it and carried on up the distance of the path until you saw him disappear into his family’s shelter.

Left alone now, you peered out into the darkness of the hot spring before you. The higher temperature of the water meant that not much lived in and around the spring. There were no fish or florae that dwelled beneath the water’s surface and apart from the gentle glow of the moss and phosphorescent lianas that lined the rocks, there wasn’t much light at all.

Stepping forward slowly, you let the warm water of the spring greet your toes, which wriggled and curled in delight at the soothing heat. You smiled a small smile to yourself, very much looking forward to your impending hot bath. You unclothed yourself, shimmying out of your chest-covering and loincloth before folding the garments neatly and stepping to the side to drape them over a boulder. You paused then when you noticed another folded loincloth tucked against the rocks.

Odd… Lo’ak had reassured you that no one was here…

Shrugging lightly, you supposed another of the family had left it behind earlier in the day and thought nothing more of it, eager to immerse yourself in the steaming spring that beckoned. With small steps, you submerged yourself little by little, sighing as the blissful warmth of the spring water enveloped your knees, thighs, hips and navel until you reached maximum depth and it pooled just under the rounds of your breasts.

Oh, by Eywa, the temperature was perfect. The water was hot but not too hot as to be uncomfortable and you could already feel it easing the tightness in your leg muscles. Wading through the dark water towards the basket of bath oils on the bank, you gingerly picked through several vessels, uncapping them and giving each one a sniff as you tried to decide which you liked best. They all smelled wonderful, some fruity, some floral and all a luxurious treat for the skin and senses.

A very familiar scent wafted to your nose when you uncapped the last vessel; spicy and nutty, with a hint of the woodland trees. You recognised it immediately. Neteyam. This was the bath oil he used regularly. Your mind was made up in that instant, selection made.

Bending your knees, you submerged yourself to your chin to wet your body all over, before gracefully lifting yourself out of the water to perch on the mossy bank so you could rub the oil into your skin. The oil was wonderfully fragrant and glossy on your wet skin as you massaged it over your arms, torso, breasts, tail and legs. A contented moan bubbled up your throat and you giggled to yourself, smoothing the oil up your neck and then over your face too.

Oh, it smelled so good and it reminded you so much of Neteyam…

Something sharp pricked in your chest when your conscience reminded you that he was off in the company of Silwey tonight, and you sniffed sullenly before you mentally chastised yourself. You resolved to put it out of your mind and just be grateful for this wonderful hot spring. The scent of the oil tickled your nostrils again, bringing with it more unbidden thoughts of Neteyam. Perhaps choosing the oil he used wasn’t the smartest idea after all... You’d go to bed smelling like him tonight and it was just going to keep reminding you of him.

Satisfied with your efforts of smoothing the bath oil all over yourself, you slipped off the mossy bank back into the warm water to soak. Your tightly braided cornrows wouldn’t need a proper wash for another few days yet, so you cupped water in your hands and dribbled it over your head to give your hair a simple rinse. Gingerly, you washed your face in a similar fashion, moaning quietly in enjoyment.

So absorbed were you in relishing your bath that you failed to notice the glowing pair of eyes watching you soundlessly through the steam from around the corner of tall boulders in the spring.

Your voyeur smirked to himself. He was surprised to find you here. He was going to have to thank his brother later…

Deciding he’d done enough covert watching, Neteyam carefully shifted off his rocky perch beneath the water to submerge himself further. His moral scruples censured him that continuing to watch you bathe naked when you were unaware of his presence was wrong. He resolved to make himself known, but he was going to have some fun doing it.

The buoyancy in the water made it easy for you to rest with your knees bent to keep yourself submerged to your chin. You continued to run your hands over yourself underwater, cleaning yourself while you soaked. You hummed an old folk tune that your mother used to sing to you as a child, and you closed your eyes, basking in the peace of your surroundings. But your serenity was unexpectedly disrupted when you felt something ripple past your legs underwater.

You stilled and bolted upright to full height. There was something in the water…

Your thoughts rushed back to earlier when you’d been suspicious of Lo’ak’s snickering. He’d reassured you that there was no danger here and you knew, logically, that nothing lived in the waters of a hot spring, and yet, something had definitely moved past the backs of your legs underwater.

Heart beginning to race in your chest, you turned in a slow arc, scanning the murky water with wide eyes. The water was so black you could hardly see your own body past your hips. The steam was suddenly stifling and you licked your lips, swallowing down your rising anxiety.

With an almighty splash, something burst upward through the surface of the water behind you with a roar and an alarmed screech forced itself from your throat. You whirled around to face a looming figure, your chest heaving in fright. However, the loud roar the figure had emitted had morphed now into deep rumbles of laughter and you came face-to-face with a dripping wet Neteyam.

“You skxawng!” You shrieked in indignation, aiming several good splashes of water at him with your hands.

Neteyam’s mirth still had a firm grip over him and his rumbling laughter continued to reverberate around the rocky spring. Your fit of pique was quickly deflating in the face of his amusement as you watched him clutch at his sides, gasping for breath, his handsome face full of his merriment. The sound of his laughter was infectious and though you continued to cuss at him, your own voice was tremulous with your own laughter now.

“Great Mother, all these years we’ve hunted and patrolled together, facing packs of nantang (viperwolves) and palulukan (thanators) and not once have you ever screamed like that!” Neteyam hooted.

“Shut up, kurkung (asshole)! You gave me a huge scare!” You splashed him again and added a hard shove against his chest for good measure.

Neteyam caught your wrists and proceeded to mock scold you, “Hey, name-calling and physically assaulting your superior officer is the height of disrespect and insubordination.”

Wrenching your wrists free of his grasp, you ground out through your teeth, “Forgive me, sir, but you rudely interrupted my bath and nearly sent my soul to Eywa with your ambush.”

Flushed from your fright and suddenly feeling self-conscious, you folded your arms across your breasts. It was stupid really considering Neteyam had already seen all of you and more before.

Your eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness now and you could see little rivulets of water cascading down his face from his wet hair. Droplets of water clung to the skin of his neck and chest, and his bioluminescent tanhì glimmered against his moist skin. The deep gold of his eyes were bright in lack of light and you forced yourself to look away, afraid you might drown in the mesmerising depths of them if you looked for too long.

Neteyam gave a quiet chuckle and he tilted his head downward to catch your downcast eyes, “Did I interrupt your bath or did you interrupt mine?”

You sucked in an astonished breath, remembering the other folded loincloth you’d seen on the rocks by the mouth of the hot spring. Confusion swirled in your mind and you shook your head, “Lo’ak told me there was no one here.”

Another rough chuckle, “No, he said there were no strangers here.”

Neteyam watched as you attempted to make sense of the situation. He’d already been in the hot spring when Lo’ak had led you here. He’d been partially hidden from your sight around the corner of the boulders in the middle of the pool, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice him through the steam.

“Maybe Lo’ak didn’t realise you were here.”

“Oh paskalin (sweet berry), he definitely knew I was here.”

Neteyam’s voice was low and husky, and the raspy sound rippled over you, sending warm tingles throughout you to your fingers, toes and other more private places. You looked to his face again and found him still watching you. A small grin played on his lips, his eyes gleamed with mischief and his ears were upright, fully focused on you.

The recollection of Silwey’s proposition to him earlier in the day resurfaced in your thoughts and you felt your mood sour again. He was probably freshening up before his play date…

You decided to leave him to it, trying your best to keep the sour taste in your mouth from bleeding into your tone, “Well, I’m sorry sir, for intruding on your bath. I’ll go now so you can finish up. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be, you know, someone waiting for you.”

Neteyam watched as you turned to leave, wading slowly through the spring towards its exit. He shook his head at your repeated address of him as ‘sir’ and he chortled under his breath. Your words were coolly said, but he didn’t miss the slight edge to them, especially when you referred to someone waiting for him. You were annoyed and he was fairly certain of the reason why. He knew you’d overheard part of his conversation with Silwey earlier today. Well, two could play this game of rank…

“Wait, tsamsiyu (warrior).”

You stopped in your tracks at the formal address. Neteyam’s tone was suddenly firm, the same one he used during your work days and instinct made you turn to face him again, “Sir?”

He began to advance towards you, his movement creating ripples in the spring’s surface at his approach. He stopped once there was a scant foot of space between you and his greater height forced your head to tilt back to maintain your eye contact with him.

“Just where do you think I’m meant to be right now at this hour? And who are you implying is waiting for me?” His question was a murmur, but his tone was still formal and there was a note of challenge in it.

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you replied, “I just meant that you’re a busy man and I shouldn’t hold you up.”

“Bullshit. Speak plainly.”

You were bewildered by Neteyam’s brusque response. Your eyes fell away from his and you shrank a little under the weight of his authority. He was pulling rank on you and questioning you. Perhaps your earlier remark hadn’t been as measured as you thought and your attitude had bled through. Unnerved, you wondered if you’d offended him.

Fortifying yourself through your increasing discomfort, you inhaled deeply and spoke, “What you choose to do in your time, and who you spend it with, is none of my concern. I apologise if I overstepped and misspoke. Permission to be dismissed, sir?”

“No.”

