#An Examination of Conscience | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

romanofftherealest · 18 days ago

Text

Winter Solstice

Summary: You reasoned that perhaps some time spent as a bear would be beneficial. Humans, after all, seemed so lacking in magic, so terrible—so disconnected from the world and the elements around them.

Pairings: Hunter Natasha Romanoff x Witch Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

BEWARE OF: small, grizzly, tickly, fluffy, clingy, whiny, snotty, hungry, stinky baby Tasha bear ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

During the first snowfall of the season, witches must venture into the forest. This is a sacred tradition, a time for the witches to connect with nature and harness its powers. The trees stand tall, their branches coated in a pristine layer of snow, their tips adorned with shimmering icicles. The forest is silent, the snowfall and wind muffling the usual sounds of wildlife.

You continue your walk through the blizzard-filled forest, the snow falling in a flurry around you. The path is slippery underfoot, the icy terrain making each step precarious.

As you try to maintain your balance, your foot suddenly slips on an unseen sheet of ice, sending you to the ground with a jarring thump. In an instant, you reach out for support, your hand finding a nearby tree trunk. But in that moment, a rush of adrenaline-fueled magic surges out of your fingertips.

The sudden slip sent you sprawling onto the icy ground, knocking the air out of your lungs. As you struggled to recover, a shout echoed through the snowy forest, catching your attention. The sound seemed to come from nearby, and you strained your ears to pinpoint its direction.

As you walked towards where you heard the echoed scream, you saw nothing but some fabrics and some boots on the ground. Who would try to go out during a snowstorm? You asked yourself as you approached the clothes and boots lying on the snowy ground, curiosity piqued, you knelt down to take a closer look. But as your hand is mere inches away from the fabric, something beneath it moves. Your breath hitches and you freeze, watching as a small bear emerges from underneath the discarded attire. Its black eyes regard you with cautious curiosity, its body tense but unthreatening.

You observed the bear with a growing sense of dread, you noticed something peculiar…

For the love of Mephisto, it was your sign, perfectly etched onto its arm.

"Fuck…"

It was a mark, a subtle reminder of the magic you had inadvertently released. This bear, this poor creature, was the result of your magic gone awry because of the stupid slip.

Your first instinct was to run and you did, without hesitation, you sprinted away from the bear, leaving it behind in the midst of the raging snowstorm—you ran away from the consequences of your actions. The sound of your own footsteps and labored breathing filled your ears, drowning out any sense of conscience or remorse.

However, the bear was determined and persistent so it followed you, whining and growling in its attempts to catch up. At first, you had no mercy, slamming the door shut in its face. But as the cold of the night settled in, so did your guilt. You had only planned to allow the bear to warm itself by your fire for the night. You promised yourself that come morning, you would find it a new place to stay.

But the bear quickly made itself comfortable, indulging in your supply of honey and curiously pawing through your spellbooks. It even went so far as to find its way into your bed, seeking to cuddle close. Your initial annoyance nearly compelled you to turn it into a mealworm, but then you found yourself gazing into its pitiful face.

"Just for tonight…again," you muttered to yourself.

Many nights had passed, you decided to head back to the place where you had found the bear, and there you found its abandoned clothes and shoes. You examined the belongings, you noticed a set of bows and arrows, not so far behind along with a collection of knives. This was a hunter, you realized. No ordinary one, judging by the various types of knives at its disposal. And that's when you knew the bear's name, carved in on one of the knives.

"Natasha…" you read, your breath showing in the cold air as you read it.

She was all paws, at first. Her movements are awkward and uncoordinated, clumsily trying to adjust to her new form. You reasoned that perhaps some time spent as a bear would be beneficial. Humans, after all, seemed so lacking in magic, so terrible—so disconnected from the world and the elements around them.

But a number of new moons had passed. Despite your efforts, you were unable to undo the enchantment. The bear, formerly a human who was stuck in the form of a bear cub, now grew into a midsize bear, you cannot carry her around like a baby anymore. She had adapted to her new form, displaying a surprising level of intelligence and cooperation as you continued your attempts to unravel the magic you had inadvertently invoked.

Today, you had decided to ask the assistance of another witch who might be able to help you reverse the magic you had inflicted upon Natasha.

"Stinky! Come here!" you called out, beckoning for the bear to come closer. To your surprise, she actually started walking towards you, moving with a grace that didn't exactly scream "clumsy bear."

You leaned down to level her, "We're going to Asgard and I want you to behave, alright?" you instructed the bear, who simply tilted its head to the side in a cute manner. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, finding her antics endearing despite the situation.

"No swimming in the puddle, no biting anyone's shoe or cloak," you said sternly, listing off your rules for Natasha's behavior while visiting your friend. However, as you started listing her next instruction, you stopped when she dashed towards the window, growling at something outside.

When you followed her gaze, you noticed an owl perched outside the window, watching the two of you with its piercing eyes. You couldn't help but smile recognizing the owl, then in a blink of an eye the owl transformed into a human, revealing Loki himself.

"Loki, what are you doing here? I was supposed to come to your realm..."

Before you could even approach Loki for a hug, Natasha had already lunged forward and clamped her jaws onto the hem of your friend's cloak.

"Stinky! Hey! What did I tell you about biting!" you scolded, trying to get Natasha to release Loki's cloak. Your friend just simply laughed and gently dislodged the bear's jaw from the fabric.

"It's alright, my cloak can handle a little tug," he assured you, a smile playing on her lips. "You've got some territorial thing right there, huh?"

But your friend grew impatient, he smirked as he observed the bear's unwavering bite to his cloak before channeling his magic. With a flick of his wrist, he casted a spell that sent Natasha flying away to the side of the room. Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched Natasha land on the wooden floor with a loud thud. However, before you could rush to her aid, Loki stepped in and enveloped you in a warm embrace.

"It's been so long since I saw you little one."

Natasha who was still dazed from being thrown onto the ground, began to whine in pain. She attempted to move towards you, but before she could take a single step, Loki casted another spell. In a fraction of a second, Natasha's eyes drooped shut, and she succumbed to sleep, leaving you somewhat dumbfounded.

"Wow, that's uhm…" your voice was trailing off awkwardly as you stared at Natasha's knocked out form while Loki was still so busy embracing you.

"So what you need me for, little one?" your friend asked as he finally, finally pulled away.

You breathed, smoothing your dress. You finally eyed your friend who was looking at you questioningly and patiently.

"This…" you pointed at the bear, "this is what I need you for?" you smiled at her awkwardly before scratching the back of your head.

"That thing?" Loki asked, laughing out loud that for sure made the birds and small animals nearby your cottage scurried away.

"W-well, yes…I mean she's not a thing Loki, she…she was a human," your head was low and you looked at him, his arms crossing as he listened. Your fingers fidgeted with the laces of the corset, trying to discreetly adjust the garment that felt oddly constricting—you feel suffocated.

"You...a witch...has a human in yo—"

"I slipped during the first moon of winter and I accidentally turned her into…that." You bit your lip in embarrassment, not letting him finish his words, you know he will scold you. "Please help me?"

