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kazekagevi · 6 months ago

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Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE -- PART TWO -- PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Tags: dark themes, but this chapter is actually very fluffy and silly, Lo'ak and Kiri and Spider becoming reader's besties, many attempts at comedy, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam (and Lo'ak, Spider, and Kiri), reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, enemies-to-lovers, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies.

Summary: You're not allowed to join the community until Jake Sully decides you're ready. Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri teach you Na'vi.

A/N and Disclaimer: I tried my best to use some Navi language translators and the LearnNavi website to write this chapter, but there are bound to be language errors. I also know time works differently there. Sorry for all the inconsistencies!

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work.

The science shack isn’t so bad.

Your initiation begins after your first sleep that night. The next morning, Max and Norm put their research projects on hold to give you an actual, legitimate tour of the facility. The place is full of bells and whistles. Tiny buttons, translucent screens, and telecommunications. Technology is abundant; but your knowledge of how to use it is not.

“Here is the airlock control panel,” Max explains. He hovers his palm over a sensor—when it flashes sage green, the user interface appears. “Once you’re ready to interact with the community, we’ll scan your handprints and give you full clearance,” he futhers.

You’re helplessly eager. “Do you know when that will be?” you inquire.

Max presses the controller in the center of the panel. The glass door to the inner chamber slides open. You peek your head inside the airlock space—there are respirator masks for both humans and Na’vi, as well as a broom in the corner.

“I put that there,” Max says, referring to the broom. He’s stealthily ignoring your previous question. “Told Spider he needs to sweep after himself. He refuses to use the doormat outside. I think the only person who’s touched that broom has been me.”

You look at the ground. The floor of the airlock space isn’t as bad as you’d expect it to be. Admittedly, it’s filthy. There are mud stains of both human and Na’vi footprints on the vinyl floor. The size difference is jarring.

You have an idea. You smirk to yourself. “What if I cleaned this mess for him?” you offer. “I’ll sweep, then mop. I need to start pulling my weight, too.”

Max sighs. “What? So you can put on one of those masks and sneak out before the Olo'eyktan says you’re ready?”

Your expression sours. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you reply. “I wasn’t going to sneak out,” you admit aloud. “I was going to accidentally open the front door or something with a mask conveniently in place. It’s not as deceitful that way.”

Max sighs again. “Well, I have no say in when you’re ready,” he confesses. “That decision is only Jake’s to make.”

You have no choice but to yield. Max taps the censor again. The airlock door falls shut into place.

---

It takes an entire day to simply show you how everything works. It takes two more for you to demonstrate you were paying attention and know how to use everything. The only intuitive mechanisms are the knobs to the showers and the dials on the washer and dryer.

Like in any society, the science shack has its own set of rules, regulations, and norms—quite literally, since Norm transfers between his human body and Avatar frequently. The showers are closed once every twenty-five days for necessary maintenance. Humans aren’t to leave when the Na’vi are sleeping or on significant Omatikaya holidays. Don’t talk to Max before he’s had his first coffee. Spider is supposed to sweep after himself in the airlock room. You can’t use Mia’s handleless mug, but you’re allowed to wash it if you’re extra careful.

By the end of the week, your head hurts.

You know the only way to become proficient in something, like speaking a new language or utilizing advanced technology, is to thrust yourself into it. Take the plunge—don’t fear it. Embrace the nosedive. Freefall.

So, after dinner on your seventh day, you get as close to doing that as possible. You sit on a small perch by a tiny window, nestled in a corner of the science shack. You’re hungry; for one, Norm’s cooking tastes much worse when you’re not famished, so you couldn’t force yourself to go back for seconds, let alone finish everything on your plate.

But also, you’re hungry for something else. Now that you’re safe from the RDA, you can actually consider doing what you came to Pandora to do all along. You can practically taste it.

You know Jake Sully is right. Life in the science shack is complicated enough, and you need adequate time to acclimate. But you’re starting to feel like you’re trapped.

The window allows you to see a slice of life at High Camp. You come here around the same time after a meal, just like clockwork. You haven’t seen Jake Sully since your conversation, but you’ve seen many others.

Just right now, you see a group of young women shuffle past, laughing and gossiping about who knows what. You see two kids, presumably siblings, one chasing after the other, before they’re stopped by one of the village’s elders. You see injured warriors limp towards the tsahìk’s tent. You see a woman in her homestead, weaving a basket. You feel nothing but sonder; the profound sensibility that these people are all living complex lives of their own, and you’re simply witnessing these complexities unfold right before your eyes.

You begin to recognize a few faces, like that of the shaman healer, otherwise known as the tsahìk. You also take note of which warriors visit her tent most frequently.

You routinely see a Na’vi female with short, straight jet-black hair. She tends to pass by the science shack every evening of every day, stare at the door, frown, then leave. On two occasions, your eyes met before she wandered off.

You’ve learned a few more common phrases, which Norm, Max, Spider and Mia teach you at meal times. Kaltxì is a standard greeting. Rutxe means please, and irayo means thank you. Ngafkeyk pefya? means ‘how are you?’

You also learned that the lines you recited to the Na’vi in the forest, Neteyam, were of a standard dialect. They weren’t incorrect, just slightly different from that of the Omatikaya’s. And, allegedly, your pronunciation was off.

In your extensive travels on Earth, you learned quickest when you immersed yourself in a new, unfamiliar environment. It was the rush—the thrill, the trepidation—that drove you to adapt. It was as just as you told Jake Sully: so I will.

Immersion is the only way. Norm knows this too; as an exceptional xenolinguist, he learned more from interacting with the Na’vi for a few weeks than he did from reading any book. He really understands. He wishes he had more time to help with your studies, but he must return to his work. His newest botany project is time sensitive.

As you sit by the window, you use an electronic tablet programmed with a basic flashcard feature to get yourself acquainted with the Na’vi language. It’s not particularly helpful, since spoken practice is more beneficial than anything written. You’ve been skimming some of Jake’s old journals, too. But at the time of their conception, he wrote only in English, and misspelled many Na’vi words and phrases.

The flashcards do nothing besides test your aptitude for memorization. It doesn’t help that your attention span is elsewhere, like you left it on a far, distant planet.

Everytime someone passes by the window in your peripheral vision, you have no choice but to look up and see who’s there. It’s usually another Na’vi face you’ve never seen before. You don’t realize it initially, but the more you turn your head, you’re helplessly aware that you’re looking for someone. It never is, but you’re hopeful it might be Neteyam—you still owe him for saving your life. You have an inkling however, that he’s probably avoiding this place for one reason or another. That very reason might just be yourself.

It’s obvious that this method of study is inefficient. You power off the tablet and continue people-watching with your knees tucked against your chest.

Any moment now, you know you’ll see that girl with shoulder-length hair. You want to know why she frowns, but you don’t know how to ask ‘what’s upsetting you?’ in Na’vi.

Now that you think about it, though, you’re unsure if that’s a wise idea. Even when you are allowed into the community, you know that you will have to keep a distance. Know your place. Although the humans and Na’vi residing here coexist in apparent harmony, you don’t want your presence to disrupt the peace.

There’s a quiet knock on the other side of the airlock door across the main room—it’s so faint you almost miss it.

When you sit up, you hear footsteps thudding against the vinyl flooring. You see Spider look around then over his shoulder as he approaches the door.

He begrudgingly places his hand over the scanner. He presses a button and the front of the airlock opens.

He quietly shouts something in Na’vi—skxawng. You’re not sure what this word means yet.

From your window perch, you can’t see what’s going on, but Kiri and Lo’ak enter the space through the main door. They each grab a respirator.

Spider continues to say things you don’t understand. From his tone of voice, he seems slightly agitated.

“You can’t be here,” Spider says to both of them in Na’vi. “Not until the new girl gets introduced to the community.”

Lo’ak takes a deep breath—the respirator in his hand looks so small. He’s almost as tall as his father now. As the years pass, Lo’ak just gets bigger and bigger. It makes him feel like Spider is shrinking.

“C’mon man,” Lo’ak says. “Let us in. We’ll only take a minute,” he adds, wearing a devious smirk on his face. “I uh, forgot something when I was here last?” he tries.

“Yeah, right,” Spider replies.

“Lo’ak, you’re not helping my case,” Kiri says, glaring at her older brother.

Lo’ak’s jaw drops. He scoffs at her. “You told me to come with you!”

“Yes, and it turns out you’re not helping!” Kiri hisses.

Spider groans. “Can you two just leave? I don’t want to get any flak for this.”

Kiri grits her teeth. She places both of her hands on the glass separating them. “Please, Spider. I haven’t seen Mom in forever,” she says. Her eyes water. “It hasn’t been this long since the time we lived in Awa'atlu… I miss her.”

The crease between Spider’s brows disappears. From what you can see, he looks apologetic. “Oeru txoa livu,” he says to Kiri. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone in besides your dad.”

Lo’ak’s expression falters. He looks at his feet. His ears fall flat. “You know, I haven’t seen Tsireya since we left Awa'atlu,” he says just loud enough for Spider and Kiri to hear.

Spider rubs his nose bridge. Kiri sighs and flicks his temple with her fingers. Once Lo’ak starts talking about Tsireya, he can’t stop.

While this interaction continues to transpire, you stand from your perch and tiptoe over. Your footsteps are padded by thick, cotton socks. You advance slowly, like you’re approaching a crime scene covered with caution tape.

“Lo’ak, go home and go to bed,” Kiri says, poking his chest. She then spins back around. “Spider, let me in, please.”

“I’m sorry, Kiri,” Spider replies. “You know I would if I could.”

Kiri places her hands on her hips. “You can, very easily, actually. Just press the button,” Kiri says. She points to the spot where she knows it is on the other side of the door. “It’s right there.”

Spider sighs. The crease in his brow returns when he realizes Lo’ak is suddenly smiling. “Why are you doing that?”

Lo’ak waves to you from the other side of the airlock. “Hi!” He greets you in English. “What’s your name?”

Spider jolts when he realizes you’re standing there right behind him.

Kiri gasps. Her eyes go wide—they practically sparkle when she’s excited. “I told you, I saw her!” she says to Lo’ak in Na’vi.

You smile at the male and female Na’vi before you. They seem so friendly, and the male Na’vi’s English sounds great. “Hello there,” you reply. You formally introduce yourself.

Spider presses a palm to his temple. He knows he’s going to get in trouble.

“It’s nice to meet you!” the female Na’vi says, also in English. “I’m called Kiri. And this is my older brother, Lo’ak.”

That’s his cue—Lo’ak waves again, flashing his vibrant smile.

Spider scoffs.

“My good brother here, Spider,” says Lo’ak, “this skxawng,” he adds, more quietly, “was about to let us inside.”

“I was not,” Spider protests.

“C’mon,” you say. Spider rolls his eyes—you’ve just met Lo’ak but he’s already infected you with whatever ailment he has that makes him the way that he is. At the same time, however, Spider knows it’s one of the best things about him.

“Why can’t we let them in?” you ask. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in five days.

“Exactly,” says Lo’ak. “Let us in,” he chants quietly.

“The door isn’t broken, is it?” you further, keeping a serious demeanor. “I’ll just check to make sure it works,” you tell Spider.

“Wait–”

The airlock’s inner chamber door opens, allowing Lo’ak and Kiri entry.

“Would you look at that,” you profess. “I know how the door works.”

Lo’ak chuckles as he strolls inside like he owns the place. Kiri rushes past the three of you, making a beeline for the large container in the middle of the main room. She presses her palms against the glass and whispers to the Avatar stuck inside. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“You were right,” Lo’ak mutters to Spider in English. “She is short, even for a human.”

Your jaw goes slack. A surprised chuckle falls from your lips. “If you call Spider skxawng, then what are you?” you can’t help but retort.

He grins. “If there was a clan of a hundred skxawng’s,” Lo’ak says, “they would have no choice but to make me their leader.”

You laugh again—harder than you were expecting to. This Na’vi might be an ass, but at least he’s got a sense of humor.

Spider groans again. “If you two knuckleheads stay, you have to keep it down,” he says.

Lo’ak puts his hands up, defensively.

“Can I ask what she’s doing over there?” you say aloud.

Kiri now has her face pressed against the glass. It fogs from her breath.

Spider and Lo’ak look at each other. Lo’ak rubs the back of his neck before speaking: “it’s a long story, but that’s the Avatar of Kiri’s biological mother. Kiri is my adoptive sister.” Lo’ak then hums to himself. “Maybe it’s not such a long story, after all.”

That’s why she looked so sad. She simply missed her Mom.

You blink once. “Oh, alright.” You nod, looking at Spider. “All of that information about Mia’s coffee mug was really important, but this,” you say, gesturing to the tube in the center of the room. “Not so much.”

Spider shrugs. “It’s important,” he says. “But, this is just commonplace for all of us.”

“She’s been doing this since we were kids,” Lo’ak reaffirms.

“Maybe we’re blind to it,” Spider offers. “It’s always there, so we can’t even see it if it’s right in front of us.”

Lo’ak simpers. “Well said.”

“Thank you,” says Spider. He grins.

They nod together and rub their chins like idiots. You assume this must be a regular thing for them.

“Skxawngs,” you say.

Of course, they both look your way, as though you’ve called them by their birth name.

“Did I use that properly?” you ask in English.

They nod. You sigh woefully.

Lo’ak practically snatches such low-hanging fruit: “What’s got you all blue?”

You can’t help but glare at him. “They say you don’t know a language unless you know how to properly insult someone,” you say. “But I don’t actually know any useful Na’vi, and I haven’t had a conversation with anyone. Half of the words I know are just insults!”

“Simmer down,” says Spider. “You learned plenty today,” he says.

“And, last I heard, you did have a conversation with someone,” Lo’ak mutters.

Spider crosses his arms over his bare chest and looks you in the eye. “We’ll do our best to teach you.”

“Then teach me,” you reply, glaring daggers his way.

Spider’s eyes narrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A couple of hours ago, you were enthusiastic. Now, you’re starting to get on his nerves.

Spider then looks over at Kiri, and makes an almost silent whistling noise. In response, Kiri’s ears twitch and she peeks over her shoulder.

“What the hell did you just say to her?” you demand.

“Oh, that?” Spider chuckles dryly. “I didn’t say anything, yet.”

“What is it?” Kiri calls back to him.

When Spider responds, he speaks entirely in Na’vi. When Kiri replies to him, she does the same. Spider then turns to you, speaks only in Na’vi again, then laughs. He says something else. Laughter erupts. Kiri and Lo’ak follow suit.

You have no choice to presume they’re talking shit about you in their native language.

In reality, they’re saying things that make no sense just to get you riled up. The first thing Spider told Kiri was “let’s pretend like we’re making fun of her. Keep going along with it until I say stop.”

Needless to say, they play their roles with great conviction, like actors on a stage. They fool you.

“You guys are dickheads! That’s enough.”

They finally stop when you fold your arms over your chest and start pouting; but they don’t stop laughing until Norm yells from down the hall to, in his words, ‘tone that shit down.’ When they’re caught, Spider purses his lips, and Kiri and Lo’ak takes deep breaths from their respirator masks in unison.

“You’re incredibly impatient,” Spider admits, lowering his voice. Lo’ak nods in agreement. You’re all sitting around the tube that holds Grace’s Avatar. Kiri traces small shapes on its surface with her lithe fingertips.

“And you three,” you say, pointing at each of them, “are a bunch of jesters.”

“No, you’re a jester,” says Lo’ak. He doesn’t even know what that word means, not in English anyway.

“That’s exactly what a jester would say.” You groan in frustration. “I am impatient, but you don’t have to say it so directly,” you reply. Your expression is downcast and dejected.

You want to learn the language. You want to be able to talk to people. You want to carry out conversations, and learn, and laugh, and cry. You want to become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of an otherwise hopeless situation. You’re here, you’re alive, yet you don’t feel that way. Not at all.

You don’t want to feel like an outsider. You don’t want to live life from a bird’s eye view, on your little perch by the tiny window. You don’t want to feel like a canary in a cage. You don’t want to feel like a fish in a large, technologically-advanced bowl. Or like a beetle in a glass jar with holes poked in the top. You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be locked away in the science shack, just like how you were in the RDA’s basement.

Your eyes water. How could it be? Have you simply gone from one prison to another?

“You may be impatient, but I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Lo’ak interjects. He smiles genuinely. After a few moments, so do Spider and Kiri.

You wipe your eyes. Your face feels hot.

Kiri calls you by your first name, grasping hold of your attention. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you to speak Na’vi, and you’ll be just like the rest of us,” she says affectionately.

“I don’t know about that,” Lo’ak mutters.

There’s a pregnant pause. You, Spider, and Kiri expect him to say that you’ll never be a true Na’vi, or something of the sort. You weren’t raised as such, like the three of them.

“She won’t grow another foot overnight,” Lo’ak says finally. He looks right at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll never be as tall as we are.”

“Well said,” Spider remarks.

---

Kiri and Lo’ak can’t stay for much longer—they have to sneak back to their tent before Jake Sully finds out what they’ve been up to.

“They won’t get in trouble if he finds out, right?”

You and Spider are the last two awake. You’re sitting at the kitchen table.

Spider waves his hand around nonchalantly. “They never do,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “Okay, sometimes Lo’ak does,” Spider adds. “But never Kiri or Tuk. You’ll meet her eventually. She’s the youngest sibling.”

“Alright, so there’s the three of them. Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. And Neytiri is their mother, right?”

“Four of them,” Spider corrects you. “Neteyam is the oldest. One year older than Lo’ak.”

You blink. “Neteyam is the Olo'eyktan’s eldest son? The one who found me?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Spider retorts.

You glare at him. “Yes, that’s what you said, only a whole week late!” You whisper-shout at him. “Just like with Kiri’s biological mother.”

Spider throws his hands up. “I guess I thought someone already told you,” he says defensively. “You talked to Jake, right?”

“Right,” you reply. “But he didn’t mention anything about Neteyam being his son. Didn’t mention anything about his children actually.”

“With all that you went through with those fuckers, he may have thought it could be taken as insensitive,” Spider suggests.

You hum. Maybe, just maybe, Spider’s right.

“Kiri works in the tsahìk’s tent during the day. Lo’ak puts in the least amount of effort necessary to be considered one of the warriors,” Spider says. “He’s usually around, but oftentimes not. Either way, we will find time to help you learn Na’vi.”

“Is Neteyam one of the warriors?” you ask.

Spider nods. “These days, he’s become one of the best.”

Your thoughts drift back to when Neteyam found you. You were practically ambushed—he was so controlled, so swift with his movements. Spider’s words don’t surprise you.

“So, he’s busy all the time?”

Spider addresses you by name. “What are you getting at?”

“I still need to thank him,” you confide. “He can’t avoid me forever.”