Shock lanced through you and you gasped. You’d expected your polite request for dismissal to be granted, but Neteyam had denied it outright. Unsure how to respond, your eyes mechanically found his face again and another wave of surprise rippled through you when you found him smirking at you.

Soft lines wrinkled your forehead as you frowned at him in puzzlement. When his smirk turned into a full-blown grin, you clicked and you realised he was toying with you. Your ears flattened in irritation and your lips pressed into a thin line. You adjusted your arms, crossing them even tighter across your naked chest, “You’re making fun of me.”

Neteyam’s expression softened and turned placating. He cocked his head at you, “You started this rank game. I was just playing along.”

You weren’t in the mood to banter with him right now. You just wanted to get out of there because every moment more that you spent in Neteyam’s presence was a reminder that he would soon be trotting off into Silwey’s arms for the night. Something he was entirely in his right to do… your conscience reminded again. It did nothing to soothe your bother.

“Right, well I’m going now.” You huffed, turning to continue making your departure.

“You don’t have to go. Stay.”

“No, I interrupted your bath. So, I’ll go.” You snapped.

“I was almost done. You only just got here. Really, you should stay. I’d best be off anyway-”

“Actually yes, why don’t you go?” You interrupted him, whirling around to face him. Your abrupt movement sent a torrent of warm water splashing onto the hot spring’s entryway behind you. He’d best be off indeed! It wouldn’t be polite to keep his playmate waiting… He would leave and you could stay to soak in the spring, and wallow some more in your stupid self-pity...

Your irritation flared and your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, “Better not keep Silwey waiting.”

A smug grin and chuckle was Neteyam’s answer to your remark and his response only aggravated you further.

There was an accompanying pinprick of hurt in your chest this time. Great Mother, was he still toying with you?... Was he rubbing it in that he was seeing someone exclusively tonight?... But why would he do that? You’d never known Neteyam to be unkind… And he didn’t even know how you felt… Or did he?

“You’re adorable when you’re upset.” Neteyam said, approaching you and closing the distance between the both of you once more.

“I’m not upset.” You feigned and you turned defiant eyes up at him when he stopped in front of you.

The water was shallower here near mouth of the hot spring. Where it had pooled beneath your breasts earlier, it now encircled your torso level with the tops of your hips. As Neteyam was taller, the waterline sat dangerously low on his pelvis and you kept your gaze firmly rooted on his face to curb the temptation to look down.

“Lying to your commanding officer is also a form of insubordination.”

By Eywa, you were tiring of this game... Why wouldn’t he just leave to go and meet Silwey already?

A scathing snort left you and you turned to continue your departure, “You’re not the boss of me outside of our work hours.”

Neteyam stopped you with a hand around your upper arm, “No, but I do like it when you call me ‘sir’. It has a certain ring to it that I’ve discovered I enjoy even outside our work hours.” His grip wasn’t loose but it wasn’t bruising either, just firm enough to impede your attempt to leave.

Still unwilling to uncross your arms from around your chest, you snarled at him in warning, “Let me go. I’m sure Silwey would be more than happy to indulge you in your little game. You are her commanding officer too, after all.”

“I’m not meeting Silwey tonight.”

A beat of silence passed as you took in Neteyam’s words, “What?”

Strong arms enveloped you in the next moment and you found yourself being dragged backwards into the deeper water of the hot spring. Wrapped in his embrace with your back crushed to his chest, Neteyam murmured by your ear, “I turned down her offer.”

You squirmed a little in the cage of his hold. One of his arms was wrapped around your shoulders while the other was snaked around your waist; you were well and truly trapped against him. You knew you were no match for his strength and the feminine part of you appreciated that fact. It revelled in how dainty you felt against his bigger frame.

You were unable to stem your curiosity and you questioned his decision, snapping at him, “Why? You obviously like her enough to have met her privately in the past.”

Neteyam took a breath and then exhaled, “The sex is good, but there’s no connection there. It’s physical and nothing else. Besides, it’s not Silwey’s company I find myself craving these days.” He gave a gravelly chuckle and you felt it rumble against your back. His voice turned teasing, “I knew you were eavesdropping, paskalin.”

It was an awkward angle but you craned your neck sideways to scowl at him, “Well, she wasn’t exactly quiet about it. She might as well have made an announcement before the entire clan.”

“And her offer upset you.”

Another fibbing refute was on the tip of your tongue when you stopped yourself. He’d already called you out before for being untruthful. He knew you were upset. No point trying to lie your way out of it.

Ever since you’d entered into this arrangement with Neteyam and Lo’ak, your feelings for Neteyam had become more and more difficult to ignore. Your play dates with the brothers were just physical entertainment and nothing more. Or at least, they were supposed to be… But the lines were now blurring horribly between physical and emotional, and your tetchy behaviour this evening was cold, hard evidence of this.

“I don’t like knowing that other women have you too.” Your admission was sulky and muttered so quietly that you weren’t sure if Neteyam even heard you, “When it’s just the three of us at the shack, I can just ignore everything else and pretend otherwise.”

“My, my, possessive are we?” His cocky remark rubbed you the wrong way.

You’d opened up in a moment of vulnerability and his tongue-in-cheek attitude made you feel like he was making fun of you again. With a renewed surge of annoyance, you twisted fiercely in his hold and he released you.

You spun to face him, arms still wrapped around yourself, “Didn’t you say you’d best be off? Fine, you’re not seeing Silwey tonight, but you’ve clearly got somewhere to be, so why don’t you just go so I can have some peace here?”

Neteyam wanted to make a smart quip about you kicking him out of his own family’s hot spring, but decided against it when he saw the glinting hurt in your eyes that you were trying and failing to conceal from him. He held his hands out of the water to show them to you, “What I meant was that I might as well be the one to leave seeing as my skin is getting wrinkly. I don’t actually have anywhere to be.”

“Oh.” Your voice was small.

“Do you want some time to yourself?” Was that a hint of regret you heard in his voice?

Neteyam didn’t want to leave you, if he was truthful. He’d spent the last few weeks waiting for an opportunity to get you alone, dithering in his decision around whether to just ask you outright. He’d been hesitant because he didn’t want to ruin the good thing they had going. He didn’t know whether you were content to just play with him and Lo’ak, and he was afraid that seeking you out on your own might be too close for comfort for you.

The realisation this afternoon that you were annoyed by Silwey’s advances on him was a real stroke to his ego, and he’d teased you about it. However, he comprehended now that his attempt at banter had backfired on him as you appeared more upset than he’d initially thought. Lo’ak had handed him an opportunity tonight, but he may have just blown it…

You fidgeted, your fingers squeezing your upper arms where they were wrapped around you while you deliberated your answer. Eywa, you didn’t want time to yourself if the alternative was a chance at time alone with Neteyam…

You had a chance here to indulge the tender feelings you had for him. You knew it was a dangerous game to play. He was the future olo’eyktan and he would one day mate a woman fit to be tsahìk. That would not be you. You were a warrior, like he was. Neteyam would never be yours and it was stupid to risk your heart for a chance at knowing him like this.

But you were always foolish when it came to him…

“No, you can stay.” You mumbled meekly, “If you want to, that is.”

A tight twinge scorched across your left shoulder muscle then and you gasped, straightening your arm to stretch out the cramp that had seized hold of you. You hissed in pain, grimacing in discomfort.

The water sloshed and lapped as Neteyam rushed to you. He took hold of your cramping arm, crossing it over your front, “Here, stretch across like that and hold it. The cramp should ease soon.”

“Ow, ow!” You whined, stretching your arm across as hard as you could to relieve the cramping muscle. You felt Neteyam’s firm fingers begin to press and push at the knot and relief thankfully found you as the muscle relaxed again. You groaned with a sigh, “Ugh that one hurt like a bitch.”

“You’re very tense across your shoulders. Are you really sore?”

“Yes, that’s why Lo’ak suggested I bathe here in the hot spring.”

Neteyam grinned to himself behind your back, continuing to rub and work at your shoulder muscles. He really owed Lo’ak one now… His brother was an excellent wingman… The fact that you were sore had probably been a nice coincidence in Lo’ak’s plan. His brother would have led you to the spring anyway knowing he was already in there.

“I’m sorry if I upset you with my teasing. I wasn’t doing it to be mean.” Neteyam muttered at your back. “If it’s any consolation I’m possessive of you too. I don’t like sharing you, not even with my brother.”

His words made your heart skip a beat and you curled your tail around his lower leg underwater, “I know.”

You knew he wasn’t fond of sharing. You’d seen it in the way he interacted with you and his brother during your play nights at the shack, but hearing him admit it was satisfying.

Encouraged, Neteyam stepped forward to press himself against your back, his hands still massaging at your shoulders. Your skin was silky smooth and slick under his fingers and your bottom was plush against the front of his hips. His cock twitched in interest and he felt desirous heat pool in his groin. Tucking his chin to nuzzle lightly at the crook of your neck, he drew in the sweetness of your scent which had mixed with the spiciness of the bath oil. You smelled like a delicious treat he’d been hankering after…

Growing more and more relaxed from the wonderful shoulder massage Neteyam was giving you, you let your arms drop and float to your sides in the water, uncaring that it exposed your breasts to him. The little sniffs and puffs of his breath as he scented you were ticklish against the skin of your neck and you grinned silently, fighting the urge to shiver. Reaching back a little, you let your hands ghost over the outsides of his thighs, your fingertips dancing against the firm muscle beneath smooth skin. A deep and rumbling purr was Neteyam’s response of delight.