You knew Loki was far more experienced and knowledgeable than you when it came to magic, having lived for centuries. Compared to her, you were just a fledgling, "the little one" they call you. The thought made you feel somewhat inadequate, but you knew he was your best chance at reversing the enchantment you had cast upon Natasha.

"Sure, little one."

A thorn was picked out of your heart when Loki agreed to help. In your eagerness to get started, you quickly knelt down beside the sleeping bear, gently guiding its head onto your lap, its soil colored soft fur against your skin.

"Alright, let's get to work," he said, "First, I need to understand exactly what happened. Can you walk me through the spell you used that led to this...situation?"

Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to recall the exact details of the event.

"I honestly don't know," you confessed, a note of helplessness in your voice. "It was an accident, truly. I slipped on some snow, and...it just happened. A spell slipped out, and the next thing I knew, there was a bear where a human was supposed to be."

Loki listened intently and nodded to your explanation. Then, with a determined look in her eyes, he stepped closer to the bear and knelt in front of you both, he raised his hands in a gesture of summoning her magic. Then a green glow enveloped Natasha's sleeping form.

However, as he attempted to cast the spell to reverse the enchantment, it didn't work at first. A frown crossed his face as he tried again, his frustration growing as the spell remained unsuccessful.

As each enchantment failed, Natasha continued to writhe in pain, you could no longer bear the sight and shut your eyes tightly, trying to block out the scene. But you couldn't block out the sound of Natasha's whimpers, the soft, pitiful noises that tore at your heart and filled the room with a sense of helplessness.

"I might have to take her heart."

But yours dropped at what he just said.

"What? No!" you protested pulling the bear's unconscious body who's still whimpering in pain.

"That's the only way littl—"

"No…" you insisted, looking at Natasha who was curled like a ball on your lap, you gently caressed her fur—no magic, hoping that it would lessen the pain that she's feeling.

"If that's the only way then no, it could kill her Loki."

"Little one, no it won't—"

"But it will hurt her." Your voice almost cracked as you said it. "Goodbye, Loki. I'm sorry for wasting your time." You said with a finality, you will not have her take Natasha's heart.

Your friend's face softened as she realized that you were adamant in your decision and he respected it. He now stood and patted your head.

"I'll see you, little one." With that, he transformed back into being an owl. Her wings fluttered as he took flight and disappeared out the open window, leaving you alone with a bear that was supposed to be back to its human form now.

"I'm so sorry Stinky, I promise I won't stop until we get you back. Alright?"

⧗

You decided it was time to venture into town. The supplies in the cottage were running low, and a fresh batch of ingredients would allow you to continue concocting more potent potions in your pursuit to restore your companion to her human form. Also, for some food restocking especially that you had ten human stomachs living in your place.

As a bear, Natasha was a bit less picky with her food. She pretty much devoured whatever she could find, and one evening, you nearly panicked when she bit into a bird she had found pecking at some berries. You had to quickly and harshly open her mouth to spit the poor bird out, and she did so, albeit reluctantly, looking at you defiantly with bird feathers stuck in her teeth. And there was another afternoon, when you had been out gathering firewood, you burst into the cottage with an armful of it. And there she was, standing in your living room particularly proud of herself as she held up the snake in her grotesque teeth, waiting for your reaction. But you dropped the firewoods and let out a shrill scream as you saw the large snake still moving from her mouth.

She looked at you with all innocence and confusion in her eyes, tilting her head as if to ask, why were you freaking out? You swear you had to remove the thought of having her in a cage because being trapped in a bear's body is too much already.

As you strolled through town ready to go back to the forest after picking some things, you noticed some papers scattered on the plaza. You frowned and reached one.

"Missing…" you whispered to yourself, you examined the drawing of the missing person with great care. It was a woman, you studied her appearance described within. The image was black and white but conveyed the distinctive attributes; she had her hair in braids, and she boasted massive arms, pointed eyes, and a prominent nose.

"Natasha Romanoff?" The name felt like a curse in your mouth as you read the ink printed on the paper and you almost choked.

"A witch hunter…"

You immediately crumpled it and put it in your basket before walking away from the town, not even daring to turn back.

As you walked the trail on your way home with unease, you noticed footprints marking the ground. You reached the ground touching the dirt.

Horses.

You also smelled a faint smell of fresh tobacco lingering in the air. Someone had been here recently, and they must be nearby.

And your cottage is nearby.

You immediately run and as you approach your secluded cottage, nestled in the hills, and the sight of two horses grazing in the meadow sets your heart racing. They stand abandoned, their saddles empty, and there's no sign of their riders. The silence of the hills suddenly feels oppressive, and you can't help but wonder who has been here, and what they could want with your humble home.

You were so startled by the sudden voice that you dropped everything you had just bought from the town—a fresh loaf of bread, a jar of honey for Natasha, and a few ingredients for the next potion you're going to work on with her as well as the crumpled paper you picked from the plaza. You whirled around to see a man with an eye patch approaching you.

"Do you live here?" he asked, his one good eye locking onto yours.

"Y-Yes," you stammered, your mouth going dry as you took in the sight of the man. "I live here. Can I help you with something?" you tried to steady your voice as you spoke, hoping the stranger didn't notice your nerves. He seemed to be assessing you, his one eye scanning you up and down. He stopped when he saw the scar burn in your arm and you instinctively pulled down your sleeves to cover it.

It was a burn you got from one of the items Natasha left, a cold iron. And it is one of your weaknesses—witches' weaknesses.

He continued his questions, his eye narrowed. "You live here, alone, in this forest?" he paused for a moment. You remained silent, not wanting to reveal too much, especially not your secret as a witch.

He seemed to take your silence as an answer, and continued. "Aren't you afraid?"

You shook your head side by side.

As the stranger spoke, he began to explain that he and his friend were nearby looking for someone—a woman who had gone missing months ago. He described her with the same features you saw on the paper you found in a plaza that is now crumpled in the dirt in front of you. You simply stepped at the paper wishing he wouldn't see it.

"She was last seen around here. Have you seen anyone here in the past weeks? Months?" you felt your throat go dry, the words getting caught in your throat.

Well, you didn't. All you have seen around in the past months was a small brown bear.

Then all of a sudden a shout emitted in the air, and the bear as you speak, charging after a man. Instinctively, you reacted and kneeled down, stopping the bear in its tracks. You carried her in a hip hold, feeling her fur and her trembling body as she tried to catch her breath. The stranger stood there in shock.

"Stinky? What did I tell you? Hm?" you groaned, adjusting her from your hip, she's becoming a little too heavy now.

"That's a monster!" he shouted, making the one-eyed man palm his face.

"She's just a bear." You hissed that made the wonky man shake even more.

They had absolutely no idea that this bear could be the same woman they were looking for. Even though you knew that they could be her family, and you were the one who caused her to be in this bear form, you couldn't help but feel selfish. You felt a fierce desire to keep her with you. You knew it was wrong, but the feeling of possessiveness was getting the best of you.

"We're going to leave you now," the one-eyed man spoke, his friend beside him still shaking as they walked to their horses.

As you put the bear on the ground, the man called again.

"Young lady, be careful."