Spider sighs. “He can try,” he mutters.

“So, he is avoiding me?” you ask. Your cheeks are turning red again.

“He’s…” Spider begins. He looks distraught. “He wasn’t always like this,” Spider says. “Neteyam and I are cool, but he never sets foot inside this place if he doesn’t have to. Ever since the Sully family returned from living with the Metkayina, the Reef People, he doesn’t get along with Norm and the others like Kiri and Lo’ak… He merely tolerates the scientists here.”

“You’re saying he hates humans,” you say bluntly.

“Hate is a strong word,” Spider replies. “But he has many reasons to dislike them…” Spider swallows. “To dislike our kind.”

The words fall from your lips: “you’re right.”

You begin to question whether or not you should follow through with thanking him for saving you. The interaction with Kiri and Lo’ak went so well—perhaps it gave you an ounce of hope, things might go smoothly with Neteyam too. He’s been on your mind constantly, replaying in your thoughts like a broken record. You’re certain there are other Na’vi who share similar sentiments. You have to be careful.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Spider. He stands from the table. “I’m going to sleep,” he says plainly. His footsteps fade as he walks to the barracks.

Spider’s sympathies do very little to ease your mind.

---

Spider kept his word. Kar is teach. Karyu is teacher, and Karyunay is apprentice teacher. Ayfo kar nga—they teach you.

In the days—and eventually, weeks—to come, you fall into a new routine.

You study Na’vi during the day-time hours. The science shack isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if he’s available, Norm works with you on your phonetics and grammar. But typically, it’s just you, your electronic tablet, and your perch by the windowsill.

When you learned other Earth languages in the past, it was easier to learn other languages in proximity to their language group with which you were familiar. Romance languages, such as Spanish, French, and Italian, bore many similarities. The same went for Germanic languages, and even some Sino-Tibetan languages.

Na’vi, however, is completely different from any language you’ve spoken, or even attempted to learn. But your dedication is unwavering.

Lo’ak and Kiri return to the science shack two days after your first encounter with them.

“Okay, Spider was right. At first, he was angry,” Kiri says. She takes a deep breath through her respirator. “But then, I suppose he thought about it more and decided it was a good idea after all.”

Jake Sully has given Lo’ak and Kiri his word of approval to help with your studies at nightfall, as long as they don’t slack off their usual duties.

“He thinks it’s a good ‘method of assimilation’ or some shit like that,” adds Lo’ak.

You nod. “He’s right,” you say.

“Yeah, whatever,” Lo’ak admits nonchalantly. “Sometimes.”

You all sit on the floor around Grace’s tube again.

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Today, I studied grammatical structure and simple, common vocabulary. Maybe we could start with-”

“Nga za‘u ftu peseng?” Spider asks. He’s asking ‘where do you come from?’

You blink. It takes a moment for the cogs in your brain to rotate. But in due time, you register his question.

“I come from Earth,” you reply in English.

“If you really want to learn,” Spider says, “you should reply in Na’vi.”

You should. The only issue is, you’re not sure how. But you have no choice but to give it a try.

You fail the first time. The second time, you almost get it right—close enough to where Kiri pries her eyes away from her mother to give you a look of encouragement and a thumbs up.

“You’re almost there,” says Lo’ak. He straightens his posture, no longer slouching against the glass tube. “But if you don’t want to sound like a baby learning their first words, you need to change up the word order. For myself, I would reply with ‘za‘u oe ftu Eywa’eveng.’ Which means in English, ‘I come from Pandora.’ Your reply, obviously, is going to be a little different.”

Lo’ak pauses, takes a breath from his respirator, then mimics your higher-pitched voice, speaking as you would reply in Na’vi.

His impression of you is already spot on. “I don’t sound like that!” you protest.

They all laugh, and you can’t help but join them.

For the rest of the evening, the three of them ask you simple questions in Na’vi. All you have to do is reply, also in Na’vi. The longer you go, the easier it gets. You build upon the scaffolding of your day-time studies, as well as every question and response before the next.

---

This continues for many nights.

During the days when you’re sitting by the window and Lo’ak and Kiri pop into frame, you instinctively smile and wave to them. They always reciprocate.

They don’t say it outwardly, but the two of them look forward to these evenings with you. They get to spend more time with Spider. And, although they’re both fluent in English, the practice benefits them, too. Plus, they’ve taken a liking to you as well.

“Who the hell are you waving at, skxawng?” Neteyam asks Lo’ak one day. They’re about to head off on their ikrans to train. Lo’ak needs to learn a new hand-to-hand technique. Neteyam is conveniently out of your line of sight.

“I’m waving to the new girl!” Lo’ak exclaims. He continues waving. He’s practically beaming.

Neteyam huffs.

“Her pronunciation is getting much better,” Lo’ak says. His arm falls to his side again. “But it honestly wasn’t bad to begin with,” he adds. “Do you think you were, perhaps, exaggerating?”

“No,” Neteyam answers curtly. He looks agitated—his ears twitch and his tail swishes wildly. “She’s a distraction." You're proving Neteyam's point. Lo'ak won't stop waving. Neteyam groans. "Hurry up, Lo'ak. We have things to do,” he says. When they were younger, Neteyam would’ve slapped Lo’ak’s bicep or grabbed him by the ends of his hair, but he’s a man now. He can’t show his impatience or impulsivity.

Lo'ak disappears from your vantage point.

---

It’s already been a month. Your diligent practice is starting to pay off.

You can hold very basic conversations in Na’vi. You’re learning more about the language and culture every day.

They don't want to feed your ego, but your teachers have discovered you're a fast, proficient learner.

“Syep means 'to trap.' It’s a verb,” Lo’ak explains to you in English. He’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on a chair from the dining table. Suddenly, he swings his feet from the chair, and stands to his feet.

You don't want to feed any of their egos either, but they're all smarter than they think. Especially Lo'ak.

“Spider, peseng lu syeprel?” Lo’ak asks.

You’re unsure what a syeprel is, but you know he’s asking where it’s located.

“I think it’s in the supply closet, over there,” Spider replies in Na’vi.

“What’s a syeprel?” you ask, also in Na’vi.

“Take a guess!” Lo’ak calls from down the hall.

You hum. You switch back to English: “Well, it must be a particular type of trap? Like a mouse trap or something?”

Kiri hums too. “It does technically trap something,” she says after a few moments. “But you’re thinking too literally,” she adds with a smirk.

You scratch your head. You’re dumbfounded.

“A-ha!’ Lo’ak says triumphantly. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” you call.

“Ask nicely,” says Kiri. “In Na’vi.”

You try again. “Rutxe,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You do as you’re told, and ask in Na’vi.

Lo’ak returns. He’s holding an ancient piece of technology—an extremely old hand-held digital camera with a slightly scratched lens. “Say cheese!”

He snaps a photo of you, Spider, and Kiri lounging around on the floor. None of you were prepared.

Kiri sighs and glowers at him. “Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak chuckles. “Alright, alright. We’ll take another one.”

The four of you stand around Lo’ak, the camera operator. “Kiri, crouch down a little bit,” he says, directing your places. “Spider, lean closer to Kiri.” You hear Spider sigh.

Lo’ak then glances at you over his shoulder. “Stand on your toes, tawtute. Or else you won’t be in frame,” he chides you with a sly smile.

You do just that and smile for the syeprel. “You’re an ass, Lo’ak,” you say through your teeth.

“Smile, everyone!” he sings in Na’vi. Lo’ak spins the camera around to take a photo of everyone while operating it at the same time. He smiles and snaps another photo. The flash is momentarily blinding.

You break free from your pose. “So, a camera is called syeprel?”

“Yes, it is.” replies Lo’ak in Na’vi. “It traps a moment in time, doesn’t it? Rel means like an image, or a picture,” he adds in English.

It’s clicking. Your jaw goes slack. Spider can’t help but chuckle at your expression.

“Language learning is so cool,” you gawk.

“You sound just like Norm,” says Kiri.

“Whatever,” you say in Na’vi. You switch back to English again. “There are lots of animal names in English like that. Anteaters eat ants. Junebugs come out in the month of June to find mates. Grasshoppers hop around in the grass. Centipedes are named after their one hundred legs.”

“Now you really sound like Norm,” Kiri teases you. “Don’t start talking about plants too, or I’ll have to go home.”

“What about bed bugs?” asks Spider. “I've only heard of them from the others. Never seen them here. I’m assuming they would be found in your bed?”

You nod.

Kiri hums, thinking. “What about butterflies then?” she asks. “I know that butter comes from milk and milk comes from Earth cows, but could they make butter too?”

You scrunch your nose at the mere thought of butterfly butter. “I don’t think so.”

Lo’ak can hardly contain his laughter. “What about cockroaches?”

Kiri smacks his chest. Lo’ak half-groans, half-cackles. Kiri scolds him in Na'vi, but it's not long before she starts laughing too.

You and Spider follow suit. From down the hall, Norm calls for you four to keep it down again.

But you can’t stop. In fact, Norm’s complaints make it worse. Joyous laughter fills the room. You’re having the time of your life. For the second time since your escape, you think this must be heaven. You’re briefly reminded of your imprisonment—you remember the few times you laughed with your cellmates. You remember those slivers of euphoria.

You also remember that you’re safe now. The science shack isn’t so bad. Not with Spider, and Kiri, and Lo’ak, and even Norm, and Max, and Mia, and all the others.

You laugh until your ribs hurt. You laugh until tears well in your eyes.

---

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! I hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Again, please forgive any language inconsistencies.

Don't worry my darlings! Neteyam is going to be all over the next chapter. Believe in the slow burn!

And thanks again for all the kind comments, reblogs, and notes. You guys are awesome!

Taglist: @m1tsu-ki @promnightbinbaby

#avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #self insert #self insert fanfiction #x reader #neteyam sully x reader #atwow

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tiredmamaissy · 1 year ago

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Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Special Episode IV

Seed of Life

This is @zestys-stuff 's OC. All credits to this character goes to this beautiful, talented artist. Thank you again for allowing me to explore and create with him!

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, angst, early pregnancy smut (will be forewarned before it happens), daddy daughter drama, Ralak being little rough because reader won’t stop teasing him, Ralak literally has blue balls, ball play, blowjob, brief thigh fucking, likely incorrect na’vi, teacher/student dynamics/roleplay, p in v, quickie, squirting, masturbation, dirty talk, sexual tension, age gap

Disclaimer: This chapter entails pregnancy and sexual intimacy during early pregnancy. I include a warning directly before the smut happens in the case that you want to indulge in this chapter but aren’t necessarily up for the pregnancy smut.

Word Count: 10k sorry

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: thank you guys for always being so patient with me. i love yall too the moon and back <3 happy holidays and a happy new year! also, I’ve realised that I unintentionally decided that Kiri is not involved in this series (i dunno honestly, it’s just occuring to me that I’ve never really mentioned her before and it feels difficult to incorporate her at this point i suppose). It seems like we (reader) have taken her place in this au in regards to being jakes adopted ‘babygirl’ (nothing else though—no superpowers or anything loool).

Synopsis: After telling Ralak that he's going to be a father, the reality dawns on you that you need to break the news to your own father.

<- Previous -> Next

This pregnancy shouldn’t be much of a surprise to you, honestly. How could you not be? After such a breeding it would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant. Yet the news wasn’t quite sinking in, even when Tsireya looked at you with wide eyes and spelled it out for you. But now that you’re walking towards the tsahìk, you’re faced with reality and it begins to sink in as you count each step you take.

Forty-two…

The words that rolled off the tarsem’s tongue echo in your skull.

Forty-three…

Etching themselves into the bone, leaving you with no space to deny the truth.

Forty-four…

“You are with child.”

The ringing in your ears stops as your vision refocuses on the stone cold expression of the Tsahìk. Her voice is unfaltering and clear as it delivers the news to your ears a second time. Bowing to the taller woman, you sweep three fingers away from your forehead and turn your heel to walk away. But before you can take two steps she announces something that makes your ears stand tall.

“A boy.”

Her two harshly spoken words strike through your chest, a sinking feeling now brewing in the pit of your stomach. You stop dead in your tracks and lift your head that was once tilted down to your feet. Things become even more real, having you force down a wad of your spit to keep your vision from splitting again. You’re barely able to use your voice—your mouth partially open and your tongue rolling from the churn of your tummy.

“Thank you, Ronal.” You manage to squeak a decibel or two over a whisper, dropping your head again to lock your stare to your feet before fleeing the now-crowding scene. You overhear the people murmuring the news as you scurry away to your marui pod.

‘The forest girl expects the firstborn of the village’s best warrior’;

‘She won’t make it out alive!’;

‘Did you hear? She will birth the first of a new kind. A kind with demon blood’.

If your legs could go any quicker, they would.

A child grows in your womb now. A child for the man you love—Ralak. The man who deserves it most. You’re scared and excited all at once. Proud to bear a son for such a notable and fearsome man. But afraid of how your family will take to the news.

This was your first month of being a mated pair, and you’ve already succumbed to your most primordial instinct to mate. And with what everyone is already whispering, you’re scared of much more than that. Is what they say true? Is this a risky thing? Will he be teased for being different? Will he be rejected from the clan?

Does Ralak… even want this?

You both hadn’t even sat down and spoken about the possible consequences of such a cosmic event—your synced cycles. What if he hadn’t meant all the things he said? Or if he really just couldn’t prevent the things that he did during his rut? How would he react if that were the case?

Your mind is running at a hundred clicks an hour and your nerves are wringing your stomach that it takes the hot sand spilling through the cracks of your toes to make you realise that you’re already home.

And there he is, in all his glory.

Doing nothing other than sharpening his damn spear. Sitting on his knees, leaned back with his flexed abs and gathered brows, concentrating on his task—blissfully unaware of the gossip spreading throughout the clan. The sight brings serenity to the white noise in your head, leaving nothing but the crash of the waves and the splash of the ilus off in the distance. I

Ralak’s ears twitch as he senses your presence, but he remains focused on the stroke of his whetstone against the blade. He can feel your apprehension from where he sits, and he can already tell what you’re here for. Yet he chooses to keep his appearance no less than stoic, but not enough to be intimidating.

“Tanhì.” He hums low enough that you strain to hear him.

“I need to speak with you.” You utter, wetting your dry lips with a quick swipe of your tongue. You stand there fidgeting with your fingers as you await a reply from your husband. It’s almost mortifying how silent this man can actually be. You see the slight tilt of his head and his ear perk up to listen closely. Taking this as your cue to speak, you try to find the words to say.

How do I say this?

Ralak is a simple man, perhaps it’s better to give it to him straight. An easy, ‘I carry your unborn son’, would do, right? You begin to gnaw on the dry skin on your bottom lip as you think. But his silence is really getting to you today. How can he sit there so… unbothered? Not even a glance thrown your way or an eyelash batted. Maybe you should just spit it out — ‘you got me pregnant’.

“Hm?” He lets out a muffled grunt, swiping the whetstone against the spearhead. It sounds innocent. Like he’s just immersed in a task and couldn’t quite bring himself to completely stop.

“We no longer need to prepare for my heat.” You blurt out, not even knowing where the words came from. You witness his spine straighten and him quickly stilling his movements.

Little did you know his heart gallops at the speed of a direhorse, thumping wildly between his ribs as he prepares himself to finally hear you utter the words. Oh, how he had been waiting for your sweet voice to sing the news. But he realises that you seem to need an extra push to say them.

“And why is that?” Ralak husks, still unmoving.

You wait for him to turn around. To look your way. Something.

But… nothing.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ralaks heart skips a beat and his breath catches in his throat. A grin spreads from ear to ear, so strong and wide that if you were really paying attention you would have caught the way his ears stand at full height.

But you were too busy fighting the bubble of the blood in your thumping heart, trying to keep your frustration to a minimum. You had expected more. For him to turn around, at the very least. All you could hear was the da-dump and the silence between you two. Until you couldn’t take it anymore.

Perhaps it’s all the hushed chatter from earlier or maybe it’s just the new surge of hormones and out-of-whack pheromones but you can’t help the burn of your eyes as they fill with tears.

“So w-what? Not even a glance my way? You knock me up and have nothing to s-say for it?” You choke back your heated tears of frustration, Ralak now huffing a vehement sigh. “You’re not even surprised, or—” Your blubbering is cut short by your husband's quick movement.

Ralak instantaneously brings himself to his feet and storms over to you, towering over your petite frame. Now he’s peering down at you, dark, smouldering eyes holding the most intimidating gaze with you as he closes the distance between your bodies. He’s still damp from seeing to the ilus this morning that when your chest touches his cold, bare stomach, it hardens your nipples into stiff peaks.

“Surprised?” He rasps, his large hand flying to your lower stomach, gently pressing into it. Heaving shoulders slowing as he steadies his breathing, Ralak lowers his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear—

“Do you not think I had every intention of putting this baby inside of you?”

Hearing this spoken in such an assertive tone sends shivers up your spine—Ralak knows exactly how to handle you and your… sensitivity. He always has. Your tail sways uncontrollably behind you, earning a well concealed smirk from the giant before you. It’s always been one of his favourite parts of you, but now—oh, now he has a new favourite part of you.

Your soon-to-be swelling belly.

“I have known.” He admits through a whisper, smoothing his entire palm over your budding womb, planting a quick kiss on your temple. “Your scent… it has changed, tanhì.”

“What?” You whisper, almost pulling away from his tender touches to look at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wanted to hear you say it. I have been waiting… to hear you say it.” He’s the one to pull away this time, looking you deeply in the eyes. His free hand raises, using his thumb to wipe away a tear seeping from the corner of your eye. “Please. Do not cry.”

You don’t even know what to say. Yet again, Ralak leaves you speechless—with trembling lips and a swelling throat.

“And you are actually eating the payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] I cook.”

“What?” You snort, letting loose a sudden, nasally giggle. You drop your smile and try to fix a serious expression on your face. “What do you mean? I always eat your payoang niktsyey [fish wraps]”

Ralak laughs, his three fingers tucking hair behind your ear, “I see you throw them to the ilus, tanhì. I am no fool.”

You laugh again, snotty-nosed and teary-eyed, sniffling when the uncontrollable giggling fit ends. “It seems that our son enjoys your cooking, ‘lak.” You bubbler with a wobbly smile, blinking harshly to clear your vision.

Ralaks eyes bulge as they frantically search yours—a beaming smile spreading across his lips, his pointed teeth on full display. “Son?” He exhales softly, his left brow bone jumping ever so slightly.

All you can do is nod, letting your wobbly smile morph into a grin. The tears come back like they never left, twice as much and even hotter than before. You swear you see Ralaks eyes gloss over too, glistering in the sunlight.

Ralak sinks to his knees, coming face to face with your soft tummy.

