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buckets-and-trees · 3 months ago

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Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for quite a while. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond anything you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your fingers over the delicate skin between your wrist and up toward the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your other wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, and I've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

read the next part: TAKING YOU HOME

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

#ari levinson #chris evans characters #curtis everett smut #curtis everett #ari levinson smut #curtis everett x reader #ari levinson x reader #female reader #tw: dubcon #tw: dub con #tw: dubious consent #happy birthday siri 2024 #aspen wrote something #obsidian stain and sin

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fayes-fics · 8 months ago

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Audacious

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Impertinent. After your engagement party, Anthony asks you to rendezvous in his office to continue where you left off.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, mutual masturbation, orgasms.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Sequel request fill for @cleopatraathene to continue the story from Impertinent (ask HERE). Sorry, it's taken so long, my dear. Err, this could well turn into a series at this rate. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

The bejewelled band feels weighty around your left ring finger as you rap your knuckles quietly upon his study door. It's late, and the last thing you want is for anyone to know what you are doing.

After a pause, the hinges creak, and a hand snakes out and grabs your arm.

Before you know it, you are dragged through the door, and it closes with you pressed against the other side, the room heady with the scent of recently smoked cigars and expensive brandy. Anthony is casual in just a white shirt, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, braces slung around his hips.

“Fiancée,” he rumbles, his nose trailing up your neck as he leans in, the wood of the door panels digging into your bottom through the thin layer of your silk robe. “Did you enjoy our engagement party?” he queries, teasing your throat with soft kisses.

“Yes,” you answer breathily. “A-And I did as you asked.”

He pauses in his ministrations; you can feel the curve of a smile over your skin. “What did I ask you to do?” he knows the answer; he just wants to hear you say it.

“To return this evening exactly as I was last night.”

He tuts softly, his nose trailing up the cord of your neck. “But you are wearing something, so you are not as you were.”

“I could hardly walk through the halls of your home naked, my lord!” you gasp.

He chuckles richly, his breath hot in your ear. “On the contrary. This is soon to be all yours. As Viscountess, you can do exactly as you wish. Or as I wish. And sometimes, I may wish you to be naked at my bidding,” he straightens up and looks down at you, dark eyes glittering. “Would you do that for me? Would you walk naked where I told you?“

Again, as last night, you feel under a spell. “Yes, my lord,” you whisper truthfully.

“Audacious,” he rasps approvingly, “just how I like it,” the last few words muttered over your lips before capturing them with his.

Your stomach quivers at his praise, then vaults at the first brush of his mouth, knowing that now you are betrothed, he has promised so much more. His lips are warm and soft as he slowly parts your lips, his tongue rolling, requesting entry. Instinctively, you open, a wave of luscious wet heat as his tongue lathes over yours, a dance that has you inside melting and a throb at the apex of your thighs that is entirely foreign but enthralling. As he breaks away, you chase his lips, eyes still closed, wanting more of his heady kisses. He grabs both of your hands and pulls you to the centre of the room, the fire warming the backs of your calves as he releases his hold.

“Take off your robe,” his order soft.

Your trembling hands scramble to obey, making quick work of the knot at your belly, pushing the material off your shoulders so it flutters onto the rug behind you so you are naked. There is a throaty noise and he takes a step back as if to better drink in the view of your body. His lush bottom lips curling under his upper teeth, his eyes covetous, roaming your skin.

“You should never wear clothes,” he opines, backing further away, grabbing a wingback chair and scraping it across the carpet until it is behind him. He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving your form.

“Spin for me.”

Heart beating fast, you rock onto the balls of your feet and rotate away so you face the blazing fire, your back towards him. Then you slowly complete the circle until you are facing him again, his expression ravenous.

“A perfect specimen. Now touch yourself,” the order is gruff.

You frown at him. “Where, my lord?”

“Are you to tell me you have never put your fingers between your legs?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“N-no, my lord? Should I?’

The dancing flames of the fire are almost too hot on your bottom, as he answers in a cool register. “Yes, you should. But perhaps I should be the one to instruct you as your future husband.”

With that, he stands from his seat, walking purposely towards you, his boots heavy on the rug as you take a deep breath. He grabs your right wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips and engulfing them in his hot mouth, his tongue questing against the pads of your fingers, the suckle of his lips sensual and damp.

With a salacious pop, he pulls off your fingers, his lips quirking into a knowing smile as he guides your wetted fingers to your chest.

“Touch your nipples,” he instructs quietly.

You gasp as his cooling saliva meets your flushed, puffy areola, puckering instantly under the pad of your fingers.

“That feels good, does it not?” he dusks, wrapping his hand over yours to direct your caressing of yourself, his fingers never touching your nipple but directing your movement like a puppeteer, taking the fingers of your left hand and repeating the suckling action, guiding your fingers to your other nipple.

All you can do is nod and bite your lip, pushing up into your own hands, squirming slightly from foot to foot, feeling a dampness smear on your inner thighs as you do, your tummy replete with butterflies under his heavy gaze.

He guides your fingers over the swell of your lower breast and down over your stomach, chuckling as the teasing trail of your own fingers makes you giggle lightly, your belly rippling. His eyes flash as his hand guides yours lower, trailing into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs, something thronging between your legs at the molten look on his face.

Two of his fingers curl over the back of yours, turning your middle and pointer fingers into a hook before he pushes your hand lower. Again, you gasp as your fingers slide at his insistence into some folds of skin between your legs, damp and sticky. His face is dashingly mischievous as he places those hooked fingers over a certain swollen nub and swirls them slowly in an anticlockwise motion. You startle at the spike of pleasure that rushes through your body, the epicentre under your attentions.

“How does that feel, fiancée?” he murmurs, tone like velvet.

All you can do is stutter his name on a shaky exhale, your other hand shooting out to grab his muscular forearm where it presses your belly, the dark hairs there tickling your palm as you grip around him, needing the anchor, your knees feeling oddly weak.

“Oh, you like that…” he huffs, amused, as he crowds into you, his hand covering yours between your legs, dictating your movements, a shiver running down your spine at the fizzles of pleasure sparking around your body. “Do not stop,” his voice low, resonant, his lips hot on your temple, you moaning lightly and leaning into him.

A sweet-tart scent fills the air, your fingers coated in a slick, viscous substance that can only be from your own body, a soft, wet noise emanating from where you touch yourself.

“That is my favourite sound in the world,” Anthony sighs into your ear, “so ripe and ready for me…just wait until we are married.”

“What will happen?” you inhale, trying your best to concentrate even as you feel your body swelling under your own touch, engorged, hot, craving more friction.

“All in good time…” he answers enigmatically, his breath a touch uneven.

The slightly rough texture of his cotton shirt snags delightfully against your nipples as you writhe, riding your own fingers and his, wishing it were his skin touching yours. There is something hard in his britches that rubs your stomach with each move you make.

“Do not stop,” he gruffs.

You whine as he steps away, craving his heat, his toned body glorious to rub yourself against, akin to a cat.

“My lord…” you mewl, appealing for him to return, swaying unsteadily on your feet even as you continue to touch yourself as instructed.

“That is it, keep going up,” he encourages, retaking the seat and staring at you covetously, one of his hands falling to his lap, palming a swelling there.

“What are you doing, my lord?”

You are intrigued by his soft panting as he roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers.

“I am doing as you are,” he groans, “I am touching myself, My cock.”

With that, he fishes something out from his white underwear that makes you inhale sharply. A red, almost angry looking rod of flesh that stands proud of his body from a dark thatch of hair. The slight is intriguing and makes you pulse heavily between your legs as if innately knowing it belongs there.

You feel yourself moving towards him, like a magnetic pull, your fingers still sliding over that hardened pearl between your legs as you get closer, hypnotised by the sight of his hand, now in a fist, moving up and down his swollen cock.

“Cock…” it falls from your lips reflexively as you stare.

He groans loudly at your utterance, a shiny pearl of wetness pooling at his tip as he does so.

You feel feverish, not just because of the roaring fire in the hearth, but a blaze inside, a flush running through you that makes your mind feel both fuzzy and sharp, singular in pursuit of pleasure, your fingers moving faster now between your legs, varying your speed and motion.

He hisses his approval as your knees buckle, sinking to a kneel on the rug, your knees splaying wide, your fingers freer to move, but your eyes never leave his hand, his motion a quick twisting tug now.

“Does that not hurt?” you blurt out breathily, not pausing, chasing a high you can feel hovering so tantalisingly close, a tingle over your lips and the back of your scalp.

“No, it feels just as good as your fingers do on you,” he assures, broken, huffing now. “I will teach you,” he adds, meeting your gaze heatedly when your eyes ping to his face briefly.

Something about this feels so decadent and luxurious, the same as his velvet jacket was on your skin last night, the garment that catalysed this whole tumultuous journey.

“Swap hands,” he commands, cutting into your wayward tangent, and you find yourself obeying on instinct. “Give me that other,” he rejoins. Before you know it, the fingers that were between your legs are in his mouth, his tongue curling and sucking wantonly, feeling the vibration of his groan over your fingertips as he cleans all your juices from your fingers, his hand a frenzy on his cock now.

Your other hand feels different; something about the catch of your blunt fingernails between your legs has you hurtling towards some crescendo, your skin feeling almost too tight over your bones, a pressure behind your ribs as your heart thunders, almost like you are trying so hard to chase and hold in something explosive.

“Oh, you are there, aren't you?” Anthony growls around your fingers still in his mouth, sounding wild, his motions untamed, gusting deep breaths out of his nose as he leans forward, eyes intense and glassy.

All you can do is nod, almost frantic, as if seeking permission to break, circling an abyss. Your fingers fall from his mouth as he groans loudly.

“Come for me, fiancée,” he grits out.

Unsure what that means, you just keep moving, feeling something snap inside that has you calling out and curling over, a scream escaping your lungs as your body seems to retract and explode outwards, your mind scattered to the wind as an ecstatic wave fans out from your core around your body, your muscles twitching.

You are brought back to the room by a noise he makes—hungry, gravelly, all male. As your breath returns, your eyes reopen to see him in the throes of ecstasy: an arresting sight. One curl of hair flopped over his dewy forehead, his lower lip caught under his upper teeth, eyes wild and unfocused, then screwing shut as he roars, his hand a frenzy on his cock which seems to pulse in his fist before spurting a substance in an arc part of which splashes warm across your chest, taking you by surprise.

That seems to signal he has reached a peak, too, his body wracked by a few aftershocks before he slumps back into the chair, panting, his hand slackening as he stares transfixed at the sticky streak of his cum over the upper swell of your breast.

“Are you well, husband?” you check, fascinated but concerned.

He doesn't correct the title you bestow upon him. “More than,” is his laconic, sated response, an easy smile claiming his face as he unfurls a sleeve to tenderly clean your breasts of his seed. “This is only the beginning,” he promises, cupping your cheek affectionately. “Run along and get some rest; we shall meet here again tomorrow.”

You cannot wait.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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andypantsx3 · 1 year ago

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SOMETHING IN THE WATER | 4 | SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: As a future marine biologist, you’ve scored big on your final internship: a summer in the tropics, researching the waters off the coast of a lush, sunny island. But what you thought would be all beach days and piña coladas turns out to be the revelation of a lifetime when you haul in a handsome merprince, and discover not everything in these waters is quite as it seems. TAGS/WARNINGS: mermaid au, interspecies relationships, mating rituals/courting behavior, (sort of) case fic, aged up characters, eventual smut, fem pronouns/afab reader LENGTH: 3.3k of est. 21k, 4th of 8 chapters

The next morning dawned with the news that Sunfish had finally settled on a day your team could tour the facilities.

“They did not seem pleased,” Death Arms reported over your morning coffee, his mouth a grim line. The group of you were stuffed up in his room, working through the several plates of homemade breakfast that Inko had blessed you with. Yu rolled her eyes even as she speared egg off of Kamui’s plate. Kamui looked resigned to this behavior.

“They should be honored, we're here to potentially clear their name,” Yu sniffed, then hummed appreciatively as she swallowed. “Wow, Inko knows what she’s about. Is there crack in these eggs?”

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been able to taste anything off my own plate,” Kamui returned, sipping at his coffee instead.

Yu’s mouth opened to respond to him, but Death Arms quickly spoke over whatever quip might have fallen out of it.

“Anyway, we’re going next Thursday afternoon,” he said loudly. You smiled into your own food at Yu’s disgruntled expression. “If we haven’t found anything by then, and everything looks in order at Sunfish, I think we can safely assume the initial reports were fabricated. We will issue a reminder that they are not to overfish as populations are just slightly smaller than we would expect, but it seems there’s no real issue to address.”

An unsettled feeling twisted in your stomach.

You didn’t know quite what it was, considering that you hadn’t actually found anything persuasive of Sunfish’s guilt. But something sat heavy in your gut, the memory of both Bakugou and Shouto expressing dislike of the cannery. Neither had said anything to you about wastewater pollution, but you remembered the bioelectric scrape of dislike in Shouto’s words when he spoke, how you could literally feel it at the back of your throat.

Maybe it was just a gut feeling on both of their parts. But gut feelings usually were formed out of something. You didn’t want to leave things here just yet.

The crew finished up breakfast and you set about your usual tasks, running errands between all the researchers, double-checking counts, compiling results, and going glassy-eyed in front of observation station footage.

It was only later in the afternoon that you were unleashed back onto the water with Yu and Kamui, boating out to check all the nets and the occasional trap. Kamui frowned over a couple of the specimens you’d caught, but eventually judged that they looked mostly okay, and tagged them to release.

You were on the north side, penning down the observations Kamui occasionally called back to you, when you heard the sluicing sound of something breaking the surface of the water a few feet behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder—only for an ice cold stab of panic to puncture your gut.

Shouto was floating a couple of meters away, looking curiously towards your boat. From his angle, you could tell he was definitely registering Kamui and Yu onboard with you, and you could just see the tiniest little tilt of his head, a blinking of those two-toned eyes.

Oh no.

He wasn’t considering swimming over, was he?

Yu and Kamui probably could be trusted to keep the secret, if they caught sight of him, but they were also marine biologists—and Shouto was a discovery that could make an entire career.

Even if they were to never say anything, though, the more people who knew about him, the more chance there was of that information escaping them. You could just imagine Yu giddily reliving her discovery several cups into a bottle of sake, and that wasn’t nothing if a marine biologist was claiming it, drunk or not.

As if on cue, Shouto swam closer, and you dropped the log book like a hot potato, frantically flapping your arms at him not to come any nearer.

He stopped, blinking those beautiful eyes at you again, their colors clear and true even a few meters out. From this distance you could just make out a tiny frown pulling at his mouth.

Oh, his pout was so cute. But you didn’t have time to care right now—you had to get him out of there before Yu and Kamui saw him.

You waved again, making a shooing motion, as quietly but as panicked as you could make it, to convey urgency. Shouto’s frown deepened, and you raised your eyebrows at him, flapping your hand even faster.

“What do you think, kiddo?” Yu’s voice suddenly floated back to you from the front of the boat.

You whipped around, registering her head just beginning to turn towards you.

A bone-deep panic slashed down your body, instantly blanking out all thought. Before you even registered that you were moving, your shin had already connected with the side of the boat, and you were throwing yourself over the side opposite Shouto.

The warm water slapped you in the chest as you fell, knocking the wind right out of you. It rushed up your nose, filling your mouth. You coughed and sputtered as you broke the surface, inhaling more water droplets than air, the salt burning in your throat. Yu’s startled yelp met your ears, sounding truly rattled.