You’d played with Neteyam before, but it was different like this alone in the hot spring and without Lo’ak as a second playmate. Your current ambience was far more intimate. It felt less like physical play and more like a deep, emotive bonding session with a significant other. Your conscience sounded the alarm bells and your heart bolstered its defences.

You could play with him, but under no circumstances could you fall for him…

Clearing your throat lightly, you turned your head a bit so you could look him in the eye to thank him, “Mm, thanks for that. It’s helped. Do you want me to give you a rub too?”

Neteyam wrinkled his nose at you and the action was both endearing and charming. The press and rub of his fingers against your shoulders didn’t stop though. He bit his lower lip and grinned cheekily at you, “Not a shoulder rub, no.”

The innuendo was clear and you rolled your eyes at him with a small snort. He laughed and the sound was soothing and warm. Damn him and his stupidly handsome face… Which you then realised was beginning to lean down ever so slowly towards yours.

The long lashes that framed Neteyam’s eyes fluttered enchantingly as his gaze shifted between your eyes and your lips, “Can I kiss you, paskalin?”

You could never deny him… not when he always sought your permission so sweetly…

Your body was one step ahead of your brain and you craned your neck back to press your lips to his. The fire of your desire ignited, his kiss like fuel to the flames that consumed you and scorched you from head to toe. A throbbing ache struck up a rhythm at the apex of your thighs, your body instantly yearning to be touched and stroked, surrounded by and filled to the brim with him.

Neteyam groaned against your lips, his head twisting and his mouth opening to allow your tongues to waltz. Your hands snaked farther backward to clutch at his buttocks, pulling his hips and the evidence of his arousal flush against your lower back and bottom. He took a breath and hissed at the contact.

The heat of the water against the lower half of your body was a delightful contrast to the cool air against your upper half. You arched your back against Neteyam, pushing your breasts outward, nipples stiffening to peaks as the wafting steam caressed its way past them on its ascent to the sky.

Neteyam’s lips left yours and proceeded to score a heated path down the side of your neck with lapping kisses. Eyes heavy-lidded through your soaring lust, his name was a breathless sigh on your lips, “Neteyam.”

He gave a low growl at the sound of his name, and his massaging hands moved from kneading your shoulders to trail downward over your collarbone, drifting lower until his calloused palms met your hardened nipples. His voice was rough, “I can’t get enough of you. Every evening at the shack just makes me want you more. Do you know how hard it is to have you as my second-in-command when all I want to do during the day is pin you down and have my way with you?”

Your core pulsed and thrilled at his coarse words. You could feel the tingling of your folds, knew that your body was readying itself with warm, slippery wetness to be penetrated to the hilt.

A smart retort surfaced in your mind and you shot him a brazen grin, “I’m sorry, sir.”

The smile that slowly spread across Neteyam’s face at your comment was positively wicked. It was practically a leer. “Obedience and good manners will get you a long way with me, warrior.”

Slick from the bath oil, you leant back against him while he fondled your breasts, his lips nibbling at the soft point of one ear. You’d never realised how sensitive your ears were, but they were definitely an erogenous zone for you. Every nip and kiss to the skin there made your legs weak and your pussy throb. You could feel the solid length and weight of his erection pressing insistently into your lower back like an unspoken invitation to you of the bodily ecstasy it could bring you.

Neteyam verbalised his invitation, nonetheless, in a rumbling purr, “Play with me tonight. Here. Just you and me.”

Your thighs gave an involuntary squeeze together, the ache in your pussy suddenly growing so intense it felt hotter than the water of the spring you currently stood in. You felt Neteyam clasp your jaw with one hand, tilting your head back and twisting your face so he could plunder your mouth again with his lips and tongue. The velvet sweep and suction of his kiss ensured that what little hesitation you had was promptly abandoned.

However, you couldn’t suppress another sassy retort from leaving your lips, “I don’t know. You don’t have any of those sex toys here tonight to rock my world.”

Neteyam bent his knees slightly, bringing his hips in line with your bottom, and he reached down to reposition his cock so it could slide between your thighs and against your slick folds. His chuckle was dark and his voice was full of sensuous promise in the most sinful of ways, “Oh paskalin, you and I both know that I don’t need any of those toys to have you screaming my name tonight.”

You twisted around to face him, throwing your arms around his neck to claim his lips in a desirous kiss. His hands found your upper thighs and he lifted you easily to wrap your legs around his hips, his hands coming to rest against your bottom. He broke the meld of your lips then and he was breathless as he asked, “Is that a yes? I want to hear you say it.”

This new position in his arms found your face elevated over his. Framing his face with your hands, you peered down into the captivating depths of his eyes and panted back at him, “Yes.”

“Yes, who?” Neteyam’s eyes glinted naughtily and you understood the implication. He wanted to continue playing his game of rank with you…

“Yes, sir.”

The warm water rushed around you then in a surge as Neteyam hoisted you higher in his arms and walked you backwards until your back met the tall rocks behind you, pinning you against it. The rock was warm against your back and while its surface was not jagged, it was still coarse enough to be abrade your skin if you moved too roughly against it.

Neteyam nuzzled at the soft mound of one breast, and you emitted a startled gasp when he sealed his mouth over it, drawing your nipple into his hot mouth with a tormenting suck that made you keen in pleasure. He followed this with flicks of his tongue against the stiff bud of it, and your head lolled backward to land with a mildly painful thud against the rock.

Playing with your body was both pain and pleasure for Neteyam. He relished giving you pleasure and revelled in the way your body writhed and reacted. Your whimpers and moans were music to his ears, but all of this never failed to send his arousal soaring to a fevered pitch, which was where the pain came in. His cock was achingly hard, flexing and throbbing with the desperate need to be buried snugly inside you. His balls felt heavy and swollen, full of seed that his body yearned to gift to you.

With your legs clamped tight around his hips still, and leaving one hand and forearm under your bottom to help keep you propped up, he shifted his other hand towards your core. His knuckles brushed your slick centre and Neteyam groaned against the pillowy flesh of your breasts. You were so slippery soft and ready for him already… but he wanted to tease you more…

Running his knuckles over your pussy, he extended his fingers and gently breached you with two of them, earning him another cry from you. He knew what you liked and he curled his fingers just so, finding the spongey spot on your inner walls that he knew would drive you wild, as he pumped them in and out.

It was an incredible combination of sensation whenever he suckled on your breasts and played with your core. You were already beginning to see stars behind the tight clench of your closed eyelids.

Losing yourself in the building waves of pleasure, you moaned his name harshly with a curse, “Oh fuck, Neteyam.”

His mouth left your breast with succulent pop, “Is that the way to address your commanding officer?” He curled his fingers aggressively inside you, winding the coil of pressure in your pelvis even tighter.

Your apology was a whimper, “No, sorry sir.”

“I’m going to take care of you tonight, but only if you follow my lead. Is that clear?” Neteyam instructed, his speech adopting the formal tone he used with the platoon during the daytimes. He gave a deliberate twist of his fingers and your breath hitched.

“Mm, y-yes sir.”

“What’s your safe word if you need to use it, sweet girl?”

“Tsyoklìt.”

Neteyam couldn’t help his chuckle. It was the same safe word you always used after you had first chosen it when him and Lo’ak had started experimenting with some wilder forms of sexual play with you. However, it wasn’t so much your repetitive choice that amused him but the word itself and the backstory behind it.

Tsyoklìt was a Na’vi word phonetically loaned from its English counterpart: Chocolate.

Your reaction to trying the sweet human treat for the first time would forever remain one of Neteyam’s fondest memories.

The two of you had been younger, still adolescents training to pass your rites of passage to become warriors. It had been a very successful day at training and his father had decided to reward the learners with some chocolate. Jake had handed out the unfamiliar treat, which was then observed and examined with cautious sniffs and curious eyes. He and Lo’ak were already familiar with the foodstuff and had eagerly tucked into their share, prompting the others to do the same.

Most of the trainees had reacted with positive surprise, but not you. Your face had twisted into a grimace at the saccharine taste, lips turning into an unpleasant pout as you fought to swallow the sickeningly sweet bite you had taken. Neteyam had tried very hard not to laugh at your aversion and when he’d asked you what was wrong, you’d told him, “It’s way too sweet. It’s too much, far too much.”

So, in a way, your choice of safe word was rather fitting if things got too much.

Neteyam growled against your chest, feeling the contractions of your inner walls around his fingers, “Fuck, you’re irresistible, you know that? So beautiful and your body is perfect, so responsive.”

The stroking thrusts of Neteyam’s fingers in and out of you was pleasurable, but it wasn’t enough. You wriggled lightly, wishing you could somehow rock your hips to bring some friction against your clit, but the firm hold he had under your bottom and the way he had you trapped against the rock made for a rather unforgiving position.