It should bring you comfort as they were intended to offer, but the tone of his voice made it feel like a threat, as if he knew more than you wanted him to know.

⧗

You huffed as a nose nudged your elbow. "What?"

Natasha, despite her animalistic state, still exhibited human-like behaviors. She grabbed a hold of your cloak with her teeth, whining softly at you.

You sighed heavily, accepting the cloak from her. Even though Natasha's actions were those of a bear, you could sense the familiar gesture, and your heart ached at the thought.

"Thank you," you whispered, wrapping the cloak around your shoulders, the fabric feeling both comforting and melancholic.

The bear moaned before lumbering across the fire from you. She sat patiently, knowing how this worked by now.

You continued to rack your brain, trying to think of any possible solution to the enchantment. This was far from being the first attempt you had made to turn her back into a human, yet all your efforts seemed fruitless.

Despite your growing frustration, you refused to give up. You were determined to find a way to restore Natasha's human form, even if it meant exhausting all possible avenues and risking failure again.

You knew that the situation wasn't as simple as casting a basic spell, because spells could easily wear off or become dependent on the subject's current condition. And it wasn't a curse either, because you hadn't experienced any negative effects yourself. Nothing tethered your life to hers.

But she is your responsibility, it was your fault she's being like this—you were the reason why she's suffering. Even as she had grown much larger, no longer able to fit comfortably on your bed, she still loyally slept on the hearth beside you every night. You continued to share your meals with her and worked on spells and potions together, despite knowing that each attempt was a gamble and could potentially fail.

"This might be it," you whispered, watching as the steam from the potion began to recede. The potion's color shifted, and when you looked at the viscous liquid, you could almost see your reflection.

With a shaky hand, you carefully picked up a ladleful of the potion and offered the bowl to Natasha.

The bear wrinkled her nose at the smell of the potion, sticking out her tongue in distaste.

"Come on, it can't be that bad." You said, holding the bowl out persistently.

After a moment's hesitation, Natasha accepted the bowl in her oversized paws. She sniffed at the potion once more, her nose twitching as she took in the scent. Then, after a brief moment, she dared to take a small lick of the liquid.

You couldn't help but smile at the bear's reaction to the steaming hot potion.

"You silly stinky, it's a bit hot," you warned, chuckling lightly as you watched her expression.

She let out a series of sounds, and you couldn't help but wonder what her human voice would sound like. She went to fetch a mouthful of snow to cool her mouth and then ate the remaining potion with her sharp, bear-like teeth.

You held your breath, your knuckles turning white as you clenched the edges of your cloak tightly. The cold mountain breeze swept around you, but you barely felt it as you waited anxiously for a reaction from the bear.

It was no longer feasible to conduct experiments with Natasha inside the cottage; her size had become too large to contain within the four walls—almost thrice the size of you. After the messy fiasco that resulted from the previous indoor spell, you had decided to avoid any further incidents inside your dwelling. The memory of the hours spent cleaning the aftermath was still fresh in your mind.

You studied the bear as she looked around her surroundings and then down at her paws.

It didn't work.

It was clear that the spell had no effect, not a bit, causing her to deflate and slump down in the snow.

You averted your gaze to your own feet, your boots sinking into the snow. Disappointment coursed through you, the familiar sense of failure settling in your chest. You had hoped that this time, the spell might have been the solution, but once again, you were met with another dead end. It wasn't just the failed potion that weighed heavily on your mind, but the profound sadness evident on Natasha. Perhaps she missed her old life, or maybe there was a significant event coming up in her human existence. You also hadn't had the chance to inquire if she had family or friends waiting for her. How could you? You literally turned her into a bear?

Natasha, still in her bear form sat up again despite her weary demeanor, her ears drooping sadly. She let out a faint moan, her breath visible as it left her muzzle in the cold air.

Your heart ached as you watched her reaction. Every failed attempt weighed heavily on your soul, but this one felt particularly disheartening. Your hopes had been soaring high, and you truly believed that you had concocted the correct formula this time.

You had even gotten her hopes up about this latest attempt. You had scrutinized the spell book together, acquired the necessary ingredients and confidently told her that maybe this time, the spell would work for sure. The potion was meant to reverse the development of cells, typically used on vegetables to undo being pickled. However, you had delved deeper into research and believed that it could potentially work on a living subject.

In preparation, you had even tested the spell on fish, which you had generously offered to Natasha as a tasty reward. Indeed, the spell had functioned perfectly.

"I'm so sorry."

With a mournful expression, the bear raised its head, looking directly at you. Even while seated, she stood tall enough to meet your gaze.

"I thought—" your voice caught in your throat as tears threatened to escape and you swiftly pressed your lips shut. You didn't have the right to weep; it was her life who had endured the more profound suffering.

Your hand reached out to gently caress her head, your fingers threading through the soft, brown fur. Your thoughts drifted to those moments when she would sneak into your bed for warmth and you would idly toy with her ears while she slept.

The bear emitted a soft bellow, leaning forward to tenderly nuzzle her snout against your tear-streaked cheek. She then placed her head on your shoulder and encircled you with her embrace, her large paw draped around you carefully so as not to harm you with her sharp claws.

Bears possessed remarkably warm bodies, and when she pulled you so close, her heat enveloped your body, a comforting presence amidst the disappointment and yet another failure.

You pressed your nose against the fur of her neck and took a deep breath, appreciating the improvement in her scent compared to the days when she was smaller and clumsier. She had grown out of her messy phase, no longer getting her food everywhere, which meant fewer baths.

You gave her chest a firm pat, "Come on." you said gently, signaling her to follow as you led her back towards the safety and warmth of the cottage.

In solemn silence, the bear followed behind you, her large paws kicking up plumes of snow to smother the lingering flames of disappointment from the failed spell.

It was a disheartening moment, and you both knew that the abandoned cauldron would remain behind, its contents and the memories of your hopes extinguished by the snow's cold embrace.

You did your best to restrain your tears as you stepped inside the cottage, hanging up your cloak beside the door. Your bear companion waddled straight to the fireplace and collapsed heavily onto the rug you had woven for her, groaning faintly as her weight fell heavily on the woven fibers.

When Natasha felt you against her back, she stirred, and the ache in your heart intensified once again, knowing that the solution still eluded you.

"I'm sorry, Stinky." Your voice choked with tears as you pressed your face against her fur, letting the hot liquid from your eyes soak into the thick hairs. She responded with a deep sigh, her muzzle lifting slightly to ruffle your hair. Your heart ached.

"I never meant to alter your life like this." You murmured, the weight of guilt heavy on your conscience.

She didn't exactly have a reply for you.

You leaned heavily on her chest, the weight of disappointment and exhaustion taking its toll. "But I won't stop. I won't give up until I change you back."

The guilt from being partially responsible for her current state continued to gnaw at you. You couldn't help but contemplate the possible scenario of her going back to her human form.

But you will take it, everything.

Even if she harbors resentment towards you, even if she yelled and screamed at you in fury, even if she arrived brandishing a pitchfork with the town's folk with the intent to burn down your cottage.

Or perharps she would torture you herself and bring you to the town where the people would decide how you'll die in their hand.

She was missing, she was declared missing by her people and it was your fault.

