#non con drugging

[sufrimientilia]

Choices

drugging | poisoning | cannibalism @augusnippets Day 13

cw: non-consensual drug use, addiction, IV drugs, see above

The lighter flicked once, twice, three times. It finally sparked to life with one final kiss against metal and lingered there for a long moment. Saline bubbled and boiled. Powder dissolved in one ugly dirty cloud.

“Do you remember the last time I shot you up?” the motherfucker asked. Like they were having a regular fucking conversation. “You were just begging for it. Tears, snot, and all.”

He shoved hard at the hands grappling him from behind. He already had half of the fight beaten out of him, and now the rest of his submission came from just sheer numbers. Maybe a gun or two pointed in his face.

Maybe a gun or two pointed at her.

“I guess back then you’d do anything for it.” A pinch of cotton thickened and thickened. The gentle slip of a plunger, fingers so practiced they might as well have done it hundreds of times. Golden amber started filling the syringe. “Simpler times, huh?”

“F-ffuck you! Motherfucker!” All those hands slammed him against the table at the start of his outburst and could barely contain him by the end of it. He grit his teeth and struggled, hard enough to be defiant but not hard enough to get himself shot. Sometimes it was a tricky balance.

“I’ll give you a choice. Just like always.” They were undeterred by his violent struggle, just like always. Nothing if not consistent. “This is for you, or it’s for her. You decide.”

The syringe glistened and gleamed, warm and vibrant. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had a bump of the stuff.

The choice was an obvious one, because it always was. Always forced to make the hard choice, the obvious choice, the one they really wanted. Every single time. “Me, me—” he breathed out, the desperation coming a lot easier than he’d meant. “Give it to me. I want it. Please.”

Pleasepleaseplease. Burning on his tongue, burning on his skin.

He looked right at her. Wide eyes, pale skin, too many guns and too many men. It wasn’t like he had a choice.

He never had a choice.

The same blue rubber tourniquet, the same unnecessary flick against his bulging veins. All of them were scarred over by now. "So damn predictable. I know it's what you really want." Even the acrid breath at his ear tasted the same. "At least you have an enemy out of me, hmm? An easy excuse."

All those damn goons kept him pinned flat against the table as the needle went in. He watched it with a cruel sort of familiarity: his arm stretched before him, straight metal digging under flesh, the flush of blood drawing back into the syringe. Red sprouted and spiraled. And then the gentle push into his vein gave way to warmth, warmth, warmth, and he slipped melted and sunk all at once.

Oh. He’d be a liar if he said it didn’t feel good.

“No…” He could hear her begging and pleading for him. Maybe to him.

He wanted to tell her it was okay, it wasn’t a big deal. He was used to it. Something like ’mnnghghhh’ escaped him instead. It felt nice, too nice, and after a certain point even that was wrong. “No-…, ‘s too much,” he tried, nausea thickening and churning. But the plunger kept pushing. Pushing and pushing and pushing. “S…”

Too much, too much, too much. Twisting and spinning and spiraling until the pleasure turned sick. Too heavy, too violent. The goons let go, let him flatten against the table, left him limp and useless at the whim of one silly syringe left dangling from his forearm. The sight of it just thickened and blurred until it was one ugly blot of color.

“I thought your tolerance was better than that,” a voice said from somewhere far away. Far, far away.

Apparently not.

[tropesaregoodsoup]

Hidden

snippet from a larger story. It's fun to see how the writing has to change when you take out the context.

Whumper pulled Whumpee’s drink toward her and dumped a powdery substance into the glass. 

“What-”

Whumpee was cut off by Whumper pushing the glass back across that table. There was a pause as Whumpee just stared.

“Oh. Did they not tell you?” Whumper’s tone was amused. Whumpee felt their heart jump.

“I- Um-” Their head was spinning like they had already ingested whatever drug Whumper had. “Th-they said you just wanted to talk.”

“Well not here.” Whumper chuckled lightly as she said it, as if it were obvious.

So that’s what the team had been hiding, what they chose not to tell Whumpee. They were right not to, Whumpee never would have come if they knew, even with everyone’s lives depending on it. They hated not knowing what was going to happen. Just being groggy in the moments between sleep and fully awake had caused them to panic on more than one occasion. Drinking was out of the question, not to mention whatever Whumper had put in the glass.

“You know, “ Whumpee’s voice came out shaky. “I’ll just go with you, wherever you want, I won’t fight or anything… I promise. You don’t have to do… this.” They gestured to the drink, not daring to even touch the glass.

“Oh, I know.” There had been a calm, amused smile on Whumper’s face until now. Now it was replaced with a sadistic line only resembling a smile 

“But this is much more fun.”

[fadingdreamscape]

@whumpmasinjuly-archive day 27 - delirious

CW - non-con drugging

Character - whumper and whumpee

Whumper stood in the shadows, watching with a sinister satisfaction as Whumpee's head lolled forward, then snapped back up in a desperate bid for consciousness. "You're still fighting," Whumper's voice was a low, mocking drawl that cut through the fog in Whumpee's brain like a serrated knife.

"I... I can see them," Whumpee murmured, eyes wide and glassy.

Whumper stepped closer, the dim light casting a menacing glow on their face. "See what?" they asked, feigning curiosity. "What do you see, Whumpee?"

Whumpee's breath hitched, their vision blurring with spectral shapes that twisted and writhed in the corners of their eyes. "Shapes... shadows... they're everywhere."

Whumper's smile widened, a cruel glint in their eyes. "Hallucinations. How delightful." They reached out, gripping Whumpee's chin and forcing their gaze upward, staring intently into their unfocused eyes.

Whumpee shuddered as Whumper's cold fingers traced their jawline, a shiver running down their spine. "Please... make it stop," they whispered.

Whumper's grip tightened, their nails digging into Whumpee's flesh. "Oh, but we're just getting started," they crooned, leaning in close, "now, time to take your medication," they purred as they pulled a small vial it of their pocket and forced whumpees mouth open.

Whumpee tried to resist, but their limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive. The bitter liquid from the vial burned as it slid down their throat, and they coughed, spluttering as they struggled to breathe.

Whumper's laughter echoed through the dimly lit room, a sound devoid of warmth or humanity. "There, there," they cooed mockingly, patting Whumpee's cheek with false gentleness. "You’ll feel better soon enough. Or perhaps worse... Depends if you're ready to embrace it yet."

Whumpee's vision swam, the room around them warping and twisting.

"You see them, don't you?" Whumper whispered, leaning down, their mouth next to Whumpees ear.

The shapes in Whumpee's vision shifted, the very air seemed to shimmer and dance.

"That's right," Whumper said, their voice now a soothing purr. "You're almost there."

The room twisted and pulsed in whumpees vision, their body slowly began to feel warm and weightless.

"You look so lost," Whumper mused, circling around Whumpee like a predator. "Does it feel good?"

Whumpee's breathing became ragged, their heart pounding erratically in their chest. "I don't... I can't..." They stammered, struggling to form coherent thoughts as the world around them dissolved into a kaleidoscope of course and shapes.

Whumper chuckled, a sound that dripped with malice. "Oh, but you can. You're just resisting. Let go, Whumpee. Let the delirium take you."

Whumper released their grip, shifting to run their fingers gently through whumpees hair, "You're so close now," they said, their tone a sick parody of encouragement.

The room seemed to spin gently, the walls melted as whumpees thoughts seemed to disintegrate. Trying to think felt like grasping smoke.

"Look at you," Whumper murmured, almost to themselves, "teetering on the edge. Isn't it beautiful?" They continued to gently stroke whumpees hair, encouraging them to no longer fight.

Whumpee's lips parted, but no sound emerged. The spectral shapes in their vision danced with a macabre elegance, and somewhere in the distance, a voice—a memory perhaps—whispered words they couldn't quite understand.

Whumpee's head lolled to the side, their eyes losing focus, the figures in their vision danced and twisted, pulling them deeper into the abyss.

Whumper's hand continued its slow, rhythmic motion through Whumpee's hair, a grotesque parody of comfort. "That's it," they crooned. "Just let go."

Whumpee's lips moved soundlessly, their mind fracturing under the relentless assault. The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of disjointed voices that spoke in a language they couldn't comprehend, but which filled them with a deep, primal dread.

Whumper leaned closer, their breath hot against Whumpee's ear. "You see, this is freedom," they murmured. "No more pain, no more fear. Just... surrender." Their fingers traced lazy patterns across Whumpee's scalp, "You're almost there," they whispered.

Whumpee's eyes fluttered, half-lidded and unseeing. The world around them had become an undulating sea of colors and shadows, the once familiar shapes now alien and terrifying. Each breath felt like a struggle against the current, pulling them deeper into the chaotic abyss.

Whumpee's head lolled back, their eyes flickering with fleeting lucidity. They tried to grasp onto a memory, a sliver of who they were, they grasped onto Whumpers words, onto the sensation of their hand in their hair, unsure whatelse was real.

Whumpee's head lolled forward, their eyes glazing over as they teetered on the edge of consciousness.

Whumper smiled, pulling whumpee forwards into an embrace, letting their head rest on their shoulder, "well done Whumpee," they murmured.

Whumpee's body went limp in Whumper's arms, the fight draining out of them entirely. They hung there, suspended between wakefulness and oblivion, the phantom shapes in their vision dancing a sinister ballet.

Whumper's fingers continued to stroke Whumpee's hair, their touch deceptively gentle. "That's it," they whispered, their voice a silken thread weaving through Whumpee's fractured thoughts. "No more resistance. Just let go."

[hurtthemgently]

Drugged whumpees being dragged down hallways by a pair of goons holding onto their arms

[mr-business-whump]

Day 21: Stalked

Sometimes, Hiccup felt like he was being watched.

He wasn't, he couldn't be.... but when he'd see a flash of light as he walked at night sometimes, when he saw a flash of red hair disappearing behind something every time he turned around, the way he'd get letters in his mailbox with no stamps, no address, just his name with all sorts of horrible, obsessive things said about him... it made him wonder what exactly was going on.

read it here!

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 4 @ailesswhumptober - prompt : non-consensual body modifications

Jane grapples with her identity as she faces non-consensual body modifications imposed by the Facility

CW: body dysmorphia, loss of identity, non-con drugging.

AiLessWhumptober List Complex 27

Jane sat on the edge of the metal cot in the sterile white room, her fingers absentmindedly tracing her jawline. The faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, amplifying the hollow ache in her chest. She stared at her reflection in the polished glass across from her, confronted by a face she barely recognized as her own.

Every minor modification served a chilling purpose: a delicate chin, high cheekbones, eyes widened just enough to seem innocently alluring, all tools designed for seduction and manipulation.

She hated it.

They had decided it all for her - her body, her face - tools for them to mold, to perfect, to weaponise. They claimed it was necessary for her role as a honeytrap, an essential part of the "investment."

She was an asset, after all. A tool stripped of agency.

It had started when she was a teenager. It had seemed innocent enough back then, straightening the natural curls of her hair, forcing her into corsets every day, the punishments used to teach her how to walk, how to speak, how to act. Her diet was strictly regulated to preserve her figure, her hair and makeup meticulously crafted to align with their ideals of beauty. It had felt harmless, normal.

But then the surgeries stared.

Jane clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. Each glance in a  mirror became a brutal reminder that she was a product, her beauty calculated and manufactured to meet their ruthless standards.

The girl who once looked back at her was gone, replaced by a stranger - a projection of someone else’s twisted vision of utility.

Slowly, she raised her hand to her face, tracing the unfamiliar lines of her cheekbones, her jaw, her lips. It was strange how foreign it all felt, as if she were wearing a mask that didn’t quite fit. She could feel the skin and bone beneath, but it didn't resonate with her identity. It felt like a betrayal, a reminder of the autonomy that had been stripped away.

Closing her eyes, she desperately tried to summon the memory of her original face. The one that belonged to her, not to the Facility. But the image was blurred and fading, obscured by the haze of surgeries that had changed her a little more each time.

What if this was all she would ever be? A polished doll in a world that valued her only for her looks? The thought was suffocating, a weight pressing down on her chest until it felt difficult to breathe. She had trained for deception and manipulation, but there was a profound difference between behaving as a weapon and physically becoming one. Being reduced to nothing but a piece of meat, an allure, a temptation. Did anyone even see her skills, her training? Or was this all she was now—a pretty puppet, dancing on strings that someone else controlled?

What would they change this time?

She had stopped asking years ago. Her knowing wasn’t going to change the inevitable.

A shudder ran through her as a haunting thought settled deep in her chest: they hadn’t touched her eyes yet. But the dread gnawed at her, relentless. *What if they did?* What if the last piece of her—the only thing she still recognized in the mirror—was stripped away like everything else?

She opened her eyes, staring back at the stranger in the glass. The face that had been carved and molded so meticulously had been designed to charm and disarm, a mask of superficial beauty that obscured the turmoil raging within. She felt like an intruder in her own skin, a ghost haunting a body that had never truly belonged to her.

The door opened with a clang, allowing several faceless figures to enter. Facility staff. Jane’s heart raced, a familiar knot tightening in her stomach. She knew what their presence meant - another evaluation, another round of modifications.

“Asset 43,” one of them called, a voice devoid of warmth, echoing off the cold walls as they looked at the TaskSlate in their hands, "Your previous modifications have proven effective. However, we believe that your effectiveness can be enhanced further."

She forced herself to remain still, biting her lip to suppress the flood of panic as the figures circles her like vultures. She couldn’t make out all their the words, as they murmured, debated, discussed her like a living doll. She inhaled sharply, fighting back the urge to scream, to lash out, to remind them she was more than just a collection of features designed for seduction.

She understood the reality.

She was merely a specimen under a microscope to them. Not a human. Not even an asset.

A mere object for them to mold.

“No,” she managed, her voice stronger than she felt. “You can’t. I refuse.” It was a futile protest, she knew, but it was all she had left—her voice, her defiance, however small it might be.

The figures exchanged glances, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of surprise. “Refusal is not an option, Asset 43,” the tall figure replied, his tone devoid of emotion, "You belong to the facility."

Jane's heart raced as she processed their words, the meaning of the tall figure’s voice echoing like a death knell. The sterile room seemed to constrict around her, the air thickening with dread. She was trapped in a body that felt foreign, being evaluated and dissected by people who saw her as nothing more than a tool for their twisted agenda.

