#and I feel the need to express it in the form of a tumblr post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 1 year ago

Text

It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt. 2

a/n: re-uploaded cause tumblr wouldn't show it in the tags for some reason Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Dub-Con, Arranged Marriage, Reader is an Atriedes, Horny Violence, and some angsty family relations (lmao)

Summary: The courting becomes more and more complicated, as both you and the Na-Baron discover something about each other.

Part.1, Part 3. Part 4.(finale)

- He's a beast.

Lady Jessica stops in her tracks, her hands sliding gently across the fabric of your nightgown. It's your Mother, that puts it out on the table next to your bed. But the person, who turns back towards you with an unreadable expression, is most definitely not her. You're talking to a Bene Gesserit sister now. A freezing chill runs up your spine, and you start picking at the skin around your fingernails, a nervous habit you've picked up a long time ago.

- Have you forgotten all that I have taught you? - she asks, turning to face you fully, in the dimly lit space of your bedroom

Subconsciously you retreat into yourself, body leaning further away from her, as if that distance might save you from whatever unpleasant revelation will most likely fall upon you. Lady Jessica takes a deep breath, her lips pulling back into an easy, soothing smile. In the past, you would look for expressions such as this, fish them out for comfort. Now, as you look upon your Mother's face, it all seems to be a trap made specifically for you.

- Men like him, beastly men, are the weakest ones - she explains, taking slow steps towards your hunched form - They need the power and the blood to feel worthy of existing, which makes them easy to manipulate. Keep them pliant under your hands like fresh dough.

She sits beside you, your mattress dipping under her weight, and your eyes are immediately drawn to your Mother's elegant hands, folded neatly in her lap. You wish you could put your head there. Have her pull your running thoughts out with gentle caresses. A hairbrush lays abandoned on the vanity in front of you, and silently you contemplate, whether you'll ever have the opportunity to have your hair brushed by her.

- You must find his weakness, what drives him to do what he does. And then control it.

- I don't want to control my husband - the words spill out of your lips, before you have the chance to stop them - I want to love him, to support him. To give him children he'll love, children I'll love.

Tears fall in heavy waterfalls down your cheeks. You haven't had the luxury of a good cry since your betrothed had arrived, and it feels divine. Letting your body shake and shiver, wrecked by uninhibited sobs, as your Mother looks down upon you, torn between the two roles she must fulfill.

The more you've thought about your situation, the more hopeless you felt. The Harkonnens will never let you see your family again, you're sure of it. You'll have to deal with all the horrors of Giedi Prime entirely on your own, with no support from your husband, no friends, no family. And your children, as they are sure to come, will be taken away from you. Thrown into the black and white, until there's no love left in them.

The Emperror is a cruel man, you think. An execution would've been a kinder end.

- Why did you have to make me a Daughter? - the way your voice breaks in desperation fills you with shame - Why couldn't you give Father another Son?

You know you've overstepped, as soon as the accusatory tone registers in your brain. It is far too late by then, and the hands, which just moments before you've fantasized about running through your hair, grip you tightly. Your Mother's face, a constant image of beauty, twists into something darker, something you don't recognize, and you gasp, as her dull fingernails dig into the skin of your wrist.

- Your Father has Paul - her voice is barely above a whisper, blue eyes stabbing you with the intensity of her gaze - I gave him a son, because he asked for a son. Because I loved him enough to give him one. And he can have him. He can fill him with lessons of male leadership, of short-sighted plans. You. You are my Daughter. You are mine, and I've trained you well enough to conquer this task.

A hopeless pit settles itself in the void of your stomach.

You've always known your destiny would be to marry well, to further House Atreides' legacy. And yet, somehow, there was a sliver of hope, treacherously worming itself into your brain. Your Father had Paul, the perfect heir. Surely, he could send him off for the greater good and leave you to your own devices. Let you find someone to care for you, someone you'd do anything for. The thought sits in the pit of your stomach, turning your insides in shame. Still, you can't shake the sinking feeling, that if the universe was kind, you would've been born a Son.

Your Mother, or more likely, the Bene Gesserit, stands up, a cold chill filling the space where her body used to sit. She regards you once, a stern, unwavering gaze.

- Wear black tomorrow.

Perhaps, you'll die in your sleep tonight. Perhaps the universe will bring you this small mercy.

*** Perhaps you did die.

Through the haze of dreams, you can see him. Bare, as the day he was born, body gleaming white in the darkness of your room.

You can't move, can't see his face, and when he approaches, every single one of your muscles tense. You shift under the covers, cold tendrills of fear engulfing you entirely. He comes closer, moves like a wild cat, stands at the foot of your bed.

The need to run is overwhelming, but your body refuses to listen, as slowly, torturously slowly, he climbs on top of you, defined muscles moving under his skin in a way that reminds you of some cursed demon, rather than a man. His scent fills your nostrils, a mixture of something heady and metalic, and, like a little child scared of the dark, you try to hide your face under the covers.

This demon version of your betrothed sits down, sculpted thighs squeezing around your sides, and with rising panic you realize, he's slowly choking the life out of you. A fitting end, a welcomed one. Perhaps it would be better to die right now, before you discover what atrocities he plans to commit on your body and mind, after you're wedded.

Then, his hand reaches behind his back, full lips pull upwards, exposing blackened out teeth. You barely register the glint of his sword, not until he holds it high up, above his hand. You're not allowed a moment to wallow in your confusion, as your future husband brings the weapon down, sinking it with brutal force into your beating heart.

You awake screaming.

***

In the morning, you pull a black tunic over your head, remnants of your dream clinging to you like an unwanted shadow.

Every move of the silky fabric against your skin feels like a small defeat, and with your head hung low, you make your way towards the dining hall. Truly, you're not hungry, stomach turning and twisting, a steady presence of nerves keeping your body on edge. Your attendance is required however, such are customs, and it is entirely too eaarly for another lecture about your behaviour.

As you enter the room, your mask of tired indifference slips just for a second, a mixture of fear and anger flickering in, and out of existence.

There, opposite of your Father you can see him. Your future husband, the love of your miserable, ending life. Slow horror washes over you, as you suddenly realize that this demonic, otherwordly version of him, which visited you in your nightmares is just how he looks. He greets you with a polite inclination of his smooth head, and you consider not showing any outward sign of repulsion, a small victory on your part. Your Mother doesn't think so, but you dodge her sharp eyes in favor of greeting your brother.

It doesn't go unnoticed, the way Feyd Rautha's eyes drink in greedily the sight of you embracing Paul. His gaze lingers on your smile, and he raises his cup to his lips, scrunching his nose ever so slightly at the unfamiliar drink he's been offered. You want to ask, if they have coffee on Giedi Prime, but the question is forcefully swallowed down. You will not talk to this man. He will never know anything more than contempt from you. Curse your Mother's words, you'll fight this battle every day, on your own, if you have to.

- My Daughter will show you around the training barracks after breakfast - Duke Leto announces, and you freeze with a cup of coffee half-way to your lips.

- Will I? - you ask, trying to control the edge in your voice.

- Na-Baron has made inquires about a place to train - your Father explains, giving you a meaningful side eye - You'll accompany him.

The coffee tastes like rot in your mouth, and you place your cup down with a note of finality. You won't look at him, you don't have to. That knowing smirk could be felt through the very particles flowing in the air, every single one laughing at your predicament.

Despite your best efforts, the breakfast comes to an end, your family slowly rising to attend to their duties. Your Father, ever the cordial man, bids his farewells to the unwelcomed guest. Your Mother does the same, albeit sounding more honest. Paul lingers as long as Lady Jessica allows him, until he is forced to retreat by a slender hand tugging mercilessly on his elbow. A gesture both of you know intimately from your childhoods.

Before you know it, you're left alone with the pale imitation of a man. He arises slowly from his seat, smoothly making his way towards you, each of his footsteps echoing in the dining room.

- Shall we, my Lady?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his offered hand, like a white spider living just outside of your vision. With a shudder, you slip out of your chair, trying very hard not to touch him, and failing immediately, when his broad chest nearly pushes you back into your seat.

He smells nice, your brain betrays you, the scent bringing back images from your night terror, causing an involuntary shiver to run up your spine. With averted gaze, you turn to leave, ignoring his still extended hand. He follows you like a shadow, catching up to you in no time, as you slide through the corridors of the Palace. It's uncomfortable, to say the least, walking with him behind your back. His eyes bear into you, a prickly feeling at the base of your neck making you roll your shoulders.

It follows you, as he follows, right to the very destination. All in blessed silence, a small miracle to save this already dreadful morning.

The men, launging about at the training barracks freeze in their spots, and your heart nearly jumps out of your chest, when Duncan Idaho catches your eyes. His skin has a beautiful, warm tone, highlighted by the morning sun flowing into the room through the windows. You nod, he nods back, an unspoken understanding blooming between the two of you. There could be no suspicion of any closer bond, lest this engagement would be called off. A result, perhaps favorable to you personally, but your family would never live down the shame. And you would never jeopardize Paul's future, no matter how hollow yours looked.

- You have a warrior's body - your betrothed comments, as he inspects the blades laid out on a small table - Do you train here as well?

Small talk, you could do small talk. With a sigh, you tear your gaze away from Duncan, and turn to the Harkonnen, forcing something resembling a polite smile to bloom onto your features.

- Yes, I do - you answer curtly, eyes falling onto elegant, white fingers, sliding over a shiny metal blade.

- It is not a common practice here, is it? - he looks at you, eyes gliding over your stature - Women being trained to fight?

Suddenly very much aware of your body, you cross your arms on your chest, hugging yourself tightly. You don't miss the way his gaze seems to linger on the low neckline of your tunic, and with bitterness on your tongue you wonder, has this man ever felt ashamed.

- Not common, but it does happen - your voice betrays your emotions, a sharp edge settling over your tone, causing the man to arch an eyebrow.

Finally, he settles onto a chosen blade, bringing it up to the light and with laser focus observing the way particles dance on the steel surface. Then, he looks back at you, catching you in the act of observing the prominent, lean muscles on his neck. You ignore the knowing smirk and will your blushing cheeks to suddenly become devoid of color.

They don't, of course, and you scurry to the side of the table, to fiddle with the rest of the weaponry. Your favorite training blade is there, and instinctually, your hand reaches for it.

- Train with me.

The request catches you off guard, and you shoot him a questioning look, one he deflects with a nonchalant shrug.

Your muscles flinch, as you drag your hand back from the blade.

- It would hardly be appropriate - you counter, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your tunic.

To that, he tilts his head, light eyes studying you for a longer moment, until you truly feel uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

- And suddenly you're worried about what the court says? - he cuts you off, before you have the chance to ask, just what exactly does he mean by that - Perhaps you're too soft to fight me.

- I know what you're doing - you point an accusatory finger at his chest, and the man smiles, blackened teeth peaking between his full lips.

- And what am I doing? - it's hard to ignore the teasing timbre in his voice, and you swallow thickly.

- You're trying to get under my skin.

Shivering under the expected cruel glint in his eye, as another, most likely filthy innuendo purses his lips, you turn to him fully, a serious expression on your features.

- I've seen you fight, Na-Baron - his jaw tightens at the sound of your voice curling around his title - I know you're a force to be reckoned with, I'm not scared to admit that.

He straightens, regards you with furrowed brows for a longer second, until, yet again you start to fidget under his gaze.

- Perhaps then, you're scared you'll hurt me - the mere idea is so preposterous, your head snaps in his direction - If I had known, you liked me that much...

- That is entirely not true, and you know it - you deflect again, although annoyance begins to paint your voice.

Then, his hand shoots out, gripping your arm and pulling you closer. Air seems to thicken around you, as you look up at him, with surprise quickly morphing into outrage. His breath mingles with yours, and you can't seem to look away from his eyes, pupils nearly drowned in the overwhelming blue of his irises.

- Stop hiding, my viper. Fight me.

The command, spoken in a harsh whisper just shy of your lips, turns your insides into molasses.

His taller form leans down to tower over yours, an intense expression settling over his sharp features. Close to excitement, much too close to desire, even closer to a murderous curiosity. Your throat feels entirely too dry, and before you can stop yourself, you swallow thickly, tongue darting out to lick your lips. His eyes snap almost immediately downwards, and your heart stops beating. You can't see anymore blue in his irises, only black. Darkness covers his eyes reflecting his thoughts, and you feel like you have to flee right now, before something terrible happens to you.

So you do just that. Ripping yourself away from his closeness, you return to the table, hand finding your chosen blade without really looking.

Another flash of black teeth, as the Na-Baron realizes what you're doing, and the both of you enable the shields surrounding your bodies.

The gathered soldiers watch on, as you march towards the center of the room, determination filling every step to the brim. Duncan gives you a look, which you choose to ignore. You can't think about him now, not when you have your honor to defend against this Harkonnen monster of a man.

