#watching on repeat until it's burned into my eyelids | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missmatchablossom · 6 months ago

Text

Gojo x Reader Royalty AU | Part V.

summary: you are a princess in an arranged marriage with the crown prince of the country, satoru gojo. gojo leaves on a trip, leaving you to face your true feelings for him

a.n.: I just wanted to thank everyone who follows this series and takes the time to leave me comments about it! you are the reason I enjoy writing it <3 enjoy the angst + fluff of part 5!

tags: @lysaray @nourhanfarid13 @geniejunn @weirdoaroundtheblock

A soft rain pattered against the windows to Gojo’s bedroom, casting the grand space in a cool gloom that mirrored your own melancholy.

“Do you really have to go?” you asked quietly, wincing as soon as the words left your mouth. You meant to come off as playful, casual even. But you sounded more dejected than anything as you sat atop Gojo’s enormous four-poster bed, watching your prince pack away his clothes.

Though, by the way Gojo paused to shoot you a smile, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Please accept my sincerest apologies, princess. I tried getting out of it, but apparently I’m so important that ghosting them could cause a cold war or something. Stupid, isn’t it?” he said, the corned of his lips upturned.

You rolled your eyes as you chucked one of his pillows at his head, which he caught easily in a fit of laughter. You layed onto the bed in a huff, curling up towards the edge with your back facing the prince.

Am I the only one sad that he’s leaving? you thought, burying your face into the pillow you hugged to your chest. The familiar sweet scent of his shampoo was a welcome distraction from your inner turmoil.

Gojo would be leaving the palace tomorrow morning to embark on a two week-long trip to visit the neighboring countries. He would be meeting with fellow blue bloods, doing important work to strengthen relations before your wedding.

Rationally, you knew two weeks wasn’t a long time. But when you were used to ending your nights cuddled into his side, it felt like eternity. There was an unspoken agreement that Gojo would slip into your room at night, and no matter how late he finished his work, you’d be up waiting for him. He’d outstretch his arm, beckoning you towards him with a smile on his face no matter how tired he was.

Your jolted in surprise as Gojo crouched beside the side of the bed you were on, leveling your eyes with his. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you, sending your heart into a fury with his proximity.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked softly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear. It was a gesture he repeated often, but it nearly coaxed your heart out of your chest each time he did it.

“No,” you began, cheeks burning as you fiddled with the pillowcase. He watched you patiently, all traces of his earlier teasing mood gone.

“I’m just going to miss you.”

You watched as your favorite blue eyes softened before you. He shut his eyes, leaning forward until his face was buried in your side, the cool, delicate skin of his eyelids pressing against your arm.

“Maybe I don’t have to go after all,” he murmured.

You giggled as you slipped your hands into his hair, something you did for him often to help when he had heacaches. He sighed as he leaned into your touch.

“Just come with me,” he said.

Oh, how you wanted to. But your schedule didn’t allow it, since you were undergoing strict “crown princess training,” filling your days with historical and political lessons to match Gojo’s education.

“I tried getting out of it, but apparently I’m so important that skipping training could cause a domestic war. Stupid, right?” you said, reveling in the hearty laugh he released. You heard him mumble something along the lines of such as smartass before he turned his head to the side so that his face was mere inches away from yours.

“Will you pick a few outfits for me to pack? That way, when someone compliments me, which they undoubtedly will,” he said, throwing a quick wink your way, “I can say my princess picked it out for me,” he finished, the faintest dusting of pink decorating his cheeks.

You mirrored his smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek to mask just how giddy his words made you feel.

“Mm, it will cost you,” you said cheekily, loving the way his eyes danced with humor as he shook his head at you. His eyes always seemed the prettiest when he was looking at you.

“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you,” he said, laughing to himself as he disappearing into his closet.

“Good thing I came prepared,” he said, coming out with a stack of his hoodies. You threw your head back and laughed as he set them down beside you, raising his brows expectantly.

Gojo knew you loved wearing his hoodies. It wasn’t because you admitted how much you enjoyed the way his cologne clung to the fabric, making it feel like you were being held by him. You didn’t explain how you loved how casually intimate it was, wearing something of his. You weren’t sure what he thought, actually. Just that you must’ve loved them because of how often you asked to borrow one.

“Well? Do we have a deal, princess?” he said, making sure to drawl out his voice as he called you by his favorite nickname. The one that almost made you blush everytime you heard it, especially when he said it the way he just did.

Instead of responding, you slipped one of his oversized hoodies over your body, enjoying the indulgent look in his eye as he watched you.

Gojo leaving for his flight felt like a hazy memory, something that could’ve easily been a dream if you didn’t know better.

You vaguely remembered being awoken by the sound of shuffling and zippers. You lifted your head up, eyes heavy with sleep as you checked the spot beside you. The spot where Gojo usually occupied was empty, nearly sending you into a panic before you found him at the foot of the bed, the sound of a zipper reaching your ears. He turned to look at you, all dressed up in his formal attire. It had to be a crime to look so devastatingly good before the sun was even up.

“Sorry princess, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, casting you an apologetic look. You shook your head, too tired you verbally tell him you didn’t mind. It wasn’t his fault that your sleep was already fitful and light, like your body was rejecting a good night’s rest knowing Gojo was leaving.

Gojo padded over to you quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed closest to where you were laying.

Your prince reached out, stroking his hand across the back of your head. You closed your eyes as he cupped your cheek, swiping his thumb against the soft skin.

“Go back to sleep, love. I’ll be back soon.”

You could’ve sworn you felt something soft press against the top of your head before sleep took you, and you woke up to a cold, Gojo-less room.

The hallways seemed dimmer. Food tasted blander. The sky looked duller. Maybe you were imagining things, but you didn’t imagine the sadness that has been nagging you since your prince left. There was no way to prepare yourself for how everything seemed to take more time and effort knowing you couldn’t go to your room at the end of the day and crash into Gojo’s arms, where no stress seemed to exist.

He messaged you as soon as he landed, sending you pictures of himself holding up the sweets he was trying. But the messages lessened as his trip progressed, and the daily news report was eager to tell you why.

You found yourself tuning in to the chanel everyday, watching your prince walk across the screen and shaking hands with a new noble every day. He thrived under the media attention, shooting endless smiles and waves towards everyone itching to catch his gaze. But you knew Gojo, and you recognized the dullness in his eyes. He was definitely tired.

don’t forget to get some rest and eat properly! You texted, sighing. He still hadn’t responded to your texts from before asking if he had time to call.

he’s busy, he’s just busy, you reassured yourself. It was taking all of your mental strength not to worry about him, not to feel disheartened by his lack of contact. He didn’t owe you daily updates…did he? You weren’t married yet.

The impassioned voice of the news reporter ripped you from your thoughts.

“Prince Gojo was spotted sneaking away with another girl! Is a secret love affair going on?”

A sour feeling plagued your chest as an image flashed across the screen. It was an obvious paparazzi shot, taken from odd angles unbeknowst to the subject of the photos. But there was no doubt in your mind that it was Gojo in the photo - you’d recognize his tall frame and proud shoulders anywhere. But his arm was wrapped around the slender shoulders of a girl you didn’t recognize. All you could tell was that she must be someone important or rich or royal by the fabric of her dress, the shine of her hair.

You felt jealousing rearing its ugly head, burning through your body as a wave of nausea hit you.

Who is that girl?

Is he…seeing someone else?

But we’re fiances.

But he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t choose to get engaged to you.

But I thought we had something together?

But you never discussed it.

But he could have been in love with this other girl the whole time and you came between them and ruined it

But….but?

Your bottom lip trembled as you dropped your face into your hands, taking shaky, deep breaths in a failed attempt to stop the thoughts assaulting you.

Maybe you didn’t know Gojo as well as you thought you had.

It was really hard to ignore the palace staff, with the loud glances and whispers you’d been hearing. You weren’t sure if it was pity or concern, but it made you feel miniscule nonetheless. You went about your work with your head held high, meeting their stares with a smile that they quickly looked away from.

As soon as you were alone, your brave face would crumple. There wasn’t much you could bring yourself to do except wander the outskirts of the palace, where you found comfort in being hidden amongst the lush overgrowth. Hidden away from the heavy eyes of the palace, hidden from the tabloids speculating about your failed engagement, hidden from the texts Gojo sent you.

sorry princess, they’re working me to the bone

I’m free to call now if you are

I miss you

princess?

everything okay?

can we talk?

You plopped down at the base of a tree, sighing as you read over the texts you’d received but didn’t respond to for the past two days.

It’s okay, I know you’ve been busy. Don’t forget to eat okay? We can talk when you get back

As soon as you hit send, your phone began buzzing with an incoming call. Gojo’s contact picture popped up on the screen - a picture you took of him laughing and reaching towards the camera. It was your favorite photo of him you’ve ever taken, but right now looking at it filled you with dread.

sorry, I’m pretty busy. I probably won’t be able to talk for a while, you texted, feeling yourself flinch at the lie.

you’re a bad liar, princess

please talk to me

But you couldn’t. How could you talk to him when you were questioning if anything between you two was real, or if it was him just doing his duty? Sure, he treated you well. But he never admitted he had feelings for you. You could’ve been misreading him the entire time.

You knew what you were walking into with your arranged marriage. The most you could ask for was to get along with your fiance, some people were stuck with awful partners. Gojo was never obligated to love you, and it was never something you expected, so why were you hurting so much?

Because I’m in love with Gojo, you finally admitted to yourself.

You slowly sank down against the base of a tree, tipping your head up as the tears rolled down your cheeks. As you came to the realization, your scramble of emotions fought for their spot in the front of your mind. Relief at finally accepting your own feelings. Fear that your love was unrequited.

You sat there for a while, gathering your thoughts as the wind and leaves kept you company.

Once you arrived back at the palace, eyelids swollen and cheeks rosied from the cold, you were approached by one of Gojo’s retainers.

“Pardon me, your highness?” he called out, eyebrows burrowing as he took in your appearance.

“Are you alright?” You shot him a tight smile.

“I’m fine, thank you. Did you need something?” you said, hoping he wouldn’t keep you much longer. The older gentleman narrowed his eyes slightly, and you knew he didn’t believe you. But he didn’t press it.

“I have Prince Gojo on the line, he has been requesting to speak with you.”

Shit.

“Please tell him I’m unavailable,” you asked quietly, bracing yourself for the man to tell you he couldn’t do that.

But the older man looked at you once more, his face relaxing like he could see the exhaustion and stress lining your features.

“Of course, your highness,” he said, tipping his head kindly as you thanked him.

When you got to your room, a tray of your favorite tea and cookies sat on cart next to the door. You swore to give that man a raise when you had the power to.

You had one week until Gojo returned to the palace. One week to figure out how to talk to him again and how to address the photo of him with the mystery woman. One more week for you to chicken out and ignore his texts and calls.

The evening was nearing, and you found yourself once more on the palace outskirts. You leaned your head back against your favorite tree, stretching your legs out to get comfortable. Your eyes burned and your chest felt like lead, but at least you had a beautiful view.

Heaving a deep sigh, you closed your eyes and tried focusing on what you would hear, a grounding exercise you’d been taught recently.

unidentified birds chirping

water flowing

breeze shaking leaves

footsteps

Footsteps? Your eyes shot open. No one ever followed you out here.

“Princess.” a voice began. It was low, haunted even. And painfully familiar.

You turned as you saw Gojo standing before you, dressed to the nines in his navy suit he only wore for official business. His silver locks were disheveled, his face was pale, and he looked uncharacteristically serious. His sweeping gaze felt heavy as it ran over your entire body, as if he were checking you over for an injury.

You blinked up at him, waiting to see if he was an illusion that would disappear the next time you opened your eyes. But he didn’t. He was real, he was here.

“You’re back early,” you stated, offering a small, close-lipped smile. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, though.

The harsh sound of his bag hitting the ground surprised you. He reached up towards his neck, roughly loosening the tie you knew he hated wearing.

“I had a more pressing matter to attend to,” he said, and you flinched at the cold lacing his tone.

“Rushing through a trip like that could be bad for international relations,” you commented evenly, not addressing the second half of what he said.

“I could care less about international relations when my wife has been ignoring me for the past week,” he said sharply, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m not your wife,” you said softly, knowing it was a low-blow. He sucked in a breath, kneeling down to be at eye-level with you.

“You will be,” he said with confidence, as if there were nothing in the world that could challenge that. You still didn’t look at him.

He cupped your face gently with his hand, turning your gaze to finally look him into his eyes - where a storm of hurt, confusion, and exhaustion brewed. It was enough for traitorous tears to begin slipping down your cheeks. You shut your eyes as you wept silently, feeling the soft pads of Gojo’s thumbs brushing against the delicate skin beneath your eyes,

“What happened, love?” he said softly, hearing the desperation in his voice.

You took a deep breath, struggling to make out Gojo’s expression through your blurry vision.

“I saw the picture of you with your arm around that girl,” you whispered.

The hand on your cheek froze, and you braced yourself to see a flash of guilt over his expressions. But he continued to stare at you evenly, like he had nothing to hide.

“I know you didn’t have a choice in marrying me. But if I came between you and someone else you love, then I’m truly sorry. I’ll be fine if you w-”

“Okay princess, I’m going to stop you right there.”

“Her name is Utahime. We grew up together but there has been nothing between us ever. In fact, she can barely stand me most of the time,” he said, sweeping his eyes across yours.

“I needed a huge favor from her. We were walking outside and she slipped on something, so I caught her by the shoulder to steady her. If the paparazzi had a front angle, they would’ve seen her flicking my arm off and looking pissed that I helped her at all.”

It hurt your heart, the way his voice wavered as he spoke to you. You had never heard him sound so scared. He was worried you wouldn’t believe him.

“Please say something,” he begged softly, laying his cool hand atop yours.

“I believe you,” you said, flipping up your hand to grip his own. The furrow between his brows relaxed, the tightness in his jaw easing as he slumped down next to you, in what might’ve been the least princely manner you’d seen from him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked calmly, turning your head to look at him.

“You didn’t give me the chance. I was losing my mind trying to reach you, princess,” he said, his voice heavy as he gently slid the back of his fingers against your cheek, his hand traveling until his hand cupped the side of your face.

“I’m sorry. The rumors were affecting me more than I thought,” you began, pressing your lips together to steady yourself.

“All I could think about was how you are being forced to marry me. And I began wondering what you would do, who you would be with if you had a choice. How much happier you could be,” you said, the self-loathing thick in your voice as more tears slipped out.

He looked as if you had just struck him. He took a deep breath, a determined look coming over his features as he leaned into your space.

“You’re right that our engagement wasn’t my choice. But it was my choice to fall in love with you,” he said, lifting your palm to his lips.

You weren’t sure if there was a word for how you felt hearing those words. The relief, the joy, the disbelief that Prince Satoru Gojo was in love with you.

“You…love me?” you asked in a whisper, like the words were forbidden. A smile made its way across your lips as you spoke last few words. Gojo’s smile responded to yours - immediately softening his beautiful face.

“I am in love with you princess. I would choose you over and over again,” he said reverently, looking at you in that way of his that made you feel like the only person in the universe.

You launched yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he caught you with a surprised grunt. His big hands coming up to stroke your back, his arms around you pulling you in close against his chest.

You pulled back slightly, until your foreheads were nearly touching.

“I’m in love with you too, my prince.”

The breath left your lungs as the most gorgeous smile you’d ever seen stretched wide across his features, lighting up his eyes and brightening his face.

“You love me?” he asked, his arms around your waist tightening you even closer to him.

“I love you,” you said again, giggling at the pure, childlike happiness emanating from his face.

Suddenly, you were up in the air as your prince lifted you up and swung you in a circle, like the ending credits of a Disney movie.

The two of you laughed and spun until you were both out of breath, Gojo settling back down against the tree with you on his lap once more.

“You make me happier than I ever thought I could be,” he said, sending the blush straight to your cheeks. But instead of looking away in embarrassment, you shifted closer.

“You took the words right out of my mouth. You are more than anything I’ve ever dreamed of,” you said, leaning up to press your lips against the smooth skin of his cheek.

A beautiful pink dusted across his skin, but that brilliant smile remained on his lips.

“So, can I finally kiss you then?” you asked.

You bit back a laugh at the pure shock on his face - the way his eyes widened, pupils dilated, jaw slackened, like that was the last thing he ever expected you to ask him at this very moment.

“Fuck,” you heard him mutter under his breath.

“My prince?”

“Kiss me, princess,” he said, his voice heady as he spoke.

You smiled as you leaned forward, gingerly pressing your lips to his.

One soft peck to test the waters, the faintest brush of your lips. Then another one - your lips lingered longer, long enough to feel the press of his soft, full lips that chased yours when you pulled back.

You stared into his eyes for a moment, his eyes that looked glazed over and nearly black as he watched you with fevered intensity that must have mirrored your own. You leaned forward once more, tilting your head as you slanted your lips against his.

He groaned softly as he met each press of your lips, one hand cupping around your jaw to pull you even closer to him, the other hand sliding up the hem of your shirt.

“You are so,” he began, speaking in between kisses.

“Soft,”

“and warm,”

“and sweet,” he rasped, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine as he lightly tugged your bottom lip between his teeth.

You broke away from the kiss for a second, your heaving chest a match to his.

“I love the way you taste,” you said, and it was true. His lips were sweet, and he tasted like the mints he always had.

But your words must’ve struck something in him, as those cerulean eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head as he tugged you to him with renewed fervor, kissing you like he would die if he stopped.

By the time you two finished, walking back into the palace well past sunset, the servants took one look at your linked hands and bruised lips and filled the halls with whispers and giggles.

265 notes · View notes

queserasora · 2 months ago

Text

ZORO X FEM READER | NSFW / Soft Smut ™ WORD COUNT: 7.9k CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, nudity (duh), unprotected sexual intercourse (just don’t do it folks, only works in fiction), biting, scratching, kissing, lots of angst and sexual tension, if you’re looking for light and fluffy this isn’t it, excessive mentions of the moon (so if you’re anti moon gtfo), groping, nipple play, zoro talking too damn much and being a little nasty, for ZORO this is pretty TAME because he is like….enamored, so just let him be, allow this moment of softness because it doesn’t come often, so, SOFT ZORO, and like this is zoro being soft so if you don’t think it’s soft enough…idk what to tell you, it’s zoro, i proof read it twice so if you find a typo ignore it, if you tell me there is a typo you need to suck my dick first, thx

NEW MOON

A dreamer has no home in Mock Town.

Dreams were for children. Quaint little stories made of glittering sand sprinkled into their eyes, blinding them to the harsh truth of the world. The sting would force their eyelids shut, and they’d drift off into lands made of fantasy and fluffy clouds, carrying them off to somewhere peaceful; somewhere they would never be hurt, a haven safe from pain.

They’d lay in their bed woven from lies while the moon spills its light through the window.

It had been a long time since there was any moon watching over you. You slept in darkness, holding the lies you told close to your chest. A romantic heart held prisoner in a chest constructed by cynical chains. You spoke like a realist, even when it split your tongue in half. The taste of copper grounded you to your reality, and you swallowed it down, finding it a fitting exchange.

Your blood for the chance to avoid their scorn. It was the price you paid to live in anonymity.

Loneliness went down easily when you drank it with whiskey. You had learned this years ago, so you consume it daily; a necessary evil. It is smooth on your tongue as you watch them from your corner of the establishment. The back of their heads are unfamiliar as they sit at the bar. You think you imagine it, the way your heart seizes at the sound of his voice. A gruffness so rugged it cuts into your skin, spilling everything you held inside. You scoop it up immediately as you throw the rest of your drink back into your throat. The burn in your chest is antiseptic.

Dreams had nowhere to run in Mock Town. This is where dreams came to die.

It is a mantra you repeat, with every blow they deal on the loud captain and his swordsman. It is a mantra you clamp down on with aching teeth, when their navigator begs them to fight. Your fingers twitch around the etched glass in your hand. You grip it so tightly it cracks, like fault lines across the illusion you had been hiding behind. When they leave the bar, everything shatters.

You wake up, at last, from the nightmare you had built yourself only to plunge into a different colored one.

They’ll never come back. It is a lie you feed yourself, cram it into your mouth and down into your stomach, until everything overflows. Until you believe it. You pick up the fallen pieces left in their wake and start gluing them back together, before your heart can escape again. But he does come back, and a hammer swings into you when his fist flies into Bellamy’s face.

You chase after him as he takes his prize, your oversized kusarigama attached to your back. The chain links clink as you run, its sound chasing your steps. His name is stiff on your tongue but you cast it out, a coin entering a fountain–one last desperate wish. Luffy finds your proposal comical, and so is the weapon on your back. He smiles until the corner of his eyes crinkle, a smile so radiant you swear you’ve only felt the same warmth under the sun.

“Please!” your voice pleads, hands grasping at invisible strings. “I want to see the sky island too!”

His hum is contemplative. You feel time stop. You don’t breathe, you can’t, until he answers you at last: “Sure!” His laugh is infectious and odd. “You seem pretty strong, Kusari.” It isn’t your name. It never has been, but it sounds right when he says it.

It still sounds right when he introduces you to everyone; feels right in your bones. The swordsman’s eyes connect with yours–his gravity too large for you to avoid its pull. Inside you, the ocean’s tide begins to change. A smile graces your lips, congenial and friendly. One that was practiced and rehearsed, like every lie you told. Pretending was a curse you had been tasked with. It was easy and it was necessary. The method that always kept you safe.

Zoro shakes his head at everyone’s enthusiasm. Luffy’s impulsiveness was something he was used to, but disagreed with, time and time again. You were a risk he would have never taken. There were too many dubious variables, your background as a bounty hunter made you skilled and dangerous. His doubts on your genuineness are cast aside by excitement of a new adventure. Zoro lived on the edge of his swords, betting his life at every hurdle, his destiny always held firmly by his own capable hands. Sky island or you, it didn’t matter what the peril was. If it was in his way, he’d cut it down without mercy.

It would be a shame, he thinks–an afterthought polluting his resolve–if he would have to make you his enemy. Your weapon intrigues him, at least that’s his reasoning. There would be no other behind his curiosity. You had a face he could forget, if he really wanted to try.

He’d just have to want it badly enough.

WAXING CRESCENT

A persistent irritation, like a rash from a poisonous leaf, plagued him. You were too familiar, too quickly ingrained in his routine. Your sense of humor reminded him of Robin. Your mouth was always twisted, in a cynical kind of smile–but only with him. It annoyed him. You had no riddles for Sanji or Luffy or Usopp, but when you’d speak to Zoro–he was constantly baffled.

What was your insistence on befuddling him? He figures ignoring you would do the trick but your presence is unforgivable; a sin, like a nick on his blades, a scar on his back, a sake poured on dirt. He wanted to obfuscate your existence, like a dark cloud in a night sky, hiding the moon from sight.

Robin and you quickly become a pair, synchronized jokes, and synchronized looks. You team up and prepare riddle after riddle that Zoro can’t seem to solve. He contemplates leaving you two with Nami to your devices but there are so many unknowns in the jungle his conscience doesn’t allow it. His worries become unfounded when he watches you wield your weapon with ease. There was no sign of hesitation when you acted on Chopper and Nami’s behalf–placing their safety as a priority. His shoulders relax, but doubt still circles–a fin in the water–reminding him that it was still too early to tell if you were friend or foe.

Friend or foe, he can’t deny it.

Your face was one he could forget, if he really wanted to. The problem was, he was starting to believe he didn’t want to. In the brief free moments, his eyes would search for it–like a dry tongue seeking water. The softness of your cheeks beguiled him, made him wonder, like a fool, if they were soft as they looked. But your smile was a blade whose sharpness he knew too well. He couldn’t allow himself to be cut. It was a shame he could never live down.

FIRST QUARTER

An adventure on Sky Island had been one you never even had dreamed of. An island in the sky was something only children thought of. It had been a long time since you basked in innocence.

The thrill of surviving by the skin of your teeth still thrummed through your body. You giggled, a drink in your hand as you enjoyed the kitchen to yourself. The crew had gone to explore Water 7 and while you were happy to be part of the team–it was still something you were getting used to. Working by yourself, for yourself, had been something you’d done for years and were good at. Now, there were others; people you had started caring about.

He finds you in the kitchen, and immediately is envious of the glass in your hand. Not because the dark amber contents swirling around two blocks of ice is alluring. Not because of the way condensation clings to the glass, a sign of deliciously cold temperature enough to soothe most kinds of thirsts. He is envious of the glass, how you cradle it possessively when Zoro steps closer. He is envious of the rim, how your tongue flicks out to lap at a stray drop, sliding down–how it is graced by your lips when you bring it up for a drink.

“Looks good,” he says with strain. Tension pulls at his neck, making it difficult to talk. “Is there more of that?”

You gesture at the table, where you had left the bottle of whiskey. He intends to move, truly, as he is mere steps away from your body but your eyes are bright and mystifying. They jumble his thoughts and it takes a quirk of your brow to kickstart his brain once more.

As the moon commands, the tides obey, and a series of events unfolds that can’t be stopped. There’s so much to think of, you almost forget how much Zoro ails you. You forget how you think of him at night while you try to find a comfortable spot to sleep in. You forget the way his eyes pierce you during dinner, how they steal your breath. You forget the strange moments his hand brushes against yours when you pass him by, and the strange way he says your name as if it was a kiss given in secret.

You forget until Sanji is irate, top lip curled in anger. His words bounce off you, and you frown with a small shake of your head. You shake it, not because you find the accusation incredulous–you and Zoro had fought the best you could to protect the money–but because it feels as if you should care more. Zoro–usually calm, composed, quick to avoid drama–always flies at the handle at Sanji’s provocation. This time it’s no different. He comes, not to his own defense, but yours. The cloud over your mind lifts, and there’s a light beaming into your chest. Your mouth twists into a grimace.

You try to keep the light out by bringing a hand to your chest. Beams slip right through the cracks of your fingers.