“No,” she repeated, more quietly this time. Fighting was futile, she knew this really. Fighting would only lead to punishment, 'correction', and inevitably the modifications would occur regardless. She wasn't a person, she was an asset, a honeytrap, her appearance was her role.

“We don’t need your consent,” another figure stated, their voice as sterile as the room. “We cannot have you functioning at less than optimal capacity.”

A sick feeling curled in her stomach, twisting tighter with each word. Adapting. What did that even mean for her? Another round of surgeries? Another version of herself? With every procedure, they chipped away at her individuality, and she feared the day would come when even her memories would be gone, replaced by the sterile echoes of their expectations.

“Please,” she whispered, desperation leaking into her voice. “Just leave me alone. I don’t want to change anymore.”

“Your desires are irrelevant,” the tall figure replied coldly. “Prepare her for the procedure,” they commanded, turning away from her and addressing the other staff members.

Before she could protest further, Jane felt strong hands on her shoulders, puller her further onto the cot as a mask was roughly pushed over her face, the faint metallic sent of aesthetic invading her senses. Her breaths quickened as the faceless figured began to blur. She struggled against the firm grip on her shoulders, but the staff's hold was unyielding, practiced. Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat echoing the realization that there was no escape.

"Hold her still."

The hands tightened on her shoulders, Jane’s mind raced. She had to hold on to something—anything - that remained of the girl she once was. Panic surged within her, but it felt distant now, blurred, fading, dissolving as quickly as the world around her.

“Just let go,” another voice whispered, a soothing tone that felt wrong, “This is for your own good.”

For her own good? The phrase echoed mockingly in her mind.

As the darkness swallowed her whole, Jane’s mind screamed in protest.

Please, not again.

[auroragehenna]

I'm excited for your OC's Bingo Soup!!!!

Here's my ask : Drugged and ofc with Lyra and Adam

Happy Writing!!!

OC soup Bingo

Calculations

TW/CW: Non-con drugging, threats, non-con touch, maybe a tad tiny bit suggestive language but its SFW, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, non-con kiss Word count: 1'259

Adam clasped the tiny test tube filled with the yellowish powder. It had been a hassle to get it but it would be worth it. He mixed all of it into a tiny water flask and shook it. He would make damn sure of that…

…

„Oh absolutely not!“, Lyra said when she saw Adam approach her with a sadistic grin painted on his face and his hands behind his back.

„Funny how you act like you have a choice in the matter.“, he replies coldly.

Lyra gulps, a hard look in her eyes. „Well at least I’m not gonna let you win without sacrifices.“

Adam scoffs. „See this is exactly the problem.“ Then he suddenly lunges at her. He grapples her to the ground but struggles to restrain her completely. Then he has an idea. He sneaks his hand over her head and manages to cover her eyes and nose. Now shredded in darkness Lyra's trashing slows down a bit.

"What are you doing?", she asks nervously.

"Oh, don't break your little head about it just open up."

Lyra's mouth snapped close.

Adam sighed theatrically, strengehing his graps on her nose. "See where that get's you."

Lyra’s fought to throw him off but without sucsess. And her movements were becoming more and more frantic.

“You think you can fight me but you can’t.”

Lyra’s eyes widened as the need for oxygen got worse and worse.

“So just admit it to yourself.”

Lyra gasped and Adam instantly shoved the flask into her mouth. She coughed but in her desperate gasping for oxygen couldn’t prevent the weird tasting water from going down her throat. Adam still not letting go of her face turned her head around and kissed her. Stealing her only source of oxygen again. Eventually he let go of her and allowed her to sprawl out on the floor.

Adam laughed as she pushed herself away from him fear and disgust. He didn’t say anything only checked his watch.

Lyra breathed heavily. “What did you do to me? What was in there?”

“Just a little funny drug. I think I used way more than what I was instructed to use but ah well. I’m sure you don’t mind, right?”, he grinned.

Lyra opened her mouth but the look on Adam’s face made her close it again.

“Good girl.”, Adam commented smugly.

Lyra grit her teeth in anger and tried to stand up instinctively. But her knees buckled underneath her weight and she fell over again.

Adam walked up to her with slow, deliberate steps. “Now, now. What was that supposed to be?”

“I just wanted to give you a much needed punch in the face!”

“Hmm. No that wasn’t it. Try again.”

“What?”

“Try. Again.”

“I tried to stand up?”

“Yes. And why would you do that?

“Because you were getting on my nerves and being a bastard?!”

“Hmm. And do you see what’s wrong with that behaviour?"

“Your unbelviably fragile ego can’t handle it?”

Adam was now standing right in front of Lyra. He grabbed her jaw with a grip he was sure would bruise and tilted her head up so she would look at him.

“This. Do you see this right here? This is how the power dynamic is.”, he was speaking ever so calmly now, “Over all my little games I allowed you to play and all my generiosity it seems that you forgot who actually has the power here.”

Lyra struggles now to keep her body upright and Adam seems to notice it. Suddenly he let’s go of her jaw and her body betrays her by simply dropping to the floor. She can hear him laugh over her.

“Oh that’s just beautifully pathetic. Here let me help you.”, he adds and crouches down. He grabs her gently by the arms and turns her around so she now lays on her back, looking up at him as he stands up again.

“Now…This is much better…”, he purred.

Lyra can only move her eyes by now, everything else won’t obey her commands.

“What do you think of this change, Thyma?”

She tries to open her mouth-to talk-to give a snarky remark but her tongue felt like it had turned to lead.

“Oh right.”, Adam laughs, “You’re too weak to talk right now.”

“You wanna know what I think about this change?” He sat down again next to the lying Lyra and gently moved a few stray strands of hair out of Lyra‘s face. Seemingly deep in thought. „I think it’s quite charming. You’re so helpless like this. Vulnerable for me to do whatever I want.”, he mused and caressed a nail over the length of her arm.

Lyra would have shivered if she could have.

“But I don’t really need this to make you feel this way, do I? So…Defeated. You’re quite strong minded I will not lie about that. But…If you know where to apply pressure…” He sneaked his hand under her limp body and pressed into the curve of her spine earning him a sharp breath from his plaything. He locked eyes with her. “You crumble like a sand castle. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. As much as you try you can’t eradicate them, can you? Why else would you still be so scared from the same things as four-five years ago?” Adam went back to caressing his nails over every exposed inch of Lyra’s skin. “Why else do you flinch at my touch even if you tell yourself not to? And why do none of your attempts to escape my clutches sucseed? Whatever you do…Whatever you try…You will always end up in the same position as before. At my mercy. Trembling like a deer in headlights but trying to act stoic. And you’re already breaking, can’t you tell?”

Lyra shot him an outraged look, the fear momentarily dissapearing from her eyes.

“No?” Adam chuckled softly. “Poor, sweet, dumb Lyra. Why else did you so eagerly give up names and intel when I caught you again? Only to spare yourself a bit of pain.” He gently cupped her cheek. “I didn’t even torture you that time.”

Lyra felt tears of shame fill her eyes but she mustered up every bit of energy she had to hold them back. He would not see her cry. He couldn’t also take that from her. She wished he would stop touching her, every touch seemed to burn her skin and the nails felt no different than knifes.

Adam saw how her eyes practically pleaded with him to understand that that was not how it was. And a sadistic grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You from a few years ago would never have done that...I mean, I expected some changes after your short vacation but…You surprised even my with that. By obeying so…easily. So you see, you understood it before, so I’m sure you can do it again. Right?” He brushed his thumb over her lips before removing his hands and standing up. “You’re lucky that I am… mericful no he’s not patient. For now. But understand that in here I am what counts. I am your government. Your religion. Your…rules. And you will obey or I will stop playing games and get serious with you. Do we understand each other?”

Lyra couldn’t speak.

“Come on, you have other ways of showing me you understood your place.”

They were both just staring at each other, holding stubborn eye contact until Lyra broke it and lowerded her gaze below Adams eyes.

“Good bunny.”

Taglist: @yourlocalgaefae33, @princessofhe11, @greatkittencloud, @bisexuawolfsalt, @imnotamurdereripromise

[whump-a-la-mode]

Caretaker mixes pills into Whumpee's food. They feel horrible, but Whumpee won't take pills any other way, not after what Whumper did to them...

[songbird-in-hell]

Casually, I pull a syringe out of my pocket and inject you with it, then pick you up and start heading to my front door.

It’s a sedative. I hold you tightly while I wait for it to kick in. “Sounds like this’ll be the best for both of us, then! Your life is dates abandoning you and you having no one to call who you actually trust. It’ll be much better for you to be my toy, my pet. We’ll have so much fun!”

-🐚

My eyes widen at the pinprick and I take steps back, but you manage to grab me anyway. I shout and struggle the whole way, until the drug starts to take me.

“What the fuck! Are you some kind of sick freak? What was that? Let me go you creep!”

My tail flicks wildly, wrapping around your arm as I push and struggle. I’m fading though. I snarl, my teeth bared, but I’m getting weak.

“I’m not… some toy. I’m not a pet… you’ll fucking regret this…”

The drug takes me, and my expression softens, my tail going limp.

[whumpcateyes]

The Grave Robbers

Chapter 1: A Nice Little Funeral Afterparty!

(masterpost)

warnings: buried alive, grave robbing, attempted murder, non-con drugging, hallucination

In which Charlotte and Maude are a bit early for their normal work, and discover something they kinda wish they didn't

----------------------------------------

It was rotten work. Quite literally rotten, considering the materials Charlotte Kirk and her colleague, Maude Weaver, generally worked with. The wealthy dead wouldn’t miss their fancy jewels and a good haul would keep the pair in their shabby flat for a few months. Charlotte didn’t particularly enjoy groping corpses to find rings and other valuables, but her buyers paid well and something about getting away with grave robbing was rather satisfying.

Tonight, she was snapping the lock off the gate into the Burnsworth Family Private Cemetery, which, not only was on the Manor grounds themselves, but was neatly placed at the top of a tall hill with only two real ways up, the steep path from the house, and the even steeper way up from the woods surrounding the property. Charlotte was going to host a nice little funeral after party for the late Atticus Burnsworth, youngest heir to the Burnsworth’s vast fortune. Charlotte felt no sympathy for The Burnsworth’s loss. They were snobbish, private, assholes, who cared more about boosting their image than actually doing good in the city they claimed to support. Charlotte had actually done work for them in the past, when the patriarch of the family wanted her to find a horrifically garish necklace that he claimed to have been stolen from their vault. Of course, it was all anonymous. Charlotte would be completely fucked if her clients could report her to the police after the job and get their money back. She held no loyalty to previous clients, if you could pay for someone to steal from graves, then you probably deserved to be stolen from, yourself. That’s how Charlotte rationalized the ethics of her jobs, she just tried not to think about her un-contracted work, it was easier that way.

Charlotte didn’t know much about her current mark, only that a fresh body would be well embalmed, and well dressed. Atticus’s funeral had been only yesterday, so the items he had been buried with would be blissfully free of the corpse smell that followed Charlotte around like a curse. She walked almost casually up to the most recent tombstone, dragging her little cart of tools, she had no fear of being caught thanks to the small fire The Burnsworth’s would be discovering on the drive up to the manor(courtesy of Maude) right about now. It shouldn’t be anything too dangerous, about the size of a campfire, and because the ground was frosty and wet, it wouldn’t be able to spread. 

A small smile crossed her lips as distant shouting from the manor drifted over the grounds. Hopefully Maude would get out unscathed and manage to make it to the cemetery unfollowed. Even if she did get caught, which had never happened in the three years the two had been partners in crime, arresting an arsonist caught in the house would probably throw the family off actual the crime. Charlotte knelt down in front of the grave and lit her small hooded lantern, which casted a flickering light across the engraved words of the stone, “Atticus Burnsworth, Beloved son, taken far too soon, [year-year]”.  It was a little sad, Atticus was barely 20 years old, one year younger than Charlotte, which was an unfriendly reminder about how easily one’s life can be cut short, especially in her line of business. 

Charlotte turned the lantern back off, no sense wasting precious oil on the first part, the moonlight would be enough to dig a big hole in the ground. She stood and lifted her “trusty” shovel out of the cart, it was old, it was rusty, and it spent as much time broken as it did being used. But it was, for all intents and purposes, still usable, so Charlotte had resolved to keep using it until the time it took to repair outweighed the cost of just getting a new one. Charlotte made her first jab at the ground, then stomped on the back of the shovel, pushing it to the base with a satisfying ‘Scraaaaaape’ and ‘Thud’. She tilted her foot backwards and pulled, taking a neat shovelful of dirt and plopping it behind her. “One.” She thought. It was a bit of a game she played to pass the time, counting the number of shovelfuls of earth it took to uncover the casket beneath. 

It took time, too long for Charlotte’s comfort, considering her distraction came and went while she only got about halfway down, and Maude was nowhere to be seen. She could only hope that trying to discover the source of the fire occupied everyone long enough that they wouldn’t look her way, or that they’d all go to sleep before she was done. She could feel her hands blistering against the rough metal of her shovel, and the way the handle wobbled with each stab wasn’t helping her progress. But the dirt was still fairly soft and light from being recently dug, so it wasn’t the most exerting dig she had experienced(that honor went to the time an entire burial site was discovered to be mostly clay underneath, but her client had still wanted their great grandmother’s wedding ring). Despite the cool night air, Charlotte was sweating through her coat, and eventually took it off and tossed it into the cart.

Shortly after, however, Charlotte’s coat came flapping back into the hole, getting caught around her head and causing her to blindly scramble around with a panicked squak to get away from whoever had thrown it at her. After a moment of hopelessly scraping at the sides of the grave, she threw off the coat once more and turned to see her attacker. Maude sat, relaxed, on the edge of the cart. And even in the dark, Charlotte could tell she was smirking. Charlotte opened her mouth to give an indignant speech about scaring her, but Maude beat her to the punch, holding a finger to her lips and quietly saying in her usual sarcastic monotone “shhh, no time for that now, Charlie.” Charlotte stared back with a comically offended glare and a quiet “Hmph!” as she returned to her digging. They had a system, Maude would create a distraction if one was needed, then if it was safe to, she would loop back around and stand watch for Charlotte while she dug. They tried not to talk unless absolutely necessary, to keep noise levels low, and keep Charlotte focused on the dig. Sometimes Charlotte wished that they could trade roles, let her keep watch while Maude dug, but she liked the hard work and Maude had great eyes, which was good for seeing any movement in the dark.