“I need more.” You murmured your words languorously, and water droplets splattered softly against the spring’s surface when you lifted your hands to weave your fingers through Neteyam’s braids. You writhed again, attempting to find more friction, and Neteyam gave a warning snarl when your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling against his scalp.

“Demanding, are we?” He crooned, nipping at the skin of your neck, “Patience. Good things come to those who wait.”

Neteyam’s grip around your bottom eased and he stepped back so he was no longer pressing you against the rocks. You unwound your legs, sliding down his frame to stand again, very aware of the way his erection bounced free of your thighs as you untangled yourself from him. Your hands flew instantly to his swollen length, teasing it with a stroke-and-twist action you’d discovered Neteyam liked. He gave a guttural grunt and one of his hands flew to brace itself against the rocks.

Your smile was cunning and you chuckled low and husky at him, “It seems I’m not the only one who’s impatient, sir.”

Neteyam snickered, “It’s always an exercise in patience with you.” He let your hands relieve some of the pressure for the time being, content to bury his face into the crook of your neck while he moaned and littered your skin with gentle bites.

Great Mother, you loved when he was like this… Muscles flexing and relaxing, hot breaths against you while he shuddered and groaned from the pleasure you were inflicting on him. His cock was gorgeous like the rest of him: lengthy, thick, and beautiful cerulean blue, with a fat head that drizzled pre-cum if you teased him just right, and speckled with tanhì that glowed bright when he was close to the edge.

Pressing your cheek to his temple, you whispered to him, “You’re gorgeous and I want you inside me so badly.”

The twisting and throbbing pleasure in Neteyam’s midsection sparked in warning at your words and his hands flew to halt the motion of yours. Any more stimulation and he was going to lose his control and spill before he was ready to. He stayed your wrists when you tried to tease his cock some more and he flashed you a cautionary glance, “I need to cool off.”

Looping your arms around his neck you pushed off the balls of your feet to wrap your legs about his hips again. You whined, “No, I need you now.” Wriggling your hips, you felt the head of his cock brush your core where you wanted him most, but Neteyam snaked his arms under your bottom to keep you apart.

“No, I want to enjoy playing with you some more first. My mouth is watering to taste you.”

You bleated in frustration, “No, take me now. Please? Please, sir!”

Neteyam gave a throaty chuckle, walking you both towards the mossy bank, “Nice try.”

Reaching the moss-topped embankment, Neteyam lifted your body and sat you down on it, “Lie back, paskalin.”

He remained in the hot spring, the water pooling about his waist. The edge of the bank sat flush against his sternum and his intention was clear in his eyes as gently pushed against your chest, urging you to lie down. Neteyam had expressed his desire to taste you and you knew that he was going to do just that; torture you with his lips and tongue until you were begging for all of him.

Leaning down with a slight pout at being denied your request to be penetrated, you stole one last kiss from his moist lips before obeying his instruction, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” Neteyam purred, watching as you lay down and automatically lifted your legs into the air, bent at the knees, to display yourself to him.

He almost groaned and his cock throbbed eagerly at the erotic vision you made. Dewdrops of water clung to the supple skin of your thighs and though all of you was damp from the hot spring, your pussy glistened with your own slick moisture. The elevation of the bank was perfect for what he was about to do. All he had to do was lean down a little and he’d be able to lick and delve through your slick folds.

Curling one large hand around one of your hips to steady you, he ran his other in a tantalising rub over your lower belly. When the first lap of his tongue stroked over your core, you jumped with a soft wail. He bent to kiss you where you now burned the hottest, his tongue and lips making love to your clit, isolating it and sucking moderately. He took his time tasting you, drinking you in leisurely and languidly. It’d always taken your breath away how skilled Neteyam was with this particular act.

When you don’t want to give the whole of your body to another, you learn to please them in other ways… This was what he’d told you once. Fortunately for you, this was only ever a warm-up. You’d have all of him in the end, you just needed to be patient.

It wasn’t just his lips and tongue that Neteyam employed, he would rub his nose back and forth over you too. And then his fingers would join the endeavour, curling, stroking and stoking your pleasure higher and higher until you felt like you were thin and brittle glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

Your core pulsated with bliss as Neteyam continued his work. His mouth continued its suckling on your clit and two of his fingers gave your pussy the attention it so craved. Your hands were clutching at his braids, your hips rocking against his face as you whimpered and moaned. The atmosphere felt hot. It’d been a little chilly when he’d first lifted you from the warm water, but that was no longer the case. Your body burned for him, the pressure in your lower belly taut and tight, on the brink of orgasm.

“Oh, I’m so close,” Your breaths were heaving, your voice unstable, and you only caught yourself just in time from saying his name instead of his formal address as you pleaded, “N-Nete- Sir, please!”

Neteyam’s approval at your formal address of him rumbled against you. He fought a smirk, keeping his lips and tongue trained on the swollen bud at the apex of your thighs. You were so slick that the action of his fingers was squelching obscenely and he swore his cock was pulsing in time with each clench and throb of your pussy.

Boldly, knowing that he and his brother had experimented with you recently in this form of play, he moved his free hand from your hip to run a slick thumb over your butthole. You startled a little at the feel of it, but he continued to massage his thumb over the puckered flesh. There were no toys present tonight, but he knew you’d enjoyed the use of the butt plugs during the last couple of sessions at the shack. His thumb would have to do tonight.

You gave a muffled yelp at the addition of Neteyam’s thumb in your butt. It was a third point of pleasure on top of what he was already doing, and it only served to intensify the rhythmic clenching of your pelvic muscles. You could feel that you were flushed from head to toe. Your thighs were trembling where they hung suspended and splayed wide in the air, and your nipples were erect, kissing the night air. But Great Mother, the paradise that you were experiencing between your thighs was staggering. You lifted your head and tipped your chin forward to look down at Neteyam, only to find his golden eyes trained right back at you as he drove your body to its limit.

There was no holding on anymore at that point. The intensity of the lust in his eyes tipped you over the precipice you’d been teetering on. Your fist flew to your mouth, stifling your shriek of ecstasy as the waves of pleasure crested and crashed over you.

Neteyam was fighting a battle of his own, wrestling with what little remained of his body’s control as he watched and felt your body explode with pleasure. Your body squeezed around his fingers and he had a fleeting moment of panic when he felt his glutes tighten and his cock tense up, ready to spurt. Removing himself from you, he held on with everything he had through a clenched jaw.

Spent, you lowered your legs and let your shins hang off the embankment’s edge. You watched through bleary eyes as Neteyam rinsed lightly, before he hauled himself out of the water and onto the bank with a splash. He scooted backwards to join you and he stretched out alongside your form, one of his hands immediately moving to cup your cheek so he could tilt your head to kiss you.

“You did so well, sweet girl. Not that you’ve ever disappointed before.” He smoothed a palm over your head, patting down the stray fly-aways of hair from your forehead.

“Thank you,” You mumbled, and when his forehead crinkled in question, awaiting something, you rolled your eyes and added, “Sir.”

Neteyam rolled onto his side towards you, his big body sheltering you as he moved to twine one of his legs between yours, “I nearly lost my control back there.” He spoke against your lips between deep kisses, his breath hot and sweet against your mouth, “My every waking thought is tainted with you. My nightly dreams are wild with you. You drive me insane, Neyomi.”

You swallowed his every kiss, every declaration he made adding to the blooming warmth you had tried so hard for weeks to stifle in your heart. You wanted him alone like this every night. You wanted him to yourself, whenever and wherever you wished. You were drowning wholly and unreservedly in him. You were in way over your head with your emotions now and you knew it.

Clutching at one of his buttocks, you shifted beneath him and urged the rest of his heavy weight to settle over you and in the cradle of your hips, “Then take me now, sir. Have me how you want.”

Chuckling darkly, Neteyam briefly rose to sit on his haunches with his knees folded. He tucked your bottom closer to the vee of his thighs and placed his hands behind your knees, “You’ve been so good playing our little game today, addressing me formally. But I’m going to make you scream one more time tonight.” He pressed his weight downward, folding your legs back until your ankles were almost in line with your ears. He settled himself over you, bracing his weight on his elbows and he purred against your cheek, “And when you scream, paskalin, I want to hear my name on your lips. Am I clear?”

It was an erotic promise delivered with all the confidence of a man who knew he would succeed in his task, and as you lay sprawled and folded over beneath him, all you could do was submit to the coming onslaught of pleasure, “Yes, sir.”

Blood pounded in your ears in anticipation as you felt Neteyam position his cock at your entrance, the blunt head of it probing for the right angle to sink into your depths. With a slight adjustment to the tilt of your hips, he found home and he penetrated you in one full thrust. You threw your head back with a strangled cry at the gratifying fullness of him. The position you were in allowed for the deepest penetration possible and you felt all of him like this.

“You alright?” Neteyam queried, checking in with you though his own voice sounded strained.

You nodded, and it was all the permission he needed.