“Kid! Oh my god, are you okay?” she yelled, louder than needed when she was only feet away. You hadn’t fallen far.

You licked the salt out of your mouth and rubbed it out of your eyes, catching sight of her leaning over the side of the boat in concern. Kamui had also apparently dropped the fish he was inspecting, and was holding out a long, nut-brown arm to you. You couldn’t see Shouto from down in the water, but you hoped he’d taken the opportunity to clear out.

You coughed again and paddled back over, letting Kamui catch your hand. He hauled you back up into the boat, helping you over the side with a hand under your elbow.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, even as you sopped water everywhere climbing back over the side. Your clothes weighed about a million pounds, dragging you down into the seats. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.”

Yu clucked as she shoved a spare towel down onto your head, blinding you in teal fabric. “You gave me a heart attack, you little meatball.”

You yanked the towel out of your mouth, giving her your most apologetic grin as you emerged from the terry cloth folds. “It’s just a little water, I’m fine,” you promised.

A quick glance behind her and Kamui told you that Shouto had disappeared, and a wave of relief washed through you, pooling in your limbs and weighing you down further into the pale vinyl of the boat seats.

“What the heck were you even doing?” Yu demanded, hands on her hips. You noticed Kamui’s eyes dart quickly to the swell of her thigh as she did, and then away again, as if he’d been momentarily pulled by a magnet. You suppressed a laugh. They were both so obvious.

“I was just looking at the island, I wasn’t paying attention when I stepped forward,” you lied, trying your best to look innocent.

Yu’s mouth twisted, but then she sniffed, seeming satisfied. “Well don’t do it again, kid,” she ordered you, waving a perfectly manicured finger at you.

You saluted her, then adjusted the towel around you, wrapping yourself securely like a waterlogged burrito. “Yes ma’am.”

She sighed, then turned to exchange a couple quick words with Kamui, and you peered back behind her, satisfied when you only saw the turquoise, glassy sparkle of unbroken water lapping gently around the reef. No Shouto, for sure.

“We’ll call it here for today,” Yu decided. “Since we’re not finding anything anyway.”

You didn’t protest, eager to get out of the area in case Shouto was still around, just lurking. You really would think a merman whose species had effectively hidden themselves for all of human history would have been like, a little bit more discerning about who he showed himself to. Honestly, the fact that you even knew he was around was a bit of a concern.

A sudden suspicion formed in the back of your mind.

Come to think of it, just why had Shouto been skulking around your boat in the first place, nearly a week ago? You made a mental note to ask him, when he inevitably found you later.

Which was another thing of concern. He always, always seemed to find you, no matter what stretch of island water you even dipped a toe into. How the heck was he doing that, either?

The three of you boated back to the island dock, Kamui ducking into the grocery for a couple of takeaway sandwiches for dinner, since you were still soaking wet and in no state to settle in at a restaurant. You discussed your lack of findings again briefly with Death Arms as you returned, and then you were free to trek back to your room, left to your own devices for the rest of the evening.

You wrestled yourself out of your wet clothes and into a bathing suit and a dry pair of shorts, and then took your dinner down to the beach, almost certain you would find Shouto there.

And within minutes, you were proved correct. A head of white and scarlet hair broke the surface of the water just as you unwrapped your sandwich. Shouto drew closer, dragging himself heavily through the shallows on the strength of his arms alone.

You watched, slightly transfixed, as all that wet muscle glittered in the orange light of the evening sun, cording with his lithe movements.

“Are you alright?” Shouto asked as he drew up in front of you, still in a few inches of water. The soft waves lapped the skin of his hip where it joined his tail, fading from smooth, pale flesh into speckled red and white muscle.

You blinked, your gaze flashing back up to his face, which quickly proved to be a mistake. It was even prettier than the rest of him, an almost impossible feat. His eyebrows were drawn with concern, and his mismatched eyes were darting over you, like he was evaluating you for injury.

You reached out, poking him in the chest. “I’m fine! I was distracting them from you! What the heck were you doing, swimming towards the boat like Kamui and Yu were old besties?”

A frown pulled at Shouto’s perfectly plush mouth. “They were with you,” he said, his deep tone earnest.

This drew you up a little short, your finger going limp against his chest. “What?”

Shouto leaned in closer, dipping that handsome head to look you more closely in the eyes. You tried not to find the move so charming. “They are your friends, are they not?”

You puzzled over this. “Well, yeah, sort of. They’re fellow researchers and I just met them a few weeks ago, but I think they’re good people. But—Shouto, you can’t just go up to people like that!”

Shouto’s mouth pulled into a tiny frown again. “I am aware. But you are an exception, I thought…”

The look on his face was enough for you to instantly cave, everything crumbling in the face of the sweetness of his pout. You sighed. Who would have ever thought, weeks ago, that you would succumb to the pout of a merman, of all things?

“Shouto. I think the researchers I am with are good people who want to help. But at the same time, you are a legend that humankind has chased for centuries. You would make a marine biologist’s career—you could make someone one of the most famous researchers of all time.”

Warm, wet fingers met the underside of your chin, startling you. But Shouto grasped your face gently, tipping it up to his. “Then—when you fell in the water. You were protecting me?” he asked.

Your face flushed hot. Really it had just been a distraction, a brief bout of lunacy. He made it sound way more noble than it had been intended to be.

“I was providing cover,” you said defensively.

Shouto’s eyes roved over you, long and slow and evaluative, ending in an unhurried catlike blink. Then a tiny hint of a smile pressed at the corner of his mouth. “You were protecting me,” he decided.

Your face went impossibly hotter, burning so warm you were certain he would feel it against his fingers. But Shouto just looked pleased. The hand on your face disappeared, only to reappear on your ankle, gripping gently but firmly, as he always seemed to do.

You did not want to ask what that was about.

You took a bite of your sandwich to avoid answering, pausing in your chewing when Shouto looked interested.

“You wanna try?” you asked, offering it to him. “It’s veggies and cheese—do you know if you can digest cheese?”

Shouto blinked those beautiful eyes at you, his nose scrunching the tiniest bit. “Izuku lets me try his food sometimes. I do not like cheese.”

You laughed. You couldn’t imagine not liking cheese, but you supposed it only made sense if you hadn’t grown up eating it.

“You want a veggie out of it, then?” you asked.

Shouto leaned forward, inspecting your sandwich. You noticed him inhale slightly, like he was taking stock of it, before he eventually nodded. “The rest of it smells acceptable.”

You smiled, working some tomato, basil, and a sprig of arugula free for him. “Your order, sir,” you said, laying them out in his outstretched hand. You tried not to laugh at how ridiculous the sliced tomato looked sitting there in his large palm, caged in by five deadly-looking claws.

Shouto took a delicate bite of the tomato, his sharp canines another ridiculous contrast. You hid another smile by taking a bite of your sandwich.

Which of course is when he struck.

“For my people, it is customary to provide for one’s mate,” he said, his tone low and thoughtful. “Food and protection, both of which you have given me today.”

A chunk of bread lodged itself suddenly in the back of your throat, and you spluttered, hacking.

Shouto leaned in, concerned, and you waved a hand at him as you coughed to indicate you were okay, barely managing to wheeze out, “I’m fine. Swallowed—wrong.”

Shouto lingered close, looking you over with a little frown until your breathing regulated again.

“Sorry. Just swallowed my sandwich wrong,” you said. “You surprised me.”

Shouto’s brow knitted. “You do not exchange such things with mates?”

Your face went hot, like an instant sunburn. “I—you must have learned from Bakugou and your sister that humans don’t—-it’s not quite like that.”

Shouto blinked guilelessly, looking like he was waiting for you to continue. You looked out to sea, unable to make any sort of eye contact with him while discussing this. You were suddenly all too aware of the strength and shape of him next to you.

“Humans don’t like, inherently know their partners,” you told him, fixing your eyes to the orange shine of the late evening sun on the gentle waves. “We live in mostly monogamous cultures but there’s also no like, biological imperative to choose just one permanent mate. And the way modern culture is structured—we don’t have traditional, um, practices like that. There are common dates people go on, like dinner and a movie, but that’s it.”

You heard the scrape of Shouto’s scales over the sand next to you, a sudden swish of his tail in the shallow water. “Dinner and a movie,” he repeated.

You nodded. “Have Izuku or Bakugou explained movies?”

Shouto gave a deep hum of affirmation. “I have never seen one, however.”

You scrunched your toes in the sand absently. “You might like them. There’s a bunch of ones about mermaids—you’d probably think they’re funny.”

Shouto made that low humming sound again, sounding thoughtful. “And your people don’t have other mating practices?”

Your cheeks burned even hotter. Why the heck was he so interested, anyway? Could he not just eat his tomato and give a marine biologist a break?

“There’s nothing super standard across all cultures,” you said. “I guess where I’m from guys will give a girl flowers or jewelry or something.”

Shouto made another small sound, more interested this time, and you turned to look at him just as he leaned into you again. You froze, startled by his proximity. Up close his eyes were even more beautiful, the blue of his left eye the exact shade of the tropical waters of the island, made even more standout by the surrounding pink scar tissue.

You clenched your fingers at your side against the urge to smooth them over it.

He really was so pretty, a thought that you absolutely should not be having about a dude who wasn’t even fully of your same species, though he was certainly fairly human enough, you thought. The rest of him was all hard muscle and strong lines in the corner of your vision, and you stared resolutely at his face so your vision didn’t snag on the clench of those abs as he leaned over you.

A hand touching your free one made you jump, and you just managed to keep your sandwich from dropping into the sand.

You glanced down, to see Shouto pressing two chips of something knobby into your hand, carefully avoiding the delicate skin of your wrist by angling his claws up. “For you,” he said, his tone low and soft.

It tickled something at the back of your brain, making your flush deepen, and you kept your eyes pinned to the chips shyly.

When you brought your hand closer to your face, the chips resolved themselves into two differently-colored pieces of coral, clearly sliced off by Shouto’s sharp claws again. One was a brilliant red, nearly scarlet like the color of the left side of Shouto’s hair. And the other was duller, a washed out white, the color of his right.

You blinked up at him, your mouth opening with a question about why he would be giving this to you—until your gaze jerked back down again, focusing on the white coral.

White coral. As in, bleached of all color. As in, coral bleaching, which occurred with changes in seawater chemistry, due to temperature, acidity changes, or pollution.

Pollution like the kind you’d been looking for from Sunfish.

“You seemed to like the coral, the other day,” Shouto said, by way of explanation. It was your growing concern, however, that had you only half-focused on his words, your entire world narrowing to the sliver of white coral in your hand.

“Shouto,” you said, looking up at him in wonder. “You are literally amazing. I think you might have just cracked this entire case for me.”

Shouto blinked, looking as though he did not know how to feel about this. His skin flushed, a strange sudden peek of red color creeping over his face, and his pupils went a little sharper, more slitted. Any other time you would have been fascinated by a change like this, maybe have even been bold enough to lean in and inspect him.

But you were already getting to your feet, your sandwich falling off of your lap.

“I have to go to the lab—I’ll see you later, alright?” you said distractedly.

Shouto’s brows knitted, but you did not wait for a reply. You began sprinting for Kamui’s makeshift lab—leaving your sandwich and the handsome merprince behind you in the sand.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #shouto x reader #shoto x reader

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mutant-distraction · 3 months ago

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Green magpie

The common green magpie (Cissa chinensis) is a member of the crow family, roughly about the size of the Eurasian jay or slightly smaller. In the wild specimens are usually a bright and lush green in colour (often fades to turquoise in captivity or with poor diet as the pigment is carotenoid based, slightly lighter on the underside and has a thick black stripe from the bill (through the eyes) to the nape. The wings are reddish maroon.

It is found from the lower Himalayas in north eastern India in a broad south easterly band down into central Thailand, Malaysia, Sumatra and northwestern Borneo in evergreen forest (including bamboo forest), clearings and scrub. - Wikipedia

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sevenhundred721 · 4 months ago

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My piece for the @tf-bigbang !! I was partnered with @lush-specimen who wrote an absolutely banger fic about these 4 participating in a battle of the bands! Go read it!!

#transformers #aileron #arcee #jetfire #skyfire #autobot jazz #my art

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strawberri-blonde · 1 year ago

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I Was Made For Loving You- Neteyam

Summary: You’re foraging through the forest and find a rare specimen.

Warning: Smuttt

Masterlist

Walking through Pandora's forest is a peaceful experience. The sounds of nature fill the air around you, and the air is filled with the scent of lush greenery. The sun's rays filter through the treetops, casting a warm light upon the ground beneath your feet. To you, the forest is a great distraction from the hustle and bustle of your daily training for tsahík. When Mo'at sent you to grab herbs, you basically skipped out of the hut into the beautiful jungle. With each step you take, it brings a new, wonderful discovery; caressing the leaves as you stroke down the narrow path. It is truly a breathtaking landscape that makes you grateful to be an Omatikaya clan member.

You tugged on the little brown pouch that was tied to your loincloth to keep your hands free. You carefully crouched down near a fern-like bush with bright green, feathery leaves, giving the bush a wispy, elegant appearance. You remembered from your training that this plant is good for making paste with the roots, which have healing properties that stop blood from flowing and can even help deal with inflammation. Examining the different bushes on the same plant, you chose to get down on your stomach to pull at the base of the plant, digging into the cool and moist dirt. Letting out a quiet breath of air, you gripped the stem and in one strong yank, the roots sprang from the forgiving ground.

You shook off most of the dirt that you could and brought your hand to your chest. "Thank you, Eywa, for always providing," you said. Taking in the slightly bitter scent of the herb, you began to cut up the leaves along with the roots to fit in your pouch. You felt a connection with the natural resources around you. Sitting back on the back of your legs, you began to reach for another small bundle of roots when something caught your attention. It was a mushroom that sprung through the mossy grounds centimeters away from where the spartan plant has grown. It’s bright color had you wondering how you didn’t see it before. The purple color is striking and it stands out against the greens and browns.

Tilting your head, your queue swished against your back as it fell against the back of your shoulder. The elongated, bell-shaped cap of the mushroom was a beautiful purple color, with shaggy scales hanging down over the gills. You stared at it for a moment, curiosity filling your mind. You didn’t pluck it from the ground because of Mo’at's words echoing through your head: "Never pick things without knowing what they are, and especially never put something in your mouth if you have no idea what it is." Carefully, you moved closer to the fungi, pushing back some forest litter to try and find another like it.

You lift up a large, decaying leaf, and that's when you see it: a mature version of the purple fungi. The cap, once lilac, has turned the darkest shade of purple, almost to the point where it looks black. The black appears to be dissolving into an inky liquid, which contains the spores. The gills remain a light purple and run down the length of the stem, which is also covered in shaggy scales. Then it hits you what this specimen is: a mushroom that only grows from an atokirina. When the woodsprites lay to the ground on the soil, sometimes the roots don’t form, but instead, the seedling decays and what forms from that is Atkirinspxam.

Supposedly, if you stumble upon a mature species, it’s a sign from Eywa that your mind needs to open. You see, the Atkirinspxam can cause hallucinations and changes in perception. They can affect your mood and thoughts. The idea of that scared you, but you never second-guessed Eywa's intention, not after pairing you and Neteyam together. Ever since Eywa told Mo’at about your Union, you had to admit that you were nervous at first, but Neteyam is everything you've ever wanted in a partner.

Neteyam is a remarkable person. He is strong, compassionate, loyal, and protective. He has an unbreakable connection to the planet Pandora and our culture. Neteyam's leadership skills are impressive, and he always puts others' needs before his own. He is loyal to those he loves and values trust and honesty in his relationships. Neteyam is a great communicator, which makes him an excellent partner who can effectively express his thoughts and feelings to find common ground with his partner. His personality is a perfect blend of strength, empathy, and intelligence.