It grew later and later, she knew they had gotten to the manor grounds at around 9pm, it was too hard to read her pocket watch, but Charlotte guessed it was approaching 2 am when she heard the telltale Clank of metal hitting fancy wood. She was so startled by the noise, that she almost lost count. Charlotte pulled a pen out of her pocket and wrote “one-hundred and eight” on her arm to put down in her ever growing journal when she got back home. Or, at least she hoped she had written “108”, with the lack of lighting and the way her hands shook from exhaustion, it was hard to tell what the ink actually looked like. She held the shovel up, and Maude took it, then handed her the lantern, her crowbar, a pair of gloves, and a small metal stake from the cart. She pushed the stake into the wall of the grave, then hung and lit the hooded lantern. The dim light seemed almost too bright for Charlotte’s eyes when compared to the previous darkness. She put the crowbar aside and slipped on the gloves, then brushed the remaining earth off the top of the casket. Charlotte dug her heels into the grave walls and straddled above the casket. She bent at the waist and grabbed her crowbar, then leveraged it against the opening of the casket and pulled. The wood creaked and Charlotte’s boots dug deeper into the walls as she pulled and pulled and pulled until-

CRACK!

The lid lurched open and caught the back of Charlotte’s knee, buckling it and sending her crashing face first into the open box. She failed to stifle a surprised “GAHPmph!!” as she faceplanted into Atticus’s chest, then spent a few embarrassing moments scrambling like scared raccoon to pull her face off the corpse and get her leg unstuck from behind the casket lid. As soon as her leg was free Charlotte clambered to the back of the hole and instinctively curled into somewhat of a ball until the alarm bells and the “OH MY GOD I’M ON A CORPSE OH SHIT OH FUCK ITS A DEAD BODY RIGHT THERE AAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!”  thoughts faded. When she stopped tunnel-visioning, Charlotte saw that Maude was leaning over the hole with a hand over her mouth, visibly stifling giggles. She once again stared daggers at her friend until her nerves sufficiently settled from the shock and caught her breath. Maude gave Charlotte a look, and waited until she gave a shaky thumbs up before returning to keeping watch.

Charlotte relaxed and crawled forward, with one knee and one hand on each side of the box to stay above the corpse. Atticus Burnsworth lay below her, his arms crossed over his chest. Charlotte studied the man in the dim lantern light, he had short curly brown hair, which was brushed forward to make it look poofier and had a spattering of freckles across his face. He wore a black tailcoat, dark blue waistcoat, with a lighter, almost pastel shade of blue for his straight cut pants and ascot. [anything else about his outfit]. Like most corpses, Atticus had a peaceful look to him, that sort of slacked, sleeping expression where in the low light you could almost see the gentle rise and fall of their breathing, but strangely, he looked battered, deep purple bruises on his eye and a busted lip were poorly hidden with makeup. Glancing further down, Charlotte could see more bruising near his neckline. She lifted up his head, and felt his hair which was matted in the back, brownish-red stains on the casket lining told her it was dried blood. She placed his head back down, wondering if that’s what had killed him, “but why? And if it was a murder, why was it never reported?”. Setting her curiosity aside, Charlotte reached a gloved hand down and picked up Atticus’s wrist, examining his silver cufflinks; they were beautiful. His hands were similarly bruised to the rest of his body, Charlotte tried to put her growing suspicions to the back of her mind. The outfit as a whole would fetch them an excellent price at her favorite pawnshop, possibly even enough to cover rent for the rest of the year along with new equipment that she wouldn’t have to fix every week. 

Charlotte gently pulled the body higher in the casket, then bent his knees so that she could kneel down in the casket opposite from him. She then gently removed his shoes and socks, carefully handing each piece up to Maude, who would put them in a bag for safe keeping. They’d wash what they needed to if anything got dirty, but Charlotte would rather risk as little damage to the items as was possible. She leaned over Atticus once more and spoke quietly “Sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Burnsworth.” as she placed her hands on his waist and followed his belt to the front, the buckle was a matching silver to the cufflinks, engraved with lovely patterns to give it a little more depth. Charlotte unbuckled the belt, then moved to unbutton his trousers. Stealing the clothes off a corpse’s back was uncomfortable enough, but Atticus wasn’t rotting yet, he looked more asleep, rather than dead, which made Charlotte feel particularly gross. They were going to leave his undergarments, so he wouldn’t be fully naked, but something about this robbery felt more intrusive and intimate than she was used to. With a grimace, she gently slid Atticus’s pants down, then took each foot out and handed the pieces up to Maude once more. Continuing its worrying pattern, she spotted more bruises and scrapes on his ankles, a few small bloodstains dotted his drawers, going all the way up to his thighs. “What happened to you?” she whispered, hoping that the corpse would not, in fact, respond. Charlotte tried not to look at the corpse’s face as she tilted him forward and removed his black tailcoat, then unbuttoned and removed his waistcoat and ascot. Finally, she fumbled with the buttons on his baggy, white shirt and gently removed it leaving the man in just his undergarments, his undershirt was similarly stained to his drawers. Charlotte somewhat neatly folded the clothes, then wrapped them in the coat, and handed the final bundle up to Maude. 

Charlotte didn’t stop to admire her handiwork, instead, she handed the rest of her tools up, then climbed out of the hole herself. She tried to brush some dirt off of her 2-sizes-too-large coveralls, but it didn’t do much. Charlotte then silently helped Maude organize everything back into the cart, picked up her shovel and crouched back over the grave to close the lid of Atticus’s casket. It made a clack as she dropped the lid, a little too loud for comfort. Charlotte was just standing up to start filling back in the grave when a sound made her freeze. It was incredibly quiet, a shift of fabric and an almost indiscernible creak of wood. She glanced at Maude, who had frozen too. Neither of them moved, but they looked around the graveyard for witnesses, as if they didn’t know exactly where the noise had come from. Maude took a knife from her boot, then made some sort of hand gesture at Charlotte, when Charlotte didn’t react she followed it up with a whispered “you, check.” 

Charlotte did not want to check. Charlotte wanted to pretend that they had heard nothing and leave. She wanted to sell off the clothes and forget that they had come. In one short moment, she had gone from business as usual, to absolutely terrified. Even so, her curiosity was more powerful and she leaned back over the hole, shut her eyes and with a trembling hand, she slowly lifted the lid. She swallowed down her dread and opened her eyes. 

--

Atticus was not in his bed.

He found he couldn’t move, his body wouldn’t respond to his desperate attempts to open his eyes, all he could do was stay limp as a pair of hands moved up and down his body, removing his clothes and letting a cold breeze drift across him. He was trapped in his own limp corpse, he couldn’t breathe, and his head ached trying to process the textures and shapes around him. He was terrified, pieces were missing from his mind, the voids they left were white spots that drifted across the inside of his eyelids. It was like the stars were close enough to touch, and the only thing stopping him were the thick iron chains that held him to the hard ground. The hands moved away, and the presence receded, their body heat replaced with frigid air. A clack!  Made him reflexively jolt, and his eyes flew open. He tried to gasp, but couldn’t produce more than a pitiful twitch. 

It was more than simply dark in this tight void. It was like there was simply nothing to see, an unnerving bout of claustrophobia made him shiver. He could feel a hard surface on his sides and back, it felt like he thought a coffin would. But it couldn’t be a coffin, he wasn’t dead. He was-

There was a pair of eyes staring down at him. Every part of Atticus went stiff, his newly returned breath hitched in his throat. Starlight silhouetted the figure, but he could still make out his observer’s shock. He opened his mouth, trying to get any information about what was going on, his jaw trembled and he could feel tears welling in the corner of his eyes. With tremendous effort, he managed to squeak out a pitiful “hhh…e p-” That small motion was more than enough to send waves of exhaustion throughout his body, his vision started to swim, his observer doubled and the ringing that started in his ears silenced everything else around him. Atticus heard something through the din, but it sounded distant and garbled as if he was underwater. He tried to make another sound, to tell the now four observers to call for a doctor, or maybe to plead for his life, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t make out what came out of his mouth, he barely felt the vibration in his adams apple. 

The observers were moving now, two dancers, two mirrors to mimic them. Performing some sort of interpretive dance above, their arms were leafless branches in the wind. The ringing hurt his ears, he thought it was a strange choice of music for the admittedly abstract performance he seemed to be witnessing. He wished they would help him. He imagined reaching out a hand for them. He felt tears slide down his temples from his eyes, was this hell? Purgatory? He didn’t know what he had done to upset The Lord, but pleaded for His mercy anyway. 

“Good Lord, please spare me this torment, I will do whatever you wish, I will be your greatest servant. Just please, grant me your unending mercy.” That’s what Atticus tried to say anyway, he didn’t know how it would be heard by his strange torturers or whatever higher power cared to listen. “Please. Please. Please. Please. Plea-’

--

“Oh God, Charlie… He- He’s still Alive….” Maude placed a horrified hand over her mouth, a visceral nausea building in her throat. Charlie probably had a similar expression to her own, disgust, confusion, and pity for the poor man. Then she shook her head and turned away from the horrorshow beneath them, “Come on Maude, we have to leave.”

Maude stared at her friend with shock, “Charlie- We can’t! We can’t just leave him here, he’ll die!!” she blanched. Charlie turned again and gestured at the grave, “What the hell  are we supposed to do with him? Take him home? He’ll die there too and we don’t have the money for medicine or even another mouth to feed!”

“We can take him to the doctor, or- or-- I don’t know but he’s still Alive!! “ 

“Not for long he’s not! There’s nothing we can do for him. And we need to leave before--” Charlie’s rationalizing was cut short by Atticus’s second attempt at speech, still not words, but more of a garbled “hurglurgle………” Maude thought it sounded like a frog bleeding to death, then tried to shake the very sad image out of her head. Charlie poked her head back over the grave, and Maude pleaded “Please, Charlie, his eyes are open, we could save him…” Charlie groaned and started to pace back and forth between the cart and the grave, holding the sides of her head. “We can’t save him. There’s nothing we can do and besides, we need to get out of here. His one life that should already be gone is not worth risking both of ours.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Maude. Maude looked back down at Atticus, he was crying now, and his jaw twitched slightly open and closed, like he was still trying to speak. She thought he could see her though, he didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular, but she could swear he was trying to make eye contact. “He’s looking at us.” She thought, an idea forming to convince Charlie he was worth saving “He can see us. He might be able to identify us…” 

She waited a few more seconds, letting Charlie pace and argue with herself, then, when there was a moment of pause, Maude took her chance and spoke bluntly “He’s a witness.”

“What?” Charlie stopped mid-step and looked at Maude, she took the chance to continue her argument, “He can see us, if we leave him, and by some miracle he survives, he might be able to identify and report us to the cops. He witnessed the crime, Charlie. If we leave him, there’s a chance he’ll get us caught, and if he thinks somehow we’re responsible for all these injuries? We could be hanged for this.”

Charlie scoffed, “There is no way in Hell  he’ll be able to tell someone what happened, he’s barely conscious and I’d bet you that he won’t see the sunrise!” as if he was cued, Atticus spoke a third time, and this time Maude could actually make out a few words “lord… please…. m-m- mercy….” Something about his tone made a lump form in Maude’s throat, there was no way this was accidental, someone had tried to kill him, and they would succeed if Maude didn’t do anything about it. “Charlie… Please…” Maude reached down and picked up Atticus’s arm, pulling him enough to grab the underside of his shoulders. He was a little too heavy for her, but with a lot of grunting she got the top half of his body above the grave.

“What in God’s name are you doing??” Charlie sounded baffled.

“I’m! H- Helping! Him!” Maude punctuated each word with a yank on Atticus, who made a sort of pathetic pained yelp as Maude pulled the last of his weight over the lip of the hole.

“Maude this is ridiculous, put him down, let's just leave. There’s nothing we can do for him.” Maude continued to drag Atticus towards the cart, though he wasn’t really helping her progress.

“Put him down!” Charlie repeated, stepping to Maude and her cargo and pulling Atticus’s arm to make her drop him. “No!” Maude continued to struggle, joining the high stakes game of tug-of-war. 

They continued to bicker as they pulled until Maude could see lamp lights and shouting moving up the hill, across the grounds towards the cemetery. Charlie froze, and Maude yanked Atticus out of her grip, tumbling backwards into the cart with a clatter. Charlie turned her gaze on Maude and Atticus, Maude could hear Charlie grinding her teeth in frustration. “Come on, Charlie…” Maude said quietly, in a final attempt to convince her to save him. “He knows what we did.” The lights and sounds were getting closer, adrenaline slowly starting to creep into her body. Charlie was silent for several tense moments then hissed “UGH! FINE!  But we leave, and you’re dragging the cart, Now!!” To Maude's surprise, Charlie lifted Atticus’s limp frame off of her, tossing him over her shoulder with a grunt, like a wet towel, his weight apparently meaning almost nothing to her. “Right!” Maude bolted to her feet and grabbed the cart by its handle and quickly followed Charlie, who had started to jog towards the gate.

They had gotten about just 50 feet outside the cemetery when someone yelled “HEY! YOU, THERE!! STOP!!” Neither Maude, nor Charlie listened to the order, instead, they ran faster towards the treeline that marked the end of the Burnsworth property, and was the start of a thick wall of fog. The people on the hill were turning, running diagonally at the pair of criminals instead of straight up to the cemetery. The hill started to become steeper, and the cart threatened to bowl Maude over from behind. The hooded lantern bounced out and rolled away, Maude didn’t try to go back for it. She was almost sliding down the frosted grass now, she could see Charlie stumble a few times with the extra weight of Atticus dragging her forward.

About halfway to the woods, the cart’s handle decided it would be the perfect time to snap, letting its full weight barrel into the back of Maude’s knees. She let out a startled ‘HUHAH!” as she buckled, falling into the cart, which continued to build up speed. Maude barely managed to yell “LOOK OUT!!!” as the cart caught up with Charlie who only managed to turn to Maude to go “WHAT?!” before the cart slammed into her gut, sending her toppling forward into Atticus and Maude. All three of them rocketed down the hill, Maude and Charlie screamed, and she saw Atticus’s eyes roll up into his head, the stress apparently knocking him back into unconsciousness. Charlie, spreadeagled like a tarp over the cart’s opening, grabbed hold of the sides, and hooked her feet through the slatted walls to make sure no living beings flew out while they were still moving.