Feyd Rautha rolls his shoulders, discards the thin fabric of his dress shirt, and once again you are stricken with his almost god-like physique. The blade looks like an extension of his hand, as he weighs it and slashes the air in front of him. Then, he fixes you with a challenging expression, as if he expects you to do the same, to try and best him at some shameless display.

You decide to keep your clothes on, blade held high, ready to strike.

He jumps from one leg to another, and immediately an orchestra of alarm bells rings out in your brain. Should a man really be this excited at the prospect of fighting his future wife? Should you be this excited? Questions without answers, and before any of you make a move, another one absent-midedly floats to the surface. Just how much can you hurt each other, before the wedding is concluded? How much you'll inevitably hurt each other after?

The darkness he has brought on the ship with him must be contagious, because despite your better judgement, you smile. A sharp smirk, that makes your eyes look less like a human and more like a wild animal. And he drinks it all in, as he begins to circle you.

You'd never show him your back, never again. He's a tried and true predator, the only instinct he has, is a killer one. A fact you quickly get aquatinted with, as he unleashes a series of lightning fast strikes your way.

Immediately you realize, that small show of cruelty he organized at your grandfather's theatre was nothing, compared to what he could truly do. And still, you suspect he's holding back, as you barely dodge a nasty stab, right under your ribs. Another one is blocked against your sheild, and before you have a chance to collect yourself, third one sends you back a couple of steps.

He doesn't let you get away, with confident steps pushing you further and further out of the center of the training floor.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Duncan Idaho stand up from his place. Thinking back to your last training session, you shudder bitterly. "Never fight in anger" is easy to say, when you're not forced to marry, bed and sunsequently give children to the man you're fighting.

Panting and sweating, you give Feyd Rautha your all, twirling in place, sliding on your feet. A different kind of choreography, which seems to work surprisingly well, with his almost animalistic force. Gurney taught you how to be powerful, how to land strikes which were as effective, as they were cunning. Duncan, on the other hand, taught you how to dance. So that's what you do.

Finally, you manage to grab at his free hand, locking your feet between his and bringing him closer to your blade. It stops just short of his artery, blocked by his dagger, the clash of metal reverberating through the halls.

The smirk he gives you is beyond nasty, and forcefully, you push away from him, as if the very idea of skin to skin contact repulsed you. And it does, it truly does, especially now that adrenaline mixed with frustration boils in your head.

- Again - you snarl his way, assuming your fighting stance.

- As my Lady commands - his voice has a natural growl to it, made even more prominent by the exertion of the fight, and he twists his body into a perversion of a curtsy.

This time you're the one to attack first, ignoring your menthor's words and relying on pure rage to guide your steps. A stab to his thigh, which he deflects with seemingly childish ease. Your tunic slips through his fingers, as you slide under his arm. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his blade, when he hides it into his belt. Confusion hits you suddenly. Was he giving up, why was he hiding his weapon? None of the questions get answered, as a foot curls itself around your ankle.

Your balance leaves you with a gasp of surprise, and soon, your back is on the floor, Feyd Rautha following closely behind. Your heated gaze meets his, as one hand wrenches the blade from your grasp and pins both your arms above your head. The other one supports his weight, as he hovers above you, light bleeding behind him in an unfitting image of a halo.

Your chest heaves, sweat rolling down your collarbones, and the Harkonnen doesn't even try to hide the way his gaze follows a stray drop of salt, as it disappears between your breasts.

- You fought well - he complements in a hushed tone, and you writhe desperately under his body.

The night terror rears its ugly head again, as you feel his tighs press onto your sides, almost as if he wants to shape your flesh into the imprint of his body.

- I think I prefer you like this - he whispers, face coming closer to the exposed column of your neck - You belong under me.

That's what does it. Your face twists into an expression of equal parts disgust, and fury. You won't give him this victory, you'd rather die. Legs tangle themselves around his calves, and you use all your strength fueled by the burning need to fucking hurt him.

The world spins, two bodies rolling on the floor, and suddenly you're on top of him, legs biting into his hip bones. While one hand supports your weight on his naked shoulder, the other finds the dagger hidden in his belt. The surprised gasp, which leaves his lips feels like music to your ears, and you don't even try to fight the awful smirk splitting your mouth.

The shield on his neck glows an angry red, as you press the tip of the blade down, right under his bobbing Adam's apple. He swallows, for just a second letting you see the mask of self confidence slip. He has quite long eyelashes, you notice, as his eyelids flutter, a low hum reverbating through his chest. Eyes that are neither blue nor completely black drink in the sight of you. The halo of your hair, the snarl on your lips, the curve of your waist, where one of his hands settle.

Missing all of this, too enraptured by your own fury, you push the blade further down until it pricks his alabaster skin. He hisses through his blackened teeth and you want more, you want him to scream. A thin streak of red begins to flow down his neck, and God help you, it looks like art.

His grip on your waist tightens, all five fingers digging into your flesh through the thin tunic. Feyd Rautha bares his teeth at you in a cruel smile, one that makes you question whether you're the one in control.

And then his hips roll upwards.

A barely noticable movement, easily mistaken for a spasm of the muscles, but you know better. You can read it all from his expression, his pupils blown wide, the quickened breaths of air slipping past his lips. From the quickly hardening length pressing against your inner thigh.

Your stomach flutters with a well known feeling, and that terrifies you more than any pain-motivated erection ever could. Because he sees it, he sees the beginning flames of desire taking root in your center, and the realization looks like ecstasy on his face. Humiliation washes through you, fills you completely. There is no awkward blush on your face, no. All you feel is white, freezing terror, as all your defences seem to crumble all at once.

Like a scared animal, you're off of him in a split-second, and he doesn't chase you, as you all but run from the training barracks. Doesn't have to, he already has everything he needs.

#my writing #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune part 2 #dune 2024 #they try to silence me again on tumblr dot com but i won't let them

1K notes · View notes

makoodles · 2 years ago

Text

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

#on holidays atm and I’ve been stressing about how to post this 😭 I’ll have part 2 posted in a day or two!#neteyam #neteyam x human #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #na'vi x human #na’vi x reader #awow #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #fics

5K notes · View notes

fullymyself · 1 month ago

Text

Drowning

Pairing: Matt Murdock X Reader

Word count: 2,406

Prompts: "I love you" "It'll pass" from Fleabag, and I also added a bit of one of my favourite songs, Hymm To Virgil by Hozier (it's very Matt)

Warnings: angst, cursing, mentions of injury and reader gets into a fight

Notes: Hello! This is my entry for @elixirfromthestars Cinema Writing Challenge! I've been away from writing for a few years now. The last time I wrote anything, it was the begging of the pandemic and I ended up stopping completely and deleting my Tumblr account during that time. It was pretty hard to come back and it's been such a long time, so I can't help but feel really anxious with posting again, so I wanted to thank Mel for this wonderful challenge that made me get back into writing!

English is not my first language so please forgive me for any mistakes, if I re-read this fic one more time I'm gonna give in to my anxiety and not post it. Hope you enjoy it and sorry for the angst!

Divider by @enchanthings-a

''Matt, stop!" Your voice echoes in the apartment, louder than you meant it to and high enough to make him stop rushing his way up the stairs. "If you're really doing this, when... if you come home, there'll be no one waiting for you."

That gets his full attention and he turns around on the steps, facing you. The fire behind his expression lowers and through the cracks you can see the hurt starting to sip through. He opens his mouth but you cut him off. "Don't start with your excuses, Murdock, I'm done with it. Call it whatever you want to make yourself feel better, this isn't right. I've known about your demons, I've accepted them and you know damn well I've got my own but this..." You step closer to him so you can push against the leather covering his chest. "This was meant to be a symbol, this was hope, justice... not an excuse for you to go around acting like the people you fight against"

"I-" His voice cracks and you can see the tears forming in his eyes, you know he can read your emotions better than anyone and you're sure he can tell how serious and hurt you are. You have to close your eyes and breathe, fighting against every instinct that tells you to comfort him. You know you're right and you're not backing down now. "I've got to do this. They won't stop hurting innocent people, people we love, if I don't stop them. I need to protect you, Foggy, Karen..."

"Don't put this on us. If you keep trying to justify this with some noble excuse instead of recognizing you're doing this for yourself, for your pride, your pain, your vengeance... you're gonna end up like the men you're sacrificing everything to fight against. " You fight the tears threatening to fall and your throat burns in protest. "What will happen when you run out of people to hide behind, Matt?"

"You're right." You step back needing to put as much distance as possible between the two of you, knowing damn well it'd take every bit of strength you had to walk away from him. "I don't understand." You quickly grab your phone and coat and make your way to the door.

"You don't understand..." You look at him, incredulous and hurt, and can't help but scoff. You've been by his side, through the bad and the ugly. You've seen Matthew Murdock, the righteous church boy turned attorney. You've held him when his world was crashing down, you've been together through loss, grief, happiness, pleasure... but you'd also seen the devil of Hell's Kitchen. You'd seen the anger come out, the hatred, the desire to hurt and make people pay. Retribution, revenge, payback... and even then, when the world shrieked in fear, you had stood by his side and loved every part of him.

Before you can register it, he's in your way, hands hesitantly reaching out to you. "Wait, Y/N, I can't... I can't do this without you"

"And I can't do this with you. I won't sit here and wait for you to become the same monster you've been fighting." You push past him and he doesn't resist.

As you're making your way through the door, you hear his voice for the last time, and it takes everything in you to not turn around. His voice is soft and cracking with the effort to keep his pain at bay - it's all Matthew and no Devil. "I love you"

"It will pass" You say resolutely as the door closes behind you, trying more to convince yourself than him, even though it feels like you clawed your heart out of your chest and left it in the hands of the man you loved.

You walk aimlessly through the streets of a damned city praying to a God you weren't even sure you believed in to keep him safe, to let him come back home safe and with his soul intact.

It's only once you're blocks away and you're sure he can't hear you that you allow the tears to slip out. It's pretty much impossible to keep the panic at bay when all you can think is that Matt might not comeback from this fight and you didn't say it back.

Months passed, somehow both too quickly and tortuously slowly. You hadn't seen Matt again and did everything you could to keep yourself from hearing about him too - even though every cell of your body missed him, you had to remain away from him or you knew you'd fold.

Karen had helped you get your things out of the apartment so you wouldn't have to go back. Foggy had also offered to help you with... well, everything, but you couldn't ask him to choose a side in this.

In order to keep yourself sane you had an agreement with the both of them, no talks of Matt or Daredevil when you met - usually at Josie's where the so called drinks would help you forget for at least a few hours just how fucked the past months had been.

They'd make sure your get togethers would happen when Matt was too busy with work or with his side gig to go out so you wouldn't have to worry about awkward soul crushing encounters.

The second agreement was unspoken but it was clear as day - if Matt was hurt or in serious danger you'd be the first to call. No details were ever given, unless you asked, and the calls usually lasted only a few seconds in which a crying Foggy would try to sound tough but would end up only whispering a ''He's safe, you can rest.''

But turns out maybe you should have had an agreement about you as well.

It was a stupid move, you were well aware, but when it happened you really didn't think before you acted.

You were on your way back home from work when you heard a woman scream and saw man running down the street in your direction. A brown haired woman ran out of a building, several bruises covered her face and she struggled to shout a plea for someone to stop the man.

You acted on instinct and became an obstacle on the man's path. He collided with you full on, throwing both of you to the floor with extraordinary force, your whole body aching on impact.

''You fucking bitch!'' He shouted scrambling to get up as you grabbed his arm, trying to keep him down as long as possible as the sound of sirens kept getting closer.

Suddenly, as the streets got illuminated by red and blue lights, the man grabbed a fistful of your hair, his other hand coming down to strike your face.

It hurt like bitch and destabilised you long enough for the man to get away, only to be tackled down by police a few feet away.

It was definitely going to bruise, you thought to yourself as you examined your face on the mirror, but other than that and a few cuts and scrapes you were okay - physically at least.

After the day you had, being alone in your apartment and having to take care of yourself, was incredibly hard. You couldn't help but imagine that this must be a fraction of what Matt felt when he would get home after a hard night and just wanted to be held.

There's a faint knock on your window when you go back to the living room, and you turn around to find Matthew pearched on the fire escape. You don't know if your heart is beating uncontrollably because of the jumpscare he manged to give you or because he's actually in front of you after all this time - if you had to guess, probably both.

Hesitantly you make your way to the window and let him in. He's not wearing his usual red getup, rather his older black attire. You know he wears it when he needs to do something he doesn't want the media to associate with Daredevil but you can't help how it tugs at your heart - this was the Matt you first met and fell in love with.

Matt keeps shifting where he stands, clearly uncomfortable and not knowing how to proceed. It's only when you talk that his body relaxes a bit and he reaches up to lift the cloth hiding his face. "Hi, Matthew." Against all the conflicting feelings and hurt, your voice is soft around his name, making it sound heavy and sweet - like an indulgent bite of your favourite treat. He takes a long, deep breath, savouring the way his name sounds coming from your lips. ''How did you know?'' This time, your voice is harsher, pointed at him with sharp edges.