Your hand is still over your chest when Robin goes missing. You seek her out, desperate for an ally to make you forget–to remind you of the dangers of letting others in. There was an unspoken understanding between you two; a darkness shared and understood. You understand this even when you find out about Robin’s possible betrayal. In your heart, you try to reason, in your mind you find enough to doubt. When Zoro speaks up, like the devil on your shoulder, and makes it clear he isn't holding his breath when it comes to Robin, coldness sets in. People were complicated. You had learned that lesson with blood in your mouth. You wonder if Zoro has learned this as well–or was he the darkness too? Did he find it hard to trust? Had he been forced to cement walls around himself?

You begin to sink in, hiding behind your usual facade. Lies slip out of your mouth, one after the other, snakes with two and three heads. It was better this way, fabricating a self so different from your true source that nobody could ever hurt you. Desire could only lead to disappointment. Whatever embers he had left behind on the back of your hand, you try to smother it out, covering it with your free hand.

WAXING GIBBOUS

Raucous laughter meets shadows and light.

Luffy could never pass up a party, and after saving Robin there was so much to celebrate. The taste of sake on his tongue was familiar; a pleasant burning whose limits he knew all too well. This was something he could control, a phenomenon that did not incite fear or anxiety.

He could not say the same about the phenomenon of your skin under the light of the moon. A throat so dry he feels choking seizes his words, so he drinks and drinks and drinks. Relief never comes, sentences he repeats in his head as he circles around you fester in the pit of his stomach. You are so happy–elated even, that Robin is back. You haven’t left her side, cracking joke after joke.

It’s sickening how much it irritates him that you refuse to be alone. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nami clinging to your hand, offering you another drink. If it’s not Nami, it’s Luffy trying to shove more food at you–food you gently refuse. If it’s not Luffy, it’s the stupid cook, hearts shooting out of his eyes as he touches your hand.

Your hand–the one he hasn’t touched.

He bites down so hard he thinks he’s cracked a tooth, so he spits at the ground, expecting blood. He sees nothing, and chooses to believe that this means nothing. The sake is rotten, and he is tired, so so tired. Zoro doesn’t pray, he has never prayed in his whole life but he considers it that night when he closes his eyes. So he hopes instead. He hopes he’ll be over it in the morning and you’ll be nothing–a long forgotten moonbeam in a distant night sky.

He wakes up, and realizes quickly that you are still not nothing.

He swings his swords repeatedly, motions that he is familiar with. He focuses on the strain of his muscles, the ache slowly setting in. He focuses on the sweat on the back of his neck, the one dripping down his rippling muscles. He focuses as much as he can, but your gaze on him is fastidious.

He senses you watching him, a strange lecherous feeling that twists his stomach. He refuses to meet your gaze and bites down again. If his teeth cracked then so be it.

You are shameless, he thinks, as he swallows his drink. Your dark eyes are unwavering, focused on his neck. Zoro swallows, heart beating in his chest like a wild animal. His foot is under the table, tapping away as he tries to keep the rest of him still. Nami is arguing with Luffy, and Zoro shakes his head slightly, trying to wake up from the spell you have casted on him. He should laugh with the others, he should ignore Sanji’s pointed stare, he should ignore the cold sweat on his forehead and the sudden dip at the pit of his stomach when you lick your lips.

When you finally drag your eyes away from his neck, in a way that looks like it pained you, Zoro takes a sharp breath. He thinks you have set him free from this twisted prison but you ensnare him again when you meet his eyes. Zoro brings his glass to his mouth once more, and swallows the remains of the whiskey.

It burns his chest on the way down, but there is a fire more heated and consuming at the bottom of his stomach. One that builds higher and higher when you smile at him.

Later that night, when he’s prowling the newly constructed Thousand Sunny like a restless large feline, Zoro has to remind himself why he even set out from his hometown. He reminds himself that he has to become the strongest swordsman, as he fights the urge to slide his hands down his stomach, to reach further down for the arousal that bothers him. His forehead pressed against the cold wood of the training room, he tries to reason with his breathing. He thinks about the new bounties announced, the thrill of new adventures. There is no room for deviation in his goals. He knows this. There is a set path to follow–the one the moon has been guiding him to all along.

Turning to you would just lead him to darkness. Zoro refused to be swallowed up by it, no matter how alluring the flash of its teeth were.

FULL MOON

A life for a life.

He thought nothing of it at first. He thought it necessary. At first he had lived selfishly, seeking to keep a promise given a long time ago. Somewhere along the way, his Captain’s dream had become as important as his. Somewhere along the way, he had friends he cared about, friends he wanted to protect. His strength alone had not been enough, and so for this sin: he offers his life.

If there was anyone who could protect the rest, it would be Luffy.

He tries to hold on to this hope as pain cuts into him. It rips at his skin, making tatters at what keeps him together. Blood splurts, hot and searing. A pain that burns so deep he thinks it’s in his soul. He clenches his teeth, willing for them to crack and splinter off, if it means keeping quiet. A man should not cry when his mind has been set up. His eyes are open but he sees nothing–not in particular, except his own blood clouding his vision.

He tries to focus on other things, when a pain so blinding and deep makes him want to drop to his knees. He thinks of Nami and Usopp, and hopes they’ll be okay. He wonders if Chopper will grow happier. He wants to believe Sanji will get stronger, enough to continue protecting everyone. That stupid, idiotic cook who had tried to offer his own life in his place. Zoro grimaces, a pained groan almost leaving his mouth so he bites down on his tongue–metal taking over his taste buds.

He had no regrets. He never had any but as his vision becomes blurry there’s a face that fills his eyes. A different kind of pain booms in his chest, until it fills everything, until it pushes out the air from his lungs. He takes a ragged breath, and feels fear for the first time in a long time. He fears regret. He fears never seeing her face again. He fears never knowing.

He should have held her. He should have kissed her. Just like he always wanted to.

He curses the sound of your voice, the same that cuts through the pain, and reminds him to hold on. He curses the softness of your skin–the back of your hand, the only sensation he knows of you. He curses how he craves to know more even in the face of this endless pain.

He curses you over and over again, until it is done, until all he knows is the pain you leave behind.

Sanji annoys him. Zoro tries to not lash out. His body feels heavy but he feigns it. He tries to keep it together for as long as he can. He has to make sure they’re all okay. Once he is convinced that it was all worth it, once he sees your face wearing an expression he doesn’t want to think about, he allows himself to rest. It takes all the energy he has left to leave you–to walk away from you without touching you, to not run his fingers through your hair, to press your body against his.

As consciousness fades, he wonders how much longer he can hold back. Would he regret it later? If he died? Would he regret never telling you? His inner voice becomes slurred, incoherent, distant until darkness takes him under.

Robin tries to tell you, even though Sanji tried to stop her. She tries to tell you the truth about Zoro but you dismiss her. You insist it is none of your business. Your voice is calm, flat even, as you fold laundry in an attempt to hide your trembling hands. In your mind, you’re screaming. In your mind, you want to run and grab him by the neck. In your mind, you want to understand what possessed him.

But in your heart you know why. In your heart, you know that Zoro wouldn’t have had it any other way, so you try to pretend you don’t know. It was the least you could do to pay him back for what he had given you all.

You know he will be fine. You know he will recover. He just needs time. You want to give it to him, and you do, as you try to stay busy. Still, your feet are treacherous. They keep taking you back to him. You watch him sleeping, a sickness weighing you down. Your eyes feel full, a heart so heavy you think you might collapse under its weight. Heavy feet root you to the spot by his bed. Trembling fingers reach out, so hesitant they can only touch lightly. You softly brush fingertips across his forehead; your silent prayer for him to wake up soon. The sight of his battered body makes you sigh, and your tear filled eyes rest on his hand. Those hands that had protected everyone time and time again. They seemed so strong every time he wielded his swords. Not once did you think they could look this frail. You reach out to touch the bandages, and gently squeeze his wrapped index finger.

Just as gently, you reach down and kiss his temple.

“Wake up, idiot,” you whisper, lips brushing against his clammy skin. “I miss you.”

Your confession feels like a knife you pushed into your own chest. You move quickly, almost run out of the room. Blood gushes, and you hold up a hand, trying to push it back in; the feelings, the words, that kiss.

When he wakes, it takes a moment to feel like he is awake at all. It isn’t until the straw hats leave Thriller Bark that he feels more like himself. Per Luffy, there’s a celebratory dinner. Brooks–someone Zoro was still getting used to–had taken it upon himself to be the night’s entertainment. Fish-Man Island was the next destination and Zoro’s excitement was slowly overtaken by hazy thoughts of you. The more he drank, the more he thought he should finally tell you. The more he watched everyone laugh, eat, sing, drink—the more he thought he should just accept it.

He should accept the pull you had on him. He should accept the command, the order of things; like the moon and tide.

He follows this pull up to the crow’s nest, newly remodeled by Franky. There’s little time for Zoro to admire the modifications. He is too busy trying to find a way to breathe again after the sight of you left him breathless. You’re bent over the telescope, gazing at the sky–he figures maybe the moon, maybe the stars. He’s not sure. All he’s sure of is that his heart might burst if it beats any faster. All he is sure of is that if he doesn’t find a way to silence it, you might hear it past the bones, and flesh entrapping it.

A fluttering of anxiety fills him with dread. A strange feeling he isn’t familiar with. It feels as if it was imperative he touches you; as if he didn’t, only death would follow, as if he didn’t hold you, the world–his or everyone’s–would end. It was such a dramatic, sickening feeling he wanted to rip his own heart out. If that was the solution, he’d do it but he had a feeling at the pit of his stomach that even that wouldn’t work.

He tries to quiet his breathing, not wanting to disturb you, too mesmerized by the sight of your round and plump ass. There’s fire over his skin, blistering and searing the hairs on his arms. He clears his throat, alerting you to his presence.

You turn around, embarrassed that you didn’t feel him entering the room. It’s a fleeting emotion, quickly overtaken by something much more complicated; heavier, infinitely more deadly. It is sickening, really, how insanely attractive he is. You swallow with difficulty, suddenly annoyed that you didn’t bring a drink with you; anything to whet your appetite if it meant keeping your hands off Zoro.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to buy time for your mind to kick into gear. The cogs in your brain are sluggish. You blame the alcohol, and not the fire in your belly. You want to tell him you’re glad that he’s awake. You want to tell him how scary it was, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I’m sorry I drank all your sake while you slept,” you tell him instead, your mouth stretching into a crooked smile. “I figured someone should.”

He scoffs, matching your grin.

“That’s a poor excuse. You’re such a liar,” he tells you, and you take a sharp breath. You’re not sure if he meant it–that you were a liar–or if he just said it in passing. You blame the alcohol for your confusing thoughts, and you blame it again when you don’t notice the way he has quickly breached the distance between you two.

The moon is full and bright, hanging high in the inky night sky. Its light is bright and it shoots through the window, spilling over the floor. Zoro is mesmerized by the way it glistens on your brown skin. You look so small against the window, with your back to the moon, it makes him want to crush you against his chest. His mind is hazy, his tongue heavy. He blames the sake. He blames the sake and the moon. He blames them as his hand reaches out to brush a curl out of your face. He tucks it behind an ear, his eyes memorizing the roundness of your cheek, the shell of your ear. He blames the moonlight on your skin, when he cups your cheek to see if he can trap it there, between your skin and his calluses.

He blames the night sky, the smell of the sea when he reaches down to softly brush his lips against yours.

You can’t breathe when his nose brushes against yours. You still can’t breathe when he pulls back, enough to look down at you. His eyes stare into yours and you still can’t find your breath. You think you’ll die now, by Zoro’s mouth, by his hand on your cheek. Your heart pounding against your frail ribs reminds you that you’re still alive. It is a resounding call to arms. You think you should pick up your weapons, but the fire in his eyes burns your resolve to ash.

His heart is on fire. Zoro knows that is a ridiculous thought. He knows that’s not even correct or possible, but the longer he looks at you, the more he feels it to be true. He hears it in the distance; the sound of war—drums, and screaming, blades scratching against each other, sinew tearing, blood gushing; throbbing in his ears and in his veins.

The sound echoes in his body, a rush of adrenaline lighting small fires throughout his being. This moment feels infinite, as if he is frozen in time. A want so desperate pools inside him until it ignites.

He comes tumbling down when he kisses you again. A ravenous mouth open and seeking against yours. His large hands hold your face, as he brushes his tongue against yours with the sole purpose of consuming; conquering. Your tongue is warm and soft, slippery, a sensation he can’t get enough of. He hums when you give in, when you let him suck on it without inhibitions. His breathing is harsh through his nose, and it becomes quicker when you place your hands over his, when you move them down his arms onto his chest.

You grasp on to his shirt, as you return his kisses. His teeth are unforgiving. They bite down on your bottom lip, on the corners of your mouth. He is insistent on discovering everything about it. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours. He wonders as he sucks on it, how many times have you bitten down on it, how many words have you swallowed in place to offer lies instead. He’s never told you how often he sees right through you. He sees it even now, as you struggle for control.

“Don’t fight it,” he breathes against your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Not now. Not tonight.” He kisses your closed eyes; one at a time. He kisses your cheeks, lips blistering hot. You feel him brush his mouth against your jawline. “Don’t think. Not until tomorrow,” he asks you against your neck, trailing kisses down the column of it. You think about this offer, consider rejecting, but when his teeth snags against the soft flesh on the hollow of your neck you forget everything. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he follows your collarbone to one shoulder. He bites down with enough force to make you cry–one that turns into a soft moan.

It is enough. That is the sound that snaps his resolve. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to make this moment last, as if he would never have it again, but you are something he was never prepared to fight against. When you moaned, with your nails digging into his back he was left with no choice. He had to have you, tonight, at all costs.

His hands are as unforgiving as his mouth. They rip into your clothes, ignoring your protests. The sound of tearing fabric is accompanied by the sound of your gasps. His breathing is harsh against your ears, causing a wetness between your legs you try to take no responsibility over. It is the sight of his chest, wide and thick when he rips his own shirt that makes your mouth water. Your hands reach out immediately, just as you always dreamed of. You run your palms over his muscles, memorizing every dip and sharp angle, as you press your open mouth to his neck. You suck on a spot, determined to leave a mark–any. It was desperation. One that was fed by fear. You feared this moment not lasting. You feared never again touching his skin, kissing him, holding him.

His own desperation was evident by his greedy hands. They way he seized your hips, to press his erection against you. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, and he digs his fingers into the supple flesh. He’s kissing you again, a clash of tongue of teeth; sloppy, and messy, a wetness on your chin he licks up before sucking on the spot. Zoro’s eyes take in the sight of the floor, as you kiss his chest. He moans when you bite down over a nipple, and he pulls on your hair.

“Stop that,” he hisses, pushing you back towards the benches. “Or I’ll fuck you on the floor.” It doesn’t sound unappealing to your ears, so you try to bite his other nipple but he is faster than you. He picks you up by the ass, forcing you to shout in surprise. Zoro carries you to the bench, and he sits down after placing you back on the ground.

You look down at him, and his naked chest. His pants are still on and you feel extremely exposed. Zoro had, in his efficacy, ripped every single article of clothing you had on. Leaving you naked, and heated. You scoff.

“So you get to keep your pants on?” you ask him, pointing with a frown. Zoro laughs at you, as he reaches into his trousers with one hand. He pulls out his hardened cock, and strokes it gently. There’s a lump in your throat, one with no name, so you swallow it quickly. The sight of his pink tip is enticing. He smears the precum over his slit with his thumb. You think it a shame, and almost tell him so but he’s speaking trying to get your attention.

“Pay attention,” he tells you with a raised brow, his hand settled now at the base of his cock. You raise a brow to match his. Zoro smiles, and pats his lap with his free hand. “Come here,” he commands you to move towards him, heart hammering away at the prospect. You had thought of this moment before. You had no shame admitting it now. You had thought often of how it would feel to have Zoro inside you, so deep you could feel like dying. It seems Zoro had other plans when you approach him as he spins you around by the hips. “This way. Your back to me.”

You swallow and sit on his lap, feeling his cock pressed against your ass. He kisses your shoulder, your neck as his hands roam over your thighs. There’s a slick coating your folds. You’re more aware of it the more he touches your skin. His breath is hot against your ear when he speaks again: “I’m going to spread your legs,” he tells you, and follows through quickly on his statement, spreading them by grabbing your thighs. You gasp, cool air touching your heated core. Zoro runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. He nips the top of it, teeth sharp and digging hard enough to leave an imprint. You feel yourself getting wetter.

“You’re wet,” he breathes out–a heated whisper, almost trembling. His fingers rifle through your folds, slickness covering his fingertips. Zoro presses his mouth against your ear, his eyes closing at the pleasure. It feels so silky and soft in his fingers. He craves more. “I’m going to make you cum,” he tells you, slipping one finger in slowly, one knuckle at a time. “I’m going to make you cum over and over again. I want to touch you everywhere, deep inside.” He slips in another finger when you moan, curving them in search of that spongy spot. His desire builds the wetter you get, the more you moan and whimper in his hold. His cock is hard, and it leaks again against your back. You feel it there sticking to your skin. “I want you,” he growls against your shoulder, as he picks up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside your squelching pussy. “I want you so badly. This isn’t enough.” His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, as he clamps down harder, leaving a mark on your skin. He kisses the blooming bruise, hand moving desperately as you clench around his fingers. The soft pad of his palm beats against your clit, his calluses eliciting a pleasure you never knew could be possible every time they brush over your sensitive nub.

He leans over you, his broad chest making you feel vulnerable and small. Your thighs are aching as he continues to push his fingers in and out of you. “Maybe another one,” he grunts in between pants, peering over your shoulder. He watches himself insert a third finger into your soaking pussy. You cry out, at the sensation of being stretched. He is watching himself work, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Sweat clings to his temple, and runs down his cheek. You’re doing your best to hold back, the fear of being heard keeps you from giving in entirely but the sight of him so enthralled with the way he’s beating into your pussy makes you want to fold. “Do you like it?” he asks you, panting against your ear. You whimper and bite down on your lip, almost drawing blood. “You’re so wet and so tight. I think you do,” he insists, licking your ear, and sucking on your earlobe quickly after. “But why are you holding back?” His mouth is flushed against your ear, his breath humid. “Are you scared they’ll hear you?”

Zoro chuckles lightly against your ear, picking up speed until it becomes a brutalizing pace. The sounds in crow’s nests are lewd enough to make you blush. You hear the wet sound of your pussy, the way you keep whimpering and gasping. Your body is shaking.

“Come on, babe,” he asks you in almost a whine. You gasp, and moan, surprised at the visceral reaction your body had to the sound of his soft voice. “Let me hear you. The real you. Or do I have to fuck you harder?”

The moon continues to hang high in the sky as he works his fingers inside you. Its beams scatter in the room, casting shadows over the side of your face, and over your breasts. He wishes he could see more than he does. He wishes he could memorize the sight of you, falling apart to his touch, and never forget it. The scent of your shampoo haunts him, so he scissors his fingers inside you in a desperate attempt to even the odds.

He kneads one breast with his free hand, squeezing its nipple between index and thumb. When you cry out, he gasps loudly against your ear, surprised at how much that turned him on. He wants to hear it again, again, and again; so he repeats the motion, twisting and pulling until you’re moaning and whimpering in his embrace. Your skin looks so soft under the moonlight. He brushes his lips over your neck and shoulders trying to taste you. It isn’t enough so he tries again, chasing the essence that makes you who you are. He nips at the flesh of your back as you bend over, a particular strong jolt of pleasure forcing your tummy to contract. No matter how many times he digs his teeth into your skin, until you’re covered in crescent shaped marks, he can’t seem to get his fill of you. You feel so good around his fingers, your arousal dripping down his wrist and his forearm.

Your orgasm catches him unaware, and he slows down his fingers, surprised at the loudness of your voice. He finds himself laughing against the hair above your ear, pleasure making him shiver. His fingers slow down slightly before he pulls them out entirely. “About time,” he whispers before he has you flip over to face him. He adjusts you on his lap, until you’re grinding your soaked pussy on his cock. “But we’re not done. I need more.” He brings your face to him, a hand on the back of your neck. The kiss is forced, mouth pressed tightly against yours. You whimper softly under its weight. Whatever tenderness that kiss held evaporates when his attention moves downwards to your breasts.

He sucks on your breasts, as he grips your hips. His fingers hold you so tightly you’re compelled to move them against his length. He leaves bites over the swell of your breasts, and the fire inside you continues to burn. You had stopped trying to hold it in, your moans cast into the shield of darkness like stars on the inky sky. Zoro seizes them with his mouth, teeth bearing down on them. He pins them to his body like decoration and seizes to find more, conquer another every time he nips at your sensitive nipples. You hold on to Zoro, desperation forcing you to dig your nails into his back. Every time he kisses your breasts you feel like melting, disappearing into the heat of his mouth.

Your hands reach out to his face, trembling. Your hips move still, the heat of Zoro’s hands keeping them steady. His eyes on your face send a shiver down your spine. Your breath feels so out of reach, as if you’ll never catch up to it, to place it back in your lungs. You trace over the angle of his cheekbones, try to memorize the sharpness of his jawline by going over it with one index finger. Although pleasure continues to build, you’re distracted by the sight of his ears. His earrings trap the light of the moon, and they blink repeatedly, little stars hanging from his earlobe; a mesmerizing sight that makes you want to make a wish. If you wished with all your heart, would it come true? If you wished for a dream, would it be fulfilled?

Your breath hitches, eyes glued to his swinging earrings. Their beautiful golden color is made all the more striking against his tanned skin. You touch them, fingers playing with them. Zoro takes your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist, the pool of your palm. He moves your hand to his chest, and presses it there. The feel of his heartbeat steals your breath. You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness, but Zoro is kissing you, taking your bottom lip into his mouth gently. You hold his face between your hands when he pulls away, feeling like you’re holding on to water. His hands are back on your hips. He lifts you up, as the fingers of one hand drifts to his earrings again. You brush your fingers against them, and they make a soft tinkling sound–a quick little song–as he buries his cock inside you.

It is better than you could have ever imagined. He fills you in an instant, provoking moan after moan to flood your mouth. Soft, and steady, you tell yourself, pressing your forehead against his. He lets you lead at first, his fingers tapping repeatedly against your hips. He’s counting, for who knows what, timing an entrance.

Zoro thinks he's finally lost his damn mind. He was determined to savor this moment—like an expensive whiskey, consumed in small sips, swirled around the tongue before swallowing, but you’re so wet, your arousal coats his belly, and sinks into his pants. You’re hot inside, fiery, and smooth. Every swirl of your hips reminds him of how desperately he wants to ram into you, again and again. He thinks about you clenching around his fingers as you moan against his mouth. He sets his jaw, trying to tighten his grip around his willpower but your pussy is even tighter. His breathing is ragged, he shakes his head, trying to cast off the sudden heat in his eyes making him see red.

But he can’t help it. He can’t fight it any longer.

“Okay,” he says against your neck as you continue to bounce on his cock at a slow pace. His hands are on your hips, they grip tighter. It should have been your warning but you’re so caught up in the feel of him, eyes shut as your face is turned to the ceiling, that you don’t realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry but I need to do it my way now.” He holds you still, and starts thrusting up into your pussy at a maddening speed. You cry out at the sudden change of pace, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. He hisses, but he doesn’t let up, selfishly chasing the high of your tight pussy.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, eyes shut tightly, as pleasure courses through your body.

Zoro laughs against your pulse. He sucks on it even as laughter rumbles in his chest. When he comes up for air he asks you: “Who’s that? Don’t know him.”

You laugh but it turns shrill, morphing into a cry of pleasure. Zoro feels you clench around him, faster and faster. He moans, and bites your chin. He picks up the speed, angles his hips with his eyes on your face, determined not to miss a single thing. When you cum, fall apart around him, he watches you with his mouth open–barely staving off his own orgasm. You fall into him, and he holds you, your body twitching in his embrace.

“No,” he says, pushing your back on the bench. You look up, eyes fluttering close, your body feeling heavy and sore. “A little bit more. I need just a bit more.” You shake your head, weakly pressing a hand to his chest. Zoro takes your hand, wraps the arm attached to it around his neck. “Don’t act weak with me. I know how strong you are. So just take it. You can take it.” He takes one of your legs and places it on top of the backrest of the benches, your ankle bumping into the wall. Zoro stares down at you, and you’re caught again–by the heat of his gaze. Dark green lashes fluttering under the moonlight, his swinging earrings blinking at you, his mouth parted, a flush on his cheeks. It all looks so divine, you think this a sight belonging to the gates of Heaven. You think you’re close to dying.

And death comes calling when he enters you again. You have nothing left inside you to fight it. You moan time and time again, with every brutish slam of his hips against yours. His balls sound loud and impossibly perverse every time they slap against your ass. There are bruises forming, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You hold on to him, wrap your arms tightly around him but he pushes you down, determined to watch your expression. You cling to his hips instead, the ones that keep pummeling into you, harshly, his cock ramming into your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He thinks the sight of your face, twisted in a mixture of pain and pleasure is the sharpest knife he has ever been cut open by.

Zoro staves off a cry of pleasure by diving in for a kiss, desperately sucking your tongue into his mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth. From his mouth, he hears stupid promises but his mind can’t believe it even through the haze of lust. He tries to take them back but he whispers into your ear again, soft and sweet things he wouldn’t dare speak in the light of the sun. You know he’s only saying this because he is not thinking straight, because like you, he is consumed by this burning lust. You know when a new moon comes, when this has waxed and waned, that he would forget the words uttered in a moment of madness.

He loves the way you feel, the way it’s so easy to kiss you. He loves the way your voice catches on his skin, slipping into the little cracks to stay forever. He hates it too. Hates how he thinks he’ll carry you always. Even in the light. Even in the dark. He thinks he should take it all back, the kisses, the words. He thinks this even buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around his length again. He thinks this even as he gasps and moans, cuming with you.

His body shudders as he spills inside you. You feel it start to ooze out of you, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the sudden flush of your face.