Maude squeezed her eyes shut as they closed in on the treeline at a scarily rapid rate. Wind whipped her long black hair around, and over the clattering of the cart’s uneven wheels Maude could hear Charlie’s crazed laughter. The only part of her brain that wasn’t going “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” thought that Charlie was insane for enjoying this. The CRACK! The cart running over a fallen branch made Maude jump. The cart began to spin, its wheels losing grip on the slippery ground as they sailed into the thick fog that was supposed to be their safety during the escape but was now turning into another hazard. They spiraled uncontrollably for far too long, Maude white-knuckled the side of the cart with one hand to keep herself inside, while the other tightly gripped her mouth for the third time, hopefully stopping the rapidly growing motion sickness that threatened to make this terrible ride even worse. 

Maude could feel the force of their spinning threatening to pull her out and send her to the ground, she was slowly sliding up the side when -

CRASH!! BANG!! CLATTER!! CLATTERCLATTER!! The corner of the cart clipped a tree, flipping it on its side and scattering the three unwilling occupants as well as several large metal tools across the forest floor, it happened so fast, Maude didn’t even have time to catch how she sailed through the air before hitting the ground and tumbling to a stop, scraped up by the sticks and leaves all over. Maude ended up on her back, with a bag of stolen aristocratic clothes underneath her back. She lay there for a moment, dazed and trying to remember what was happening, then she scrambled to all fours and vomited everything her body could onto the ground, as the motion sickness decided that she had enough. Maude could swear she must’ve purged the last two or three meals she had, the nausea was so bad. But she eventually got control of her organs and stumbled away from the disgusting puddle to find Charlie. 

She wasn’t hard to find, even with the darkness and fog. Using trees to keep her upright on her still unsteady legs, Maude simply followed the sound of deranged giggling to where Charlie was collapsed in a heap, shaking with adrenaline fueled laughter. “Y-you,” Maude Maude put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder to at least try to calm her down, “are insane…”

“Pffff HAHA- Ahahaha OhMyGod How the Did We live Holy SHIT ahaHAHAhHahhaa!!!!!” Was Charlie’s only response. 

“Hey! Charlie!” Maude shook her manic friend’s shoulders and Charlie yelped, all giggles ceasing as she winced grabbed her left arm “owowowow fuck..”

“Oh crap, you okay!” Maude hurriedly let go and looked at Charlie’s arm. Charlie snorted and with a pained tone said “Yep. Fine! Ough-ow- ow- nevermind. Hah- I think- i think its broken. gah-..” She gestured to her elbow, which upon examination, looked slightly crooked.

“Oh No! Charlie I’m so sorry! The cart broke and, and it knocked me over I wasn’t holding the handle right and-” Charlie put her hand over Maude’s mouth and went “shush. Shh. shhhh.” to stop the rambling worry, then gestured around and went “find the dead guy. I’m fine.” though the tightness of her voice begged to differ.

“Oh Crap! Atticus!” Maude shot to her feet and looked around, the fog was so thick now, she could barely see ten feet in any direction. She almost called for the missing man, then remembered he was in no state to play marco-polo. She started to search around the crash site, and heard Charlie standing up with more grunts of pain to help. Charlie apparently did not remember that Atticus was probably unconscious and called out, “Mr. Burnsworth!!! Hey! Where’d you Fall!?” 

“He can’t hear you…” Maude grumbled, then spotted a piece of torn silk on a log that had appeared at her feet. “Oh! Wait? I might’ve-” as she stumbled around the log, Atticus appeared on the ground, his face was in the dirt, legs bent to the side, and a long tear cut down the back of his undershirt, like he had skidded on the log before flipping over into the frosty mud. “Found him!” she called, As she bent down to check him out. He was still breathing when she pulled him up, though it was ragged, and the cut on the back of his head had started to bleed again. His once nicely styled hair was full of twigs and dirt, and the curls stuck out at weird angles, which Maude would’ve found funny, if it wasn’t for the fact that they didn’t know if he would even survive at this point. Charlie limped over to her and questioned, “He alive?” Maude nodded.

“Siiigh, good, I guess.” with her good arm, Charlie once again slung Atticus over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and said, defeatedly “ooookay. Let’s get going. Maude, grab the clothes, we need to get to the flat.” she shifted her weight to leave her broken arm as free as possible. 

“But, What about all our stuff?”

“Leave the tools, we need new ones anyway. If we’re saving this flapdoodle, the least we can get is the money from his clothes.” No more discussion was needed. Maude grabbed the clothing bag and the pair returned to the trek home. 

They couldn’t really run with their injuries, but they tried to move quickly. The sounds of their pursuers had long since faded into the night, but Maude still kept her eyes peeled for movement, and every small sound made her jump. They crunched through the woods for maybe half an hour, before the trees became scarce and various dark buildings appeared out of the fog. A little while longer and they found a road. Charlie knew the city better than anyone, so with the help of a few street signs, they made it into the city proper and, making sure that there was no one around, slipped into the network of alleyways that would hopefully keep them safe.

They tried not to take breaks, even though at this point both of them could simply fall asleep on the cold, wet bricks. It would be too dangerous to keep Atticus waiting for medical attention any longer than he already had, and getting found with a bag full of stolen clothes and a body would look incredibly suspicious to anyone who crossed their path at this time of night. Despite everything that had happened prior, the walk home was surprisingly uneventful. The only thing of real note was when Maude pulled Charlie around a corner as a police carriage rolled in the opposite direction, probably heading to the Burnsworth manor to find them. Maude breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone. She really needed to get to bed.

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

The Owl's Test: Jason's Version

Red Hood is trapped in the Court of Owls' not-so-fun house.

A Gotham Knights choose-your-own-adventure. Pick your favorite character to get whumped, or watch them all suffer :)

Barbara's Version

Tim's Version

Dick's Version

---

The entire world is covered in a haze. A persistent buzzing underlies the chamber’s ambiance, and the Earth tips slightly as Jason levers himself up.

God, does he hurt. His neck, his shoulders, his back. He supposes that might have something to do with the granite mattress he’s sitting on. If humans were made with stick straight spines, Jason imagines that this would be the ideal bed. As it is, a bona fide sacrificial altar makes for poor lumbar support.

Jason’s vision is still a bit fuzzy when he pushes himself off the altar, and a momentary head rush makes him lean back on the stone. Every joint in his body aches. Every muscle under his skin throbs. You’d think he’d just gone three days without sleep, but he just woke up from a nap that was long enough for someone to move him from the floor of the Penguin’s office to an altar in what appears to be a massive, underground cavern.

Jason isn’t old - not by a long shot - but this is what he imagines it feels like. Like an old, hungover man at a rock concert.

As he stumbles to his feet, he scans the walls. They rise up to oblivion, so high that Jason can’t see the ceiling. The whole place is covered with a chilly fog, and frost crunches under his boots.

“Well, if you weren’t before,” Jason gripes, “you’re on my shit list now, Cobblepot.” The world spins a bit, and Jason has to hold out his arms to stay upright. “The hell is this place, anyway? And what’s that smell?” He scowls. The mask covers smells pretty well, but there’s a distinct odor leaking past its filter. Like must and rotten meat.

“Belfry, do you read?” Jason calls. “Hood to Belfry.”

Nothing.

“Great,” he mutters. “I’m cut off.”

With no path forward except… well, forward, Jason staggers ahead. His vision is still blurry, the world is still spinning, and to top it all off, his helmet is malfunctioning, the edges of his vision fuzzy with static.

“The hell is wrong with this thing?”

Jason continues on. As time passes, the drug (or whatever the hell the Penguin gassed him with) wears off. His vertigo is abating. It gets easier to see. And it’s a damn good thing too, because he quite nearly charges into an obvious booby trap. The holes in the wall are a dead giveaway for killer spikes, which would have shish-kebabed him in a second. So instead he ducks and crawls past in the space between the floor and the lowest spikes.

“Inside of Gotham’s walls…” a sinister, echoing voice croons. Clear of the spikes, Jason jumps to his feet, but the speaker is nowhere to be found.

“Rule you one and all…” another voice calls.

There’s an inhuman hiss, like a rabid dog, foaming at the mouth. And then a dark shadow darts across the path and scurries up the wall like a squirrel. Except it’s far too big to be a squirrel. Far, far too big.

“What the hell?” Jason tries to keep it together, but he’s drugged up in some underground maze. It’s getting very difficult to stay calm.

Jason turns the corner, just stopping himself in time to avoid being skewered. The spikes slam into the wall, grinding sparks against the cement. Jason takes a deep, shaky breath, crawling under this trap too.

There’s a light up ahead. Jason almost gets excited. The exit must be close. But the thrill instantly sours into disappointment. The light is too warm in color. It must be a candle, not sunlight.

And candle is putting it mildly. The next room is rife with flame traps, just waiting for Jason to step on the pressure plate and get charred to a crisp. He finds a path through, but it requires a significant amount of trial and error.  He weaves between pillars, jumping over dangerous tiles until he’s made it to the next corridor.

“Give up,” a voice orders from above. “It would be so much easier.”

And it’s tempting. Because Jason is drained. He was aching to begin with, and now, navigating this endless maze, he can feel fatigue creep up, threatening to overtake him.

But he keeps going, because when people say to give up, it's just further motivation to keep at it. And he keeps at it right until he smacks into a wall.

“Wh-?” It hadn’t been a dead end. Just five seconds ago, it had clearly been a hallway. But now it’s a wall, and Jason just rammed his body into it. “Oh, screw this!” he groans, standing up and turning back.

The next path makes Jason wonder if maybe it would have been better to have just fallen for the first spike trap. Because now he’s staring at a less hidden - but far more elaborate - trap. Saws and rods of spikes rotate from the ceiling to the floor. There’s a way through (there always is), but it will require a dangerous amount of precision.

Fortunately, the Bat trained him enough to know how to survive a simple spinning death trap. All he has to do is stay low, stay alert, and be patient. It’s annoying but effective.

And then Jason is back to running. Running down halls, making sharp turns, hoping and praying that the next corner is his way out.

But then his head gets floaty again. The lights are brighter, the sounds more muffled.

“I tried to teach you what I knew, but you were hopeless.” It’s not the voices from before. It’s angrier. It’s more…

It’s more familiar.

“Why did I ever believe you could be anything more than a disgrace?”

It’s Bruce.

Colors are blurring now, and Jason’s legs slow. It feels like he’s wading through concrete. He stumbles forward to a crossroads, devious laughter ringing in his ears.

Left? Right? Does it matter?

Jason doesn’t know which way he goes. He just keeps moving.

A dark figure - himself? - drops from the ceiling before being yanked back up by the throat. It’s shadowy and vague and obviously not-quite-right, but Jason isn’t sure where it’s coming from.

“That’s messed up,” he comments, immediately turning and heading back to the alternate path. He won’t waste his time on things that may not even be real threats.

But it’s no good. A similar figure appears, and a spike trap lies beyond it. There’s no space to crawl under this one. Jason groans in frustration, turning back again. He’s long since lost track of where he’s been.

Two armchairs and a gramophone are waiting in the next antechamber. The music is distorted, but if Jason concentrates (but damn, is it hard to concentrate), he can place the song. He doesn’t know its name or the artist, but he does know where and when he heard it last.

Bruce’s office. The week Jason was adopted. Bruce was busy, but Jason had felt so isolated and threatened by the giant, ominous manor that he knocked on the door anyway. And Bruce had dropped a record on the gramophone and sat with Jason in the armchairs by the fire. And it was warm and safe and-

Jason keeps going.

“Face it! You can’t save anyone, and you never will.”

Fake Bruce. That’s not the real Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t say that. Bruce can’t say that, because he’s-

“Alfred!” Jason is running before he realizes what’s happening, darting up to the figure slumped in the Batcomputer’s command chair. Alfred's neck is tilted at a ninety degree angle. The monitors behind him glow bright red, with smooth, faceless figures staring out at him.

“No,” Jason says, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s dealt with enough flashbacks - with enough trauma - to know how to assess reality. He fills his lungs. Wiggles his toes. Thinks back through his actions. How nothing really has made sense since Cobblepot’s betrayal. And then Jason makes up his mind. “No. This can’t be real.”

Alfred explodes into ash and drifts to the ground. It only confirms Jason’s conclusion.

Fatigue is creeping up his spine now, invading his every cell. But even still, he marches forward. He turns corridor after corridor before the shadowy figure returns. But this time, it’s close enough to identify.

The shadowy figure is holding a gun to its head. The shadowy figure is him.

Something disturbingly familiar ripples through Jason’s muscles. Sweat breaks out across his forehead. He knows it’s fake. He knows it’s not real, but… “Goddamn, it,” he hisses. It feels real enough.

The figure disappears in a cloud of smoke, and Bruce speaks again.

“I should never have recruited you!”

And then the world turns green. Jason feels like his head is being crushed. He slows, heart in his throat. He recognizes the sight before him.

“Oh, god,” he breathes. “Not a Lazarus Pit. Not again.”

The crowbar is solid in his hands. Heavier than it should be, but it feels right.

“You were the worst Robin.” Bruce’s loathsome baritone is mocking and cruel. It only makes Jason’s swing more satisfying.

Green drips from his hair. Rolls down his face.

“On your best day, you were nothing but a killer.”

Thump. Thwack. Thud.

The crowbar cuts across Batman’s cowl. Cracks a hole in his skull. Shatters his ribs. Punctures his lungs. Batman collapses, and Jason.

Keeps.

Going.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD-

“Kill… kill… kill…”

Jason drags Batman up, just to hit his limp form again. Into the neck. Across the face. Between the shoulder blades.

“We are the same…”

“NO!” Jason drops the crowbar. It clatters cheerfully on the stone floor. Batman falls in an ungainly heap beside it.

Jason presses his palms to his eyes. “That’s not who I am!” he tells the voices. “Not anymore!”

Batman disappears in smoke. The Lazarus green fades, and the crowbar melts into the ground.

Jason starts running.

“No escape…”

There’s a door ahead. He can see the door ahead. But it just gets further and further the faster he runs.

“No escape…”

Jason catches up. Grabs the handle and tries to open the door. But the door is wrenched from his grip, flying down the hall.

“Accept your fate…”

Jason has to sprint to catch up. He doesn’t waste time pushing open the door. Frantically, desperately, he rams his shoulder once, twice into the door. It gives way, and he spills out of the labyrinth. The door slams shut behind him.