''Police radio'' Of course he did. You take a deep breath but don't respond. There's a part of you that wishes he'd known because he was keeping tabs on you not because of some random police message, but you're not willing to listen to it, so you justify your annoyance with having your privacy violated, with knowing that even after all this time he still knew things about yourself without you having to say a word while you could not be certain of anything when it came to him even when he'd talk to you.

After a while he moves, hands reaching out with so much hesitation, torn between being afraid you'll step away from him and being afraid you'll open up again and he might hurt you. Seeing the man that had touched you so freely and adoringly before hesitating so much broke your heart.

You met him half way, gently guiding his warm hand to your face. The almost featherlight touch sent shivers down your body and you had to fight against leaning onto it, for the sake of your bruised face and your sanity.

''Are you okay?'' His voice was sweet but there was something else lingering beneath it as his fingers examined your face, lightly touching the feaverish skin of your bruised cheek and trailing down to the small cut on your lips. His jaw tightened with anger.

''I'm okay, just got a few bruises and scratches, nothing I can't handle.'' You try to reassure both him and yourself, clinging to the words you had repeated like a mantra for the past months - I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay...

''You know that's not what I'm asking.'' There's a faint smile on his lips, one burdened with sadness and acknowledgement. He always knew you too well for your own sake. ''How are you?''

You know he can assess how you are physically, probably better than any doctor, and though he knows you well enough to know how you might feel, he can't read your mind. So, with the mess of thoughts running through your head you settle with being as honest as you can. ''I don't know.''

And you really don't. The past months have been an amalgamation of intense and opposing feelings. There's the part of you that is hurt, tired and that wants to scream at him for everything that happened. But there's also the part of you that loves him, that has longed for him and that just wants to be in his arms. Trying to fall out of love with him is like trying to breath underwater, having your lungs fill with water day after day while telling yourself that everything was okay.

Before the tears turn into sobs, Matt pulls you into his arms. You stay like that for god knows how long, he just let's you cry while he holds you. His hand moves through your hair in an attempt to soothe you and when you finally stop crying he doesn't let you go, pressing a kiss to the top of your head but only tightening his arms around you. Now that you're calmer, you can feel how much his hands are shaking.

"I know I'm in no position to ask you this but please never do anything like that again." Now that he speaks again you realize he's been crying as well, his voice heavy and hoarse. All you can do is nod against his chest.

More time goes by until you finally muster up the courage to speak again. "What are we now, Matt?"

He takes a while to speak, and just as you think he's not going to, he sighs. "I don't know." There's a pause as he let's go of you. He brushes away the hair sticking to your wet cheeks and cups your face, forcing you to look at him. "But I need you to know that everything you said to me that night was true, and I was too much of an idiot to see it." He sighs again, and you can see the hesitation on his features. "Everything was true but one thing... it didn't pass, and I don't think it ever will. I love you, and I don't care about what we are, I would burn the world to bring some heat to you. That won't change if we're friends, acquaintances, friends of friends... I just can't be a stranger. I wanna be a part of your life, anyway you'll have me."

He's the man without fear, yet the only thing you can see on him is how afraid he is as he waits for you to say anything.

"I fought against it with everything I had, and it almost broke me, Matt." It's your turn to touch his face and he does not show the same control you had before. He leans his face against the palm of your hand and all but moans with the feeling. "It's impossible to fall out of love with you." Carefully and slowly, you move to press your lips against his.

God knows the problems are not solved between the two of you, there will still be battles to be fought and arguments to be had. But as you lay on the couch listening to his heartbeat and talking honestly about everything that you hadn't had the courage to talk about before, you realize this is how the world is meant to be. For the first time in months you feel like you're no longer drowning.

If you're here, hi!!! Thank you so so so much for reading and I really hope you enjoyed it! Feedback is very much appreciated.

If you liked this fic, I'm trying to get back to writing so I'm accepting requests and I'm also planning on rewriting some fics I wrote in the past, if any of these catch your eye let me know cause I have no idea with which one to start:

Bucky Barnes X Maximoff!Reader - the story is based on the movie Practical Magic and the reader was raised alongside Pietro and Wanda. The siblings ended up growing apart in recent years, that is until the day Bucky Barnes showed up at your door with Wanda passed out in his arms. Now you're confronted not only with your family but it's curse.

Bucky Barnes X Reader - the story is based on the movie While You Were Sleeping. You work at a café and have a secret crush on Steve Rogers, the super soldier who has been coming to the shop every week to grab a coffee and sketch. One day, he is attacked right in front of the café and, even though you manage to save his life, he falls into a deep coma. All it takes is one misplaced comment and now the whole hospital and the Avengers think you're Steve's secret fiancée. What's worst is that now you find yourself falling for his best friend.

Aaand that's it! Thank you so much again and I hope you have a great day!

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #marvel #elixirscinema

158 notes · View notes

perrywrites · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii, your absentminded murmuring and handholding writings were so good!!! The handholding scenarios were so sexy and intimate, and the murmuring ones made me laugh but we're also really hot at the same time. Would you consider extending the absentminded murmuring one to other characters? I'd love to see how you would write that scenario with Reo, Chigiri, and Kaiser (if you don't write Kaiser, since I can't see anything for him yet, then I feel like Barou/Shidou would be particularly funny (and hot)).

AAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH, I'm so giddy, I'm glad the intimacy came across well 🤭🤭🤭 and omg... the Shidou one is 100% gonna turn into a public indecency case ngl LMFAO 😭😭😭 like w that man girly u gotta be the rational and restrained one... if you say something like that all. bets. are. OFFFF!

Also all 3 ended up being really long so for the sake of character limit, I'll be posting Kaiser right after, how does tumblr work and how do I post longer writings??? 😭😭😭

Absentmindedly murmuring that you want him inside of you during practice part 2;

NSFW

Includes; Chigiri, Reo

Part 1 (Isagi, Hiori, Bachira) and part 3 (Kaiser, Barou) and part 4 (Nagi, Shidou, Kunigami) and part 5 (Sae, Rin, Karasu, Otoya, Yukimiya)

Where Chigiri is ‘silently’ possessive (no, because seriously, I can’t be the only one who can just smell the silent cat-like possessiveness and jealousy radiating off of Chigiri, right??), Reo is lovesick as always.

Chigiri: he can feel your eyes burning passionately into his back - he doesn’t even have to look at you to know, he has a feeling you want something… You want him. But still, he glances to catch your dazed stare, finding himself amused by how your fuzzy eyes hazily trail after his form, your pouty lips parted slightly like you’re in a trance. He’s going to have to teach you to be subtler, though, because even as he can feel his heart squeeze in his chest from how cute you are - it’s taking everything in him to be rational and not burn the eyes of every man there - because he doesn’t want anyone else to see you right now. Because that kind of adorably inviting expression on your face should only be seen by him. Not anyone else, just him. The moment it’s his break, he’s sauntering over to you, prideful for anyone else but casual for him, an eyebrow raised. Even as he’s standing infront of you, you continue to stare up at him all dreamily, so he crosses his arms, huffing exasperatedly at your dumb look. He hasn’t even touched you yet, isn’t it too soon to make such a dumbed out expression? “You’ve been staring at me all practice, and now that I’m standing infront of you, you’re just going to be silent, hm?” He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowed playfully. It’s when you say what you say, that his eyes widen instantly. And then his eyes narrow again, except this time it’s no longer playful. Oh, you dared to say that alright. You want him inside, huh? He shifts on his feet, agitated. You couldn’t wait until after practice to tell him that? He can tell you didn’t mean to entice and tempt him as you did, with how out of it you seem, but… Knowing that you’re so out of it in the first place because of how badly you want - no - need him does something to him. And all of a sudden he finds himself fantasizing about having you in a way that makes heat rush through his body, you being all adorably submissive and ready for him, obedient as you always are, all cute whines as you plead at him with your misty eyes to just give it to you already. But of course, he won’t, and this time he won’t be dragging it out for a kind of sadistic affection to see you pout and whine, or to elongate this time of intimacy as long as possible, feel you as closely as possible. Oh no, absolutely not. This time, he’ll punish you. He’ll make you wait, even as his cock is painful and aching, even as you cry out and beg for him, your walls fluttering around nothing, he’ll make you wait for daring to let yourself voice this and be so alluring somewhere another man could see you. And also because now he feels incredibly irritated that he can’t just have you right now, that he has to wait for practice to be over, dammit. For now, he reaches his hand out and roughly ruffles the top of your hair, a successful attempt to get you to snap out of your enamoured trance and get that dumbed out look off your face right now, dammit. And as you look up at him, all wide eyes and confusion, he says, “Go wait for me in the car.” Because no way in hell is he going to let you sit out here or anywhere else and let someone catch you making a face like that again. It doesn’t matter whether it’s him you’re entranced with - of course it’s him - he can’t stand the idea of another man looking at you making that kind of face when he’s the only one allowed to see you like that. Don't forget, after all, he's the one you belong to.

Reo: at first he doesn’t pay much mind to your gaze, after all he’s used to your frequent visits to his practice, and it’s not weird for you to admire your own boyfriend and cheer him on. But he starts paying mind when a teammate elbows him and chuckles discreetly, waggling a teasing eyebrow as he makes some remark about Reo’s ‘busy night’ ahead. He looks at the man for the audacity he just stupidly sprouted to be daring to make a remark about his - Reo’s - sex life; baffled and eyebrow raised, Reo throws a couple of dismissive cold words before turning away - and then he glances towards you and ah. No wonder. Well, that explains the tomfoolery that just transpired. Although Reo responded like that to his teammate’s crass comment (of course he did, who the fuck did he think he was to try and joke around with him of all people about his partner and his’ sex life? Even if they aren’t protective or possessive like him, any other half-decent of a boyfriend should be responding like him, he thinks), now he just feels excited to be the target of your lovelorn gaze. Oh, you love him that much, do you? Want him that much? A part of his brain goes mushy and fuzzy from affection, you’re just too cute, and all his. The moment it’s time for his break, he rushes over to you, impatiently, longingly, desperately - though he tries to seem like he’s normal as he smiles at you and accepts the water bottle from your loose, dangling grasp. Thanking you sweetly and in what he hopes is a casual manner, he downs his water quickly to speak to you about your persistent stare. He cups your cheek, leaning down towards you, eyes creased and pupils saturated with love. “You’ve been looking at me the whole time like that, something wrong sweetheart?” Voice an affectionate coo, he asks you, half-teasingly, expecting you to turn bashful and avert your eyes, to allow him to chase you around with teasing like always. Except you say something that makes something lodge inside of his throat instantly, smile frozen on his face from pure shock. Did you - did you just? Quietly, he asks you to repeat your words, and when you do, in a sugary melted voice, Reo is at a loss of words. You’re still looking at him all yearningly, dazed eyes thick with desire; he can tell how out of it you are. Oh, you really do want him that much right now… And wouldn’t he be a bad boyfriend if he didn’t give it to you right now when you’re all cute and desperate like this? Wouldn’t he be just the worst if he didn’t bend you over somewhere, anywhere, sometime soon, and stuffed you full of his cock? Oh, wouldn’t he be just a sick bastard undeserving of you if he didn’t trap you into a mating press and just kept jackhammering into that wet pussy just meant for him? Breed you full of his cum and love? Just keep on loving you until you cried big fat tears and begged him ‘no more Reo, ah I can’t, p-please, I’m too sensitive!’ like you always do? ‘What’s wrong sweetheart, weren’t you the one asking for it?’ He snaps out of his little daydream when his coach calls him back to practice, saying the break is over. Reo nods, but he doesn’t move, his feet stuck as he looks down at your delirious eyes. Practice be screwed, he needs to get you home now and get inside you goddammit.

Also this was the exact expression I imagined Reo making at the nameless teammate LMFAO

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk smut #chigiri #chigiri hyoma #chigiri x reader #bllk chigiri #blue lock chigiri #chigiri smut #reo x you #reo mikage #reo x reader #bllk reo #reo smut #blue lock smut

1K notes · View notes

meganegatari · 1 year ago

Note

doing ellie's makeup? I FEEL LIKE THAT'D BE SO CUTE TY

IMPORTANT. READ THIS FIRST 🇵🇸 AND CLICK HERE TO HELP, IT TAKES 10 SECONDS.

☆:this is adorable omg i <3 fluff. disclaimer: i know absolutely nothing about makeup lol but had fun writing thiss. also fuck ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS A LOT EARLIER THAN I MEANT TO. i wanna take this down to edit it some more, embellish it..but don't wish to lose the ask....tumblr lemme private crap when i've misclicked pls. no warnings, just fluff. except not proofread whoops.

doing ellie’s makeup.

a package had just arrived in the mail. you had previously ordered some new products, and were overjoyed about your purchases! needed to try them out, so you got an idea. she wasn't doing anything important right now….surely your artist girlfriend wouldn't mind being the canvas for a change?