Zoro crumples over you, and covers you in kisses. Your hands are shaking as you seize his shoulders, trying to find the sense to speak about what just happened but he is gone the moment you grasp him. There are towels nearby, and he drapes one between your legs. He lowers himself over you, trapping your body between his arms. His mouth is still relentless, kissing your bruised lips over and over again. You see the moon caught in his earrings again, and you reach out for it.

Someone once told you, a dream was a wish you made on a star. Your fingers dance along his earrings. The gold blinks back at you–twinkling stars hanging from his ear. You wish, on all three, for the same dream.

You wish that maybe when the new moon comes, the pull it had on you two would bring you together time and time again.

#zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

71 notes · View notes

randxmthxughts · 2 years ago

Text

All For You - Neteyam x Ta'unui ! reader (enemies to lovers) - pt. 1

*Ta'unui is the Eastern Sea water clan that was attacked by Quaritch

masterlist

part 2

summary: When Quaritch attacks the Ta’unui water clan looking for Jake Sully, the clan’s Tsahik forces her younger sister, Y/N, to escape and seek refuge from the Metkayina clan. As Y/N deals with the trauma of losing her home, she discovers that she isn’t the only outlander in the village. She develops conflicted feelings for Neteyam but the tensions grow when Y/N finds out that Neteyam is the son of Jake Sully - the man she hates.

genres/tropes: angst, romance, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, slowburn

other pairings: Loak x Tsireya, Kiri x Ao’nung, platonic relationships (Y/N x Kiri x Tsireya, Y/N x Jake, Y/N x Neytiri)

warnings: war, mentions of blood, PTSD, trauma, survivor guilt, character near-death experience, slightly aged up neteyam, dialogues are supposed to be in na'vi, not english, lots of side eyes, braids swaying, and neteyam appearing out of nowhere like the batman lol

word count: 30,2k (ik this is insane)

a/n: i’m so sorry because this is so long but i spent about two weeks working on it night and day, and i have never been so hyper fixated on a character before. i would love for this not to flop bc otherwise i might feel a little dumb, so if you enjoy it, please spread some love :) i always go through the reblogs to see if anyone said anything in the tags, so…

the set up is a little slow but bear with me

____

It all happened in a blur. You always believed that in a time of danger, you would be skilled and strong enough to protect your clan. But as you watched the sky demons, disguised as Na’vi, pointing their weapons at your people and burning your homes, you felt like a useless coward. If it wasn’t for your sister’s, Tsahik’s, quick thinking of causing a distraction and pushing you into the water, you would have been dead by now. She sacrificed herself for you to live.

You can’t make out how much time has passed since you finally made it to the unfamiliar reefs, as you collapsed on the sand, breathless and disoriented. You could only hope that you reached the correct destination: the Awa’atlu village. The distant sounds of horns announced your arrival, and strangers started to surround you in a circle. When the Olo’eyktan approached you, you managed to summon the rest of your strength to stand up and greet him.

You’re weak, and judging by his face, you’re sure that the explanation you give him is too vague. You hope that despite your mumbling, he understands that you were asking for refuge to escape from the sky demons. As the villagers around you start whispering, the only thing that comes to your mind clearly is “Jake Sully.” They killed your people, set your village on fire, shot your ilus... All because of Jake Sully.

“Jake Sully,” you repeat in a low whisper, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

“Where is your ilu, child? Did you swim here by yourself?” Olo'eyktan asks, examining you with a hint of worry.

You wince at the mention of your ilu, the painful memory of its death still too fresh. It seemed unfair that you weren’t fast enough to save both of you. You had underestimated the demons, thinking you were too far away when a bullet suddenly pierced through your companion, acute pain reaching you simultaneously through the bond. You ilu did its best to swim through, bringing you to safety before you felt its body sink underneath you with a final shriek. Yet you couldn’t even mourn.

You were still in the open water, alone, unsure of where to head. You screamed as you pulled yourself together and started to swim, pushing through exhaustion and soreness in your muscles. You couldn’t afford to stop until you reached the unfamiliar land. You owed your sister to survive this.

“They killed my ilu,” a sob escapes your throat, your knees suddenly going weak.

“Easy there,” you hear a low voice beside you, as a pair of warm hands snake around your waist, supporting you to stand on your feet. You glance down at the hands, and realize that they are different. Blue-skinned.

“She needs to rest. She must have been swimming for hours,” Tsahik steps out, “What clan do you belong to, child?”

“Ta'unui.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Your first night in Awa’atlu, you’re too weak to get out of bed. The Tsahik had placed you in a small empty marui, close to hers, so she could easily check on you. In moments of consciousness, you catch glimpses of people and snippets of conversations. When they ask you questions about your arrival, you can only answer by nodding and shaking your head.

Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina clan, says that you could have died out in the open water. She thinks it’s a miracle, and whispers prayers to Eywa while massaging your muscles with various balms. You can’t protest really, even when the balms start stinging and making your muscles clench and burn.

Tsireya, the daughter of the Tsahik, always remains by her mother's side, carefully observing her actions, and joining her in prayer. You guess that she is the tsakarem. Watching Tsireya reminds you of the time when your sister was a tsakarem, following your grandmother around to learn from her.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On the second day, you feel better. You gradually regain consciousness and start to move your limbs. Despite the pain and the slowness of your movements, you feel the life return back to your body. Tsireya stays with you even after her mother leaves.

“Are you feeling better, Y/N?” Tsireya perks up at your movement.

“Yes,” you’re surprised by the hoarseness in your voice.

“Don’t worry, your voice will be back to normal soon,” Tsireya finds your reaction amusing.

You’re not a big talker but Tsireya is a pleasant company. You don’t feel pressured to react or reply, as she talks to you about her village and her clan. You can see how hard she tries to keep you distracted from the pain.

“You'll be just fine here. There is even a family of forest Na’vi who joined our clan a while ago,” she says, “You can imagine how difficult it was for them to learn everything from scratch! Oh, but they were so determined!”

Your ears involuntarily perk up, as you listen to Tsireya’s story. It’s really the first thing she tells you that intrigues you. Encouraged by your interest, Tsireya continues.

“You will recognize them right away. They are blue,” she giggles, covering her mouth, “But they have been accepted and are a part of the Metkayina now. I am very happy they’re here.”

A faint memory of blue-skinned hands supporting you reappears.

“When I arrived… Was it a forester who caught me?” you ask.

“That’s right! Neteyam,” Tsireya nods, “He is the oldest son. You might have hurt yourself if he didn’t catch you in time.”

“Neteyam” you repeat to yourself.

Tsireya tells you just a little more about the foresters, until her brother Ao’nung fetches her back home.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On your third morning of isolation, Tsireya visits you with a girl, who seems to be around her age. It’s not hard to guess that she is a forest Na’vi, her blue skin and yellow eyes giving it away immediately. But there’s something else you notice about her: she has an extra finger on each of her hands. You think back on the demons that had five fingers, and feel a shiver run down your spine. When she notices you staring at her, she hides her hands behind her back.

“This is Kiri, Kiri this is Y/N,” Tsireya introduces you with a smile, “Kiri is from the forest. Remember I told you about the family?”

Kiri doesn’t seem to be as talkative as Tsireya, perhaps even a bit shy. You greet each other but she keeps her distance, clearly still uncomfortable around you. Despite her similarity with the sky demons, you feel like you can trust her. Kiri is strangely beautiful, not like your sister or Tsireya, but there’s something about her that fascinates you. You’ve never really seen a forester up close before, so…

“Is your voice back?” Tsireya grabs your attention, kneeling next to you.

“I think so,” you breathe out, “It’s getting there.”

“Oh, it has gotten much better! I can’t wait to hear it, once you’re fully well. I bet you have a great singing voice,” she beams, and Kiri lets out a chuckle. You can’t help but smile at that.

It takes some time for Kiri to warm up to you. With the Tsahik’s approval, Tsireya took over today’s checkup on you. She knows the order of the balms by heart and works in confidence, while Kiri watches. From time to time, Kiri gives her a recommendation, and Tsireya gladly engages.

“Were you a tsakarem as well?” you ask Kiri.

“I used to be. My grandmother is the Tsahik of Omatikaya,” Kiri sighs with slight disappointment.

“And since you moved here, you can’t do that anymore?” you continue logically. She nods.

“My grandmother had to find somebody else to replace me, right before we left.”

You notice how Tsireya throws a sad look at her but Kiri only reacts with a forced smile. She doesn’t like to be pitied.

“Actually, Kiri’s doing better than all of us,” Tsireya suddenly adds with a proud smile, “Kiri has a special connection with the Great Mother.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Kiri protests but Tsireya shakes her head, disagreeing.

“When we were out swimming the other day, we suddenly lost Kiri. We were looking for her for hours and found her asleep at the very bottom. Even the most skilled Metkayina swimmers can’t stay in the water with no air for so long!” Tsireya articulates with her hands to convince you, “And she was completely fine. Oh! And Kiri can also make fish follow her, it’s so funny!”

Tsireya giggles recalling the memory, and for the first time, Kiri joins her.

“You have to show me, I’ve never seen anything like that,” you smile.

“We’ll go together this evening. I know you’ll be fully recovered by then,” Tsireya excitedly claps her hands. Kiri only nods.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Tsireya was right. By the evening, you have confirmation from Ronal, and you’re free to explore the village with her daughter as your guide. You find that while Awa’atlu is not similar to your village, it’s also not too different. But the water around the island seems calmer than what you are used to. It makes you slightly anxious.

Tsireya tries very hard to make you feel at home. She introduces you to everyone on your way, including her brother’s friends. Among them, you notice another forester who doesn’t stare at you like the locals do. Even when you catch his gaze, he doesn't seem overly curious. Just like Kiri, keeping his distance.

That’s Lo’ak, Tsireya reminds you, the third forest-child. It takes a fool not to catch on the chemistry between her and Lo’ak. The way she talks to him almost makes your teeth hurt, while he gets shy every time he is caught staring at her. But they seem to pretend to be just friends in a social setting.

Now joined by Ao’nung, his friends and Kiri, you all go swimming together. Tsireya and Kiri walk protectively next to you, with the boys ahead.

“Let’s see if you can swim faster than Lo’ak,” Ao'nung teases you, his friends laughing. Lo’ak playfully hits him in the arm.

“She’s from a water clan, you skxawng,” Kiri comes to your defense, and you have to suppress a smile.

“I didn’t mean to anger you, oh daughter of Eywa,” Ao'nung continues to tease, pretending to kneel in front of Kiri, “Please have mercy on me!”

Kiri rolls her eyes, and shoves him, as she walks ahead. You catch Ao'nung watching after her, and exchange a knowing smile with Tsireya.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Swimming helps you regain strength in your body and in your mind. Just the way you noticed, the water here was calmer than back home, relaxing the soreness out of your muscles. This was going to be your new home. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad.

Surprisingly, the boys’ teasing doesn’t bother you. While Kiri jumps to your defense ever so often, you think it was more of a distraction than anything else to you. As the sun starts setting, you float on your back, watching the sky, the painful memories slipping away. Your moment of peace is interrupted by shouting coming from the shore. Your ears perk up at the sound of your name, and with a hope that it might be someone from your village, coming back for you, you quickly turn to look. But it’s not. Instead, you see a tall blue-skinned Na’vi, waving you over.

“Y/N! Tonowari wants to see you!” he shouts again.

“It’s Neteyam, come on,” Tsireya passes by you, swimming to the shoreline. You follow her.

Once closer, you can see Neteyam more clearly. He greets both of you with a warm smile, his intricately braided hair swaying around, as he moves.

“Father wants to see Y/N?” Tsireya asks, as she gathers her long hair to squeeze out the water.

“I saw him on my way over here,” he says, his soft gaze lingering on you, “He wanted me to get the ‘new girl’ to talk to him.”

Unlike his brother, Neteyam seems to be more intrigued by your presence, his gaze sweeping over your features, one by one, as if trying to memorize them. While it’s not as intrusive as others’ staring, you find his attention to be way too forward. You protectively cross your arms on your chest.

“I’m Neteyam, by the way,” he offers you a formal greeting, that you’re forced to reciprocate.

“Y/N.”

“I guessed so,” he chuckles, like it’s the most obvious thing you could have said, “Everyone knows about you.”

Tsireya interrupts your exchange by gently pulling you by your wrist.

“Come, Y/N, I’ll walk you to our home,” she smiles, then throws a look over her shoulder, “By the way, Lo’ak is currently getting talked to into sneaking out at night to swim with Payakan.”

You see Neteyam’s face change, as his warm smile gives way to anger, and he turns on his heel, heading towards the water.

“Lo’ak!” you hear him shout before diving in. Tsireya giggles beside you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you first sit down in front of Tonowari, you can’t help but feel dwarfed by his intimidating presence. So you’re grateful when Tsireya asks if she can stay in the room with you. Tonowari’s gaze softens, unable to deny his daughter, and Tsireya gives you a reassuring smile before blending into the shadows.

You’re not surprised that he wanted to talk to you. Sure, he was aware of what had happened from your first interaction, and from Ronal, who gathered more information while you were under her care, but he wanted to clarify every detail. You take a deep breath and begin to recount everything.

Tonowari rarely interrupts you to ask questions but for the most part he simply listens with unwavering attention. You see his expression change from understanding to concerned, the more he hears.

“Was there any warning to their attack?” he frowns.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, trying to get rid of the painful memories, “My theory is… whoever they were looking for, our village was the first one to suffer. We heard nothing from the neighboring clans, so I’m guessing it’s only because we are on the very eastern coast.”

“You think they’re moving from east to west?” he asks. You nod.

“It’s why I came here, really. I think your village is quite far from ours.”

Tonowari hums, deep in thought. You sit in silence for a while, another reason nagging at you. You’re not sure if you need to tell him this but you do.

“And because I used to hear about your village. My sister and I lost my mother when we were kids but we knew that she wasn’t a local back home,” you hesitate before continuing, “My sister thinks she would have relatives from here.”

“It’s not impossible,” Tonowari nods his head, “We heard many stories of Na’vi from different clans mating and moving across the islands. We might even find someone from your mother’s family.”

You hear Tsireya’s soft gasp, clearly the thought of it appearing more intriguing to her than to you. You nod to express gratitude but you’re not really sure you want to meet anyone. It’s always been just you and your sister, no one can replace her.

“And you said they were looking for him, huh?”

“Jake Sully? Yes, he’s the reason they attacked us,” you answer, feeling your face flush with anger, “They had weapons, and were shooting anyone who resisted or tried to run. Then they started to burn our homes, repeating his name over and over again. There was also a human kid with them who translated.”

Tonowari’s face falls so suddenly, you would have thought that he has been hiding Jake Sully himself this whole time. You hope that wherever that man is, the sky demons find him before they can reach you. Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Tonowari notices and leans in.

“Don’t worry, child. We do not want war, but if they come here, we will be protecting our land and our Na’vi. Including you,” he hesitates before patting your head, “You’re one of us now.”

You lean into his touch, allowing him to slightly mess up your hair.

“For now, let’s keep this to ourselves, so that there is no panic. I have to think.”

You take that as a signal to stand up, and quickly wipe your eyes before Tsireya can see.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That night you can’t seem to fall asleep. It feels lonely in your marui, and you start considering asking to be moved to a more crowded location. You turn on your mat a few times before catching a movement of two shadows on the other side of the wall. You sit up alerted, looking out. Eventually voices catch your ear.

“Lo’ak, if you don’t come back right now, I will wake up dad,” somebody whispers.

“He doesn’t care anyway, he’ll only get mad at his favorite,” you hear Lo’ak, and see one of the two shadows disappear.

The other shadow stands still, still in front of your wall. You don’t have to guess that it’s probably his brother Neteyam, whom you met earlier.

“Psst,” you hear his voice, his shadow moving.

And again. He moves closer to the entrance of your marui, as you stare in silence. What does he want?

“Y/N? Are you asleep?” you hear his very apparent accent.

“What?”

Your glance falls to his figure now leaning against the entrance to your room. He gives you a sheepish smile.

“What do you want?” you squint to make out his features. His eyes and freckles glow in the dark and you notice his ears perk up, as if he’s excited.

“It’s Neteyam,” he gestures to himself.

“I know,” you’re annoyed. You know who he is, does he think you can’t see him?

“Oh, right. I just didn’t want to scare you, so I…”

“Starting with ‘psst” certainly didn’t help,” you bite, “Shouldn’t you be checking on your brother anyway?”

“Technically, I can’t do anything except wait. Then, if it gets suspiciously long, I follow him,” he grins like it’s the funniest thing.

You stare at him quietly, wondering what he's doing in your room, in the middle of the night. Neteyam shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.

“Uh, right. Sorry if we woke you up,” he scratches his head, “I was going to check on you anyway, just didn’t mean to at this hour.”

“Why would you check on me?” you frown.

“I thought you might like someone to talk to you, about moving and stuff.”

“I can talk about it to Tsireya, I’m fine.”

“I know, she’s nice,” Neteyam crouches down, to bring himself on your eye level. He looks embarrassed, “But she thought it would be a good idea for me to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re both new here. You see, my family and I moved here a few months ago -”

“I know,” you interrupt him.

“And I get what you’re going through.”

This frustrates you. According to Tsireya, Neteyam is the son of the sixth Toruk Makto. She didn’t tell you much but they left their clan on their own, they wanted a fresh start. As far as you can tell, you and him had nothing in common. You were forced out of your home and had to give up on your life without a choice. How can he get what you’re going through? He has a family. You have no one.

“Just because we’re both outlanders doesn’t mean that you have to pretend to relate to me, Neteyam. We’re not the same,” it comes out more aggressive than you intended. You notice his ears lower, along with his gaze, “I don’t need a forest boy teaching me the way of water. You’re not my savior.”

Neteyam’s face falls, like you hit a cord with your words. But he didn’t mean to offend you, he only meant good. From the moment he saw you, he thought he recognized something familiar in your expression: longing for home. So when Tsireya suggested one of the foresters befriending you, he thought that you would easily get along. Right now, though, this seemed like a horrible idea.

“Not trying to be a savior, just a friend,” he mumbles, standing up, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You scoff, as Neteyam walks out without a glance back.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The morning is disturbed by the loud sounds of horns, announcing something important. You quickly walk out of your marui to find groups of Na’vi heading towards the center of the village. Tsireya told you that it’s where her father calls for meetings. When you spot Kiri, moving along, you join her. She’s holding hands with a kid.

“Hey, Y/N, this is Tuktirey,” Kiri gestures.

“Tuk,” the kid corrects with a smile and greets you.

“Nice to meet you,Tuk,” you smile back. Judging by her skin, you guess that Tuk belongs to the family of foresters.

“So, should I be worried?” you ask Kiri, motioning to the Na’vi in front of you. It’s really a little crowded for your liking.

“Not sure,” she admits, “These announcements confuse me, I can’t tell when it’s good or bad thing. Often it’s nothing bad though, don’t worry.”

Despite Kiri’s reassurance, you approach the center with a feeling of worry. The feeling in your gut is confirmed as soon as you catch a glimpse of Tsireya with a troubled look on her face. You notice her holding someone’s hand. Blue, five fingers. You can’t see him but you’re sure it’s Lo’ak. When she meets your eye, you mouth to her.

“Is it bad?”

She shakes her head in disappointment. It’s very bad, you think.

When Tonowari clears his throat and steps into the center, everyone falls silent. He keeps it brief, retelling about the attack of the demons on your village. Tonowari suspects that it’s only a matter of time before the sky demons attack again, so everyone must be prepared. It is now prohibited to be alone in unsafe areas, going out in the open water, or too deep into the trees.

You feel knots forming in your stomach, when panicked questions pour on him.

“The Metkayina needs to be prepared for any outcome, even war,” Tonowari raises his voice again, “Start proofing armors, repair your weapons. Always be on the lookout.”

“This is crazy,” Kiri whispers to you, “I can’t believe that we escaped here to live in fear again.”

It confuses you. You knew that her family moved to live with Metkayina but Tsireya didn’t tell you why. It is bizarre now that you remember that Kiri’s father is Toruk Makto. Why would he leave his home? You make a mental note to question her about it once you’re alone.

“Kiri, are we going to leave again?” Tuk tugs at her sister with a sniff.

“Mawey, Tuk,” a gentle voice replies instead, as a hand slips around Tuk, caressing her cheeks, “Tuk, Tuk, Tuk.”

Your eyes follow. It’s a tall beautiful woman with bright yellow eyes. You can’t shake off the feeling of how familiar she looks.

“My mom,” Kiri says to you, “Neytiri.”

Right. She looks very similar to Neteyam. Neytiri’s eyes flicker to you, and she graces you with a smile. You bow to greet her.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Once dismissed, you and Kiri fall into the same pace. You don’t talk but you instinctively follow her to the beach, where a group was seated, working on their weapons. Tsireya, Lo’ak, Neteyam, Ao'nung, and Ao'nung’s friend Roxto. You and Kiri sit with them, closing the circle. Sensing that the silence is caused by the same reason you’re feeling anxious, you follow their example and take out your knife. You didn’t have a polishing rock like the others, so instead you focus on reattaching the loosened up string to the handle. You feel Neteyam’s watching you but once you catch him, he looks away.

Kiri meddles with her belt, deep in her thoughts, and you can tell she’s just as anxious as you are.

“Okay, I’m going to say what I think,” Kiri breaks the silence, grabbing everyone’s attention, “This is not good, right? There’s something else they’re not telling us.”

Tsireya’s eyes snap to you but both of you remain quiet.

“No shit, Kiri,” Lo’ak mocks her.

“Shut up, skxawng,” she reaches forward to slap him.

“Hey, you two,” Neteyam gently pushes Kiri away from his brother.

You notice how the younger siblings shoot him an annoyed look but calm down anyway. Last night, Neteyam didn’t seem to hold much power over Lo’ak but right now it appeared that he had some sort of authority. It’s like the possibility of danger made the dynamic between them shift.

“Nothing’s going to happen, they’re probably lying so that the youngsters stop sneaking out to the forest at night,” Roxto breaks the silence with a snort, then looks at you for support, “Come on, if it was that serious we would be probably doing much more right now.”

There’s some truth to his words, you think. Tonowari did not even come close to explaining how dangerous it could get. Taking measures, like staying within the perimeters of the islans, is hardly something that would keep you safe. Deep in your thought, you continue tightening the string. Neteyam shoots you another glance, and when you look back up, he pushes his polishing stone towards you. You nod at him in appreciation, as you take the tool.

“It’s because of your conversation yesterday with my father, right?” Ao'nung suddenly asks, turning to you. Tsireya tsks at her brother but you sense it is too late.

“Y/N? What do you know?” Kiri adds, concerned.

You sigh, feeling their eyes on you, examining your every small movement. You can almost hear Tsireya’s quiet gasp, as you open your mouth to answer.

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, so keep it to yourself… It’s bad. The demons had many powerful weapons, it took them minutes to burn down my whole village. I don’t know how strong the defense can even be to keep them away. It’s going to be an unfair fight.”

“What do they want? The islands?” Ao'nung pushes for more information.

“They’re looking for a man, who they think is hiding in a water clan,” you answer, noticing how everyone’s ears perk up.

“Do you know who he is?” Lo’ak asks.

“Lo’ak, don’t -” Tsireya tries to interrupt him.

“His name is Jake Sully,” your voice turns with anger, “I’m not sure what he did to them but they were set on killing him. And killing anyone who’s protecting him.”

Dead silence hangs over you, and you suspect that there’s something they’re not telling you. The forest-siblings hang their heads, and you notice Tsireya squeezing Lo’ak’s hand.

“Wait, so they’re looking for your dad,” Roxto turns to Kiri, “They’re looking for you.”

“Your dad?” you turn to Kiri, “Is Jake Sully your dad?”

Kiri nods, almost ashamed. You feel your throat hurt, as realization washes over you. You escaped exactly where Jake Sully was. It was his kids now sitting in front of you, in their new home, enjoying their care-free life, while your village was burned down to the ground.

“It’s your dad!” you feel anger escalating. You stand up, “I’ve lost everything because of him! The demons thought we were hiding him but he was here all this time!”

“Y/N, it’s the demons’ fault,” Tsireya stands up too, trying to calm you down, “He only wanted to keep his family safe, he doesn’t want war.”

“We didn’t want war either, but here we are,” you throw your hands in the air, feeling your body shake out of resentment.

“My father has done nothing wrong,” Neteyam stands up as well, his voice low.

“Your father is wrong for hiding here, while the other clans are at risk of being wiped out!” you’re so frustrated, you wish this was a joke they were playing on you.

But why isn’t anyone agreeing with you? You look at their faces for support but no one dares to speak. Lo’ak keeps his head hanging, and Kiri storms off without a word. A chuckle of disbelief escapes from your lips.

“I guess the great Toruk Makto isn’t that great after all,” you throw bitterly. Neteyam clenches his jaw.

“Y/N, don’t say that. He just wants peace,” Tsireya starts again.

“We all want peace!” you protest.

“You think it’s so easy, huh? You think he’s hiding?” Neteyam raises his voice at you, “He’s not to blame for their vengeance!”

You hiss at him, more angered. How dare he protect the man who caused all of the chaos? How can they ignore the fact that soon enough they will be losing their homes just like you did?

“It is easy!” you hiss again, “Let him go out there and face them alone, before they burn down this village too!”

“That’s unfair, I’m not losing my dad,” he growls.

“I lost my home!”

You’re not sure how things escalate this quickly but one second you’re at a distance growling at each other, and in another instance you lunge at him, catching him off guard. Neteyam falls on his back, as you hold him down with your legs but he’s quick enough to catch your arms before you can even touch him. You hear concerned voices in the background but your only focus is punching him.

The two of you snarl, and as you struggle to free your arms from his grip, he flips you over. Your back hits the ground with a sharp pain but it gives you just enough room to kick him in the gut. Neteyam winces in pain, yet quickly regains his composure by pinning you down, this time paying special attention to having your knees locked together.