Eywa gave you no reason to not trust her when she provided you with nothing but happiness. You carefully drew your knife from the scabbard on your thigh and delicately cut the mushroom from the stem. The cap was thin and fragile, with a unique texture that was almost paper-like. The aroma was sweet and tempting, but something inside you made you resist the urge to taste it. You placed it in your woven pouch and began to make your way to the training grounds, where you hoped to find Neteyam.

You feel excited as you make your way towards the training grounds. The walk is short, lasting only about 5 minutes, but your body is filled with a surge of energy, and your heart races with anticipation of your findings. You pause for a moment, taking in the beautiful scenery and eager to see Neteyam in action. The ground is adorned with beautiful floral arrangements and colorful petals, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers and the hum of bees. In the distance, a large group of Na'vi is gathered practicing their fighting skills, and you can see Neteyam among them. The sight of him in action is awe-inspiring, and your heart skips a beat as you watch him. Suddenly, as Neteyam flips his opponent onto their back, his amber eyes lock with yours, sending chills down your spine. You can't help but feel drawn to him.

The air intensified as you both moved together like magnets. Neteyam pushed off his friend Hukato, ignoring the taunts and coos from his friends. Neteyam picked up his pace to avoid walking a long length, and seeing him pick up his speed, you did the same, causing you both to crash into one another, filling the air with your joyful laughs. Neteyam's sweaty body had you swooning as you held onto one another. From his sleek skin to his musk that filled your nostrils, it all had your insides warming up. "Yawne, what are you doing here? Not that I mind," Neteyam's calloused fingertips pushed back a loose strand behind your ear. "I'm always excited to see my beautiful mate." Your heart soared at his words. You could feel eyes on the both of you, but you really didn't care.

You kept your arms interlinked as you spoke. "Neteyam, I found something while foraging for Mo'at." This made the boy tilt his head in confusion, but seeing the excitement in your eyes, he couldn't help but let his grin grow. "But I was hoping that I could show you." You stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "In private." Of course, if any young adult male had their mate whisper about privacy, smelling sweet like the herbs they collected, they would only nod their head, wearing a dopey smile on their face too.

Seeing that lopsided grin, accompanied by half-closed eyes, conveyed a sense of shyness at how much you affected him. A lavender hue made its way to your face, making Neteyam let out a chuckle before kissing your lips. He loved when you blushed. His hands left yours to cup your cheeks, tilting you back slightly, making him towered over you. "What do you want to show me?" he mumbled against your lips, sending you into a whiplash.

"Umm,” you let out as Neteyam reached down to the small pouch, you were reminded of what you were going to show him. "Thank Eywa your greedy hands reminded me," you said playfully. Making Neteyam laugh out loudly then reached his arms out to try and tickle you, but you swatted his hands away and took off into the brush. He chased after you, and the moment turned into a playful game of predator and prey. You ran around the trees and bushes, feeling the rush and thrill of the moment.

The soil was rich and loamy under your feet, and you could smell the damp leaves and the bitter smell of the spartan roots. Right as you ran around the tree near the spartan bushes, Neteyam caught up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, tackling you to the ground. You fell onto his lap, letting out a shriek of delight as his hands started tickling your sides. He held you tightly, pulling himself into a sitting position, brushing his warm breath over your neck, sending another wave of tickles. You tried to wrestle away from his grip, but it was no use as Neteyam was a strong man.

His hands held onto you firmly, allowing you to rest from your previous torture. Your breaths were rapid, along with Neteyam's. You rested your cheek against his forehead, and that's when you saw the hole that you dug up for the spartan roots not even an hour ago. "Neteyam, remember how I told you about going foraging for Mo'at?" Neteyam lifted his head to look into your eyes, giving you his full attention. "Well, I found this mushroom." The Na'vi remained quiet as he watched you maneuver around his hands that still staked their claim on your hips. As you ever so gently pulled the purplish-black mushroom into Neteyam's view, you could see its reflection in his amber eyes.

Curiosity flooded the Omatikaya male's strong features as he looked at the strange specimen. "Is this... Atkiria-spxam?" Neteyam tilted his head as he spoke. You giggled at his poor attempt at pronouncing the fungi, but your pride grew as he did know what he was talking about.

"Not only handsome but smart," Neteyam kissed your jaw in response. "It's called an Atkirinspxam." You twirled the stem between your fingers, causing the cap to spin. Neteyam let the word slip past his lips, making you nod your head in acknowledgment that he said it right. "But I'm so impressed that you even knew its name from the rarity of it." Neteyam shrugged his shoulders continuously, leaving light kisses upon your throat.

“I just try to pay attention when Mo’at speaks because she’s an intelligent leader, and Kiri doesn’t stop talking about what you two do, during training. Plus I do listen to you yawne.”

As Neteyam took the specimen in his hands, you hummed a response. "Well, since you knew its name, did you know that this specific shroom causes hallucinations that Eywa wants you to see?" Neteyam knew this because Kiri had explained those kinds of mushrooms before. They were the ones that "made you see your path." These mushrooms made you have no control over your emotions, and they made you be your true self. Not to lie, it sounded appealing to the young warrior. Kiri had also experienced humans that had similar mushrooms on their planet that caused hallucinations as well. However, Neteyam didn't say anything because he wanted to hear you talk. He loved the way your eyes widened in awe, and how excited you got going over your findings. He found it endearing.

Neteyam smelled the sweet fungi, and you continued to ramble on. It smelt sweet but nowhere near the smell of you in heat, causing his body to react. "And I-I found it," this had you shift in Neteyam's lab from the nerves, not making his situation better. "The person who finds it, is supposed to eat it, but I don't want to do it alone." This had Neteyam widen his eyes. "Teyam, I was hoping that you'd split it with me."

A lot of emotions ran through your body as you grabbed onto his hand that held the mushroom. "I know in tradition it's meant to be done alone, but when I first discovered it, it was like I had to see you. It felt like my body was being led towards your direction." Neteyam's eyes softened at your words, and he brought his hands to your face, pressing his lips against yours. You let out a tiny gasp moan at the sensation.

Neteyam chuckled against your lips before pulling away to press his forehead against yours. "Y/n, I'd never let you experience anything alone. We're bonded for life, remember?" You sheepishly smiled, watching as Neteyam pulled away from you slightly to grab his knife from his scabbard against his hip and perfectly cut the mushroom vertically. "Eywa hasn't stirred us wrong yet." This made you giggle like a young Na'vi who had just gotten caught stealing a sweet treat.

“This is so chaotic.” You admitted out loud feeling the sun rays caress the tops of your skin.

Neteyam looked over the cut mushroom, he handed you the better piece letting the English word pounce through his pointy ears. “You’re been hanging out with Lo’ak too much. Chaotic. You never use those English words.” You took the sliver piece of fungi getting the black ink onto your fingertips.

“Maybe I’m just trying to use the words, my new family uses.” This had Neteyam beam in happiness. Neteyam kissed you again, then made his way towards your temple leaving a long lasting feeling of his lips on your skin. He loved how much his family loved you. And what was really special to him was that you loved them back. It meant a lot to him.

The air around you stilled, feeling the intensity of the moment. Neteyam pulled back from you, allowing you both to look into each other's eyes. "Are you ready, yawne?"

You took a deep breath, then nodded your head ever so gently. "As I'll ever be," you said. You both quickly placed the halves of the Atkirinspxam into your mouths and bit down onto the spongy texture. As you tasted the earthy and savory mushroom, you felt a rush of excitement.

"Okay, that's weird," Neteyam laughed out as you both managed to swallow the meaty texture. "Why was that good?" Both of your eyes widened in shock at how something so poisonous-looking could taste like a normal snack.

"I was about to say that," you pushed on his chest with the outside of your wrist, then brought your fingers to your mouth, cleaning them off. Neteyam mimicked your actions, but the sticky substance on his tongue made him imagine eating something else.

“So now, I guess we wait until it starts to digest," he said as his thoughts circled around his head, making it impossible to not form a boner. You were so focused on 'feeling the effects' that you began to raise your arms up in the air, then pressed your hands together, palms facing one another. Finally, you slowly brought your hands down in front of your face in a prayer pose.

Seeing you in this light was a sight to see. The way the sunlight hit your face provided Neteyam the perfect view of your beauty. You no doubt had rather soft facial features than most Na'vi, like Neteyam himself, who has sharper facial muscles. Your jawline was a little more rounded, and your cheeks were plump, which held the most beautiful blush that Neteyam had ever seen. To the young warrior, you were the most beautiful woman in the clan. When he was informed Eywa's chosen for him, and then met you, it was like all the training, the rules, all the punishments seemed to be worth it.

Neteyam thought you were too good for him. You always woke up before him, even in the earliest mornings before a hint of light. You loved making him breakfast and always made so much that he'd have leftovers for lunch. On hot days, you'd make some excuse to Mo'at that you were out of a herb, but in fact, you were just taking Neteyam fresh water and cool fruits. As he sipped the water gratefully, you pulled out a fan and began to fan him down. Neteyam had never been taken care of so lovingly in his life. Tears formed in his eyes as he held your face in his hands. "Yawne, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Hearing his sweet words, you visibly melted into his touch. It was like your body was turning into mush. "Teyam," you began as you ran your hands through his hair, after learning recently that he loved it.

"Shh…" he whispered before planting the most passionate kiss you had ever experienced. You could feel the intensity of his emotions in this act of love. Your hands tightened around his locks as you shifted onto your knees to straddle over his hips, hoping to distract him. You noticed Neteyam focusing on you, taking the pressure off his cock, so you sucked gently on his Cupid's bow. This caused his lips to part, allowing you access to his warm mouth. You would die on your deathbed with the testimony that Neteyam was the best taste of anything you've ever had. His mouth was always fresh from the minty herb that grows along the sides of mountains. He claims that he just liked the taste, but your theory is that he knows it drives you insane. Some might ask why not just eat the herb, but it just wasn't the same. Neteyam was better, so much better. As your needy tongue massaged gently into his own, you could feel his hands roam your body, squeezing you sensually along your skin, sending this hot pool to warm in your loincloth.

In the heat of the moment, a low growl escaped from the Na'vi's throat, causing you to clench around nothing. Neteyam pulled away from you, and his eyes were black with the thinnest ring of amber as the border. But what really caught you off guard was that his sclera was red, and you didn't know that you looked the same way.

“Ma’Y/n.” Neteyam’s left hand grabbed onto the base of your tail while his other wrapped around your neck. “You smell so good.” In one swift motion, he pushed you onto the soft dirt on your back, with his body in between your bent legs. He pressed kisses down your neck while his hands worked on your decorative top, fumbling with the tiny string that held the flowers together.

“Neteyam just rip it off.” You don’t where this sudden urgency came from but Neteyam liked it. He liked it a lot.

The warrior moved from the tops of your breasts to place a hot, open kiss on your lips, using all his strength (which didn't take much) to pop the string, sending beads, flowers, and leaves scattered around you. You pulled away from his kiss to sink your head in the ground, feeling something so euphoric wash over you. Seeing the dazed look in your eyes, the man pulled back to reach for his queue, making you moan out desperately. "Tsaheylu?"

The moment was so intense that you both didn't notice that the world around you had become sort of distorted. The colors were more vibrant, and the trees seemed to dance with the light breeze. The ground felt like one giant bed, but it didn't cross your minds. All your thoughts were on each other.

"Never have to ask." Somehow, through this thick layer of sexual tension, you pushed yourself up to grab your queue, bringing it to meet with his own. As the pinkish tendrils reached out to one another, looking as touch-starved as the both of you, your mouth widened in pure pleasure as the bond was formed. Neteyam was so overcome with the sensation that he hunched forward, leaning his weight on you, wanting to feel you.

Feeling the weight of Neteyam on top of you made you feel like he was the one who kept you grounded, metaphorically and physically. He was this beautiful rock that centered your life. You picked up your legs to wrap them around his waist, making sure that he wouldn't disappear. But Neteyam wasn't going to disappear. In fact, he thinks that if anyone sadly happened to walk upon this path, he'd have to kill them from ruining such a moment.

Drowning himself with the smell of you, Neteyam placed open-mouthed kisses down your body, clenching his fist on the ground down below, feeling your pleasure through Tsaheylu. He paid special attention to your sensitive nipples, knowing how absolutely feral you'd get. One day, Neteyam swore to himself that he's going to make you cum just from him sucking on those perky blue nips. But right now, he's too impatient. "Feel good, yawne."

Your soft moans should have been a giveaway, but you were quickly learning that Neteyam liked to hear you. "So good, Neteyam." He sucked on your nipple, twirling his tongue, lapping at your mound, causing you to express a loud but broken moan. "How did I get so lucky?"

Neteyam moaned around you, then pulled away to kiss your lips. "You treat me so well, Y/n. You're the most wonderful mate." You grabbed the back of his head, keeping his lips locked on yours for a moment before pulling back to look at his handsome face.

"Teyam, I love you," you said. Neteyam's head swayed with a dopey smile, and he brought you into a kiss while still making that sickeningly sweet grin that made you grow one of your own.

“Ma’Y/n,” his breath was hot against your face feeling his hands wonder down towards your loincloth. “I love you so much.” You couldn’t breathe as Neteyam slid his tongue into your mouth, not giving you any warning but you didn’t care. You clenched your legs onto his hips pulling him towards where you needed him the most. Feeling you rut against him, Neteyam slipped his tongue back into his mouth, then pulled away leaving you both with wet and swollen lips. “Let me show you how much.” The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you gazed into Neteyam's dark and hungry eyes.“Because now I have to ravish you.”

Hearing those words you began to impatiently wiggle your hips needing to feel him. Neteyam didn’t have you waiting any longer as his large hands pawed at your loincloth. Looking down at the wet spot of the material, Neteyam couldn’t help but smirk down at you, gliding his middle finger over your clothe slit causing you to whimper from desire. “Did I do this, yawne?” His teasingly finger circled around your heat making you squirm into the dirt, letting out a high-pitch moan that sent birds flying in the air, and because of the small world that y'all were in, neither of you noticed.

“Neteyam, please.” You choked out a moan not realizing the wild look you had in your eyes. He doesn’t torture you any longer from his own needs. His hand left your heat to grab onto the soft material, unwrapping you, exposing your pretty pussy to his hungry gaze. You were glistening wet, making the man’s mouth water. “She’s so pretty.” You didn’t say anything as he crouched down bringing your legs over his shoulder taking his time kissing, biting and sucking down your thighs to reach where you needed him the most. “My pretty pussy.”

Your dirt covered hands flew through to the top of his micro braids giving them a tug. “Teyam, please I need your mouth.” He chuckled against your skin, looking up to lock eyes with you.

“Don’t worry, yawne. I got you.” He started with a sharp lick from your velvet folds, causing you to let out an airy moan keeping his head in place. Through his hooded eyes, Neteyam makes sure to watch your face as he laps up your sweetness. “Taste so good.” He closed his lips around you, spreading your folds farther apart to suck on clit.

“Oh, Eywa.” Your eyes were blinded from pleasure, your legs tightened around his head and your hands pulled at his hair harder fulling grinding back against his tongue. Between Neteyam’s salvia, and your wetness, you could feel it all drip down between your cheeks running along your tail; but you didn’t care, not with the pleasure you were receiving from your mate. “Neteyam it’s too good.” Your back arched as he moans around your sensitive bud causing your body to convulse.