“ellie, can I do your makeup??”

you sat down next to her sprawled out form on the couch, scrolling on her phone mindlessly as she shifted to the side to make space for you. she furrowed her eyebrows and didn't look up from her scrolling to murmur, “mmmmm…sure, why not.” you almost jumped for joy, she was going to look so pretty. ellie almost regretted allowing this, but seeing how happy you looked made her melt immediately. “okay wait here.” you went to gather your basket of products, so excited. she put her phone away and waited patiently for you to return. you returned and sat beside her, but that positioning wasn't allowing you to see properly. “lemme sit on you.” she continued laying down and you got on top of her to straddle her waist, laughing at her facial expressions. she wiggled her eyebrows and held onto your hips, thumbs making little circles, “i'm enjoying this.” she said, making your cheeks heat up the smallest touch. you lightly slapped her hands away, “oh shut up, i can't do this well if i'm not like, 3 inches from your face.” “alright, alright princess,” she said through a chuckle, dropping her arms by her sides. still smirking, proud of her jokes. “put this on.” you hand her a ridiculous looking headband, a pink one with a huge bow in the front, to put on to get her soft auburn hair out of her face, and she shoots you a look, but complies anyway. mischievously rubbing your hands together, you search for the base products to apply first. she watches curiously as you set up all the brushes and sponges to give her the makeover of a lifetime. you select one and show it to her, “i'll do this one, its light coverage because i don't wanna cover your freckles. i love them too much to do that.” she nods along, absorbing the information, her cheeks turning a light pink at the compliment. as you apply all the products to her face, she seems so relaxed. you’d honestly expected her to not be a fan, but it was lovely to see her closing her eyes, and just letting you paint her however you so pleased. it was a win/win situation, a sweet moment for both.

you went through most of the routine, and it was time for eye products. making sure to emphasize your point, “okay, stay veeeeery still.” she seemed so at peace, and nodded to say she heard you. you got closer to her, eyeliner pen in hand and as soon as you made contact with her delicate eyelid, her eye started twitching and she burst into giggles. “hey, that tickles.” “ellie stay still, i’ll poke your eye out, cmon, i’m almost done.” “i’m tryin baby.” steadying your drawing hand, and steadying her by holding onto her cheek, slowly but surely you do her eyeliner. it’s uneven and a little wonky because she couldn’t be as still as needed, but charming, if you do say so yourself. and the final step, you pick out your sparkliest lip gloss. as you were applying the finishing touches, she was watching your focus intently, watching your movements so intimately. “there, done.” you finish and lean away from her, inspecting your work. she almost looked like a different person, but the way you’d done it accentuated her features perfectly, and made her green eyes just pop. she looked stellar. lips plump and sparkly, cheeks wonderfully rosy, like a doll. you squealed, “you look so good!!” she batted her mascara covered eyelashes as she sat up closer to you, who’s still on her lap, and pressed a messy kiss to your lips, smearing her gloss everywhere. “ellieeee, wait i gotta fix it.” you fix her lips, holding onto her chin as you do so, and get up so she can visit a mirror to take a look. she gasped, “oh wow.” you watched as she posed and inspected her makeover in front of the mirror, fascinated. “wow, i don’t look like myself….but i kinda love it." she throws a toothy grin your way. “i’m glad, thanks for letting me els.” she kept inspecting and looking at herself, “y’know, the more i look at this the more i like it. you can practice on me more often if you want.” this made you so happy, she looks great as ever with whatever she decides to do with her appearance, and it was so much fun to do this for her.

537 notes · View notes

yandere-daze · 1 year ago

Text

I´ve had this idea plague my mind for the last few days and now it´s finally time for me to unleash it onto the world. Feel free to comment on or ask questions about this idea/ AU if you find it interesting!

This work was inspired by the normalized yandere genshin AU I stumbled upon while scrolling through Tumblr, created by @fancyfeathers

Hope you enjoy!

gn reader

2,2k words

tw yandere, normalized yandere behaviour, mentions of obsession, possessiveness, kidnapping, stalking, murder, emotional manipulation and isolation

Yandere! Genshin Academy/Normalized Yandere AU

In this AU, yanderes are a normal and accepted part of society. Not only are their toxic attitudes and behaviours permitted but even encouraged. Somehow, over the years, people have even started to wish for a yandere as their partners. By Teyvat society at large, yanderes are seen as somewhat of an ideal partner. They´re fiercely loyal and would do absolutely anything for their darlings, right?

And yet, many darlings sing a different tune when reality suddenly comes crashing down onto them when a yandere actually starts pursuing them. Fantasizing about things such as being kidnapped is simply something entirely different compared to experiencing the real thing. And yet, when they call out for help from their loved ones, they´re simply patted on their back and congratulated. Some might even express their condolences to the poor yandere, saying that it always takes a bit of time for a darling to realize that this is for the best.

You are one of the few people who are completely horrified by the concept of a yandere and even more so to see everyone around you treat kidnappings or murder sprees as something completely normal or even romantic. You shudder at the thought of ever attracting the attention of a yandere, knowing that you would have no one to help you avoid that dreadful fate.

Which is why your complete world is turned upside down when you´ve been registered at the wrong academy by mistake. An administrative error, you were told. One, that might take a few weeks or even months to correct.

Now normally, you would have been annoyed but fine with this. You would just have to bear with it for a bit and attend a different school until the error is fixed and you can finally go to your desired one.

But you felt a pool of dread form deep within you when you did some research on the academy you had been wrongly assigned to. It actually wasn´t all that easy to find information on the academy, which you found strange, seeing as this has never been an issue with any other well-regarded academy. But no matter how much you search, nothing concrete is to be found. Only a few abandoned forum posts where people asked around about their missing friend who had last been seen close to the academy in question.

It made you feel a bit uneasy but you figured that it probably didn´t have anything to do with the academy itself. As sad as it was, disappearances were happening all over Teyvat, so this one case wasn´t really of note.

But seeing as you couldn´t find anything else, you figured that you would just need to figure things out on your first day attending the academy.

And oh, were you in for a nasty surprise.

As soon as you sat down for your first lesson, you noticed how strange the atmosphere was. Everyone had been staring at you so strangely when you entered the room, it kind of unnerved you.

After that, a few introductions were exchanged and you slowly calmed down again. Your classmates seemed nice enough and you thought that maybe, your time here wouldn´t be so bad after all.

All that quickly changed when your professor finally entered the room and introduced himself as the instructor who would teach you the subject of "stalking".

Turning your head left and right, you tried to see if anyone else was as shocked about this as you were but to your surprise, no one even raised an eyebrow at this very concerning introduction.

A class on stalking? Maybe this wasn´t what you actually feared and more so a clumsy way of saying that this would be a psychology class focusing on the mental effects stalking has on the victims? With all these yanderes running around unchecked, there were bound to be many victims and so a class like this might actually be beneficiary. I mean surely they wouldn´t actually try to teach young adults how to kidnap someone, right?

Right?

Well, it turns out you were wrong when the professor started outlining different forms of stalking. Following "your darling" around, stalking them online, placing cameras or microphones in their rooms to observe them anytime you wanted.

Your mind was spiraling as you listened to the lecture and you briefly wondered at just what kind of an academy you had been enlisted in. Surely this must be some kind of joke, right? A prank played on newcomers at the academy to get them spooked? Surely someone is going to come in any moment, clear all of this up and then laugh at you actually falling for this?

But no matter how much you hoped for this to be the case, no one was coming. No one was making fun of you for falling for such an obvious prank. In fact, none of your classmates seemed perturbed at all by what was being taught here. How could they be okay with a lesson that basically amounted to "how to stalk someone 101"? You felt like you were losing your mind.

Glancing to your right, you see your blond deskmate eagerly nodding along to whatever the professor was saying and swiftly taking notes whenever a sentence seemed to particularly strike a chord with him. His red eyes practically sparkled as he outlined "helpful tips and tricks for not alerting your darling of your presence" on his paper, using a text marker to highlight a particular passage as if to say that it would come in handy in the future.

On your left, you saw another tall male student and for a moment you hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was someone else here who was bothered by the lecture given. He had a bored look on his face and he was wearing some type of headphones over his grey hair. Was he even paying attention? Maybe he was trying to cancel out the horrific lecture taking place at the moment.

You discreetly leaned over a bit, only to see that he was actually holding a book hidden under the desk, his eyes carefully following the paragraphs of tiny letters. Well, it seems like he certainly wasn´t paying much attention to the lecture because what he was secretly reading seemed to be some advanced material on the success rate of different methods of stalking, from the looks of it.

You quickly turned your head back when you saw him glancing over at you with an unreadable stare. Well, it looks like your hopes were dashed again after all. This guy was nuts too.

Knowing this, you really couldn´t do much aside from waiting for class to be over.

Your small hope that this was just a really strange outlier was quickly destroyed again in your following classes.

Next was a class on emotional manipulation and how to get your darling to depend on you.

Then, a class on how to force yourself into your darling´s life and how to approach growing closer to them.

Finally, the day ended with a lecture on how to kidnap your darling and make them disappear without a trace.

As the bell finally rung, the professor informed your class that there was also an optional class about how to effectively "get rid" of a rival that you can sign up for. You pretended to not be bothered when several students raised their hands to show their interest in attending this course.

You scrambled to get out of your seat as fast as possible, not wanting to stay in this hellish classroom for even a second later. You fled into the hallway and walk by groups of students excitedly chattering about things you didn´t want to listen to.

"Oh, I hope I can find my darling soon! I just know I´ll feel a special connection when we first make eye contact! I´ve been waiting for so long", the first girl swooned as she twirled strands of her long brown hair around her finger, seemingly lost in her own fantasies.

"Agreed. I know that once I meet my darling, I won´t let anything get between us. I will never let them go. It´s only a matter of time", the taller, blue-haired woman chimed in, her voice calmer than that of her excitable friend.

You didn´t like the way her eyes linger on you as you pass by them.

Once home, you tried to make contact with the administrative office again to ask them if the process of your transfer can be sped up in any way. You didn´t want to spend another second in that academy.

With what you have seen today, you were easily able to deduce the true nature of this academy and it left you absolutely terrified.

The fact that you weren´t able to find any information about the academy beforehand, your strange classmates fixated on their potential "darlings" and of course the horrid classes being taught there.

Somehow, you have ended up in an academy for yanderes. Every single person you saw there today was a lovesick lunatic in some shape or form. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized you were in huge danger there. What would your crazed classmates do if they ever found out that you actually weren´t a fellow yandere but someone they could claim as a "darling"? The very thought of it makes you sick. You have to get out of there immediately!

Which is why your heart dropped when after some long hesitation, the person on the phone finally answered you.

"You must excuse me but I´m afraid to tell you that there have been some... unforeseen circumstances that do not permit me to work on your case at the moment. I have been asked to postpone this matter until further notice".

"What? Why?", is all you could manage to say in your befuddlement. You knew bureaucracy can take a long time but for this woman to specifically be asked to postpone this? Just what was going on here?

Again, the woman on the phone hesitated to answer and you could hear a tinge of nervousness in her voice when she finally spoke up. As if she wasn´t sure if she was allowed to say what she was about to.

"I´m afraid that I´m not at liberty to provide this information. The person asking me to...focus on different cases for the meantime wished to stay anonymous. Even so, it is not within my power to refuse their wishes as they have provided our establishment with a generous donation. I sadly cannot help you with this issue", at least the woman did sound generally apologetic but that didn´t really help you in this situation.

Your mind was still reeling as you processed this information. Someone specifically asked for your transferal to not be worked on? Why would anyone do this? And they seemed to have a large fortune too? Why all this to make you stay around?

It can´t be that you already attracted someone´s attention while at the academy, right? Surely that couldn´t be true! You made sure to not interact with anyone directly after you realized just what kind of people attended this school. How could one of these yanderes have "fallen for you" already?

It seemed so utterly unbelievable and if you were being honest, you didn´t want to believe that it was true either. But nothing else made sense. Why would anyone do this otherwise?

Noticing your prolonged silence, the woman spoke up once more.

"I´m sure that all of this will be resolved soon. It will only be a few months. I am sure you will find many friends at your current school soon."

You sure hoped not. The thought of being noticed by any of the yanderes already made the hairs on your neck rise. You vowed to stay away from anyone who even showed a fleeting interest in you. You had to keep yourself safe until you can finally switch schools. You could do this, you had to!

You barely registered when the woman bid you farewell and hung up the phone after you once again didn´t answer her.

Now completely alone, you forged a plan. If you didn´t want to get involved in anything dangerous, no one could find out that you were actually here by mistake and not a yandere. Nothing could be worse than these lunatics finding out that you´re a darling, so you´ll have to be very careful. But how do you do this?

Well, it seemed like you must act like a yandere yourself. You would have to pretend that you´re a lovesick fool who totally isn´t bothered by all this talk about kidnapping, stalking, and murder. Thinking about it again already made you sick but you didn´t really have any other options. No one could find out or it was over for you.