You know damn well she will kill you. Oh she will.

A witch hunter, turned into a bear by a witch…supposedly you should've just kicked her out or killed her like any other witches would do the day you found the paper in the town or the day you found out that she's a witch hunter or maybe the same day you saw her.

A witch hunter and a witch, you're dead—not if you kill her first though.

But still you had offered a sanctuary within your cottage and you still couldn't disregard the fact that this was all just temporary respite against the cold for her. She was probably longing for the familiarity of her own home, her own family. What if those old creeps who were looking for her were her family? What if she had a partner who whispered tender words to her in the soft darkness of night? And what if she had children who questioned each twilight about the whereabouts of their mother? Were her children's bedtime tales whispered by a grandmother about wicked witches who abducted huntsmen, ensnaring them as their eternal slaves?

You would give the potion another try, but this time you would be more meticulous in your tests. You would extend your research to include larger specimens, more varied species. As a witch, your life was committed to the magic and pursuit of its limitless knowledge, and this Natasha's transformation back to her human form had become your new mission. Despite knowing that she would likely loathe you and curse your name across the annals of time.

You couldn't fathom how you'd manage to rest with such thoughts haunting your mind. Nevertheless, before you had drifted off to sleep, you reached to kiss Natasha's cheek before burying your face into the comforting softness of her fur, still carrying a hint of the fire's smoke. The alluring warmth radiating from her enveloped you, and you couldn't help but nuzzle your face in her fur once more, your fingers tenderly combing through the silky strands—to the mark you etched in her skin.

You groggily opened your eyes, sensing a different sensation the next morning. The bear's fur didn't feel quite the same as it had the night before, and when you attempted to rouse yourself further, a wince escaped your lips. You knew that crafting a new potion or casting a spell each evening drew heavily on your magical reserves, and you were rapidly approaching your limit.

"You okay?"

"Hm…" you moaned lazily as sunlight touched your slumbering eyes, gradually awakening to your surroundings. It dawned on you that you were still on the floor, gazing up at the now extinguished fireplace. Given the absence of warmth, you anticipated being chilled. However, you noted an unexpected comfort, realizing you weren't in your bed but rather resting upon something solid and warm...a chest, perhaps?

Your head snapped upright, the sudden realization hitting you like a wave. It wasn't your bear with her massive black eyes, nor the damp, cold nose. It is a human, a strong pair of muscular arms wrapping you close, with a body and her auburn hair almost covering half her face but you didn't miss the pleasant smile that graced her lips, and the sound of her deep soft hum reaching your ears.

"S-stinky?"

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader

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bumblesimagines · 4 months ago

Text

Common Interests

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Colonel Miles Quaritch never expected to be revived into the body of the very thing he went to war against but he adapted. Now, he can't fully understand if his new brain is making him imagine things.. like an attraction to one of the locals.