His wet tongue slipped down to circle your entrance, then his arms maneuvered under your butt spreading your legs wider. His rough hands gripped onto your thighs while burying his head farther into your cunt nudging his broad nose onto your clit, swiping his tongue side to side teasing your pussy. “Oh yeah, baby. Take care of me so good.” You both didn’t know where your new found confidence came from. Maybe it was the effect of the Atkirinspxam. But hearing your praises the warrior couldn’t help but grind into the ground trying to relieve his harden cock. You noticed this instantly wanting a taste.

But you were paralyzed at the sensation of his tongue lapping at your entrance almost like he was making out with your heat. Then suddenly his finger teased your entrance only for a moment before sliding it in. More ‘oh yeah’s left your lips making Neteyam ready to bust without even being touch. You’re sounds, smell, taste; it all did something for the warrior. Knowing that you were getting off from his touch. It sure was an ego booster for sure.

His finger pumped in and out of you in a steady motion, while his tongue circled around your clit in a strange but pleasuring pattern. Truth be told, the boy was writing his name in your skin leaving his ever-lasting mark; Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan and to be even more truthful, his mind was too focused on listening to the sounds of your moans, to make sure you were enjoying yourself. So he’d forget where he was at in his own name and would just have to start over, and over, and over again.

Trust and believe you were enjoying yourself, you felt so numb from pleasure. Your back would arch then go limp as he worked you out. Your thighs were shaking, and they felt like they were on fire but you had nothing to complain about. Especially, with the way your mate was eating you out.

Then suddenly, Neteyam easily slid a second finger in your juicy heat causing you to moan like a wild animal. “Oh Teyam, that right. Fuck me so good.” You started to grind back onto his half soaked face, but his hand held you in place while he somehow buried himself more into your cunt, having you scream in ecstasy. “Neteyammmm!” The man kept to his word. He was ravishing you like this was his last meal and he was going to enjoy every thing detail about it.

Without harming, he added his last finger into your hole, stretching you out prepping you for his cock. The familiar coil and hot tension in your abdomen began to form as his fingers repeatedly hit that soft spongy surface deep within your walls. “I’m gonna-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence as he sucked harder onto your clit, making you spasm into his mouth. Your vision blurred as your whole body shook in pleasure reaching the highest peak of your orgasim . “Nete-“ broken moans left your mouth, but the man didn’t let up. He kept his tongues pace, licking you clean.

As you body stilled and you unclenched around Neteyam fingers, you felt him slowly kiss your velvet lips. “So good, Y/n. My beautiful girl. Tastes better than any food Eywa has created.” You didn’t have the strength to do anything but look down at him through your blurry eyes. Neteyam pulled out his fingers making you instantly feel empty. Hearing your whimpers, the warrior smiled cheekily, then took his fingers into his mouth licking them clean, of the juices.

“Neteyam.” Your voice became breathless as you watched him moan around your taste. “Kiss me.” He smiled down at you as he crawled over your body, pressing kisses here and there, before finally reaching your lips. Neteyam felt your shaky legs underneath him as he gave you a wet open mouth kiss.

You clenched your fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to you. Neteyam moaned into your mouth, letting his member rut against your lower stomach. Feeling his hard member, you slid a hand towards his loincloth, pulling at the material until it was unraveled from his body, letting his cock fall onto your warm skin. “Neteyam, I want a taste.” You mumbled against his lips making him pull back with hunger still in his dark eyes. “Please s’not fair, I don’t get a taste either.”

“I guess, I can’t fight that logic.” Neteyam laughed out cheekily, placing a peck to your lips before crawling off you, to stand on his knees, and being the gentleman he is. He helped you onto yours as well, then pushed you to sit back on your heals. Slowly, he began to stand, but very quickly realized that his legs were wobbly. He wasn’t going to show you that so instead, he grabbed your cheek in his hand to keep him steady.

The way you just loved having this man tower over you. You loved knowing he was in control, maybe it was pathetic but you truly didn’t care. You leaned into his touch finally getting a good look of his cock. It stood tall, jerking in the air desperate for any kind of attention. Looking at the pinkish purple tip, you trailed your daze down the blue shaft. Your eyes lingered onto the fluorescent bright dots that covered his beautiful skin.

“Such a pretty cock,” you said making Neteyam moan out moving his thumb over to your lips. He pulled your bottom lip down, making you part your lips. Allowing him to pull your mouth towards his glisten tip.

Neteyam’s hand moved from your cheek, to the back of your head. You stuck out your tongue letting his cock settle itself against your tongue. As the sensitive skin felt the soft surface of your tongue, it jumped up nudging your nose. The pair of you laughed at the moment, but it was cut short from you wrapping your hand around his girth; making your hand look so small. “Yawne, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” Your cheeks flushed at his words, making Neteyam jerk his hips at the sight. “I’m the lucky one Y/n so goddamn lucky.” You loved it when Neteyam used English curse words. It was making you feel the desire build in your core.

You jerked his dick once, before bringing your hand towards your mouth to lick your palm, then you returned your hand back on his shaft. You spat onto his cock, then took his tip into your mouth sucking down, loving the sweet and musky taste, that his precum was providing you. “Fuck, babygirl. Take care of me so good.” As you jerked the bottom half of his shaft, and continued to suck, and lick his tip. You brought your other hand to wipe the juices that had ran down your inner legs, collecting it in your hand. You even brought your hand up to your cunt, collecting a pool of the salvia/cum mixture.

You pulled off the warrior with a pop, looking up at him with big eyes and a big dopey smile with flushed cheeks that Neteyam loves so much. He watched with lustful eyes as he saw the wetness in your hand. “Come on, babygirl. Don’t make me wait.” You wrapped your hand around the tip, twisting firmly down his shaft, reaching the base then gliding it back up completely soaking his cock with your juices. “Fuck.” He moaned out so you jerked his dick a few more times before tilting it up, so you could lick a line from the base of his balls, to the base of his shaft, trailing up towards his tip. You tapped the mushroom tip along your tongue a couple times before taking him in your mouth fully. “Yawne, it’s too good.”

Neteyam didn’t want to cum in your mouth. He wanted all of his semen to paint your walls. He held you in place for a brief second before pulling you off him, loving the gasping sounds that escaped your lips in a frenzy. “I need to cum inside you Y/n. I need to cum in your pussy.” His mouth went back towards your lips. “Can I do that yawne?” You moaned out nodding your head desperately, taking his thumb in your mouth swirling it around eagerly. Neteyam pulled his thumb away from your mouth to cup your face with both of his hands, then bent down to press a kiss to your swollen wet lips. “So good to me, yawne. I’m gonna prove to you why Eywa put us together.” Neteyam bite down on your bottom lip before pulling away to grab your hands in his. He kissed your cheek before pulling your queues away making you feel so empty.

“Neteyam.” You whimper out not liking that he was walking away from your line of sight to walk behind you.

“Gotta fuck out any doubt that you might have.” His hand caressed the back of your skin, slightly pushing you to lay on your stomach.

“No doubts, Teyam.” You whimper out pressing the palms of your hands against the soft mossy soil. Your cheek rested against the dirt while your hips remained in the air. He liked that response, tapping his cock against the curve of your ass you jerked back with a moan. “Neteyam, please fuck me. Fill me up.” You wiggled your hips trying to show him how desperate he made you. “You know you want to.” Neteyam dropped his head back then knelt down on his knees pressing his tip against your wet folds. “Please, Teyam. Pleassseee.”

The warrior spread your folds, to tap the tip of his cock against your clit, making you clenched around nothing. “She’s so desperate for me.” Neteyam slowly slipped his pink tip into your heat causing the both of you to moan at the sensation. “And she always takes me so good.” You didn’t know if he was talking about you or your pussy and you didn’t care.

Neteyam grabbed your queue giving it a soft tug making you arch your back to take him fully, but the man only allowed just the tip to enter your heat. He had to compose himself before pounding into you. He wanted to feel you, so he grabbed his queue from behind his shoulders, to bring it to yours preforming Tsaheylu. Both of you let out loud moans, and Neteyam finally slipped his cock deep into your warm walls, stopping when he felt that familiar soft spot within your abdomen. Your mouth opened as you felt him readjust himself to set a nice pace.

“So big.” You whisper out so quietly, thinking that Neteyam didn’t heard you; but he did. It made his member throb from need, even with it being buried deep inside of you.

“And all yours, yawne.” His hands gripped onto your hips as he began to pound into you, in a steady pace that had you moaning like a animal in heat. “Take me so well.” Your vagina clenched around his cock, creating such a delicious friction. “That’s right, Y/n squeeze my cock again.” Of course, you listened to your mate and clenched around even tighter.

The sounds of your skin slabbing against one another echoed through the forest along with both of your sounds of pleasure. “Neteyam,” you moaned out as you felt him kiss you shoulder blade pressing himself more into you but his thrusting never stopped. He was relentless with you, and you loved every second of it. “So good. Oh, oh, oh my-” your words got caught in your throat as he slipped a hand under your body, to reach in between your legs, to rub circles onto your swollen clit.

Pleasure rippled through both of your body’s as you grinded your hips back into his thrusts. “Fuck babygirl. You feel so good.” Pounding into you, hitting that soft spot had you squeezing around him, convulsing around his thick member. “Oh yeah.” Neteyam placed his hands, on the either side of your head into the dirt while his thrusts met with your movements, causing his mind to get in his foggy state.

Your tight pussy and the way you were fucking him back had Neteyam slowly loose control. He placed kisses along the back of your neck sucking and licking your sweet skin. His hips snapped into yours with such force you could feel that familiar coil in your deep abdomen. “Neteyam,” you moaned out tightening around him again. “Take such good care of me.” Your words were muffled by sharp teeth sinking into your skin. A squeal escaped your lips making Neteyam pull away to lick his mark clean. He wanted everyone to know who you belong to.

“My babygirl’s taking me so well.” The muscles in your stomach tighten as he continued to pound into you hitting that one spot.

“Teyam, I’m so close.” Hearing the broken tones in your voice, Neteyam slid an arm around your neck, resting your chin in the junction of his arm and picked up his pace against your clit then began to slam his hips into you just a little harder, feeling his cock enter into another space in your stomach make you chock out a moan. “So full.”

Feeling the way you squeezed around him and how wet your pussy was, Neteyam was on the break of spilling his load into you, but he wanted you to cum first. “Talk to me babygirl, you almost there?” He was thrusting into you without any mercy making it so hard for you to catch a breathe. Your mouth parted while tears leaked down your closed eyes onto your flushed cheeks.

You couldn’t speak as this overwhelming pleasure washed over you. Broken moans left your mouth and you clamped down onto Neteyam’s massive length making it so hard for him to keep moving. But he just fucked into you harder chasing his own high after yours. His mouth went towards your shoulder applying another bite onto your salty skin. You moaned out as his teeth punctured into you soft blue complexion. You loved knowing he wanted everyone to know you were his. That he was proud to stake his claim on you.

Neteyam continued to rut into you, but at a much slower pace, to feel your pleasure through the bond. You both let out moans as love spread through your emotions. The warrior dropped his tight hold on your neck and his other hand slipped away from your soaked pussy. He licked away the juices before slowly caressing the back of your head to tilt your face towards his waiting lips. The kiss was sweet and it expressed so much love. Neteyam pulled away from you to see your fucked out face. Sweat and dirt littered your flushed face making something stir in Neteyam’s chest. “Yawne, you were so good for me. Took me so good.” You hummed at his words only to let out a tiny squeak as he thrusted into you slowfully before pulling out. You felt so empty, but he didn’t disconnect the bond, which you loved more than anything. Carefully, the boy laid on his side caressing his fingers over your dirty skin.

The once bright sky had darkened but with the amount of stars in the sky made it easy for the man to see the darker blue stripes on your skin, for him to trace. Neither of the Na’vi cared to wonder why these ‘stars�� were moving. You both still seemed to be in this dazed state.

Although stars were present in the sky, the lights floating above you were atokirina, or woodsprites. They were dancing around the two of you, as if in celebration of something.

“Y/n, I’m gonna let you rest for a moment then I’m gonna kiss all over your body, and make you cum for the third or fourth time tonight.” You let out an aired giggle as you turned your face to meet his still darken eyes. “Then my love,” he leaned forward to press a kiss on your forehead making more woodsprite’s float in a circle around the two of you. “I’ll carry you to that small waterfall by that area where you completed your first hunt, and I’ll wash the dirt off you.” You moaned as he continued to press kisses on your face. “Then once your all nice and clean babygirl. I’ll make a nice area for us to rest by the water cause I know how peaceful water sounds are for you.” Finally, Neteyam pressed his lips to yours desperately trying to show you how much love he has for you. “I was made for loving you, Y/n.”

“Neteyam, I was the one who was made for loving you.” Before you could react, you and Neteyam both jerked your heads to look down at your bodies, feeling the light touches of Atokirina jumping on your skin. The overwhelming feeling washed over both of you as you watched the woodsprites jump from each other's bodies.

As you both turned away from the seedlings to look into each other's eyes, it was a beautiful feeling knowing that you found your person. Your eyes remained open as you leaned into each other for a simple kiss, then pulled away to savor the moment. You understood what Eywa was saying and what she wanted you to see. It was right in front of you, in the form of a mighty warrior.

Not gonna lie idk how I feel about this guys. Let me know how you feel about this imagine.

~ Caroline

#neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam x y/n #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam

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boundinparchment · 1 year ago

Text

Blasphemous Rumors - VI

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. RATING MATURE, TO CHANGE; MINORS DNI. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

It apparently already had, judging by the silence that dominated the carriage ride the following morning.

A maid had seen to the heavy drapes just as you were sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. For a moment, you forgot about your attire (or lack thereof) and your face grew hot at the servant’s giggle when she reconvened with her coworker, who was setting up breakfast in the other room.

You caught an exchange about a rumpled bed and briefly, you turned your head to note that last night gave the proper appearance of a wedding night well-spent. At least your brief encounter had been useful in some regard.

And now, several hours later, you were still en route to who knew where. The snow had given way to lush highlands some hours prior, the hills green and teeming with wildlife. Lord Dottore never told you where you would be spending the next few weeks, just that he made arrangements based on a selection of the Tsaritsa’s holdings. Your boss gave you a wide smile of unfortunate reassurance; Lord Dottore had done something correctly.

The only thing keeping your mind at ease was the knowledge that, even this far away from the Palace, it would be silly to attempt to kill you. For this agreement between you to work, you had to be seen and known. Therefore, it was beneficial to him to keep you alive.

You passed through a town, the people lively and the houses painted bright. The air here felt a little warmer and flowers crawled up trellises, spilled out of window boxes. It almost passed for Mondstadt, what you recalled of it. No one here seemed as carefree as they were in the nation of Anemo but the Tsaritsa’s gaze did not travel here; the instant their eyes caught sight of the carriage, backs straightened and heads lowered but it was not the same deference afforded in the main city.

Lord Dottore had spoken little other than a compulsory morning greeting. He had one ankle settled over a knee and a book open, the pages worn and the spine cracked. Most of the ride consisted of regular intervals of page-turning and muttering. But now, you could sense his hidden gaze was on you as you looked out the carriage window.

“You look as though you’ve never left the Palace,” he quipped.

“Usually such travel is by ship,” you replied, eyes glued to the window. “I only saw photographs of this region but they don’t do it justice.”

If you looked at him, you knew you would recall last night in startingly detail again. You were acutely aware of a distinct sensation between your legs and while that had not been the driving force behind why you straddled him, it was a consequence that lingered longer than preferred. He hit the nail on the head about being needy and the second he knew, a good chunk of leverage was gone.