You only hoped that you could convincingly play the part and that no one was perceptive enough to see right through you. Well, it couldn´t be that hard, right?

Surely no one already had their eye on you. Right?

561 notes · View notes

miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 months ago

Note

You write adrien as aspec right? In a narrative sense what's the difference between platonic and romantic relationships, once you remove sex as a factor. I'm having lots of trouble in that aspect without sounding amatonormative.

I do and I'm aspec myself, so I'll answer as best I can noting that this is a complex topic as well as deeply personal topic for many people. As such, this is not meant to be a definitive guide. It is, at best, a primer because I'm not going to be able to cover all the nuances of human sexuality in a Tumblr post. Before we get into it, let's define amatonormativity:

The widespread assumption that everyone is better off in an exclusive, romantic, long-term coupled relationship, and that everyone is seeking such a relationship.

Amatonormativity is a problem when people force it on you or make you feel bad for not wanting an amatonormative life. It is not a problem when someone chooses to live an amatonormative life and many asexual people make that choice. I'm one of them. Let's get into why.

We'll start with some high level discussion of attraction in its various forms as that's a big part of how sexuality works. While being asexual can mean that your romantic relationships don't include sex, that's not a hard rule. Asexuality is more complicated than that. To dive into that nuance, let's quickly go over the three different "scales" or "spectrum" that are useful for understanding how romantic and sexual attraction can work for different people:

Kinsey scale: the hetero to homo scale. The various categories here tell you where someone falls in terms of how sexual organs and gender expression plays into their experience with attraction. Are you bi, pan, hetero, homo, or somewhere in-between?

Aromantic spectrum: this spectrum helps us understand how people experience (or don't experience) romantic attraction. Do you fall in love or don't you? Are there specific conditions that need to be met for you to feel romantic love? All these things play into the identities in this spectrum.

Asexual spectrum: this spectrum helps us understand how people experience (or don't experience) sexual attraction. Do you feel sexual attraction or is that not a thing for you? Are there specific conditions that need to be met for you to experience sexual attraction? All these things play into the identities in this spectrum.

Each spectrum is its own thing, but they play together in complex ways. For example, a person can experience romantic attraction that seems to have no clear tie to gender expression while only developing sexual feelings for things tied to gender expression. That would generally put them under the panromantic heterosexual banner or the panromantic homosexual banner depending on the way they identify and the type of gender expression they're drawn to.

I use the term "banner" because I don't like to refer to these things as labels. Instead, I like to think of them as descriptors or broad categories because these words aren't meant to put people in boxes. They're too expansive for that. Instead, they give us a language that we can use as a quick shorthand to get across broad ideas.

It's like how we use the word green to cover a whole host of colors. My green may not match your green, but we both have a general idea of what that word means and also we know that it's sure as heck not red. When someone gives you the words that broadly describe their identity, think of it like a person saying "green." You now have a general idea of how sexual and/or romantic attraction works for them, but you probably don't have a perfect one. This is where we circle back to your ask!

In a narrative sense what's the difference between platonic and romantic relationships, once you remove sex as a factor.

All asexuality means is that you don't experience sexual attraction. It does not mean that sex is off the table. Some asexuals are sex repulsed, some are sex neutral, and some are sex positive to the point of being incredibly kinky. You don't need to experience sexual attraction to want some action! I know some non-sex-repulsed asexuals who are fine with casual hookups and others who will only do sexual things in a romantic relationship.

I fall into the latter category and it's how I tend to write Adrien because he's clearly a romantic. That doesn't mean that he has to be okay with sex! You can be extremely romantic while also being sex repulsed, but he doesn't give me those vibes so I go more sex neutral or sex positive with him. I actually switch between writing him as asexual and demisexual depending on the story and what I want to do, but for now we'll stick to how to write him as a non-sex-repulsed asexual who experiences romantic attraction.

If your goal is to write an asexual character who experiences romantic attraction and is not sex repulsed, then the main thing you're going to want to avoid is writing in sexual attraction which is not the same as sexual arousal or ascetic attraction.

To put that in clearer terms, Adrien won't get turned on from seeing Marinette in a pretty dress or a swimsuit because that's an example of sexual attraction. However, he still can appreciate that she looks nice. It's just going to be more like he's talking about a beautiful painting instead of his hot sexy girlfriend because the idea of finding his girlfriend hot and sexy does not compute.

He may still want to have sex with her, it's just not because he's turned on by her appearance. It's because he's in love with her and wants to share that experience with her or because they're physically touching and he got turned on or even just because he's independently horny! Those last two are the sexual arousal thing I mentioned above. Sexual attraction is not required for arousal to occur or even for arousal to be tied to a person! Sexuality is more complex that that.

For example, I have never in my life looked at a person and found them hot. The fact that people can do that is wild to me especially when it's with someone they've never met. Celebrity crushes are deeply confusing to me because you don't know that person. How can you be attracted to them? Does not compute!

Even though I'm incapable of experiencing sexual attraction, I still require attraction to be interested in sexual activity. If I'm not romantically attracted to you, then I am fully sex repulsed. Once I'm into you? I'm sex neutral and even occasionally sex positive depending on the day, but I still won't find you sexy which is why I call myself ace and not demisexual though I don't particularly care which one you use for me. I've had people tell me my experience falls under both banners which I can see, ace just seems more accurate. I often just say I'm on the ace spectrum or aspec and leave it at that. I tend to do the same when tagging characters sexuality just to keep readers from having very specific expectations that may not be met.

None of that is the universal ace experience. It's just how my specific subtype works and is why I brought up the various spectrums at the start. They all play into how a person's sexuality is expressed.

Since this was mentioned in your question, I'll note that I'd be totally fine in a sexless romantic relationship. I'd probably even be fine if the romantic part was one sided so long as my partner clearly cared about me and was committed to a life together. From an outside perspective, those situations really wouldn't look that different from a relationship that includes sex because, for many couples, sex is just one of many activities they do together. When you really think about it, asking how to write a sexless couple is kind of like asking how you write a couple who doesn't like hiking. They just don't go hiking.

You can leave out sex and still have a couple kiss, cuddle, and/or hold hands if you like, but even those activities aren't required for a great romance. People adore Disney couples and most of them barely even kiss on screen. What draws people to those romances is the characters' relationship since that's really what any great romance is about. The bond that forms between the characters as they face life together, ultimately deciding to keep facing life together till death do they part. The sexual part is just an optional bonus feature thus so many fans shipping couples who canonically never show any signs of romantic or sexual attraction.

That's obviously a lot of information to deal with, but hopefully it puts you on the right path. Feel free to send additional asks on this topic if you like. I love devoted relationships and have a penchant for writing characters on the ace and/or aro spectrum, so I've played around with all sorts of ways a character can identify while still being in some flavor of committed relationship though there are characters where I just don't think they'd be into that. Really depends on the way they come across to me and that's all that I'd worry about if you're worried about amatonormativity. I'd you truly think your version of the character would be happy in the life you've given them, then you're fine and I wouldn't stress about it. They're not real. You're not forcing them into a box against their will.

I'll end with my biggest piece of advice for writing specific sexualities and/or types of attraction: don't obsess with perfectly representing a given group because, as we discussed above, these are broad categories not scientific labels. Asexual means different things to different people. Decide what it means for the character you're writing, stick to that, and you'll probably be fine so long as it doesn't totally go against the broad idea of asexuality. It's fine if your character ends up in a committed monogamous relationship as many asexuals do that just like many don't. No character can represent an entire group perfectly because no person represents an entire group perfectly. We are all wonderfully unique in our own unique ways.

#aspec adrien #asexuality #Different people want different types of rep #Some people will find amatonormative rep validating and others won't #Doesn't make amatonormative rep bad it just means that we need diverse rep #It's like how it's not wrong to show characters having kids just because some people are child free #Having kids is fine it's just not the only valid option

75 notes · View notes

norman-fucking-reedus · 1 year ago

Text

HE ATE MY HEART!

“I love that girl”

gif by @corvidcrossbow

IM SO FUCKING EXCITED TO FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO POST ON HERE AND ALSO TO POST SOMETHING TO THIS SONG

Vamp!Daryl has rotted not only my brain but the community. I am not sorry at all for the plague I'm spreading and I hope that it only gets worse.

So I've been doing some research on it, and I really like the idea of mixing the Blade universe w TWD, I did some more research on the different types of vampires (its kind of a lot so if you want you can go read abt them here!) To basically summarize, there's people, daywalkers (half vamp-people), walkers, full vampires, and then Revenants (half-walker half vampire, basically just another way to die)

This also makes it easier for whenever Scud becomes my next vampy victim

AUUUGH I NEED MY HOT SEXY NEEDY VAMPIRE MAN WHO JUST WANTS TO DRINK ALL MY BLOOD SOMEONE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING PLEASE

also I am working on reqs yes I am, I have one scud fic that is dirty and nasty and should be getting posted soon. also I may not be on tumblr as much as I used to be because GUYS I am now employed yes that's right I got off my computer, went outside, interacted with people, and got a job #gangshit

It had been over a week since Daryl had eaten, and over two since he had left to go out on the community's monthly supply run.

As he stumbled through the opening gates, he felt like he had been through a war. His body was wracked with exhaustion, weakness, and hunger. The air was thick with the strong scent of blood, and he couldn't keep himself from groaning painfully when he was bombarded by Carol and Rick asking where he had been, what had taken so long, and if he was alright.

“No! M’not alright dammit” He barked at them in frustration after being asked for the third time if he was alright, his voice laced with irritation and discomfort. Carol couldn't help but notice his pale and clammy appearance.

Her forehead creased into a frown as she tightly pursed her lips, giving Daryl a scolding look that made him uneasy. With a tone of concern, she asked, "I'm worried. When was the last you fed?"

The man's face twisted in discomfort as Rick and Carol stood in his space. He scoffed and muttered, "Not recently, m'fuckin' starvin'" The longer he stayed, the more his head spun and his vision blurred, causing the corners of his eyes to fade into a deep red color. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and he could feel his teeth starting to ache.

Rick observed Daryl's malnourished skin, staring at how he was almost transparent. His eyes were screwed shut as the sun harshly burned his sensitive orbs, and he was gripping the strap of his crossbow so hard that his fingers were starting to turn red.

"You should go see Y/n," Rick said, eyes fixed on his friend. "She should be back home and she's been asking about you. I think she misses you." Daryl's body tensed at the sound of your name, and a sudden chill ran down his spine, causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. He tried to hide his reaction, but Rick's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing.

Daryl's head drooped weakly as he could only manage a feeble nod. Rick and Carol had stepped off to the side for him, offering their silent support. Carol placed her hand gently on his shoulder, her grey hair falling across her face as she did so. Rick, with his stern expression, gave Daryl a look that he knew meant there was no room for argument.

His senses were already heightened to an extreme level, almost at an overload as the sun was abnormally bright, blazing down on him with a blinding intensity, making it difficult for him to even keep his eyes open. He could feel the heat searing his skin, causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead and trickle down his face. He noticed the way that his vest rubbed uncomfortably against him, the fabric clinging to his skin and making him feel sticky and irritable. His already aching teeth began to grind down against each other, and he could feel his razor-sharp fangs digging into the tender skin of his bottom lip, further fueling his pure discomfort.

Each step he took in the direction of your house was tiring and heavy, his dirty, muddy boots slapping against the ground as he dragged himself through the streets, promptly ignoring any strange or judgy looks that were thrown his way. He didn't have the time, let alone the strength to even bother paying them any mind. His stomach churned as his overwhelmed nose couldn't help but pick up the sickeningly sweet smell of blood.

It forced him to quicken his pace, trying to get just as far away from the public eye as he possible could. He didn't want to be looked at, didn't want to be stared at. He just wanted to get inside as soon as fucking possible and just tear off all his goddamn clothes. A ping of hope struck through him when he could see your familiar house only a short distance down the road, having to hold himself back from flat-out sprinting the rest of the way there.

Though it was only about a thirty-second walk, it had been the longest in his whole entire life, and walking up the small steps of your porch was like something out of a nightmare. He could disgustingly feel the material change in flooring when he stepped off the pavement and onto the creaky wood, the sound grating against his now way too-sensitive ears. Dear god, would someone fucking help him already?

Of course, as if on cue, the red front door to your house swung open, but instead of being met with a friendly face, he was met with the barrel of your gun.

"Daryl?" You questioned as you lowered the weapon slightly, a smile stretching across your lips once you had confirmed who was standing and dicking around on your porch. "Daryl!" You fully dropped your defensive position, stuffing the weapon in the band of your pants as you prepared to throw yourself at the man, halting when you finally took in his ruined appearance.

His breathing was labored, and it was hard to keep himself upright on his own two legs, forcing him to lean against the wall by the door. "Hey doll"

You scoffed at him in disbelief, "Don't you dare even "hey doll" me, mister! What the hell happened to you? Get in here right now" Grabbing the front of his vest and pulling his heavy body inside, Daryl groaning as each movement caused pain to his body, slumping against the door when you slammed it shut.