Drawing his hips back, Neteyam slammed back into you, setting a punishing pace as he thrusted. Every single stroke of his hips drove the head of his cock past your g-spot and it slid all the way in to hit your cervix. The sensation was a mixture of both pain and pleasure in the most carnally satisfying way. There was so much of him, your pussy enveloping his hard length from root to tip repeatedly as his thrusts continued to wind the coil of pressure tighter between your hips. His breathing was harsh by your ear and the sounds leaving him were an erotic mixture of growls, grunts, moans and whimpers.

Neteyam was unaware of anything else around him currently, singularly focused on you and spellbound by the immense pleasure radiating throughout his midsection. Your own cries and mewls spurred him on and when he felt you snake a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, he knew you were fast approaching your climax, and so was he.

Your inner walls fluttered around his cock and he let his head drop against your neck. Through the haze of your bliss you heard him grate out one last order, “Squirt for me, sweet girl. I know you can. I can feel how you need to.”

And you knew you would. There was little doubt about it as the familiar feeling of needing to release something burned behind your pubic bone. You almost always did now whenever Neteyam fucked you. There was just something about him; whether it was the way your bodies came together, the shape and size of his cock, the way he thrusted, or the way he would often whisper filthy things in to your ear, you always had very wet orgasms with him.

No other man had ever made your body feel the way he did. Not even Lo’ak had succeeded in making you squirt (much to his chagrin). It seemed your body reserved that rightly solely for Neteyam.

Your orgasm threatened, looming on the horizon while you massaged your clit faster. It was all pleasure; burning, aching, throbbing pleasure and you whined, straining to reach the burst of release that was so mind-blowing it sometimes felt like you’d blacked out for several moments.

“That’s it.” Neteyam encouraged, still maintaining the gruelling rhythm of his thrusts, “What’s my name?”

“N-Neteyam.” Your voice was a stuttered sob.

“Good girl. Let go, paskalin. Scream for me.”

With several heaving intakes of breath, you felt your orgasm crash through you, your pussy contracting rhythmically while several sprays of squirt spattered between your colliding bodies. His name tore from your throat in a carnal scream that you threw to the night sky above you, “NETEYAM!”

Neteyam’s entire frame strained and then tensed, and a grating growl left him as his own climax followed. His cock pulsed hard as he ejaculated, his hips pressed so tightly to yours it was as if he wanted to become one with your body and never part from you again. He slumped onto his side, breathless and panting rapidly while his body fought to find its equilibrium again after its euphoria. Yours was doing the same while you rested flat on your back with limp legs.

Usually, the afterglow after you’d played with Neteyam and Lo’ak was peaceful and pleasant, the three of you just cuddling and talking before cleaning up. However, tonight you felt uneasy in the face of your waning pleasure and you were very aware of Lo’ak’s absence. Neteyam was sprawled lethargically to your left, one of his legs tangled with yours while one of his arms was thrown over your abdomen.

It was a confronting sight and situation, being alone post-sex with Neteyam with nothing or no one else there to distract your mind from spiralling into the mess of your emotions. Your body still hummed with the remnants of your climax, but your heart seized in your chest with the realisation Neteyam had ruined you for anyone else now. You were quite certain that your body, mind and soul would never yearn for any other like it did for this man.

“Hey, you.” Neteyam’s voice crooned softly, and you returned your attention to him. His eyes were heavy with his somnolence and his expression was soft, contented. He stroked a finger over your cheek and trailed it over your lips. You instinctively puckered your lips in a gentle kiss.

“Hey,” You parroted, suddenly lost for words and not knowing what else to say.

He leaned over towards you and gathered you in his arms so you were flush against his chest. He stroked a warm hand over your hair before he began to lay tender kisses on your face; your cheek, your nose, both your eyes and then your forehead. It was both wonderfully and terrifyingly intimate.

You were in far too deep. You’d taken a risk; a beautiful and indulgent risk, and it was abundantly clear to you now how unwise it had been. Neteyam was out of your reach as a potential mate. You could never be truly his. It wasn’t your place.

His hand continued its path of caresses over your face, and you felt him rub his cheek against your head. The occasional brush of his lips along your hairline or along the delicate shell of your ear followed while he murmured sweet nothings to you; about how beautiful you were; how good you had been with him; how good you felt in his arms…

This dreamy intimacy had to stop. There was a line between body play and love, and you didn’t know where it was anymore. This was too much, too sweet…

One word slipped from your lips, painful in the implication of its meaning, “Tsyoklìt.”

Neteyam stilled at the mention of your safe word. He pulled back a little to regard you with a furrowed brow. Your playtime session had ended, so your utterance of the word was unexpected.

Meeting your gaze, he found your eyes wide with uncertainty and several emotions flashed across his handsome face as his mind processed your reaction: Mild confusion, slight amusement, surprise, and then sudden comprehension. A mumbled apology tumbled from his lips. He pushed up on an elbow to sit up, shuffling away to put some space between you at the realisation that he’d made you uncomfortable with his tender show of affection.

You felt a sharp pinprick in your chest as he moved away from you. It was the last thing you wanted… but you had to work smart now… You couldn’t dig yourself a hole any bigger than the one you were already in or you’d never make it out…

The atmosphere was suddenly taut with uncomfortable tension. It felt like something between the both of you had shifted; like the world was now somehow wrong and sitting off its intended axis. You swallowed the burgeoning lump in your throat and stared wordlessly at the man before you.

Neteyam’s expression was neutral, but you knew he’d schooled it that way intentionally. But he hadn’t done it quickly enough for you to miss the hurt that had flickered in his eyes for a brief moment.

Eywa, what had you done?... What had you both done?... You were so thoroughly fucked in this mess now…

***~~~***

Author's Note:Thank you all so much for reading. Thank you for all your support! It means the absolute world to me to hear from you. Comments, likes & reblogs are always so appreciated. 💕

I do have a Part 4 planned, and we will see another Sully bro threesome in it, plus more emotional drama between NeteyamxReader (Neyomi).

Let me know if I have your user in the taglist wrong and for those who'd like to be added, give me a shout in the comments. 😄

Part IV - Haunted by You now HERE

[connortheconceded]

Offering myself to that daybreak allowed the girdle of grace to contain me. When my voice returned, it spoke with another tongue. After three nights I could speak fire.

Red-drink, razor-fed, I had glimpsed the path unto the garden, and knew that to inform others of its harbor I had to first drown myself in search's sea. Know ye that I have found my fleet, and that you are the flagship of my hope. Greetings, novitiate, Mankar Camoran was once you, asleep, unwise, protonymic, but Am No More. Now I sit and wait to feast with thee on all the worlds of this cosmos. Nu-mantia! Liberty!

-Mythic Dawn Commentaries, vol 1

[yandere-wishes]

𝐼𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒮𝓎𝓃𝒹𝓇𝑜𝓂𝑒

Summary: Miles is the villain. You are the hero. You two shouldn't be in love...

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, afab!reader, canon typical Marvel violence. the reader is an undefined hero (but you can think of them as Spidergirl). No NSFW but both reader and Miles are 18+

Part #2 (The Perfect Girl)

part#3 (The Spider's Web)

There's something about the New York nights, that leaves a faint melancholy glow across Miles's soul. 

Some vanquished feeling that humbles him as the stars and moon look down laughing. Celestial bodies that mock him for every sin he's ever committed. Howling at the blood that drips from the edge of his claws. 

Miles never thought he was an insomniac. It just so happened that most of his life and routine took place in the dead of night. It had all been a coincidence until he met you. Now he's not sure if it's bad habits or sheer serendipity. All he knows is that he needs to see your face before the night comes to an end. 

He hadn't really met you. Not in the traditional sense at least. He'd been sent to kill you. An initiation from the sinister six. Back then he'd thought you were just another sanctimonious fool who was trying to play the role of the righteous hero. There had been many like you before. foolish and virtuous. All were left dead in some ally by daybreak. And yet when you'd landed punch after punch to his ribs. Your body slam caused him to spew blood from behind his mask. You were a tough bug to squish he'd give you that much.

Miles hadn't fallen in love with you that night. Nor the nights after that. 

It wasn't love the first time your web dagger nearly missed his heart.

It wasn't love when he had you pinned between his body and the cold street concrete, as you tried to pry off his mask to gouge out his eyes. 

It wasn't love when he'd shattered the bones in your leg and you'd been out of commission for a week.

It wasn't love when the two of you lay bleeding on a rooftop. Delusional enough from all the blood loss to try and trace constellations in the polluted night sky.

It wasn't love when you'd returned to that same rooftop the next week to beat him up. And he'd managed to lay a nasty blow to your face. 

It hadn't been love all those times. Yet all he knows is that somewhere along the lines Miles Morales had fallen in love with the new hero in town. 

He knows you're coming 

Senses your presence right as one of the sinister six's weapon cartels blows up in the distance. You never were one to be caught in the aftermath. Ever the dramatic sweetheart, who didn't like to get her hands dirty. 

He waits for the telltale sign of your feet hitting the rooftop to turn around. Mask on and heart on his sleeve. "Prowler" you greet, courteous as always. "Hey," he responds. Solid and simple and overflowing with every emotion he wishes he could spill at your feet. 

His eyes roam over your suit. Modest and girly, all things you wouldn't expect from New York's only superhero. You look like a doll. All porcelain and ivory. How you've survived so long in this city is beyond him. 