But to not make eye contact would be rude. Make the entire thing more awkward. You never avoided his gaze before and you couldn’t start now.

You tore your gaze away from the passing buildings and looked across the carriage at your husband. He was dressed more casually than you initially thought, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his cravat gone, and the first two buttons of his shirt undone. In your several years of working with him and every Segment, you never once saw bare skin from him that was not just a portion of his face. Fleetingly, you wondered what it would feel like to press your lips against his collarbone and you wished you had been brave enough last night to try.

“It’s far greener than anyone gives it credit for,” you said.

The extra second that lingered sent a jolting throb through you. You schooled your features and returned your attention to the window when you received nothing more than a hum of acknowledgement.

Maybe he should kill you after all, you mused. At least then you wouldn’t have lingering thoughts about his lips and how warm he had been beneath you.

Thankfully, the carriage stopped just on the outskirts of the town, just past a checkpoint with Fatui presence. Your destination was just far enough away on foot that it was possible to walk into town, if one wished or had need to.

Lord Dottore climbed out first (he couldn’t get out quickly enough) and helped you out of the carriage. As soon as your feet touched the ground, his hand was gone from yours, as if touching you was tantamount to setting himself on fire.

Your heart gave a little squeeze as your eyes settled on, not a large manor as would have been fitting, but a stone cottage a little further down the hill, close to the beach. Still larger than the convention, the building looked as if it had been there for centuries. It was made of the same rounded, uneven stones as the wall surrounding the property, with a gable roof and several chimneys. Cozy. And if the arrangements were made by anyone else, romantic might have come to mind.

You tried not to think about how the aquamarine of your ring matched almost perfectly to the shutters flanking every window.

Lord Dottore stood next to you, neck craned back, seemingly examining the sky. You swallowed as your eyes traced his Adam’s apple. He looked every part relaxed and casual, a Harbinger without most of his trappings finally on vacation to anyone with an untrained eye.

Just before his attention was stolen by the driver and the house’s caretaker, he said, “You may want to stop gawking and head inside, my dear, before it rains. Unless you wish to be drenched.”

You hadn’t missed the way the corner of his lips quirked as you turned and made your way down to the house, gravel crunching underfoot.

The rest of the house was as expected and contained all the additional amenities expected of a property owned by an Archon. It retained its charm in the exposed trestles and plaster walls, in the stonework fireplaces and wooden floors. When it wasn’t raining, you could imagine the cool breeze passing through open windows, a reprieve from the icy chill of the western capitol and its mountains.

A pang ran through you as you felt the familiar sensation of wood grain against bare feet and heard the crack of a lot in the fireplace. For a moment, you swore you smelled your mother’s cooking.

Were they okay, you wondered. Had the money arrived on time? Were they properly prepared for the rest of the winter?

You smiled and greeted the housekeeper when she spotted you, your mind split between making sure you said the right thing and filing away important thoughts for when you were alone.

Or as alone as one could be as a Harbinger’s wife.

She showed you around the house and introduced you to the cook. The staff lived outside of the main house, she said, but were connected to the network of bells that ran through the property; if anything was required, they would be notified.

“Your Lord Husband has offered to replace the system for Her Majesty many times but the Tsaritsa prefers the less intrusive system of pullies and bells,” the housekeeper remarked. “Nothing can fail if the power grid is offline.”

Out here, the lights were dimmer and many things still relied on burning wood for the oven or heating. There was a charm to it, a reminder of the world outside of Sneznhaya’s great technological achievements.

The first floor contained the usual spaces of a dining room and sitting room. A secluded sandy alcove was accessible only through the set of glass double doors tucked into a far wall, out of the way. The house seemed to have been built with the cliffside in mind, the side of the building meeting the cliff to provide shelter from the rain. It afforded a private pathway into the house from the shore or even a small hideaway. Supposedly, the best sun rises could be seen only from there.

You were shown two smaller bedrooms on the second floor, tidy and spartan. The owner suite and its attached washroom and study were last; your things were already neatly arranged at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, my lady.”

The floors creaked gently underfoot as the housekeeper bowed and left you to your own devices in the larger bedroom. Rain pelted the windows and absorbed the remaining silence as you took in the exposed dark beams and furniture.

And the bed. Intended for two.

Your eyes drifted to the couch in the study. While the maids had found you properly disheveled this morning, this house was smaller and the staff much more loyal, that much was clear. You would at least have to truly sleep next to one another to make this convincing.

A frown tugged at your lips and you pushed it away quickly as you brought your attention back to your awaiting belongings.

Unpacking took far less time than you expected it to (although you weren’t sure why). It wasn’t as if you owned all that many clothes. In hindsight, you wished Lord Dottore told you about the climate of where you were going. At least you had enough dresses to cycle through, you supposed.

Lord Dottore’s things, as sparse as yours, glared at you in the dim light of the room. Were you expected to unpack for him? Did he do that himself? Or did a servant? You ran your fingers over the latches and found a hidden lock.

That answered that, then. So much for snooping.

When you returned downstairs, you heard a distinct timber mixing with the cook’s voice. You rounded the corner and went down the hall to find Lord Dottore kneeling on the floor, his entire upper half stuck into the open oven. He retreated and stood in one smooth motion before he turned a knob in the oven’s control panel. The distinct smell of fuel hit your senses and you heard a soft woosh.

“That one should last longer, at the very least,” Lord Dottore drawled as he stepped back. “The ignitor is easy enough to replace but it would be more efficient and befitting of Her Majesty if—”

From your vantage point in the doorway, the cook smiled and waved a hand; such a gesture anywhere in the Palace would be inexcusable and yet neither of them flinched.

As they walked over to the storage rooms, they said, “Yes, Lord Harbinger, but the food would taste different and no one would be thankful for that!”

Your husband’s striking profile was broken only by the ghost of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. When he turned, you hated how your heart tugged at the sight of his upturned lips; the moment was stolen when lightning cracked and took the lights with a distinctive pop, the house going dark.

“Never a dull moment?” you whispered, unable to hide the single huff of laughter that escaped you.

“Out here, I certainly can never complain of being bored,” Lord Dottore replied.

He moved instinctively and closed the distance between you, his mask’s beak grazing your nose in the darkness. His breath was hot on your lips when he spoke.

“Between your antics and the house, dorogáya moya, I think I’ll be quite occupied.”

You didn’t miss his low chuckle when he stepped around you and left the kitchen, lips grazing your cheek.

Dinner was late but truly made you question the skills of the Palace’s kitchen staff. Or perhaps it was just the fact that you’d eaten so little throughout the day. Either way, the food was delicious.

And the bed was soft, warm. Too warm.

Or maybe you just weren’t used to sleeping next to someone.

“We’re adults, are we not?” your husband had said. “Unless you intend to accost me again.”

“Who was the one who cut my cheek with a letter opener?”

“Oh, please. You can hardly see the scar.”

Words came so easily when you were alone, just like they did when you were in your office bickering over line items. But you shouldn’t, couldn’t, push your luck. You still needed to be able to gather information and if you weren’t careful, you’d be doing this all for nothing. Or rather, strictly for his benefit.

And the last thing you wanted was to help a Fatui Harbinger.

If you moved the wrong way, your foot brushed his. He was so tall that, when he curled up, his knees or feet encroached on your half. Heat radiated from his side and you did everything you could to resist the urge to draw closer. Nights in Snezhnaya were cold, no matter where one was on a map, and with the onslaught of rain, a chill lingered that never seemed to die.

His feet, perfectly warm and with proper circulation clearly, found your frigid ones by accident as you drifted off. You heard the displeased grunt from the other side of the bed but he didn’t pull away; he arranged his feet around yours with a huff before he muttered something in a language you didn’t know. The words tickled your neck.

You swallowed and tried to push away that disastrous ache from the carriage ride. Ridiculous. You were not this needy, not in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and certainly not when the Harbinger walked into your office.

Somehow, despite the trepidation and arousal that danced through your veins, you fell asleep.

And you woke to a dark gray pall of overcast, squeezing your thighs in hopes of taking the edge off the now brutal-throbbing.

The bed felt colder and you sat up and reached out a hand. The other side of the bed was empty, a ghost of the presence lingering in the sheets. He hadn’t been away long. But when he left the bedroom the night of the wedding, he hadn’t returned and Lord Dottore didn’t seem one for much sleep.

When you didn’t hear the floorboards creak for a minute or two, nor see any faint light, you carefully delved and you let your fingers trace your sex. You went rigid when you felt how wet you were. Of all times and circumstances…nothing was appealing about this situation in the slightest, you needed to keep a clear head, and yet your body craved release? Seriously?

It was nothing you couldn’t give yourself, of course. One of the joys of a private room in the Palace dorms had been no one overhearing or accidentally catching eye contact with you.

Your eyes locked with the bedroom door. Ajar.

But this never took long…

You bit your lip to keep a gasp at bay when you got your knees and pushed in a single finger, and then another, hot velvet wrapping around your digits. Your other hand joined, middle finger finding your clit with practiced ease as you pumped, finding a familiar rhythm. Soft pants mingled with the wet slick sounds that only made you buck your hips, demanding more of yourself.

A flash of the previous night flitted across your vision when you closed your eyes. For a moment, the memory tore itself apart and became something else, Lord Dottore’s body hard and hot atop yours, and instead of pulling away, he lifted your legs and—

Your mouth ripped open in a silent scream as you stroked the perfect spot, shuddering and clenching hard around your fingers. That only seemed to make the ache worse and you pushed yourself over the edge twice more for good measure.

You stiffened at a sound in the hallway just as the third orgasm washed away. One of the stairs, you surmised. Another followed and you darted out of bed and towards the washroom.

Good thing, too, you thought, as your eyes met your reflection.

Messy hair was one thing but your face bore every tell-tale sign of what you had been doing. Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, inability to catch your breath. There was no mistaking this for waking from a nightmare, that was certain.

The shower was a better place for future refuge, you realized, your gaze drifting to the glass and tile. Or the bath…that tub looked perfect for a long soak…

You washed up and tried to press a cold washcloth to your face. After your wedding night, one of the last things you wanted was to be seen with an afterglow; it would prove Lord Dottore right and likely insult him, even if he said that he was not interested in a perfect stranger. It was the polite thing to do, wasn’t it?

Not that his opinion mattered but you couldn’t blatantly display how little you truly cared for the whole façade. Not when you’d only begun.

Satisfied that you looked sufficiently normal, you returned to the bedroom to find a steaming cup of coffee on your bedside, along with a note.

Don’t take too long. Unless, of course, you enjoy breakfast cold.

Several days into the stay, you rounded a corner one afternoon only to bump straight into Dottore himself. Instead of colliding, he turned slightly and your back met the cool plaster wall, a hair’s width between the two of you as his hands rested on your hips. Enough space for him to officially say he wasn’t touching you anywhere else but, at a glance, would fool anyone.

“Are you always this careless, dorogáya moya? Do you bump into Palace walls on a regular basis?”

The tip of his mask scratched your nose and you scrunched your face at the sensation.

“Do you, my lord?” you threw back, angling your head in an obnoxious attempt to see beneath the face covering. “After all, I’m not the one with my eyes covered.”

“I see perfectly fine, thank you.”

Dottore pulled up to his full height and looked down at you, your vantage point gone. You’d caught a glimpse of his nose, aquiline in shape, but nothing else. For a moment, you imagined the lower portion of his mask gone and wondered why, of all things, he hid that along with his eyes. His profile was probably quite striking…

Perfect for striking fear into people’s hearts, you dolt. Get a grip!

You didn’t reply but he didn’t pull away either. The heat emanating from him was overwhelming, a sharp contrast to the cool wall behind you. For a man so calculated, who spent most of his time in freezing temperatures down in his laboratories, he ran warm. Too warm. Was he sick?

What did you care, you asked yourself. The man deserved to be a little under the weather once in a while after all of the headaches he caused you. In fact, considering he was so crucial to several of your own employer’s plans, you hoped he was sick.

Before you could get another word out of your mouth, Dottore tilted his head and captured your lips with his in one swift motion. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, and one reached for your neck to keep your head angled up at him. Without prompting, his tongue grazed your lips and as soon as you gasped at the sensation, all you could taste was him.

This was nothing like the kiss on your wedding day. That had been gentle, efficient, chaste.

Your head spun as your hands reached for something, anything, as Dottore’s tongue brushed yours in exploratory hunger. Breathless, your fingers found purchase in the fabric of his shirt and he pinned you against the wall, hips pressing into you.

That infernal aching need seared through you, your body betraying you. No, not again.

When you pulled away, gasping for air, he had the gall to laugh. It was a low rumble that sat in his chest and vibrated against you. He drank in your expression, his tongue pressed against his teeth as he gave a sharp-toothed grin.

Absolute bastard.

“Do be more careful next time,” he teased before he stole another kiss, teeth dragging against your bottom lip.

His hand let go of your neck and you stepped around him, aware of every nerve ending now screaming for more.

You didn’t look back as you continued the way you were going and returned upstairs.

In the privacy of a cold shower, you finished what both of you started.

Anyone else would have given in, you were certain; or at least anyone else would not have taken as long as you did beneath the water, scrubbing your skin until it was almost raw. He shouldn’t have touched you, shouldn’t have kissed you, shouldn’t have grinned like a victor over the spoils of a long day’s work.

And you shouldn’t have whispered his title as you came, wishing it was his fingers deep inside you instead.

You wished it got easier. You really did.

When the sun finally peered out from behind the clouds, you settled into the sand and spent an entire afternoon basking in the warmth. It was difficult if not impossible to ever get this up at the capitol and you were eager to soak in every ray you could.

Lord Dottore joined you one morning, his pants rolled up painstakingly, silently holding out a cup of coffee to you. You did a double-take but took the mug. It was too early for the cook to be awake; you knew the schedules by now. The sun was barely over the horizon, still pink with morning glow.

“Did you make this?” you asked softly, looking down into the scalding liquid.

Lord Dottore clicked his tongue as he shifted his weight and remained standing. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught his colors of choice for the day and was surprised to find he only wore a white shirt, gray waistcoat, and gray pants. Like what one of his younger Segments typically dressed in.

“You sound surprised that I’m capable of such a feat,” he replied, and you weren’t entirely certain that the bitterness of his words was entirely playful. “I was planning on going into town today. A change of pace. You can mail those letters that have been piling up; no doubt your parents want to hear from you.”

He made it sound as if you had an obnoxious stack of letters; in reality, it was only three. Two for your parents and one for the Tsaritsa, full of thank you’s and kind regards for allowing you the use of one of her summer homes, no matter how humble.

As planned, you had nothing else to send, nothing else written. You could not risk a paper trail, not here when the two of you were expected to be together most of the time, and where most of the staff were loyal to the Tsaritsa Herself.

There was not much information to send anyway. Dottore took his Harbinger meetings or any important missives at the guard house, away from you and away from staff who might eavesdrop. If you were going to gather any intel, it would not be on your honeymoon.

The view of the town when you first arrived had been beautiful and now that the weather was favorable, you had no doubt that the flowers would be brighter and the hills more vibrant.

“That sounds like a great idea. I wouldn’t mind looking around if you can spare the time. I rarely get to do much else when I travel other than stare at spreadsheets,” you replied. “Unless you think—”

“It is time I allotted, and therefore it is not expensive,” Dottore deadpanned. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

You took a thoughtful sip of coffee before you looked back up at him.

“Not in this lifetime and probably not the next.”

He sighed dramatically and his head lolled back. “Married for all of two weeks and already haunting me. What a dutiful spouse you’re turning out to be.”