He couldn't be happier when he felt you prying the buttons of his stupidly itchy vest off, him shrugging it off as well as his crossbow, clattering down on the floor and probably chipping the metal further.

"Jesus Daryl, you look fucking terrible. Did you feed on anything at all out there?" You purse your lips as you analyze and checked his unnaturally pale chest, letting out a surprised hiss at the burn lingering on your fingers tips from where you had brushed them against the skin of his shoulder

Daryl groaned as you directed him to sit on the couch, the short steps from the front door already leaving him utterly winded, almost dripping in sweat as he wheezed each breath of air.

“‘Wasn’t much… ‘wasn’t much out there” He spoke breathlessly, head spinning and his stomach loudly churning when you stood in front of him.

When you extended a hand out to cup his face, he tightly gripped your wrist with a shaky hand. “Don’. Please don’” He didn’t want to feed from you, not like this, not in a state where he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t absolutely drain you.

“Daryl” You whispered softly, frowning slightly as you started taking your shirt off, and he wanted to scream at your stubbornness.

You straddled his lap and gently brushed the hair sticking to his forehead off, his blue eyes starting to tint red as the smell of your blood was strong, right in his face. “I don’ wanna”

“I know you don’t sweetheart, but you’ll die. What am I gonna do if you die?” You cupped his face, forcing his gaze onto yours. He whimpered slightly at your touch, his whole body sensitive and reactive.

Daryl shivered when you combed fingers through his hair, hands curling around your hips when you directed his head to your neck. “I trust you, more than I even trust myself” You whispered soothingly into his ear, and he almost wanted to cry.

He could smell the blood coursing through you like it was a burning candle, and his mouth was uncontrollably watering. His fangs were sharp and heavy, aching with the need to sink into your skin, which is exactly what he did, groaning against you at the first drops of blood, not wasting against another second before he was greedily taking mouthfuls.

It was so good, so warm and fresh, sweet and bitter. Daryl had drank lots of blood before, and yours was easily his favorite. He craved it during his time out there, not just because there was a serious lack in wild animals, but because it was addictive.

He squeezed your hips, soft and pillowy in his buzzing palms as he could feel himself starting to get hard in his pants, the more blood he swallowed the more drunk he got.

It made you feel good to watch his natural tan color fade back, his scarred back no longer a ghastly pale. You ran your fingers through his hair, occasionally curling your fingers and gripping the dark locks to grind down against his now-straining cock.

Daryl made soft, small sounds as he fed, each roll of your hips making each gulp of your blood taste so much better. His senses were at an all-time high, overwhelmed and at an absolute edge. He couldn’t help the way his hands pressed you down on his cock, hips desperately jerking against you as he could feel himself getting closer and closer, his head spinning in a blood lust haze.

He was so close, so very fucking close. His sharp claws had made themselves known, and you jolted when they painfully curled into your flesh, hips sputtering and slightly faltering in their movements. Daryl had no problem picking up the slack, almost fucking you right through his pants from how hard he was rutting up into you.

It was just all so much, his whole body on fire with pure arousal as he sighed around a final mouthful of crimson, trembling from his core as his orgasm washed over him, pressing your clothed cunt against him as hard as he could, making his already fuzzy mind draw a complete blank, a loud groan tearing from his throat that caused his fangs to slip out from where he had punctured the skin and drop his head against your shoulder, whimpering softly as he held you down.

You scratched his scalp comfortingly, feeling a little woozy from the amount of blood he had taken. He hummed against you as he started to come down from not only the high of his orgasm but bubbly buzz from his feast.

“Feel better?” You asked in a quiet, sleepy voice when Daryl’s tongue cleaned the drops of blood that had leaked from the small wounds, coating the area in his saliva so that it could heal.

He nodded as peppered you in appreciative and apologetic kisses, pulling you flush against his bare chest by wrapping his arms around your back, claws retracted and replaced with blunt nails. “M’sorry fer hurtin’, ya”

“Instead, you should be sorry for not feeding yourself, mister” You said as you shook your head, pinching his side as you got a bit upset again. “You know it scares me shitless when you do that”

“I know, I know. M’sorry for tha’ too” Daryl grumbled, feeling fatigued as well now that his tummy was full and satiated. His body was still weak and needed rest, now yours did as well considering he had taken a lot more than usual. “I’ll make it up to ya’” He said as he pushed himself up off the couch, grunting as it was a lot harder with tired muscles and one hand keeping his woman wrapped around him, adding a second once he was finally standing.

You giggled at that, arms hooked around his neck. “And just how will you do that?”

“Got a real good idea” Daryl smirked, hoisting you up as he ascended up the stairs to your shared bedroom, hungry for something else that was much better than blood.

I started writing this a few days ago I think this is the quickest I've written something

Vamp!Daryl is an absolute need. I'm loving every single post I see of him and I love watching the disease spread faster than fucking covid I jump for joy when I see someone I don't even know talking abt him is this what fame feels like is this what its like to be famous am I fucking famous

yes you do want more of this so go read more

Bloodthirsty @dixons-sunshine

Bite me @mydearestdaryl

267 notes · View notes

mayasaurusss · 8 months ago

Text

Serious talk.

So I haven't been active on Tumblr for a while now, studying for exams and all, and I come on here, waiting to see some posts from one of my favourites mots, deerlottie, and see that he has deactivated his account due to some arsehole begin transophobic on his inbox. I don't usually do these types of posts but this needs to be talked about.

I want you to know that you are an awful human begin. There's no other way to put it. You are a genuinely awful person and I hope that all the pain you caused deerlottie comes back to you.

You have no idea how lucky you are.

Do you even know how horrible it is to be born in a body that doesn't feel right? That doesn't feel like yours? I had a boyfriend who was transexual and I saw in his eyes everyday the pain of not begin able to pass, of not begin able to feel like himself. It is a pain that we cisgendered people will never know and you have no fucking right telling someone that they are wrong for begin transexual. You do not know how lucky you are.

We as humans want to put ourselves into the world, to seek people like us, and art is the world's most ancient form of expression. It's natural we put ourselves into characters we like, whether thats by gender or even personality. For you to hate a demographic of people so much that you bully someone out of a lovley community just for the way they headcanoned some FICTIONAL characters is diabolical.

They are not real.

We all loved deerlottie and their headcanons made people feel good about themselves and represented their struggles, both sexually and socially.

Deerlottie, if you see this, which I doubt you will because you've probably left tumblr for good, I want you to know that you are loved. That we miss you and hope you will come back, that it's okay if you won't and we understand that this kind of hate could very well made someone quit their blog. We love you and we hope you will come back.

And for anyone out there, I want you all to know that my blog is and will always be welcome for trans people. I will always try my best to portray with accuracy your experiences, wheter that's reflected on the reader or on the yj characters. I will always welcome you.

Anon, I hope you will understand that your actions have hurt someone. Not a silly image on a godforsaken app, but a real human begin. You made someone quit something that they loved. Next time you want to be mean to another person, though, don't go anonymus. Show your face.

#yellowjackets #maya speaks #transgender #trans issues #writers on tumblr #tumblr page #trans writers #queer writers #important #deerlottie

179 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 1 year ago

Text

Safe Keeping | 7

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, POV shifts!, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink, breeding kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, toxic masculinity, typos, etc.

A/N: YAY WE ACTUALLY FINISHED A SERIES HAHHAH lol. thank you so much to everyone who read safe keeping on here <3 im so luv all of you !! i will be continuing this so HIHHH look forward to it ig 😋 [originally posted on ao3] | [continuation fic on ao3] | [continuation on tumblr]

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1 @thestrals-and-firewiskey

We are greeted by a group of men when we arrive at the Alistair dwelling.

Sandor helps me dismount my horse. I thank him, then the stable boy, who takes our rides. Sandor ushers me in and we hand our coats to the servants by the door.

My husband scrutinizes the place, a grave expression on his features as he takes in the halls that were decorated with streamers. As we get deeper into the home, I grab Sandor's arm and carefully word, "remember why we're here."

He turns to me and raises a brow, "and why are we here, darling wife?"

I cannot help the way I react to his words, his term of endearment. I know it is condescending, but my stomach tumbles at the sound of it either way. I look forward, unable to keep his gaze, "we're here to pay out respects to a man that extended generosity to us."

Sandor notices the way my face twitches. He sighs and turns away, "I will not kill the pretty boy. Do not be so upset."

"I'm not upset," I turn to him.

He scoffs under his breath, "what's with the face then?"

"What face?"

"A face fairest in the land, many would say."

Sandor and I stop in our tracks.

My brows raise and I break into a chuckle of disbelief and surprise. The man who had spoken smirks as I greet him, "Lord Baelish."

Sandor feels his blood boil when the Littlefinger bows and reaches out a hand. He tightens his grip on me.

I turn to Sandor, noticing how darkly he was eyeing Petyr, and decide to let out a laugh to ease the tension, "there be no need for such formalities, Petyr."

Petyr straightens up, lowering his hand, maintaining his smirk.

Sandor's lips twitch as he grumbles slowly himself, "Petyr."

"I am glad we're past that, my dear," Petyr says before Sandor tugs me by the arm behind him as he steps forward.

The shorter man looks up and the taller one snorts. I manage to pull my arm away, coming in between them. I nervously laugh and elbow Sandor back, not that it does anything, "if you'll excuse us, we must speak to the man on the hour."

Petyr looks back at me, unfazed and still smirking, "of course. But I do I hope, for your sake, you spare me a moment after. I have something rather important to talk to you about."

"About what?!" Sandor bark. I feel the tension of his form when he presses nearer, flush against my back, to impose upon the lord.

Lord Baelish doesn't spare the Hound a glance, "why, about the monsters plaguing your ancestral home."

My lips part.

The blue eyed man raises a brow, "you've long wished to be safe from this peril, yes?" he bows, "I believe I have a solution for you."

Before I could even think, Petyr straightens up and smirks as he walks away.

I hear the Hound whisper behind me, "I'll fucking kill him instead."

Before I could respond, a voice calls out to me. I turn and see it is Lord Alistair, making his way over.

He jogs up to me with an excited expression and reaches out a hand. I smile back at him and take it out of instinct. When he is close enough, Cedric kisses my knuckles.

The Hound did not realize this had happened up until he tore his gaze from damned Littlefinger. When he notices Alistair, he nearly breaks his teeth from clenching his jaw so tight.

"I am happy to see you, my lady," Cedric nods with a lopsided smile.

Before the Hound can react, the pretty boy is speaking again.

"And you, my lord," he nods to Sandor.

"I don't share the sentiment," the Hound growls through a strangled breath.

Cedric laughs. He places a hand on his chest as he does, then motions, "forgive me. You must be famished from your travels," he looks to his right then back to us, "please. My servants have prepared my favorite dishes. Help yourself and make merry."

"I'll be merry if I fuc--

"THANK YOU, MY LORD!" I cut off with a massive grin. I curtsy and chuckle, mustering all the sincerity I had, praying it overshadowed my jitters, "may you always be so generous and joyous on your nameday."

Cedric chuckles and waves me off, "please. Spare me the formalities. I pray you go and eat with your husband before he kills someone."

Lord Alistair is the only one that laughs at the joke. A few delayed seconds later, I manage to laugh with him, forcing down my agitation.

Sandor doesn't budge the first time I tug on his arm. He follows after the fourth. He eyes Cedric as we walk away, but the said man is already preoccupied with another guest to notice.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whimper under my breath as I quite literally run after the buzzing Hound.

Sandor makes his way down the hall in a break neck speed, at least for me. I have to catch my breath when we enter the weapons room. I heave and look around the foreign place, eyeing the axes, the arrows, the swords, and the armor displayed all over.

"Your pretty boy has good taste," Sandor slurs as he grabs a sword mounted on the wall, knocking over a few others as he did.

I cringe at the clank of steel against ground and step back when Sandor begins to wave his blade around. I mumble, "he's not my pretty boy."

Sandor continues to swing the sword. I pull my head back in agitation.

He then picks up the fallen swords but cannot manage to put them back in their place without moving shakily, and dropping a few.

I panic and press my back against the wall, "my love, this is a horrible idea!"

Sandor stops and turns to me, "how is it horrible? Lord Alistair wanted a sword fight with me, and that's what he's gonna get. He chose this nameday gift, not I."

I watch as he finally manages to put away the swords.

"You were there, my jittery bride."

I straighten up and slowly walk towards him with my palms cautiously raised. Sandor is perfectly still when I come close. I release a sigh of relief when I manage to grab his arms, "please listen. I was also there when you downed three ewers of wine, puppy."

He leans down.

I clench my jaw.

I can feel his breath, smell the alcohol in it, as he mutters, "I'm not a lightweight."

I gasp when he comes low enough to kiss my neck.

My skin pricks when he whispers hotly, "and I'm not a puppy."

My heart is racing when he straightens up. He does so in a rather staggering manner, telling of the effects of his alcohol consumption.