Pronouns: He/Him/His

CW/TW: Typical Avatar warnings, age gap (Quaritch's conscience is much older than (Y/N) but his body is much younger so), they match each other's freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public, Quaritch is probably a lil ooc, sexual content toward the end

~~~

A heavy sense of deja vu washed over Miles as he took in the module, now worn down from time and taken over by the forest's flora. He died, and while he had no memory of the day, the reminder settled over his shoulders like a weight.

It was hard to look away from the battle sight, too overgrown with lush plant life to hold any signs of a fight apart from the module and the AMP suit containing his bones. It chilled him when he first laid eyes on the remains of his human body, on the arrows piercing through where his chest had been.

Looking at it now filled him with anger and the delicious heat of revenge. Killing Jake Sully would be an eye for an eye, in his opinion. It wasn't his problem Jake had disposed of his human body.

"This.. 'friend' of yours," Miles cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the AMP suit to eye the feral child, his feral child by all means. Spider glanced at him. "Any idea when, or if, he'll show up?" There's a bite to his words. Patience wasn't one of his virtues.

Spider only swallowed and turned his back to him, the blue stripes painted along his arms humorous if not pitying. He was beginning to believe this 'friend' was a ruse, some lie conjured up in hopes that the Sullys would take notice and fly to his rescue. The tension in the air amongst his squad members told him they thought similarly, and the last thing Miles wanted was getting further on General Ardmore's bad side. His stunt with the scientists had left a notable bad taste in her mouth.

His head tilted curiously when Spider took a deep inhale, half-expecting a scream for help to leave his short body, but instead, Spider made a call of sorts. It sounded odd, likely due to his vocal cords being unlike a Na'vi's but it echoed through the forest nonetheless. Everyone held their breaths, ears twitching and flicking wildly as they examined the gigantic branches stretched out all around them. Miles waited, his muscles tense. A distant call echoed back and the clanking of soldiers grabbing their guns followed.

Spider's hands shot up, his eyes flying wide open in panic. It almost tugged on Miles's heartstrings. "Don't shoot him! I told you- he isn't with the Omatikaya!"

"You never told us why," Wainfleet mentioned stiffly, his hold on his assault rifle unrelenting. "He could be a cannibal for all we know."

"He's not- What?" Spider made a face, his blonde eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. Wainfleet shrugged. "He's not a cannibal. He was exiled for- for-" Spider swallowed again, nervous this time and even a little sheepish. "For making an attempt on Jake's life."

Now that had Miles's attention, and his body reacted accordingly. His ears perked and twitched forward with interest and a throaty chuckle vibrated in his throat. "Is that so?" One of his canines dug lightly into his lip, half-eager and half-amused. Of course, his kid would befriend someone banished for attempted murder.

A feeling of being watched suddenly bore into his back and he whipped around, one hand grabbing his rifle but the sharp inhale from Spider made him hesitant to raise it. His eyes studied the surrounding treeline, more adept and better than his human eyes but the Na'vi of the forest were raised to stalk their prey without being seen. An excited chill jittered up his spine.

A little too late for his liking, Miles caught sight of the figure before a blur of blue jumped down into the small clearing, landing on the ground with a soft thump no human ears would've picked up. The soldiers whirled around and bristled at the sight of the unfamiliar Na'vi as he slowly rose from his hunches, those almost cat-like eyes studying them intently.

"(Y/N)!" Spider shouted, the relief in his voice immense.

(Y/N)'s ear twitched at the sound of his voice and before anyone could blink, Spider ducked past Miles and straight for him. There were shouts, ones that Miles silenced with a raised hand, and the soldiers reluctantly grew still. Spider essentially threw himself at the Na'vi, though his small human weight barely even swayed him. (Y/N)'s tail coiled.

"Vrrtep 'eveng." He murmured, his hand comically large when he placed it over Spider's shoulder. Miles felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest watching Spider press his mask as close as possible into (Y/N)'s abdomen, seeking comfort and reminding him of just how young he still was. (Y/N)'s fingers pressed into his shoulder blades and then promptly tugged Spider away, his face neutral.

It only then registered what he'd called Spider. Demon child.

Miles found himself unable to tear his eyes away from his kid. "He speak English?"

Spider's mouth opened to respond but Miles caught the irritated tail swish and found his question answered. "He can." (Y/N)'s voice was accented, similar to the accent of Sully's wife, but it somehow sounded more pleasing coming from him. Perhaps the history between Miles and the Sullys ran too bitter for him to see any beauty in the family. (Y/N)'s eyes dropped back to Spider. "You are with dreamwalkers. Why?"

Before Spider could answer, or potentially plead to be saved and ruin everything, Miles took a step forward and lifted his hands away from his weapons. "I have an understandin' you and Jake Sully, the man your people call 'Toruk Makto', are at odds." (Y/N) stared at him. Right, right, human phrases and sayings weren't at the top of the school's list of things to teach the Na'vi. "You don't like him."

(Y/N)'s lip curled upward into a smirk, and the fact he looked unbothered by all the weapons pointed at him made Miles like him already.

"JakeSully is a vrrtep, a demon amongst the People. A false idol." (Y/N)'s features hardened then, ears pinned back and everything. Spider suddenly looked uncomfortable. "He stole everything from my brother. Tsu'tey should have been Olo'eyktan. Neytiri was meant to be his mate. JakeSully took it all from him, and then killed him. Him being Toruk Makto means little to me. He is.. vermin."

"You're preachin' to the goddamn choir, kid." That little furrowed brow look appeared on his face again but Miles continued. He could feel his canines pressing into his lip from how wide he grinned. "Jake Sully is a vermin, but he's a vermin I mean to kill."

(Y/N)'s tail raised and coiled slightly so Miles interpreted it as a sign of interest. He took a moment to study the Na'vi standing before him, the Na'vi his son seemed to prefer over him. Miles couldn't blame him; he'd be apprehensive after all the shit the scientists put him through too.

Like all other Na'vi, (Y/N) was tall and lithe and sported as little clothing as possible which Miles tried not to focus on too hard. There was a scar along his forearm a paler blue than his skin but it appeared to be in the process of fading. A wound from the war, Miles assumed. His eyes captivated him the most though.

His eyes were pretty, but his stare was intense—not intense in the angry or aggravated way of the Sullys or even Spiders, but in a predatory way. He watched them like a lion would a herd of gazelles when contemplating whether to leave them alone or go on the prowl. His stare was confident and calm while simultaneously intimidating, filling Miles with a thrill.

"We need to become more like the Na'vi, like you, in order to locate and terminate Jake Sully."

Spider glanced up at (Y/N), his hands twitching as if he wanted to toss his arms around him again. "He means becoming an ikran rider."

(Y/N) blinked at that and for the first time, he looked utterly bewildered. "You are not ready."

"Kid," Miles lightly scoffed and exchanged glances with the rest of his squad. "We're soldiers- warriors, if you will. We're more than ready for anythin'."

"We were born ready." Wainfleet asserted cockily, a light pleased chuckle rumbling in his throat, but (Y/N) remained unconvinced.

He stepped forward toward Miles in a long stride, and the air, which had been lightening up, tensed again. Z-Dog shuffled forward, nearly pushing her rifle close to his face, but he merely hissed at her, all canines and briefly flattened ears. It was a simple warning, based on how swiftly his features relaxed afterward.

"Leave him." Miles barked and she begrudgingly backed off.

Being in an avatar body gave him the advantage of equal footing with the Na'vi, and his self-assurance showed when he allowed (Y/N) to draw closer. (Y/N) eyed him from head to toe, his stare scrutinizing. To Miles's surprise, (Y/N) took his hand in his and studied it, lightly pinching the finger his own hand lacked. His touch was equally surprising: gentle, mindful, almost cautious. He hummed softly and trailed his attention upward until it stopped on the ink covering his bicep, tracing the outline of the bird with his eyes.

"It's an eagle-"

(Y/N) dropped his hand, uninterested. "It is ugly."

Miles stared at him in surprise and felt some heat lick up his neck when his ears caught the stifled snickers behind him from his squad. He shot them a withering glare and they quickly silenced themselves, even straightening up and adjusting their hold on their weapons. Fuckin' Morons.