“Is it over? Am I out?”

The comm still fizzles in his ear, and he’s still inside an underground lair. His vision is clearer though. The world isn’t spinning. The lights are warmer, and the room is less confined.

Jason isn’t safe. Not yet. But he’s out. He doesn’t hear the voices anymore. Shadows don’t warp into the past. And Jason considers that a win.

Barbara's Version

Tim's Version

Dick's Version

[hurtthemgently]

Hangovers are underutilized as a whump trope

Mess with your whumpees while they’ve got a headache and nausea. Purposely get them drunk just to play with them in the morning

[envy-of-the-apple]

ive been really obsessed with your gojo/geto naga oneshots and asks lately it feels like literal brain rot at this point its so good. ive reread it 6 times lol

i was wondering though, what would Geto do if Gojo was just a little bit too heavy handed with you? to the point of a sprained or broken arm or leg. Would he get mad at Gojo or just mad in general that reader was hurt? Also how would they act in response to the injured reader who can't do basic tasks themselves, I personally think they would enjoy the fact she relied on them even more to even move now.

Reminder requests are still closed!!!! I just love this idea so so much holdon lemme-

Part one Part three

(Yandere, dark, implied forced relationships, noncon touching, biting, language barriers, drugging(?))

Top of the Food Chain pt2

Dark!Naga!SatoSugu x reader

Two days later, Satoru still wasn't allowed inside the cave.

You can hear him, hissing and clicking, right outside, hovering just behind the invisible line Suguru refused to let him pass. If you weren't already in so much pain, you would have found pity on the poor thing. He wasn't allowed in his own home, even though the incident wasn't entirely his fault.

Technically, Satoru saved you. It was yet again another escape attempt. Something you'd been doing a lot these days once you've figured out these beings' intentions with you. You'd gotten past the rock quarry this time, a new record. Your plan was filled with holes: there was no way to truly escape the island. You had no boat, no way to call for help. Still, you ran, forgetting that there were more dangerous things on this island other than two territorial serpent men.

It was a monster. There was no other way to describe it. Big, ugly, shiny spikes and sharp teeth, eyes dripping with bloodlust. You would have been eaten, killed, maimed, if Satoru hadn't caught up with you in time.

The only collateral was the loss of nearby plant life and your broken wrist.

That had been Satoru's fault. He'd pulled at you too hard at the hand. The remnants of adrenaline from the fight, his anger, anger made him too rough on your fragile body. He froze at the wet snap, and then you started screaming. That was how Suguru had found you. Despite how much Satoru clicked and hummed and tittered, from his mate's look, you doubted it helped his case.

Another lonely coo made you wince. Suguru only huffed, wrapping you tighter in his coils. They were already warm from your body heat. The numerous animal pelts helped your comfort too.

"Make him stop," you beg, "he's been going on for hours."

At that, Suguru lifts his head from the base of your neck. He tilts his head as he surveys you, and you can't help but think how awful you must look. Sickly-looking from the pain, clammy skin. He can't do much about your appearance, but the least he could do was shut Satoru up.

"What want?" Suguru asks, "water?"

At that, he picks up a sack filled with sea-smelling water. You wrinkle your nose, turning away, cocooning yourself within his coils. With the increased pain, your appetite has decreased, as well as your thirst. The stress of being trapped like this along with your broken wrist was starting to take its toll on your body.

Suguru makes a sound of disapproval, shuffling around behind you. You know he's still mad about the escape attempt, but he's concerned enough for your well-being to put his anger to the side for now. He'd helped wrap your wrist, using something stretchy and soft.

You raise your wrist up, inspecting the thin material wrapped around your wrist. You're not sure what it is, it's too silky to resemble cotton. It must be from the foliage around the island. Yet, another strange thing you'd never find the answer to.

There's another rumble coming from the Naga's chest. He wraps a hand around your chin, bringing your face closer. In his other, he holds the dripping sack.

"Suguru," it's too soft to be anything more than a whine, "it hurts too much to take anything right now. Stop."

"Hurt?" he asks.

To that, you gesture to your broken wrist. It may not have been broken, you were no doctor, so you couldn't say for certain. But considering you'd been in the same amount of pain for two days, it really didn't matter to you.

A click, before he's tossing a glare at the entrance of the cave. He'd already given Satoru a beating right before coming to coddle you. Despite being bigger than his mate, Satoru is docile enough to take them. Suguru had been acting more aggressive lately. You had a feeling it was your fault.

He'd been inspecting your wrist every so often, but you see a different look within his brown eyes now as he takes your injured hand. He carefully turns your palm over, pressing slightly into your wrist. When you yelp, he retracts.

"Hurt." Suguru confirms. You can only nod.

"Hurt. No drink? No eat?" You don't like the way he's talking. As if he's putting a puzzle piece together. Coming to a solution you won't like.

When you go to pull away, his grip only tightens.

"No hurt," he says it like a promise, as though you're a toddler and he's coaxing you into drinking a sour-tasting medicine. His lips part, revealing the fangs you've often seen him use on meat, on Satoru.

Never did you think he'd ever use them on you.

"Suguru," you're pleading, trying to move away when he bends down, his hair brushing your sweaty forehead. You can feel his breath on your neck.

"No hurt," he repeats, and then he bites down.

He lied, of course, he did. His teeth puncture your skin, tearing through like paper. You think you screamed, or maybe it was more akin to a pitiful whimper. In the background, you can hear someone hiss, Satoru maybe?

For a second, you feel everything, the pain, the puncture wound, Suguru lightly licking your neck.

And then, you feel weightless.

It's hard to describe, but your brain feels like it's turned to mush. Your body feels like you're on a soft cloud, just there, floating. In the back of your mind, you remember how dazed Satoru would get whenever Suguru bit him. At the time, you just thought he was lovestruck.

When Suguru pulls away, he's smiling. A trail of blood, your blood goes down his lip. You can barely keep your eyes on him, close to falling asleep.

"No hurt," he says. When he leans down to kiss you, you accept without a single fuss.

You don't remember much after that, but you remember accepting whatever Suguru put in your mouth. The panic in your body was non-existent as he held the water-sack above your lips, watching as your throat bobbed. You think he kissed you a few more times, but you're not too sure. You were a lot more averse to kissing before. It'd make sense he'd take advantage of it.

When you wake up again, you're in between two bodies. The pain in your wrist is still there, but not as horrible as before. You're still groggy, mind fuzzy. Whatever Suguru had given you was still in effect.

Satoru is the first to notice you're awake. Suguru and him must have made up during the time you were unconscious. He props himself up, peering down at you. With how dim the cave is, you can barely make out his features. He looks just as guilty as he had two days ago.

"Sorry," he mutters, "is sorry."

If you weren't still high, you might have laughed. When you continue to stare, he takes it in stride, leaning forward to kiss your cheek, then your lips. You wince in distaste, leaning back.

"Stop," you say but don't fight when he licks at your jaw. You can barely move your fingers.

Panic is still far away, a distant call than anything alarming. It should worry you, but you still can't feel anything.

Suguru is at your back. You can hear his scales move across the cavern floor. He gives a hum, content as he curls himself around you. He doesn't seem to mind Satoru's touches. Your theory that they must have made up is unfortunately starting to strengthen.

You could barely manage Suguru's coddlings. You don't think you'll survive Satoru's.

"Sorry," he mouths into your neck. You can feel the grip on your waist starting to tighten. He stops, rising up to stare at you.

Blue, almost glowing.

"But no more leave."

You're coherent enough to piece together what he means. You can't escape Satoru. You can't escape Suguru. You can't leave this island. Running away is useless.

The nagas understood it. It's time you did too.

"Yes," you finally say, "no more leave."

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 15 @whumpmasinjuly-archive : Prompt: a soft reprieve

CW: non-con drugging, captive whumpee

Whumpee lay on the bed, every breath a laborious effort. Their body ached with the memory of days filled with torture and relentless beatings. Each bruise and cut told a story of cruelty and suffering, and their mind swam in a haze of pain. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and sweat, a constant reminder of their torment.

Whumper stood nearby, a syringe in hand, watching with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Don't worry, you'll feel better soon," Whumper murmured with a grin, the syringe's needle gleaming in the dim light.

Whumpee's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Whumper's voice, fear mixing with the ever-present pain. They tried to muster the strength to protest, but only a weak whimper escaped their lips.

Whumper approached the bed and sat, their grin widening. Taking Whumpee's arm, finding a vein, and injected the cocktail of drugs.

Almost immediately, Whumpee felt the effects. The intense pain that had been their constant companion began to dull, replaced by a sudden rush of euphoria and warmth. Their mind, once clouded by agony, now floated on a surreal wave of bliss. The room seemed to shift and blur, the harsh reality of their situation melting away into a dreamlike haze.

Whumper watched intently as Whumpee's expression changed, the lines of pain softening, replaced by a look of almost serene calm. "See? Isn't that better?" Whumper's voice was a mixture of mock concern and genuine enjoyment at the sight.

Whumpee's head lolled to the side, their eyes half-closed, a weak smile playing on their lips. The room around them seemed to shimmer and dance. Colors blurred, shapes distorted, and the boundaries of the world dissolved into a mesmerizing, almost beautiful chaos. Whumpee's breathing steadied, the tightness in their chest easing. They felt as if they were floating, weightless and free, despite the heavy chains of reality that still bound them.

Whumper traced a finger down Whumpee's cheek, enjoying the way they leaned into the touch, their senses heightened and yet dulled all at once. "You deserved a little reprieve," they cooed, the mockery in their voice barely concealed. "Just relax and enjoy it."

Whumpmas In July 2024 posts

[tallulah477]

Playing Dirty

Survive the Night Day 3: Drugged

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Dark!Reader, Toxic!Reader, Jealous!Reader, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Alien Genitalia, Drugging, P in V, Slight Thigh Riding, Oral (male receiving), Creampie, Knotting, Size Difference, Sex while one person is under the influence of drugs, Kuru/Queue Play, Belly Bulge, Obsessive/Possessive Behavior, Manipulation/Gaslighting, Toxic Relationship, Brief Body Shaming (Reader body shames another female out of jealously - not to her face, but in her thoughts), Name Calling (significant use of the word "bitch"), Forced Cheating (not on Reader - Neteyam is kinda dating someone else although you can argue they aren’t together yet), Reader is a straight up bitch and completely unhinged ngl, She is horrible

Word Count: 10.3K

A/N: For more about how I picture alien genitalia, see here.

Summary: Neteyam is supposed to be yours. Your mate. So who the hell does he think he is running around with someone else? You need to do something. In this game, you'll be the victor - not her. Even if that means you have to play a little dirty.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Kuru - Neural Queue

Kaltxì - Hello

Tanhì - Star, bioluminescent freckle

Swoasey - Kava bowl (constructed from seed pods, used for drinking intoxicating beverages), handsized

Teylu - Beetle Larva, food and source of protein for the Na'vi

Tsahìk - Spiritual Leader

He’s starting to piss you off.

Nope. Wrong. Too late. You’re already pissed. Beyond pissed. 

Who the hell does he think he is? Running around with another woman like that right in front of you. What does he even see in her anyway?

Iäle. What a stupid name.

She’s not even pretty. And her tits are way too small - nonexistent actually. Neteyam wants someone with a little more to give. Like yours, for example. Although, it’s not very hard to have more than her. You may be smaller, the comparison of a human to a Na’vi structure is very stark, but you’ve got a lot to compensate for that. Plenty of bounce and soft curves for him to play with and enjoy. You’ve seen him appreciating the view before, when your v-neck t-shirts or tank tops ‘accidentally’ ride a little too low to be considered modest and his pretty golden eyes follow the movement, tracing the curve of your breasts and lingering on the hardened peaks of your nipples where they poke through your top on the days you forget to wear a bra.

You’ve been forgetting a lot more recently. Wow. Crazy. 

And since you’re smaller, your pussy is clearly going to be tighter too. You think about it all the time, taking Neteyam’s thick cock between your slick walls, feeling him spear you open and filling you up so much you hope you feel him in your throat. He needs someone who’s going to treat him right, squeezing around his length and working him up like it’s your sole purpose in life to be his personal living fleshlight. Iäle can’t give him that. She has ‘selfish lover’ written all over her. She’d probably just chase her own release, make him get off just to say she did and then that’s it. You, on the other hand… you would milk him dry - pulling orgasm after orgasm from his gorgeous muscular body like he deserves until he’s a twitching and overstimulated mess. 

You want to see it so bad - the way his spent cock would shrink and retract back into its sheath in protection from your oh-so-giving hands and mouth and pussy. You want to see the goofy and satisfied smirk on his face as he shivers from the aftershocks, just like the one he gives you when you race through the forest and he pretends like you can keep up with him only to completely demolish you in the final stretch. 

Only this one would be better, with his amber eyes so dazed and hazy and not able to focus on anything at all. You’d fuck him so good you think there might even be drool trailing down his cheek from the corner of his mouth, visual proof of a job well done. 

The point is you have more than her. Would be a million times better than her. Duh. 

You see it clear as day every time you close your eyes. You and him taking the next step and moving from just best friends forever to mates - a bond stronger than forever, an eternity bonded together in an unbreakable connection that can never be severed. You’d be his and he’d be yours. Permanently. You know Eywa would agree with you. You may not have your own kuru, but she would find a way to unite you both. 

And if she won’t. You will. 

So now here’s the riddle: If you see what the future will be every time you close your eyes, then why the fuck is it that when you open them right now… he’s with her. 

Smiling at her, holding her hand, their tails flicking behind them and occasionally brushing against each other as they walk towards you. 

Bitterly, you close your eyes and open them again. Nope, still there. You do it again. Still here and closer. You do it again and again, rapid frustrated blinks make your eyelashes flutter as you hope that the next one will show just him. That she will disappear and cease to exist, stop even breathing the same air as him, but she never does. The quick blinks just serve to tire your eyes and make the couple flicker in and out of sight, getting closer and closer to you with each blink. 

“Kaltxì, tanhì.” Neteyam says with a grin. “What’s wrong with you? Something in your eye?”

Iäle smiles at you too, sending you a small wave with the hand not currently on trial and being threatened to be cut off for touching what’s rightfully yours. “Kaltxì, y/n,”

You force a bright smile on your face as you look up at them. “Hi, you two! No, yeah. Just something in my eye, I guess. It’s out now though,” You eye them suspiciously, gaze unable to help but fall to where their hands are still joined together. “Where are you off to?”