There's something wrong with you. Something Miles just can't put his finger on. Every time he looks at you it's like looking into a broken mirror. You're Disfigured, mangled, damaged. Yet all he sees in those shattered shards is the face of the boy he once thought he'd be. 

You're the light of New York. The one that promises to save this nightmare of a city. Made up of frilly bows and dreams to big to keep locked up in your head. The rage of the city, of the civilians boils through your blood. 

He's the Prowler. A boy born with rebellion in his bones and violence in his veins. A broken heart and a broken soul stitched together with barbwire and cheap glue. He's the sinister six's newest protege and uncle Aaron’s last hope. 

He's the villain and you're the hero. You shouldn't be in love. 

You skip across the rooftop, arms locked behind your back and spinning when it takes your fancy. You've long since shed any fear you may have once held for him. Standing on your tip toes you rest your chin on his shoulder. "Whatcha looking at?" you ask, with a voice filled with daisies and the summer breeze. "Pieces for my new suit were in the warehouse you just blew up." Oh how Miles wishes he could throw you over the edge. Watch you fall to your death. Maybe then you'd stop plaguing his every thought. 

"Sorry, Prowler just doing my job." You sound so carefree, it almost reminds him of how he used to be when his dad had still been alive. "You're an insufferable little insect, you know that?" He feels you smile  from under your silk mask."I try" 

You're not meant to be the hero. He knows this in his bones. You're too naive and soft-hearted to deal with the terrors of this city. More than anything else Miles Just wants to drag you away. To lock you up somewhere. Somewhere only he knows. A home where the burdens and terrors of this world can't find either of you. A place where you two can finally become one. 

 But you're not him and he's not you. All this is just a puppy dog crush. And puppy love is for baby-faced boys who didn't watch the life drain from their father's eyes. It's for sweet boys who didn't have their first kill at ten years old. 

"what's it like being the hero?" Miles asks, eyes glazing over the stars, staring straight at destiny. Who chose their roles anyway? Who made him the monster carved from rage and pain? Who painted you as the Guardian angel in gold? Why couldn't he be the hero?

You don't respond. Breath hitching and for a second Miles thinks he's hit a nerve. No one ever said doing the right thing was easy. He wonders if you claw away at your own soul. Peeling off your flesh each night to replace it with a silk suit and copper-tainted values. 

He imagines you throwing cheap knives at the night sky, watching as God's light deflects them back into your heart. 

You walk over to the edge of the roof and sit down. And for the first time ever Miles thinks he sees you for who you really are. Actually sees you. A kid with the weight of the world on their shoulders. An onomatopoeia of breaking glass and the cheers of the cities oppressed. 

"They're coming for me, Prowler." You pull your knees to your chest. Eyes looking over the city skyline. "I don't mind. I knew what I was getting into...It's just."

"Just what" his voice reverberates through his mask, he's grateful the metal and digital layers keep the  anxiety from seeping through.

"I just never thought I'd die this way" There's a smile in your voice. A  final giggle before an impending war. Miles takes a step back. Head heavy as the weight of your words crash down on him. "I saw Venom lurking through my apartment before I came here. They found me, I think they plan to strike tonight." 

He wishes he could tear this city apart, break its seams, and rapture its pillars. He can't let you die. He just can't. With a forceful tug on your shoulder he turns you his way. Mask slipping away as he slides his finger under your silk facade as he pulls it away. 

Miles's lips capture yours. As he kisses the dying stars trapped under your tongue and behind your teeth. His lips trail down your neck as he kisses the fatigue from your bones. Metal claws clutched tightly around you as if you may decay if he lets go. 

Sometimes he wants to dismantle his ribcage, piece by piece. Pickaway at the ribs and offer you his blackened heart on a silver platter. It's not his fault that he fell in love with the girl stitched together from radioactive spider bites and misplaced nightmares. 

every time Miles sees you he feels a certain feeling like the world turned upside down. Like he woke up fundamentally broken with no way to piece himself back. 

His claws trace up, gliding past your shoulders' to your neck. You don't refuse him, feeling safe for the first time since you dawned your mask and made your vows. You let him touch your neck as your naivety shines through. He won't hurt me, you think. But oh, how wrong you are. 

Miles wraps his fingers around your neck. Squeezing and squeezing as he watches you claw at metal. You look so beautiful suspended over the edge like this. There's something about being half awake and half asleep and half dead and half alive that makes you glow. He wants to say something along the lines of 'I love you'. He doubts you're conscious enough to hear him.

You're not his, not exactly. But Miles can't bear to let anyone else lay claim to you. It's a sickness he knows. But he'd rather be sick than lose you.

He'll keep you safe, he swears it. By the time you awaken, he'll have found somewhere safe for the two of you to hideout until he can convince his "mentors" to spare your life. It'll be fine, It has to be, after all...

He's Miles Morales, the Prowler

[scummy-writes]

Daybreak Desires

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Gilbert/Reader Words: 1668 Tags: afab!reader, riding, sleepy morning sex, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie

It’s a quiet rarity to wake up before Gilbert. In your time together, you had lost count of all the times you had awoken to Gilbert’s eye soaking in your features, his sly smile as he stole the first kiss of the morning from you. Today, however, you stretch and sigh pleasantly before realizing there’s no teasing words awaiting you, and in turning you discover your lover still fast asleep.

You can’t help the wonderment that steals your attention in seeing him so vulnerable, so peaceful in sleep. Without thought, your thumb slowly finds his cheek, stroking, easing him from dreams and into reality. It’s slow like the early morning light, but he wakes, eyelids fluttering open in a lazy gaze while he breathes in deep. He smiles upon registering you, words still laden with sleep as he speaks.

“Mmm… What is it, little-”

It’s all he can muster before your lips are on his, greedily stealing what was left to say. Gilbert doesn’t respond, just feels the warmth of you seeping into him with each press of your mouth, but soon he realizes what is happening, and he responds in kind.

This early, his teeth only greet you in gentle tugs of your bottom lip. Small nibbles to elicit soft sighs. Yet you’re treated to much more than you initially hoped; his own sighs mingling with yours, lulled moans of your name coming from his reddened lips.

It entices you to become more bold.

Between the kisses, you reach past your nightgown, hurriedly removing your underwear before you climb on top of his body with ease, pressing your sex against his clothed erection. 

Gilbert groans, a mixture of your name and a curse escaping him in wonder before his hands find your hips, clumsily searching for underwear not present as you tug his member free.

You’re not thinking past your desires, and they plead for you to act on impulses. The second his cock hits the morning air, you’re pressing it against your folds, grinding for friction against your swollen clit.

“Little rabbit,” he rasps, brows knit as he gazes up at you. Stars aren’t in his eyes, only the burning embers of lust mixed with wonderment: he’s never had you like this. Desperate for him so openly without his coaxing.

His voice just spurs you further, feeling shivers down your skin that the pet name still incites. Sliding your hands up your torso, you lean over him so that your lips can meet once more. So that you can taste the hint of pleas on his tongue, but never voiced.

His hands grasp your rear, squeezing, helping move you to rub the head of his cock against your entrance. Wanting to tease yourself alongside him, you press your hips down just enough to take the head of his length in, then slowly drag it out. It’s enough to make him grunt into the kiss, his nails to dig into your cheeks, before you push down again in the same manner.

Clenching your inner walls, pressing him against that wonderful spot within you.

It’s him that breaks the kiss. A groan unbidden, and you use it to your advantage - nipping along his jaw, rewarding him with a moan of his name. It does nothing but fuel the desires between you, and his hands grip hard, but refuse to force you down. 

Nails drag along his skin, etching thin and raised lines on his chest as you settle back onto your knees. The motion has his length easing deeper inside of you, his mouth slack in a silent groan as you take him in to the hilt. 

It’s easy to see the beast inside of him trying to wake. His muscles tense as he tries to shift to his elbows, to begin to sit and control the movements from this point onward- but you’re faster. With a firm hand, you push back on his chest and force him against the sheets, shaking your head as your hips lift. Inching him back out until only the head of his cock remains, and then-

“Mmmph… taking the reins today? Ah!” He sucks in a breath as your hips slam back down, a gasp breaking free as stars fill your head. 

How can you be so sensitive just from this? It feels as though your body is sizzling in barely contained excitement, fires burning within you begging for more fuel to send them blazing. The answer becomes clear, however, when you look down at your lover. Beneath you, he's melting into the sheets with a lazy grin, gazing up at you with such intense love glowing in his eyes that it steals your breath away.

The pace you languidly set makes you sigh happily, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure creeps over your skin. Gone are the anxieties that usually lay heavy upon you. Instead, your mouth opens with mewls you rarely voice, beginning to rise in tempo while you work your hips faster, harder. 

You want nothing more than to feel his lips on you, to steal warmth in the way of kisses and suckling marks upon your skin. But the moment he does so, you know you'll be doomed to lose control, to naturally submit to his spoiling. 

No. This morning, you want to let him feel as though he's still relishing in dreams, to succumb to your needy display of love for him.