“My prrnen [baby]. My ‘evengan [son; boy child]. It is your sempu [daddy].” He whispers, heated lips slightly pressed against your silken skin. Chin tucked to your chest, you watch in awe, straining to listen to his hushed whispers. “I have wanted you for so long.”

Hearing that—oh, how hearing that makes you feel. You feel warm inside, your heart so full all your earlier fears melt away. Ralak looks up at you, azure blue eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration—gratitude and admiration.

“My sweet tanhì. You have made me the man I have always wanted to be.” He croons at you, planting a long, soft kiss on your stomach—eyes still locked with yours. “And I thank you for that. Nìt’iluke [forever; never-endingly]”

And just like that, the butterflies you felt when you first laid eyes on this man come rushing in, flapping their wings at full force.

“I am your mate.” You sputter out a little, tiny sob. “It’s what I-I am supposed to do.”

Ralak stands up, holding eye contact with you the entire way.

“You owe me nothing. It is an honour that you carry my unborn, y/n.” His hand leaves your stomach to grasp your hand, intertwining his thickset fingers with yours. “You will be a nawm [great] mother.”

“And you will be the best father.” You choke back your sobs, struggling to get your words out. A comfortable silence passes, where you both immerse yourselves into one another’s touch. Until Ralak witnesses your expression morph into something of worry.

“What is it?” He asks in a hushed voice, keeping his tone calm and cool.

“Speaking of… fathers.” The column of your throat undulates when you gulp hard, “How will I tell mine?”

Ralak swallows, too. The thought had crossed his mind a few times over the past week. He saw the answer as simple – tell him. Ralak holds a lot of respect for your father, looking up at him as a superior given his status and skill as a warrior. And although he’s slightly intimidated by your father, Ralak sees this respect as mutual—therefore, it should be returned. Surely, this will go smoothly if you both remain polite.

Right?

“We tell him. Together.” Ralak grasps your hand once more, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, his heavy accent shining through now that he’s high on emotions, “I keep you safe. Both of you.”

——

Both you and Ralak make your way down the shore towards the webbing of overlapping mangrove roots. Though you insisted on breaking the news to your family by yourself, he was adamant that he accompanies you. You couldn’t bear the thought of your father lashing out on Ralak, especially in front of the others. You tried to explain that to him, but he simply shook his head and tightened the clasp of his saya (knife sheath) on his hip.

You make the trek by foot, wanting a little more time to think about what you were going to say, and he ensured to stay right behind you. Quite literally—looming behind you like some sort of bodyguard. Every na’vi you pass are quick to avert their gaze elsewhere when they see the giant you have as a shadow. They tried not to look to begin with, but it was a rare sight to see you two so close together among the clan.

Their hushed whispers are kept to an absolute minimum but Ralak hears them nonetheless. It doesn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least. It used to bother him before he had met you—hearing the chatter of the gossip about his voluntary six year celibacy despite being the chief’s right hand man. And now that the murmurs entail nothing but his relationship with you, he could care less.

But then he hears the indistinct mumble about the babe budding in your womb. It’s something along the lines of ‘it being some demon hybrid’. The comment alone has Ralak screeching to a halt, his head snapping in the direction of a stocky, young warrior in training. One that Tonowari had relentlessly urged Ralak to teach until he begrudgingly gave him a couple combat lessons.

Ralak’s eyes narrow and sharpen, snapping down to shoot a threatening leer down at him. That's all it took for the stumpy na’vi to drop his head in shame and scurry away with his younger companions.

Sensing that Ralak is no longer on your tail, you turn around, half-expecting him to be five steps behind. Instead, he’s right where you left him, with a reassuring smile and an extended hand gesturing you to ‘continue’. You return a light hearted smile and spin around, taking another step towards your family marui.

——

“To what do we owe the visit?” Neteyam smiles as he greets you at the marui door, arms splayed out for a hug. You smile and slump into your brother, allowing him to envelope you in a warm embrace. “We haven’t seen you in what feels like weeks, sis.”

“Because we haven’t.” Lo’ak adds, lurking behind his bigger brother, arms crossed over his chest with a grin on his face.

“Hey Lo’.” You say in a low voice, smiling at him as you let go of your big brother. Ralak silently stands at the marui door, head awkwardly tilted in an attempt to fit himself in such a tight space.

“Hey, sissy.” Lo’ak throws an arm around your neck, patting your shoulder a few times as he walks you further inside and away from Ralak. “What’s up with the shadow?” He doesn’t even try to quieten his voice as he nudges his chin in your husband's direction.

You force a little laugh, unwrapping his arm from around your neck so you can inch away back to your ‘shadow’. You back up until you bump into his solid build, making a muffled thump when you collide. He steadies you by the shoulders, lidded eyes flicking down to check that you’re okay. He can sense your nervousness.

“I–we… have something to tell you guys.” You begin, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Where’s everyone else?”

Lo’ak’s eyes squint, brows furrowing as the gears in his brain grind twice as fast to figure out what you could possibly be calling a family meeting for. “No fucking way. Already?” He blurts out when he finally puts two and two together. Your eyes widen when they dart over to him, catching sight of the shit eating grin plastered to his face.

Fuck, is this skxawng going to spoil it for me? You think to yourself, apparently loud enough for Ralak to hear. He squeezes your shoulders before sliding his hands down the full length of your arms and letting go. “Mawey [calm].” He breathes, his head still hanging low. You look behind you, tilting your head up to meet his comforting gaze.

“Hey, babygirl.” Jake’s voice snaps your attention back down, having you look your father in the eye. His smile is as wide as his arms as he approaches you for a hug.

“Dad. Hey.” You whisper, returning the hug and snuggling into his chest. You bask in the moment, lingering onto how things are now—before you drop the bomb on him.

“I missed ya.” Jake chuckles, rubbing your back. He finally lifts his head and sees your ‘shadow’ hovering a little closer than needed. “Jeez, let her breathe, boy. She’s just huggin’ her old man.” Ralak keeps his head hung and takes a small but noticeable step back. Jake gives you a quick peck on the head as he begins to pull away. “What have ya’ been up—”

Jake cuts himself short, leaning back in to smell your hair. His eyebrows gather when he recognizes the familiar scent. Neytiri has smelled similarly a few times before. Jake grinds his teeth, scrunched brows and narrow eyes giving away his current state of mind. His hands slide down your arms, gripping then as he looks you dead in the eye. “Y/n. You got somethin’ to tell me?”

“Dad–” You swallow down the knot in your throat, already getting choked up.

Jake's lips purse into a thin line as his death-stare immediately averts to Ralak. And for what feels like an eternity, nothing but silence fills the room. The tension in the air is almost suffocating. Jakes eyeing Ralak down whilst Ralaks stare is locked on the way he’s holding you.

You glance over at your brothers. One’s obviously got it figured out, arms crossed, shaking his head with a smug look on his face. And one is completely clueless—poor thing. You look back at your father who is now seething, leer averted back to you as he exerts all his energy into being patient.

“What’s going on? Guys?” Neteyam breaks the silence with a worried tone to his voice. His eyes bounce from person to person, until they land on his brother.

“He knocked her up.” Lo’aks whispers harshly, not even trying to be discreet. Neteyams brows raise and now he is, too, staring at you. You feel all the blood drain from your face and suddenly you’re extremely light in the head.

Mortified is an understatement.

Everyone is clearly waiting for you to confirm it. But you’re having such a difficult time saying the two silly little words. The pressure is on now, you could even see Ralak straining to hold his tongue. You finally muster up a cowardly nod, and immediately your fathers grip intensifies, squeezing your arms firm and tight. He’s looking down at you with eyes of disbelief and somewhat disappointment, frantically searching yours to see if this is really the truth. You let loose a low hiss, wincing when you feel the pinch of his grip.

Not even another second passes when you hear the slap of your husband’s large hands grabbing ahold of your father’s wrists.

“She is pregnant.”

A deep, but low growl rips from Ralaks chest. In other words, ‘never lay your hands on a pregnant woman’. Ralak dwarfs Jake as he inches in a little closer, grasping his wrists just firm enough to send this message.

“Yeah. Got it, bud.” Jake returns a growl through his teeth and tightened lips. He shifts his position slightly, eyes flicking down to acknowledge what his son in law is trying to get across. Nonetheless, Jake stands his ground. “Get your hands off me.”

Ralak tries to regain his composure, but his protective instincts have just about gone haywire. The urge to protect has never been so intense before. It’s like his soul knows that there’s just more to protect.

More at stake.

Ralak looks down at your fathers hands once more, silently making his point clear. He holds eye contact with Toruk makto whilst he remains unmoving.

“Lak…” You squeak a warning to your husband, who only flutters his jaw as a response. Lo’ak and Neteyam are on edge, both concerned that their father has a grip on you, but even more so that Ralak has a grip on their father. They watch intently, trying to decipher if and when they need to intervene.

To everyone’s surprise, Jake exhales harshly through his nose and gently pulls away from you, but wrenches his wrists away from Ralak’s grasp. “Sorry, kid.” Jake spits an apology, readjusting his position to be directly in front of Ralak. “Care to explain how this happened so damn quick?”

“Dad!” You shout in disbelief, wedging yourself back in between the two.

“You know what? Don’t even answer that.” Jake snaps.

“You know you are really no one to talk! Where’s mom? Mom!” You go on the tips of your toes, leaning from side to side to look for her behind both the two male na’vi.

“‘xcuse me?” Jake purposely blocks your view by bobbing his head wherever yours goes. “I am still your father and you will not speak to me that—” Jake steps to the left to avoid Ralak and walk towards you. Ralak quickly adjusts himself to be the wall between you and your father, not allowing Jake the chance to even finish his sentence. Ralak is now looking down at Jake with a stoic expression, trying his best not to come off intimidating or challenging in any way.

All to no avail.

“You got a problem with me, boy?” Jake grumbles through his clenched jaw, getting in Ralaks face now.

“No. Only keeping my word, sir.” Ralak simply responds.

Jakes brought back to the very moment he made Ralak give him his word. His word that he’d never let a thing happen to his baby girl. The night you completed your iknimaya. The night he granted Ralak the permission to mate with you.

The night Ralak took your virginity.

Jake stalls for a few seconds, taken aback by Ralaks behaviour but a little impressed at the same time. Jake's expression softens upon realizing that Ralak is just protecting his mate—just as he does Neytiri, especially during her pregnancies.

But there’s no way in hell that Jake will be the first one to back down here.

“Mom!” You call for her once more, hoping that she’ll swoop in and save the day.

Neytiri rushes in, hand on her hip where she keeps her dagger sheathed—worry and concern etched into her features. She analyses the situation, taking in the scene of her own mate standing face to face with yours. She glances over at you, seeing the panic in your eyes and the hand on your stomach that you didn’t even know you had placed there. Slowly walking up to the two male na’vi, she places a firm hand on her mates chest, pushing him away from Ralak. “Ma’ Jake. What is happening here?”

Jake’s pressing his lips firmly together, not wanting to say the words. He shakes his head a little, huffing through his nostrils before placing a hand on his hip. His other hand extends in your direction, as if he were pointing out the obvious. Yet he remains choked up and speechless, his hand falling to his thigh as he gives up.

Finally, he mumbles, “Go on. Tell her.”

Neytiri looks back at you, eyes trailing back down to your hand that’s mindlessly resting on your stomach as she awaits for your answer. You feel the burn of her eyes, yanking away your hand when it becomes too much. Being the daughter of Mo’at, a tsahik, Neytiri needed nothing more than a quick glance and sniff to know what’s going on. “Is this true?”

“Yes, mom. It is true. I am.” You say in a defeated tone of voice. Ralak shifts himself, settling close beside you now rather than in front of you. He always had an even greater respect for your mother.

Neytiri’s expression only grows softer, until there's no trace of concern left in her face. Her smile is downturned but her eyes are bright, glistening with joy as she pulls you in for a warm embrace.

“It is a blessing from Eywa, my child.”

She pulls away from you, now looking over to Ralak. Neytiri lays a gentle hand on Ralaks upper bicep, “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations] .” Ralak signs ‘I see you’ to his mother in law, exchanging a light hearted smile with her.

It was no secret that Neytiri longed to be a grandmother. Her days of children are over now, although she was expecting her eldest, Neteyam, to give her a grandchild first. But Ralak — Ralak is a remarkable, mighty warrior and hunter. The olo’eyktans right hand man, and undoubtedly the best fisherman in the village.

In fact, Ralak was one of the first people Neytiri took a liking to after she adjusted to the way of water. She always felt that he was a good suitor for her daughter.

“Are you kiddin’ me? It’s barely been two months!” Jake scoffs, shaking his head.

“And a day for us, Jake.” Neytiri tries her best to keep a calm, but firm voice. “They are a mated pair, they are having a family now. It is Eywa’s will.”

Jake quiets himself, reflecting on his harsh ways. He sighs, loudly. His eyes finally glance down to what everyone in the room has been looking at, now staring at your protective hand that mindlessly lay over your womb once again. He grits his teeth, averting his stare to the ground, eyeing the charred wood of the fire pit. His tongue clicks as he parts his lips, muttering—

“I know… I know, alright? She’s just—” He looks up at Neytiri, then Ralak, and then you. “She’s my babygirl.”

It’s his way of saying, ‘I just want to protect my family.’

“Dad. I am but—but I’m not your baby anymore. I’m not a kid.” You croak, finding it hard to hold eye contact with him. “Your grandson is the new baby of this family.”

Jake tries to fight the way his eyebrows scrunch together, it was like hearing about the news of his firstborn son all over again. He exhales slowly, nodding his head and extending his arms to hold you. His warmth envelopes you completely, leaving no room for any cold or harsh thoughts and feelings to linger.

“You keep ‘em safe.” Jake's chin presses into the crown of your head as he mutters the words to Ralak. Ralak had always had a hard time understanding Jake's native slang, but this he understood— loud and clear.

“Always.” Ralak answers firmly.

Your safety has been, is and will always be his number one priority.

Jake nods once, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go fully. “Seykxel sì nitram [congratulations], you two.”

“Thank you, dad.” You smile whilst Ralak bows his head. Neteyam and Lo’ak finally come over for their hugs, making a comment of their own as they release you from their grasps.

“I’m gonna teach him everything I know.” Lo’aks grin is unnerving and a little sinister, giving away the trouble that he’s already trying to get your son into.

“Please don’t.” You joke back with your brother, even though you’re being dead serious.

Neteyam jabs an elbow into his brother's rib cage, disciplining him for his mischief. “Agh — do not worry, Uncle TeTe will keep him in check.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” You say softly with a smile on your face, “‘Uncle TeTe’. I like that.”

“Hey, don’t forget about ‘Uncle Lo’Lo’.” Lo’ak chimes in.

“Eh. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? What do you think, lak?” You jester, looking up at him to be met with a slight smirk.

“Very… hiyìk [strange; funny].” Ralaks smirk pulls at his lips a little more. “But, at least it is not ‘ak’-ak’.”

You swear you hear a little chuckle from everyone in the room. All except Lo’ak, who is staring at Ralak with a deadpan expression, arms crossed defensively over his chest. It feels like an eternity passes until Lo’ak finally booms with laughter, extending his arm out to Ralak, who gaily reciprocates and meets Lo’aks’ with a smack.

“I like this bodyguard of yours, y/n. He actually has a sense of humour.”

You let loose a scoff and roll your eyes, about ready to wrap this whole thing up and lie down in bed. It’s seemingly obvious, seeing that everyone is giving you space as they take note of your restless body language and bowed shoulders.

“If you are tired, you should rest.” Neytiri advises, just as you feel Ralaks hand tuck under your arm to support your weight. “Your body is working hard right now.”

“Yeah, mom. I think I need to lie down for a little.” You mumble, leaning into your mate a little more.

Your family practically ushers you out, encouraging you to get some rest and to get off your feet. Ralak walks close to you on the way home, keeping with the pace you set to the tee — only intervening with a hand to your hip when necessary.

And when you finally slump into bed, your eyelids flutter shut before Ralak can settle himself beside you.

——smut warning——

You rouse to Ralak drawing the curtain of your marui, blocking out the orange hue of the last eclipse. It dawns on you that you’ve slept out most of the day. You didn’t even realise you were so tired to begin with.

“You should have woken me earlier. I slept out the day.” You mumble, sitting up in bed and lightly kicking off the sheets.

Ralak turns around, surprised that you’re awake. He curses himself under his breath; he was hoping to keep you sleeping by drawing the curtains but instead he did the opposite.

“You needed to rest.” He says, making his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You have been more tired recently.”

“Yeah?” You snort, “…and what else have I been, sir know-it-all?”

Ralak chuckles, his eyes falling to your stomach. “…a little more hungry.”

You smile a little, remembering his fish wrap comment from earlier.

But then you witness his half-lidded eyes glaze over with something of… wanton. It takes a second to realise that they’re no longer staring at your belly. They’re staring at your tewng [loincloth]. More specifically, the mound imprinting it.

It’s the way your pussy is being so tightly squeezed by the thin cloth covering it. It’s the one thing that Ralak can’t help himself from indulging in admiring. Then his eyes snap away, unexpectedly meeting yours. The stare he’s giving you has your thighs rubbing together and your lower tummy tingling.

“…a little more tempting.” His voice is thick like honey, laced with lust and arousal.

In every way. From the way you fill out your top more, to your scent—you’re becoming more

irresistible the farther along you progress. Your heart beats a little harder between your ribs as you swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth. His lecherous gaze is fixed, blue eyes piercing into yours. It’s been too long since he’s been inside you that it aches.

But he’s been patient.

Especially since the day he figured out you were pregnant. With the way you smelt he found it hard to keep his distance at times but nonetheless, he did it. But the truth is that you haven’t had penetrative sex since your cycles synced.

To be clear, he took care of you just fine.

Tending to your needs whenever you initiated intimacy with him but he never took it further than his fingers and mouth. After seeing you so battered by his own hands he found it hard to put you in a position that could garner a similar result again.

For a while, he lost trust within himself.

That he no longer had the capacity for self control. Not only did he feel like he didn’t deserve it, but he never expected you to return the pleasure either. He had already taken you on his own terms. Repeatedly.

Ruthlessly.

So when you ate one to many of his payoang niktsyey [fish wraps] — when the new earthiness of your scent wafted past his nose — he knew. He knew it stuck. He knew your womb swelled with his child as each day passed. And the urge to protect only swelled with it.

He became even more gentle with you. Handling you with care when your skin softened and your hips became a little fuller. Ensuring he had excess when he cooked. Weaving an extra thick blanket for you to sleep with when he was off on duty with Tonowari.

It ached most when he’d come home just to see it kicked off onto the floor, with you on your stomach and your leg propped up just right. Your loincloth would always shift to the side, just enough to expose plump folds that innocently peek through the seam of the thin fabric. Fuck, it more than ached. It made him tender. Throbbing in his own tewng.