“Skxawng,” you let out, frustrated.

He doesn’t hit you back but he does just enough to stop you from moving, his skin feeling hot against yours.

“Dude, dude,” Lo’ak runs up to him, putting his arms over his shoulders, “Get off her.”

“Not unless she calms down,” Neteyam hisses, completely unaware of the group of adults headed towards the two of you. You try to move but he pins you down again.

You catch a glimpse of Roxto and Ao'nung chuckling at the fight, while Tsireya covers her mouth in concern. Then, you spot Neytiri.

“Neteyam!” she shouts. Neteyam pauses at the sound of her voice, ears perking up.

“Shit,” Lo’ak whispers, backing away, “Neteyam, get off.”

“That’s right, get off me, you skxawng,” you say, humiliated by the position he put you in.

Defeated and angry, Neteyam shoots you a quick look, before finally releasing you from his grip. You huff out of frustration, as you sit up, trying to recover your breath. By the time Neytiri approaches the scene, Neteyam’s already standing with his head hanging low. Lo’ak stands a little behind, as if to avoid the confusion of who’s at fault.

Neytiri’s eyes run you up and down, then examine her sons, as if trying to piece together what happened. She remains quiet, before kneeling down in front of you, and taking your hand in hers. You’re all surprised by her gentle demeanor.

“Are you hurt?” she asks you, lifting your arm to examine it. Then moves to get a look at your back.

“I’m good,” you shake your head, freeing yourself from her grasp.

“Neteyam,” Neytiri stands up, now turning to her son, anger evident in her voice, “Apologize. Now.”

“Mom, they were just joking,” Lo’ak tries to tone down the situation but she shuts him up by raising her hand.

Without a second of hesitation, Neteyam nods and meets your eyes, before saying loudly for everyone to hear.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you hiss, annoyed.

“Mother, can we go now?” Lo’ak asks.

Neytiri nods, and three of them walk away. Soon enough, you can hear her scolding her oldest son. Tsireya runs up to you, helping you up to your feet.

“Y/N, are you hurt? You just recovered!” she sounds genuinely upset.

“I’m not hurt, he didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about that. I didn’t know,” she lowers her eyes to the ground, “Not until the talk you had with my father.”

“I know, I don’t blame you,” you sigh, “But why would you send him to talk to me?”

“I thought he could help,” she explains, hoping you’d understand, “Lo’ak is not talkative, and Kiri’s hasn’t been taking the change very well. Neteyam’s the only one who likes it here. So I thought he’d be the best to talk to.”

You nod. She makes a good point. But his whole attitude, the pretentious novelty, it pisses you off. Acting tough and proper when his mother is around, but in reality, selfish. He doesn’t care that you’ve lost everything because of his father. He has a new home he likes. And siblings, and parents... You feel jealous.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You are a good hunter. You have a good aim, and you’re fast. You used to think that you would be a good asset in danger but the way you froze, when you were attacked by the demons, makes you hesitant. What if that happens again? What if you come face-to-face with them and freeze?

The air outside of your room is refreshingly cold. You watch the dark sky hang over the sleepy Awa’atlu. In an attempt to clear your head, you start wandering around the village, eventually stopping at the terrace blending into the beach. Your ears perk up at faint voices, and as your eyes follow, you find two Na’vi by the water, oblivious to your presence. It looks like they are pretending to wrestle each other, letting out occasional laughs. You recall your earlier not-so-pretend fight with Neteyam and sigh out of frustration, taking a seat on the grass.

As one throws the other one to the ground, you think you recognize Neteyam. He laughs, swaying his hair, then gives a hand to help out his companion to his feet. The other Na’vi is taller than him, with broader shoulder, longer hair. Your breath catches in your throat, as you guess who that might be.

“Yeah, that’s him,” you hear a confirmation, and almost jump up.

Lo’ak is standing next to you, his gaze forward.

“Jake Sully?”

“My dad,” he confirms again.

You turn your attention back to the two Na’vi wrestling, and you watch them for a moment. Eventually, Lo’ak sits down next to you.

“Neteyam’s his favorite,” he says, “He’s the perfect son. The mighty warrior.”

“The mighty warrior?” you repeat.

“He likes to call himself that,” Lo’ak explains, “To piss me off.”

“Does it work?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “It pisses me off.”

“Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” you turn to face to him.

“Why aren’t you?” he asks in return, “You’re angry at Neteyam but not at me.”

You pause. You’re not really sure why Lo’ak joining you didn’t frustrate you, the way Neteyam’s presence would. Maybe it’s because Lo’ak seemed guilty earlier. He didn’t stand up for his dad, so there must be something both of you agree on.

“He pisses me off too,” you answer, turning your gaze back to Neteyam in the distance, “I don’t like when people pretend to care. Because once something threatens their peace, they really show how they don’t give a crap about you.”

“Neteyam doesn’t pretend about caring,” Lo’ak disagrees, “Sure, he pretends all the time but not when it comes to caring. He cares.”

“Not about me anyway,” you scoff.

Lo’ak falls silent. You got him there, you had a point. Thoughts race through your mind, as you try to comprehend what to make of this. Perhaps you judged too quickly, not knowing the whole story. What if it was your sister? Would you be willing to put at risk the peace of your village to protect her? No, that would never happen. She would face the enemy herself, not even letting you have a say in the matter.

“My father is not a bad guy,” Lo’ak interrupts your thoughts, “I’m not saying that he does everything right but… we’re all he got.”

You don’t react. You don’t really want to hear him justify his dad, make him seem vulnerable.

“He turned down his whole life for my mom. Left everything he believed in behind because he wanted to be with her,” Lo’ak continues, “Even became one of us… He is one of us.”

“Is that why…” you instinctively glance at his fingers, and Lo’ak shifts, “Is it true? Tsireya said that Eywa blessed him.”

He nods. You let out a tired sigh. It’s exhausting to think about it. His father was blessed by Eywa, he is the Toruk Makto. Who are you to disagree with the Great Mother?

“I don’t know anymore,” you admit defeated, “I just don’t think it’s fair… that others get punished. More harm can be avoided.”

“I know,” Lo’ak agrees with you, “But the demons are stronger, they never give up. We woke up to war every day back home.”

You listen to him with curiosity. You don’t know much about their past life but you wonder if the war really was a constant in the forest.

“It’s why we moved, you know?” his voice hitches, “My father knew that they were never going to let us live peacefully, so we tried hiding here instead.”

You hum. You’re not sure if it’s the tiredness creeping up on you, or genuine empathy, but you feel sorry for Lo’ak. He seems to feel at fault for the consequences of his father’s choices. It’s almost like he speaks more to himself than to you. Justifies things to ease his heart.

“Seems like they’re done,” Lo’ak gets up, “I’m gonna go before dad catches me sneaking out.”

You force a small smile, as you watch Jake and Neteyam dust the sand off their bodies. It takes you a while to move from your spot, but not quickly enough, as Neteyam spots you from a distance. He keeps his eyes on you, and you can almost feel your blood boil.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

For the next few days, things change rapidly. You notice that everyone is busy with their chores, rushing, and preparing, the feeling of danger weighing down on them. Tonowari orders for the hunters and skilled fighters to divide into pairs, assigning them to guard the island every night. Divers work on protective armors for their ilus. There is a big shift in the air.

Speaking about these measures to Tsireya gives you an unsettling feeling. You don’t talk about the Sully’s to her, even though they’re constantly on your mind. You just can’t believe that Tonowari agrees to protect them.

Tsireya’s still hesitant to bring them up when you question her about her father’s plans, even though you’re well aware that Jake Sully actively participates in the matters of protection. She doesn’t know that it’s been keeping you up every night. To trust this man to protect you, when he is the reason for the attacks. His name alone forces painful visions of your sister and her mate, crouched down on the sand, with a weapon pointed at them.

“Have you talked to Kiri, since the…?” Tsireya starts hesitantly. You haven’t. It upsets you because in a short time, you had begun to see Kiri as a friend.

“Not really,” you hang your head, “I didn’t want to attack her, it’s just…”

“I’m sure she knows,” Tsireya nods, “She protects her father but she feels guilty too. When she heard about your fight with Neteyam, she kind of scolded him.”

Tsireya bites down on her lip, hiding a small smile. You can’t really help a smile stretching your lips too. You would have loved to see Neteyam getting scolded. Just the thought of it makes you feel a little better.

“I feel bad, it’s not her fault,” you admit.

“Maybe you two can talk it out?” Tsireya asks hopefully.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Unlike the other siblings, you’ve seen plenty of Lo’ak in the past few days. Mostly because you’re only hanging out with Tsireya, and, well, Lo’ak wants to be around her. It’s silly excuses, when they sneak away, leaving you alone. She even got in trouble for wandering with him around the guarded areas.

Lo’ak doesn’t make you feel awkward. The two of you don’t really talk but neither of you feels pressured to. You like to think that you and him reached some sort of understanding the other night. Partially, you feel bad for him for having Jake Sully for his father, and Neteyam, as his older brother. As a younger sister to Tsahik, you can relate to the pressure of always reaching for, yet never getting it all.

But when it comes to seeing Neteyam in the village... The angry looks that you exchange with him when passing each other just make your whole body ache. You barely hold yourself back from hissing at him. It’s bad. You already had not one, but two people you hated.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That evening, when you return to your marui, you’re surprised to find Kiri waiting for you. She stands up, as you approach, and the two of you look at each other for a moment before you pull her into a hug.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you, the other day,” you admit, pulling away from her, “It’s not your fault.”

“I get it,” she sighs, “If I were you, I’d be mad. I’m kind of mad now.”

While you dreaded this conversation, it goes quite smoothly with Kiri. You don’t feel judgment on her side for disagreeing with her father. You think it’s unfair that the only person who makes you feel less of an outsider has to be the daughter of Jake Sully.

“I feel angry because I can’t get used to the thought of just sitting here and waiting?” you finish on a higher note, hoping that she can relate, “Because while we’re here, the demons are killing innocent Na’vi. Village by village. It’s terrifying. I just wish I could do something to protect them.”

Kiri nods and stares off into the distance, deep in her thoughts. You can feel the guilt she beares on her shoulders but she fights it to protect her family. Suddenly, she turns her head, yellow eyes glistening, like she has the brightest solution.

“Y/N, how well do you know the islands?” she asks.

“Um, there are about hundreds of them but I know roughly where the settlements."

“So if we wanted to warn them about the intruders, do you think you would be able to map them out and guide us there?”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Now that you think about it, you feel like a fool for not figuring it out earlier. Why didn’t anyone?

Sure, news would travel between neighboring villages but you were forgetting that the Awa’atlu was on the very far ends of the islands. And, by the time the others were warned about the possible attacks, there would be nothing left.

When you and Kiri propose the idea of swimming to the islands, and first-hand warning their Olo’eyktans, Tonowari hesitates. Not many in his clan are familiar with the other settlements, especially within the Eastern reefs, and underestimating the time frames could cost him lives.

“We don’t have to warn everyone, just as many as we can,” you plead, “And what if we the close-located clans fight back in unions. Surely, they would respect your advice as the Olo'eyktan.”

“It worked when Toruk Makto did it,” Tonowari hums in agreement, “It would be difficult to unionize all of the islands but there is a better chance of surviving for smaller unions.”

“They at least deserve to know what’s coming, please,” you push further, and eventually gain an approving nod from him.

Quickly, small groups of the best Metkayina swimmers are formed to be assigned for the realization of the plan. While most of them are familiar with the neighboring islands, you’re the one mapping out the Eastern Sea settlements for them. And although Tonowari immediately turns down your offer of joining them, you feel slightly better for at least contributing.

You go over your roughly drawn map on the sand one more time with the final group of three Metkayina swimmers, your goal to ensure that they are aware of the safest paths to approach the villages. The group is gathered around you, listening carefully, and as you talk, you feel someone watching you from afar. It’s Neteyam. You take a moment to refocus before finding the track of your words again.

“Thank you, Y/N, we got it from here,” Sokxot, one of the swimmer says, when you finish up.

You stay to watch as they swim away on their ilus, in your mind, praying to Eywa to guide them safely to their destination. When you think you’re left alone, you’re surprised to find Neteyam here. You frown at him. What does he want? Intimidate you with his staring? You’re taken aback when he decides to approach you.

“Y/N,” his greets you with a calm voice, then points to the map you drew, “This was your idea?”

“Kiri’s,” you correct him.

“Still, you helped a lot,” Neteyam stares at the map, as if trying to memorize it. You roll your eyes at him.

“Guess I don’t like sitting and waiting for danger,”

“I really hope this makes a difference,” he says, sounding almost sincere.

You watch after him as he walks away, and let out a sigh. The two of you were too grown to act like kids.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On the third day since their departure, two groups of Metkayina swimmers return with updates. Tonowari immediately calls for a meeting, and it's revealed that a significant number of villages have already been warned of the impending danger. The warned clans also started sending out their own swimmers, forming a whole network between the hundreds of villages.

But more importantly, you had the first case of a union between three smaller clans on the Eastern islands that managed to prepare just in time for the attack. Taken aback by the preparedness of Na’vi, the sky demons suffered greatly in numbers. Of course, the clans had casualties, but they managed to force the enemy to back away, and keep their homes safe.

It's the first good news that the Metkayina have heard in weeks, and you can see the happiness on their faces. You feel a sense of satisfaction with what you've achieved, and even Tonowari can't help but sneak a smile as he urges everyone to remain careful and calm.

To celebrate your little victory, Tsireya invites you to swim with her and the rest of her friends somewhere special. You didn’t mind that the Sully’s, especially Neteyam, were joining. You thought you would ignore him and allow yourself to enjoy being a little carefree.

Tsireya takes you to a sacred place - the Cove of Ancestors, where you could express your gratitude to Eywa by the Spirit Tree. Mesmerized by the beauty of it all, you can’t stop looking around. And judging by the reaction of the Sully kids, it’s probably their first time here too. Tsireya excitedly watches your faces, when showing you the Spirit Tree from afar. Underneath the surface of water, its roots glow with unique undertones, breathing in and out.

“Tsireya, this is incredible,” you awe, as she gives you a giddy smile.

“Come,” she waves you over, disappearing under the water.

With Tsireya, Kiri, Lo’ak, and Ao’nung disappear too. Distracted by the sight around you, you fall a little behind, and find yourself not too far from Neteyam. He is not a bad swimmer but he is definitely slow compared to you.

You’re not really thinking about it, when you stay back to watch him. It’s almost entertaining how greedily his eyes take in the surroundings, seeming almost golden in this light. A smile tugs at your lips.

Your skin shivers, as a cool wind wraps around your body. Then you notice it. A single woodsprite appears in the air, flying around you and grazing your skin. You feel blessed to witness a sign of the Great Mother, but as you reach out to gently touch it, it moves away. Your smile fades, when the seed starts floating around Neteyam’s head. Is Eywa trying to tell you something? Maybe you were being too harsh with him.

With another blow of the wind, the woodsprite disappears, leaving Neteyam completely oblivious to what just happened. When he turns around and meets your gaze, your throat tightens. His expression is unreadable. What is he thinking?

“I should probably catch up with the rest,” you clear your throat.

Neteyam only nods, and as you swim past him, it almost seems like you catch a hint of disappointment on his face. You can’t be distracted by the sign right now.

When you reach the Tree and submerge, you find Tsireya, Lo’ak, and Ao'nung already linking their queues to the roots. Trying not to disturb them, you quietly swim to the opposite side, bringing out your queue. From the corner of your eye, you spot Neteyam but you decide to ignore him.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Words cannot describe how healed you feel, when you open your eyes. As if your inner and outer worlds have finally merged again, making you whole. With a smile, you swim up to the surface to reunite with the rest of the group, ready to share your happiness, when you notice troubled expressions on their faces.

“Did anyone see Kiri before we came here?” Lo’ak asks, and everyone shakes their heads, “Shit, Neteyam.”

“She said she’d swim a bit more before joining us by the Tree,” Tsireya replies.

“Alright, everyone, let’s divide and start looking for her,” Neteyam orders, calling out to his ilu.

It doesn’t take much convincing, as quickly, one by one, all of you get on your ilus and disperse.

Tsireya’s story about Kiri falling asleep in the water resurfaces in your mind. It happened before, right? Kiri is probably fine, you try to convince yourself, but you can’t help the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

As you swim up for a breath, you take a deep dive again, determined to search for Kiri in the depths of the water. Silent prayers to Eywa express your gratitude, when your gaze is drawn to a small figure hidden between tall leaves. Your heart skips a beat as you realize what you are seeing: Kiri's whole body is glowing with an otherworldly light. In all your years, you have never seen anything quite like it.

Noticing that she has begun to violently shake, you quickly swim to Kiri, and gently pull her queue away, forcing her body to go limp. Desperately, you try to get her out of the leaves, but it seems that the harder you try, the tighter they grip her limbs.

Your mind starts racing, and panic begins to set in, when you suddenly see a pair of hands cutting down the leaves around Kiri's body with a small knife. Right, a knife! You take out yours and start helping. With the last of the leaves cut, Kiri's body begins to float upwards. Neteyam quickly wraps his arm around her middle, and signals for you to follow, as he places her on his ilu and swims to the surface.

You race after him, your heart pounding in your chest. As you break the surface, Neteyam’s already positioning Kiri’s body on a flat rock, gently shaking her. You join him, noting how calm and collected he seems.

“Neteyam, there’s something wrong. She was still linked and shaking, when I found her,” your voice breaks.

“Shit,” he curses, and checks for Kiri’s breath.

You watch as he starts performing something strange: Neteyam breathes air into Kiri’s mouth, then starts counting as he presses down on her chest in an unfamiliar rhythm. A wave of fear washes over you, when you notice his hands start shaking.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Neteyam curses again, “Help me, please.”

“I don’t know what to do, Neteyam,” you panic, “She’s not breathing!”

“When I stop pressing, just try to breathe out as much air as you can into her mouth,” he orders, and continues counting.

“Alright, alright,” you try to calm yourself down.

You do your best following his instructions, and it seems to put him back on track too. But as time drags on, and Kiri still doesn't respond, both of you begin to feel a sense of despair.

Just as you're about to give up hope, Kiri moves weakly beneath you, and finally takes a breath on her own. You let out a sigh of relief, tears streaming down your face.

“It worked,” Neteyam’s eyes glisten, as he checks for her breathing.

"We need to take her to Tsahik, right now," you breathe out, and he nods.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything afterwards happens in a blur of confusion. Your heart races, as you nervously pace around Tsahik’s marui, where Kiri is getting examined by a group of strangers: a Na’vi wearing human clothes, and two sky people who arrived on a flying ship. Jake and Neteyam are with them in the room, talking and talking, but you can’t quite understand.

There is a tension in the air when Neytiri returns with Ronal. She raises her voice at them, and before you can even begin to wonder what's going on, the men exit the marui, leaving the women alone. You catch a glimpse of Jake as he passes by you, and for a moment, you feel struck by his presence.

He looks tired and scared, like he has been suffering for a long time now. You recall your conversation with Lo’ak. While in your mind you are convinced that he is the bad guy, seeing him in this state makes you feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

“You don’t have to wait,” Neteyam pulls you out of your thoughts. His words are not necessarily ill-intended, but you still feel out of place.

“I want to make sure she’s alright,” you explain. Neteyam only nods, “What are they saying?”

He falls silent, as if contemplating whether he needs to reveal to you whatever he knows.

“She’s going to be better, right?” your voice hitches.

“Hey, hey,” he crouches down next to you, “Of course, she will. Kiri is very strong.”

It’s only a second of vulnerability showing on his side, before the usual mask slips back onto his face, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. At all. Both of your attentions are quickly drawn back to the marui, when Ronal steps out. Jake rushes to her side, with Neteyam and you close on his heels.

“She is weak but the Great Mother granted her another chance,” Ronal answers, “Now, she needs her rest.”

“Thank you,” Jake expresses with sincerity in his voice, before disappearing into the marui. From the inside, you hear soft sobs. Neteyam hesitates to take a step, glancing back at you.

“Go in, see for yourself,” you encourage him, and he complies.

At the risk of interrupting their family moment, you sit down slightly far from the marui, waiting. You’re not sure how much time passes, when Jake walks out. You shift uncomfortably when he approaches you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he clears his throat, as he crouches in front of you, “You saved my daughter.”

“I only found her,” you admit, “If it wasn’t for Neteyam…”

“You did well, you got to her just in time,” Jake interrupts, “Neteyam said that you even helped him with chest compressions.”

“I don’t know what that even was,” you genuinely chuckle. You only guessed it was something borrowed from the sky people.

“Yet you saved her, thank you,” he insists with a small smile.

You look at him, trying to read his face. There’s something in his eyes that suggests he’s being genuine. He breaks the silence again, this time his tone more careful.

“I know about your fight with Neteyam. He didn’t want to tell me the reason but I guessed it was something serious. There’s really not many things to get him to act like that.”

“I can’t possibly agree or understand your decisions,” you remain calm, despite the rushing heat to your face, “I think it’s unfair.”

“I know, I’m not always making the best decisions,” he shakes his head, “And I get why you don’t like me much but I can’t risk losing my family.”

“You don’t have to,” you interrupt, “If you just go out there alone, they’ll stop hurting everybody else.”

“I wish it had been that easy. I don’t even care about my own death anymore, but I just know it won’t be enough,” he seems defeated, “They will come for my family next. Everything that I care for, and more. They did once already.”

“But aren’t you the one they’re looking for?”

“It’s grown beyond vengeance at this point,” Jake shakes his head, “They caught Lo’ak and Kiri once, and Tuk… they had Tuk. If anything happened to them, I don’t know what I would have done. We barely got them out, it was…”

“Must have been terrifying,” you finish for him. You think back to your sister getting caught, held at a gunpoint, and your chest hurts with sudden empathy for him.

As a father, it must be times more terrifying for him to see his kids in the hands of an enemy. It makes sense now: the great Toruk Makto had a weak spot.

“I think I get it,” you nod in understanding, “When they captured my sister... I have never been more scared in my life. It still keeps me up every night.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake sighs, “Do you know if she’s…?”

“Alive? I don’t know. She promised to come looking for me, once it’s safe but it’s been weeks now,” your voice hitches, “When they were about to capture me, she pushed me out of the way, which really pissed them off. Especially their chief.”

“I hope you get to see her again,” Jake reaches out, to pat you on your shoulder. You let him, “It is honorable to sacrifice yourself for the other to live. Eywa will bless her for keeping you alive.”

“I feel like I failed her, hiding here,” you look away in an attempt to hide the tears filling up your eyes, “I should have stayed there.”

“It’s not your fault, kid, you did your best,” Jake gently touches your chin to turn your face back to him. When he notices your tears, his eyebrows knit together in worry, “She would be proud of you.”

A small sob escapes your lips, and you feel ashamed to break down in front of him. You’re caught off guard, when Jake pulls you into a hug. It’s strangely comforting how tight it feels in your throat, as you bury your face in his chest, letting yourself silently cry. You feel him pat you on the back, until you can finally slowly recover your breath.

“Dad?” Neteyam’s voice grabs both of your attention. He leans against the entrance of the marui, looking confused between the two of you.

You instantly pull away from Jake, hanging your head in a mix of strange emotions. It’s not every day that you receive comfort from the very person you thought was your enemy.

“I’ll be right there,” Jake says, standing up, “Do you want to see her, Y/N?”

You nod in gratitude, wiping away your tears before following Jake. As you enter, Neteyam gives you a puzzled look, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell you and his father were talking about. Your eyes land on Neytiri, sat by Kiri’s side, holding her hand in hers.

“How is she?” Jake asks, sitting down next to his mate and pulling her into his side.

“She is going to be better, once she rests,” Neytiri answers quietly, returning her eyes to Kiri, and stroking her cheek, “My child.”

You feel out of place in the presence of the Sully family. Just a few days ago, you thought you hated Jake, and now you find yourself caring for his family.

You suddenly realize that if he knows about your fight with Neteyam, then Neytiri surely knows too. You can't help but wonder if she hates you. Standing there, you feel like an intruder, interrupting their vulnerable moment.

“Y/N,” Neytiri's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, “Thank you for saving my child.”

“You did good, kid,” Jake adds, then turns his gaze to Neteyam, “Both of you.”

As you open your mouth to protest, Neytiri cuts you off with a firm tone.

“Get some rest. You too, Neteyam.”

As much as you want to say something, anything, there's a strange authority in Neytiri's voice that makes it impossible to disobey. It's strange because she reminds you of your mother - strong, stubborn, yet caring. You were never able to disobey your mother.

“It’s okay, kid, you can check on Kiri later,” Jake encourages.

With a grateful nod, you leave the marui. Neteyam silently follows you out.

“Um, I should probably go tell the others now,” he grabs your attention.

“Yes, Lo’ak must be worried,” you agree with him.

Lo’ak wasn’t allowed to be with you in the marui. He was staying with Tuk, until further instructions, whereas Tsireya and Ao'nung got scolded by their mother for not keeping an eye on Kiri, and were sent home right away. Neteyam and you were the only ones who were overlooked in the matter.

“Thank you for helping me back there,” he scratches his head, “If it wasn’t for you, I could’ve lost her.”

“I don’t think I deserve the credit here, ‘Teyam,” you pause.

Did you just call him by his nickname? ‘Teyam? Do you think you’re friends? Shit.

His eyes widen and you catch just a tiniest hint of a small smile before he bites down on his lip to hide it.

“Neteyam,” you correct yourself, “I froze when I couldn’t get her out of those leaves. I can’t believe I forgot about my knife.”

“Hey, and I panicked. But in the end, we kind of made a good team,” he snorts.

“Right,” you chuckle at the irony.

Because you’re both headed in the same direction, Neteyam and you walk together in silence. After a while, he catches your attention again.

“I saw you talking to my father,” he hesitates before meeting your eyes, “Can I ask you about it?”

“You can ask him if you want.”