“We were going to head to the river,” Iäle responds, and you just barely hold off a wince from how her voice grates on your ears. How can Neteyam stand to hear her speak without wanting to pluck out his own eardrums? “There’s a spot there that’s really nice that has a view of the whole length of the water.” You let out a small hum of acknowledgement instead of rolling your eyes the way you want to. “But Mo’at has called for me. She was going to prepare the paints for tonight’s celebration, but some of the little ones have become ill and she needs to tend to them, so the task falls to me, I guess.”

“Aw, too bad,”

Iäle shrugs, small smile still present on her lips. “It’s alright. I don’t mind. Anything I can do to help is an honor,”

Ugh, spare me. 

“Okay, well, I’ll be heading over there now,” She says, finally. To your relief she lets go of Neteyam’s hand, but your perceptive gaze doesn’t miss the way she squeezes it as she does. Nor do you miss the way Neteyam grins at her in response. “I’ll see you both tonight at the celebration!”

“Byeee,” You respond. Neteyam doesn’t look at you in confusion or pinch his lips together at your tone, so you suppose you were successful at making it sound friendly. 

Your eyes follow Iäle as she heads back towards the center of the village, disappearing behind the group of training warriors on her way to the healer’s tent. As soon as she’s out of sight, Neteyam turns to you and crosses his arms across his chest. Your eyes zero in on the corded muscle of his arms, pulling taut as they flex with his movement, but your ogling opportunity is cut short when you spot the knowing look on his face as he stares down at you. 

“What?”

“Go on,” He prompts. “Say what you’re going to say.”

“How do you know I was going to say anything?” You reply, sass heavy in your voice. Neteyam just raises a hairless brow in response. “You two seem close.”

“There it is,”

“I’m just stating a fact,”

Neteyam sighs. “I like her. That’s what happens when you like someone,”

“Is that right? Then maybe you should hold my hand more often,” You grumble, turning on your heel to walk back towards the lab. He’s quick to follow you just like you knew he would. 

“I hold your hand all the time,”

“Is that right?” You repeat. 

“Y/n,”

You stop suddenly and turn to look back at him. He towers over you like this, so close that if you just took a step closer you would be face to face with the little (yeah fucking right) funzone hidden safely underneath his loincloth. You don’t, instead choosing to crane your neck back to look up at his face, your own brows furrowed as you snap your fingers together twice and point down towards the ground. 

“Really?” He asks, exasperated. Your only response is another rapid round of snaps and an aggressive point downwards. 

Watching Neteyam crouch down in front of you at your beck and call makes heat spark in your core. He’s such a good boy - would be such a good, good boy for you if he could just get his head out of his ass. In the crouch he’s closer to your height, still taller but not so much so that you're craning your neck to see his face, and he holds your gaze as you glower at him. 

“Serious time now,” You say. “Eyes on me.”

“They already are,” He shoots back, and grins in satisfaction at your glare. “Fine. Yes, ma’am,”

And Eywa, it’s like he’s trying to get you to cream your pants saying it like that. 

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again–hey!” You shout, watching as his amber eyes roll upwards at your words. “I. Do. Not. Like. Her. I don’t trust her.”

“So you say, but I still don’t know why–”

“I have my suspicions, Teyam. I don’t trust her intentions with you.” Like intending to take you away from me when you’re MINE. “She’s no good.”

“Why is she no good?”

Cause I said so. “Don’t you trust me?”

Neteyam sighs again, eyes softening as he looks down at your serious face. “Of course I trust you, tanhì,”

“Then trust me now,” You say, voice soft with sympathy as your hand reaches out to caress his arm. His big and muscle packed toned arm. “She’s going to do something to hurt you.”

You want to grind your teeth into dust at the way Neteyam clearly wants to argue with you, but the corner of his mouth just lifts into a pacifying smile. “I know you’re looking out for me. I promise I’ll be careful,”

Liar. 

“You’re such a good friend,”

Fucking ouch. 

Your eye twitches at the words, a grimacing smile pulling at your own lips. “The best friend! Of course,”

“Hm,”

He stands up from his crouch and you turn to resume your walk back towards the lab. Neteyam is a gentleman through and through, so even though he needs to go home and prepare for tonight’s festivities, he walks you home to make sure you're safe. He would do it for anyone - his daddy raised him right like that. But it makes you feel all warm and gooey inside to think that he would only do it for you. You’re his best friend, his future mate, and it’s his job to keep you safe from anything and everything that might try to hurt you. He loves you. You smile smugly at the thought. Neteyam, the mighty warrior - your own personal protector. 

It’s mighty dangerous in the Pandoran forest for a human. Anything could happen. You could break your mask and die of suffocation in a matter of minutes. A thanator could lunge from the dense treeline and gobble you up like you were no more than a midday snack. You could trip and twist your ankle, maybe even sprain it, and Neteyam would have to pick you up in his strong arms that could toss you around like a ragdoll if he wanted to and carry you all the way back to the lab, cradled against him for safety.

Hm. 

You yelp as you quickly catch the toe of your sneaker on the slightly uneven ground on your next step, purposefully throwing yourself onto the ground with a pained gasp as you clutch at your ankle.

“Shit!” Neteyam curses, crouching down and looking at you with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Ow,” You whine, hands still wrapped protectively over your ‘injured’ ankle. “Teyam, it hurts!”

He studies your ankle carefully, his hand reaching out to brush gently across the soft skin to check for tenderness or swelling.

“OW!” You squeal, tears welling up in your eyes at the imaginary pain. 

“Okay, okay,” Neteyam relents, pulling back his hand so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you further. “It doesn’t look broken, but we should probably still get it looked at.”

“No,” You say, voice wobbling as your lower lip trembles. “No, I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

“Tanhì, it’s their job. We need to make sure its not–”

“No,” You interrupt. No way. The nurse would take one look at your ankle and bitch you out for wasting her time. No thank you. “It’s fine. I promise. Just twisted and hurts right now. But…”

Neteyam looks unsure. “But what?”

You can’t help how your eyelashes flutter at him. “Can you carry me? I don’t think I can walk right now,”

“Of course, tanhì,”

He picks you up bridal style, which is fitting considering you’ll be his bride one day, and effortlessly cradles you against his chest. You tilt your head to the side, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up at him with a small smile and a sweet ‘Thank you, Teyam,’ on your lips. His chest is hard and warm against your ear as it presses against his skin, and you wish that you didn’t have to wear this stupid mask to survive outside so you could press your entire face into the solid wall of muscle and inhale his scent. 

The walk back to the lab nearly puts you to sleep with how comfortable you are against him. His steps are careful and smooth, barely jostling you at all and making it feel more like a gentle rocking as it soothes you into a peaceful state. You haven’t felt this calm in a long time. Neteyam has been stressing you out - courting that bitch and parading her around right in front of you. You don’t know why he’s trying to make you jealous, but it’s making you more angry than anything else. This is making up for it though. You think you could forgive his little games and lapse in judgment if he just carries you around pressed against his body a little bit each day. 

He’d have to do other things too, of course. But this would be a start. 

He carries you through the airlock, taking your mask from you and placing it with the others along the attached shelf before grabbing a carbon mask for himself all without letting you touch the ground. He moves with a flawless confidence as he loops the mask around his neck, feet barely pausing in their journey as he takes you all the way up to your room. It’s like something out of your dreams when he lays you on your bed, and for a couple blissful seconds you have the soft mattress at your back and Neteyam’s large hulking figure overtop you just like it’s always meant to be. You wish that he would kneel down on it too, hold himself over you as he sweeps his pretty golden eyes along your sprawled out frame. You’d stretch out even more, putting the entire length of your body on display for him, maybe even let out a small enticing moan just to give him a little show - a little taste at what was to come.

But he’s off the bed and kneeling at your side all too soon, fingers reaching out again to brush against your ankle in concern. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks. “I can still get Jane to come look at it.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine. Just twinged it a bit, that’s all. Jane would just get pissed we wasted her time,”

“If you’re sure,”

“I am,” You insist. “Thank you though, Teyam. For carrying me. You’re really strong.”

Neteyam hums, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Yeah, I guess I am,”

He stands up, taking a breath from his mask, and you can tell he’s gearing up to leave. The selfish part of you doesn’t want him to. He should be around you all the time. The thought of leaving your side shouldn’t even pop into his head. And if he has to, if he really has no other choice, you should see pain burning in his amber eyes - the feeling of sorrow so overwhelming that he feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest just to have to leave you for a moment to go on a hunt or use the bathroom.

Annoyance sparks when you don’t see that pain evident in his face. He looks fine. He’s getting ready to leave you, while you’re hurt, and he’s fine. 

“You’re coming to the celebration tonight, right?” He asks when he pulls the mask away, and you plant another sickly sweet smile on your face in response.

“Yeah! I’m gonna be your plus one, of course,”

“Yeah, okay,” Neteyam chuckles. “I’m going to head back. I have some things I have to do before tonight, but I’ll be back to come get you in case you’re still having ankle pain.”

“Sounds good! Thank you, mighty warrior,”

He smirks at the nickname, but doesn’t reply. And then he’s walking out of your room, beautiful expanse of back curving as he ducks under the doorframe, tail flicking out lazily behind him, and wow…

You hate to watch him go, but love to watch him leave. 

The more you think about it, the more you determine that no - you’re not going to stand for this nonsense anymore. 

This little game has been going on for far too long, and it’s about time that this victor claims her prize. That doesn’t mean you have to play by the rules though.

Besides, what fun is a game without playing a little dirty?

The people in the lab are more than helpful without even realizing it. You listen, enraptured, as they tell you about a new plant discovered just off the side of the Hallelujah Mountains. It’s a rare find, and they tell you that the effects when ingested are shockingly similar to some other drugs found on Earth. 

Despite the similarities to some not-so-nice Earth drugs, the scientists in the lab are excited about it. 

“Mo’at says it might be useful for the children that have been sick recently. They’ll be groggy and probably not remember anything, but it will force their bodies to relax and recover instead of them wasting energy being uncomfortable or in pain,” One of them tells you, opening the small jar of powered plant. “It’s potent as a powder so it only takes a small amount to be effective.”

Frankly you don’t know why they’re telling you all this. You don’t have anything to do with the science side of anything here, but you listen with rapt attention as they unknowingly tell you the answer to all your problems. You can practically see the little invisible label on the side of the jar now:

Mating Powder for the Hardheaded Na’vi

Side effects may include dizziness, confusion, mental fog, memory loss, or unconsciousness. 

Warning: For best effects, keep bitches named Iäle away from the consumer so that the provider may have the night of her life that she deserves. 

“Oh, how intriguing,” You tell them. “Very interesting indeed.”

Yeah. Sounds pretty damn perfect. 

You wait until everyone goes to dinner before sneaking back into the lab. They said the powder is potent, just a little bit needed to have the effect on the Na’vi children, so you think that amount plus a little extra should do the job for your stubborn Na’vi male. Slipping some into a small plastic baggie you steal from one of the tables is easy enough, and you're in and out of the lab with no one the wiser to the small little pouch of wish granting power stashed safely in your pocket. 

By the time Neteyam arrives back at the lab, the baggie is already hidden away out of sight, tucked between your breast and the cup of your bra. You don’t want to wear one, it would be so much better to tease Neteyam with the sight of your unbound tits through the thin material of your pretty party dress. But alas, you’ve also chosen to forego panties and you need a place to keep the baggie. So bra it is. 

You’ve made sure it’s at least a sexy lacy one though. You’re gonna get fucked in it tonight, you’re sure of it. 

“What do you think?” You ask him, twirling in your spot and posing to give him a little show of the outfit. “You like?”

Neteyam nods. “Yes, you look beautiful, tanhì. You always do,”

“Do you think I look sexy?”

The slight flush visible on Neteyam’s cheeks is confirmation enough despite his silence. 

“Mate worthy, one might say?” You continue, and this time his hairless brows shoot up. 

“Mate? Are you searching for a mate?”

You hear it in his voice. The jealousy. It’s very subtle, barely even noticeable - most people wouldn't have even caught onto it. But you’re smart, you’re brain in tune with all things Neteyam and Neteyam-like, so all you need is the smallest hint and you can tell it’s there. You just barely hold off a smirk, instead choosing to stare at him with wide eyes. “Jealous?” 

“No, I just didn’t know you were interested in finding one. Is it someone I know?”

“Maybe,”

Neteyam lets out a harsh rush of air that you think could be a laugh. “You’re not going to tell me?”

Eywa, you made this man so… beautiful. 

“Nope,” You smirk, coyly. “Guess you’re just gonna have to wait and find out.”

The walk back to the village is a slow one. You need to be gentle on your ankle, it’s still pretty tender after your fall earlier after all. Plus the longer alone time with Neteyam is an added benefit. You’re going to have to see her at this celebration, so you’re going to need a little bit of extra incentive to get through it. 

By the time you make it to the village’s center, The People are dancing. A flurry of bodies flowing and twisting to the steady beat of the song take up most of the site. The fire sparks at the center of it all, bright and sparkling as it shoots out crackles that arch over top the heads of the dancing Na’vi. There’s people crouched or sitting along the outer ring of the celebration, indulging in food and drink rather than dance and you nudge Neteyam’s thigh, smiling as you point to a small opening of the circle just perfect for the two of you to claim as your own. 

This is how it’s supposed to be - just you and Neteyam enjoying the pleasures Pandora has to offer, side by side like a true mated pair. 

But the moment you sit down on the seating log, your irritation floods your content peace of mind. She’s here. 

She’s got such an attitude about her, pushing her way through the barely there space of the dancing clan and the resting members in the outer circle. What makes her think she’s good enough to make that space for herself? Just go around like a normal person. 

When Iäle makes it in front of you, you notice she only has one swoasey in each hand. 

“Kaltxì,” She smiles, handing one of the cups to Neteyam. She keeps the other one in her hand though, curling her now free hand around the rounded shape to cradle it. “Y/n, I thought to bring you one but I wasn’t sure how you would handle the stronger alcohol as a human, but you can have this one if you want.”

This fucking bitch. How disrespectful. 

“Oh,” You say, and if you add a little more disappointment and sadness into your voice than you actually feel, that’s your business. “That’s okay. I’ll just go get my own.”