Just like now.

He dares not to break the steady, intent stare. Or else he may steal another glance at the softness between your thighs. But he can see in your eyes that you feel similarly. You always give him that look before doing something ‘troublesome’. You break eye contact first, your eyes now landing on his tewng.

Fuck.

Your eyes widen a little when you catch sight of the growing, thick bulge in his loincloth. Your gaze locks onto it, taking in every detail. From the thick stripes on his thighs to the way the twine of his loincloth is cutting into his v-lines. You can even see the outline of the crown of his cock.

His stomach rises and falls from his uneven breathing, and his abs pop out one by one as he leans further back—supporting his torso with his arms behind his back. He was never shy about his body, and he certainly isn’t now.

“Then, why do you resist me?” Though it's a question, it doesn’t sound like one when the words drip off your lips. Your voice is soft and feigned with innocence, yet you're shuffling to get on all fours to crawl over to him. You truthfully don’t care for the answer, you knew that it would be the same old song—‘he doesn’t want to hurt you’.

“I hurt you.” He says coldly—simply, glancing at the fading scar on your shoulder as you settle yourself on your knees beside him. He watches as your hand finds purchase on his knee, and slides up his thigh. “And now that you are with child… I—haah”. He’s cut short with a shaky breath and slight jolt when you cup his bulge with a bit of force. He looks down at your hand, dainty and slender, barely grasping half of what’s under his tewng.

“You worry about me too much.” You mumble, more focused on the speed at which his cock pulses at. “Yet still, never yourself.” You feel around, sliding your palm up and down its length, earning a rough exhale from Ralak in return. His lidded eyes dart back over to you, taking in the sight of you almost bent over his lap.

“That so?” His voice is thick and gruff.

“Mhm. ‘m always telling you that, aren’t I?” You hum softly, slowly moving your hand further down between his legs, firmly cupping his balls. They’re heavy in your hand, hot to the touch and—

Eywa.

“They’re swollen.” You whisper breathlessly, your glossy eyes meeting him with concern. They dart back to his crotch, your hand now fumbling with the twine of his tewng, hurriedly trying to unravel the knot to get the suffocating fabric off him.

“‘tis fine.” He winces as he spits out the words, watching you pinch him a little while struggling with the taut material.

Ignoring his words, you continue with your task, a bit more gently now. And when the knot comes undone, the twine falls off his hips and the tewng loosens with it. You tug it off him and see that they’re not only puffed up but also darker in colour. They’re firm and pulled close to his body, perfectly round and stripes well-defined.

Shamefully, it turns you on to see his balls so full.

Just the thought of them being so swollen with his seed that they’re aching and throbbing to empty themselves inside you—fuck, it’s making your teeth grit. You sit back into the dip of your feet and stare as your breathing becomes heavier. The more you look the more you realize that they’re pulling tighter and tighter towards his core. You look up at him, a little surprised. Your arousal is etched into your features and it’s more than obvious in your body language. You want to know how they’d feel in your mouth. How they’d taste.

If they’d even fit.

Without another passing second you bend over his lap, tail high in the air and legs spread—the overpowering scent of your arousal filling the air. You shove your face between his thighs, inhaling deeply his musky scent. You let out a breath of desire, one that sounds nothing short of pleasure and satisfaction. He smells too good. You can’t help yourself but give his firm balls a quick, kitten lick. The giant above you holds back his chuckle, finding your behaviour cute and honestly a little amusing. Feeling like the butt of a joke, you firmly grasp his length and tug it upwards, causing his balls to pull even tighter.

“Y/n.” He hisses your name, adjusting his legs to rid himself of the strained feeling. You wet your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, and press your cheek against them. They’re hot—heating up a degree higher the more you tease him. Just as you pull your cheek away and manage to fit one of them into your mouth, his hand flies to the back of your head, balling your hair into his fist.

“You need not to—” your tail curls and the tip of it tickles against his chest, “—haah…do this.” Ralak huffs out a sigh of frustration it seems, looking down at you with somewhat of a predatory leer. You pop off with a pwah, catching your breath and turning your head.

You both share an intent stare with one another, one that feels more challenging than anything. He’s insistent that he’s undeserving of this, and you’re insistent that he must be taken care of. His grip loosens on your hair, until he lets you go completely.

“Shh…shh.” You shush him, eyes narrowing as they remain locked onto him. You slowly slide off the bed one leg at a time, sinking to your knees and settling yourself between his legs—now looking up at him with doe-eyes. The sight before you has your heart palpitating, just like the sight of your face so close to his cock has his jaw clenching.

Ralak quiets himself by locking his jaw, waiting patiently to see how this unfolds. It’s the first he’s seen you in this position, on your knees, between his. His cock twitches in excitement as clear, thick beads of precum begin to roll down its length. You swallow thickly at the sight, wrapping your dainty fingers around its girth to pull it close to your flushed lips.

Ralaks ears flutter and his eyelids grow heavy, his chest heaving as he shifts his weight to the palms of his hands—sitting up.

You open your mouth, strings of your saliva connecting your lips together. They break when you lower your head, taking the mushroomy, glistening head of his cock into your mouth. It’s mostly sweet, and a little salty too. The corners of your mouth sting as you accommodate his thickness, and you struggle to open your jaw wide enough to take him further into your mouth.

His head dips forward, eyes slamming shut when he feels your wet, warm tongue press against the underside of his cockhead. His hand flies to your head again, gently cupping the back of your skull as he lets out a strained breath.

Muffled noises vibrate through your nose as you swipe your tongue side to side against his head. It throbs against your tongue each time it hits that sensitive spot right down the middle. You suckle and swipe at the same time, using your hands to pump the rest of his length until you're grunting and snorting for air. You come up, gasping to fill your lungs.

His hand quickly slides from the back of your head to cup the swell of your cheek. His calloused thumb swipes at a bead of saliva rolling down your chin and pops it back into your mouth. “What are you doing, my tanhì?” He whispers the rhetorical question, ensuring his voice is calm and gentle. It sounds as if he’s given up—given in.

Without answering, you take him back into your mouth, locking your jaw once you open it as wide as you possibly can. You stick your tongue out as far as it’ll go and look up at him with eyes that begin to water. He looks down at you with a concerned expression, which morphs into one of astonishment. Your head goes lower and lower, taking inch after inch of his cock down your throat.

The tears in your eyes finally spill over, and your nose begins to burn. Half of his length is down your throat and you can barely breathe, but the more his face grimaces from how good you feel around him, the more of him you urge yourself to take. You hold onto his hips, using them as leverage to shove more of him down your throat.

“Hnng. Easy.” He groans roughly, pushing back against your shoves. “You are pregnaaah—mmn, you will make yourself sick, tanhì.”

Lifting your hand from his hip, you smack away his hand and take him full hilt, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making it bulge. You stop for a second, slowly inhaling through your nose to focus on not gagging. You try moving the back of your tongue, slowly stroking the rest of his length with your hand.

“Ah, shit.” He exhales shakily, his eyes rolling back before squeezing shut. He looks focused, like he’s concentrating on not cumming down your throat right then and there. Lips parted slightly, each breath he takes becomes louder and more raggedy. His thigh muscles tense up and his legs spread a little more, his hand finding its own way to the base of your kuru.

Chest swelling with pride, you begin to bob your head and coat his cock with your sticky spit. The more slippery it gets the harder he has to fight back his choked grunts. The grip he has on your kuru is tightening, as if he were preparing himself to pry you off his cock before he fills your throat.

Suddenly, his head sinks back and his jaw clenches—hard. You could feel it. The way his cock twitches. The way it’s heating up. The way it’s swelling in your mouth. Gurgled noises are escaping past his lips, and he purses them tightly together in attempts to keep himself quiet. His core flexes, and his hips start to stutter. His whole body jolts from how sensitive he’s getting, and finally he thrusts into your mouth, the pointed tip of his cock slamming into the back of your throat.

You silently gag as his hips stammer into you and he’s fucking your throat in frenzied little movements. He’s trying his hardest to be as gentle as he possibly can.m, but your throat is so soft and tight around him. You swallow around his cock as you try to take a breath and suddenly his erratic movements still.

“Y/n.” He lets loose a dying groan as his head slumps forward and his inebriated eyes struggle to open.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His voice is gravelly and thick with restraint. You love to see him like this—hear him like this. You can’t help the wandering hand that’s making its way down to your soaked tewng. You try to touch yourself through the fabric, but have a hard time finding your clit with it covered like this. Exasperated, you shove your hand under the band of your loincloth and use all four fingers to rub sloppy circles into your puffy clit.

Ralak is too immersed into this to even take note of your desperation. He’s too desperate himself. And if you don’t stop now, he really won’t be able to help himself. He begins tugging you by your queue, trying to pry you away from him. With each hasty swipe of your fingers you suck a little harder, as if you were trying to match your pleasure with your mates’. He pulls at your kuru even harder but you’re unbudging, firmly holding the base of his cock as you relentlessly suckle on the most sensitive part of his tip.

“Stop.” He growls out of breath, finally looking down just to be tipped close to the edge by the sight below him. You look dumb and fucked out with his cock stuffed in your mouth, broken moans vibrating against his length as you franticly touch yourself.

Finally, he yanks you off him with one swift, hard tug, his cock slapping his stomach when it pops out of your mouth. You land on your behind, legs spreading wide open as your fingers work away at your now throbbing clit.

“Why? Can’t handle it?” You taunt him between pants and breathy, hoarse moans. Rather than answering he looks down at you with a cocked brow, kuru still in hand. Both of you stare at one another, shoulders and chests violently heaving as you both pant for air. He’s raw and pulsing, twitching from the heartbeat in the crown of his cock.

It's suspended mid air, jumping from how insanely aroused he’s left himself. Sticky beads of precum constantly roll down his shaft, one after the next and his balls are throbbing too. You get back on your knees and lunge for his cock again, tongue darting out to have another taste. He pulls you back, his hand still having a firm grasp of your kuru.

“Is this what you are like when you have been bred?” Ralak huffs, a little taken aback by your lewd behaviour. His gaze shifts to your pathetic attempt to make yourself cum, and a smirk spreads across his lips. “So desperate.” Your silence has his brows scrunching together and him yanking your head back so you’re looking up at him. A growl rumbles in his chest as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you to your knees with him—his hung cock swaying directly in your face.

A smug little smile pulls at your lips when you realise you’re riling him up. You witness his jawbone flutter, his ears laying flat against his skull. He just wants to stuff his cock back down your throat to teach you a lesson. Instead he shoves your face into his crotch, your nose burying itself into the space between his cock and balls. He holds you there for a few seconds, just long enough that when he finally pulls you away you suck in a tiny gasp of air.

Ralak sighs a low, lengthy breath, forcing himself to regain his composure. He can’t understand how such a little thing can be so feisty. To act as if he couldn’t pin you down and take you without a scuffle. Truthfully it only makes him even harder. It only further proves that you are really the woman for him.

Slowly bringing you to your feet, he keeps your face pressed to his body so that your bottom lip drags along his torso as you make your way up. Your hand is still stuffed inside your tewng, slick fingers working hard to find their way back to your clit. With his free hand he grabs a hold of your hip, and steadily backs you up against the wall.

When your back hits the wall, a shaky breath is expelled from your lungs. He lets go of your kuru and rips your hand from your tewng. He then wedges his knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clit, making it flutter uncontrollably. His movements are quick but gentle, filled with purpose and desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours as he searches them, his face just inches away from yours.

“Answer me, little one.” He whispers into your mouth.

“Yes.” Your answer is breathy and short.

Ralak heaves a heavy sigh.

“I am trying to be gentle…” He speaks the words through gritted teeth, using both hands on your hips to spin you around to face the wall. He lowers his head until his lips graze against the tip of your ear. “…but you make it so hard for me.” He growls, using the perfect amount of force to pin you against the wall with his body. His large hand swiftly moves to your lower stomach, cupping it to act as a protective barrier between the wall and your budding womb.

“No need to be. I can handle you just fine.” Your lips are pressed tight to your teeth, face flush against the smooth surface, making it hard for you to speak clearly. “Pregnant or not.”

Ralak chuckles.

“Is that right?” He speaks in an almost condescending tone, hurriedly tugging down your loincloth just enough to get access to your cunt. Without warning, he bends his knees a little to align your pelvises and then shoves his cock between your slickened, warm folds. “Oh tanhì, you are soaked.” His voice quiets down into a hushed whisper, “All from sucking my cock?”

A mewl splits your lips just as all the blood rushes to your face, staining it a bright pink. Your pussy clenches around nothingness only causing more of your slick to ooze on his cock. Your breath turns shaky, tail swishing wildly behind you. You can’t move even if you wanted to. He’s got you pinned down, quickly reminding you of his strength. And had it not been for his hand on your abdomen you would be completely plastered to the wall and taken on his terms.

“Tsk-tsk…Have you no shame?” Ralak tuts, holding you still. “Or must I give you a lesson on self-restraint?”

Despite his cockiness you can sense the urgency in his body language and in his voice. You can feel it in the way his hips stutter, as his cock slides back and forth between your pussy lips. His own desperation. The desire to be inside you. The need for release.

“Go on then, karyu.” You moan softly, causing his grip on you to loosen for a millisecond. Hearing that name brings a feeling of nostalgia. Of lust. You push back into him, your slippery hole trying to suck him inside with a few quick movements of your pelvis. “But I know you’ve been desperate… desperate to fuck your numeyu.”

“Oh, little one.” His chuckle is dark and depraved, his protective hand stiffening as if he were preparing it for what's to come. “Yet you are trying your hardest to take me inside you.” He licks your ear lobe to tip, whispering, “so cute.”

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You mutter under your breath, steadying your feet to ground yourself.

Ralaks ears flicker and stand tall, then immediately lay flat to his head—his brow cocking in astonishment. His smirk grows wider, the heat in his chest spreading to his extremities. Now that pushes him over the edge.

“Say that again, numeyu.” He challenges you in a growl, angling his hips so his weeping cockhead prods at your entrance. He ensures not to let the buck of his hips win, keeping you empty and yearning.

“Haah… afraid to take what’s yours.” You purr, rising to the tips of your toes to try sink him inside you. “Fnawe’tu—”

Smack.

The sound of his swollen balls making contact with your puffy clit is almost as loud as your broken gasp. You smile open mouthed as he holds his position balls deep inside you, firmly pressing the tip of his cock into your cervix. He’s grinding his back teeth, digging his chin into your shoulder to quell the rumble of his chest from how tight you’re squeezing his cock.

You whine from the fullness of him stuffed inside your cunt, his unmoving hips sending a clear message of dominance. He’s hunched over you, body weight pinning you mercilessly against the wall, hand over your womb to keep your unborn safe—as promised. Still being gentle enough.

But you want him to lose it.

To fuck into you like he were in rut again. To use your pussy like a fucktoy to satiate his own greed and self pleasure. He deserves that much, for being such a competent and loving man to you. Yet it seems the only way to bring that out of him is to play dirty.

“Fnawe’tu [coward].” You repeat shakily.

Smack.

Another deep and hard thrust into your sloppy cunt. He lets loose the rumble in his chest this time, bearing his canines and putting most of his weight on you now. Lips pressed tightly together, your whimper is muffled and outright pathetic, pinched brows giving away the pleasure rippling through you. Still, he remains unmoving, undeniably making it clear who has the most leverage here. But that doesn’t really matter to you—you’re getting what you want, one way or another.

Right?

“Voìk si, little one [behave].” Ralak hisses, fighting the inner conflict within him.

“Haa—” Your laugh that follows is a little sinister, open mouthed and smug. Hands pressing into the wall you push off its surface, sinking him deeper inside you. “No.”

“Alright.” His voice is husky, thick with confidence and temperance.

With a rough, quick tug, his cock slips out of you with a squelch, hanging freely between his legs. Your slick mixed with his precum slowly dribbling off his tip and onto the floor between your pointed feet. You fall to the flat of your feet, panting and whining from the sudden emptiness.

“W-Wait.” You squeak, hastily getting back on the tips of your toes to stuff him inside you again. “Please.”

“What was that?” Ralak asks, voiced feigned with innocence. “A little louder.”

“Please.” You barely whisper, backing up on him.

“Come now, tanhì.” His hand slips from your hip to grip his cock. Giving it a few strokes he teases your cunt with his cockhead and you instinctively shimmy down. Hips snapping back to prevent you from taking him inside, he dips his head so his mouth is next to your ear and husks, “You can do better than that.”

“Please!” You moan loudly in desperation, reaching down to your knees to unfetter yourself from your tewng [loincloth].

“Please, what?” Ralak spits the last word through pursed lips, ready to give you exactly what you want if you just ask for it nicely.

“Please put it back inside.” You beg pathetically, finally getting the knot of your tewng undone. “Please, fuck me.”

“Ahh, there’s my good girl.” Ralak praises you with a grin, sinking his cock into your warmth at a leisurely pace. His breathing stutters for every inch that penetrates you. “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck.” You moan in relief, spreading your legs wider. He’s tamed you and he knows it. “No.”

“No…?” Ralak says it like a question, hissing when he bottoms out in your cunt.

“No, karyu.” You answer coyly, voice faltering from the pressure of his cockhead pushing into your cervix.

“Agh—haah” Ralak lets out a gruff grunt in response, his hips now snapping back and forth out of his control. He’s huffing and puffing next to your ear, pumping his cock in and out of you in a frenzy of need. Swollen balls repeatedly slapping against your clit, it’s almost impossible to hold back the gurgled noises escaping your throat.

“Fuck—so—fuckin’—deep—fuck.” The curses are punched out of you as he relentlessly smacks into you again and again.

“Lì’fyaz [language.]” Ralak chides in a growl, hand slipping down to pull back the hood of your clit—taut.

The continuous sting of your clit has your legs shaking and the way his cockhead is repeatedly stimulating your sweet spot has your eyes rolling back into your head. It’s almost too much all at once yet you yearn for more. Your cunt clamps down around him, especially when the tension becomes so tight you feel your stomach double-knot. Ralak hums when you tighten around him, only making him rut harder into you.

Pulling back, he glances down at you sucking him in, your tail curled tight to your back and his cock plunging in and out of your pussy. He can see just how tight you are as your pussy walls grip his girth mercilessly. And with the protective hand on your abdomen, he can feel each thrust against the palm of his hand. It makes his chest swell with pride—

You carry his child yet still take him so well.

“Oeÿa tsantu [my good girl]” Ralak slips into his native tongue, panting in an accent as thick as tree sap. “Oeÿa numeyutsyìp [my little student]”

Ralaks cock heats up inside you, heating your core along with it. It’s the same familiar sensation you feel before he provides you with your release. The feeling that keeps your eyes squeezed shut and breath shallow. He knows your close and slows his thrusts like he usually does, fucking you a little harder rather than faster, angling his pelvis so he’s right in your swelling g-spot.