“So it went badly?” Neteyam guesses.

“No, not half as bad as I expected,” you stop in your tracks, before admitting, “Actually, I think I kind of get it.”

Neteyam only nods but you’re not sure if he really understands the value behind your words. He hopes that it means a change of your perception but deep down, he still feels a little scared. You don’t talk for the rest of the way but you don’t seem bothered by his presence, your thoughts now occupied with the woodsprite you saw earlier. Maybe Eywa was right and the two of you can mend this after all.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Y/N,” Tsireya’s soft voice wakes you up. She has a bright smile on her face, “Kiri’s awake! I thought you’d like to see her.”

Together, you make your way towards Tsahik’s marui, already noticing the Sully’s and friends coming and going. Tsireya pulls you along with her, but miscalculates her grip, causing you to bump into someone. It’s Neteyam. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Mawey, Y/N,” he grins, as he steadies you by your shoulders. You can hear Ao’nungs low chuckle but ignore him.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Tsireya whispers to you.

“I’m fine,” you smile at her, then turn back to Neteyam. He still keeps his hands on you, “Neteyam.”

“Good morning to you too,” he says, finally lowering his hands. Still, you’re too close to each other.

Before things get more awkward, Kiri’s voice breaks the tension. She calls out your name, and you rush to join her by the mat, taking her hands in yours with worry. Kiri weakly smiles in response.

“I promise, I am doing better,” she reassures you, “And for that I have to thank my saviors! You hear that?” she loudly asks.

“I was worried sick for you, and you’re joking,” you roll your eyes at her, but can’t help a giddy smile. You’re glad she’s back to her normal self. You stay with her for some time, questioning her about her health, as she tries to swat you away.

“Out, out, Kiri has to eat!” Neytiri’s voice interrupts your small exchange, “And rest!”

She walks in with a bowl of cut up fruits in her hands, on her way managing to usher out some of the visitors.

“Mom,” Kiri whines annoyedly.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That night you’re haunted by a nightmare. You’re swimming in the crystal-clear water, the warm sun rays piercing your eyes with a satisfying itch. From afar, you make out the beach which you would recognize anywhere: you’re back home, in your village. As you dive into the depths, you suddenly feel a hand clasping yours but the feeling is familiar. It’s your sister, swimming alongside you.

You smile. It reminds you of the old times, when you were little, spending your time swimming and holding hands with your sister, so none of you gets lost. Suddenly, the darkness engulfs you, making it hard to see. You look up to find a massive cloud forming in the sky, and you try to pull your sister with you to the surface. But she doesn’t budge, instead letting go of your hand with a small smile. Gasping for air, you break the surface, before diving back in for her, but this time she’s even farther away from you. You try to reach her again again and again, but each time the air in your lungs gets thinner, as she slips further away, eventually hitting the bottom.

You wake up, with your sister’s name lingering on your lips. It’s still dark outside, and too early for the morning. To clear your head, you head towards the trees, deeper on the island.

As you push through the dense bushes, you finally reach a small clearing nestled between tall trees. Then bang! All of a sudden someone throws you off your feet, hitting your back against the ground, and you see a familiar face hover above you. He’s so close, you can feel his braids grazing your skin. Neteyam. You growl.

“What the hell?” you slap his chest angrily, but he doesn’t budge, his arms firmly planted by the sides of your face. His knee rests between your thighs, restricting your movement.

“This is a familiar pose,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes at him, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

You notice a headpiece he’s wearing that you’ve never seen on him before. It looks like the ones that guardians assigned by Tonowari wear during their shifts.

“I was trying to clear my head. Why aren’t you?”

“I’m guarding,” he smiles, “This very same area, by the way.”

“You’re a guardian?” you snort.

Neteyam shakes his head amused, swaying his braids over your skin. Almost mocking you.

“Get off me,” you lightly slap his chest again, but he has something else on his mind. To tease you further, he pins your arms, and pushes his knee against you, right between your thighs.

You know that it’s innocent on his side, but your body reacts differently, separate from your mind. You feel blood rush to your face, as your ears, like a pair of wings, suddenly flutter in pleasure. Of course this doesn’t escape his eyes. You can see his pupils dilate, and an unreadable expression covering his face. You want to hide and scream out of embarrassment.

“Please,” you plead, and he pulls away from you so fast, it’s almost like he takes a leap.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologizes, keeping a small distance between you.

He’s embarrassed too, you think. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can almost see how hundreds of thoughts are rushing through his brain in an attempt to change the subject. You sit up, dusting off your skin in uncomfortable silence, until he finally dares to speak up.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” he scratches his head, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“No,” your voice is so low. Shit, “I need to clear my head.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks gently.

You stand up, to dust the remains off your back and knees. You feel Neteyam’s eyes roaming over your body.

“I saw my sister in my dream,” you finally answer, “It just confused me more.”

“Confused you about what?”

“The signs. I can’t figure out what Eywa is trying to tell me.”

“Tell me,” Neteyam offers, it’s not an order.

You hesitate. Opening up to him out of all Na’vi? To be fair, you’d rather tell someone who doesn’t care about you, who would just listen for the sake of curiosity, not pity or empathy. But also he looks so sincere and trustworthy. Is the tiredness suddenly affecting your perception of him?

“Well,” you sigh, “Ever since my parents died, I could feel their presence whenever I talked to Eywa. And the other day, by the Spirit Tree, I thought that if my sister were dead, then I’d feel her too. But I couldn’t.”

“And the nightmare makes you think otherwise?”

“Yes. In the nightmare, we were swimming but every time I tried pulling her with me to the surface, to get her out, she wouldn’t budge. It’s like she didn’t want to be saved.”

“A nightmare can be just a nightmare, Y/N,” Neteyam pats your shoulder to comfort you.

“This was different,” you shake your head in disagreement, “I can feel it. I just wish I didn’t get my hopes up.”

Faint voices catch your attention. Neteyam’s ears perk up, as he focuses on the sounds in the distance, suddenly very aware of his surroundings.

"What do you hear?" you ask but he brings his thumb to your lips, shushing you.

“If the other guards hear you, they’ll take me off the duty.”

It feels like an eternity as he keeps his thumb over your lips. He stares off into darkness but all you can do is look at him. You admire how the moonlight highlights his features, his freckles and eyes glowing in the dark. His breathing is slow, strangely calming. You can’t help but think that the headpiece suits him even though it doesn’t prevent some of his braids escaping and framing his face. It’s almost funny how they seem to have a life on their own, swaying from left to right with every small movement he makes.

There is a flutter in your chest, as you realize how handsome he is. Shit. Maybe you’re just tired.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, lowering his hand from your face, and it finally seems to catch his attention. You let your fingers linger on his skin for a little longer before letting go.

“Your purpose is to get me in trouble, isn’t it?” Neteyam smiles.

“What?” you frown at him.

“First, it was the fighting, now you happen to sneak away to the area I guard, so I get busted?”

“I didn’t intentionally -” you start justifying yourself but he’s quick to interrupt.

“I know, I’m kidding.”

Kidding. You admit that, given your history, it is a little funny. You can’t help but smile back.

The exhaustion seems to creep up on you, as you let out a yawn.

“I am probably going to regret this,” Neteyam mumbles, as if more to himself, than to you, “You know how Kiri sometimes falls asleep in random places?”

“Yeah?”

“Since you don’t want to go back to your bed, you can crash here,” he scratches his forehead, slightly embarrassed, as he points to the patch of grass in front of you.

“You want me to sleep here?” you snort.

“I’m just saying, give it a try. I promise I will be on the lookout.”

You consider it for a second. It sounds ridiculous but the lush grass does seem inviting, softer than your bed. Another yawn creeps up on you. Is it bad that you want to stay here for a while?

“I-I’m not sure I can sleep here,” you admit. Not under his gaze anyway.

“Oh, come on, it’s easy,” he suddenly warms up.

Neteyam stretches out on the grass and waves you over with the biggest grin.

“This is what Kiri does. She just lies down, relaxes, and just like that, she’s off to her dream world,” Neteyam imitates his sister, “Come on.”

“Alright,” you give up, as you walk over to him.

You know it’s innocent but you still feel nervous. Neteyam pats the grass next to him, encouraging you to lay down. You comply, and he watches you relax, as he tousles some of the grass beneath your head. This was a bad idea.

“Feels good, right?” he asks, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. It does.

“I’m starting to understand why Kiri falls asleep so easily,” you say, and hear him chuckle.

“Right? Sleeping outside is way more fun. There is just something about the open sky,” he sighs, “It reminds me of home.”

You keep your eyes closed but you can sense Neteyam’s still watching you.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Oh, nothing,” he sounds flustered, like he got caught, “I just thought you had fallen asleep already.”

“Neteyam?”

“Hm?”

You turn your head to look at him, meeting his curious golden eyes.

“Can you tell me something? I’m not too sleepy yet,” you admit.

“What would you like to hear?” his voice is soft. So soft, you have to tense your ears to hear him.

And he talks. It was easy to guess that Neteyam would speak about the things he values the most, about his family. You’re conflicted between hearing him out and discovering this new world you never knew existed, or leaving him here alone to avoid the guilt weighing down on you.

He tells you about his mother with pride, about her accomplishments and how she stood up for the things she believed in. He mentions that her clan was closely acquainted with the ‘good’ sky people who lived near the rainforest where he was born. These were the ones that tried helping Kiri yesterday. He also tells you about his father, who came from a star, and how he was almost killed by his mother before being saved by Eywa. He speaks fondly of his grandfather, whom he was told to look like, and who was a skilled warrior and protector of his clan, despite never having known him personally. And he tells you about his grandmother, who was strict but deeply loving. He missed her everyday since moving.

As Neteyam talks about the rainforest, his eyes light up with excitement. His descriptions are so vivid and detailed that you can almost see the towering trees, the creatures, and the weapons used by the Omatikaya. At times, he has to articulate with his hands and body to explain it. You feel your tiredness slip away. The more he talks, the more intrigued you get by his life, his stories.

At some point, you overtake the conversation, telling him about your home. You’re rushing through your words because there is so much you want to share. As if its pure existence depends on how much you can recall. At first, Neteyam has a guilty expression that eventually turns into a curious one. Sure, he’s been living with a water clan for months now but the way he reacted to your stories could make you think that he had never even seen water up close.

Hours pass, as your voices get smaller, and drowsiness completely takes over the two of you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you wake up, you feel slightly restrained around your middle. You’re holding onto Neteyam’s arm, wrapped around your middle, and your legs intertwined. Shit.

“Neteyam,” you turn around, slightly shoving him, “”Teyam.”

He slowly opens his eyes, blinking the sleep away. It takes a moment for him to focus on you. So close, you think. Too close.

“Do you mind?” you gesture at his arm.

Neteyam’s a little slow in the morning, you notice. His eyes lazily follow your movement, roam over your body, as if trying to understand what happened, until he finally realizes. You swear, for a second you hear a faint flutter of his ears.

Your eyes snap back at him, and he sheepishly smiles, pulling away.

“Finally,” you mumble, as you get off the grass, “I should…I should go, I promised Tsireya that we’ll do this thing, um, in the morning.” Why can’t you lie?

“Right, and my shift’s over, so my mom will be looking for me,” Neteyam nods his head.

“Uh, well, I’ll see you around then?” you hesitate.

“Sure.”

Is he brushing you off? Slightly embarrassed, you turn around and walk ahead. When you hear his voice call out to you, your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Friends?”

You pause for a second, then nod with a smile. His face lightens up. Let’s try.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Trying is definitely a good word to describe this new friendship you’re developing with Neteyam. Within a group, you still keep your distance. So much, that it almost seems like your friendship is supposed to be a secret. You’re scared of being called a hypocrite if you get too close. But you were on good terms with Lo’ak, and basically best friends with Kiri, so there’s really no reason for anyone to call you that. Ugh, but it’s different. Neteyam is different.

When you’re hanging out with the group, you’re always distracted, keeping an eye on him. He doesn't seem as interested in you though. On the contrary, his attention is divided between disciplining his siblings and breaking apart Ao’nung and Kiri from biting off each other’s heads.

Very rarely, in those quiet moments when you go to swim by yourself, you can catch him watching you from a distance. You find it hard to read his expressions, Neteyam is too good at hiding whatever he’s feeling. You, not so much.

Ever since your talk with Jake, and the night you spent with Neteyam, you have conflicted feelings. You’re not sure where you stand anymore. Having voiced your opinions loudly on your first days, you almost expect to pick another fight with him. But you also kind of dread it.

And the tension between you is not anger anymore. He’s still annoying at times but you learned to find it amusing, rather than frustrating. Sometimes, when he looks at you, your heart jumps. And well, it’s not looking good for you.

In those rare moments when you two are left alone, you bicker. It’s strange because you’re almost convinced that he enjoys provoking you on purpose. Neteyam thinks that his responsibility as a guard gives him some sort of control over you. He likes to play the savior.

“Hey, I’m neither Lo’ak, or Kiri, you can’t boss me around!” you frown, after he suggests you don’t go for a swim past the curfew.

“As a guardian, I make sure that everyone’s staying safe,” he raises his eyebrows, like he already won the argument.

“Isn’t your job looking out for the outsiders? Like humans? With weapons, you know? Not terrorizing me for wanting to swim!”

“I sometimes really think you’re doing this on purpose just to see how far you can push me.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Time really seems to stretch out when you don’t get news from the other islands for a few days. Tonowari doubles the guardians around the village, and sends out a small group of swimmers for updates. It must be bad.

“Do you know anything?” you ask Tsireya.

Tsireya tries to be the best daughter to her parents but hanging out around you, the Sully’s, and her brother even, really challenges her sometimes. She knows she’s not supposed to tell you anything but when you all look at her in anticipation, she gives up eventually. To be a good brother, Ao'nung beats her to it from time to time.

“Tsireya?” Lo’ak pushes, knowing just the tone to use on her.

“You can’t tell anyone, I mean,” she looks at Kiri, “The last time the demons attacked one of the villages was a few days ago. The reason we didn’t get any news was because they wiped it out. Completely.”

You see her eyes glisten with tears, and hang your head in defeat. There really isn’t anything you can do, huh? No matter how hard you try. Nothing at all.

“Tsireya, what else?” Kiri wraps her arm around her shoulders.

“And… our attempts to save these clans are turning out to be more damaging,” she sniffles, “Now that the sky demons know that Na’vi are armed, they have doubled their forces. And they are more brutal. Some of the clans think of running from the islands before they get caught.”

“Shit,” Lo’ak curses, “But your dad must have a plan, right? My parents were with him the whole day yesterday. I can tell they’re hiding something.”

“Lo’ak, I can’t tell you,” Tsireya pleads with him.

“They want to take out their chief,” Ao’nung suddenly speaks, “They suggested luring him out and killing him.”

“But your father said he won’t be attacking first,” Lo’ak frowns.

“That’s right, my father won’t. But your father considers it.”

Ao’nung words send the group into a panic, as everyone starts talking, asking for more information. You gulp down, trying to ignore this anxious feeling in your chest. Once again, painful images of your burning home appear in front of you.

Knowing that your plan has caused the destruction of another village makes you feel like shit. This can’t be happening. You can feel yourself losing your grip on your breathing as your body begins to shake. The others continue to talk, but their words become muffled and indistinct, drowned out by the noise in your ears.

“Mawey,” Neteyam whispers to you, taking your hand in his, “Just breathe, Y/N.”

You nod but your body won’t comply. The longer you can’t seem to breathe, the shakier you get. Neteyam squeezes your hand, and starts loudly breathing in and out of his mouth.

“Just follow my lead, alright? Breathe in,” he waits for you to repeat after him, “And out. Right, just like that.”

After many attempts of repeating after him, you finally seem to calm down your breathing, and your heartbeat slows into its natural rhythm.

“Good girl,” he gives your hand another squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper to him.

“Then let’s go,” he says, pulling you to your feet. You don’t protest.

When both of you walk away, still holding hands, you feel everyone’s eyes turn to you. Ugh. You’re definitely going to be questioned to death for this by Kiri and Tsireya, though right now you don’t care. You just want to be somewhere else.

Neteyam leads you towards the trees. When you reach a small stream, he comes to a stop.

“Hey, you feeling better?” he asks softly, still holding your hand. You nod, looking down at his fingers tightly wrapped around your palm.

“I feel so guilty, for causing more pain,” your eyes start filling up with tears, as you rush through your words, “ I’m scared that we won’t be able to stop them. And I do this thing where I freeze in the most dangerous situations, it’s like my mind takes me to a bad place.”

“Y/N,” Neteyam’s voice is concerned, “I promise, nothing will happen to you.”

“But it’s nightmares every night. I swear, I sometimes can’t tell them apart from the reality,” you admit, looking back at him.

“Mawey, you’ll get through this,” Neteyam comforts you, “I trust you because I know you have a strong heart. But Y/N… what’s happening to you is very familiar.”

“In what way?” Neteyam sighs before opening his mouth.

“My father has this same response sometimes, like panicking and losing your breath. The nightmares. He says that it can happen when one suffers through something very bad, like war, or losing someone close.”

“Well, how did he stop it?” you frown at him.

“He didn’t. You can’t really stop it,” he shakes his head, with a pained expression on his face, “But my mother helps him.”

“How?”

“She talks to distract him. Reminds him that it’s in the past.,” Neteyam answers, then gestures at your hands still interlocked, “She holds him.”

You nod, and squeeze his hand in appreciation. A few tears escape from your eyes, as you look away. Neteyam brings his hand to your face, wiping them away.

“Don’t cry.”

“Am not,” you sniffle.

“Seriously, don’t,” Neteyam grazes your cheek with his thumb, “It upsets me.”

“Why would you care?” you snort.

“Oh, because it’s creepy!” he teases, making you smile, “Seeing you cry is probably going to send the rest of our friends to Eywa.”

“Shut it,” you smack him, but he only laughs.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Tsireya suggests adding beads into your hair, as she works on your braids. Usually, you would have your hair in small braids, but she convinced you to try out a hairstyle similar to hers: braids at the roots, to prevent hair from falling into your eyes, and letting the rest flow in its natural way. You roll your eyes at the way Tsireya beams at you but you’re secretly happy to be distracted.

The two of you sit on the grass terrace, with two Elderly Na’vi not too far. They seem to enjoy watching Tsireya’s wonders on your hair, and you feel infinitely thankful to them, when Kiri plops down in front of you. She can’t grill you with her questions in their presence.

“Kiri, are you next?” Tsireya asks her, a hint of hope in her tone.

“No, my hair’s too short for all of that,” Kiri gestures at Tsireya’s long curls.

“Nonsense, I think it would look very pretty on you.”

Tsireya continues convincing Kiri, while she works on your braids, when suddenly you sense a movement. The Elderly Na’vi, now seemingly disinterested, walk away, leaving the three of you to yourselves. Oh, sweet Eywa, please don’t.

“So…Y/N,” Kiri beats you to your silent prayer, “You and Neteyam.”

“What about me and Neteyam?” you quirk your eyebrow at her. You’re going to play dumb.

“What’s happening between you?” she squints at you, “And please don’t tell me that you’re in love with him.”

“Oh but I think they would look great together,” Tsireya adds in her dreamy voice. Shit.

“What are you two talking about?” you roll your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks, “He’s annoying.”

“But like in a cute way?” Kiri tries to crack you.

“In a way that makes your heart flutter?” Tsireya adds.

“Are you thinking about Lo’ak right now?” you turn to look at Tsireya with a sly smile. If you just get to switch the topic, you will give yourself a small window to flee. She looks taken aback.

“Hey, don’t distract us!” Kiri interrupts, waving at you, “It’s alright, Tsireya, we all know he likes you back.”

Tsireya gulps down in embarrassment but doesn’t say anything. Kiri stares at you expectantly.

“What?”

“You were holding hands,” she states.

“I hold hands with Tsireya all the time too,” you’re definitely overplaying, “Neteyam and I are just trying to be more…civil.”

“Yet when you were panicking, it was Neteyam, and not Tsireya, holding your hand and taking you to the trees,” Kiri notes.

Is she playing a smartass? Caught off guard, your eyes widen.

“Why did you go into the trees, Y/N? Were you doing something you didn’t want us to see?” Kiri pushes, trying to crack you.

“Stop it,” you hiss at her.

“I just find it disgusting that he would go for my friend, right after Lo’ak already stole Tsireya from me,” Kiri crosses her arms in front of her chest, “All of you are inconsiderate.”

“A brother for a brother,” Tsireya whispers, and you can’t help but laugh.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kiri raises her voice.

“Come on, Kiri. Ao'nung is always flirting with you,” you explain, then wince in pain, as Tsireya pulls on your hair.

“Sorry!” she apologizes immediately, “I was just agreeing with you, didn’t mean to pull your hair.”

“You two are unbelievable. Ao’nung is terrible. No offense, Tsireya,” Kiri denies, “And don’t switch topics here, Y/N! You and Neteyam were jumping at each other’s throats since you met, now suddenly you consider him a friend? What happened?”

“Well, there was this time when we had to team up to save your ass,” you tease, enjoying Kiri’s escalating anger, “No, but really. I think we were just really scared for you.”

“Ooh,” the two of them awe in unison, “So that’s it?”

“And Eywa,” you mumble under your breath.

“Eywa?” Kiri’s ears perk up, as she leans in. Right away, Tsireya drops your hair, as she quickly positions herself next to Kiri, her attention now fully on you.

“Well… back when we went to the Spirit Tree, he and I fell a little behind. Then I saw a woodsprite floating around us. Neteyam had his back turned, so he didn’t even notice.”

“Do you think Eywa wants you two -” Kiri doesn’t finish.

“No, it was more of a sign for me to stop resenting him,” you shake your head in embarrassment, “So now I’m trying to listen and be nice to him.”

“That makes sense. Eywa wouldn’t bless you as a couple anyway, it’s too soon,” Kiri says.

“No, it’s not,” Tsireya disagrees, “They’re both capable of choosing mates before Eywa.”

Kiri opens her mouth to protest but then decides against it.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not the time,” you shake your head, and the girls seem to agree with you, “And Neteyam is not the one. He is my friend. So please stop teasing me for giving him a chance.”

Content with your answer, Kiri drops it. You suspect that Tsireya hasn’t been fully convinced by your words but she is too kind to keep pushing you. You give her a grateful smile for understanding. If anything, she can relate in some way.

Speak of the devil… When you see Neteyam approaching you, you can feel the girls’ eyes on you, looking for a reaction. Neteyam throws a quick look at you, slightly surprised by your hair, but says nothing. He doesn’t like it? You feel a little insecure.

“Hey,” he bows quickly, “Kiri, mother wants you back at home for dinner.”

Kiri rolls her eyes but gets up from the grass. Tsireya follows.

“My family is probably waiting for me too.”

“You’re lucky you have no one telling you what to do, Y/N,” Kiri blurts out, then covers her mouth.

“Kiri!” Tsireya tsks at her, but it’s a little too late.

When it came to dinners, you were mostly having them alone, or sometimes skipping them at all. For your first two weeks, Tsireya would drag you to her house for every single meal but eventually you restarted hunting and actually enjoyed preparing your own meals.

“Y/N, you coming to our place tonight?” Tsireya encourages.

You prepare yourself to politely decline her invitation but Neteyam beats you to it.

“Actually, what do you think about joining us instead?” he asks softly.

Both Tsireya, Kiri and you look at him in surprise. He had never invited you directly in front of others. Not even Kiri has. And the idea of you spending the evening with his father. Yikes. Sure, you somewhat felt more comfortable seeing Jake in the village but sitting in front of him for dinner is totally different.

“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you mumble.

“Nonsense, Y/N, now that I think about it, I should have invited you a long time ago,” Kiri suddenly jumps in, “And after you saved my ass. Mom and dad would love to thank you.”

“Especially my mom,” Neteyam adds.

If they think they’re making a good point, they must be completely unaware of how uncomfortable you feel around Neytiri. She is intimidating, you think. You can never even talk to her.

“Well?” Neteyam nudges you with a warm smile.

You bite your lip, trying to think of an excuse. Any excuse. But your head is empty, as the three of them look at you expectantly. Tsireya nods her head at you with an encouraging smile.

“If you’re sure,” you admit your defeat.

Happily, Kiri swings her arm around you, leading you towards their marui.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Sully's marui is bigger than yours, it’s not surprising. They are a family of six after all, you are a single child. Still, you think that you could never live with so many people: losing your parents at a young age made you well acquainted with sharing a room with only one person at a time. Now you share it with no one.

When you shyly walk in, you think your heart is going to jump out of your chest. Kiri pulls you by your hand.

“Mom, dad,” Neteyam grabs their attention, “We invited Y/N to share today’s meal with us.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Jake’s ears perk up, as he stands up with a small smile. You bow. Little Tuk copies her father as she runs up to you, curiously examining you.

“I hope it’s okay,” you smile sheepishly.

“It’s good that you came. You need to eat well,” Neytiri walks up to you with a bowl of food in her hands.

“Mom,” Kiri rolls her eyes, “Y/N eats fine, stop.”

“Not fine enough for a hunter,” Neytiri turns to you, “A good hunter must look after themselves. So eat.”

You nod your head with a small chuckle escaping your lips, as you take the bowl from her. Neteyam gives you a proud smile.

When all of you are seated to eat, Lo’ak rushes into the marui, barely catching his breath.

“Sorry I’m late,” he throws, quickly sitting down next to you, “Oh, hi, Y/N.”

You greet him back, then notice a non-verbal exchange between the siblings. They seem to be doing this way too often. Lo’ak shoots a questioning look at Neteyam, but Neteyam just rolls his eyes at him, and returns to his food. Lo’ak tries again with Kiri. Kiri shrugs her shoulders, then smiles pointing at Neteyam with her eyes. Lo’ak snorts.

“Lo’ak,” Jake grumbles.

“Sorry,” Lo’ak gets back to his bowl without being able to retrieve his smile.