You masked a laugh with the rim of your cup and you swore you caught his head turn to you, watching you. When you glanced towards him, Dottore was looking out towards the ocean again, one hand in his pocket.

“We’ll leave after breakfast,” he said, and turned away, trudging carefully through the sand back to the house.

Once you ate, the two of you made your way off the property, gravel crunching under your boots as you walked to the guardhouse where a carriage stood. The ride itself was uneventful, quiet, except for the occasional interjection about local landscape. You drew closer to town and the air changed, suddenly filled with the familiar scents of baked bread and spun sugar along with damp hay.

Back home, you would have smelled charcoal and roasting meats, along with the distinct tang of fish.

Once you left the carriage, you took Lord Dottore’s hand in your left and interlaced your fingers with his. Your rings glinted in the morning sun. His breath caught for the slightest moment when your palm pressed against his. When you cast a look up at him, he appeared no different than he usually did.

Everywhere you looked was in bloom, flowerboxes overflowing with blossoms. Cobble-paved roads made for easy traversal and, bundle of letters clutched in your other hand, you tried to keep the excitement from bubbling over.

Not even an artist’s rendition could capture the hum of people flitting in and out of shops, pausing at stalls, children running through the streets. There was an energy here that did not exist in the capitol, where eternal winter ruled over all, and one’s duty never thawed.

You were pulled harshly at the last minute and you corrected your footing just as you almost rolled your ankle.

“Keep your wits about you while you admire the scenery, Accountant,” Dottore muttered. “I’m not carrying you if you break a leg.”

“I’ll be sure to make my fall look like an accident, then. Less paperwork for you.”

He let out a breath through his nose as you continued. Without much effort, you located a postal office and dropped off your letters.

“Did you have anything in particular you needed to do?” you asked. “After all, this was originally your plan.”

Dottore’s obscured gaze took in your surroundings and you wished you ripped off the mask the other day. You were always able to read him before when there was a desk between you. But now, it was like even his mouth expressions were foreign to you, indecipherable.

“There’s a bookstore nearby that might have something of interest to a recent project along with a bakery that serves a wide variety of international treats I would prefer to visit last. Other than those, I had no other intentions.”

“Bookstore first, then,” you held out your other hand in a gesture, silently asking him to lead the way.

He found what he was looking for and then some, the bookseller startled when they looked up at the counter to find one of their first customers of the day to be a Fatui Harbinger. You grabbed a recently published novel on a whim, written by an individual you’d never heard of before but bearing a Fontainian publisher seal. Without so much as asking, Dottore plucked the book from your hand and placed it atop the pile.

“I wasn’t certain if I—”

“You’ve been reading the same book twice lately. Don’t be ridiculous, my dear.”

You weren’t even certain you would like the novel but to protest any further was poor manners and drew unnecessary attention to an otherwise kind action, you reminded yourself. So instead, you stepped closer and took his arm, resting your head against his bicep.

As you wove your way through the streets, you stopped in a clothing boutique. There were plenty of nice garments, soft scarves, fur-lined hats, and you tried to be demure when the shopkeeper spotted Lord Dottore and put two and two together. Everything was of fine quality and more than once, you reached out a hand to stop him from reaching for his wallet every so often.

“I will pay for what I want,” you whispered.

“It’s hardly trouble when Pantalone will give me grief for me not spending mora on this trip.”

“Please.”

You did not want to be indebted to him, not when you had your own money, and not when you hardly had need of anything new to begin with. The idea of working for the very man responsible for draining your parents’ coffers was abysmal enough; you tried not to openly balk at the idea of Dottore spending his mora on you and having to be reminded of the fact every time you wore something.

His jaw clenched but he relented nonetheless.

The thing about living the way you did was that you knew where and how to spend your leftover mora when you had it. If you saved up, you could afford a pair of boots that would last for years or a lined coat that was pre-waxed for extra warmth. Money on clothes was never ill-spent unless it was something poorly made.

And while you didn’t have much to your name, you had enough to splurge on a few new items. Maybe even a gift for your parents. They could always use extra blankets…

Your senses were discerning; you ran fabrics between your fingers and asked about the materials. At the perfumer, you asked to compare the raw materials to the finished product (but not without including Dottore in the decision, given he would have to be around you if you wore it).

Overall, you came away with a new dress, a few skirts and blouses for work, a perfume, and a down blanket for your parents.

More than once, you felt eyes on you that didn’t belong to any shopkeeper or fellow guest.

As requested, you stopped by the bakery last, although you questioned your husband’s logic when the line was to the door. Pastries and baked goods lined the displays and you smiled at the overwhelming smell of cinnamon and butter. Sfogliatelle, fresh from the cooling rack and dusted with powdered sugar and rugelach caught your eye and your stomach grumbled.

No, in hindsight, Dottore’s logic made perfect sense. It was impossible to enter this place and not be hungry.

You didn’t catch what your husband ordered but when he turned to you, you couldn’t help but ask for your favorites.

As the server went to assemble your order, you caught Dottore looking at you, lips pursed. Of all the expressions from that day, you knew this one quite well: you puzzled him and he was keen to understand more.

“What did you order?” you asked.

“Didn’t I say to keep your wits about you, dorogáya moya?”His lips tugged into a smug smile. “You’ll have to wait until after dinner to find out.”

It wasn’t until after dinner, when both of you were settled into the sitting room over a chess board, that the box from the bakery made its reappearance with evening drinks of choice.

Chess was often another way the two of you spent time together, especially when the weather turned tumultuous every so often. He beat you every time, with a sole exception; it would be the only exception, he said with a smile that made the scar on your cheek burn.

Tonight would be no different. The board was prepared and just like every other night, the opposing Queen seemed to wink at you as if it knew your secrets.

“Close your eyes,” Dottore said as he pulled at the red and white strings wrapped around the box.

When you didn’t comply and instead raised an eyebrow for explanation, he gave you a thin-lipped smile with a hint of teeth.

“Humor me, dear wife. And remember I gain little from poisoning you.”

“Fine,” you said, closing your eyes.

You heard the box open and the rustle of wax paper as something was pulled out. The smell of sugar and nuts danced in the air but you couldn’t quite place where you knew it from. Against your lips, you felt something sticky.

“Open.”

When you did, you tasted flaky dough and fresh honey; everything exploded in your mouth when you took a bite and rolled around the layer of nuts against your tongue. You knew this, grew up with this.

“Baklava?” you asked, cracking open an eye after you swallowed.

“Specifically Sumerian baklava,” Dottore clarified. “Ajilenakh Nut rather than the usual pistachio and layered instead of rolled. Your version is too close to so many other desserts visually. Messier, too.”

By your version, you assumed he meant the Sneznhayan method of occasionally rolling servings of baklava, as some regions were wont to do.

“The honey is different,” you replied. “Less floral. I like it. Is there no other bakery in the capitol that makes it that way?”

“Some try but they never get the right balance. It’s too oily, more often than not.”

You watched as your husband finished off the piece he gave you, meticulous with crumbs as well as his now-sticky hand. He jerked his head in the direction of the box off to the side, nestled near your evening tea.

“I ordered enough for both of us in the event you liked it.”

“Thank you.”

No one needed two hands to play chess but you found it amusing to watch as Dottore worked the board with a single hand, his other hovering over the box, unwilling to get crumbs everywhere.

“I find it quite interesting that you take awfully long showers as of late,” he noted absently.

Both of you stepped away to wash away the lingering sticky sugar and only just returned. You schooled your face. Where was this going? Was he going to subject you to another round of embarrassing realization that your drive was pointless?

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to intrude on another’s bathing habits?” you shot back as you settled back into your seat.

“Simply an observation.”

“It’s an odd observation,” you volleyed. “What do you want to hear, that I waste hot water while I style my hair and pretend to be a Fontainian rockstar?”

You disliked how your heart skipped when you caught the corner of his mouth tug ever so slightly. If he didn’t find it amusing, he wouldn’t have reacted at all.

Why was he keeping track of your habits like that? Thankfully, the rest of the conversation veered towards work and you relaxed considerably.

“So what exactly is it you do when you aren’t balancing my budgets?”

He positioned a rook in perfect alignment without even thinking twice. You assessed the board. Your bishop had a few options, none of them consequential…the queen was a possibility…

“Auditing, mostly. Especially when it comes to tracking the nation’s cashflow. Multiple people rotate through every quarter but we look for logical patterns, find abnormalities, high thresholds, the like.”

“What kind of patterns, exactly? Outliers exist, after all. How do you identify a one-off instance versus a larger pattern with a story?”

The question felt as if he was holding a knife to your gut, prepared to not only stab but twist for good measure. He was a scientist. Wouldn’t he know exactly how statistics and numbers worked, how to identify trends?

If this was a meeting with Lord Pantalone, you would dance around the question. He knew the industry, knew how the workflow was meant to be; he invented it, after all. But you were stuck with Dottore and such things were…well…how daft would it look if someone asked him about your job and he shrugged?

You were taking too long, weren’t you? Too much hesitation and…

Your hand plucked your bishop from its safe place and positioned it near Dottore’s rook.

“There seems to be an increase in the amount of money leaving Snezhnaya,” you said at last. “Specifically from older families in the noble class but also…rich merchants without titles. And not moving it from one branch of Northland to the other, either. Just…withdrawals. And that’s strange because it’s been happening for the better part of a year but no single branch is reporting any shortages.”

Dottore titled his head up and say back in his chair the way he did after you pointed out the cashflow issues when he asked for advances on his budgets. He pondered on your words the way a dog chewed a bone and you realized, stomach stinking, something about this was off.

Because if that was true, if Pantalone knew, he would have taken action and made the others aware.

But your husband looked as if this was the first time he was hearing it. A cat with a ball of yarn.

“It would seem we’re returning to interesting circumstances, then, dorogáya moya."

It’s a shame to waste all of this on a mere bet. She outdid herself in all her planning, from the colors chosen to her dress, to the careful seating arrangements. If no one else was convinced prior, a good portion of people would be swayed by this display alone.

Everything reflected what it was intended to.

Dramatic flairs without the striking terror.

All things considered, that she did this willingly is commendable; it would only be fair to make this entire arrangement as painless as possible.

After all, one usually only gets a single wedding over the course of their life.

She was stunning, the exact image expected of her when she walked down the aisle or flitted around the party, practically floating despite the weight of her dress. And precisely because of that, I was under no impression that she would attempt anything beyond her public duty.

Even now, I am uncertain where, precisely, she obtained those garments.

To say she isn’t attractive would be like denying the sky’s color but I never once understood the point of hiding such matters. But when she strode into the bedroom and took it upon herself to sit atop me, my eyes could not remove themselves from the way the fabric clung to her skin, how the silk and lace hid the perfect parts of her that made me all the more curious…

Such base impulses had no place in this matter. I only needed her long enough to secure my win against Pantalone; to hold other expectations would be to create a bias that would ruin anything tangible that might be possible.

Besides, there was no fun in sleeping with a stranger. I never quite understood that one, despite numerous experiments on the matter. It was far more rewarding and insightful to couple with another you knew, at least in some capacity. One could argue that I do know her but never before I did want to shove away everything on her desk and—

Well, I certainly didn’t deserve that opportunity; I didn’t deserve anyone, especially someone willingly hovering over my body as if they understood what I wanted.

Who in their right mind would want me, after all?

Perhaps that hadn’t been the kindest choice but it was the best one. Even if it meant seeing her struggle with herself on the entire ride out of the city.

Would she like it, being this far out? Near the sea? It was far more private, easier to defend, and the townspeople generally loved the Tsaritsa when she visited. Instead of a large, imposing estate, I considered that perhaps something smaller and more remote might be the better alternative.

She fit right in, with the staff and the environment, like a puzzle piece missing for too long. The same can be said about her hand in mine. I am unaccustomed to being touched in any capacity and yet I find myself craving more every time we break apart…

Ridiculous. How am I meant to quantify these experiences?

She is needy, or perhaps I have been amongst myself for too long to understand the baseline existence of others. I woke that first night, unable to get back to sleep, and slipped out of the bedroom with every intention of making coffee and sitting with some of the formulas one of the Segments slipped into my luggage. It wasn’t as if we needed to wake up together and the staff wouldn’t be awake for a while.

But two mugs had been set out in preparation.

And she was an early riser.

It was the polite thing to do.

When I treaded back upstairs, careful to avoid the weakest spots in the wooden floor, I caught a glimpse of her head tossed back and the distinct sound and smell of arousal. There was no mistaking the slick, wet sound and the quiet gasps escaping her.

It should not have elicited the reaction from me that it did, my pants uncomfortably tight as the rhythmic sounds continued, uninterrupted. I stepped back, mindful of the floor, but it was impossible to ignore how soaked she was.

Would it have been abnormal for me to push the door open a little more, watch how she pleasures herself? Learn so that one day, if she ever begged, I could replace her fingers with mine? Or fill her to the brim and watch her eyes tear up with pleasure?

Her mouth was beautiful in that shape. I counted three times, cock twitching, before she became aware of herself again and left for the washroom.

Without thinking twice, I left the mug and a hastily scrawled note, and returned downstairs before she could be any wiser.

Lest she think her husband is a monster and a lecher. W hat she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt but she should have closed the door.

Sand is dreadful and, just as that morning’s sight was burned into my memories and seemed to be everywhere I looked, I could not escape the grains of sand in this gods-forsaken house.

In my notebooks. In my shoes. Everywhere. Anywhere.

But it was impossible to observe her when we’re apart. And so I must endure. Here I thought I’d have escaped the feeling of grains of sand in everything once I moved to this frozen tundra.

I disliked the beach but she never seemed to have trouble sitting for hours, reading, basking in the sun. She smelled of the sea when she came in.

Kissing her had been…nothing short of an impulsive opportunity. We didn’t make an effort to avoid one another but when she dared to look up at me, no traces of fear, words as sharp as daggers dancing on her tongue?

I would never silence her but she passed on her pointless need to me and it was distracting. If I did not want to see other results, other possibilities, I might have hiked up her skirts and goaded her into admitting her own desire. But there is more at stake here and I do not wish to see her begin to shrink at the sight of me.

Love is…hardly a matter of an equation and I do not believe it to be possible, not in this situation. Lust is expected, inevitable. Easy enough to fend off.

After all, there’s few reasons she would take that long in the shower. I’m just as culpable in that regard.

She is exacting, frugal to a fault. If she enjoys something, would it not be prudent to simply buy the thing, rather than spend fifteen minutes feeling fabrics to discern the make and quality? Others in her position would not make a choice and simply take everything.

Just like the book she clutched but protested against. Clearly something about it struck her mind and she was considering it. Why not just purchase the book and read it, then? So many people held back. But there is little point in doing so. What grand day is awaiting that one cannot use the special dishes? The fine pen and smooth parchment? There is a need for patience and a need for enjoyment and no one seems to have ever found a balance between the two.

Including my own wife, it seems.

But it made her happy, didn’t it?

To make the choices of what she enjoyed the most. She never felt like she made a terrible choice and she always wore a smile during the transaction, a smile that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen on her face. Certainly not before I impulsively asked for her hand.

And to include me in the choices? What did I matter when she would be the one wearing such things? Using them? I didn’t care.

Sharing the baklava might have, in hindsight, given the opposite impression. But it would be wrong to not offer something in return when she included me. Did one’s eyes always twinkle like that when they were taken with something? Did hers?

Awful, this feeling. Like my chest wants to explode.

She’s terrible at chess. Most are. Pierro is one of the few who actually provides any kind of challenge. The Accountant only managed to beat me once but in my defense, I was still recovering from that morning and could not bear looking at her lips too long.