Your hands fly behind you, grasping at whatever’s available as your orgasm washes through you. You gush all over your thighs, cum dribbling down your legs to your feet, some spattering on Ralak as he fucks and holds you through your high. It’s sudden and uncontrollable, leaving you sputtering out nonsense and your legs shaking violently beneath you.

“There it is. Good muntxate [wife].” Ralak huffs with a smirk, relishing in the quick, feverish flutter of your cunt on his cock. His voice is shaky from his uneven rhythm now that he can finally allow himself to finish too. “Love—hng—when you cum for me, you—ahh, haah—know that?”

He begins grinding to you, shoving you further into the wall as he focuses on his own climax. He uses his feet to kick your legs closed, and pulls out of you, stuffing himself between your thighs. He’s groaning and growling, hunched over you with bent knees and flushed, flattened ears. Skin slapping against skin, he humps at your thighs, thick cock sliding back and forth over your still pulsing clit.

His cockhead continuously pokes out between your folds, tip oozing and oozing with precum. Both his hands fly to your hips, gripping them with force as his thrusts become almost violent. You struggle to keep yourself standing as his hips smack into you repeatedly, your body jolting with each thrust. He gives you one last, harsh thrust, holding you still against him as you feel his cock throb wildly between your thighs. You look down to see his huge load shoot out in thick, white ropes. He’s grumbling behind you, giving your thighs an extra few uncontrollable thrusts as he peaks in his high.

Finally you fall to the flat of your feet, his arms instantly snaking around your waist to support your weight entirely.

“I told you no taunting, tanhì.” He’s referring to the time he opened up about his first rut, “Next time, you ask nicely. Tslam? [Understand?]” Ralak says breathlessly.

“Sran, oeÿa karyu. tslolam. [Yes, my teacher. I understand].” You blubber, fucked out and jaded.

——

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izukumidoriyanumber1 · 3 months ago

Text

Alastor's Seemingly Innocent Lover HC (FEMALE)

[Sfw+Nsfw]

-He wonders how the fuck you’re in hell

-like, someone as perfect and sweet and kind as you? No chance.

-until you tell him how you brutally murdered a huntsman and hand to hand strangled his three dogs after killing your boyfriend.

-coincidence? I think not.

-Alastor knew this story sounded awfully familiar but couldn’t quite place what it was he remembered about it.

-anyways

-Alastor would try to change how he acts, especially around you.

-so no killing or maiming when his s/o is around.

-the only time your not your sweet, innocent little self is when Angel Dust drags you into a terf war or something.

-then hes laughing and cheering you on from the sidelines.

-As you know, Alastor loves to dance and sing.

-so expect him to turn on some swing jazz and quite literally sweep you off your feet in the middle of the lobby.

-lots of spinning, dipping, and side stepping.

-he’ll also sing along to whatever is playing, too.

-if its a slow song, expect to be held close to him as one of his hands clasps tightly to yours and your chest is pressed against his.

-his other hand will wrap around your waist as he hums along in your ear.

-but this kind of dancing normally only takes place behind closed doors and within the comfort of your shared room.

-speaking of rooms, he would love it if you’d stay with him at night.

-he doesn’t sleep a whole lot, so make sure he gets the well deserved rest he needs.

-he’ll hold you close while petting your hair or running his hands up and down your arms to help you fall asleep.

-in the most non-creepy way possible, he loves to watch you sleep.

-he finds it so wholesome and heart warming that you choose to lay next to him every night.

-Alastor has never been a huge fan of sex, but when its you, he can’t help himself.

-especially when he’s in a rut. He almost always cant keep his hands off of you.

-as much as he cant, he loves to breed you

-he constantly praises your body and loves the bump that forms at the bottom of your tummy when he fills you up.

-saying things like “darling, you take me so well, gonna fill you up so nice” like AHHHHHHH

-aftercare is a given. He’s an old timer, he knows how to treat a woman.

-expect to be carried into the steamy bathtub as he crawls in next to you and scrubs you clean.

-pda is a little iffy with Alastor.

-he could either be all over you, a hand on your waist, shoulder, or arms linked 25/8

-OR he could have a no touching day (which you are completely understanding to)

-i think you would deny his request of proposal many times.

-maybe you are trying to redeem yourself and you dont want to hurt him if you do end up going to heaven.

-but either way, you ended up saying yes, and the wedding was held at the hotel with minimal guests.

-im sure he would invite rosie and mimzy, too.

-who both absolutely adore you

-rosie ends up being that of an older sister to you

-mimzy is just kinda…there.

-you dont like her very much.

-on top of it all, he loves you so very much and wont be afraid to show you just how much.

-he would do absolutely anything to have his way, and if someone (like Vox) were to get in his way, he’d make sure it wouldnt happen again.

message me for more <3

#alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader headcanons #innocent s/o #reader insert

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atsadi-shenanigans · 2 months ago

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A Misuse of Potions 2 - Invisibility

In which I write probably my most demented smut so far. Predator/prey. Buckle up, friends and enemies, cause that man gets REAL WEIRD in this one. Full-force Creachur Astarion.

On Ao3.

On the third day of Eleint, she comes to him. Her dark eyes are warm, her limbs loose, and he doesn’t even have to scent the air to know what’s going on between her legs.

“Would now be a good time?” she says.

Always, he wants to say, though that’s not always true. Sometimes, even now, the memories seep in and it’s all he can do not to shred his own skin with his claws.

But this is not one of those times. This is the third day of Eleint, his Eleanor has a glint to her eye, and they’ve discussed this subject at length.

Astarion snaps his book shut and lets it drop to the floor. Rolls to his feet to sweep her into his embrace and buries his face against her neck to breathe her in, slow and deep.

Warmth, life. Salt and clean.

Moon blood.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he says and means it. Can tell in her gaze she sees the truth of it.

They’ve planned for this. Extensively. His Eleanor does love her planning. She’s quite prepared.

He’s not even surprised when he follows her upstairs to their bedroom, and she pulls a pack from their wardrobe. Removes the items within and inventories them on the bed. He takes a small, velvet pouch she holds out, and his groin is already starting to tighten. From her scent, of course, and from what he knows this pouch will lead to.

She goes over The Plan again. They both need to be certain, after all. There’s not much on his end; neither of them expect much on his end once they start, save for her words “red light.” She’s used them before; by now they’re both comfortable with it and what comes after, even if it sometimes makes his guts squirm.

No pain follows it, though. Not ever. Not after red light, not after cub. Sometimes they resume, and sometimes they just…stop. Hold each other. Dress and move to the lounge. Sometimes she’ll get herself a bite to eat, and sometimes she’ll give him her wrist or her neck when he needs it.

She dressed carefully, this night, from an outfit she had folded in that pack. It’s cheap material. Far too flimsy for road travel, but it’s meant to be cheap, and he watches her slip the layers on and his cock begins to fill in earnest.

She does not wear her moon blood belt. She does not tuck rags into her trousers (her face flushes adorably as she slips nothing but a single pair of panties on, followed by said trousers).

He has to lean against the wall and keep his arms crossed. His own trousers become uncomfortable.

She notices that. Of course she does. Gives him a little smile, the minx.

“Ready?” she says.

He wants to push her to the floor and spread her legs and—

He steps away from the wall. “Very, my love.”

The teleportation spell is not his favorite, even if it is useful. For this, though, he swallows down his complaints (he’ll be swallowing down much more pleasant things tonight), and a moment later, they step onto soft grass.

It’s a lonely patch of woods. Or as lonely as any patch of untended woods can be. They’d scouted it some months back, when passing near the Bear’s newest little enclave. No one lives out here. No guards, no gaggles. No one to get the wrong idea or try to do something stupid and ruin the night for all involved.

There’s also no goblins or worgs or other worrisome beasts. Just the bunnies and other snacks.

The late summer heat clings to the air, but the wind already sweeps a soothing chill over his face. His Eleanor glances about, her poor, human ears straining, and looks to him.

“We’re all alone,” he says.

His fangs ache. The beds of his nails tingle as his claws threaten to sharpen. Alone out here, in the wilds, with her.

They look at each other for a long moment. He lets himself enjoy the way the silver moonlight—nearly full, lucky him—paints over her skin, sinks into her dark hair.

“You sure about your getup?” she says.

He’s wearing his home clothes, the ones he was loafing about it: a loose tunic tucked into his trousers. He hadn’t thought to change. Had only grabbed his city shoes while trying to adjust himself in his underthings.

He waves her off. “I can replace it.”

Gives her an appreciative sweep. She put on a light jacket and a pair of stays, as she would need the support. At least initially. But they’re the most basic pair she owns. Easy to mend. Or replace, should he get a little…rough.

Most of all, his gaze is drawn to the juncture of her thighs, and the small, dark patch just beginning to show itself.

He’s scenting the air, isn’t he.

He slips the velvet pouch from his pocket. It’s a small thing. Light. Holds only two, delicate golden ear cuffs, which spill into his palm as he tips it.

He slides the first one up, halfway between the lobe and the point. His Eleanor licks her lips like a degenerate. He’d had the initial idea for this outing, but she’d leapt on it, proposed all of these additions.

The other cuff pinches on his other ear. They’re rather plain, with only the hint of swirled knot work along the sides. But they warm his ears as he speaks the activation. The magic sinks into them and spreads like warm fingers (hers) over his ears.

Until the world muffles itself. The racing rodent hearts disappear. The thunderous pulse of his love fades to nothing. He flails in his mind a moment—not used to this, danger, if he can’t hear, if he’s trapped in silence again—

“Still okay?”

He catches her voice. He can focus on that. He’s deafened as an elf. As a vampire. But they tested these on her, and she notices no difference.

“You poor thing,” he says, because she has to live like this, in such a dim and dull world all the time.

She flips him off. Unfortunately for her, he’s close enough to snap at the offending finger. Slowly, of course. Gives her ample time to pull away and snort. Which makes him want to kiss her.

So he does. Luxuriates in her hot mouth, the slide of her tongue, her scent and that heavy, heady ambrosia of her moon blood.

Gods, he’s glad she doesn’t mind letting him feast upon her like this. He tries to remember the feel of his life before this, before the beach and the tadpoles, and he cannot fathom existing so long without this. Without her.

But before he can be carried away, his Eleanor takes a step back. Her cheeks are flushed. Neck reddened down to where her skin disappears beneath her light jacket and stays and under tunic. Her eyes are pools of heat, her lips already swollen.

Her moon blood—when not crippling her in pain—can sometimes spike her desire. This appears to be one of those times (gods below, there’s a damp spot high on his thigh where he’s already leaking).

She retrieves a bottle from the pack she’s secured to her person. Liquid silver sparkles in the moonlight. His nail beds tingle hard and this time he cannot stop the claws from forming.

“You’re sure?” he says.

His delightful contradiction, no longer a virgin but having lost none of her hidden boldness, only says, “Close your eyes.”

He does.

A year or two ago, he wouldn’t have. Blindness meant vulnerability. Meant unseen blows to unprotected places. Meant clawing starvation hollowing his guts and drying out his flesh, his throat so withered he could barely produce a sound that wasn’t a deathly, rattling click.

Now, as he obeys, a shudder of anticipation shivers down his spine.

He can just hear her uncork the bottle. Cannot hear her swallowing, or the air in her lungs, or the way he imagines her own heart races in lust and anticipation.

Nor can he hear her shift closer. Not until the rustle of fabric reaches him, right in front of him. And the scent of her blood suddenly surges. His lips part as he gasps, and his demented little love sticks two, wet fingers into his mouth and the taste blinds him to anything else.

“Trackers need a sample scent, right?” she says.

She’s stuck her hand down her trousers. She’s smeared his lips and tongue with her blood. Lets him suckle desperately a moment before she steps away, and he’s left to wipe his mouth to ensure no drop escapes.

“You are utterly deranged,” he says.

“Pot kettle,” she says, another of her people’s charming sayings.

She falls silent after that. Astarion keeps his eyes closed, searching the spaces between his teeth with his tongue for any last hints of her.

“Darling?” he says after a moment.

No answer.

His cock throbs. His claws fully extend, his fangs aching.

He counts to forty three times. Opens his eyes.

He’s alone. The clearing is empty, with no trace of his darling. Nothing but her scent floating in the air, an invitation to him.

He nudges the empty bottle she left at his feet. It’s not like her to waste anything. Which means this is a taunt. The cuffs deafen his ears to her, a potion of invisibility blinds his eyes to her. All he has to track her is scent. Her skin, her hair, and the dizzying harpy song of one of his most favorite things: her blood.

He has one job. Well, two, but they’re the same in the end.

Track her. Hunt her. Capture her.

And take her. Any way he sees fit (that they’ve discussed, and she was quite open). Her blood, her body, her sex. She’ll try to evade him. But he will find her. He’ll plunge into her, first with his fangs, then with his cock. Or perhaps the other way around. Perhaps both at the same time. He’s not sure. Didn’t bother to plan that far, because that’s what she likes to do.

He sucks air deep into his lungs: plush grass (her plush thighs on his hips), damp earth (her wet cunt pulling him in), the almost sweet smell of late-summer leaves (her arousal thick as he slips his tongue against her).

There she is. Headed immediately for the thickest part of the underbrush. Hoping to hide her tracks, hide her trail, slow him down.

He imagines her crouched behind a tree. The startle as he grabs her, spins her, pressing her to that tree and the way she’d moan as he slipped inside her…

He reaches into his undergarments and adjusts his cock. Running like this won’t be fun, but it’ll be so, so worth it once he finds his devious darling.

He stops at the edge of the underbrush. Looks to the closest tree: a large oak. They’re all large, with wide, thick branches nearly touching.

Astarion ponders a moment, and then slips off his shoes. He doesn’t technically need to, but it seems the sort of thing to do.

Sets his bare foot on the rough bark, and scurries right up the side of the trunk into the canopy above.

Brush doesn’t matter to a godsdamned immortal vampire, after all.

***

The rest is on AO3 because I wrote like 14k for this, goddamn, and also for the horny.

#misuse of potions #these two shitheads #astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #astarion smut #creachur astarion #period sex #he's feral #man is fucking WEIRD

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etirabys · 1 year ago

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meandering post about reading Orson Scott Card again

I've been offline starting at 9pm every day (except once. I was drunk at karaoke and asked for anons at 8:30pm) for six weeks, with the result that in befuddled boredom two nights ago I picked up Orson Scott Card's Songmaster from the house bookshelf.

I read Ender's Game and three sequels when I was a teen thought the books were mid. Since those are OSC's best works I assumed he had nothing more interesting to offer me and didn't try more of him for fifteen years, but Songmaster was compelling enough that I immediately afterwards picked up The Memory of Earth, the first book of a pentalogy.

TMoE is extremely my jam: after humanity blows itself up on Earth, AIs monitor thriving human civilizations in the planets that survivors managed to escape to, and suppress any tech that enables large scale violence by exerting low key mind control via satellites. But forty million years pass, many of the satellites break down, and the AI needs help from humans to restore capabilities. Because as its control wanes, people are starting to e.g. conceive of airplanes or bombs again, and override the injunctions against entering military alliances more than two edges of connection away.

The AI is worshipped as a god all over the planet, but the fourteen year old protagonist that becomes one of the AI's agents tells the AI from the beginning that he'll break with it if its morality seems wrong to him. I like the fourteen year old – unlike Ender or Songmaster's protagonist (adult minds piloting ten year old bodies), he's a normal gifted kid who's unpopular 50% due to his ego and big mouth and 50% because he's socially inept and offends people even when he's trying to be nice.

Songmaster is also partly about a permanent solution to large-scale violence, albeit through one guy who establishes a monopoly on violence and sweeps in pax galactica. Both it and TMoE are preoccupied with the eradication of suffering from evil / human violence, which is closer to my resonant frequency than narratives about defeating particular people or ideologies. At the moment I can't think of any other book with such an insistent focus on the matter than T.H. White's The Once and Future King. It's hard to make a compelling story out of, and I don't think Songmaster really succeeds, but TMoE's premise is well suited to explore that. (I'm also enjoying the matriarchal culture where everyone is expected to have multiple serial-monogamous marriages.) After reading 70% of TMoE last night I wrote:

Usually when I read fiction there's a small part of me going, how can I use this as fodder for my own growth, how can I remix or improve or react against this, how do the author and I measure against each other? (If the quality and content are at an anti-sweet spot, the small part becomes quite large and I feel all teeth towards the author.) But on occasion I read something so close that the absence of that measuring-feeling is its own sensation – ego departs, or at least is split across two bodies. There's just amity and recognition

And it's pretty interesting to feel this way about Card for, well, the reasons.

(If you're familiar with Card drama none of the following will be new to you; I'm coming to it fresh so the rest of this post is me going "uh... wow")

I vaguely knew he was a homophobic Mormon who'd gotten into fights about gay stuff, but I couldn't tell from the Ender books I read. But in Songmaster his issues spring off the page in such a weird way. Every fifth Goodreads review of this book is "Card, u gay?" because, well,

(One review, possibly from a fellow Mormon, that went "Card, it's so sinful of you to be this gay in your novel". Why did he write this book that would predictably make everyone mad...)

it's full of gay male desire. The protagonist (Ansset) is approximately a castrato and characters notice him sexually a lot. The first and only time Ansset has sex it's with a Kinsey 4-5 male character he loves, who's married to a woman but has fallen in love with Ansset. It turns out the drugs Ansset took to prolong his singing career painfully and only-kinda-figuratively explode your balls when you have your first orgasm and you'll never feel sexual desire again. (You'd think his loving teachers would have warned him of that, but, whatever, they didn't.) The other guy is literally castrated in punishment for inadvertently torturing a highly valuable castrato. It's pretty bald: GAY SEX IS ALMOST IRRESISTIBLY TEMPTING BUT YOU SHOULDN'T DO IT.

(Sidenote: both Ansset and the guy's wife are very close and have a "there's enough love to go around" attitude about the gay sex initially, before they go "wait Josif is a SERIAL MONOGAMIST... he can only love one person at a time... the moment he had the gay sex his marriage was destroyed". It's funny in a mildly stupid way that Card would set up this parable of homosexuality destroying lives and a marriage but almost everyone involved is peacefully ready to sail into an open marriage. I guess it makes sense if you want to say very clearly that THE GAY PART IS THE BAD PART)

which is fascinating to me, because... why would you tell on yourself like that

(81k also told me secondhand of an essay? interview? where Card openly says "we have to stand against legalizing gay marriage because everyone will get gay married and society will collapse", so that's informing my read of Songmaster as well)

I am pretty dang open about my personal life online but if I had a lot of feelings I thought were disgusting and immoral I would not write a novel dripping with those feelings before pointedly castrating the leads for them. Especially if it wasn't relevant to the actually highbrow themes of (checks notes) winning over your adversaries with kindness and never relinquishing your monopoly on violence. I would be so so so so embarrassed to let this go to print, it's so psychologically transparent, what was he thinking

(Well, I assume he's a very different person with different social incentives. For all I know, people in his church went "hey Orson we read your book and it's clear that you're gay but signaling strongly that you won't give into the gay feelings, we're here for you, it was really brave of you to publish this".)