“I’ll go get you one, tanhì,”

“No,” You insist. “It’s okay. I’ll be back in just a minute.” 

You ignore Neteyam’s responding frown (and Iäle completely) as you make your way around the outside of the edges of the gathering. Your heart is pounding in your chest, anger boiling there like a pool of molten lava even as you try to keep your features neutral and smile at the Na’vi you pass. You’ve had enough - enough of this. You’re not going to let her embarrass you anymore. 

Wasn’t sure how you would handle the stronger alcohol - fuck off. 

The drink that finds its way into your hand is just as big as the ones Neteyam and Iäle are holding. It’s too much alcohol for you, that’s true, but fuck her for saying it out loud like your size is an insult. You take a sip from the cup, face twisting in disgust as a harsh shiver rocks your body at the taste. Gross, but much needed. 

Your eyes flicker around, searching for wandering eyes as you reach your fingers into your bra. The small baggie is still there and the opening pulls apart easily with a quick swipe of your thumb and pointer finger. Finding no prying eyes, you dump the contents into the cup. The powder dissolves into the drink almost as soon as it touches the liquid, and by the time you’ve shoved the empty baggie back into its hidey spot and swirled the cup a little in your palm, all remaining evidence of what you’ve just done have disappeared completely. 

When you return to the seating log you claimed, Neteyam and Iäle are still there too, and it seems they’ve found some food while you were gone. They’ve switched seats too - Neteyam taking up crouching facing the seats while Iäle has taken the space he was in when you left, leaving you to sit next to the absolute eye-roll of a Na’vi on the log. 

“Here, tanhì,” Neteyam says, handing you a small leaf holding some cooked teylu. You thank him with a pretty smile, pleased with the small declarations of loyalty he has shown for you despite his games. If he’s going to try to make you jealous, at least he’s man enough to still take care of you while he plays around. 

“Y/n,” Iäle says as she bites off a piece of her own teylu. “I hope I didn’t offend you earlier by not getting you a drink. That wasn’t my intention. I just thought—”

“No, it’s okay,” The forced brightness in your voice makes you want to throw up. “Of course it’s okay. No harm done.”

And you wish you could smack her responding smile off her face. 

Iäle’s voice grates on your nerves as she speaks, telling you both about her afternoon of painstakingly mixing together the paints for the newly passed warriors to wear. You pretend to sip at your drink throughout dinner, listening with rapt attention when Neteyam talks about how the day’s training session went and then with barely concealed boredom when Iäle mentions the sickness plaguing a few of the kids. 

“Mo’at thinks they should be well enough in a few days. Especially with the new medicine we are trying out to help keep them calm and rested as they recover.”

“That’s good,” Neteyam says and you quickly nod in ecstatic agreement when his eyes flick over to you.   

He’s done his first drink, the swoasey empty on the ground beside him, so you feign one last sip of your own before shoving it in his direction. 

“Teyam, you wanna finish it for me? Guess it was a little too much for me to handle after all,”

“Oh, okay,” Netayam says, taking the cup from your outstretched hand. “Thanks, tanhì.”

You watch in barely contained satisfaction as he takes a few large gulps of the drugged drink. You wonder how long it will take for it to start affecting him. It can’t be long, maybe just enough time to make up some excuse to leave and then make it back to the lab before it hits. And you can’t be around people when it happens. Especially not her. 

It’s just another confirmation that Eywa wants you and Neteyam to be together when another of Mo’at’s healers-in-training runs up and taps Iäle’s shoulder. Mo’at is busy with the celebration - the Tsahìk is needed to give her speech and blessing for the new warriors - but a few of the little ones are fretful and need an experienced healer’s attention. There are stars in your eyes as you watch Iäle solemnly get up from her seat and wave goodbye to you and Neteyam. You can tell she doesn’t want to leave, wants to stick around and possibly try to dance with your man, but luck happens to be on your side and now you have him all to yourself. 

You’re almost sad you can’t stay and enjoy the celebration as a couple. But there’s no rush. After today, he’ll be yours forever and every celebration from now on will be spent with you in his arms as his girl. 

Neteyam gulps down the rest of the alcohol as he shoves the last bite of teylu in his mouth, and you decide that that’s your sign to move this night along. 

“Teyam,” You whine, eyes wide as you reach down to gently touch your ‘injured’ ankle. “My ankle is starting to hurt again.”

Neteyam’s hairless brows furrow in worry, eyes shooting down to your ankle for just a second before meeting your own again. “You should really see Jane so she can make sure it’s nothing serious,”

“It’s fine,” You say. “Just too much walking on it too quickly I guess. Can you carry me home?”

Instead of answering, Neteyam licks his fingers clean and moves the two empty cups against the log so they’re out of people’s way before scooting around so that his back is to you. You happily wrap yourself around him, arms locked around his neck while his big hands catch your thighs as you jump to wrap your legs around his torso. 

You dig your face into his back as he walks, Neteyam hissing lightly as the cold glass of your mask presses into his spine. You ignore him though, instead enjoying the feeling of his muscles shifting against your front as you press yourself harder against his sturdy frame. Your dress is too long and not being a team player right now - because if it was, it would be hanging differently. As it is, the little excess fabric it has is settling between your thighs and acting as a barrier between your bare pussy and Neteyam’s sculpted back. 

Which is a problem, obviously, because Neteyam’s back muscles should be massaging against your clit right about now. 

Neteyam makes it about three-fourths of the way back to the lab before the drug starts to hit him. He stops suddenly mid-stride, swaying slightly as one hand drops its grip on your thigh to press against the side of his head. 

“Teyam?” You say, voice soft and full of concern. Oh nooooo, what could possibly be wrong? “You okay?”

“Yes,” He grumbles, breathing coming out just a little bit shaky. “Just dizzy.”

“Maybe you had too much alcohol. Let’s hurry up and get back and you can lay down in my bed.”

You watch as he shakes his head as if to clear it, hand coming back down to hold your thigh as he forces himself to continue the rest of the journey. But once the drug starts to take effect on your large Na’vi, it shows no mercy as it wraps him tighter under its powerful grip. His first dizzy sway soon turns into another, and another. 

“Neteyam!” You shout, your grip around his neck tightening as you brace yourself against him when he stumbles forward.

“S-sorry,” He gasps, hands trying to hold you steady as he rights himself. “Sorry, tanhì. Sorry. I-I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s okay,” You soothe, gently reaching up to brush your hand across his damp forehead and swiping a few braids out of his face. “Just a little farther and you can rest.”

The last trek of the walk takes significantly longer than it should have and Neteyam is not doing well by any means. His breathing is harsh now, nearly panting as he struggles to fight off the nearly constant dizziness that he’s feeling. His skin is hot to the touch, sweaty as he stumbles through the Pandoran forest, mumbling obscenities to himself in between nearly incoherent sentences as he pushes forward. You feel a little bad seeing him this way. You love him and you would never want him to suffer, but he brought this on himself. 

When another one of his stumbles nearly throws you from his back entirely, you think that maybe you gave him a bit too much. Maybe you should also get off of his back since it would probably be easier for him to walk without your additional weight on him and having to make sure you don’t fall off every five seconds, but that would mean not feeling the stretch and shift of his hard muscles under your body and, well… you never said you weren’t selfish. 

“I was thinking,” You start, voice low in his ear as your hand once again finds the expanse of his forehead, pressing against it to help keep his head up. “We didn’t see where Iäle got the drink from. Maybe she did something to it.”

“W-what?” Neteyam whispers, brow scrunching under your touch. 

You don’t respond. You don’t need to. You’re not even sure if he’s really going to remember this all anyway, but you smile to yourself regardless, pleased at the seed of doubt you’ve planted. 

The door to the lab is just in sight when Neteyam collapses for the first time. It’s a testament to how strong the Na’vi are, truly, because you know that you gave him a hell of a dose and he was still able to make it all the way back from the village before his body completely gave up on him. You do fly off his back this time when he goes down, landing heavily on your side as he crumples beside you. 

He’s not in his right mind now, so you don’t have to worry about keeping up pretenses with your imaginary injury. Instead, you scramble up, grabbing hold of his arm and urging him to stand back on his feet again. “Come on, big guy. Almost there.”

He collapses again at the door, his body falling into the thick metal of the airlock with a loud bang, and you let out a startled gasp at the sight of his head nearly colliding against it too. Fuck, that would have sucked. You want him lax and vulnerable, susceptible to your desires as you guide you both towards becoming one - you don’t want him knocked the fuck out by taking an accidental blow to the head. 

He mumbles something when you help him up again, and even in his disoriented state he’s still a gentleman as he tries his best not to put too much of his weight on you. Your hand smacks against the open button, ushering Neteyam inside the chamber as it depressurizes from the carbon filled Pandoran air to breathable oxygen. Neteyam takes a knee to rest as you pause next to the mask station, replacing your mask and pack on the shelf and grabbing a carbon mask for Neteyam. You loop the carbon mask around your own neck, worried that taking the time to try to fit it around Neteyam’s might mean the difference between making it to your bedroom and dealing with a passed out Na’vi in the middle of the hallway. 

“Come on, baby,” You say, cupping his cheek and tilting his head towards you. His big amber eyes are glazed over. You think they look so beautiful. 

It seems like forever by the time you finally make it into your bedroom. Neteyam collapses on the bed, large body taking up the entirety of the mattress as he sprawls out, legs dangling off the edge. You pull the carbon mask from around your neck, smiling softly down at Neteyam as you place the mask over his parted mouth. Your hand slips underneath the back of his head as you try to lift it up. It’s heavy in your hold, and Neteyam does nothing to help you as you try to work the strap of the mask underneath it. It takes some adjusting, but a brief moment of perseverance and you’re able to get it under and looped around his neck.

The mask itself is fogged up with Neteyam’s quick breathing and, after a few seconds, you pull it off and rest it on his sternum. 

“I feel heavy,” Neteyam slurs, golden eyes closing for just a second before opening back up, but they’re still unfocused - seeing things, but maybe not actually seeing things. 

“I know, baby. I know,” You coo, a slight pout pulling at your lips as you squeeze reassuringly at his shoulder. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. I’m here.”

You know the drug is supposed to put him to sleep, and that’s fine - that’s the goal actually - eventually. But it’s not ideal for right now. Things have to happen first. And with the way Neteyam is looking… well, you don’t know how much time you have left so you need to work fast. 

You climb on the bed, tossing one of your legs over Neteyam’s thighs so you can straddle it and fuck. Oh God, fuuuuckkk. The feeling of his muscular thigh against your bare pussy already makes you want to cum. You’re so wet - have been for a majority of the walk back from having Neteyam’s irresistible body pressed against yours for so long, his muscles teasing their strength as they ripple under his skin. His thigh is no different. Just a block of hard, solid, corded muscle that presses just perfectly against your throbbing clit. 

You allow yourself one experimental rock, dragging the swollen bundle of nerves across his skin. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, hands subconsciously gripping onto his waist to hold him close. You hear Neteyam let out a noise similar to a hum at the movement, too, and the sound shoots straight to your core. 

“Fuck,” You whimper. Get it together. You need to focus on the prize. 

You force your hips to stay still and move your hands inwards, slowly caressing the flat, toned plane of his stomach as you go before tracing the bottom of Neteyam’s cummerbund with the tips of your fingers. 

“Let’s get you comfortable, okay?” You say, softly. “So you can relax.”

Perhaps you should have thought this through a little more. Neteyam’s laying down and the cummerbund ties at the back, so it's another game of ‘shove your hands under the massive amount of deadweight and see if you can fanegal your way around it’. You do, of course. You're persistent in getting what you want. But it takes longer than you would have liked and more effort than you wanted to give, especially given that you have your drenched pussy pressed against his thigh right now and you want nothing more than to hump him like a thanator in heat.

But when it’s finally off, it’s worth it to see that little extra strip of skin. You can’t wait to trace every single one of those exposed bioluminescent freckles scattered around his waist with your tongue. 

“So much better, huh?” You say, tossing the cummerbund to the floor. “Not as restricting.”

Your hands find the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but your pretty lacy bra as your dress joins Neteyam’s cummerbund on the floor. Neteyam’s hazy eyes do their best to follow your movements, and even though the confusion you see in them, they can’t leave the sight of your scantily clad body.

A satisfied smirk pulls at your lips as you lean forward, pressing your hands against his belly as the tops of your arms push your breasts together. The movement makes your clit brush against Neteyam’s thigh again, and you want to whine, want to do it again and again and again until you drench his gorgeous blue skin in your juices. But you’re caught in his gaze as his large golden eyes track your movement, unable to help tracing the curves despite his current state. 

Slowly, your hands drag down his belly, curving to his sides and messaging his hips for a moment before your fingers find the knot at the side of his loincloth. 

“Let’s get this off too,” You whisper. The knot stands no chance against your prying fingers and comes apart easily with just a few flicks and pulls. 

It feels like unwrapping a present as you pull the loincloth from Neteyam’s hips. You’ve seen down there before. The Na’vi aren’t as body conscious as humans are. Plus he’s your best friend, and there’s no need for modesty between friends. If you’ve taken a few extra peeks while he’s changing or bathing then that’s your business, just like you’ve caught him returning the favor more than a few times. 

But it still feels brand new as you stare at the flat space between his thighs. Excitement courses through your veins at the sight of it, your mouth watering at the thought that soon it’s gonna be glistening and puffy and parting at the center to make way for the real prize to come out. 

“Tanhì,” Neteyam mumbles, but you’re quick to shush him.

“Just relax, Teyam,” It hurts to pull your pussy from his thigh, but you have something more important to sit on soon. You just need to coax it out first. “Just feel.”

You settle between his legs on your stomach, hands pressing against his inner thighs and urging them apart a little further to give you better access to his center. You bite your lip to hide your smile, running a teasing finger along the slit before your lips replace your finger with a gentle kiss. 

The first drag of your tongue along his slit already has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve never gotten to do this before. You probably could have had other Na’vi lovers before if you really wanted to. You’re gorgeous and Neteyam isn’t the only sexy blue alien who you’ve caught staring at your assets before. But why would you ever want anyone else when you have your mighty warrior right here in front of you. Finally. 

Neteyam grunts above you as you lick at him, long and thorough swipes of your tongue across the slit, again and again, laving the area and coating it in your saliva until you taste the first signs of his arousal seeping from inside. You hum as the first bit of slick touches your tongue, coating your tastebuds and making your thighs clench together in pleasure. Your thumbs press into either side of the slit, pulling it apart slightly so your tongue can push in deeper, desperate for more of Neteyam’s delicious taste. 