(Y/N) circled him, his eyes raking all over his body and lingering on his rifle when he appeared at Miles's other side. His curiosity was understandable; Miles often wondered what other differences there were between the natives and avatars besides the obvious. His hand reached behind Miles and carefully took his braid into his hand, the feeling alone sending a jolt up his spine.

He'd received an obligatory lesson on his avatar body, its limits and functions, all that jazz. He was beginning to think that maybe he should've paid closer attention to the parts he deemed useless for the mission. He'd probably know why his body was reacting so strongly to a mere touch.

"You have kurus, you may perform tsaheylu." (Y/N) dragged his palm along the braid, the sensation making the air catch in Miles's throat though it seemingly went unnoticed. It was an odd sensation, one he couldn't describe. It sent shivers dancing along his spine and made his lungs struggle to breathe. (Y/N) stopped at the bottom and raised it so the others could see the wriggling tendrils. "You will need tsaheylu to bond with an ikran."

"What's it like? This, uh, tsahehu shit."

(Y/N) glared at Wainfleet and Miles tugged his braid free, air finally flowing into his lungs with ease. "Tsaheylu is a bond. You will feel the ikran.. you will feel each beat from its heart, every breath it takes, every emotion it feels, any pain it endures.. and it will feel you, too. Once tsaheylu is established, the ikran will be bonded with you until death."

The information settled over the squad and Miles gave a thoughtful hum, his fingertips lightly scratching his chin and eyes dragging down to (Y/N)'s 'kuru'. His hand raised to grasp it, curious to see how it'd affect the Na'vi, but (Y/N) snatched his wrist and held it hard in his hand before it could inch any closer to his braid. Miles's jaw clenched with a flare of irritation.

"Tsaheylu is only performed in adulthood when you choose the person you wish to be mated for life with. It is serious. It is the strongest bond you will ever have with another." (Y/N) squeezed his wrist and narrowed his eyes. "Kurus are not toys."

"You mind lettin' me go, kid?" His teeth bared until his wrist was released from his tight grip and his nostrils flared with a sharp inhale. "Let me make myself very clear here, (Y/N). You and I, we fought on opposite sides of the same damn war. We may have a common enemy but you and I sure as shit ain't friends. We need a Na'vi, a real Na'vi, and you are as real as it gets. I respect your loyalty to your brother and what you tried doin' in his honor but I am Colonel Quaritch. You will treat me with some goddamn respect, understood?"

(Y/N) leaned in despite the already close distance between their faces, their noses just a hair away from brushing. The intensity in his eyes heightened, not a speck of fear in them or a tremble in his body. Most would have had wobbly knees from his tone alone. Miles's eyes unwillingly lowered to the constellation of lightly glowing white freckles scattered across his face and found himself startled when he considered the beauty of his features.

That wasn't right.

Na'vi were strange, alien creatures who he typically found unattractive in every aspect but their admirable courage. He supposed becoming an avatar and living in a body that largely resembled them flipped a switch in his head, made him unconsciously reconsider how he saw them.

(Y/N)'s flat nose, round eyes, pierced ears, striped markings, and sharp canines no longer looked unnatural. It made him uncomfortable to realize but he was too stubborn to lean back or look away from him. He was a Colonel, goddamnit.

"You are vrrtep, too, like JakeSully. Your existence-" (Y/N) cocked his head to the side, his breath hot on Miles's face. "-disgusts me."

(Y/N) leaned back, his chin slightly tucked and his unblinking stare challenging, silently encouraging Miles to test him. Miles felt tempted to; he wanted to strangle him or slam his knuckles into his nose, something, anything, just to put the fear of god in him and finally feel an ounce of respect from him.. another part wanted to squeeze his flesh and learn how he tasted. Miles hadn't expected the latter, and it made him worry for his sanity. Had it really been that long since he last gotten laid?

"You've got some balls on you, kid." He finally managed.

(Y/N)'s hairless brows twitched downward, confused again. It was startling how easily he switched from murderous and eager to fight to then having innocent puzzlement over common human phrases. His mouth formed a frown and his eyes flickered to Spider questioningly, his tail flickering from side to side like a whip.

Spider sighed heavily, obviously discontent with the newfound alliance, however unstable it was. "It means he thinks you're brave."

(Y/N) hummed and looked the slightest bit satisfied, the corners of his mouth twitching up before it smoothed back out into a neutral expression. His shoulders straightened and he roamed his eyes over the rest of the squad, his eyes flickering around to study each of them and their bodies.

"Come then, we will see what Ewya thinks of your desire to ride her ikrans."

When the opinionated and often grating Dr. Augustine was still around running her little avatar program, Miles paid little mind to her discoveries on Na'vi culture. His job was training each soldier that came to Pandora and ensuring they had a fighting chance when they ventured past the walls of Hell's Gate, not keeping up with sleep-deprived, yapping little scientists who more often got in the way. Now.. well, as much as he hated admitting it, maybe he should've done some more research on what going full Na'vi would entail.

"You're fucking with us." Z-Dog breathed, uttering the words on everyone's minds as they stared up at the floating islands that made up part of the Hallelujah Mountains. The small clusters of rock and foliage floated above them, connected by roots and vines that extended up and through the clouds. "We're going up there.. on foot?"

(Y/N) grinned, his canines gleaming in the sunlight as Spider snickered under his breath. "You are climbing. Spider will lead the way."

Z-Dog scoffed. "And what the hell are you going to do?"

"Fly."

Tilting his head toward the skies, (Y/N) made two distinctive calls, stronger and smoother than the call Spider had made but with a harder click of his tongue. The familiar shriek of an ikran responded and the squad took tentative steps back when the winged beast appeared through the clouds. It landed before them and gave its long body a hard shake, little chirps coming from her parted jaws.

"Do not look her in the eye. She will take it as a challenge." (Y/N) instructed with amusement, his palm gently running along her long neck. A soft noise rumbled in her chest and her four golden eyes fluttered shut. "Her name is Tìlor. We flew into battle together against the sawtute years ago."

Tìlor was a pretty girl. A mix of lavender and aqua-blue collided along her leathery body with navy blue markings covering her from snout to tail. The talons at the end of each dragonfly-like wing tapped gently against the ground, helping her move as she shifted around to peer up into the skies.

(Y/N)'s hand moved to carefully grasp one of the kurus protruding from her temples, moving it so he could connect his own with hers. Her body shivered and her pupils dilated briefly before her head affectionately bumped into his abdomen.

"I will meet you on Mons Veritatis." He told them as he climbed onto the saddle fastened to her back. His grin sharpened into something cruel when he looked at them. "A fall from this height will kill you. Mind your step."

Tìlor swiftly took off into the sky with a shriek, her movements swift and graceful as they circled the main roots attached to the ground that led to the first floating rock before they disappeared beyond the clouds. Spider moved quickly, effortlessly climbing onto the roots and walking up without hesitance.

"C'mon." Miles huffed, adjusting his rifle so it rested along his back and setting his boot over the root to test its sturdiness. It was long and thicker than his body but the bottom of his shoe slipped on the moss. He sighed and reached down to undo the laces of his boots. "We can't let some Na'vi outshine us, can we?"

The climb to Mons Veritatis was treacherous. Each time he looked up, more floating islands appeared above them, more spread out and dangerous than the last. Spider climbed as if he'd done the journey a million times before, even leaping from island to island and swinging from vines as if he were only a few feet from the ground and not climbing through clouds. His arms burned and ached like hell by the time they reached the mountain the ikrans called home, his blue skin shining with sweat and air leaving him in small huffs.

Spider barely looked out of breath.

He led them to the rookery, a cliff along the side of the mountain covered in thick vegetation with untamed ikrans scattered across the surface in an ocean of vibrant colors. Ikrans shrieked and growled at the sight of them, and those closest to where they walked shuffled away or flew off to settle somewhere else. Tìlor landed beside them and snapped at a nearby ikran, a youngling that darted into the sky in fright.