#rambl #orson scott card #eti reads stuff #eti reads the homecoming saga #songmaster #content note: homophobia

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nickssidewitch · 1 month ago

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The Sturniolos and Activism

I know people hate talking about politics on here because this is a safe space meant to be about lusting over whoever we want while posting silly goofy memes and shitposting and vibing amongst each other. 🤷🏾‍♀️

But I’m a 23 year old black non-binary person who’s a first-generation kid to immigrant parents. My whole entire life is politics. My existence is political. And it frustrates me (and I’m sure many others who share my stance or my minority backgrounds) when people try to sweep whatever I, and other minorities, say under the rug. So I’m going to talk about it. I’m just getting my grievances and concerns off my chest.

The triplets and some of those around them have posted about the fires going on in California and have shared resources to help those affected, which is absolutely beautiful!! What’s happening there has to be highlighted, as many people who aren’t celebrities or rich are being misplaced and harmed by this natural disaster.

However, I find it quite saddening and disappointing to see how easy it is for them and others to pick and choose what things they want to highlight versus others. The fires personally affect them, since they live in California, so obviously they’re going to post about it. But, what’s going on in countries like Palestine, Sudan, Congo, Lebanon, and other areas of the world within the last year have also been huge events that, while they may not directly affect you, still affect many others, including entire bloodlines being destroyed.

This pick and choose behavior isn’t surprising at all to be honest. It’s just very disappointing.

Do I expect them to post anything about Palestine or other affected countries? No. They’re rich white kids from the suburbs who are now making the big bucks! They aren’t obligated to post about any sort of real-life event. They’re not obligated to post about politics and their views. They’re just normal people who happen to make a lot of money and have a huge following. These are very obvious things! We all know this!

But it just would be nice. It would be morally nice, especially with the platforms they have.

And again, this isn’t just regarding the triplets. It’s any influencer/celebrity/person with a platform. Duh.

That’s all I have to say about it. If you don’t like this stance, that’s okay! You’re not obligated to. But at least open your heart, mind, and soul to understanding this viewpoint, even if only a little bit.

#nickssidewitch #nickssidewitch thoughts 💬#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo

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a-case-of-attachment · 1 year ago

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Okay, writing prompt if you're interested. LuciferXreader, making out in a pile of rubber ducks. It may be weird as hell, but also really cute and funny. AND!! Laughter is a healthy part of any relationship!

Yes I’m interested!!!!!!!!!

I hope this is what you’re after, it kind of got away from me and I spent way too long thinking about what all those little duckies could do.

Lucifer had a problem, one of his own making that was yellow and sometimes quacked, maybe barked, there was even ones that spoke backwards and in riddles. They came in all kinds of colours and did all sorts of things. He had a purple one that could teleport, a rainbow one that shot confetti out of its mouth when it was squeezed, he even had one that glowed in the dark and played lullaby’s. The point was that Lucifer had made a lot of rubber duckies over the years but he didn’t realise quite how many until he was looking for one specific duck.

“Where are you, you little piece of…” Lucifer grumbled, his words trailing off as he dived into another mountain of ducks, sending them tumbling down to join the rest that had spilled over the floor. He had been at this for a while now, sending his work room into chaos and all because Charlie had been telling Vaggie all about one she had seen him making when she was a child. She hadn’t asked him for it and Lucifer had honestly forgotten it existed until she had brought it up but she seemed so enamoured with it that Lucifer had decided there and then that he had to gift it to her as a reminder of happier times in her childhood. The only problem was that he couldn’t find the damned thing and he was quickly running out of patience.

“You alright there love?” Lucifers head jerks up and round at your amused voice, blinking dumbly at the sudden brightness of the room. Your leant against the door frame, eyebrows furrowed slightly but a teasing smile tugging up the corners of your mouth. You were a vision, a ray of sunshine through the grey cloud that had been steadily forming over him. “Yep! Everything’s fine. Hahaha. A oh kay. What erh, what are you doing here darling?” Lucifer laughed nervously, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment at being found in such a state.

He had abandoned his hat and jacket ages ago, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his gloves somewhere within the sea of ducks. Lucifer had unbuttoned his collar at some point, his bow tie pulled loose and hanging around his neck like a sad flat little snake. His face must be flushed by now and his hair that was once neat and styled probably looked more like a birds nest now, stick up in every direction and clinging to his forehead.

“Charlie called me. Seems someone has been ignoring her calls and texts for the past couple of hours and she wanted me to check in and make sure they hadn’t gotten so involved in a project they forgot to eat again. Clearly she was right to worry.” You gave him a pointed look, clearly expecting an answer for his current predicament. Bitting his lip Lucifer let his eyes sweep across the carnage that was his work room and the vast amount of ducks he still had to get through. He needed help or he was never going to get through all these, not any time soon anyway and who better to help him than you? He always wanted to spend more time with you and this would keep you in close proximity for quite some time. It was a win win in his books and he was damn sure going to take full advantage of it.

Groaning Lucifer let his shoulders slump and looked back to you, finding you in the exact same position you had been in before though your eyes had softened slightly now, worry starting to creep in at the edges. “I’m looking for a duck,” he stated, nodding slightly after he had spoken like it was that simple of an answer. “Oh really? Never would have guessed.” Lucifer glared at your sarcastic reply, huffing loudly and crossing his arms over his chest in an overly obvious display of indignation that you both knew was just for show. The gentle laughter his behaviour got him sounded sweet, even as you rolled your eyes and pushed away from the doorframe. He always liked the sound of your laughter, like music that soothed his soul and made his heart ache all at once.

“Alright your majesty, are we looking for one in particular or is this a know it when a see it situation?” You raised an eyebrow at him in question as you sank down onto one of the few spots of clear floor. “It’s made of crystal, has a really cute teeny tiny crown on its head.” You hummed at Lucifers words, your attention now firmly on the ducks that surrounded you. “And when did you last see it?” Lucifer winced at your question, tugging at his already loose collar and refusing to make eye contact with you when you glance in his direction. “I don’t know, maybe a couple of centuries ago. Charlie was about five or six at the time.” You made a weird choked off noise when he said centuries, Lucifer catching a glimpse of your hand slipping on the pile of ducks you had been looking at and sending a couple more tumbling to join the ones that Lucifer was already half buried under.

He offered you an apologetic smile and hopefully his best puppy dog eyes in an attempt to soften any sort of regret you might be feeling at having sat down to help him. It must have worked because you sighed heavily before rolling your shoulders back and sitting up straighter. “It’s fine, we’ll find it and when we do you are sooo going to make it up to me with back rubs and kisses.” Lucifer agreed readily, nodding his head and promising you that and a thousand things more. “Right! We are going to do this one duck at a time, sorting as we go. We will have four separate piles, one pile for the ones that are just rubber ducks with a unique paint job and another for the ones that do something useful.” Lucifer opens his mouth to protest because all his duckies are useful but a quick glance from you has him closing it before he can even get a sound out. “There will also be a pile for ones that do pointless things and another for the ones that are just plain dangerous.”

“They are not dangerous!” Lucifer insisted, snatching up a random duck and squeezing it to prove his point. There was a loud click followed by sound of metal grinding together and Lucifer looked down in horror as the barrel of a pistol slid out of the ducks now open mouth. “Hahaha, how did that get there?” Huffing you held your hand out expectantly and Lucifer reluctantly handed the traitorous thing over, making sure the postal was safely back in place first. Without a word you leant over and pushed a section of the ducks out of the way, clearing a patch on floor in front of you. The gun toting duck was place down gently, looking way too sweet and innocent for what it hid within.

You picked up one from next to you and held it out towards Lucifer. “What does this one do?” He squinted at the thing, turning his head slightly to the side as he tried to remember what this one did. It was yellow like most of them except this one had a red rimed beak that made it look like it had lipstick on. “Lipstick!” Lucifer shouted out triumphantly, his sudden outburst causing you to startle. “It’s lipstick, retro rouge if I’m not mistaken.” You turned the duck toward you, tilting your head quizzically as you squeezed at its sides. It’s beak parted as a stick of bright red lipstick emerged. “Huh,” you said, loosening your grip on the duck so the lipstick went back in before placing it on the floor a few inches away from the other duck. You picked up another, this one yellow with black spots and held it out towards him. “What about this one?”

This goes in for hours, one duck after another and though it would normally be a rather tedious Lucifer is having fun. Some of his duck creations really are bizarre, like the one that changes colour depending on the time of day in Hawaii or the one that screams whenever someone says pineapple. There are some good ones though, like the one that generates a personal forcefield that’s lasts up to an hour when placed on your head or the one that cleans your bath after you’ve used it. The useful pile was a lot smaller than the others though, the useless ones needing a whole corner of the room to themselves. You had even found one that said ‘I’m quackers about you’ in a squeaky voice when squeezed, a little heart shaped box of chocolates with Lucifers hat emblazoned on the front held between its wings.

Lucifer had refused to hand that one over, especially when he realised you intended to put it in the useless pile. A had sat there, cooing at the thing and stroking its head whilst you glared at him. So preoccupied with the duck Lucifer didn’t have time to prepare himself as you suddenly lunged across the space, hands grabbing for the sweet little ducky. The two of you had spent far too long rolling around the floor and tussling for the duck until finally you came to a stop, sprawled across Lucifer and the both of you breathing heavily. You were close, head hovering above his as you stared into one another’s eyes. All Lucifer would need to do is tip his head back and then he would be able to kiss you, one of his favourite things to do these days. His eyes dropped to your lips as your tongue snuck out to wet them, your teeth nipping at your bottom lip enticingly. Lucifer sucked in a deep breath, his hand flexing on your waist where it had ended up in your little play fight. Your head lowered slightly, eyes darting down to his lips then back to his eyes as if asking permission that you really didn’t need. From down by his hip there came a loud quack followed by ‘I’m quackers about you’ then another quack effectively bringing a sudden end to the tension growing between the two of you.

The two of you dissolved into laughter, Lucifer wrapping his arms around your middle as you buried your face in his neck. You lead there for a while, laughing softly until that trailed off and the two of you when just lead there, holding one another and surrounded by ducks. It had been nice if a little weird but Lucifer wasn’t complaining. “It’s true you know,” he said softly, not wanting to ruin the moment but his words had you shifting, pushing yourself up slightly so you could look down at him with confusion. “What is?” Your voice was just as soft as you spoke, the hushed tone adding to the intimacy of the moment. Sighing Lucifer reached up, cupping your check and rubbing his thumb gently across it. “I really and quackers about you,” he deadpanned.

The stunned silence that hangs between you goes on a lot longer than Lucifer thought it would and despite how hard he tries he can’t help the large smile that spreads across his face or the laugher that comes bubbling out. Groaning loudly you finished pushing yourself up into a sitting position, shoving Lucifer back down when he tried to follow. “You’re terrible,”you mumble, shifting back over slightly to avoid nocking into a stack of ducks. Lucifers still chucking when he sits back up, effortlessly catching the rubber duck you half heartedly throw at him. “Mmmm, and yet you still love me.” Lucifer wiggled an eyebrow at you, leaning in slightly to emphasise the ridiculousness of the gesture. This time it was you who couldn’t help but smile, huffing in amusement and shaking your head at him. “Yeah, I do.” Lucifer beamed like the cat who go the cream at your words, always feeling like his heart could take flight every time you told him you loved him. Truly a bizarre phenomenon that would need much more research done into it, requiring you to tell him often and in multiple ways how you felt about him. “Now come on, this bloody duck isn’t going to find its self.” Lucifer took the duck you held out to him, a hot pink one with a flame branded on its chest, and quickly lent forward to place a kiss on the back of your hand before he started telling you all about the duck and how it could be set on fire and wouldn’t melt.

That had been a good few hours ago though and night had settled heavy over the city since then. Over half the room had been cleared now, Lucifer having opened a portal and dumped all the colourful, boringly normal ducks onto a sleeping radio demon to create some extra space for you both. There was still no sign of the duck he was after though and the both of you were clearly tired, the process having slowed down considerably in the last half an hour or so. He’s beginning to think it’s a lost cause, the duck long since lost or broken.

You yawn loudly, arms stretching out above you before you fall back into the heap of ducks behind you. The groan you make sounds almost painful as you wiggle in an attempt to make yourself more comfortable amongst the ducks. Your eyes close, hands disappearing into the sea of yellow above you. Despite how horribly uncomfortable it must be you look content and Lucifer wants nothing more in that moment than to crawl over there and join you, curling up against your side and resting his head on your chest so you can both get some much needed sleep. As much as he wanted to give into temptation Lucifer was determined to find the duck for Charlie, fixated on giving her that little moment of happiness and wonder that had stayed with her since childhood. That didn’t mean you had to suffer with him though.

��I think it’s time you were getting to bed darling, I can finish up in here.” Your eyes open slightly at his words, brows furrowed and your smile slipping into a frown. “Lucifer.” There was an odd tone to your voice, one that he probably should have paid more attention to but Lucifer assumed he knew what you were going to say so he kept on talking, turning away from you to continue looking through the ducks as he did so. “I know. I should be trying to get some sleep as well but you know I won’t be able to, (Lucifer), not till I’ve found this duck anyway and I really just want to surprise Charlie with it. She seemed so happy when she was talking to Vaggie about it and I just wanted to, (LUCIFER!)” Your loud cry of his name had Lucifer jumping, dropping the duck he had been holding to the floor with a loud splat as it oozed out like a marshmallow melting in the sun.

Laughing nervously Lucifer turns back to you, an apology already on the tip of his tongue but it quickly disappears when he sees what you’re holding. You’ve sat up, eyes fixed on your hand that you’re holding out towards him. In your palm sits a crystal duck, a small black crown sat atop its head styled similarly to Charlie’s own. Lucifer sucked in a breath, reaching out to take the thing from you with trembling fingers. He can’t believe you had found it, just when he was starting to lose hope. You truly must be heaven sent.

Without warning Lucifer lunged at you, flinging his arms around your neck and sending you sprawling back into the ducks with a yelp. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” Lucifer said between peppering your face with kisses. “Lucifer,” you laugh, turning your head to the side and giving him access to your neck. He places a few more quick pecks along your neck and the top of your shoulder before placing one final one on your lips.

“She’s going to be so surprised,” Lucifer beamed, pushing himself back up and turning towards the door, a wide smile on his face as he stared down at the crystal duck clutched in his hand. He didn’t get more than two steps towards the door before fingers wrapped around his wrist and stopped him in his tracks. Frowning Lucifer looked back over his shoulder at you, finding you looking at him just as confused as he was you. “Where are you going?” Lucifer blinked down at you dumbly because surely that was obvious? “To give Charlie the duck?” It came out slow and sounding more like a question, Lucifer even holding up the duck in case you had forgotten.

Your confusion smoothed out into understanding, a small smile curling up the corner of your lips. “Lucifer,” you said almost teasingly, tugging gently on his wrist until he turned to face you fully. “It’s the middle of the night love. She’s going to be asleep, and even if she isn’t she’s probably going to be doing something she doesn’t want her dad walking in on.” You look at him pointedly, waiting for your words to sink in. “Oh…ohhhh,” lucifers eyes went wide, looking down at the little duck in a mix of horror and embarrassment.

You chuckle gently, tugging on his arm and causing him to take a step towards you. “So why don’t you,” you plucked the duck from his hand, leaning back to place it on top of the coffee table before turning back to him and wrapping your hands around his wrists, “come back here and finish giving me my reward hum?” You tugged him forward and down, Lucifer’s knees hitting the floor on either side of your waist with a dull thud. You used your hold on his wrists to lift his hands and place them on your shoulders before gripping his waist and pulling him down and closer until he was sat in your lap. Lucifer blushed, licking at his lips and swallowing slightly. “I eh, I can do that.” You hummed at his words, lifting one hand to cup his cheek and guiding his lips down to yours.

The first few kisses were soft and slow, Lucifer humming gently at the addictive feel of your lips moving against his. He sank into you, getting more comfortable on your lap and letting his arms drape over your shoulders. The two of you stayed like that for a few long minutes, Lucifer content to spend hours just like that but it seemed you had other ideas. Pulling back you nipped gently at his lip, Lucifer letting out a little whimper at the sudden sting. Resting your forehead against his you slid both your hands up his back, pressing him as close to you as he could get. “Hold on tight,” you mumbled, placing a kiss against his lips.

Lucifer barely had time to register what you had said before you were moving, effortlessly tipping him to the side and rolling him onto his back. He landed within the ducks with a dull thud, several of the stupid things tumbling down to land on his face. Your laughter was sweet as you helped remove the offending ducks off his face, leaving the ones that had fallen around his head and shoulders. “There you are handsome,” you smile as you remove the last one from his head, clearly delighting in the bush your words get you. “Your erh, looking rather radiant as well.” Lucifer cringes at his own awkward attempts at flirting, refusing to look at you because of how awfully that was. You would think he would have gotten better at this sort of thing over the centuries but there was something about you that just left him flustered and unable to say what he means when in your company. When you’re not around he can wax poetry about how your smile lights up the world like a sunbeam or how your eyes sparkle like the stars, but now? With you looking down at him like he’s your whole universe? Not happening.

You shift to the side slightly, slotting one of your legs between his and pressing up against him. “Only when you’re the one looking,” you whisper before pressing your lips against his, using his startled gasp as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. Lucifer moans softly, wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you in closer. There’s a duck digging into his back and the sound of muffled quacking coming from somewhere above him as their movements caused another wave of ducks to fall down in them. It was ridiculous, kissing in a pile of ducks that were threatening to swallow the two of you up but Lucifer found he didn’t really care, especially when your tongue swiped across his lips, seeking permission that he readily gave. This here, this was the closest to heaven he had felt in eons and he was content to stay in this moment for eternity. Well at least till Charlie woke up anyway.

#answered asks #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #reader insert #you #gn reader #gender neutral reader #rubber duckies #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar x gn reader #lucifer magne x gn reader #lucifer x gn reader

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purplealmonds · 5 months ago

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Hm. This takes some explaining. I shared this illustration of Kon-Kusu inheriting the role of Shingi on Twitter, and shirousagi_mono wrote a story inspired by that idea! And I in turn was inspired to translate that story and drew some supplemental visuals for it!

English transcript below the cut.