Your tongue is relentless as you eat at him and you know that if he had control of his body, his hips would be canting up towards your face. You can picture it now - how next time will be. You’ll be between his legs again, mouth teasing at the flat alien space he has between his legs as you coax his cock out further and further out of its protective sheath with each swipe of your tongue. He’d have one hand clutching at your sheets, fisting them so hard you would probably have rips in them from how hard his fingers would dig into it. His other hand would be on the back of your head, large palm cradling the entirety of it as he presses you harder against him, moaning for you to lick faster, harder, deeper. You wonder how sensitive this part of him is. He’s moaning so much already, quiet punched out sounds that serve to urge you on, and you wonder how much louder he would be if he wasn’t so tired and drugged up. 

The taste of his slick makes your pussy gush, the more you lap up the more your body feels like it's on fire. You’ve heard about the Na’vi having something in their slick that’s intoxicating - your head feels fuzzy, feels good, like you're levitating on air and Neteyam is the only focal point you can see. And when you feel the first poke of Neteyam’s cock peeking through the now puffy and soaking opening of his slit, your hips can’t help the way they grind into the mattress.

You’re quick to wrap your lips around the protruding head, suckling gently at the exposed tip as your thumbs continue to rub soothingly up and down the sides of the now open slit, using the slick there to help the glide. Neteyam grunts at the feel of your lips around his cock, and he has just enough movement of his body left to be able to give a slight arch as you suck a bit harder. 

“Y/n,” He groans, and the sound of your name falling from his lips like that makes you want to scream. 

That’s right, baby. Say my name. 

It’s a blissful experience - Neteyam’s cock slowly filling your mouth more and more as it emerges from its sheath. Another inch and then another, each new barb and bump sliding across your tongue until the very tip of it hits the back of your throat. Despite him not being able to move much, you pin his hips down anyway - a dual combination of your own intense desire for him mixed with the increased need brought on by whatever is in his slick. 

His cock feels so good in your mouth, the texture along his length dragging against your tongue as the cone shaped tip of his cock bumps the inside of your cheek. You adjust again, opening your throat and forcing your head downwards. You gag when his cock breaches your airway, sputtering and choking yourself on him as you do your best to take him in. Fuck, he’s so big. You can’t breathe, can’t even think he’s so big, but you don’t want to move away. You’ve wanted this for so long so if you have to ruin your throat a little bit to make it happen, then so be it. 

The need for air cuts your plan short, and it takes the knowledge that this isn’t the last time you’ll be able to do this to allow yourself to pull off. Neteyam’s cock is shiny and glorious as you free it and allow it to slap against his lower belly. The base of his cock is the same gorgeous pattern of blue stripes that adorn the rest of his body, littered with bumps and barbs and tiny bioluminescent freckles that you know are going to feel magical inside of you. The tip is a pretty lavender color, the colors blending together almost artfully as it spreads towards the slight cone shaped head. Finally being able to look at it properly has you feeling feral, and you can’t resist the temptation to give one last sloppy lick along the entire length of it, the tip of your tongue gently teasing the ridges on the underside of the head before pulling away for good.

Neteyam’s panting is matching yours - deep, heavy, and quick as you both try to catch your breath. You climb up his body and straddle his waist. Your fingers are still a little wet from his slick as you cup his face and tilt it up, bringing his lips in alignment with yours. You press your own against his and you feel so small compared to him. His lips are twice the size yours are and wonder what it would feel like if the positions were reversed right now. You think you would burst into a ball of flames if you had him on top of you like this - his large, heavy body covering you completely and pressing you into your own mattress. Your tongue slides between his lips and glides against his own, and you moan at the rough feel of it.

“Next time we do this,” You murmur against his lips. “I want you to eat my pussy, okay?” You pull back, thumb caressing his bottom lip briefly before you bring the carbon mask back up to his mouth. “Wanna feel what that textured tongue of yours feels like.”

Neteyam gulps down the carbon like it's the only air he’s ever gotten, hazy golden eyes locked on yours as you scoot your hips back without ever breaking eye contact. Your ass meets his cock and you greedily drag your pussy along the length as you let him sip from the mask. The bumps along his length feel like heaven against your drenched cunt, the additional texture so foreign and blissful on your swollen clit. 

When you deemed he’s had enough, you drop the mask back on his chest and place a steadying hand on his stomach. Your other hand reaches behind you, guiding his cock up until the tip of it is nestled against your entrance. 

“Fuck,” You giggle, nervously. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. You’re ready, you’re so so ready. He just feels so big. He is big. He’s going to stretch you out so much. His cock is going to bully its way into your guts and you’re going to feel so full. The very thought of it makes you as terrified as it does excited. Maybe there will even be a bulge. You want to know - you want to know so badly.

With a deep breath, you start to lower yourself down on him. The stretch as the head of his cock penetrates your slick walls has you gasping. Fuck, it feels so intense, so much as his thick girth spears you open. You’re so wet, so ready for him, and the added slick from his slit and your saliva still coats his cock so the slide is as easy as it ever could be. The pressure is there as you bear down on him harder, desperate to feel more of him inside you, but to your complete shock, there is little actual pain.  

The barbs decorating his length scrape deliciously against your insides, dragging across your sensitive walls and pressing into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had. You let out a relieved laugh when you finally fit in all that you can take. You’re so full, so amazingly full that you feel like you want to cry. There is a bulge - you can see it clear as day, pressing from the inside of your belly, and your hand caresses the bulge lovingly. 

That’s your mate’s cock inside of you. 

Finally.

When you look back up at Neteyam, you see that his eyes are rolled back in pleasure, just the bottom of his golden irises and his blown pupils are visible underneath his hooded eyes. 

“Feel so good inside me, Teyam,” You whisper, and you think the slight grunt he lets out at your words is him agreeing. “So, so good.”

His cock feels even better when your hips start to move, slowly raising up until only the tip is left inside you before sliding back down, your own pussy becoming its new protective sheath. You keep it safe inside you, cradled and protected within the loving hug of your slick walls as you ride him faster. Harder. Each push of his cock inside you feels like you're being blessed. You’ve been a good girl, you’ve earned this. And now, despite you having to play a little dirty to get to this point, your efforts are being rewarded. Neteyam is your god and you’ll worship the ground he walks on until the day you die. And from this day forward, he’ll worship you in return. 

The bulge in your belly disappears and reappears with each movement of your hips, and your clit throbs, pulsing with need and begging for you to give it some attention. You don’t want your own fingers. You’ve had more than enough of your own touch over the years. Your eyes land on Neteyam’s hand still lying limp next to him. His long fingers are curled slightly against the bed, his best attempt at clutching the sheets just like you know he would be now if he could, and you’ve imagined those fingers playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves more times than you can count. 

Your hand goes to reach for it, set on feeling Neteyam’s beautiful fingers between your thighs even if you have to guide his movements yourself. But then your eyes fall on the carefully maintained braid lying just a few inches next to that hand and your priorities change.

Yes. 

He’s your mate. He’s yours. You deserve this. You get to touch it. 

Your hips slow to a careful grind as your fingers clasp gently around the bottom of his kuru. It feels good in your hand, the hair covering the neural queue feels glossy and perfect against your palm. A small smile creeps onto your lips as you flip open the very tip of it, and you stare greedily as the hair falls away revealing the bright pink wiggling extensions of Neteyam’s nervous system. 

From behind the wriggling tendrils, you see Neteyam’s head shift towards you again, his golden eyes hooded and a little bit teary from pleasure as he watches you hold onto the most sacred part of him. 

“You’re mine, okay?” You tell him. “Only mine. Forever.”

To seal your words, you bring the pretty pink tendrils to your lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to them before caressing them with the flat of your tongue. You watch Neteyam react to the feel of your tongue licking against them. His pupils blow out more than you ever thought was possible, black overtaking his eyes and leaving only the thinnest band of gold around the edges. The sounds leaving his mouth now make your pussy clench around him tighter, and you’re again cursing the fact that you’ve even had to do this because they could be louder. He could be screaming right now, but he can’t because of the stupid drugs hold on him. 

Next time, y/n. Next time, you have to remind yourself, or you think you might go mad.  

You lick them again, already obsessed with the way they feel against your tongue and the giddy thought of ‘I licked it so it’s mine’ has you grinning in victory. 

You pull the tendrils away from your tongue and start to drag them slowly down your body. They slide wherever you take them, still wiggling and searching for purchase but never finding any as you drag them down your neck, over your collarbone and the tops of your breast. You want to pull down the cup of your bra and see if it would latch onto one of your nipples, desperate to know what they would feel like and how Neteyam would react to it, but the pulsing need between your thighs refuses to be ignored. They wriggle along your belly, over the bulge still present there, and tickle the inside of your thigh as you guide it closer and closer to your intended bonding zone. 

When they reach for your clit, the feeling has you squealing. They’re relentless, determined to find something to wrap around and latch onto, but the wetness between your thighs has them sliding and squirming and unable to bond to you. It feels so weird, so weird and so good as they try to wrap themselves around your clit. Your hips move again on their own accord, riding him harder and faster while the tendrils inadvertently play with your clit, and holy fuck - fuck fuck fuck you think you might be going insane. 

Somehow the tendrils find purchase through the wetness, a few wrapping themselves around your clit while the others stick themselves to the inside of your folds. And you can feel it - can feel the energy radiating from them. 

It’s not how it’s usually done, but you’re not the usual couple. You don’t have a kuru so it shouldn’t be possible for you to bond fully with Neteyam, but you never believed that. And now you’ve proven that you were right. You can feel the bond forming from where you’re connected - from his most intimate part to yours. 

Neteyam’s eyes are rolled back into his head again, so far gone that you can only see the whites of his eyes at the bottom. His chest is heaving under your palm, small grunts and moans spilling from his lips and even though his body can barely move, his cock twitches and pulses wildly inside you. 

You can feel his knot forming at the base of his cock, the thick ball of tissue swelling and expanding with each thrust. It’s starting to catch at the rim of your pussy and each pass over it gets harder and harder to not get caught on it. 

“Ooooh fuck,” You whine. It already feels so big. “Teyam, fuck,”

You don’t have to take it. You could pull off now and wrap your hand around it to help finish him off. But why the fuck would you do that? He’s yours. You were made for him. Meant to take him. All of him. And you’re not letting this opportunity pass without taking everything. 

The next downward push of your hips is the last one you’re able to make. Neteyam’s knot is so big and you push your hips down on it harder, making it force its way inside you under your bodyweight. You can’t help the small scream that tears from your throat as it locks inside you, tethering you to Neteyam for who knows however long - and then you’re cumming.

Your orgasm tears through you relentlessly, body shaking and spasming as your hands reach out and hold onto Neteyam for dear life. Neteyam’s cock pulses inside you, warm ropes of cum painting your insides as he pants beneath you. When your orgasm is through and you’re done shaking enough to lift yourself up again, you notice Neteyam’s eyes are closed.

He’s sleeping now and you’re exhausted, so you lay your head down on Neteyam’s chest and try to get as comfortable as possible.

His knot stays locked inside you and the tendrils of his kuru remain wrapped around your clit as you drift off to sleep with him. 

By the time Neteyam wakes up, it’s almost like nothing has even happened. 

You’re free from his knot and his cock has since retracted back into its sheath. You’ve cleaned you both up a little, wiping away the evidence with a damp cloth and even though you know he’s going to be able to smell everything still, it’s not like that matters. You’re not trying to hide what happened between the two of you - just how it happened. 

You’ve disposed of the baggie which is the important part anyway.

Somehow you’ve managed to get Neteyam’s loincloth back on. It was tricky given his sleeping position, but you’ve always been a little crafty. His cummerbund is still on the floor though along with your dress, but you’ve decided to go for a more comfortable t-shirt look after wiping yourself clean.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed playing with Neteyam’s songcord that was at one point looped around the band of his loincloth when his eyes flutter open. He groans, one hand coming up to press against the side of his head as he looks around the room in confusion. He seems to relax a bit when his eyes land on you. 

“Wha–what happened?” Neteyam asks, voice no louder than a gruff mumble. 

He still looks a little out of it, the drugs not quite completely out of his system yet. When you look into those big beautiful golden eyes of his, they’re wide and confused. But, more importantly, they’re clear and haze free. He’s himself - he’ll remember this.

So you say your next words carefully with the confidence that he’ll remember them. 

“Iäle drugged you,” You tell him. “She drugged your drink and tried to take advantage of you. But she got called away before she could.” You reach out and cup his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheekbone lovingly. “I took care of you.”

You hate the spark of doubt you see in his eyes at your words, no doubt thinking that Perfect Iäle would never do such a thing, but you know he trusts you. You’ve never given him a reason not to. You’re the perfect friend - kind, loyal and trustworthy. You wouldn’t say something like this if it wasn’t true. 

“I knew she was no good,” You add. “I felt it in my heart. But it’s okay. I’m here, Teyam. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Neteyam’s lips part like he wants to speak and you know there’s probably a barrage of questions on the tip of his tongue, but the leftover drug still in his system forces him to be silent. You watch, pleased, as his eyes slip shut again, sending him into another round of haze filled sleep.

You hope he dreams. Maybe he’ll dream of what you just told him - see a different version of reality in which Iäle really did drug his drink instead of you and believe that that is this reality. Or maybe he’ll dream of you - your smile, your voice, your touch.

He’ll feel it now. When he wakes up again, he’ll feel it. The undeniable pull towards you as his mate. He’ll realize that he’s been a fool, wasting his time messing with another girl when he’s had you here, perfect and pretty for him this whole time. 

Bye, Iäle, you think smugly, resting your upper body out along Neteyam’s hips and propping your chin up against his stomach.

I win.

**Special thanks to @quicktosimp and @itchaboi-itchyboy for the prompt!

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[cobwebs-in-autumn]

Idk, I took one of my muscle relaxers cause I’m in a fuck ton of pain so I’m all gooey and mushy and stuff but please imagine one Simon Ghost Riley slipping you one of these pills just so he doesn’t need to do as much prep. Already so nice and relaxed, just gotta get you a little wet but he doesn’t need to do all that annoying fingering. Ignores how you whine and thrash because you’re not prepared enough and it *hurts* but he’s just feeding you his cock like he’ll die if he doesn’t.