At first, you feel awkward. While they exchange some news with each other, you don’t participate, simply observing them from underneath your lashes. Tuk excitedly tells about her new friendship with a young ilu. Lo’ak shares that he was swimming with Payakan. Jake gives him a displeased look but doesn’t say anything. You think that the food is very good. It’s a shame that you can’t enjoy it because you feel uncomfortable. Why did you have to agree?

“Y/N,” Neytiri turns to you, “I’ve seen you hunt near the trees. Do you prefer it to the water?”

“It depends,” you feel like she is testing you but you don’t want to lie, “I feel most comfortable in the water. But sometimes it gets boring, so I look for the prey in the green. It’s more challenging.”

Neytiri nods, and you notice Jake’s and Neteyam’s approving smiles on you, which makes you feel like you passed the test. Whatever the test was.

“Mom is an excellent hunter,” Kiri adds, “You should join her sometime.”

“I will only be a distraction,” you try to disagree, as you hear Lo’ak chuckle next to you. Is he enjoying how much more uncomfortable his family can make you?

“Lo’ak,” Neytiri slaps the back of his head, “Have you tried hunting on an ikran, Y/N?”

“No, I’ve never even flown,” you give her a sheepish smile, as her eyes widen in surprise. You suppose it’s pretty common, since you grew up around the water.

“You’ve never flown!” Tuk exclaims, as if you are missing out.

“Then it’s decided,” Jake announces, exchanging a knowing look with Neytiri. Oh no.

“Next time I go flying, I will take you with me. You will enjoy it more than swimming,” she smiles.

You and Neytiri. Going to fly. You can’t even speak looking into her eyes, are you sure you will be able to fly with her in the air? At a height? While she hunts?

“Don’t worry, Y/N, you have nothing to be scared of,” Neteyam encourages you with a smile, “I’m sure you will love flying.”

Tuk nods in agreement, clapping her hands together. Neteyam finds his sister’s reaction amusing and lovingly pats her on the head. You enjoy this side of him a little too much, as you watch the interaction with a small smile.

“Like what you see?” Lo’ak whispers to you with a grin.

“What?” it’s hard for you to play cool when he just caught you.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak acts disinterested, biting down on the piece of fish, “Just warning that you’re being too obvious.”

“Just like you’re obvious with the chief’s daughter,” you whisper back, and watch as Lo’ak chokes on his food.

“Eat slower, Lo’ak,” Neytiri scolds him.

As the evening goes on, you feel slightly more at ease. Although the thought of you dying while flying with Neytiri nags at you, you try to push it to the back of your mind for the time being. You and Kiri eventually find a thread of your own conversation, and you occasionally catch Neteyam’s gracing you with his proud smiles.

When you’re finished with thanking them for having you over, Kiri stands up instinctively to walk you out. You’re both confused when Neteyam jumps to his feet, gently pushing his sister out of his way.

“It’s too late for you to be out, Kiri,” he says, his accent thick, “I will walk Y/N home.”

“Since when am I not to be out at this hour?” Kiri is baffled, as she turns to Jake with an expectant look, “Dad?”

“Since you started falling asleep underwater, Kiri,” Jake throws her a knowing look.

When you exit the marui with Neteyam close on your heels, you’re caught by surprise, feeling his arm snake around your shoulder. As you’re about to react, you almost stumble in the dark, and Neteyam helps you keep your balance.

“It’s a bit uneven here, especially in the dark, many stumble,” he explains, as he lets go of you.

“Thanks,” you mumble, looking at him, “Why did you have to invite me?”

“Did you have other plans?” Neteyam quirks at you. You shake your head.

“Still, after everything I said and did, I feel like you all must hate me.”

“You gave me a second chance, right?” Neteyam smiles, “Why wouldn’t I give one to you?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“And just so you know, no one hated you.”

“Not even you?” you tease.

“Especially not me,” Neteyam’s voice is serious. You shy away from his gaze.

As if being unseen in the darkness is equivalent to being unheard, the two of you walk slowly, quietly. You notice how the last bit of sun sets down behind the horizon, and watch in admiration.

“I love it here,” Neteyam admits, following your gaze, “I miss home, and the sky in the forest. But there’s something about the water…”

“What is it that you like about the water?” you ask him curiously.

“I don’t know, it just makes my heart race,” he whispers, looking back at you.

“I would love to see the forest. But I think I like it already,” you whisper back, meeting his golden eyes.

There’s a moment when you think something is going to happen. You’re both terrified and impatient for him to do anything. When did he become so different? Were you just blind before?

Neteyam’s eyes jump all over your face and your hair, like he’s trying to take it in. You hope that you’re not giving away how much you think you’re growing to like him at this moment.

“Your hair looks pretty like this,” he says, reaching for one of the locks draping over your shoulders.

Your heart skips a beat when he twirls a strand of your hair, watching it curl around his long fingers.

“Very pretty,” he smiles, looking back at you.

“Tsireya talked me into it,” you smile sheepishly, as you gently pull your hair back from his grasp.

He turns his head to the side, braids swaying with him. You have to force yourself not to reach your hand to tug them.

“Well, we’re here.” It takes you a second to realize that you’re in front of your marui.

“Right,” you gulp down, “Thanks again for inviting me, it was surprisingly delightful.”

“Wait till you fly with my mother,” Neteyam chuckles, noticing your terrified face.

“Oh, sweet Eywa,” you bite your lip.

“Don’t worry, she won’t let you get hurt,” Neteyam backs away, ready to leave, “I can be there to look after you.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

In a long time, since you had arrived, this is the first time you see Metkayina so overjoyed. From afar, you were all watching as their soul-sisters and soul-brothers, the Tulkuns, were returning home. The Sully’s were looking at the water mesmerized. Being foresters, they probably never even seen Tulkuns before.

You think back to your soul-sister whom you had seen many years ago. You were still a little girl back then but the memories you had with her kept your heart warm all this time. Sadness graces your face when you imagine her returning home and finding your village destroyed, with you nowhere to be found.

And although your soul-sister wasn’t among the Tulkuns, you still enjoy watching their interactions with the Metkayina clan. You swim in between them with a giddy smile, catching glimpses of silent conversations and excited exchanges, especially between the younger Na’vi. Not too far, Neteyam catches your eye. He is unlinked from his ilu, which swims around him with a delighted noise.

“Y/N, this is incredible!” he gestures.

“It is,” you agree, returning his smile.

You spend more time swimming and taking in the scenes unraveling in front of you. What’s even more entertaining is watching Neteyam and Kiri admiring the Tulkuns, and trying their best to understand what they’re saying. Of course, for foresters who had never seen Tulkuns, it was difficult to differentiate the subtle changes of tones and sounds they made. Lo’ak seems more comfortable, and you guess that it’s due to his bond with Payakan.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That evening, the Metkayina celebrate. While there were no new attacks from the sky people in the past week, you can’t help but feel uneasy, suspecting that something worse is going to happen soon. Like this short moment of happiness is just the calm before the storm begins.

The celebration of the return of Tulkuns is similar to the one you used to have back home. The clan gathers at the beach in big and small circles, around fire. They cook and share food and drinks together, while singing and dancing to the songs of Eywa. Many wear festive patterns on their faces and bodies. It didn’t take Tsireya long to convince both Kiri and you to get your faces and arms painted with beautiful shapes and colors.

As the evening goes on, Kiri tells you that back home their celebrations were almost the same. You sense that she’s truly enjoying it, feeling the familiarity. When she is pulled into a dance, you watch her with a big smile, clapping your hands. The rest of her family looks just as happy, especially Neytiri. Almost relaxed. You feel a little jealous that you had no one to share this moment with.

With everyone distracted, you slip away to the far end of the beach to be by yourself. Feeling the warmth of the sand, you enjoy the waves washing over your feet in a calming rhythm. You watch the horizon, and spot some movement from the Tulkuns performing their own celebratory dance, as they swim around each other. Occasionally, their tails resurface and disappear under the water with big splashes.

“Why aren’t you dancing with the rest?” you hear Neteyam’s voice, as he sits down next to you.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say that dancing is not my strongest suit,” Neteyam smiles.

“Is the mighty warrior finally admitting to being bad at something?” you tease him, “Lo’ak would be delighted when I tell him.”

“Lo’ak is a worse dancer than I am,” Neteyam laughs, pointing at his younger brother in the distance.

You look over to find Lo’ak awkwardly circling around Tsireya. It seems like he is going to fall into the fire any second now. They’re holding hands, as she tries to guide him to move his feet like her but Lo’ak seems so out of place, it makes you laugh too. It’s kind of cute, you think. He tries for Tsireya because there is no way he would ever do this in front of so many Na’vi.

“He’s a lost cause,” you shake your head at the sight.

“Anything for love,” Neteyam turns his gaze back to you with a small smile.

You almost get a deja vu of how similar this moment is to the one you shared among the trees. There is something unspoken between Neteyam and you. He holds your gaze, slowly moving closer. You gulp down nervously, when he raises his hand to your cheek. Neteyam pauses for your approval before making contact. His fingers trace a pattern of paint on your face, before he cups your cheek.

“Neteyam,” you whisper, “If anyone sees…”

If anyone sees, you will definitely gain at least several suspicious questions tomorrow morning. You can only imagine how this looks from afar, and you wonder if he wants it to look that way. Is it bad that you hope he does?

“I don’t care,” Neteyam whispers back, his face now closer to yours, “Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

You feel too nervous to talk. Instinctively you raise your fingers, wrapping them around his wrist, then nod your head. Neteyam takes a deep breath.

“Are you promised to someone?” his eyes jump all over your face, trying to read your thoughts.

“No,” your voice hitches, as you hold his gaze, “Are you?”

Neteyam softly shakes his head, one of his braids falling on his face. You find that makes him look more handsome.

“Y/N,” his voice is hypnotic, pulling you closer to him, “I know we didn’t see eye to eye when we met but now I think it’s because both of us felt something. Y/N, I -”

“Neteyam,” you interrupt him with a firm tone, “Don’t say anything.”

You avoid his gaze, lowering his hand from your face. You still keep your fingers around his wrist but you don’t dare to look at him.

“Why?” Neteyam sounds so confused, you feel an ache in your stomach, “Am I wrong? Don’t you feel it too?”

“Neteyam, this is not the time,” you sigh, avoiding his question, “I can’t. Please.”

He pulls his hand from yours, instantly putting a small distance between you. You feel like you’re going to scream. He doesn’t deserve this.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, shaking his head.

“I can’t promise you anything, Neteyam. I don’t even know if my sister is alive. What if I go back home? What if the demons attack us tomorrow, and I die?” you start rushing through the hundreds of reasons, “I can’t risk this. Having a friend like you is more than I deserve already, ‘Teyam. I don’t want you to get stuck with me. I am not reliable like you. I will mess it up.”

“Y/N -” he looks so confused, trying to follow the line of your words, “I disagree -”

Your intimate moment is disrupted with loud noises of Roxto and Ao’nung running past you into the water. The rest of the group, with Lo’ak and Tsireya, are close on their heels with accompanying shouts. You guess they’re headed to swim with the Tulkuns before Tonowari declares an end to the celebration.

“Neteyam, come join us!” Lo’ak shouts, interrupting his brother.

“Please, let’s just pretend that everything’s back to normal. Whatever ‘normal’ means anyway,” you sigh, standing up. Neteyam’s pained eyes follow your movement, as you leave him there, sitting alone.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

part 2

tumblr won't let me post the rest of the fic in the same post, so go to part 2. if you have any thoughts or comments and you haven't finished reading yet, i would still appreciate you sharing them with me. i'm so impatient for feedback, although i know it will take a lot of time to read this whole thing, anyways

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

taglist (also tagging some blogs that i think might enjoy it, and some of the authors, whose works i’ve been reading non-stop to keep myself motivated): @fucksnow ; @heaven1oo4 ; @fanboyluvr ; @ngayawneluoer ; @aquila-de-l-ocean ; @aoteyam ; @moonpetrichors-blog ; @vinnieswife ; @eywascall ; @lxvvvllyy ; @iloveavatar ; @neteyamdarling ; @gloryy-vs ; @girasollake ; @mayhemories ; @suuuupernovaaa ; @love-chx ; @the-demon-soul ; @cosmictheo ; @victoirey ; @your-averagewriter ; @starkeysmoon ; @openpandorabox ; @urlocalfeiner ; @neteyams-tsahik ; @angelltheninth ; @sweetsbfreex ; @forever--darling ; @arachine ; @nyctophicbtch ; @jeojake ; @isabellapaul37 ; @melbee ; @loaksky ; @luvsellie ; @loakism ; @lizziesfirstwife ; @jakesullysbabygirl ; @theseuscmander ; @love13tter

2K notes · View notes

v7lgar · 7 months ago

Note

Soft regulus whimpering humping on james' thick thigh

please make it happen

NSFW | 625 words

James was desperate.

Regulus was on his leg, naked and covered in oil, even his cock was shining under the dim light of their room. And he wasn't allowed to touch, not yet. Regulus was trying to see how much patience he had, and he started to think this was a bad idea.

“Regulus,” he breathed, watching his boyfriend hump on his leg, looking more gorgeous than ever.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered in a quiet voice.

James was losing his mind, he wanted to touch him, kiss him, bite him, fuck him into the madness. He wanted and wanted. There was no end, only more.

“Your hair tickles me,” Regulus laughed softly, wrapping his arms around James’ neck, and pressing his ass onto James’ thigh more.

“This is not the exact right time to tell me that I'm hairy, Reggie.”

“But you are.”

“Touch me,” Regulus said, closing his eyes and squeezing his legs around James’ thick thigh.

He always told him how much he loved his thighs, how much they turned him on. And this was the idea they came up with after an exhausting day that they had. But James wasn't so sure if it was the best or the worst idea they ever had.

He grabbed him by his hips and helped him seeking friction. He could feel Regulus’ asshole slightly rubbing on his thigh, it made unspeakable things to his body.

“Please,” Regulus begged, kissing the side of James’ neck, slow and wet, “More.”

“More?” James murmured against his skin, gripping him firmer, as if if he let him he could go missing any minute.

“It's so good, but I want more,” Regulus moaned, eyes closed, “Touch my dick,” he said.

James didn't waste any time. He wrapped his hand around Regulus’ lean and hard cock and started stroking. It was slippery from all the oil they used, making filthy sounds that is tickling James’ insides.

“Oh,” Regulus moaned deeply, mouth agape and eyelids drooping.

“You are making me crazy,” James whispered.

“Likewise,” Regulus said and hugged him until their chests felt like crushing the other.

James knew how Regulus liked it, he twisted his hand and got a mouth full of moan from Regulus. He couldn't wait to pin him against the floor by his throat and fuck his sweet hole without breathing.

“James, James, James,” he kept repeating his name like a prayer, and to them, it was a prayer. They both worshipped each other like gods. There was nothing but them in that moment.

Regulus movements became rapid, he could feel his heart was racing like his own, beating to his chest. He wanted to make a hole for him just to keep him in his ribs, closer and closer.

“Fuck, you are burning.”

Regulus pressed his lips against his ear, speaking slowly full of desire, “From inside out, James, inside out.”

James shivered and turned his head to kiss him passionately. He wanted nothing more than him, all his life, he wanted nothing else.

He tugged Regulus’ dick faster, he knew he was getting stimulated but he didn't really care at this point.

Regulus kept on bumping his leg, looking all pretty and ready to get fucked. And he wanted to fuck him so much, it was making him insane. He was this close to the going mad, and it would be all worth it.

“James, James, I'm close— so close—”

“Keep going baby, you’re almost there,” James encouraged him, twisting his hand and stroking him from base to top, then he pressed his thumb under the tip of his cock and touched him there. It was one of the weak points of Regulus’s.

“James, James, James—”

He gave it a firm squeeze and Regulus was undone.

#agon answers #jegulus #jegulus microfic #james potter #regulus black #james x regulus

125 notes · View notes

struckd0wn · 1 year ago

Text

Nobody talks about Shy tops and their equality shy bottoms enough so I will write it myself 😈

𝐒𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐩!𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 × 𝐒𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Smut and some fluff ig, kinda sappy LOL :3

18+, mdni

Both of you are too shy to initiate intimacy so it gets awkward when you're both in the mood but both to scared to make a move until eventually you both just explore

You and Tomas sit side by side on your shared sofa. You're both visibly antsy and desperate for one another but both of you are to scared to just reach out. Your eyes leave the television screen, examining your boyfriend's face. His strong jawline shifts as he clenches his teeth, watching you watch him from the corner of his eye. Eventually Smoke turns to look at you, catching your eyes. His face lights up bright red and you assume your cheeks are burning as well. The eye contact last a couple of seconds before the both of you collide roughly, leting out all of your pent up energy out.

Asking for thing is also difficult for the both of you. Mumble out a request, blush covering their face, only for the other to not hear. Repeating their selves, blush worsening as they see their partner blush at the suggestion.

"Hey love, Can I... eat you out." You look up to him from your phone, asking him to repeat himself as you didn't quite hear him. Tomas's face is bright red and his blue eyes refuse to meet yours. "Can I eat you out." The elder tells you again, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. You're almost speechless, taking your turn to blush a dull pink over your cheeks. You nod your head and your lover lights up immediately, dragging you along to the bedroom.

During Intimacy it's not to bad, the two of you are usually too caught up in the pleasure to feel embarrassed, but sometimes it's inevitable.

Tomas groans softly, his calloused fingers run through your hair as you bob up and down on his swollen cock. He opens his eyes, averting his gaze down to you in between his legs. The sight of you is almost to much to handle, your puffy lips on his erection, smaller hands wrapped around his shaft, tear filled eyes looking back up at him. Smoke burns, turning to look away, bashful and in a bit of disbelief at how good you look. You burn too, embarrassed as he watched you shamelessly choke down his length like it was nothing.

The aftermath is the most embarrassing part for the both of you, unsure of what to say or how to continue after such sinful activities.

Tomas leans over you, huffing heavily after finishing inside of you. Your legs quiver around him, eyelids drooping at your sudden tiredness. Your lover watches you from above, one hand holding him up and the other softly caressing you cheek. You stare back up at him, quickly feeling more embarrassed by the second, pulling up the blanket to cover your reddening face. Smoke laughs nervously, leaning down to hide his own face in the crook of your neck, turning both of you on your side to cuddle for the rest of the night.

a/n: sorry I've been gone so long LOL, kinktober burned me out horribly but I'm back >:3, I'll get to my requests soon I promise. I was sick and had covid the last 2 times I wanted to write the universe DID NOT WANT ME WRITING SMUT. anyways, I'll try to write more I promise :D!!!

#smoke smut #smut #gn reader #ftm reader #smoke x reader #trans reader #gender nuetral reader #transmasc reader #drabbles #sub male reader

248 notes · View notes

frankcastlescumslut · 2 years ago

Text

Wicked Games

pairing: Matt Murdock x Female Reader

word count: 5.8k

synopsis: Matt needs to be put back together after a rough night of patrolling Hell’s Kitchen

warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI!! angst-ish!! BDSM-y!! edging, bondage, boot riding, oral (m/f receiving), fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint, humiliation/praise kink, dom!matt, sub!reader, use of “sir” / “good girl”/“daddy”, some aftercare <3

A/N: heyyyy :p sorry I’ve been MIA, inspiration has struck since watching season 3 and I needed this, so please enjoy my nasty thoughts (:

as always, I love reading your feedback and comments!! reblogs are more than welcome <3

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK !!!

Glaring red digits of the alarm clock burn through your sleep-clouded vision as the walls abruptly shake, causing you to wake. It’s well past midnight and you almost give yourself permission to be aggravated at the slamming hatch and weak foundation of Matt’s apartment, but you know better, and more importantly, you know your lover returned— alive.

It would only be a matter of minutes before he would slip next to your relaxed body, place a gentle kiss to the crook of your neck and apologize for waking you; the thought alone relaxes you into the sweet anticipation of your routine.

That’s what you expect, at least, and yet minutes pass as if they have no concept of time. The spot behind your back grows colder as the bed remains empty, and the sounds of heavy footsteps alongside clinking glass emphasize the silent room.

Just a rough night. Just a rough night. Just a rough night.

You attempt to ease your worries with the familiar, albeit honest, excuse to justify his path to penance by repeating the mantra until your eyelids grow heavy, practically baiting sleep. It would only be so long until he would find you in bed and entangle himself with your limbs, whispering promises of safety into your hairline and relaxing to the sound of your even breaths.

In, out. In, out. In-

The shatter of glass pulls your eyelids open and lifts you from the bed as if some puppeteer pulled a string straight from your sternum.

“Matt?” you call out, shuffling to your feet through remnants of sleep, afraid you would find him incapacitated, and the sliding door groans as you shove it open, masking the sound of your exhale.

Even through the drowsy daze, you watch neon bathe his tense frame as he expertly paces throughout the apartment. He must've known you would wake from his brooding, yet he secretly wished you would turn a blind eye to his frustrations in hopes of maintaining some semblance of dignity.

“Matthew?” you try again, a little louder this time, to emphasize your presence.

He knew you were there, of course- the thump of your heart practically reverberated throughout his chest and echoed in his ears.

“Is there anything I can-“

“Just go.” His voice echoes throughout the apartment, the gruff tone stunning you momentarily. He stops to exhale, running a calloused hand over his down turned lips in a tidal wave of emotions- mostly regret and embarrassment at his short reaction to your concern. “Just go back to sleep, it’s fine.”

“Clearly it’s not fine,” you shoot back, defensiveness quickly forming in your chest. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Sleep quickly dissipates from your body as glimmering shards of glass catch your eye. You attempt to draw closer to inspect his current state, wanting to ensure he wasn’t critically injured, only to feel the familiar pang of rejection as he moves away from your outstretched hand.

“I’m fine. You should sleep.” He turns further from you, secretly grateful that his lack of vision shields him from the greatest shame, knowing you wear heartbreak on your face.

“Bullshit,” you spit, your feet landing thunderously against the floor.

“Go to bed, please,” he groans, only stopping with a frown as your fingers wrap around his bicep, finally pulling him to face you.

“You don’t get to just walk in here, throw a fucking tantrum, and pretend like everything is fine! You don’t get to push me away like this!”

Matt tears from your gentle grasp, unwilling to admit that your argument holds a significant amount of weight. In his shame and impulsiveness, he mimics a young Catholic boy, unable to cope with his personal shortcomings and inability to communicate his frustrations.

The sole of his boot collides with an innocent leather couch, causing it to slide a few inches, and the soft suction of your cupped palm greeting your mouth cuts through the deep groan of wood against wood, practically rupturing his eardrums.

“I almost lost you tonight!” His footsteps are leaden, leaving holes in the floorboards as he confesses.

You wait silently, watching Matt pace the small space in search of composure.

“What are you talking about?” Your voice gets lodged in your throat, but he hears you nonetheless.

“They knew your name.”

“Who?” The question leaves your lips carefully, attempting to ignore his sudden outburst.

“It doesn’t matter now.” His voice is hardly audible and hidden under what sounds like regret, maybe even disappointment.

Even in the dark, his pain radiates from his face.

“Did you…“

You want to ask if he had crossed his deeply etched line of morality, but refrain, ultimately to preserve your own feelings— unwilling to face whether you were selfishly worth dying over or not.

“No, I didn’t kill him.” He answers the lingering question with a huff of amusement and tinge of detest, lowering himself carefully onto the coffee table.

“Oh.”

The buzz of fluorescent billboards emphasizes the silence that hangs heavy in the air, seemingly pushing you further from him even though you remain planted firmly.

Unbeknownst to you, Matt’s world remains chaotic and clamored as he tunes his senses to the way your silence draws out the hurt.

“I almost lost control,” he clears his throat before his head hangs from his neck like it’s a rusted hinge. “I almost lost control and I almost killed a man.”

His confession leads you to look at him, to see him, for the first time that night.

You expect to find a broken man, and you do- the gash on his forehead, the reddened and bruised cheeks, the split in his upper lip, all evident even feet away- but you were unprepared to find an orphaned boy curled in on himself, fighting two invisible gods that threatened to tear him in half.

The thought of your worthiness being dependent upon inflicted violence suddenly chokes you, and you gravitate towards him effortlessly.

“Listen to me,” your gentle voice beckons him, but he ignores the instinct.

“I was so close. He knew your name, and I swear I could’ve- I should have-“ his lip quivers in admission, consequently dragging you to your knees in front of his folding stature.

“But you didn’t, because you are a good man.” His cheeks warm the palms of your hands as you interrupt him, the floorboards groaning as you lean forward. “You hear me? You are a good man, Matthew Murdock.”

He feels the sincerity of your words and intent gaze as you study his face, forcing him to soften under your tender inspection. His huff of disbelief echoes between your bodies, and you allow it to settle, filling the gap with nervous anticipation.

“You don’t have to-“

“Stop it.” You interrupt, already anticipating his onslaught of self deprecation.

“You could have been killed-“

“Well I wasn’t so-“

“Stand up, you’ll bruise your knees.”

The instructions catch you off guard before you realize your attempts to stealthily shift your weight did not fall on deaf ears.

“I’m fine. But really, though-“

“Stand up.”

The quick rebuttal you form catches in the back of your throat, and an invisible, familiar feeling begins to blossom in the depths of your chest as you note his stern undertone, cheeks warming consequently.

You almost feel guilty for your instinctive, physical reaction to his authority, given the nature of the current predicament, but you catch the way he clears his throat to mask the implications of his allusive tone, and swallow your own embedded shame in return.

Get it together.

The stale apartment air floods your nostrils as you brace your palms on Matt’s clothed thighs. He mimics you, holding his breath at the unexpected touch, only to relax as you use him as leverage to follow his directions.

Your knees thank you while you straighten gingerly, and you stare at your feet, careful to avoid his roaming eyes. You don’t need to watch him to know he’s attuning himself to your current state. There’s a certain intensity, an unspoken eagerness to the busy silence; his vacant gaze follows the way your body anxiously sways in front of him, and you hold your breath in wanton anticipation.

Get it together.