DISCLAIMER This started out as a self-indulgent project to clumsily translate this story for myself. However, I became so enamored with it that before I knew it, I drew not only cover art but also various illustrations for each part of this story. The scope of this project has expanded far beyond my initial expectations.

I am an artist, not a writer. Furthermore, I am not an expert at the Japanese language. As such, this translation is far from perfect. Although I used Google Translate and DeepL, there may be parts of the story which I may have completely misinterpreted. A lot of nuances of the Japanese prose were also surely lost in translation. I tried to replicate an approximation of it in English, but again, I am not an expert on such matters.

Despite that, I am incredibly happy that this overseas collaboration is happening at all, and that our shared passion for Mononoke was what facilitated this connection. I can only hope that through the supplemental illustrations, the original narrative intentions of the author comes through.

–––

“Forgive me.”

It hurts, it cries. It hurts, it hurts!

The demonic wailing rises to ear-splitting shrieks.

Unforgivable, unforgivable, unforgivable!

The passion imbued in those wretched cries weigh down like great albatrosses in my heart.

The more I wield my blade, the more my soul becomes entangled in these heady emotions. But I grit my teeth and endure, swallowing all resentment and disappointment, envy and jealousy.

It is indescribable. My sword cuts through the tenuous threads of karma binding these hateful spirits helplessly raining curses upon this world.

I have long forgotten how to pray. Closing my eyes in helpless grief, I am unable to do anything but slash away with that jet black blade swaddled within the flickering blue flame.

***

The pale light of the full moon dances across the rippling waves. I have long become accustomed to the prickling cold against my clammy skin. The water laps at my existence, my senses rippling like fading echoes through its vast expanse.

A voice calls out to me. “Shingi-sama.”

Opening my eyes, I resurface to reality. The muted roar of the waterfall reverberates in my pointed ears. The cascading torrents sweep away my scarlet locks shimmering like a thin film across the water’s surface.

There is a figure stood on a distant shore. I wade towards them, wringing out the moisture in my hair.

“Are you well?” they ask.

“I am fine.”

They hands me my robes, which I accept with a shallow bow and slip onto my still dripping frame. The moisture soaks through the white fabric almost immediately. As the shining crimson fades from my hair, my minder watches on with unadulterated adoration etched upon their face.

Flustered, they avert their gaze. That gesture fills me with a strange sense nostalgia. I cannot help but stare back as they towel down my dripping hair and loosely gather the red-and-white strands into a braid.

“Somehow, this routine is soothing to me,” they confess with a sheepish smile. “Your hair is quite curly.”

Indeed, as they card through my locks, they twist and curl like crackling wildfire through their deft fingers. In the moonlight, the faintest shade of wisteria emerges from those silken locks. My unruly hair tamed into a tidy bun, they step back to admire their neat handiwork with their moon-pale gaze.

The sight of that innocent look constricts my chest with an aching familiarity.

I vehemently shake my head at this resurgence of long-buried memories. Once rekindled, those embers flare up into uncontrollable flames searing painful recollections into my heart. I know these emotions all too well.

My throat constricts in defiance. No. These are tulmultuous emotions are not my own. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” I say, steely voice concealing my heart’s turmoil. “I’m sorry.”

Plucking the mirror hanging from the sash of my other half, I toss it upwards with a practiced motion. It defies gravity, hanging eye level mid air. As it rotates lazily, my face comes into view. But it is not a familiar visage.

The reflection that gazes back at me is missing the black sclera of the my eyes and the crimson markings adorning my skin.

The warped reflection, wracked with grief and pain, stares back at me with pleading eyes.

I call out its name, long lost to time. Its eyes widen.

“You do not belong here,” I say to my past self. “Not yet.”

I reach out to the mirror.

“Go home.”

I crush the it in my fist. The shards melt harmlessly and trickle like ephemeral moonlight between my fingers.

***

I wake with a start. Gasping for breath, I take stock of sensations to ground me. Sticky sweat runs in rivulets down my skin. My chest barely cages the frantic pounding of my heart. I sweep away the stringy mop of pale lavender hair obscuring my vision.

A comfortingly familiar hand reaches out to me. He must have been roused by my unexpected awakening. I return the touch, and he squeezes my palm reassuringly. At last, my gaze shifts to my lover, moonlit eyes framed by a curtain of pitch black hair.

Yes, one day this will be my fate. It feels strange to think of myself in the future tense with such grim certainty. These stolen moments of the present – how foolish was to take them for granted until now? Gazing past my eyes into the depths of my heart, the god of the Kun exorcism sword interrogates my loud thoughts.

“What did you see?” he presses. “What did you mean by ‘my fate’?”

I wince at the graveness of his voice, but comply. Turning my thoughts inwards, I attempt to recall my nightmare. But the moment I touch upon it, it dissipates like mist. I gape helplessly as the dream loses shape.

“I–” I stammer. “I don’t remember. But–“

My racing heart still echoes feverishly in my head. My eyes dart back to my god and soulmate. As he leans over me, his dark hair falls around me like a protective cage. My throat tightens with an inexplicable grief. Despite my fading memories, there is one thing I know for certain.

“I’m scared of losing you.”

As that confession spills from my lips, my eyes grow hot. A stifling fear threatens to tear out of my trembling frame. It is such a childish cliche. Once said aloud, those words will surely become a prophetic truth. I cling to my other half’s pale sleeve as if in desperate prayer. My inability to push him away in my moment of vulnerability fills my eyes to the brim with unshed tears.

Those moon-pale eyes widen. I am stunned by the emotion flickering past his usual stone-faced expression. Before I can think more of it, his large hand obscures my vision like the moon eclipsing the sun.

“Go back to sleep. Forget this ever happened.”

At that soft spoken benediction, the fear wracking my body is snatched away along with my fretful consciousness. His sad voice follows me into a dreamless abyss.

“You should not look into the future.”

If this was truly my future, is it worth continuing down this path? As my eyes drift shut, the desire to give voice to that fading question forms silent tears trickling down my cheek.

#モノノ怪 #mononoke 2024 #mononoke karakasa #kusuriuri #薬売り #shingi #神ｲ義 #fanfic #translation #shirousagi_mono #purplealmonds #2024

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directdogman · 7 months ago

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Dogman, how do you write SO WELL!?!? I love all your characters and I need to know what/where you find inspo from...

Ha. Every writer is just someone who apes the creative processes of their inspirations. For video game writing specifically, there's two answers for me.

Toby Fox is always gonna be a huge inspiration for me. I've written plots and characters before and had to abandon ideas after realizing I'd accidentally written part of UT again. Even some of the ideas I used were undeniably inspired by UT in a subconscious way and ofc, I included several explicit references to UT in my last series. Toby's a very clever guy who likely pays very close attention to the art he consumes and tries to figure out how to maximize how much his work connects with his audience. Whatever his process is, it works.

The other answer is a lil funnier: Scott Cawthon, but specifically the legend, not the man. For context: Back in the earlier days of the FNaF fandom, people had a hyper-inflated view of Scott Cawthon's writing skills that largely came from how little of a presence he had back in those days. In the vacuum of Scott actually explaining his own process in detail, people got caught up in his genuinely creative way of hiding exposition in his games using cryptid and (then) unexpected methods, and a narrative formed (one that he's since refuted.)

While he never implied it tmk, fans broadly believed that he constructed these sweeping and complex narratives with tons of cohesive moving parts, with the games essentially acting like the mere tip of his lore iceberg. People even thought he wrote so much that he had whole games worth of lore outlined from the beginning! In the first Dawko interview he gave, he clarified that this wasn't the case and explained roughly what his process was (basically just outlining rough theme ideas + aesthetics for future titles.)

However, that legend made younger-me's mind run wild and any time I wrote a story, it became very difficult for me to not keep writing down ideas while completing the grunt work that followed me finishing my scripts. When I finished DSaF 1, I already had DSaF 2's draft written and by the time 2 was done, I had enough lore for a 3rd game on paper (and a lot more stuff that I didn't use.) By the time three was out, I had pages upon pages of unused concepts/story ideas and more or less just had to decide to call it quits or else I'd be pumping out entries forever!

That's why if you go back to those older games, there's references that directly refer to future plot-points in pretty casual/easy to miss ways. (Like Henry's mention in DSaF 1, Dave being heartless in DSaF 2, Jack being soulless in 1, and even Blackjack being Jack's soul in 2. Most of 3's major plotpoints are implied somewhere in 2 and some of 2's in 1.)

DT is much the same. By the time I finished writing it, I had fairly detailed drafts for arcs for each of the characters, some early material ended up getting completely recontextualized (and even modified in small ways to not conflict with the wider ideas I came up with.)

I get really into writing my stories/characters and I always wonder exactly how things ended up where they are, what characters think about but don't say, etc etc. This is why I have an obscene amount of Crown lore that I have very little to do with rn (since he impacted the whole world so deeply.)

This extra stuff also includes plenty of sequel material ideas, though I didn't think I'd even get a chance to use them since DT performed pretty meagerly before the big release and I was expecting to have to move onto something new. Though it turned out that Scott didn't actually write his games this way (by his own admission), it's the correct answer for what my core writing inspiration for writing game narratives is.

Hope this helps!

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mphoenix-7 · 6 months ago

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Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 13: The Cabin: Day 5 (pt. 4)

Summary: Soap takes you to a special place he’s found during your five days at the Cabin. You sit, eat, and talk about your pasts a little bit. Soap opens up more than you expect, and you share some stuff about your past too.

Word Count: 6,511

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, strong language, mentions of death, slightly descriptive mentions of death, car accident, trauma, sweet moments

A/N: Time for a little bonding between you and Soap. More to follow ☺️😉 Also, a Taglist has been added! Please comment on if you’d like to be added to it! Thanks for reading 🫶🏻

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 13

The place Soap had in mind for lunch turned out to be absolutely beautiful. A small clearing opened up before you, with a crystal-clear stream winding through it. In one spot, the water pooled gently, forming a small, serene pond. Reeds and wildflowers grew in abundance around the water’s edge, their vibrant colors adding a touch of whimsy to the scene. Only a few trees dotted the clearing, allowing plenty of sunlight to stream through, casting a warm and inviting glow over the area.

The second you walk to the spot, you have to stop to really take it all in. As cliche as it sounded, the spot really was breathing taking. It makes you sad to think that it’s been here the whole time, and you’re just now finding out about this spot on day five.

“Wow…” You breathe, Soap stopping a few steps ahead of you to wait for you to finish taking it all in. “It’s so pretty. How on earth did find this place?” You ask, eyes still trained on the scene ahead as you resume your walking.

“It was the first day we got here. After our big blow up at each other, I went exploring to cool off and just happened to stumble upon it by chance.” He answers. “Come on, the best spot to sit is over here.”

You let him take the lead again, noticing the path you were following looked like it had been walked on before. A lot of the tall grasses and other shrubs were in disarray or broken.

It wouldn’t surprise you if Soap had frequented this place throughout the five days you’ve been here. There were a lot of opportunities for him to get angry and want to storm off somewhere to cool down. This was quite the place to cool down too. You wouldn’t blame him for wanting to come here.

The path Soap was following lead right up the stream. Once you’re right next to him at the edge of the water, Soap glances over at you. “We can cross here. Just be careful cause these rocks can get a little slippery. Especially that speckled one.”

“What? Why are we crossing? Can’t we just stay on this side?” You question him, looking back to the gentle stream. Although it’s not particularly wide or deep, you’d need to take a couple of steps through the water to get across. You notice a few rocks scattered across the stream that could serve as stepping stones, but the prospect of crossing seemed unnecessary.

Soap shrugs a bit. “I mean we could, but there’s a clearing that’s just tall grass right by the water on the other side.” He points out the space he was talking about. “It’s a nice spot. Just trust me.”

You hum softly in thought, debating on if it’s worth the risk of falling in. It wasn’t like the stream would sweep you away or you’d drown—it’d just make for a cold, soggy walk back to the cabin. Even then, it was quite warm out today, so there was a good chance you wouldn’t even be that cold.

You go back and forth in your mind for a little longer before just giving in and agreeing. “Alright.” You sigh. “Better be super worth it, cause I’m risking falling in for it.”

Soap huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “States, if a big muscular guy like me can cross without falling in, I’m sure someone as slim and nimble as you can make it without a problem.

You gasp and dramatically slap a hand over your chest. “Wow, slim and nimble? I think that’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve ever given me.” You tease, making Soap roll his eyes.

“I’ve complimented you plenty of times.” He grumbles as he turns to face the stream. He begins to cross the stream, his step placement confident looking. You can tell that he’s done this a few times now. Either that or the rocks were that slippery.

“Saying shit like, ‘you didn’t suck as much today’ does not count.” You call after him, watching as he shifts his weight so that he’s standing on two rocks.

He looks back at you, his brows pinched slightly and an indignant look on his face. “That totally counts.” He insists.

“That’s a back handed compliment at best.” You argue back, folding your arms over your chest as you watch him.

He raises a brow at you, almost mockingly. “Still a compliment though. And besides, that’s how all of us compliment each other.”

You can’t deny that. The 141 boys did have a habit of tossing around quips more than actual praise. Gaz was the exception. He didn’t do it as often, but even he had his moments. Still, you’ve received genuine compliments from Price when it was just the two of you, and Gaz gave them to you quite a bit. Ghost hardly ever did, but that was just Ghost.

“I’ve gotten real compliments from the others before.” You counter, finally stepping forward to place your foot on the first rock.

“Even Ghost?” Soap retorts, holding out his hand to help you balance while you get your footing. You take it, wobbling a bit until you get your other foot placed. Once you have your balance, you let go of Soap’s hand.

“Ghost doesn’t count. You’d be lucky if he insulted you.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that.” Soap laughs a little bit, easily stepping across the remaining stones and getting to the other side without a problem. He didn’t even so much as wobble.

You follow after him, holding out your arms to the side a bit to help you balance. You managed to get across though without falling in. It wasn’t that difficult to cross; the rocks were flat enough and they really weren’t too wet. The second your feet hit the grass on the other side, Soap is giving you a slow clap.

“Good job. You crossed and didn’t fall in. Gold star. How’s that for a compliment?” He teases, getting an eye roll.

“Oh fuck off.” You groan, giving him a shove. Soap laughs as you push him away, his arms coming up to shield himself as he stumbles a little away from you. “Just go back to not complimenting me. I think it was better that way.”

“If you insist.” He laughs. “Just remember that you told me that the next time you start whining about how I never say anything nice.”

Soap starts to lead the way once more, walking you over to the spot he’d been so insistent on going to. True to his word, it’s right by the water, nestled on a tiny mound that offers a perfect view of the stream below. A small waterfall that feeds into the pond adds a soothing backdrop of sound. The tall grass around the area is flattened, clear evidence that Soap has visited this place at least once before.

When you get there, Soap steps into the center of where all the grass is flattened and begins to stomp a little more down more around the edges to make room for you to sit. Once he’s done, he steps over to one side and motions for you to get comfortable in the spot he’s just made.

“There we go. Have a seat.” He says, dropping the backpack from his shoulders and setting it down in the grass before sitting himself.

You sit down slowly, surprised by how soft the grass feels beneath you. Being so close to the water, it’s lush and cool, not dried out or prickly like you’d expected. You could honestly take a nap here.

“I still can’t get over how beautiful it is out here. So different from base and deployments.” You say once you’re settled in.

The military base you were currently stationed at, like most others, was dominated by neutral tones and dark green colors. It was a familiar sight—most bases you’d been to had a similar aesthetic. The ones in America were mostly concrete and equipment, with gray dominating the landscape. The base you're at now does have patches of grass, but they’re poorly maintained, with dirt paths worn into them from the constant foot traffic of soldiers.

Then of course when it came to your deployments, half the time you went to places where it was mostly desert. If you did go to a place with a lot of natural greenery, then it was normally so war torn, with uprooted trees, tank tracks, and pits that people dug or ones created by frags, that it wasn’t very enjoyable. The other scenario was you were in a beautiful place but couldn’t enjoy it because you were being shot at.

This was a rare treat. The sounds of nature, no war in sight, no needing to be on high alert for snipers. Just time to sit back and enjoy the beauty of the world you hardly got to see. Even if at first this unscheduled vacation seemed like a death sentence, you were learning to enjoy it. At the very least, you could take back snippets of moments like this.

“Yeah,” Soap hums softly from where he’s seated. “It reminds me a little of Scotland.”

You glance over at him, taking notice of the faint smile on his face as he looks around at the little grassy meadow. He was thinking about his motherland. His home. There’s a longing in his eyes that you’d have to be blind to miss.

“How so?” You venture, wanting to hear more about where he came from. You were sure that Soap, ever the proud Scotsman, would have no problem gushing about Scotland. And you were right. The second the question leaves your lips, he seems to light up.

“All this lush, rolling grass, the gentle breeze, the fresh air, and the sound of the stream—it reminds me of the Highlands and the woods by my childhood home. We lived right outside of town, and our house sat on a hill, giving us the best view of the open land. Behind us, there were miles and miles of woods, covered in moss, with a stream running through it. It was bigger than this one, but the feel of it… it’s the same.”

He pauses, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he continues. “I spent so much time out there when I was a wee laddie. From sunup to sundown, I was always outside. My friends and I would climb trees, play all sorts of game, build forts. In the stream, we would stack rocks to build dams and splash around when it was warm.”

You laugh softly, smiling at the thought of a young, rowdy John MacTavish playing in the woods. It was something you could easily picture. “No wonder you’re so knowledgeable about bears and stuff.”

Soap shrugs a little bit. “We don’t have bears in Scotland. The most dangerous animals out where I was were boars and red deer. I learned all that stuff about bears when I was deployed in Russia.”

“Well regardless, it sounds like you were quite the forest dweller as a child.”

Soap laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Aye, I was. I went to the woods for everything. My favorite spot was that stream though. I’d go out there by myself and sit by the water, letting it wash away whatever was on my mind. It was always my go to place when I was sad, angry, or just needing to clear my head. It always made me feel better.”

Soap pauses a moment, a little huff of a laugh leaving him as he recalls some story on his mind. “Like the time I first learned I’d no longer be an only child. When my mum and dad told me I was gonna have a little sister, I was so pissed. Took off right out the back door and spent hours out there.”

You laugh softly, but your eyebrows are raised in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

His files made no mention of his family, though you suppose they wouldn’t have anyway. Information like that was kept almost as secure as launch codes. Still, you always pictured Soap as an only child.

“Yeah, fucking three of them.” He huffs, which surprises you even further. “Eilidh (AY-lee), Rowan, and Kirsten.”

“Damn, MacTavish. I never would have pictured you growing up with three girls.” You smirk, and he returns it, amused himself.

“That’s exactly what Gaz said too.” Soap muses, leaning back a little now and stretching his legs out in front of him. A much more relaxed posture. “So what about you, Stateside? You have any siblings growing up?”