Each drag of his cock along your walls makes your toes curl, lewd noises of your sex clapping against his fill the room. Panting heavily, you finally venture your hands along your body, seeking your sensitive spots, groping your breasts. It draws out a moan of his name, and Gilbert echos it with one of your own. 

He still refuses to take control away from you, keeping his hold firm on your hips, following the roll of them with his own. His eyes never leave your face, watching intently, soaking such a display in to burn into his memory.

But you notice something new: his tongue darting out to lick his lips, words attempting to form before he decides against it. The moment you notice is the moment you realize just how lonely your mouth feels.

Stretching over him, you cup his cheeks and bring your lips together with a fierce kiss, whimpering his name as your clit brushes against his pelvis. In seconds, one of his hands entwines with your hair, keeping you in place as he feverishly presses bruising kisses against your mouth, little gasps of your name said between them: a prayer of his, a mantra that makes your head spin more and more.

The reason is clear as he finally shares control with you, pushing his hips to meet yours on every thrust you direct, an unheard of keen leaving his throat as his brows furrow. You've driven him to new depths of voicing his need, and each slip of his pleasure has your confidence swell.

You manage to break apart from his lips, even when he nips yours once in an attempt to coax you back. To make up for it, your teeth trace his neck, worrying the skin there as you clench your inner walls, pulling another groan from him. He's so close. The impatience behind his actions, the way his neediness is rising, forfeiting subtly by the rise of his hips, the lapse in control of his hips.

“Gil,” the nickname is soft on your tongue, rolling off in a seductive tone you rarely muster. In response, his grip on you tightens, “you're the only one who can fill me up, Gil. I need it- I need you. I need to feel you deep inside me. Claiming me- mmph!”

Your own words are broken apart as he groans, pushing into your cunt as deep as he can manage.

A flush of heat pulses into you, making you whimper and clench onto him- instinctively, your pussy clamps down, coaxing him to spill every drop he has. He obliges, this time taking the remnants of control, delivering a handful of slow, harsh thrusts to delve his cum in deep before he inches his cock out of your swollen cunt. Leaving you resting on top of him as he drops his head back, letting out a long sigh of relief.

It's faint, but you can feel the heat that was spilled inside you. The sensation is odd, to say the least, but not unwelcome as it fills your thoughts with satisfaction; a perverse display of his love for you, intermingled with fulfillment of your unspoken wants.

As his cum leaks from your entrance, dribbling down your labia, the droplets collect on his abdomen. There's an impulse to apologize, to sheepishly use whatever is available to wipe away the proof of your desires hitting a new peak, but with exhaustion seeping deep into your muscles, you find it hard to care. You're both preoccupied with filling your lungs again, bathing in the afterglow of new experiences.

As you breathe life back into your tired body, a familiar sensation starts to creep back into your bones. Ache. A buzz of feeling exposed… embarrassment… you feel your cheeks begin to heat up, and it's then that Gilbert chuckles into your ear, arms staying firmly wrapped around you.

Peeking up at him, you're granted a lopsided grin- one that makes his eyes crinkle in joy. And suddenly, you're not so bashful when seeing your lover so relaxed and happy.

His lips find yours in a kiss still lingering with passion from before, cupping your cheek to keep you from shying away. A nip, and he draws out a giggle, smiling into the next kiss he gives you. Again and again, until you have to break to fill your lungs once more.

“Mmn, little rabbit… I like this side of you. You'll be showing it to me more, okay?”

You hide your grin against his chest, relieved from the worry weighted upon you from exploring your desires.

Thank you, Funger music covers, for helping me finally finish this.

This has actually been a wip since...........june................ it's been rough trying to get this out - I wanted to, but life had different plans. It's hard for me to look at it without feeling like it's so-so solely due to the fact that I've reread it SO much and the imagry in my head is hard to convey to words - however!! I think despite that, this is pretty good :] I'm happier with it now. Thank you RJ for cheerin me on with this one.

I think Gilbert loves being topped, and wants to be so badly. Apparently JP version might have an event about this? I'm expecting the typical cybird cop-out, but hey! Pushed me to finally finish this!

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[aidensolas]

DAY BY DAY - INTERLUDE

A little something regarding Elliot's POV from the first chapter inspired by the mention of cabin rooms from @dearestzaychik story go check them out! As well as daybreak's way of cabins for survivors.

It was never really easy.

Forced upon something you never wanted over and over until you go insane, until it becomes too much of a routine it becomes insignificant to think about it anymore... Until it becomes a habit to where you see nothing wrong with it anymore. Is there nothing wrong to it really?

Elliot was always a person who prioritized other people rather than himself. Working in a pizzeria allowed him to see and feel that other people being happy makes him happy as well, so it always became a habit where he would rather help people than help himself, but hey, can you blame him? Is it really that much of a bad habit? Well, until you're forced into a game of never-ending death and pain, that is, not that Elliot thinks it's bad, of course; he would rather see himself hurt than other people. Giving away pizzas is what he does best, and if it could help another person survive a day in this hellhole, no matter if he died, he'd be happy, no? Though lately little cracks in his facade began to appear as he began to become more and more tired of the repeating process of dying over and over and over.

It's tiring when you have the expectations of other people to carry on your shoulder to be a pillar that can help them survive at least another round, to help them not feel the pain of dying once more, sometimes he asks himself 'Why do I have to carry this weight? This expectation?' to himself every time he wakes up on his bed, but he disregards it anyway as who would he be if not himself right? Standing up from his bed he quickly does his daily routine of tidying his bed and getting ready for another match as he left his room, he was greeted by Chance who also left his room in the same moment. His suit still messy as if he couldn't be bothered to fix it as he went out, seeing Elliot staring for a bit chance spoke up to break the tension.

"Hey.. Kid you doing alright?" He said while yawning scratching his face as he started to finger comb his hair through his hat. "Yeah... I'm doing alright! Thank you for asking." Elliot replied curtly before changing it to a more positive tone in hopes for his true feelings not to show. Chance looking at him in worry sighed and hesitantly put his arm onto his shoulder "Kid. If you need someone to talk to I-" his words we're cut off as Elliot was immediately transported to a match which felt out of place and oddly weird due to matches only happening in set times and in proper intervals from what he knew another match shouldn't happen for about an hour. "No use in crying about it now since we're here..." Elliot mumbled to himself he gathered himself accordingly and decided to roam around the map finding it too empty and too quiet...

Where is everyone? Is he the only person in the match? 'It can't be.' he thought it shouldn't matter no it doesn't matter what he should focus on right about now is surviving and helping another person if there is any. So in an attempt to motivate himself he puffed his chest and confidently walked over to a gen and started to do repair it but he couldn't help himself from thinking which killer is it going to be and how is he going to die by their hands again, he shuddered and shook the thoughts away as he continued to repair the gen it took a while but he was now half way done repairing until he saw a silhouette of a person he can't make out their face as it was heavily blurred and glitched? They didn't seem to be hostile as they went to do the gen with him, so he asked a simple question regarding their name " Hey... You look new around here, what's your name? " Elliot watches as the figure Infront of him looked at him blankly... ' This is Awkward they have no mouth... ' Elliot pursed his mouth as they both continued to do the gen together in complete silence. As they finished Elliot spoke out once more " Hey do you know what it means to be here? " The figure looked at him as he was about to open his mouth once more, he felt a searing pain at the side of his stomach he immediately turned to look a green sword impaling his body he winced in pain as he could feel the pain building up ' Don't cry. Don't cry. You're used to this if you scream, you're going to scare the new person. ' He thought as he was keeping his tears in.

He immediately tried to struggle against the entanglement of the sword to no avail (Pizza man can't click the pop-ups quick enough such skill issue smh) he could see the rapid approach of the killer he then saw the newbie go Infront of him which made him smile a bit as even though the pain was getting to him. He closed his eyes for a bit to focus on getting rid of the entanglement to no avail he opened his eyes once more to see the figure he once thought he could rely on running away leaving him to rot. He watched in shock as he saw you turn a corner disappearing; he looked at the killer Infront of him which who was already preparing to end his life. " No... Pizza? Heh." Before the sword ended his life, he threw a pizza at the killer's face making an audible 'SPLAT!' and for one last time glanced at the direction you ran in and sighed as the sword sliced his own being.

God he really hated people like you.

I got bored so I decided to write because why not right? Since I have the motivation why not use every last drop. Also, Any Elliot mains who just hate when you see someone who could help you and they're like "Nah me first." and leave you to fend for yourself. ITS ME CODED BUT WHY DO I GET ANGRY RAAAA anyways most of this were my analysis practices on character and how I think they would be portrayed in a more serious way if you liked it or disliked it let me know! See you all have a nice day <3

[bunbitti]

Hello! Could I request a Sunday x halovian reader who has clipped wings? (Can be platonic or romantic)

Clipped.

:))

romantic-ish?

~800 words

tw: do clipped wings on a halovian count as mutilation? Also, Sunday being Sunday the control freak he is and pulling some strings behind your back

You were one of few Halovians that had more than just a halo. There were the Oak siblings, of course, who had both head wings and back wings, but not many others. 