Time passes on its own accord, and while you tower over Matt, you somehow feel small and vulnerable under his assessment. It was almost intrusive at times, knowing that he was currently calculating your pulse, identifying which parts of your body were warmer, how shallow your breaths became if he gripped at his own knee to compose himself…

Get it together.

You attempt to distract yourself from his assessment and trail your gaze towards his face.

He looks untouchable yet so human, so broken- the way the neon emphasizes the deep shades of purple and red blossoming against his cheeks, the sunken troughs beneath his eyes, the rusted stain against his top lip- and you act without thought.

“Let me help you.” Your request leaves your lips without permission, forcing you to confront the growing desire that branches throughout different corners of your body.

He’s like a magnet, or perhaps a puppeteer, and you inch closer towards him like you’ve done so many times before.

To your surprise, he doesn’t recede, and you carefully thread your fingers through the hair against the nape of his neck. He closes the space, leaning a heavy head against you, and wraps exhausted arms around your frame while relishing in your presence.

In the rare moments that Matt surrenders to himself, you always remember to silently thank whatever higher power for the intimate moments, and you do— so much so that he notices the semi-hypnotic trance you find yourself in while holding him close to you.

“Let me help you feel better, please,” you whisper, afraid if you voiced your desires any louder that the bubble would burst around the sacred embrace.

He lifts his head at your request, noting the desperation in your voice, before weighing the costs of his own longing- your flushed cheeks and strong pulse helping him in solidifying his decision to trail his hands down your back.

You nearly whine at the perceived separation, but quickly silence yourself as he skillfully lifts your hoodie over your head before dropping it to the floor.

He moves swiftly, lifting himself from the table with a fervor, and you find yourself pulled into his chest. Your lips crash together, teeth practically clashing, and he swallows his name while hungrily pulling your face towards his, desperate for any part of you.

You almost feel guilty at the way you’re already falling apart, but your insecurities are overshadowed by the way Matt nips at your bottom lip and grabs at any exposed skin as if you would disappear if he let go of you.

In your own earnestness, your hands act independently, gripping the soft strands of his hair and tugging ever so slightly, pulling a breathy moan from him as your lips part from each other.

“C’mere,” he growls, sliding his hands towards the crook of your knees to hoist you onto his torso.

You giggle at his ardor while wrapping your legs around his frame, not once questioning his intentions. His lips quickly attach to the column of your neck before drawing a moan out of you as he sucks the skin lightly, teasing the tender flesh with teeth.

“Baby, please,” your unfinished request falls on expectant ears, and he takes the initiative to guide you both to the room, though not without difficulty as you adjust against him.

The cool metal door greets your back abruptly, nearly knocking the wind out of you as Matt stumbles, too distracted by the growing warmth between your thighs and fluttering heartbeat.

“Matthew!”

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” you laugh against his cheek before leaving a trail of kisses alongside of his scruffy jaw, ending below his ear. “Just get me to the bed in one piece.”

The mattress sinks beneath your weight and you find yourself engulfed as Matt hovers over your body. He kisses the already sensitive spot on your neck while his hands roam your soft skin, chuckling as he pulls sweet noises from you.

“Baby…” you whine, writhing and shoving your hips into him in search of attention.

“What’s the matter sweetheart?” He mumbles into your neck while his fingertips graze over your hardened nipples, causing you to gasp.

Lines form against your forehead as you study his reaction, experimentally dragging your palm against the evident bulge in his pants. He anticipates your forwardness, quickly wrapping a bruised hand around your wrist and pinning it above your head, before tracing the column of your neck and thrumming pulse with his tongue.

“Did you mean it?” He growls against you, his spare hand snaking towards your aching core. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to help me?”

Your legs are manually parted as he shoves a hand between your thighs, cupping your clothed cunt, and you can’t help but peel your back off the mattress at the subtle friction, lust clouding your senses completely.

“Answer me,” he taps against your core harshly, prompting your attention. “Did you mean it, angel? Be honest, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“Y-yes I meant it!” Tap. “I mean it!” Tap.

“Good girl.”

In your own selfishness, you expect him to indulge himself in your dripping offering, and to your astonishment and disappointment, he instead places a featherlight kiss beneath your jaw before pulling away from you.

His changed demeanor leaves you breathless while gentle, panting breaths float around your bodies as you attempt to collect yourself. He studies you— listening and acclimating to your exact needs and responses. His intensity is felt as it aimlessly wanders the features of your flushed face.

During the small windows of inspection, you yourself have become accustomed to Matt’s reactions, easily identifying his yearning by the way his chest falls in short succession to the way his lips part in nervous expectancy before finally melting into you.

This kiss is different. The way he touches you is soft and intentional, tracing the outline of your jaw and the curvature of your ear, sealing his adoration with a stamp against your forehead.

“You trust me, right?” He whispers against your lips.

“Of course I do.”

Although you mask your confusion, your heart betrays you, fluttering in your chest.

He listens to the rhythmic thudding as if it were communicating with him, practically pleading that he stop his routine of self denial and give in to his vices.

You notice his quick smirk before processing the way his knuckles graze against the mounds of your breast and trace the outline of your body.

“And you know I love you, right?”

“Yes.” You shiver against the delicate touch.

“Good…” he runs calloused fingertips against your thighs before returning his attention to your lips. “Kneel on the ground and hold out your wrists.”

The demand barely registers through your hazy awareness, and you’re only cognizant of Matt’s missing warmth from the way your limbs prickle.

He is hypnotic, moving effortlessly around the room in pursuit of something you’re unsure and uncaring about. You nearly reach out, practically desperate to touch any part of him, and yet you’re only able to concentrate on the way the flashing lights emphasize the contours of his muscles hidden beneath his fitted black shirt.

“Do I need to remind you of where you’re supposed to be?”

You gasp unintentionally at the alluring timbre mere inches from your ear- too preoccupied with the glimpse of maroon swinging from his closed fist, an indicator of your immediate future.

“No,” you exhale, silently cursing yourself at your incompetence while shuffling around his body, bracing yourself against the hardwood floor. “I’m sorry.”

Before he could correct you, you hold out your wrists to him in submission.

It feels odd at first— surrendering to his fervor and your own hunger, knowing his cognition has been blanketed with the desires of the flesh while you dangle in front of him on your knees.

You can’t help but wonder whether you are the one who washes his wounds or are nothing more than the inflictor, simply offering tangible and fleeting relief to his moralistic suffering.

“Matthew,”

“I’m okay,” he precedes your concern, kneeling in front of you. “I just… need to feel in control for a little bit. Can you help me do that?”

It feels as if the roles had switched and you could audibly hear his nervous heartbeats and feel the warmth radiating from his neck and cheeks.

You nod, knowing he can sense your agreement.

“But if you say stop,”

“We stop.” You finish his sentence.

“Exactly.” He exhales with a mirrored smile, scanning your face earnestly before landing his vacant gaze just beyond your left ear.

The maroon rope feels heavy in his hand and he stiffens, the end of it hardly brushing against your bare thigh as if to make a subtle introduction.

He catches the way you hold your breath in the chasm of your throat at the gentle intrusion before guiding your exposed wrists to his lips, sighing into the way your pulse reacts to his touch.

“I love you,” his declaration fans against your delicate skin before he lifts himself from his kneeling posture, now completely towering over your submissive form.

The room is filled with an electric hum; whether it was the blinding billboards or the charged current circulating both your bodies, you were unsure, but you knew Matt could feel it as well.

He remains silent, drawing out the suspense as he exaggerates the fluid motions by pulling the rope to accentuate his wingspan before cuffing your wrists, leaving you wide-eyed and expectant.

Meticulous patterns form around your skin as the rope burns deliciously with each loop, and although it doesn’t hurt, you wince, drawing a breath between your teeth.

Matt cranes his neck towards your reaction, his jaw growing taut as he listens for your heartbeat and warmth blooming across your cheeks, chest, and between your thighs.

“Feel okay?” he asks, roughly tugging the tail ends of the rope.

“Mhm.”

“What was that?” You jerk forward unexpectedly, whining as your knees crush into the floor while he pulls the ends of the rope together with force, cinching the cuffs to your wrists. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words.”

“Yes sir, it feels good.” The blush creeps towards your ears in embarrassment, emphasized by the way Matt silently knots the loose ends.

You study his work, admiring the way the rope hugs your skin and applies the perfect amount of pressure to your veins while securing you to submission before he loops a finger through the middle knot and tugs, inspecting his own handiwork.

It’s evident that you are timid- nearly naked and restrained, Matt circles you, noting the way he has reduced you to nothing but wanton expectation.

You feel like a caged bird; displayed for the masses while others indulge in your beauty— the excitement and hope of being rewarded overpowering the nagging urge to open and offer yourself up for the taking.

The lack of attention is maddening, and you make no attempts to hide it, completely aware that Matt is relishing in your impatience.

He knows it’s a cruel game, but your fluttering heart and shaky breaths only add onto his enjoyment as he controls your reactions, finding it particularly amusing to watch you clench your thighs in search of any kind of relief.

And while it is a cruel game, he also prides himself on being fair and just, leading him to slide a thick boot between your parted thighs as he centers himself in front of you.

“Fuck,” you moan at the unexpected contact.

He extends a hand to cradle your face and you watch him with pathetic puppy dog eyes.

“What’s wrong angel? Does it feel good?” His tone teases you.

“Yes sir,” your voice is embarrassingly small and you shrink under the way his eyes desperately scan your face.

“I know it does. You’re gonna help me and I’m gonna help you, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You look divine— wrists bound in maroon and held close to your chest as if you were praying to him, nearly drooling as he fiddles with the buttons of his pants.

As much as you crave to be touched and devoured, your need to be used- to be the one that relieves him of his iniquities- takes precedent, and you impatiently stretch your arms to help him undress.

“Come on, angel. You know better,” he gently scolds, attempting to disguise his amusement. “Are you really that desperate?”

You audibly whimper as he spits into his palm before stroking his length in front of you, and he knows that you don’t have to verbally answer him- he can practically taste your dripping cunt as you grind against his boot.

But you do answer, though, and open your mouth to offer your throat to him with complete satisfaction as he smirks.

“So fuckin’ eager, huh?” He taps the tip of his cock against your tongue. “Go on then, take it.”

Without a second thought, you wrap your lips around his length, quickly pulling a moan from the depths of his chest. You do your best to take as much of him as you can without using your hands, skillfully running your tongue against the shaft before hollowing your throat to fit him.

He hisses in pleasure and you hum around his heavy cock as he bucks his hips automatically, quickening the pace in selfish pursuit.

“There you go,” he thumbs away the stray tear that follows the contours of your cheek. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The praise baits you and you take it with ease, bobbing your head in rhythm with his thrusts. You’re too engulfed by his affirming moans to care about the drool that coats your swollen lips, consequently dripping onto your bare chest.

“Fuck,” he grits, grabbing your cheeks to pull you off of him before he finishes embarrassingly fast and collides his lips with yours. “Make yourself feel good, sweetheart. You deserve it after waiting so patiently.”

You want to be ashamed. You want to be absolutely humiliated at the speed in which you follow his orders, but the way your hips move automatically, dragging your clothed core across his filthy boot and the expletives that fall from your lips suggest otherwise.

“Feels so good,” you whimper, dropping your head against his knee.

“I know, angel. You’re doing so good for me.”

The heels of your palms support your weight as you pick up your pace, chasing your pleasure while your pulse thrums against the maroon rope in tandem.

“Look at you,” he coos, wrapping his fingers through your hair to pull your face towards him. “Such a dirty girl riding my boot like that.”

“Such a dirty girl,” you repeat, already feeling your judgment become clouded with the oncoming ecstasy.

Matt laughs in disbelief, almost impressed at how quickly you have unraveled beneath him. He can tell by the way your hips stutter and fingernails scrape against the floorboards that you are encroaching upon your first orgasm, and he almost gives it to you— almost.

“C’mon now, you know better than that…” he tsks, noting your confusion as you freeze. “You should know that I’m the only one who gets to make you cum, angel.”

You should have known better than to doubt Matt’s leniency; he was very black and white, rare to show unwarranted mercy towards those who are undeserving, and you have yet to convince him that you are worthy of a climactic release.

With leaden hips, you stop your movements, hoping to be rewarded for your compliance.

“Please, Matt…”

“What’s the matter?” He teases, beckoning for you to stand with outstretched arms.

You meet him, your knees groaning as you struggle to gain your balance, only to be held upright by a large hand cupping your warm cunt.

“Jesus!” Your moans fill the air as you throw your head back, desperately grabbing onto his shirt through the confines of your roped cage.

“Wrong guy, sweetheart,” he smirks before placing a kiss to your pulse, gently swirling his fingertips against your drenched panties while leading you to the bed.

The mattress dips beneath your weight as you plop down, only ceasing to part from Matt’s lips while he hastily attempts to undress.

You drink him in, enchanted by the way his muscles work in tandem with his own fervor, the fluorescent lights washing over his contours and scars as if to pay homage to his own selflessness.

Without thinking, you reach out for him, fingertips barely grazing the elastic waistband of his boxers.

“Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, but,” you hardly expect his reaction, let alone the way he slides his hands beneath your knees, forcing your body towards him

“Did I say that you could touch me?” He enunciates his words carefully.”

“No sir.”

“No sir,” he repeats. “That’s right, do I need to remind you of your place?”

Sliding your legs further apart, you open yourself up to him like some offering on a golden plate; his threat is felt between your thighs, and you make no efforts to hide the effect of his words.

“No sir,” you smirk at the way he clenches his jaw as your scent captures his attention.

“I don’t think I agree with you, angel.”

The cool air hitting your drenched core sends a shiver through your body as Matt tears your underwear from your hips in an attempt to reinstate his authority. You stifle a laugh at his urgency, knowing your efforts for attention had not been in vain, and yet the thrill of punishment excites you.

Without fail, you find yourself being spread open to a hungry and awaiting audience.

A warm breath fans against your inner thighs and you shudder at the intimate intrusion. His lips savor the warmth of your skin, his fingers gripping onto your soft flesh like you’re threatening to melt away.

“Matthew,” you moan as he inches closer to your pussy, but never close enough.

“Hm?” he murmurs into your skin, and you tremble as he adorns your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his exploration.

“Your mouth,” you gasp as he experimentally brushes the pad of his thumb against your clit, never peeling his lips off of you.

“What about it?”

“I want it!” Your hips buck towards him on their own accord, chasing any kind of attention.

“You want it?” He draws a finger between your folds, collecting your sweet offering before bringing it to his tongue. “Tell me where you want my mouth.”

“On my- God! On my pussy! Please!”

“You’re so cute when you beg.”

He indulges himself per your request, his warm breath fanning across your core before he satisfies his thirst, drinking you in with a flat tongue and open mouth moan.

You melt against him effortlessly as his mouth satisfies your prolonged pleasure, trying to touch him, to bring him impossibly closer while he teases your clit, but your fingers hardly graze the tufts of hair between your knotted restraints.

He ignores your selfish attempts, too preoccupied by your taste, his senses completely engulfed by all that is you.

It’s humiliating at how quickly your orgasm builds. Your body feels like it’s on fire with each languid stroke of his tongue against your sensitive clit, his fingers marking you with ownership as he anchors himself to your thighs, moaning into your cunt like a starved man.

“Matthew, I’m so close.”

He actually whimpers, scrunching his eyes while grinding his hips into the mattress for some release, knowing that he is the one responsible for your ecstasy.

“Cum for me, princess,” he mumbles into you before expertly sliding a finger into your pussy, hooking you to him as he pulls your orgasm out of you, selfishly giving over some control for his own insatiable desires.

You obey perfectly, unraveling against Matt’s tongue as he works you, your vision blurring and wrists burning from the tension against the maroon ropes.

“Stop!” You croak out, twitching from overstimulation.

“What’s the matter, honey? Is everything okay?” He pulls away from you with glistening, downturned lips.

“Out,” you hold out your wrists. “I need out. Please.”

Matt is quick to respond and unbinds you as gently as possible, taking extra care to caress the patterned indentations along your delicate skin.

“You did so good for me,” your pulse thumps against his wet lips as he soothes you, gently squeezing the lengths of your arms to relax the muscles.

Free from the confines of your mental and maroon cage, you yield to the crumbling preservation and melt into a familiar safety of Matt’s gentle affection.

“Need you,” you whisper, freely stretching your hands towards Matt’s face, drawing him into you for the first time. And although he nearly crushes you, the added weight is comforting, filling a part of you that had been gnashing and snarling for attention.

Your lips fit together, colliding with an urgency and avidity, and you swallow each other’s affinity. You study his body with your touch starved fingertips, caressing his skin and lingering over the raised markings and scars before pressing into them, collecting his moan into your mouth.

“I need you,” you raise your hips towards his length that rests between your thighs. “Please.”

Without hesitation, he pulls himself from the confines of his boxers, completely disregarding his calculated systems of control and authority, and glides his leaking tip over your drenched heat.

“Fuck,” he trembles as he positions himself over you, and you take the opportunity to mark his neck with hungry kisses.

Your attempts are futile; he intertwined his fingers with yours before slowly pressing his cock into you, your body welcoming him with ease.

“God, you’re so tight, angel.”

“You’re so fucking big.”

He listens to your body— the way your muscles contract as he rubs circles around your swollen clit, the way your cunt stretches and burns to fit him, and the way you welcome it with your eyes rolling back as he grinds his hips into your own, expertly hitting your g spot.

“Please don’t stop!” You beg, your voice bouncing off of the rafters, the echoes only encouraging him to continue his efforts. “It feels so good, baby.”

“I know it does. You’re doing such a good job taking my cock, sweetheart. Such a good job.”

He wishes he could watch the way he slides into you, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure as you take him, but he is just as satisfied hearing the lewd sounds of your cunt greedily swallowing him. He knows by the way your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulders that you are reaching your climax, practically begging him to continue.

“Matt,” you whine, desperately holding onto him like you would float away if you let go. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“What was that?” He asks, knowing fully well what you confessed.

“You’re gonna-“ you falter as you watch him suck on his fingers before circling your abused clit.

“Tell me, angel.”

“You’re gonna make me cum, daddy.”

He groans, not anticipating that your own release would trigger his.

“That’s right, sweet girl. I’m the only one that makes this pussy cum, isn’t that right?”

“Yes yes yes!” You nod while simultaneously chanting your agreement, trying your best to hold onto the building climax. “Cum in me, please! Please, I’m begging!”

“God you’re such a dirty slut, begging for daddy’s cum, huh?”

“Matthew!”

It crashes over you unexpectedly; your chest pulls towards the heavens and you scratch your name into his back as your orgasm floods your system, luring Matt to follow suit.

“Such a good girl for me, just taking my cock like that— fuck— gonna fill that pretty pussy!” His hips stutter as your greedy cunt clenches around him and he spills into you, giving you all that he can.

“There you go sweetheart, such a good girl for me,” he falls into you, melts into you, savoring the scent of every exposed inch of skin that you offer up- his breath fanning against the crook of your neck as he pumps his hips a final time for good measure before pulling out of you reluctantly.

Falling against the silk sheets, you entangle your limbs with his, connected by exhaustion and delirious smiles, reveling in the closeness and simplicity of each other’s presence.

Matt reaches out to you, cupping your face with a warm palm that invites you to nuzzle closer.

“Hi.”

You aren’t sure why you’re whispering— maybe to preserve the illusion of dignity or the sanctity, but it blankets the both of you with a tenderness that reflects the soft smiles mirrored between you.

“Hi, beautiful.”

A warmth creeps up your neck and blossoms to your cheeks, so evident that you are ablaze in his limited field of vision.

“Shut up,” you deflect, shying away from his tenderness by burrowing into the crook of your arm. You’re used to the physical affections and the acts of service, making adjustments to his definition of quality time, and yet his words never fail to make you come apart.

“Never.” You’re pulled into him against your own will but never fight back, enjoying the soft kisses that he plants against your bare shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sneak your hand to wrap your fingers around his, bringing his knuckles to your lips to seal your declaration.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

He hesitates, filtering through which words to choose.

“For trusting me— for choosing me. Thank you.”

You turn to face him, throwing a blanket over your tangled limbs and settling in the closeness. He feels your stare studying the features of his face, landing on the creases of his bashful smile.

“I’ll always choose you, Matthew.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, and the annoying buzz of the alarm clock meddling with the sound of a busy city just outside the windows dares to pull his attention away from you. He waits, though, listening to the succession of your breaths evening out, your muscles relaxing as you nestle into his radiant warmth, and a gentle hum slip through your lips to indicate the sleep that washes over you.

“I’ll always choose you, too.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #dom!matt murdock x sub!fem reader #matt murdock smut #dom!matt murdock #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil x female reader #daredevil smut #daredevil oneshot #matt murdock one shot

753 notes · View notes

definitelynotstable · 1 year ago

Text

Camomile pt. 6 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Hello! Finished my essay and then straight after had a ski trip organised so that’s why I’ve been awol! Missed you all loads. This one is a bit rough (not proofread) but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Synopsis: You've been rescued by the 141, Ghost is the only one who can calm you down. Word count: 1.4k Warnings: trauma, injuries, medical shiz, reader thinks they are dead Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags)

— — —

This haze doesn’t seem as peaceful as you expected death to be. Though you are probably going to hell, you think through the flashing of lights and colours. Killing was a sin, wasn’t it? Even if they were terrorists? Something like that.

There’s a ringing getting louder and louder. It’s piercing. Your chest hurts. You would do anything to relieve the pressure. Suddenly you can move your arms and your legs. Where are you? Someone’s hurting you. You thrash and flail against the grip of shadows and wisps.

— — —

A scream echoes down the hallway where the Lieutenant stands, arms crossed, jaw locked. Ghost stiffens, is that coming from your room? Nearby he watches as a nurse hurries past him and through a door. Medical personnel are yelling; something is beeping.

Shit.

Faster than he thought possible in all his gear, the Lieutenant races down the hallway. He comes to a screeching halt, catching the doorway.

There, in the centre of the room, is you. Almost five nurses and doctors are holding you down; you’re thrashing as they try to calm you down. You’re sobbing now, hyperventilating as a nurse tries desperately to hold an oxygen mask to your face. You’re saying something, what are you saying?

— — —

Who are these people holding you down? Where’s Ghost? What happened to those cobalt eyes you loved so much.

“Ghost!” You pant out his name between sobs, breath ragged. “Ghost please, they’re hurting me!”

You just need to see his eyes. You need to know you’re safe.

“Please!” You gasp, chest burning, “Simon!”

You’ve never used his real name before. It was something you had overheard Price call him when they thought they were alone in his office. Some people in the military were cautious about their names. You respected that and had never used it.

Until now.

— — —

“Simon!”

Ghost stiffens from where he watches from the doorway. He’d never told you his name. But the way you’d called out, scared and in pain, he couldn’t ignore it.

Before he even knows what he is doing the Lieutenant steps forward, roughly pushing between two nurses, batting their hands away. Their protests are silenced with a single glare.

“Let go,” he commands sternly, “You’re scaring them.”

— — —

Slowly the arms holding you down are gone. Something - no - someone enters your slightly blurred vision. The fluorescent lights give them a halo. Cobalt blue eyes blink down at you. Ghost. He looks ethereal. You raise a shaking hand, eyes watering.

“Simon?” Your fingers brush the shell of his mask, curling around his jaw, “Simon is that you?”

A gloved hand covers the one you have resting on his jaw. “It��s Ghost,” he corrects gently, with a nod.

“Ghost.” You repeat, eyes glazed as you struggle to keep him in focus. “Am I dead?”

He blinks, blond lashes fluttering. “No, but you will be if you don’t let these poor doctors help you.”

Suddenly you notice the five or so others hovering in your periphery. You feel your eyes well up with tears again.

“M’sorry,” you whisper, Ghost swipes a gloved thumb under your eye, “I got scared.”

“I know,” the Lieutenant nods, eyes still locked with yours, “But I’m here, I’ll look after you.”

Your lip wobbles, you feel so frail. “You will?”

“I will.” He squeezes your hand before placing it softly on the bed at your side, “Now let them work – I’ll be right here with you.”

You nod, their arms return, gentler this time. A nurse speaks softly as she walks you through everything she does. Eyelids heavy; you feel yourself slip away.

— — —

Something is beeping softly when you come too, lashes sticking slightly with sleep. Your room is empty, you hate it. You fumble for the call button at you side, pressing it hard.

A nurse walks in, she smiles to see you awake.

“How are you, honey? You gave us quite the scare.”

You swallow, throat dry and she leans over to help you up, her navy hijab tickling your cheek. A paper cup is pressed into your hands and you tentatively sip, the water cool and refreshing. You splutter a little and the nurse rubs your back, encouraging you to breath.

“Want more?” She asks, still supporting your back. You shake your head and swipe a hand over your mouth where some water runs over your lips.

“I was wondering -” you rasp up at her, pausing to clear your throat - “I was wondering where my friend went?”

The nurse nods, taking the cup back. “I think I saw them by reception, I’ll let him know you are ready for visitors.”

She swishes out of the door and you sink back into the pillows. Everything aches; it no doubt will for a while.

“Rags?” A gruff voice comes from the door, you look over as fast as your stiff neck allows you. A man stands, silhouetted against the fluorescent lights in the hallway. A hat sits, curled over his forehead. Squinting, you can make out his beard.

“Captain?”

The man nods; stepping into the room, he crosses to your side in two short strides. He isn’t who you wanted to see but his presence is welcome nonetheless. He stands over you, brows creased as he surveys you where you lie prone in the hospital bed. His eyes gloss over slightly, and he blinks, clearing his throat.

“Are you broken, soldier?” Price asks, his hand rests on the bedrail.

“No sir,” you croak out with a smile, he holds your gaze for a moment before sighing and sinking into the chair beside your bed. He pulls a hand over his face, scratching at his beard.

“Fuck, Rags I have to apologise, this should have never happened.”