A smile tugs at your lips as the faces of your brother and sister flash through your mind. “An older brother and a younger sister. My brother was adopted from South Korea, and his name is Kim and my sister’s name is Rozlin.”

It was Soap’s turn to be surprised now. “Huh, I always pictured you as the youngest, not a middle child.”

“And why is that?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“I can’t say cause we said we’d be nice to each other.” He’s dodging the question, but he still answered your question without answering it.

“That’s such an older brother thing to say.”

Soap chuckles softly at your response, and the conversation pauses for a moment. There’s a few beats of silence, Soap seeming to be lost in his thoughts. He gazes back to you shortly though, changing the topic.

“You miss America and being home with them? It’s gotta hard being in a completely different country than the rest of your family.”

You hum softly, a slight frown on your face. It has been a while since you’ve seen your siblings— about a year now. You were sadly used to not seeing much of them anymore now though. Being in the military for a few years now, you didn’t get to be home often with them. You only really saw them on holidays or through FaceTime calls. The last time you’d seen them was through such a call before you’d transferred overseas. The last time in person had been for a sadder event you didn’t want to currently think about.

“Yeah…” You trail off, trying to find a way to explain your feelings to Soap’s question.

Soap frowns as you trail off, his expression going from light and playful to a touch more serious. “You don’t miss home?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you shake your head. “I do. I mean, America is my home, and I will always love my siblings. But this life changes you. I can never go back to being a civilian, and it’s like the life I had in America before the military is one I will never have again.”

Soap hums softly, his brows slightly furrowed as he listens. “I get it. A bit of a love-hate relationship.”

“Exactly.” You sigh, a slightly sad smile on your face. “It’s hard to get us all together anyway. Kim also joined the forces, I’m in special-ops now, and last I knew, Rozlin is thinking of joining too.”

“Wow, quite the military family.” Soap chuckles. “Your parents must be proud.”

There it was. The moment those words leave Soap’s lips, a sharp pang of loss hits you, squeezing your heart. You smile sadly at the thought of your parents, trying to push the emotions down. “They were.” You nod, trying to keep it short, but Soap’s curiosity was piqued.

“Were?” He asks slowly, making you sign. Gently, you start to pick at the blades of grass around you, trying to get the words out.

“My… My parents died like a year ago. I guess closer to a year and a half now.” You bite the inside of your cheek, continuing to pick at the grass, but also watching out of the corner of your eye as Soap sits up more.

“Oh God… States, I’m so sorry to hear that.” He says, frowning at you.

“It’s fine. Really. I mean, I’ve have time to process it.” You try to give him a smile to let him know you really were alright, but your eyes still held the sadness of losing someone you love.

The news of their death had been a complete shock to you. Your Sergeant at the time had called you into his office in the middle of a drill one morning to break the news to you. It didn’t sink in right away. You’d denied their death the entire flight back to your hometown. It was only when you entered the funeral hall, and your sister came running to you, her body trembling with sobs as she buried her face in your shoulder, that the weight of the loss finally hit you.

That was the last time you’d been under the same roof with both of your siblings. It was the last time you’d been to your childhood hometown. The last time you’d stepped foot in your childhood home.

“Can I asked what happened?” Soap asks softly, breaking you away from your thoughts.

“Car accident. Drunk driver. Going too fast and hit them head on.” You pick at a few more blades of grass, trying your hardest to fight back tears. God how much you still resented that other driver. The one who got to live.

Soap sighs, looking down and not saying anything for a moment as he takes in what you’ve just told him. “That’s horrible.” He finally says after a moment. “I… I know what’s it like. My uh… my mum also died in a car accident when I was young.” He says slowly, and you instantly look over at him.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through something like that.” You say gently, resting a hand on his knee. You can feel your heart breaking for him. “How did… what happened?” You ask gently, not wanting to dig too much if it was a hard topic for him.

“Don’t really know.” Soap says, looking down at your hand on his knee. “She went out for something in the next town over and never came back. The next morning, they found her car had swerved off road and smashed into a tree. She wasn’t speeding, she didn’t do drugs, wasn’t drinking. Probably alive after she hit the tree and bled out…”

He clears his throat, his eyes instantly becoming glossy. Growling a little, he sniffs and wipes at one of his eyes. “Still not over it.” He chuckles, trying to hide his hurt. “That day changed everything for me. My mum was the kindest and most incredible woman...”

He trails off again, his voice wavering near the end. He was clearly struggling. You give his knee a reassuring squeeze, but he doesn’t look back at you. He keeps his focus trained on the ground.

“Could you tell me about her?” You ask softly. A small smile flickers on Soap’s face, just barely noticeable. He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then nods slowly. You can see him steady himself before he starts to speak.

“She was the most loving, understanding person you could ever meet,” Soap begins, his voice softening. “It’s hard to put into words who she was, but everything about her just… beautiful.” His eyes grow distant as he speaks, gaze drifting toward the stream once more. He’s caught up in some kind of memory, one you don’t wish to interrupt.

A moment later, he shifts his gaze back to you. “You remember that story I told you earlier? About how I ran into the woods when I found out I was getting a sister?”

You nod.

“Well, it was my mum who came and found me afterwards. She always knew exactly what to do to make me feel better. I remember she brought me some shorties, which were my absolute favorite. They still are, I love those things.” Soap chuckles softly before continuing with his story.

“We didn’t talk right away. She just sat with me, and we listened to the water together. Just the two of us. It’s funny, I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, but I remember we talked until the sun went down. And when we got home, she tucked in and told me, ‘John, no matter what, you’ll always be my boy. You’ll always have a place in this family, and no one can take that from you.’ She told me that having a sister wouldn’t change that, and that being a big brother meant having someone who’d look up to me, someone I could protect.”

His voice softens as he adds, “She taught me that love wasn’t something that got divided—it just grew. That stuck with me. Made me feel better about everything. Like I wasn’t losing anything but gaining something special.

Whenever I think about home, my home before my dad met Annette and remarried, or when I see something like this stream, I think of her. I’d give anything to sit and talk with her by the stream at home again. Just one more time.”

When he finishes, you’re left utterly speechless. His recollection about his mother is so touching, so sweet, and so heartfelt—nothing like the Soap you knew. You’ve never seen this side of him before, not even around the other members of the 141.

Your heart aches for him, the pain in his words is palpable, and you can see it in his eyes as he gazes longingly at the flowing water. You never imagined that you and Soap would share such a traumatic loss. In a strange way, it makes you feel closer to him. You’re touched that he would share something so personal with you. Something that made him vulnerable.

Without you even realizing it, a single tear slides down your cheek. You only notice it when Soap brushes it away. His touch pulls you back to the present, and you focus on his eyes, which hold tears of their own. He doesn’t say anything, his eyes expressing an understand.

His thumb lingers on your cheek for just a second longer, his touch gentle. When he finally pulls his hand back, the corners of his mouth twitch into a small, bittersweet smile. The silence between you feels heavy, but not uncomfortable—more like a shared space where words aren’t necessary.

You take a deep breath, looking back to the stream, able to image John and his mother sitting there. “Your mother sounds like she was a real treasure.” You feel like your words aren’t enough. There’s nothing you can say to tell Soap how saddened you are by hearing about the loss of this mother. How great she sounded.

It’s enough to bring a smile to Soap’s face though. The longing is still in his eyes, but you know it’s a look that will never fully go away. But there’s also something else there too—a glimmer of happiness. Pride that you think his mother is just an incredible as the way he’s described her.

“I’m sure your parents were just as loving and incredible as my mum was.” Soap says softly. “They raised one hell of daughter.”

His words hit you hard, much harder than you expected. You’re brought to tears once more, watching them quickly well up in your line of sight, and you need to bite your cheek to keep from breaking down. Soap’s words touched your heart. You can’t be more grateful for them, but are unable to express the true extent of their impact. All you can manage to a nod and choked out, “thank you…”

Soap’s smile is gentle, understanding. He reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You squeeze back just as tightly, silently supporting each other as you listen to the slow rush of water from the stream.

Soap holds your hand the entire time you look out to the water together. A pleasant silence falls between you, but Soap eventually breaks it, letting go of your hand as he does.

“We should eat, huh?” He chuckles, his tone a tough lighter now. You’re almost relieved though to move on to something else. There was only so much you could take talking about death.

“Yeah, yeah, we should.” You agree, watching as Soap turns to grab the backpack. He unzips and starts to rifle through its contents. “What’s on the menu for today?” You ask, trying to peak over into the bag to see what he’s grabbed.

“Today, we have a fine selection of…” He pulls out two MREs. “Homestyle vegetables in sauce with noodles and chicken and homestyle vegetables in sauce with noodles and chicken.” He lists, pausing between pulling each one out and holding them up for you to see.

You make a face, wanting to gag at what was probably the most unappetizing MRE there is. To be fair, it wasn’t horrible. If you were in a pinch, starving out in the middle of nowhere, freezing while you huddled under a tent in the middle of a downpour, or had eaten the same thing for a week straight, it would taste incredible. But currently, not starving, dry, and having eaten nothing but bland foods for the past five days, it sounded horrible.

“We didn’t have anything else?” You ask, wondering why he’d grabbed what he most likely also thought was the most bland and boring MRE kit there was.

Soap gives you a small shrug. “We’ve gone through every other MRE except this one. We’ve got one beef ravioli and one jalapeño beef patty left, but those were the last of the decent ones. I thought we might want to save them for tomorrow, so we don’t have to eat this mush for the rest of our time here.” He explains, handing the unappealing, brown packaged meal over to you.

You scowl down at it. “I think I’d almost rather starve than eat this.” You admit, turning the package over and inspecting it in disdain.

“It’s better when you have hot sauce you can put on it.” Soap says, already tearing open his kit and dumping the contents out.

You reluctantly open yours, but not before giving him a look. “Hot sauce in what is essentially chicken noodle soup? That sounds disgusting.”

Soap shrugs. “It gives it something interesting besides just blandness.” He says matter-o-factly, pausing in tearing open his food to dig back through the backpack. He comes up with your canteens and hands you yours. You can heat up your food with it and make the broth.

“I’ll keep that it mind.” You really have no intention of trying the weird mixtures he’s suggesting though. Hopefully, though unrealistically, you’d never have to eat this MRE again.

Resigning yourself to the unappetizing lunch in front of you, you tear open the MRE with a resigned sigh, already dreading the bland taste you know is coming. As you work on opening the package and sorting all the different packets, you glance back at Soap. “So, when did you join the force?” you ask, genuinely interested in learning more about Soap’s past, but also eager for the distraction from the meal.

“I joined when I was eighteen. Tried to enlist before then by lying about my age, but they figured it out and rejected my application.” Soap says, which makes you giggle. It sounded like something he would do.

“Excited about joining I see.” You muse, watching as Soap carefully pours water into the heating pouch and slides the meal packet inside. He props it against the backpack to let it heat up.

“Yeah… something like that.” He mutters, his tone seeming to shift just the slightest bit. It was enough to make you pause, but he continues on. “But I got in at eighteen. I was selected for the 22nd Regiment.”

You nod a little bit, deciding to brush off his brief shift in tone for now. “So what did you do in the 22nd?” You ask, filling your own heating pouch to get your food warm. All you really knew about the 22nd Regiment was that it some British infantry group.

“I was a part of an elite squadron that specialized in stuff like covert reconnaissance, counter-terrorism, and hostage rescues.” He explains, watching as you filled the bag up and prep it. Once it’s ready, he motions for you to give it to him, and he sets it up against the backpack next to his. “I did eight years there and then when I was twenty-six, I was doing training in Hereford, and Price was the evaluator. He saw a lot of potential in me or something, pushed me in my training, and when selection came, I passed. Was in the SAS after that. Youngest candidate to ever pass selection.”

You knew that about him already. It’d been in his file. You remember reading his file on the plane ride over to their base and being so impressed. He hadn’t just scraped by either, he got the highest marks possible on each phase of the test.

“I remember reading that in your file on the flight over.” You smile. “Made it all the more intimidating to join the team. Had one guy who was youngest to join the SAS, one whose entire file was reacted due to the work he did, a highly decorated Sergeant, and a seasoned Captain.”

Soap laughs softly at that. “Yeah, still didn’t keep you away, though.” Soap teases, earning himself an eye roll and a gentle shove.

It makes him laugh even more, and it’s strange to hear him joke about something like that for once. Normally when he made comments about stuff like wanting you to leave or wishing you hadn’t joined, he meant it. This time he seemed like he was joking. There was no hidden edge to his words.

“I had to sign the contract before they let me read up about you guys.” You joke back, playing along. Though that was true, you really did have to sign a contract first. You weren’t allow much information about the team unless you agreed to go. The only thing they really informed you about was the basic role of the position you’d be taking.

“We got your file the second you signed up.” Soap says, checking on his food by touching the back of his hand to the bag. His food must have been warm enough cause he starts to take it out of the heating pack. “Didn’t even really know we were getting another person until Price dropped it all in front of us at a meeting. Had only a few days to get ready for you.”

That was new information to you. You figured the guys would have known they were getting someone new long before you signed on. At the same time though, it made sense. It was safer to keep information like that between only a few people, and with the enemies you knew your current Task Force has made over the years, it was probably good not to have word get out they were growing the team.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you notice Soap is handing you your meal bag. He mutters a, “here” and you take it from him.

“Oh, thanks.” You mumble back, touching the bag carefully to make sure it was warm enough. It felt decent enough to eat, so you pulled it out of the bag.

As you do that, Soap has already getting his open and is looking back to you. “So, where were you stationed before joining us? I know it was in your file somewhere, but I forgot.” Soap continues on in conversation, mixing his food a bit.

“The Green Berets.” You answer, pulling the rip-strip on the top of the food pouch. The smell of chicken hits you instantly, and the sight of the noodles is already unappealing. “Outside of basics and the platoon I was assigned to, I’ve been with them my whole career. Until now of course with transferring to a Task Force.”

Soap hums softly as he listens to you and takes his first bite of the chicken veggie noddle MRE. Watching him eat it makes you shutter, though he seemed unbothered.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Soap mutters through a mouthful of food, his words come out muffled as he chews. He doesn’t bother to finish chewing and swallowing before speaking again. “Did some training with them back in the day.”

You wrinkle your nose in distaste, watching as he continues to take another bite of the noodles. He hadn’t even finished his first bite before adding another one. You never really noticed the way he ate until now.

“You know, the chicken noodles are bad enough on their own. You really don’t need to make it worse by talking with your mouth full.” You frown.

Soap chuckles at you, though he at least swallows before speaking again. “At least I’m eating it. You haven’t even touched yours.” He points towards your untouched meal bag with his spoon.

You glance down at the bag of unappetizing noodles and sigh. “Can you blame me? This stuff is revolting.”

He laughs again, rolling his eyes as he takes another bite. “Come on, it’s not that bad. The faster you eat it, the sooner you’ll be done suffering.”

You can't argue with that logic. As much as you hate to admit it, Soap has a point. The faster you got the food down, the sooner it’d be over, and the less you would taste. It wasn’t like you weren’t capable of eating fast either. Back in bootcamp, you only had five minutes to eat sometimes. So you were more than capable of shoveling it down, you just preferred not to eat that way.

Sighing to yourself, shoulders sagging, you reluctantly scoop up a small bite and force it into your mouth. The taste isn’t terrible, just bland, but the texture is what gets you. A shudder runs through you as you chew, and you can’t help but gag slightly as the mushy noodles slide down your throat.

The whole time you struggle through the bite, Soap watches with wide eyes, his expression shifting between horror and concern. When you finally swallow and chase the taste with a swig of water, he shakes his head. “Steamin' Jesus, that was fucking painful to watch.” He mutters.

You shutter once more, the sensation of the food sliding down your throat lingering for a moment. “I’d rather eat a raw fish from the lake we bathe in than finish this.” You complain, scowling down at the still very full bag.

Soap lets out a small huff that resembles a laugh as he turns back to his soggy noodles. “We could probably go fishing and catch a few. Cook them over the fire instead of eating them raw like some deranged woodsperson.”

Your eyes widen, and you snap your head toward him so fast it nearly startles him. “Could we really do that?!” you ask, barely containing your excitement.

You have been eating MREs or bread for the past fives days for every meal. Cooking fish, real food, instead of eating the bland, processed, and sometimes unidentifiable sludge that somehow passes for a meal in those packets would be a welcome change.

Soap still looks a little shocked, blinking at you before nodding his head slowly. “Uh, yeah.. it’s really not that hard to go fishing.” He answers slowly, and his confirmation just makes you more excited.

“Why the hell haven’t we been fishing this entire time?! Can we go fishing? Please?”

“Well…” Soap hesitates. “I mean we’d have to take the time to make some spears, and then you need to descale them and take all the bones out, and-“

“We can do those things.” You argue, your voice hopeful.

“What are you gonna season the fish with? And what about this stuff?” He holds up his half-eaten MRE. “We just gonna waste it?”

You huff, sitting back slightly. “We can use salt, cause I know we have that back at the cabin. I saved some packets from a different MRE in case of emergency. And really? There is no way that you can look me in the eyes and tell me that you’d rather eat that disgusting shit instead of fresh fish. I know you’d have no problem with tossing that for real food.”

You both stare at each other, neither one of you moving or blinking. Soap is stubbornly holding his ground, but you know him well enough to know he hates what he’s eating too. He just toying with you.

When you raise an eyebrow at him expectantly, it breaks him. He lets out a huff, a smirk quickly forming on his face. “Yeah, alright. This is pretty fucking disgusting.” He agrees with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure my stomach was gonna reject it if I tried to take another bite.”

“Does this mean we’re gonna go fishing?” You ask, a grin quickly spreading across your face.

Soap looks at you, his expression softening in a way that sends a flutter through your chest. His lips curve into a relaxed smile, his shoulders loosening as the tension eases from his posture. His stunningly blue eyes, usually so guarded and intense, are soft and filled with a mix of warmth and something deeper—a tenderness that catches you off guard. Affection?

“Yeah, we can go fishing.” Soap laughs, his voice light with amusement, the gentle look in his eyes lingering.

Your excitement bubbles over, pushing aside any further analysis of his gaze. With a grin, you quickly seal up your MRE, stow your water bottle, and begin packing. “Oh God, it’s gonna taste so good. I can already smell it cooking.” You ramble on, earning a laugh from him as he starts to pack up as well.

After everything is packed away and the backpack is zipped, Soap stands and slings it onto his shoulder. By the time he’s fully upright, you’ve already taken off. He watches as you practically bound off towards the part of the stream where you crossed earlier. He watches you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips, then shakes his head before hurrying to catch up.

@the-faceless-bride @venavanup @hotthankss @daemondoll

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