Your wings were clipped. Not that a Halovian could fly (beyond the wings that would need to be massive to carry a person’s weight, the rest of their bodies were similar to a normal human’s, and therefore unfit for aerial movement), but every time you looked down at your wings, you felt a bit trapped. Regardless of whether it was done for ‘medical’ reasons or for anything else, it didn’t change the connotations. 

You weren’t meant to fly on your own, let alone succeed. Always working long hours doing the same thing, no change to your schedule, let alone improvement. Barely any time for yourself after chores, meals, and sleep. 

Your wings were always clipped whenever they molted. Again, again, again. You could never escape from it. You just wanted to give up at this point.

Your wings didn’t look right when in their resting position around your torso. Didn’t feel right, either. Feeling the flat, unnatural edge made you cringe. Even flapping them in the air felt viscerally wrong. You often held your hands near your waist as though to cover them up and pull the attention away from them, even if nobody was actually paying attention. 

That was when you met Sunday. Ever the charismatic Oak Family head, he was sometimes walking around to make sure things in the Land of the Dreams were working properly. 

He’d found you at your job in the Moment of Daybreak, weaving products that would be sold to the wealthiest of customers, all for the support of the Harmonious system that ran Penacony. He’d been passing by, making small-talk and greeting people to see how their jobs were going and if he should make any managerial changes to make their lives easier, but you looked down and noticed his raven-blue back wings neatly wrapped around his torso under his blazer. 

They were clipped. Instinctively, you wrapped your own back wings tighter around yourself, but it only drew his attention. 

His eyes followed your gaze to his own wings, then moved over to yours, which were far more harshly clipped than his own. At least at first glance, his looked relatively normal. Most outsiders didn’t know enough Halovians that had their wings out of their clothes to notice, and either way, his wings looked like a vest on top of his usual turtleneck. 

You missed the flicker of shock and pity in his eyes when he saw your clipped wings. 

In fact, he acted like nothing happened at all, and so you brushed it off. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. But you’d already gotten attached to the man countless levels in the Family hierarchy above you, making up wild stories in your head about how maybe he was also trapped in some way. 

However, you found yourself bumping into him gradually more often, almost so gradually that you hadn’t noticed. Not until you told some friends (were they friends? Or just acquaintances?) for the fifth time in a week that you met Sunday again, and they told you that nobody runs into the Oak Family head that often. 

Huh. 

Oh, well. Maybe he just likes you a bit. 

He invited you to private meals once in a while, under some excuse of wanting to reward members of the Family so they would be motivated to continue supporting the Harmony. Even he knew that a monotonous, exhausting life would eventually wear people out beyond what any motivation could provide. You didn’t need to know that you were the only Family member being ‘rewarded’. 

It was at those times that his wings were out instead of folded tightly around his waist. When he greeted you at the door and guided you inside, one wing would be lightly pressed against your back to usher you in, just as his hand rested on your upper back. 

His wings brushed against yours more times than you could count. Eventually, you were comfortable enough to let your own wings unfold, and returned the gesture. To touch wings, for Halovians, was something reserved only for the closest and dearest to a person. 

It was a while before you noticed you hadn’t been pressured to have your wings clipped, never realizing that it was because of Sunday’s influence. By the next molt, which tended to be very slow for Halovians, your wings were back to their full glory. 

The next time you shared a dinner with Sunday, you decided to be bold and put your wings behind his back to pull him close and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“—!”

— — — — — — — 

You awoke abruptly from a sweet dream that was supposed to last forever. 

There were supposed to be 7 rest days in a week.

The Dreampool is wet. 

You look down at your wings. 

Clipped.

[nowimjustastranger]

Order is from Oldest to Newest

Lee & Ford Centric:

There Are Better Days Ahead

Lee knew that it was a bad day before he even opened his eyes. He felt like he was experiencing the world through a haze of numbness, his senses dull. Even opening his eyes to add sight to the mix didn’t help the veil lift, so he found himself staring up at the ceiling blankly. It took him a few moments to register that he didn’t feel present in his own body, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion that no amount of sleep could ever fix.

Time Heals All Wounds

Lee had drained the mug of hot chocolate without even thinking about the unpleasant aftertaste, but he had written it off as Ford’s ability to make even the simplest of recipes taste questionable at best and downright toxic at worst. And all things considered, the hot chocolate ranked super low on the gross scale, it was just a little bitter. It wasn’t until daybreak that Lee started to feel… not so great. He was smoking a cigar on the front porch when his gums began to ache, Lee forced to take out his partial dentures to relieve the pressure. It was a fleeting respite from the throbbing pain, which only seemed to worsen. Then, something came loose, Lee’s stomach dropping as he raised a hand to spit a tooth into his waiting palm.

[Kofi] As The World Caves In

Lee doesn't dare peek into the room, pressed against the wall beside the doorway. He's not sure what compelled him to stay out of sight, but he heeds his instincts all the same. He's never questioned a gut feeling before and he wasn't about to start now. His caution was ultimately rewarded when he heard a shuddering exhale a moment before a crackling voice rang out. "Hey Sixer... been a while, huh?" A voice greeted and Lee's heart froze in his chest because he recognized that voice. His voice. Rough with exhaustion and saturated in thinly-veiled despair. "Just my fuckin' luck that the one time I decide to actually say somethin', you don't answer."

I Can Lose Everything But You | Part 1

“That uh… that looks bad, pal.” Stan said haltingly, glancing between the bloodied cloth pressed to Lee’s face and the road in an anxious fashion, his equally bloody hands white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel. Stan had gotten covered in the stuff when he’d tackled the thug with the knife, the two grappling for the blade. As soon as the knife was in Stan’s hand, he buried it into the thug’s chest with an efficient brutality that had the four other men sluggishly picking themselves up off the ground and bolting. Probably to regroup. Stan yanked the knife out and rushed to Lee, setting the blade aside before he knelt down to look him over, helping him to his feet so they could stumble to the Stanleymobile.

Don't Hide Away

“Ugh… shit. Ow.” Lee hissed, slowly easing his shirt up to get a look at the nasty bruising practically on top of his poor kidney. Damn, it was the kidney that he’d grown back too. The scuffle that resulted in said bruising had been short but vicious, Lee taking a bony elbow to the side two or three times before the would-be kidnapper succumbed to lack of oxygen –courtesy of Lee’s chokehold– and passed out.

I Can Lose Everything But You | Part 2

Lee’s mouth was moving but Ford couldn’t hear what was being said over the roar of blood in his ears, his wide-eyed stare fixated on the patches of gauze that were taped to the right side of Lee’s face. The gauze needed to be changed, partially dried blood –as well as a trickle of fresh blood– spotting the otherwise white material. He was hurt. Someone had hurt his little brother.

Side Quest Centric:

When A Hand Reaches Out [No MCD]

Ford saw Stan almost immediately, his stomach swooping in a nauseating fashion as the golden glow illuminated the alarmingly large red puddle around Stan’s left arm. He lunged forward with a wounded sound, scrabbling toward the boy in an entirely undignified manner, his black pants soaking up the still warm blood when he kneeled beside Stan. Ford checked his pulse the old fashioned way, the sensors in his gloves easily picking up the boy’s slightly weakened heartbeat.

Life is Filled With Choices | Part 1

As he was trudging through the snow back to his car, Stan couldn't help but hear Ford's words play on an endless loop in his head, drowning out everything else. Stan had wanted so badly to shove the journal back at Ford after his brother had branded him, but he couldn't. Ford was right, he was always right. So he kept the fucking diary and stormed out.

Beware the Man You Think You Know

Ford is currently perched in one of the large trees surrounding the shack, hidden in the branches with a direct line of sight to both entrances. There's been nothing, no activity around the shack within a fifty foot radius. Which is another thing, Ford hasn't spotted so much as a gnome rooting through the trash in the three days he's been watching. It's... something's not right but he can't put a finger on what.

Gasping For Air [No MCD]

He wasn't going to make it.

Ford had stupidly tripped the moment his shoes hit sand and he'd fallen, wasting precious seconds scrambling back to his feet. He didn't have time to take off his coat or shoes so he didn't run the risk of drowning, the water weighing him down and making him slower as he charged into it.

To Die In Your Arms [Temporary MCD]

Ford hadn’t made it in time to do more than damage control, squeezing the trigger before he could even process what he was seeing. His ears still rang with Stan’s shouting, demanding that his brother run even as the bear sunk its teeth into Stan’s arm, the bite force fracturing the bone. The cry that escaped through Stan’s grit teeth had Ford firing three more shots with precision into the neck of the beast, his counterpart shooting in tandem.

Stranger Danger

“You alright, kiddo?” A voice asked and Stan’s eyes snapped open as he startled, staring up at the stranger who had stopped right in front of him with wide eyes. It was an older guy, though not as old as Pa. He had a concerned expression plastered onto his face, but Stan shuffled back a step or two even if he couldn’t put his finger on what exactly he didn’t like about the man. “I’m fine.” Stan huffed, feeling the sudden and overpowering need to hide the sign behind his back when the man’s eyes flicked down to it. There was… something in the stranger’s keen eyes that had Stan’s insides squirming unpleasantly, some shift that Stan couldn’t pinpoint even if you held a bag of toffee peanuts over his head and told him to put it into words.