(Y/N) hopped off her back and reached out to grab the muzzle of the tranquilizer gun Wainfleet tried setting up. "You wish to be like Na'vi, you will do this like Na'vi. JakeSully's children have completed iknimaya with no weapons. You are adults." He effortlessly tugged the gun from Wainfleet's hands, his tail flicking with a hint of annoyance. His gaze turned toward Miles and the corner of his mouth raised mockingly. "Unless you are afraid, vrrtep."

Miles's jaw twitched and he inhaled slowly through his nose. He was playing right into (Y/N)'s game and he knew it but his pride refused to let him be so openly mocked. "Alright," He rose from his hunches to be at eye level with him and he slipped his rifle free from his back to hand it over to Mansk. "How is this done, tough guy?"

"You do not choose an ikran, an ikran chooses you." His eyes suddenly brightened and his tail wiggled with a barely contained thrill, his sharp little canines digging into his bottom lip. He looked positively excited, in an almost deranged way. "It will try to kill you."

Miles smirked, a laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. "Now, ain't that somethin'."

Bridgehead City's nothing compared to the forest encircling it that the machines slowly chip away at. All metal and concrete instead of soft dirt and towering trees, clanging and whirring of machines instead of soft calls and branches rustling, cold AC air blasting inside the buildings instead of the warm air outside.

(Y/N) obtained a permanent nose crinkle the moment the chopper landed, and he hardly seemed impressed at the fact he had to breathe from a mask every few minutes when they finally escaped the machines working outside. His ears twitched in every direction and his eyes narrowed at every stare he received from stunned or petrified workers.

If he sported the outfit the Recoms wore instead of the beaded jewelry and little loincloth of the clans, he may have passed for one of them, but Miles figured he'd refuse to even put socks on; it took ages to convince him to visit Bridgehead, to begin with. His tail whipped irritability and Miles hoped Spider's quiet explanations of everything kept his temper in check.

"Pull up the footage we've got on Jake Sully's attacks," Miles ordered, his hands coming to rest on his hips. He waited a moment for the footage to be projected but everyone in the room was frozen still. Nobody moved, nobody even breathed. What a bunch of pansies. "Am I talkin' to my-damn-self?"

The nearest person to the control panel quickly reached over and tapped on the smooth panel that lit up briefly at her touch before she shrunk back into her chair as projections of the footage appeared. (Y/N) stepped forward, eyeing the technology curiously as he took a sip of air from his mask.

"Jake Sully's attacks are well-coordinated," Miles admitted somewhat reluctantly, watching choppers explode from missiles shot by stolen weapons and the muted cries of soldiers struck by arrows longer than their bodies.

(Y/N) propped his leg up on an empty chair, the action so casual he could've been mistaken for a cocky Recom. Miles's eyes naturally drifted back to him and he felt his lip quirk. The Na'vi seemed to have an instinct to perch on things, something Spider picked up like a habit. The teen mimicked (Y/N) and crossed his arms over his chest, though he looked like he hardly cared for the footage.

"He was sawtute before he was uniltìrantokx. He claimed to be a warrior and he wielded your weapons effortlessly during the Battle of Ayram Alusìng." (Y/N) craned his head over his shoulder to look at him. "This does not surprise me."

"The Na'vi fight-"

"What the hell is this, Colonel?"

General Ardmore's voice vibrated through the room, sharp and tense and dripping with controlled fury. Those in the room familiar with her stiffened immediately, more tense than they were when (Y/N) entered the room. Her bright blue eyes flickered wildly between the Na'vi and Miles, disbelief on her face first before the irritation returned in the form of a scowl.

"This is (Y/N)." Miles drawled casually, knowing it'd grate on her nerves. He still had to wrap his head around no longer being the top dog around the base. "He's an Omatikaya exile; he nearly killed Jake Sully."

"So, you thought you'd just bring your new pet here to Bridgehead?" General Ardmore laughed humorlessly, her jaw visibly clenching. (Y/N) stared at her blankly, his tail twitching once with disinterest before he returned his attention to the projections. "Colonel-"

"We fought the Na'vi blindly once and lost because Jake Sully knew our ways. We need someone who knows how Sully and his wife work, how they think and act as Na'vi." Miles explained, his boots thumping against the floor until his body was between (Y/N) and the other humans with holstered weapons. "He's already proven useful, General."

"We aren't here to make friends, Colonel." General Ardmore spoke through near-gritted teeth, her eyes briefly fluttering shut in exasperation. "You know our new objective."

"He's useful to our current objective, General. He's been trained to fight by the Na'vi since he was a kid and he despises Jake Sully. Trust me on this one, I know what I'm doin'."

General Ardmore remained silent for a long while, her nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed into slits. Her chest rose with a deep inhale and she gave a firm nod, her eyes alone threatening him before she turned her back to him. "If he becomes a problem, you will neutralize him."

"Understood."

(Y/N)'s curiosity of Bridgehead was limited. He seemed more disturbed than intrigued as they ventured down brightly lit halls and bustling rooms, disgusted grunts leaving him when the smell of perfume or cologne wafted through the air. His face alternated between scrunched up and blank but his tail moved by its own accord. More than once, Miles felt it tap along his leg or begin to curl around it before it jerked away. Eventually, it curled around Spider's arm and Miles realized he'd been seeking something to comfort him.

It was sobering. All his memories of the Na'vi were violent: the consistent attacks on their machinery and soldiers throughout his years on the planet, Jake and Dr. Augustine's betrayal, the war against them where human numbers dropped considerably, his gruesome death at the hands of Neytiri. (Y/N) was feral, untamed and unpredictable, but the flickers of a caring side and the confusion over phrases reminded him he wasn't a mindless creature set on making his life more taxing.

Miles was beginning to loathe him. There was nothing more he despised than being conflicted over someone. He always knew what he wanted.

"You and I need to have a chat, kid," Miles said, his fist tapping against one of the panels by one of the wide doors leading into the sector specifically designed for the Recoms and their towering bodies. The doors slid open with a low hiss and he glanced over his shoulder at Spider. "Alone."

"But-"

"Fike and Z-Dog here will keep you company."

With one last grin, he stepped through the doors and nodded for (Y/N) to follow. He did, albeit begrudgingly, and raised his ears when the doors slid shut and a soft whir turned on to replace the air with one they could breathe without help from the masks.

The second set of doors opened once done and Miles led him through the recreation room. From the chairs to the tables to the gym equipment on the far side of the room, everything had been specifically designed for them and easily dwarfed anything human-sized.

(Y/N) still looked unimpressed. He was likely used to the vibrancy of the forest, the bright colors and open space that felt neverending. Bridgehead was dull in comparison, lifeless it if weren't for the residents adding splashing of color to it with their appearances. Miles wondered how long it'd take for him to adapt, if he could at all.

He stopped briefly in front of another set of automatic doors that slid open to reveal his room and entered, waiting for (Y/N) to step inside before tapping on the pad to lock the doors. His room was nothing to ogle at. Plain white walls, plain gray floors, a neatly made bed avatar-sized pressed against the wall, a metal nightstand with a forgotten cup of coffee, a desk with a tablet and lamp, a closet built into the wall. It wasn't much but it was home, and he had it all to himself unlike some of his soldiers who had to share bunks.

"You.. live here?" (Y/N)'s lips curled when he nodded. "My cave is more welcoming than this. This is... sad."

Miles chuckled under his breath, lightly scratching his temple before he approached his desk to pick up the tablet. "We will begin our search for Jake Sully and his family in soon. He's gone beyond the forest, possibly to the islands across the eastern sea. What clans live out there?" His fingers tapped on the screen, searching the data of the closest whaling vessels that could help them narrow down their search.

"The Tayrangi, Ta'unui, and Metkayina clans live throughout the eastern sea." There was the sound of springs softly creaking and he raised his head to find (Y/N) lying on his bed, chin propped over his arms and tail raised high in the air. He blinked at him, his eyes trailing over the stripes along his back until they stopped over the curve of his ass. "The Tayrangi live on the mainland but fish in the seas. They are too close. JakeSully would have gone further."

"Right." His voice sounded strained. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?