What blasted absurdity. Couldn’t this have waited until a year into our marriage? There’s no making sense of any of this and it’s…

Oh, but that was quite something, that game.

Most would never hesitate to share their findings with a superior; Pantalone is almost as ruthless as I am when it comes to menials and important information. She hesitated over such a simple question that should have been quick to answer.

But instead she provided a specific example, made no mention of whether or not Regrator knew.

Did she assume it was a given? Or did she truly not report that finding? If so, why? Was it not hers to report?

Money leaving the country and circulating elsewhere was a normal occurrence and ensured the entirety of Teyvat’s economy didn’t collapse. But if too much was leaving the local economy and being used elsewhere…perhaps there was a distrust in Northland…in the Tsaritsa.

Less money circulating natively meant less money for Pantalone to draw from for my own funding. Nevermind the rest of the nation.

To hell with the rest of the nation, really. There’s little that cannot be done without the assistance of other nations anyway. Wherever the money is going, the Fatui has no shortage of enemies.

Perhaps Regrator’s embezzlement was becoming too obvious. His greed knows little bounds, a sentiment I can certainly understand under the lens of knowledge. Accumulating knowledge is as addicting as greed, perhaps could be argued to be a form of it.

And so if she brings it to Pantalone’s attention, she might, in fact, end up on the chopping block for it.

Precarious indeed.

Not just anyone gets to be in her position, however; background checks and certifications and several examinations are required. And she cannot afford to lose it, clearly, given what’s mentioned about her parents.

Keeping anything a secret was a larger liability than simply showing her supervisor her findings…

How did I miss that? Truly? How could I have lacked that much foresight?

It wasn’t as if she was hiding it very well.

I’ll send an order for a proper background check in the morning. Of all people, I should know better than to take sources at face-value.

#dottore x reader #il dottore #dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #fic: blasphemous rumors #arranged marriage #marriage of convenience #minors dni

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soupandsauce · 1 year ago

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Crush

Spider Socorro x Fem Reader

Summary: Spider has a crush. A big, fat, pandora sized crush.

Its always been her, even before he knew himself. It must have been Eywa who decided one fateful day, when the two children were born on the same day. One was born normally, with a loving mother to smile down at him. The other was born out of force, cut out of her mothers tummy after she died during the war. Months later, the other baby's mother died during the same war. It must have been Eywa's plan, even though it hurts them so, to live without parents. But in each other, they found a family, a chosen family.

Raised together by the scientists, the two grew up in science and nature. Their weeks consisted of echoing giggles throughout the lush forests and dirty footprints down the halls of the lab. Their hair grew into long manes, bleached from years in the bright sun. They painted their skin with blue stripes like the Na'vi.

Once they reached the age of seven, the scientists began to teach them to read and write. Then came science and math. The girl discovered that she was very skilled, joining the scientists during experiments as young as 14. Spider, however, did not take a liking to education. He found his subject to be the forest.

As they became older, their time together wasn't as often. Spider spent most of his time in the forest, hanging out with Lo'ak and Neteyam, while the girl spent most of her time in the lab, conducting tests and such. The two would connect every weekend, exploring the forest so she could collect samples and specimens.

When Spider turned 16, he started to feel different. He noticed changes in his body years before, but this feeling was new, and it was scary. It distracted him from everything and haunted him like a ghost.

He likes the girl.

this crush grew the next few years, Spider now being 20. His heart would beat out of his chest whenever he saw her enter a room. He would straighten his posture and tense up his muscles, making sure she knows he's strong. But inside, he felt weak, so very weak. She had him so good. He would stay up late most nights laying on his bed, staring at his ceiling while he imagined what it would be like to be with her. What it would feel like to kiss her. To hold her. He started to touch his body where he wanted her to. He started touching his cheek, where she would hold him softly. Then his lips, where she would kiss him. He did this every night until one night, he touched somewhere else, and that night he saw Eywa.

His cheeks were a deep shade of pink as he silently gasped. His lips were swollen and wet from how hard he had been biting them. He moved his hands down his belly, confused and needy, not knowing why he wanted your touch in such a weird spot.

"Y/n" He would whisper into his empty room.

He inched his hand lower, feeling his hips lift off of the bed as he peeled his loincloth off his sweaty skin. The poor baby was hard, and he didn't know what it meant. He swallowed in fear as he lifted his hand and hovered it over his throbbing cock. It twitched with need for her, so he touched it.

"Ohhhmmmmnggg." He mumbled incoherent words. The sensation being too much. It felt like he was so full of something that needed to come out, and he knew that if he kept touching there, it would come out. So he did.

Spider choked on his breaths, arching his back as he stroked his cock to the thought of her. He felt it coming, slowly building up until he couldn't hold it anymore, his legs shaking and squeezing shut as he felt himself let it out.

A loud moan fought itself out of his mouth as he released. Thick ropes of cum erupted from him, causing tears to fall from his eyes. The pleasure was heaven, fitting right with her since she's such an angel.

#avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar 2 smut #avatar fic #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #miles spider socorro #spider socorro headcannons #spider socorro smut #spider socorro x reader #spider x reader #spider x y/n

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officialrodimus · 2 months ago

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My Matrix tattoo w/ Roddy’s quote is DONE! I’ll get a better pic when it’s all healed, without ink smudges or my red irritated skin lol

(Original art by @lush-specimen)

#roddy talks #hot boy! hot boy!#transformers #maccadam #rodimus #hot rod #rodimus prime #holomatter avatar

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 8 months ago

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I've been dreaming of the Undersea Advisor.

In life, there are many variables to account for. Ah, but variables can be manipulated.

He remakes the world in his image.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

There are several little glass containers, lined up in a neat row, on his work bench. He is the master, and this is his craft: pocket dimensions, each with a different biome bottled.

Here is a lush garden with enchanted roses and caterpillars that blow smoke, and a savanna where miniature beasts race about. A desert with its own oasis--a massive scarab running amok, a regal castle he had painstakingly constructed with a pair of tweezers for a peacock no bigger than his thumb... He had even somehow managed to create a sleek building blinking blue lights and a crumbling chateau overrun with moss and bite-size bats.

His current project is a bowl of salt water, a layer of sand decorated with seaweed and coral at the bottom. He had taken the liberty of tucking fake jewels, a plastic treasure box, and a model of a sunken ship in.

For flair, he chuckles to himself. All that's left is to find proper aquatic specimens to house in it.

From the doorway, Jade adjusts the straps on his backpack, making sure that they're secure, that his supplies are in order. His boots laced, his jacket buttoned, he marches out the door and into the wilderness.

The forest is quiet and without trees but is not devoid of life.

Instead of trunks, there are stems--plump, pillowy, in various shades of white and cream. They are wider at the base and narrower at the head, which gives way to fluted undersides. Gills, Jade knows, a very different kind than those of a merman.

The air is clean and refreshing, lightly washed with spores. Not visible to the naked eye, but at the right refractions of sunlight, Jade can see them dancing into shapes upon the wind.

Circular shadows are cast across the ground, belonging to the caps that tower far above him. Mushrooms--macro-sized--have taken over the feet of the mountain, making it a suitable hideout for his hobbies. Sunlight spills through the cracks between the clustered caps, forming golden pools along the forest floor.

Jade makes a game of hopping upon them, one by one.

It isn't long before he comes upon the stream that cuts through the heart of the wood. A thin and humble little thing, able to be crossed in a single stride of his long legs.

Jade drops his backpack and drops to one knee. He inspects the fresh water up close with a careful eye. It's clear and still at the edges, white and foamy in the center, where it flows the fastest.

His heart leaps when he sees it--a streak of silver darting by.

He kicks off his footwear and rolls his pants up, silently stepping into the stream. Jade is cautious about not splashing, to avoid making noises or movements as that would disturb the wildlife.

He stands there, watching. Waiting, waiting, for that next fish to pass.

He thinks he sees it, a glimmer laid deep in the water. He reaches for it, fingers grazing wetness, but does not complete the grab.

“You like that, don’t you? The feeling of being in control, a life dancing in your palm,” a musical voice rings out. “It grants you security, assuredness.”

His eyes flicker down. His reflection shifts in the churning water, but he can see its mouth moving when his doesn’t.

An obstacle—amusing.

Jade purses his lips into a patient smile. “Oya, does a pixie presume to know those who visit their forest?”

“I am no pixie. In this pool of tears, all is laid bare,” his reflection says, “and given truth.”

“You claim to speak the truth. If that is the case, then you take no issue with divulging sensitive state secrets?” Jade’s smile grows, turning sharp. “To demonstrate your veracity, of course. I do not intend to misuse the information.”

“I know that you lie as easily as you breathe,” the pool replies, “for I have knowledge of only the souls that gaze into me.”

“A shame. I was quite curious about your awe-inspiring powers. Alas, there are limits put on greatness. It appears as though a puddle can never match the ocean in size nor in bounty.”

His reflection is not irked by his needling. “If you wish to take, then you must offer up a piece of yourself of equal value.”

“You have said that I lie as easily as I breathe. Is the word of a liar worth its salt?”

“You must speak truthfully.”

“But if I am a liar, and you have assumed my appearance, does that not, by proxy, make you a liar as well? That means what was uttered earlier is a lie, and I must tell an untruth—which I have already provided.”

The reflection pauses, considering the logic. Slow horror dawns on its expression—stolen from him—and it glowers.

"Liar," the reflection bitterly spits. It vanishes into the frothing waters.

There's a sigh, then the shudder of a release that fills the forest of mushrooms. Something, somewhere, has shattered.

Silver fills the clear stream, coloring it one shiny, metallic shade. Fins and scales bat against his skin. Healthy, plentiful.

Jade plunges an arm elbow-deep, and--

He gasps.

Something latches onto his arm and violently tugs. He's brought face-to-face with his own shocked expression, droplets hissing at him.

The stream, Jade realizes, should not be this deep.

He resists, trying to throw his body weight back, but the force holds tight. The slimy grip tightening like a fist.

He does not to fully relish in the surprise, so rare a feeling for him, before there is another strong pull. Jade falls forward, eyes wide as the water hits him in full.

Slowly, slowly... he finds himself sinking into an abyss.

It's the sea, deep and dark, shrouded by black mist. A ship-shaped shadow looms, at the inky depths--and through holes punched in the hull, undiscovered treasures wink up at him. Chests of forgotten gold and gems, like stars blinking in and out of view.

He dangles, suspended, like a puppet left upon the stage that has closed for the night. The scene, the stands, empty, save for the vague shapes of coral and twisting tendrils of seaweed.

Something shifts among the plants, and Jade tenses, preparing for a fight.

A long shape darts by, and his gaze tracks. The markings on it glow teal, peering through the murk--he recognizes it at once, relaxing.

"Floyd."

The name bubbles up and breaks upon the surface of the stream.

His twin circles him, his weaving tail sending Jade's jacket billowing. One is in the body of a human and the other, in their true form.

Floyd wordlessly grins, showing teeth like knives.

Behind him, the shadows swirl--a mess of writhing, squishy limbs and agonized moans. Tentacles, tentacles, painting a canvas with darkness.

A voice calls from somewhere in the void.

Floaty, far away.

"... de....... ade..."

"Jade!!"

He snaps awake, drawing in a deep gulp of air. As if he had just arisen from a dive.

Jade is seated at his workbench, blanked on either side. "Floyd, Azul..."

"We came as you had instructed, but it appears that now is not a good time," his dorm leader remarks. "You were sleeping like a log when we arrived."

"So I smashed a window with a rock and we let ourselves in!" Floyd declares proudly. Azul casts him a wary look.

"Just so you are aware, I am not to be held accountable for any damages incurred," he says hastily. "It was entirely Floyd's idea--I warned him against it and had him sign a liability form to assume any and all fees, should he ignore my advice and proceed with his ill-advised plot."

"Pfft." Jade chuckles. "My apologies. I must have become so enraptured in my project that I neglected to maintain a proper sleep schedule. The fault is mine, so I will not press charges."

Azul sighs, relieved. "Now, back to the matter at hand. For what reason have you summoned us here today?"

"Ah, that." Jade holds up his fishbowl, beaming. "I wished to share this with you both."

"Mmm, what is it?" Floyd asks, peering into the container. His face comes out the other end of it stretched wide and distorted, like the result of a funhouse mirror. "Looks like just some water to me."

"Another terrarium, I suspect." Azul pushes up his glasses as he surveys the other containers on the work bench "I see, so you've made one each in the image of the dormitories at Night Raven College. This one must be Octavinelle."

He suddenly frowns.

"Wait a minute, what is this?!" Azul thrusts a finger at a round little octopus suctioned to the inside of the bowl. The area around it is clouded with wisps of black.

"Hehehe, looks like Jade was right on the money with this one. That's so you, Azul."

"I-It is NOT!!"

"Really?" Jade's brows lift. "As I recall, you were exactly like this, tears and all, when..."

"AAAAAAAAH, stop, stooooop!! D-Don't say it, I can't bear that!!"

Jade laughs--soft and musical--granting his wailing dorm leader that single mercy. His chest is warm and full, a feeling his lies don't come close to.

I believe I’ve found myself company that is much more entertaining than any world right at my fingertips.

It’s his truth, the only one he has told this entire time.

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kanadraws · 2 months ago

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An idle thought about Bertie and his wildflower collection.

Winning the prize for the best wildflower collection during the summer holidays must have been a monumental achievement for young Bertie, so memorable that he occasionally mentions it in his stories. But imagine if someone with methodical and pragmatic hands had helped him collect those flowers. And what if that someone had been the young Jeeves?

Picture this: young Bertie, enthusiastic but a bit haphazard in his approach, is determined to gather the finest wildflowers during a stay at his family friend’s manor. The manor, with its sprawling gardens, hidden nooks, and lush greenery, is a treasure trove for any budding botanist. Enter young Jeeves, employed at the estate, already showcasing his singular intellect and the feudal spirit to oblige. A chance meeting brings them together.

After observing the child’s clumsy attempts for a while, Jeeves steps in to assist Bertie.

(“Might I suggest, young sir, that the early morning is the best time to find the dew-kissed blooms?”)

Jeeves suggests the best times of day to collect certain flowers, the ideal locations to find rare varieties, and even the proper techniques to preserve their beauty.

(“If I may, young master, it is imperative to press flowers when they are at their freshest. However, one must exercise caution and refrain from pressing them when they are wet or damp, as this could lead to less than satisfactory results.” )

Bertie, true to his innocent, puppy-like nature, is in awe of Jeeves’ seemingly endless knowledge, eagerly following the guidance of this mysterious mentor. He might even try to impress Jeeves with his own finds, only to be gently guided to even better specimens.

Their collaboration results in a stunning collection of wildflowers, each specimen carefully selected and preserved. Bertie remembers not having said goodbye to Jeeves only after leaving the manor. Truth be told, he is foggy about the identity of Jeeves, mistaking him for a scholar or a priest of a fountain of wisdom.

As time passes, the memory of that summer encounter fades, with Bertie’s old medal as the only tangible reminder. Bertie forgets the face of the mysterious helper, not linking him to the Jeeves he knows today. Jeeves, ever discreet, refrains from mentioning the long-past encounter, thinking doing so would be taking a liberty. Yet, a fondness colors his face whenever he polishes the old medal, a silent nod to the bond they unknowingly shared.