"You're drunk."

"Am not," he rebuts.

I scowl at him, "you're a drunk puppy, my dear."

He smiles, "I thought I was your love?"

My stomach churns.

Sandor purses his lips when I do not respond.

I feel my face prick with heat, "would you listen to me if you knew that I loved you?"

He chuckles, turns his back on me, and heads for the door, "well, do ya?"

I feel like vomiting. I whisper under my breath, "I do."

He reaches for the knob and opens the door, "nice try, beautiful," he reaches a hand out, "come. Maybe your pretty boy will manage to ki-"

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING HIM THAT!" I snap and storm over to him. "Lord Alistair is NOT my pretty boy! He's not mine and will never be!" I feel my blood boil and my eyes begin to fog, "and stop calling me names!"

He pulls his chin back. His face hardens. He opens his mouth to speak but beat him to it before he can say a word.

"Stop mocking me! Stop calling me pretty squirrel! Stop calling me beautiful! It's driving me mad!"

"I'm not mocking you," he speaks lowly, "why would I mock-"

"Well, whatever it is, it needs to come to an end," I point at him, "now let's get this over with. I want to go home."

I storm off and head outside.

I make my way to the back of the Alistair dwelling, which had a large field where the sword fighting will be held.

I stand by the crowd of people and sigh through my nostrils. I watch as Lord Alistair does tricks with his sword, enticing the crowd to laugh and cheer for him.

I feel out of place in my spot because I didn't know anyone else, and because was not at all entertained by the spectacle. All I thought of was how badly I wished this to be over. Damn my drunken husband for agreeing to this.

"Trouble in paradise?"

I turn over and find the smile of Lord Baelish. I release another sigh, "please. Not anymore, Petyr."

Petyr chuckles and shrugs, "I've barely said a word, my dear."

His term of endearment triggers my vexation. I cannot help the way I roll my eyes at him.

He laughs harder, "what darling reaction."

I move away from him.

He steps closer, "did you know there are necromancers in Volantis?"

I glare at him just to look away again.

He gives me a smirk, "they are learned of tar monsters who enjoy eating village folk."

I turn back to him.

He nudges me with his elbow and turns front, "I've put in good word for you. All you have to do is take a ship to Essos. A witch there will get rid of your problems for you at a fair price."

"Hmm," I raise a brow, "oh, undoubtedly. It clearly is that simple."

Petyr turns to me, "it certainly is. Once the woodland monsters are gone, you'll be able to hunt and gather timber from the forest again," he nods his head, "and so will I."

Aha. I purse my lips and debate his words for a moment.

"And I trust you will allow me to fish in the Sterling River as well."

I look forward when the crowd cheers. I see before me, Lord Clegane and Lord Alistair, circling each other, the latter laughing in excitement, the former blank faced and stern. I turn back to Petyr, "very well."

He nods once more.

I look straight again.

"Perhaps a trip to Volantis is exactly what the loving couple need."

I roll my eyes at him.

Sandor and Cedric begin to tussle. The sound of steel biting steel fills the air. Cedric is an eager opponent, pressing forward every chance he gets. Sandor is relaxed and playing the defensive.

This continues for a while, metal clashing, boots skidding, voices grunting, and it was a rather showy match, at least on Cedric's end. Sandor is barely trying, I could tell. He must be conserving his energy. I've seen the way he's trained with the boys in Brown Wood. He's definitely trying to tire Cedric out.

"This is going to be a long match," Petyr whispers to me.

I turn to him and sigh, "a very long one."

Sandor catches this and feels his lips twitch. He turns back to Cedric.

I gasp when Cedric manages to disarm Sandor. The crowds gasp as well, and Cedric too seems surprised.

Sandor shakes his head, " 'm too fucking drunk for this."

Cedric straightens from his defensive stance.

Sandor nods, "well met."

Lord Alistair nods back, smiles, and turns about to bask in his victory.

As he bows to his guests, the Hound makes a beeline towards me. I watch as he comes close, my heart slowly speeds.

He grabs my arm, "we're leaving."

"Oh!" Cedric calls and gestures our way "a round of applause for the Hound."

The guests turn and cheer for him.

Sandor pulls me to his side.

"Come now," Petyr smirks, "won't you even try to best Lord Alistair in another round?"

Sandor leans down towards Lord Baelish and growls, "fuck off."

With that, I am dragged away.

"Sandor."

The Hound's horse continues treading in front of me.

"Sandor."

The Hound still does not stop, turn, or respond.

"Sandor!" I say louder.

Still nothing.

I make the horse I was riding gallop to his side. He had not spoken to me the whole way back, not when we got on our horses, not when we stopped at an inn for the night, not when we started our journey, and not now that we near the gates of Brown Wood.

"Have you chosen never to speak to me again?" I quip, tightening my grip on my reins. When he looks the opposite direction from me, I scoff and roll my eyes, "should it not be I that never speaks to you, Hound? You've been nothing but insufferable the entire time we were at the feast!"

Sandor still does not budge.

I look forward and catch sight of Brown Wood. I give my horrible husband one last glare before growling and galloping away.

Sandor watches this. He does no effort to follow after.

When I get to the gates, I am immediately greeted by many servants. Polly, in particular, excitedly tells me he's taught the puppies tricks, and quickly leads my horse away after I dismount, keen to tell me more about it.

Lucy, though happy to see me, raised a brow at my missing chaperone, "did you lose your Hound, milady?"

I roll my eyes, "do not speak to me of that beast."

Lucy is bewildered.

I sigh and slump forward, regretting the harshness of my words. I shake my head, "have you prepared a bath for me?"

She knits her brows and nods slowly, "....did something happen at the feast?"

"Of course something happened," I muttered, "the gods are truly testing me." I brush Lucy's arm, "I will tell you more of it later. For now, I need a warm bath."

Lucy nods again and watches me walk off.

Before Polly could follow after, Lucy hooks her fingers into his collar, holding him back. The boy makes a choking sound, stops and turns, staring at Lucy.

"Our lady will not be bothered," she says.

"But the puppies!"

"Later," she pulls her hand away, "go finish your chores if you still have some, boy."

Polly makes a face and grumbles, though he does listen.

Just then, Lucy turns and sees the Hound walking towards the gates, leading his stead by the reins. She waits for him to enter, and the moment he does, she runs her mouth.

"Are ye not tired of playing this game?"

The Hound squints but spares Lucy no glance. He heads for the stables and undoes the ties on his horse.

Lucy flares as she follows after him, "can't you just do us all a favor and stop?"

"I'm not in the mood for nagging, wench."

"Then admit it!"

"Fuckin' what?!" he glares at her.

"That you're mad about your wife!" Lucy snaps.

Sandor stills.

"That you would die for her! That you're upset she wanted to go to another lord's nameday celebration!"

He removes his horse's saddle, "that was a formality."

"YOU'RE A FUCKIN' FOOL!"

Sandor whips his head to her.

"And a coward," Lucy raises a finger.

The Hound chucks the undone saddle to the side and steps forward. He looks down at Lucy, but she is unbothered and unafraid. He is shocked when she shoves him. He topples back.

"She's only ever wanted your love, you thickheaded oaf! Don't you see how hard she tries to please ya?!"

"Please me?" Sandor scoffs, taking another step forward.

"YES!" Lucy shouts, "she wants to be your perfect bride but you know nothing but cruelty. You repay 'er with bitterness."

The Hound feels his mouth sour.

"And puppies."

Sandor watches her wipe her face.

"Because you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be, milord," Lucy says with frustration.

Sandor feels like the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

"I've caught you when you think no one's looking," she speaks softly, "you love her."

Sandor feels his body burn.

"She loves you."

"She d-"

"Fix it before it gets worse. I beg," she sighs.

The Hound is stunned as the maid walks off.

When Polly spots him, the boy unknowingly grates his nerves as he leads the puppies over and shows all the tricks he's taught them. It wasn't much, in all honesty, just a 'stop' and a 'come here', but the three pups did them well.

Sandor couldn't be impressed, he was far too out of it to be anything but queasy.

He tells Polly he's tired and heads to the bedroom. Polly tells him he wants to show Lady Clegane the tricks before they sleep. He doesn't answer the boy.

Sandor is both disappointed and relieved to find the room empty. His head is heavy as he changes. He feels like he'd sink to the bottom as he goes to bed.

The Hound had been pacing around when I got to the bedroom. He froze when I entered and awkwardly walked back as I headed for the bed.

I didn't speak a word as I went under the covers and laid down. I eyed him as he sat on the edge on the other side, back turned to me. I burn holes into his back with my glare.

It takes a few seconds of him rubbing his lap and him sighing loudly before he breaks his silence.

"I..." he trails off.

I shift in my spot to look at him.

He straightens, "I didn't like the fact that pret-" he cuts himself off and sighs, "that Lord Alistair and Lord Baelish were all over you."

I can't help but scoff, "and you've decided not to speak to me because of some two men's doing?"

"I DIDN'T want to fight," he blurts loudly then softly.

I watch as he slouches and moves on his side to bring himself under the sheets. He sighs as he covers himself and speaks without looking at me, "I don't like fighting you."

I purse my lips at the thought. His words conflict me. I find it aggravating to hear when it felt like he liked the opposite. A side of me is also unwilling to believe it because it was too hard to believe.

The part of me that was still angry at him for being so petty wants to fight back with equal pettiness. But an even larger part of me felt too exhausted and defeated to argue.

"And yet you always do," I speak plainly as I turn my back on him and fluff my pillow. I take in a deep breath while bringing the sheets over my shoulder. I lay down, facing away from him.

I knew he wouldn't have anything to say to that truth, and yet I take a moment to listen in on him. He doesn't speak nor move at all.

I close my eyes, "go to sleep, husband. It's been a long day."

"Aren't you upset with me? I don't want you to sleep upset with me."

My eyes open. My stomach churns. Did he actually care? My lips part but I can't find myself to speak.

"I didn't speak to you because I know what I'd've done if I did."

I take in a sharp breath and give out a broken whisper, "you've done worse."

Sandor lets out an airy chuckle. It doesn't sound amused at all though.

He doesn't respond anymore. Instead, he shifts in his spot and lays down, as far on his end as he could be. He is on side, staring at the dark corner of the room. He musters all his courage, "forgive me, my lady."

My lips part.

Did he just say that?

"What?"

I am shocked when I hear him repeat, "forgive me."

I roll on my back and look at him. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I think my body was shaking.

I inhale deeply through my nose, "what would you have done?"

He takes a moment to respond, "what?"

My courage flees me as I find the need to repeat myself. I turn my back on him again and clutch my chest. I can hear my heart pounding, "what-... you said you didn't speak to me because you knew what you would have done..."

I feel Sandor shift behind me.

I gulp and curl up tighter into myself.

I wait for him to act but he does nothing.

I release a deep breath before speaking, "would you... have hurt me?"

My skin pricks when I hear him sigh, "aye."

I feel sick to my stomach. How could he admit that so easily?

I think of all the worse things he could have done: smack me, shove me, slay me. I feel body begin to grow hot.

Sandor stares at the ceiling then turns to his side. His chest tightens yet he manages to mutter, "I only want to be gentle with you."

I scoff but it sounds strangled because of how tight my throat was. My eyes begin to well up. My broken voice croaks, "how could you say that?!"

The Hound says nothing.

"What?" I scoff, "you hit me then you tend my wounds?"

He doesn't say a word.

I begin to feel my insides burn.

The longest moment passes.

"How did you want to hurt me?" I snap.

He clenches his jaw then chuckles at himself, "I wanted to make you scream my name as I fucked you against a wall."

My heart leaps into my mouth.

The Hound continues, "I wanted all those fuckers to hear, to know what you were mine, that I was the only one who could do that to you, that I was the only one you'd allow to do that."

My blood runs still.

"The things I'd do to you," he mutters, "you'd be disgusted to know them."

My lips quiver as confusion ripples through me. This was the kind of hurt he wanted to inflict?

"But I want to be gentle," he adds, "I really do."

"Is that why you lied about the pups?" I find myself choking out.

Sandor is taken aback. He also hates how apparent the sound of sadness was.

"I know you were the one that found them and brought them home, not Lucy," I whisper.

"Lucy," he sighs, "she loves you so much, that Lucy. And you love her... You'd take a gift from someone you love."

I shake my head, "that's why you lied? You didn't think I would keep them if they were from you?"

"I didn't want to shroud the pups with my being."

"... I can love more people than just Lucy."

I feel him shift behind me.

My heart thunders in my chest.

"One day... maybe I'll be gentle enough for you to love me."

I feel tears rush down my eyes. I move to turn to him, but then his arm comes around me and holds me back.

"Please," his voice breaks, "I can't stand to see you cry or look at me with pity."

My hand comes atop his arm, "Sandor-"

"Can I kiss you?"

My breath catches in my throat.

His heavy breathing makes my entire body burn.

I slowly nod and manage to squeak out a yes.