You press the heels of your hands into the mattress and heave yourself up – waving Price off as he makes to help you. You settle with a groan, thoroughly exhausted from such small effort. You shudder at the thought of training after this.

“It isn’t your fault-“

-“but that’s the thing!” He cuts you off, voice raw with emotion you have never heard from him. “It is my fault. Makarov has it out for me and you were collateral.”

“With all due respect, sir, he has it out for all of us.” You retort with a long-suffering sigh, “I know the risks– we all know the risks of this job. Something like this would’ve happened sooner rather than later and I’m just glad it was me and not any of you.”

Price’s jaw ticks as he stares at you.

“Can you seriously tell me I am wrong, Captain?” You challenge, knowing you are right. But the guilt of being responsible for a team and for something to go so horribly wrong can’t be erased overnight. You know that.

The Captain swallows, “No. I can’t.”

“Exactly,” you sigh, with a wince. “Now quit sulking and get me the nurse, I need something for the pain.”

— — —

Soap and Gaz poked their head in a while later, Price was still there, tapping away on a laptop when they entered. He had stood up, patted your knee goodbye and given the two sergeants a nod as he left. You suspected they were taking some form of shifts so someone was always with you. You didn’t comment on it, you were secretly glad. They brought you a couple of books from your room and an eye mask – “because hospitals are bloody bright” Soap remarked passionately. Gaz offered to brush your hair while Soap sat in a chair fiddling with the adjustable straps of the mask. The younger man was careful not to pull at any of the wires which stemmed form your chest and to some of the machines beeping in the background; the gentle brush against your scalp causing your eyes to flutter shut with a small sigh.

“My mother used to do my hair,” Gaz murmured, running his fingers through your hair between brushes, “I never felt safer.”

You smile, cracking an eye up at him. “I think I understand why. I’m feeling pretty safe now.”

Gaz returned the smile, tilting his head to look down at you. “I’m glad,” he whispers, breath fanning down across your face.

A nurse came in not long after and insisted you sleep - Soap and Gaz resigned themselves with playing cards quietly in the corner as you dozed.

And slowly but surely the world slipped away around you.

— — —

Masterlist

Next part

158 notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

We Fall Like Snow ║ Part ⅠⅠ

After the events that took place at the Cliff Beasts set, needless to say as his bodyguard (and friend) you became overprotective of Dieter. You have all your worries under control until you accidentally flip over a young fan by grabbing her wrist, causing the media to stir with speculations as to why. Luckily Dieter's family arrives in the nick of time, scooping you both from New York to their cozy cabin; however, winter wonderland can't last forever and you need to face the consequences of your actions sooner or later.

pairing: Dieter Bravo x bodyguard!ofc; Amina Addams, written in reader format

chapter summary: Going on a trip with Dieter and his parents? More likely then you think.

word count: 4.9k

chapter warnings: some family drama, mentions of past bullying, but mostly fluffy moments

**dividers by the amazing @saradika

“I think we all expected some drama to drop when Dieter Bravo was cast as one of the main heroes of the upcoming movie ‘Abyss Burning’ but surprisingly enough this drama isn’t about him but his female bodyguard,” the voice coming out of the phone’s speaker is pleasant, engaging. Your stomach drops at the spoken sentence. “So let’s start at the beginning–”

Dieter comes at you from out of nowhere and yanks his father’s phone out of your trembling hands. Your instincts kicking in (as if those same instincts haven’t caused enough trouble already) you reach out for the device but he’s already across the room, giving the phone back to his dad, a glare directed at the poor unsuspecting man. Mrs. Bravo looks somewhat aware of your distress, her gaze softens with kindness, she smiles when your eyes meet.

Dieter stands like a wall between you and his parents.

“Maybe you two should go out to the balcony, the weather’s nice,” Dieter says, tone full of implication. “I’ll talk to you guys in a sec,”

Mr. Bravo parts his lips, but before words can form, Mrs. Bravo ushers him out to the balcony and closes the door behind them.

You hadn’t realized but you were holding your breath, only now letting go.

“The last thing you should do is watch drama channels,”

The couch dips with Dieter’s added weight, you look down at your hands and witness the constant twitching of your fingers. The ever distressing sound of jingle bells ring loudly in your ears. Despite your focus being elsewhere, you hear him sigh. You feel him curling his fingers around your left hand, pulling it to his lap. You perceive your hand to be detached from the rest of your body, nothing but a lifeless limb between Dieter’s fingers.

“My mom taught me something when I was little, supposedly it helps when you’re feeling nervous,” he says. “Open your palm,”

Life returns to your skin with his touch. His fingers are warm. Heat seeps back into your skin, you can feel again, you move around your fingers before doing as he said. Dieter starts to draw patterns into your palm. It’s ticklish, the sensation forces a smile against your lips.

“She told me that I should write my name letter by letter into my palm and that it would calm me down.”

Dieter is already staring at you when you lift your gaze. His smile is soft, which surprises you. Usually his smiles were wide and broad, full of happiness, be it fake or real. This expression is a gift, a gentle reminder that you’re someone close to him. His forefinger continues to dance along your palm, blood simmers pleasantly underneath your skin. Slowly, you realize that these aren’t random patterns.

It’s your name. You half had expected him to write out his own name.

He repeats it, the tip of his nail catches along your palm, a shudder spreading throughout your body. Dieter’s gaze drops, his cheeks dusted with a beautiful shade of pink.

“Breathe,” he reminds you. “Just breathe and focus on the letters, I promise you’ll feel better,”

Your eyes flutter shut, vague shapes caused by light moves like shadow-play beneath your eyelids. Your mind slowly comes together, you push away the thoughts of gossip. Instead you focus on yourself, on Dieter. You remind yourself of how close your lips were to his, your breaths mingling, your bodies seeking eachother’s heat.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard. The sharp pain clears your mind. Dieter’s finger still moves. You feel him drawing another “A”. Deep down you know you can stay like this for hours, for eternity. His finger, despite the lack of sexual connotation, makes heat to pool between your legs. You know that this will be the closest you’ll ever get to feeling him against your skin like this, so you allow yourself to postpone the moment of parting.

Time stretches, you imagine his fingers moving up your wrist, tracing the curve of your muscles until he reaches your shoulder and from there, to your neck.

Your body stiffens, goosebumps settle across your skin. Dieter traces an “I”. How long does he plan on tracing your name like this?

You fear that he can hear your thoughts echoing in the silence. You fear that he can see the pleasure written along your body. It’s a nasty feeling, one that coats your tongue with the taste of bile.

When you open your eyes, his gaze lifts in a way that convinces you that he knew the exact moment it would be too much. As if he knew the moment you would resort to opening your eyes. His smile is still there.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. Thank you,” his finger retreats, regrettably so. “I like that little trick. It’s nice,”

“Mrs. Bravo is a wise woman,” Dieter’s smile cracks into a grin. “Speaking of, I should probably check on the happy couple,”

You nod, “Yeah, okay.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

You will never be able to forget the look of concern he’s giving you. The crease between his brows is deep, eyes focused like you’ve never seen before. You fight the urge to scoff. You can’t believe it, Dieter Bravo of all people is actually worrying about you. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

You smile and nod, your thumb unconsciously pressing into your palm when he finally turns to leave.

You can see only a small fraction of the balcony. You witness Mrs. Bravo hugging her son, you see Mr. Bravo looking sheepishly at Dieter, his lips mouthing out words you can’t hear. Wanting to give them at least a bit of privacy you look down to your palm.

Your nail had left a crescent shaped mark. You smooth over it, you repeat the motion again and again, with each swipe of your thumb you feel your heart rate escalating. Anger bubbles in your chest. You were fine just a moment ago, this whole thing wasn’t that big of a deal. So what if drama channels were talking about you? So what if everyone was making speculations? You know the truth. You know it was an accident.

When you inhale, the breath you take is shaky and short. You close your eyes, then open them again. There’s an ache in your chest, you breathe and it hurts, you breathe again and again, wanting the pain to disappear.

You mutter out a curse and look back to the balcony, Dieter has his arm around Mrs. Bravo’s waist and Mr. Bravo’s hand is on his son’s shoulder. They must be close. Who would’ve thought? You really should’ve asked for their names before grabbing the offered phone to search what people were saying about the incident. Your gaze drops to your palm, the mark is gone, you remember the trick Dieter recently told you about.

Sighing, you start to drag your thumb in the shape of an “A”. You follow up with the other letters but it doesn’t make you feel better. Maybe I’m doing it wrong? You look back to Dieter and then to your palm again. You write something different for your second try. After each letter you feel your cheeks getting warmer and warmer.

You start to feel better.

The balcony door slides open and Mrs. Bravo is the first to come back inside. You blink dumbly at her, your thumb still moving across your palm. Dieter notices and you stop.

Now that you were aware who this couple was, you take your time observing them. Mrs. Bravo had Dieter’s eyes— though it would probably be more accurate to say that Dieter had his mother’s eyes. Her gaze sparkled more compared to his. Her hair a light shade of brown with soft, honey-like highlights between them. You spot a couple of grays pouring between the honey, making you believe that your initial assumption that her hair was dyed was actually wrong. The soft locks stopped right below her neck, slightly curling at the ends. She has a delicate gold chain around her neck, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.

“Amina,” she calls out to you, smiling wide. “Why don’t you come with us?”

“Mom…” Dieter cuts in, giving you a chance to understand what Mrs. Bravo was asking of you. Sadly, you still have no clue. “She doesn’t want to come with us. I barely want to go. The only reason I agreed to go is because we’re blood related.”

“Your cousin Everett is also joining us,” Mr. Bravo chimes in. “Didn’t you say that you missed him?”

“Like I said; Blood. Related.”

“Dieter, stop it.” His mom’s voice is sharp and clear. “Of course she would want to come. It would be good for her nerves and you said yourself you missed Everett,”

“Me missing him doesn’t make my point any less valid,”

His father talks over him, both parents ignoring him completely.

“Besides, isn’t she your bodyguard? Doesn’t she have to come along? You two have a contract right?”

“Yes but that’s not how it works–”

When the three begin to chatter among themselves, words getting a bit loud and heated, you raise your hand like a kid trying to get the teacher’s attention. You clear your throat.

“Go where exactly?”

“See, she needs this more than you think!” Mrs. Bravo proclaims triumphantly, her gaze moving from Dieter to you. “We have a cabin up in the mountains. It’s a lovely spot, near a ski resort so there’s people but not enough that you feel suffocated! We go there every year,”

“Except for last year,” Mr. Bravo cuts in, eyeing Dieter.

“It’s not my fault, I was working.”

“We would be happy if you came along,” Mrs. Bravo says with the most mother-like tone she can muster. You’re flustered, skin warm and tingling as she stares at you with hopeful eyes. Normally, you have no problem with telling people no —if you did your job would be a lot harder— but as her gaze zeroes in on you, all the excuses you could come up with die on your tongue. You nod with a shaky smile, telling her that you would love to tag along. “Fantastic! Dieter promised to show us around so you can pack during that time. We’ll come pick you up at about 9 PM. Dieter has your address right?”

“Y-Yeah,”

You’re overwhelmed at how fast she’s talking. Satisfied with your mediocre answer, she turns to Dieter.

“We’ll wait for you downstairs dear. Say goodbye to your friend!”

Both parents shake your hand before leaving, Mr. Bravo winks at you while mouthing a sorry, and follows his wife out the door.

It’s only you and Dieter now. The room is eerily silent.

He groans and falls to the couch, his one hand covers both his eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. You can’t help but giggle, sitting next to him you touch his shoulder.

“Sorry about that,” he groans out. “I can make up something if you don’t want to go,”

“Nah, your mom’s right, it might be good for me.” Your eyes move towards the door, you can still feel their chaotic energy crackling in the air. “I don’t know what I was expecting your parents to be like, but it definitely wasn’t that,”

Dieter peaks at you from between his fingers, you can see the corners of his smile exceeding the frame of his hand.

“They really are something else. I think they like you,”

“Really?” You sound genuinely surprised.

Dieter’s hand falls to his side as he lets out a hearty laugh, he looks beautiful like this. His head thrown back and a smile as bright as the sun crossing his face. Your heart swells.

“Do you think my mom invites over every woman, or man, she sees next to me?” he shakes his head. “She’s definitely planning something, I’ll tell you that much. I should warn you about my dad though, he doesn’t have much of a filter.”

You hum, “Reminds me of someone I know,”

“Har har, he’s much worse. Believe me.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you gently hit his shoulder before getting up, Dieter looks at you confused. “You should get going, and I should go and pack,”

“Ah, yeah, I guess you’re right,”

Dieter walks you to the door, muttering about needing to get dressed first. He leans against the door frame, the gap suddenly looks small with him filling it, his broad shoulders filling the empty space in between as he crosses his arms.

“I’ll see you tonight then,”

Just as you proceed to move away, Dieter closes the door but remembering that you had a job to do, you push it back open.

“We’ll be making it back to the premiere, right? You can’t miss it,”

“Of course,” he says calmly. “Shannon would have my head if I missed it.”

The drive starts out full of excitement and laughter. You and Dieter are sitting in the back while Mr. and Mrs. Bravo are sitting up front. It doesn’t take you long to learn that Mrs. Bravo was a fan of Taylor Swift —and pop in general— which you find endearing.

While singing along to the lyrics of Love Story she turns to you, eyes gleaming with mischief. She asks if you know about Dieter’s singing and that he always wanted to be a singer. Then she proceeds to tell you how she caught him in the act of performing a private concert often while he was blow drying his hair.

Honestly you aren’t sure what surprises you more, Dieter singing, or the fact that a man who forgot to feed himself constantly used to blow dry his hair.

Dieter attempts to hush her but it’s too late, you already know his dirty little secret. Grinning, you beg him to sing. He refuses, a warm blush flaring across his cheeks. You don’t mind him denying you, you know that sooner or later you’ll make him sing.

After the first three hours, the inside of the car gradually becomes more and more silent. The music shifts from pop to something more slow and instrumental, Mrs. Bravo’s snores accompany the music. Meanwhile, Mr. Bravo is focused on the road, his body relaxed as he holds the steering wheel with one hand.

You’re looking outside, eyes following the silhouettes of trees. It’s colder now, an uncomfortable chill spreading from your hands and feet. Instead of opening your bag and wearing your sweatshirt you hug yourself. Your eyelids are heavy with sleep, you find it difficult to think properly.

“Hey,” Dieter whispers to you, his breath warming your neck. “Look, it’s snowing.”

He’s right, it was.

As you look up to the night sky, Dieter shimmies closer. Thick white flakes flutter down from the darkness, making you smile. Snow always makes you smile, regardless of the situation. It has you feeling that child-like wonder again. Your heart beats fast, cheeks warm as your hands and feet continue to freeze. Wanting to tell Dieter your enthusiasm for the weather, you turn, only to find his face an inch away from yours. With shock you jump back and hit the back of your head against the hard glass.

“Fuck,” you hiss out in pain. Your hands move up to touch your head but Dieter is faster. His hands cradle your head, pushing you down, he lets out a silent whistle.

“Shit, that sounded like it hurt. Are you alright? You’re not bleeding are you?”

Seeing that you are only mere inches away from his crotch, you slap his arms away and scutter back until you’re flushed against the cold car door. Your chest heaves. He blinks at you with an eyebrow raised. You take this opportunity to rub your head, wincing at the way it stings. Dieter attempts to move closer but you glue him in place with the raise of your hand.

“Stay there,” you grunt, your voice unwillingly thickening with anger. “I’m fine, you don’t need to do anything.”

“I was just trying to help…”

“Well, don’t,”

Dieter, as if lava suddenly formed between you, shuffles back until his cheek is flushed against the glass. His breath spreads and fogs up the window. Nails digging into your palms, your turn to face the dark scenery outside but as you move, your eyes linger on the rearview mirror.

Dieter’s dad is looking directly at you, not much emotion going on in his brown eyes. Great, I managed to piss off his dad. Guilt rising in your chest, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and turn away, hoping that Mr. Bravo had done the same.

Your head still throbs but you lean down to pull out your phone and sweatshirt from your bag. Soft snores come from your side. Lowering the screenlight, your gaze snaps to Dieter. His cheek is completely smushed against the glass with his lips parted. You envy the way he looks so relaxed, but then again, he’s always been like that. You don’t know how he does it. No matter what happens, he always manages to come out on top relaxed.

It’s kind of annoying now that you think about it.

You scroll through your phone. A terrible idea really, and see that your follower count had shot up while you weren’t looking. You have thousands of comments, mentions, and a couple of hundred messages. You sigh and roll your eyes at the same time. Within the silence the sound comes out louder than it should and with panic your eyes search the reflective surface of the rearview mirror. Luckily you don’t see two very similar looking eyes staring right back at you.

You set your Twitter and Instagram accounts to private.

A lot of people assume Dieter is a bad actor.

Sure, he’s been in a couple of shit movies when he was younger, but honestly, did everyone really think that every production Brad Pitt was in was fucking perfect? Of course not. But god forbid Dieter Bravo does a couple of bad blockbusters. Those are the ones the world decides never to forget. It doesn’t matter really. The world can think what it wants, he knows that he can act. He gets paid extra to do cameos and now he’s actually in a movie with a script he kinda likes.

The world can think that he’s shit, but the proof that he can act is happening right here, in his parents’ car.

You are totally convinced that he’s asleep when in fact he is very much awake.

Dieter didn’t understand your reaction. He just wanted to check and see if you were bleeding or not, the hit had sounded painful. But then your reaction made him feel as if he was doing something downright heinous.

You two are friends right? Isn’t it normal for friends to check up on eachother? Is this one of those social cues that he has trouble understanding?

Maybe you weren’t friends.

No, that can’t be true, she protects me

Under contract

Shut up

Dieter listens to the sounds you make. You shuffle, open up your bag and pull something out. A light burns through the roof before you turn down the screen light. He knows what you’re doing. You’re checking out the gossip. Naughty girl.

He told you not to do that. He knows how easy the masses can get into one’s head.

You sigh, then throw your phone back into your bag. Shuffles and soft grunts echo in the silence. She’s putting her sweatshirt on. Now that he’s thinking about it, it is kind of chilly in the car.

The glass touching his cheek probably isn’t helping.

He continues to realistically snore until all sound slowly fades like the slow finish of an applause. One by one the claps would slow down and stop, the sound taking the shape of a bell. Dieter knows exactly what’s going to happen; first it would be you who falls silent, then his dad would turn off the radio, and lastly Dieter would stop his snoring, burying everyone in silence.

Ever since he was a kid, Dieter had done this—pretend to fall asleep. He’s not sure why he started, or why he does it, but there’s something peaceful he finds in it. He listens to the cars whooshing past them, the sound reverberating the car, light momentarily burning his eyelids…then the silence follows again, until another car passes them by. He hears his dad clearing his throat once in a while, sometimes his bones crack whenever he rolls his shoulders.

Poor old man. I should take him for a massage.

His mom shifts in her seat, and whenever she does, his dad looks over checking to see if she’s alright. Dieter can’t see, but he knows that’s exactly what’s happening. As someone who figured out at a very young age that the best way to correlate with others was to mimic them, Dieter’s observation skills have always been off the charts.

He’s seen the way his dad looks at his mom a million times, full of unadulterated love. It's a look that has always warmed his heart since he was child, then his fondness of the tender moment shifted into something envious, an ugly feeling.

Now, he just tries to ignore it all together.

He’s always been an outsider to people’s emotions, never the cause of them. Except for the moments he got someone in his bed. Dieter enjoys those moments where someone rakes their nails across his back and tells him how good he’s making them feel. When that happens he’s the only reason for whatever they’re feeling, which is pleasure— mostly.

Slowly, he feels the Sandman sprinkling golden sand into his eyes. His eyes water when he yawns. He looks up to the sky one last time before hugging himself.

It’s still snowing.

You wake up to the marvelous scent of coffee.

Looking around the car with narrowed eyes, you see that Dieter is getting back into the car with two coffee cups and a brown paper bag. Last night’s awkwardness completely eludes your mind as you move towards him and take the coffee from his hand. You rub your right eye as you take a sip.

“Morning beautiful,” Dieter says to you stoically, his voice deep with unsatisfied sleep. “We’re almost there.”

“Good morning dear,” his mother chirps at you, she grabs the brown paper bag from Dieter and pulls out a blueberry muffin. “I hope you slept well,”

“I did, thank you Mrs. Bravo.”

She waves her hand in a dismissive manner and shakes her head. “Please call me Adaline. Mrs. Bravo sounds way too formal, isn’t that right love?” He directs the question to her husband.

“I don’t know about that honey. It always gets me excited when people call you that, it’s a nice reminder that you actually took my name,”

Adaline lets out a laughter that you can only describe as being beautiful. Your cheeks feel warm witnessing their love and you take another sip of your coffee. Dieter stuffs a kit kat bar into your hand.

“Darling, it’s been so long. How can you still get excited about that?”

“I wasn’t aware love had an expiration date,” he starts the car and looks at you through the rearview mirror. You suddenly feel very anxious. “By the way, before you start calling me Mr. Bravo, I have a perfectly fine name you can use; Claus.”

“Claus?” you repeat.

Claus raises an eyebrow, his lips curl up with amusement.

“Something funny about it?”

“No no,” you reply with haste. “Just…you know…with Christmas nearing and all–”

The couple bursts out laughing. You’re not sure whether you should be embarrassed or not but you take this time to push the coffee cup between your legs and struggle with the wrapper of your kit-kat bar. Dieter groans, yanks it from your hands, opens it, then gives it back. His eyebrows make a flat line.

For a brief moment you fear that his anger is directed at you but you shrug the feeling away when Dieter addresses his dad.

“Dad don’t–”

“Sorry Amina, dear. We’re not laughing at you. Claus’s name has always been a source for some funny memories. Especially nearing Christmas,” Adaline says, cutting Dieter off. She lets out a sigh that is followed by a giggle. “In fact, when Dieter was a kid–”

“Mom!”

“Don’t interrupt your mother, Dieter.” His dad warns.

You can’t help but chuckle at the way Dieter pouts and leans into the seat with his arms crossed. You only feel slightly bad for him. Adeline continues her story.

“As I was saying, when Dieter was a kid he would tell everyone that his dad was Santa Claus! It was adorable really, he would always be extra nice to his dad during the holidays. ‘I know I’ve been good but just in case’ he would say while baking Claus cookies. I would help, of course, but he would never let me have any,” she smiles fondly at the memory, eyes glossing over.

“But one day he came back home crying, poor thing. Apparently one of the kid’s called him a liar and the rest of the class laughed at him. Honestly, I know you shouldn’t say mean things about kids but that class was full of rotten children. Dieter never could get along with them–”

“Frankly I’m glad he didn’t,” Claus interrupted, eyes fixated on the snowy road. “I would be more worried if he did get along with them.”

You feel Dieter getting smaller and smaller next to you. His mother nods at Claus’s words and takes a bite of her muffin. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, you can imagine it so vividly; A small Dieter , his hair ruffled and face bright with Christmas joy, telling his friends that his father is Santa Claus. Excitedly, telling everyone that his father can bring them all the best presents —because that’s just how Dieter is, he gives and gives and gives until there’s nothing left of him. A shell, until he fills himself with smoke— only to come back home a sobbing mess crying to his parents.

You feel like you’re witnessing a crime at how vividly you can see it all playing out. Him, playing alone at school, his young gaze glancing around to seek anyone that would spend time with him. Him, being bullied for having an overactive imagination and a good heart. Anger pounds in your ears, your fingers twitching uncontrollably around the half empty coffee cup.

“Anyway,” Adaline says between bites. “Furious at this, Claus dressed up as Santa Claus and went to the school. He gave all the children coal! All the parents were furious, so were the teachers, but the principal seemed not to mind as much so nothing happened,”

“You should’ve seen their faces.” Claus grins.

“Yeah dad, thanks, you’re a true hero,” Dieter rolls his eyes. The cold snap of his voice makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up. “After that I became the kid who was crazy enough to think his dad was Santa Claus to the kid who snitched on Santa Claus and made everyone get coal. They definitely cherished me after that.”

His sentence hangs heavy in the air. A cheerful morning ruined by the ghost of Christmas past. The back of your throat feels tight, stretched like a bowstring. You shuffle anxiously in your seat, the silence needles into your skin as you pay special attention not to face anyone. Your turn to the window and glance outside; the sky is a marvelous blue, snow covering every patch of soil. You see small white flowers above the snow, a patch of green within the cold. Words of excitement reach all the way to the tip of your tongue but you bite down before you can say anything.

Jingle bells ring again.

You see the ski resort that Adaline had mentioned before the trip. It seems close enough to walk but far enough so that the constant clatter of people won’t bother the locals. The car comes to a slow stop.

“When’s Everret coming?” Dieter asks.

You assume he does this to relieve the tension in the car, which you’re grateful for.

“He should already be here,” Adaline answers.

Claus doesn’t say a word, he simply stops the car and gets out. A moment later you hear the trunk door opening. Dieter mumbles something but you don’t understand, it sounds foreign. He sighs and all the lines on his face deepen. Much like his father, Dieter also doesn’t say a word when he leaves you and Adaline alone in the car. Worry crosses your face. He didn’t even glance at you before getting out of the car, you only needed a look. A sign from him that everything is alright.

Unrelated to your job, you’re also his friend and it’s been like that for a long while. But his life outside of the stage was a mystery to you. He didn’t enjoy talking about his childhood, and conversations about his family were always a fleeting one. Despite the constant eyes devouring his life to the bone, Dieter only shared what he knew other’s wanted to see; his sex life, his flirts, the insane grandiose parties, his fame and fortune.

With the corner of your eyes you notice both father and son carrying the luggage to the cabin’s door. A tall man with blond hair comes out to greet them.

Your eyes snap to Adaline as she sighs. She doesn’t meet your gaze, but smiles anyway.

“Don’t worry, dear. They’ll be just fine.”

You start to trace letters above your palm.

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x fem!oc #the bubble fanfic #christmas fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

76 notes · View notes