#jeeves and wooster #pg wodehouse #bertie wooster #reginald jeeves #musings #headcanon #The Inimitable Jeeves #I don’t know how to tag #I’ve been thinking about this ever since I learned that Bertie won the prize for the best wildflower collection as a child #Why is it so hard to write in English #That being said I’m not a very good writer in Japanese either when I think about it

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silverinkbottle · 9 months ago

Note

hi! hello! your velvette fic was literally amazing, i read it like at least 5 times haha! the way you write is,, wow.

anywho, i wanna request a rosie fic if that’s alright!! with a reader who’s hellborn and finds a lot of excuses to visit pride ring/cannibal town (totally not just to see rosie) bonus if reader’s a hellhound! i just really loved the way you wrote sphynx reader with velvette, animal themed demons have a soft spot in my heart ❤️ another bonus, the two are incredibly flirty with each other

thanks for your time!

A:N: Hello Anon!!! Thank you so much for the sweet request, I hope you enjoy!!

Summary: Being a Courier of Hell has it's perks; benefits, travel and sometimes the occasional yearning friendship

Warnings: Violence, Cannibalism

Flowers and Other Things

Rosie X GN!Hellhound!Reader

Word Count:3.2K

The scent of rotting meat permeated the air like a thick perfume as you let out the quietest of excited yips. It finally bloomed after months of waiting and watching as you leaned closer to the cream-colored petals of the giant orchid. The inner depths speckled with crimson as the plant seemed to shudder at your closer inspection as if wanting to welcome you inside. It was just as you suspected another carnivorous plant for the books as you hastily scribbled the observation in your notebook. However, it wouldn’t thrive in Hell with it’s slow maturity phase, it would need to be crossbred with more via-

“Taking a little break, my little Bichon?”

The gentle address startled you from your thoughts as you sheepishly smiled embarrassed at being caught from slacking off your duties. Goods didn’t transport themselves after all in the Seven Rings of Hell. It was a dangerous job, but someone had to do it as you tucked away the small book into your pant’s pocket. Straightening your cap, you clicked your heels together in a quiet greeting as Rosie giggled in amusement.

“Apologies, mam. It’s just that-”

“Oh my stars. It bloomed overnight, I see.” Rosie’s words cut over your own as she clapped her hands together in excitement, grabbing you by the waist to turn you back around to admire the flower. You could feel your heart leap into your throat at the gentle touch as Rosie cooed over the flower’s progress and vibrant shade.

“No wonder you wandered into the garden, Bichon. It’s lovely!” Rosie hummed as you quietly nodded your head in agreement. It’s how your unlikely friendship started afterall. Several months ago, picking up a mail order from Cannibal Town, it was impossible to resist the urge to wander about trying to track the unique scent of the Overlord’s garden. A lush bloom of nature and greenery within the Pride Ring that could rival the hanging gardens of Gluttony. Diligently tended by the lady herself as if were her own children.

“But how did you manage to figure it out, mam. Last time it looked so..sad” You asked as Rosie’s smile brightened flashing sharp pointed teeth.

“All it took was a little bit of positivity, my Bichon. Well, B positive. Seems the soil was a bit too dry for our delicate specimen here.” Rosie explained as the heel of her shoe dug into the brownish dirt. The small impact provoked the faintest puddle of crimson that rapidly retreated back into the earth. The bodies of Sinners had more uses than food in Cannibal Town.

“Now, come with me. I need to give you something.” Rosie insisted as she grabbed you by your paw without hesitation. Once more your heart did that stupid flip flop sensation as you tried to ignore the funny sensation, but even that didn’t stop your tail from giving the smallest of wags.

“Oh now, don’t get anxious. You’ll like this even more than the flower.” Rosie tutted as she mistook your excitement for anxiety. Still, it was a shame as greenery was exchanged for the ceramic floors of the shop. At least it was well-lit as sunlight flitted through the glass interior as you watched Rosie rifle through various storage cabinets with a determined expression.

“My offer still stands on helping you declutter, Miss Rosie.”

There was a clatter of muffin tins and small decorative metal cookie designs as the Overlord swept them aside with a kick of her shoe. She was almost inside the lower cabinet as you leaned further over the counter as your ears twitched at the various noises of shifting items. A bell? Something metallic rubbing against another. A strangely enticing squeak?

“All things are worth keeping, Bichon. You never know when- Ah ha!”

Your eyes went wide as you smelled the item before it was gently set down on the counter. She wasn’t going-, no, you couldn’t.

“I insist. Think of it as a favor for ol’ Rosie. I know you can make it thrive, Bichon.” Rosie praised as she lightly pushed the small burlap sack closer to your stunned form. Even within the protective material, you could still smell the faint metallic scent of the seedling. It’s what drew your attention to its’ parent in the first place as you and Rosie organized seeds one day. In comparison to its’ dramatic parent, the seed itself was a dull green color with a thin shell. So thin that you worried its protective coating would flake away before the plant grew enough roots to properly set in the hard earth.

“But Rosie what if-”

“It fails to thrive? Then, we’ll come up with another plan, my dear.” Rosie promised as she gently pried open your closed paw to place the small sack in it. Gentle, she was so gentle as you were forced to look anywhere but at her.

“I’ll give it my best then.” You promised as Rosie clapped her hands together in delight at your acceptance. There was the faintest chim of the shop’s greeting bell as Rosie rushed away to make quick conversation with the new guest. The small seed package in your hand still felt warm as you quickly tucked it away into your vest pocket. Next to your thudding heart as your keen gaze watched Rosie’s exaggerated hand gestures in her explanation to the guest.

“And the poor dearie thought that violet wouldn’t clash-”

Lively. It was one of the traits you admired in the woman, her seemingly endless supply of energy as it was rare for you to see her sit down. Her heels clicked against the floor as she placed another brown package of her guest as her hand idly waved towards you. The guest raised a brow, but nodded all the same before passing a sealed letter over to the shopkeep.

“Now, don’t you worry. It’ll get there within a day or two. Hellhound Couriers haven’t failed me yet.” Rosie chirped as she ushered the guest out with a flourish of her hand. While the other grabbed the letter off the counter without a second look.

“Where’s it going?” You asked as you opened up the satchel looped over your shoulder. Its contents were depressingly small for the effort it took to get here. Traversing through the Rings could be exhausting and expensive from the impossibly slow crowds of Sloth commuters to the bolder pickpockets of Greed.

“The Envy Ring. Something about a scorned love affair or something. She wasn’t exactly keen on the topic.” Rosie explained with a huff as the woman was a gossip hound at heart. Even as much as she denied it, stating it was mere conversation over tea and cake with a touch of theatrics.

“Want me to try and get more info from the other party?” You suggested with a grin.

“Oh, you know me only too well, Bichon.” Rosie praised as she handed over the letter with a knowing look. It was a fair trade in the end as you knew that she too would be benefiting from advertising your services. Currency freely exchanging hands as Sinners weren’t exactly able to travel between the Rings compared to Hellborne. At least half of your jobs came from the Pride Ring, it would have been even more if you took on more dangerous jobs like weaponry and drugs. Yet, you had seen too many of your fellow Couriers waylaid carrying those sorts of things. No, it’s why you stuck to letters, smaller packages and other less flashy deliveries.

Alarm shot through your form like an unpleasant shock as you spied the time on the wooden grandfather clock in the corner of the shop. Has it been that long? It seemed like merely an hour had passed since your arrival to the garden.

“Shit, Rosie, I’m sorry, I need to-” Your words rambled over each other as you hastily closed up your satchel. Rosie shook her head with a gentle look, she knew what you meant to say as you quickly dashed out the door without another word.

Somehow, it made the small seed packet feel all the warmer against your chest.

Your quaint morning didn’t last long as another client slammed their door in your face. You could easily hear the curses directed towards your unexpected news through the door. What else did the Sinner expect from a loan shark in the Greed ring, clemency? At least it was over and done with as you stepped out onto the cracked pavement of the street. It was almost second nature now to ignore the prickling sensation on the back of your neck as eyes followed your trail.

Hellhounds weren’t unheard of in the Pride Ring, but it was a rarer occurrence. It didn’t help that your company’s logo was stitched on the back of your blue vest ‘Hellhound Couriers. Bones, bags and bodies, we’ll fetch it all.’ in stylized block lettering. At least, the rest of the uniform wasn’t too drastic as you ran a finger over the brim of the knitted cloche hat, smoothing it out. Black slacks tailored for Hellhounds alone as the seams of the ends flared out for larger paws.

Your grip on the satchel tightened as your path was blocked by a pair of Sinners. Now the hair on the back of your neck was raised as the one with goat-like horns picked at sharp teeth with the tip of a knife. While the other held a casual nonchalant air about him, eyes piercing like serpents, but you could see the defined outline of a gun in his coat pocket.

“I told you Jack, it’s funny thing.”

“Oh, is it?” The goat retorted as you took a single step back.

“Ya, we go looking for Hellhound and lookie here. Satchel n all.”

A low growl vibrated in your throat as the would-be thieves eyed you up and down. Fuck, it wasn’t like you couldn’t fight, but it would risk the packages. That wouldn’t do at all. What would the recipient of the lover’s letter from earlier think if the sincere words were stained with blood.

“I don’t want trouble.” You hissed through clench teeth as your ears twitched at the loud click of the gun’s safety going off.

“Well, our associates don’t want debts. So here we are. Now be a good little doggie and hand those papers over.” The goat sinner demanded as he held out his hand, only to pull it back with a sharp scream as your teeth clamped down on flesh and bone. The sudden pull made it even easier for you to vault over the injured man.

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE, SHOOT.” The goat Sinner bleated as you could see him clutching the bleeding stubs of his pointer and index finger while his surprised associate scrambled with the gun.

A single loud crack broke through the air as you took a stuttered gasp of air. Fuck, your lungs burned even though the chase only begun. Blood blossomed over your vest as your shocked brain put two and two together, the bullet had pierced through your back and went out your chest. Hissing through the pain, you did your best to stifle the warm blood with your palm. It still dripped slowly onto the pavement as you scrambled into another alleyway. Copper hazily fogged your sense of smell as you tried to focus on anything but the wound. You needed a plan.

Quickly.

Another bullet thudded into the brick wall above your head as you willed your strained body to move once again. Blood, too much blood had been lost as you could feel the edges of your vision begin to flicker with black spots. Still, hope flickered in your chest as you caught sight of the familiar brass lettering of the gateway, all it was going to take was a few more steps.

“Fuck.” The curse spilled from your lips half spoken and half in a howl as a bullet tore through your lower left leg. Your sharp nails dragged into the concrete below as you tried to pull yourself forward, even with the numbing sensation spreading throughout your body.

“Could have made this all the easier if you had given us the damn-” The goat sinner growled as you felt the cool tip of the gun brush over the tops of your ears. His words muddled as you feebly tried to shrink away from the weapon. His mocking laughter rang in your head as you weakly held on the satchel as it was ripped from your form. The noise stuttered to a halt as the pointed tip of a knife protruded from his eye, warm blood dripped onto your cold form as you could hear the soft shake of an umbrella.

“Now, now that isn’t necessary.”

“You crazy bi-”

Another shriek pierced the air as the packed earth beneath you rumbled like a startled beast. Something wrapped around your midriff as it pulled you forward toward the gateway. You could feel the unintentional prick of thorns over your skin as the thing shuddered protectively before carefully setting you upright, still supporting you about your waist.

Vines? You blinked rapidly trying to clear the fog from your vision as you lightly brushed over the foliage. Yes, vines as the thing shuddered as you accidentally pricked yourself on a sharp thorn allowing dark blood to drip over its’ green-brown ‘flesh’.

“Now let’s take a look at you, looking a bit peaky, my little Bichon.”

“Rosie?”

Her gentle smile was the last thing you saw as the world was blanketed in darkness.

Soft. Warm. Too warm. You jolted upward as hot fire ripped through your chest from the exertion. Fuck, that was right, you had been shot, your sharp nails digging into your chest felt like a gentle caress compared to the throbbing muscle beneath it.

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty.” The gentle voice was melodic in your ears as Rosie’s hands gently removed your tensed nails and held your paws in her own. You tried to speak, but your dried lips went mute as Rosie fussed over you. Holding cool water to your lips as you eagerly wet your parched throat. The back of her hand on your forehead as she tried to gauge the potential on-set for a fever.

She was taking care of you.

In her personal quarters.

In her bed.

“I removed the bullets, don’t fret. Seems like you are already healing up from that little misadventure, lamb.” Rosie tutted as she could see your eyes bounce around the room. It was surprisingly sparsely decorated.The bed, a modest wardrobe, a single bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase on the bedside table. The vase inhabits some sort of snapdragon that flared out with bright crimson petals.

The cool sheets did little to hide your flaming face as Rosie chuckled at your poor attempt to burrow yourself further under the cotton sheets. Anything to hide the pure scalding embarrassment of the disastrous day and having to be rescued by the Overlord of all people.

“Honestly, those interlopers must have been desperate to get after you for entering the Town uninvited. Whatever could have set them off.” Rosie questioned as you muttered an answer in a half-hearted explanation about Greed Ring loan sharks and bills. Or well coming due problems as you got a split second glance at the material when it was thrown back at your face.

“Ruffians. The lot of them. Going after my little Bichon like that. Well, Miss Tufele and Mr.Remius were delighted to have the late lunch-in. Gave me the most lovely of little tea cakes that we’ll-”

“I am sorry for causing you problems. Miss Rosie. It’s not becoming of my -”

“Hush.”

Your apology was cut off by a single finger against your muzzle as you went mute as commanded. Delicate, she was so gentle towards you as sharp nails brushed over your face. Treating you with as light a hand as a new sprout ready to be transplanted into the outside soil. Now a different sort of heat brushed through your fur, a slow warm ooze that started from the tips of your ears down to your toes. All because of a simple chaste kiss on your black snout as Rosie’s fingertips ghosted over your alert ears.

“Rosie, can I-”

“Oh, sweet Bichon, even in your injured state of are all manners” Rosie teased as your tail wagged at the flirtatious inflection in her tone. Her girlish giggles were like the chimes of the most delightful bells as your lips met for a proper kiss. Short, sweet and to the point as her perfume fluttered over your form. She always did smell delightful, but now up close, it was like a banquet. Sweet smelling vanilla and the gentle notes of roses. The faintest taste of copper as you leaned in to deepen the kiss, , but at the same time you whined as your injured flesh twinged from the movement.

The sharper sound ended the kiss quickly as Rosie clucked her tongue at your hasty actions.

“Now, there will be time for that later.”

You couldn’t help but sink dramatically into the pillows with a sigh as Rosie patted the top of your head with a chuckle.

“I promise.” Rosie muttered against the top of your ears as the sensitive things twitched from the brush of warm air against them. Still, you did as she asked and gave her a winning smile which she winked at.

“Well, this is a change. Usually I can’t get you to sit and stay for the briefest second of calm. Always underfoot like a cat in the kitchen wanting to help me with something. Although, I do have a request, next time, show up at my doorstep unbloodied, bichon.” Rosie hummed as she flitted around the room. Opening up the window to let fresh air inside as the low rays of the sunset crept into the interior.

“I’ll promise, Miss Rosie. Thank you..for..the..exciting day..” You promised as Rosie smiled that gentle sincere smile that made your heart flutter like a Hellhound pup over a bone.

“Think nothing of it, Bichon. Now how about a bit of tea?”

That’s how you spent the next few days. Sending apologetic letters to clients about needing to recuperate from unexpected delays. A few hesitant steps around the garden, Rosie on your arm giving encouragement. Piping hot tea and the little ginger cakes that you got to howl your praises over. Most memorable was the gentle kiss on your cheek as you left, satchel on your shoulder and a promise to come visit within the next few days.

Things were looking up in Hell.

#rosie x reader #x reader fic #x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #silverinkwrites

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