Sandor immediately sinks his face into my neck and begins to kiss my skin. His lips were hungry and his beard left scratches all over. He snakes his arm tighter around me and pulls me into his chest. My entire body reacts to him, it burns and pricks and pulses. He kisses my cheek; he kisses my tears away.

My belly tumbles when he rubs it. He props himself up on his other arm, "I'll die a happy man to see you love my babe," he trails kisses up my jaw to my ear, "it's more than I'll ever deserve."

I suck in a deep breath and lean into his touch. I press my body flush against his and this elicits a groan from him. He fists my nightgown into his hand and nips my lobe. He draws in deep breaths and sighs against my ear, "I can be gentle. I can be so gentle."

I take his fist and he immediately releases my clothes. His breathing grows more strangled as he shifts behind me.

I push his hand down and he shudders when it comes in contact with my thighs. I release his hand and bring my leg atop of his. I pull my skirt up and mumble, "gentle."

"Fucking gods," he kisses my shoulder and pulls my gown up. He rubs my thigh a few times then sinks his hand underneath my smallclothes.

He shushes me as I grow rigid against him and kisses my neck some more.

I whimper when he pulls my undergarments down and moves his fingers into my soft spot. He very much so gently touches me until I begin to melt against him. I arch my back and lean into him.

"Good girl," he mutters, "such a good girl. My beautiful girl."

"More please," I heave.

Sandor presses his body against mine, "don't have to tell me twice."

I whine his name when he sinks a finger into me. My toes curl and my hand grabs onto his bicep.

I make a sound when he pushes deeper, and an even throatier one when he adds another finger.

Sandor brushes my hair away with his other hand then sinks his face into the crook of my neck. He peppers kisses on my skin and my body burns all the more because of it. I turn my face to him and move my mouth close to his.

Flames rage inside my belly when our lips meet.

He goes still for a second when I kiss him. It takes a few moments before his lips move against mine. Though his beard was tickling my skin, the exchange was lovely. It was warm. It was right.

I bring the hand I had on his arm up to his cheek. My fingers find their way to his scalp where I begin to tug his hair gently.

We pull away when I yelp at the feel of his hand going back to work. Sandor does not relent his kisses on my cheeks, nose, and eye lids.

"Does it feel good?" he asks in between pecks.

I whimper as I nod.

Sandor sighs and grazes his teeth against my neck, "so good."

I mewl when he begins to pump his fingers faster into me.

"So sweet and soft and beautiful-- so, so beautiful against me."

"Sandor-"

"I want to feel you," he growls under his breath, "want to be inside you," he nips my lobe again, "want to fill you up, give you the babe you want."

I nod and chase after his lips. I kiss him desperately, "please."

It's not long until his fingers are replaced by his cock. We both tense against each other then slowly relax and reconnect our mouths.

I am surprised when I feel his tongue brush against my lips. I squeak when he begins to buck his hips into me at a slow but purposeful pace.

He presses his fingers into my inner thigh, pulling that leg closer towards him. I bring my hand down to his forearm and grip him for dear life. He pushes his chest into my back and breaks our kiss to allow us both a breath.

Sandor maneuvers himself into a better position. He nearly has me sprawled on top of him. He locks his grip on my hips and snaps into me with all that he's got.

He calls my name. He calls me beautiful. He calls me his wife. He tells me he loves me.

It's all too much that my eyes begin to water and my belly begins to tighten.

Though his movements were wild and sharp, and though the sound we were both making were loud and lewd, there was something sacred about it, something sincere.

I nearly sob when I come undone. I cry out his name as I feel intense pleasure crash all over my body. My mind is too misty to take into account that Sandor had been repeating the same three words as he too fell into bliss.

He doesn't immediately stop moving. He only does so when I'm laid back on my side again.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel him shift away from me.

"Don't pull away!" I snap. I grab his arm and wrap it around me, trapping it between my own. I lean back into him, "don't leave me! You keep leaving me."

Sandor, who was just catching his breath, feels like he was winded all over again. He thinks about the discomfort that this position will bring, but he figures sex just leaves people emotional and clingy sometimes.

He kisses my cheek, "we'll stay like this, if that's what you want."

I nod enthusiastically and turn to kiss him.

When I do however, he pulls his face back. It makes me go rigid.

It takes a second for Sandor to realize what he did. He is now overly conscious of the scar on his face and the damned reflex he has for it. He opens his mouth but he doesn't say anything.

I begin to feel my face burn and yet I'm too stunned to move.

The next moment, we speak at the same time then immediately go silent.

I gulp and turn away from him, bursting out as I did, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to overstep."

"You did nothing wrong." he shakes his head.

"You asked if you could kiss me," I mumble, "I didn't do the same."

"You can do whatever you want with me-"

"Sandor-"

"-I belong to you. I am your hound. That's all I am."

My eyes glass at his words. I feel him kiss my nape. My skin pricks when he rubs his hand down my belly.

He sighs heavily, "... sorry for being so broken."

I screw my eyes shut.

"... you can kiss me... if you really want to."

I nearly break my neck turning it back so quick. I press my face against his and just remain like this for a moment. I brush my nose against his textured skin and recall the time I did the same during our wedding night. He pulled away then, he pulled away now.

"I'm sorry you can't trust me," I whisper.

Sandor doesn't have the time to react to that.

I leave about a hundred kisses on his scar before my neck begins to tire. I knit my brows and whisper again, "don't let me go."

I face front and feel sleepiness catch up with me.

"Good night, Sandor."

I vaguely hear him whisper I love you behind me.

Sandor woke up with sunshine shining down his face. He was more than well-rested. He honestly doesn't remember the last time he slept this good.

He stretches in bed and groans. It takes him three seconds to realize he was alone.

It's almost enough to make him shoot upright in panic. The only reason he doesn't is because he quickly thinks it was fucking stupid of him to feel anything, any sort of panic or worry-- worse, hurt or sadness for waking up alone.

He did that many times over, left her alone-- too many times to count, surely more times than the good night's of sleep he's had.

So, he lays there with a stone-heavy pit of emptiness in the middle of his rib cage. There was nothing else to do with it crushing his chest. No amount of reasoning, of rational explanations that his wife was the lady of Brown Wood, who was always busy, who was always attending many other people, nothing could lift the stone weighing down on his chest.

He feels like he's slowly choking.

The Hound only gets up when he hears the small barks of the pups coming from outside. Somehow the idea of his wife waking up to attend to the dogs made this ordeal bearable.

He heads to the bathroom first and freshens up.

After, he heads to the living area and tenses when a pair of servant girls greet him good morrow. His lips twitch as he grunts and nods at them. The girls perk up and stare at him for a second as they pass. He vaguely hears them mumbling 'did he just greet us back?' as they each head their way.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. He should have said good morrow in return. Fuck.

It probably doesn't matter. He's been ignoring everyone since they've moved here. Why start now?

Well... he was ignoring everyone except Lucy, who vexingly demanded his attention; Daisy, who used to do the same... and his lady.

Sandor opens the front door and steps outside.

His-

"Lady Clegane," Petyr fucking Baelish nods and reaches a hand to his wife.

Sandor is stunned. This wretched, slimy looking Littlefinger-man was up on his stupidly embellished steed, which, mind you, was too big for the fucker, kissing his wife's knuckles a goodbye.

What the fuck was he doing here so fucking early?

Littlefuckingfinger smiles and straightens up as he releases her. His wife waves goodbye.

As she does so, Littlefinger catches sight of Sandor and his smile pulls into a self-satisfied little smirk. He nods his head once to him and fucking rides off. Even fucking Polly waves him goodbye and it makes him want to chase after him and gouge his eyes out.

"Husband."

The Hound averts his gaze.

Sandor's breath is knocked out of his lungs when he sees his wife gleaming at him.

Fuck, she's walking over.

Everything in him is so overwhelmed by her that he nearly steps back.

She holds something in her hands as she gives him a lopsided smile, "you had a good sleep."

He opens his mouth to speak but a lump in his throat stops him. He gulps.

She laughs. She does so with grace, her pretty teeth all bared to him, "I wished to stay with you until you woke, but I could not leave Brown Wood unattended till late in the afternoon."

For a moment, he is in disbelief and doubts it was actually midday. He looks up and sees, indeed, the sun was at its height.

He looks back to her to apologize for sleeping in, but again, his voice is lost to him. By only taking one step towards him, she renders him powerless. She intensifies it by taking his arm and giving him that look, that look of apprehension that was masked in sweetness. It was maddening.

"Will..." she draws a deep breath, "you let me kiss you?"

What the fuck?

Her brows raise. She pulls her hand away, "y-you don't have to."

"Wait-" gods, did he say that aloud? "-no. You can! You can!" he responds with desperation, "you don't even have to ask."

His wife smiles back at him, but it's not the same.

Gods, he's ruined it again.

He is surprised when she still leans over and gives his cheek a quick peck.

He barely has time blush as he's turning his head to watch her as she walks past him. She says something about breaking fast and he mutters something incoherent in response.

Sandor doesn't even realizes that he's been made to sit down on the dining table, until one of the pups take his seat before he can.

Where did they even come from?

"Fuck off then," he says, shooing the small thing. It barks loudly and then he realizes it's the loud one, Lilac. He growls, "off, Lilac!"

Lilac makes a smaller sound of protest but has no other choice but to get off the chair when Sandor tips it over.

He quickly sits down and makes a victorious face to the puppies, who continue to bark at him.

He watches as the pups quiet down as his wife comes back holding a bowl of stew and a spoon. His insides tingle when she leans close to him to set it down before him. She then drags a chair and sits next to him.

He takes the spoon.

She smiles at him and rests her head on her hand, her elbow on the table, "eat up."

Sandor releases a breath and does just that, "thank you."

He realizes just how hungry he was at this moment. He begins to pig out.

"Thank you for holding me throughout the night."

The Hound almost gargles his food in his throat trying to muster up a response.

She laughs and touches his arm again, "it's alright. Just eat."

Sandor doesn't have a moment to say that he would hold her until she gets sick of him.

His wife straightens up and pushes a something towards him, a letter, it seems, "Lord Baelish gave this to me."

He nearly chokes as he swallows.

He doesn't like the way his wife smiles when she continues to speak of him, "he's given me a map and letters to aid my passage to Volantis-"

"Volantis?" he sets his spoon down with more force than necessary, "the fuck is in Volantis?"

She straightens up, "remember we met at Lord Alistair's nameday?"

"Fucking Alistair."

She sighs through her nostrils, "Lord Baelish spoke to me then of someone who knows how to get rid of the monsters in the forest."

"Am I not enough for you?" he turns his body to her, "you need to hire some sellsword on the other side of the world to kill those fucks for you?"

He watches her withdraw before his very eyes. She brings her hands together and places them on her lap. She purses her lips into a soft smile before speaking, "there is no one in the world, this side or the other, that I would trust with handling the monsters in battle. But," she sighs, "Lord Baelish didn't speak to me of a sellsword. He spoke of a witch."

"And you fucking trust him?" he quips impatiently, "you'd trust a witch vouched by Littlefinger?"

She sighs again. She no longer finds it in her to pull a smile, "I do-"

"Well, don't."

"-because he'll get something out of it."

The Hound clenches his jaw and rubs his knuckles with his thumbs.

"In return for his help, I would be allowing Petyr to access to our fish, game, and wood."

The Hound sighs heavily, "Petyr.'

She shakes her head and chuckles. She chuckles until she breaks into a genuine laugh, "but matters not. If my lord does not approve then there is nothing more to do."

Sandor's stomach sinks when she stands up.

"I'll go ahead with my errands now," she nods and offers a lopsided smile.

Just before she walks away, Sandor grabs her hand and weakly mutters, "no, please. Please stay."

She laughs softly; she laughs sweetly. She places her palm on his knuckles then takes his hand in both of hers. She kisses the back of his hand and shakes her head, "I am not leaving, my lord, merely going off to do my errands."

The Hound stops her from letting go. He clutches her hands firmly in his larger one. He parts his lips to beg her to stay.

But then, he sees her change. He sees her slip on a mask of a dutiful wife. She is about to smile, about to tell him that if he insists, she will stay, for him. He knew in his bones that she would.

And so he lets her go and looks away in shame. He can't bear to look at her, so he clears his throat and compromises, "I'd like to eat with you later... if you have the time."

It takes a long moment for her to respond. Sandor, whose eyes were stuck to the floor, find the pups were now sleeping under the table.

"I would like that too, my love."

Sandor chuckles drily at the pet name and grabs his spoon. He rather bitterly says, mostly to himself, "you don't have to call me that."

He waits for her to walk away.

She doesn't.

He turns to her when he vaguely hears her mumble something. He waits for her to repeat herself, but she doesn't.

"What was that, pretty squirrel?"

She shakes her head and curtsies, "I said enjoy your food."

He watches her walk off. He wonders what she actually said, because it sure as hell wasn't that. He swirls his stew around idly.

879 notes · View notes