"The Ta'unui and Metkayina clans live on the reefs." (Y/N)'s eyes gravitated toward him, his ears raising and twitching. Miles swore his lips twisted into a knowing smirk. "Far, far from here. You will have to learn how to ride better if you wish to fly across the sea. You risk much without experience."

"Well, ain't it good you're here, then?" Miles set the tablet aside, his original task forgotten in favor of approaching the bed with slow steps. (Y/N) watched him and lowered his tail until it thumped softly over the mattress. "I'm afraid we can't keep headin' out to the forest whenever we need 'cha, kid. You're hard to find, hard to track. Until we head out to find Jake Sully, you'll have to stay here in Bridgehead."

(Y/N) moved onto his knees, his eyes narrowing and ears pressing back tight against his skull. "No."

"I wasn't askin'."

(Y/N)'s tail moved like a whip, quick and hard. It slammed into the ceramic coffee cup and sent it flying into the wall where it shattered into pieces, the leftover coffee adding a brown stain to the wall as it dripped down onto the floor. His tail grew still afterward and his head cocked to the side challengingly again. Miles's mouth drew into a line. The silence was loud. He needed to get the buzzing out of his system.

His hand darted out and grabbed the back of (Y/N)'s head before he tugged him close enough to slam their mouths together. (Y/N) stiffened briefly before his tense muscles relaxed, the sharp whoosh of his tail swaying hard from side to side filling Miles's ears. His fingers dug into Miles's shoulders tightly, purposefully, and he allowed Miles to invade his mouth with a muffled hum. (Y/N) tasted tart and tangy, like one of the fruits he favored.

Miles dropped his free hand to his belt and fiddled with it until he could pop the button of his pants and feel them droop around his hips. He shoved them further down his thighs and left them to pool around his ankles, a grunt vibrating in his throat when (Y/N) bit his bottom lip and drew blood.

His hand reared back, a sting erupting along his palm when it made contact with (Y/N)'s behind. He swallowed the startled noise (Y/N) made and dragged him close enough for their chests to press firmly together. (Y/N)'s tail smacked against his thigh like a whip, hard and fast enough to have the effect of one.

"You're a real piece of work, ain'tcha?" Miles chuckled huskily, the pain only adding to the heat flowing through his veins and making his briefs unbearably tight.

His tongue pressed against the small cut on his lip, the rusty metallic of blood dancing on his tongue before he dropped his hands down to the back of (Y/N)'s thighs and tugged on them to topple the Na'vi onto the mattress. A huff of surprise left (Y/N) but before he could prop himself up onto his elbows, Miles dragged him until his hips were almost off the bed. He tugged on the loincloth impatiently and tossed it aside blindly, his knees thumping loudly against the metal once he dropped to his knees.

The way (Y/N) blinked down at him in bewilderment made him grin wolfishly. "Just wanna get a taste, is all."

This body was new, young, and had the sensitivity of a virgin (which it technically was) but his mind had fifty-one years of experience sleeping with men and women on Earth and Pandora. He often preferred women, preferred the plushness of breasts over pecs, but he'd never been one to let an opportunity pass him by, especially not with his body reacting so strongly to the puzzled Na'vi.

The last person he recalled being with had been Paz, Spider's mother. The surprise that came with her pregnancy left him taking a silent vow of celibacy while he wrapped his head around being a father, along with avoiding her as if she had the plague. He regretted it now but it was something of the past, unchangeable.

(Y/N) let out a noise of confusion when Miles spread him and then a startled, strangled gasp when his tongue prodded at him. One had to wonder how many times he'd been with someone else intimately. Miles laughed under his breath and began lapping like a starved animal, licking and prodding. He shoved his briefs down his thighs to free himself and felt himself twitch when he delicately pushed one finger past the rim. (Y/N)'s legs caged around his head immediately and he hummed, pressing his cheek into his thigh.

"Breathe, sweetheart." He called, grin lazy and voice teasing. "You ain't ever done this before, huh?"

"Tanfwìngtu." (Y/N)'s tail smacked his thigh again, this time gentler. His face had flushed a deeper shade of blue and his chest moved with heavy pants. Reducing a would-be killer to a flustered mess made Miles's head spin and ego inflate. "You-"

Miles drew back and then pushed a second digit, mouth curling into a pleased grin when (Y/N)'s back arched off the bed. "Don't bite the hand that feeds now. I'm being nice, aren't I?" He moved his fingers at an even pace, ears absorbing each soft squelch and every noise flowing from (Y/N)'s mouth. "Is this how Jake tamed his wild woman?"

(Y/N) grunted and reached down, his fingers curling along the short hairs and firmly tugging. Miles nipped at his thigh in warning but (Y/N) simply tugged again, a breathy chuckle huffing into the air that made Miles's ears flick forward. He moved upward, flattening his tongue at the base of (Y/N)'s twitching length and dragging it along until he reached the spurting tip.

"Ain't this a pretty thing?" He laughed and (Y/N) scoffed.

Miles had never paid much attention to his cock, other than when he was taking a piss or relieving himself of some stress with his hand, but if he had, he would've realized the difference in appearance. He'd expected something similar to human anatomy, and it mostly was, but (Y/N)'s twitching cock was in an ombre color: a light blue at the tip that slowly faded into the deep blue that covered the rest of his body. Little white freckles were scattered across it, glowing faintly with each shiver that went up his spine.

Miles grinned wildly as he slipped his fingers out and listened to the strangled whine that followed, his tail flicking and coiling blissfully. "I gotcha, I gotcha, don't worry." He adjusted himself, pushing at his rim until the tip popped inside and he released a low hiss at the overwhelming warmth. He leaned over (Y/N) and pressed a biting kiss to his collarbone. "See what happens when you comply?"

"Skxawng," (Y/N) reached around and firmly wrapped his fingers around Miles's braid, grinning wickedly when Miles's body shivered. He tugged on it and Miles's hips jerked forward, a low groan and curse tumbling past his lips. A soft, near-purr-like noise rumbled in (Y/N)'s chest. "I will never follow orders from a vrrtep."

"Yeah?" Miles steadied himself, sinking his knees into the mattress and finding himself pleasantly surprised when (Y/N)'s legs curled around his waist. He could feel the coolness of the beaded jewelry rub against him through his shirt, pressing and leaving circular imprints. "We'll see about that."

If he'd come to learn anything since meeting the Na'vi beneath him, it was that he could handle just about anything. He pressed an uncharacteristically delicate kiss to his jawline and planted one hand by his head, fisting the sheets into his hand and offering one last crooked grin. His hips snapped forward, bottoming out and relishing both the warm squeeze and the feeling of (Y/N) biting roughly into his shoulder.

He groaned into his twitching ear and tried to focus all his attention on the knot in his lower belly. He'd done far too much teasing to end up squirting early like a teen boy during his first time. The concept of virginity and early release was likely nonexistent to the locals who barely batted an eye at nudity, but it'd be mortifying if any of the blabbermouths he worked with found out.

Miles evened out his breathing and grunted softly when (Y/N) released his shoulder, his unfocused vision turning to peer down at him. His hand had curled around Miles's wrist, tight as if he were holding on for dear life, but what Miles found most endearing (aside from the hint of blood smeared on the corner of his mouth) was the feeling of their tails curled together. "I gotcha." He repeated softly and, with slightly pursed lips, (Y/N) gave a small nod.

When he took a second too long to act, (Y/N)'s ears flicked back. "Move."

Miles huffed out a short laugh. "So bossy."

But Miles did as asked and began snapping his hips, rough and hard just as he always liked it. His mind blanked and an almost guttural groan rushed out, mixing with the whines and moans of (Y/N) writhing beneath him.

His arm gave out so he braced himself on his forearm instead, his other hand dipping down to grip (Y/N)'s hip and keep him firmly in place. Miles buried his face into his neck, inhaling the scent of the forest still clinging to his skin and dragging his tongue over one of the stripes there.

(Y/N)'s cheek pressed against his head, his hot panting making Miles's ear twitch annoyingly but when he nuzzled into him, obviously delirious, Miles felt his heart stutter in his chest. The knot in his lower belly tightened and only prompted him to drill into him faster, his fingers digging into his skin harder and canines grazing over his skin. (Y/N)'s noises were reduced to babbling Miles couldn't understand, though he assumed it was cursing, and breathless gasps forced out of him with each thrust.

"C'mon, baby," Miles roughly kissed his throat, nipping it lightly after, and pulled back to eye the watery glaze over (Y/N)'s half-lidded eyes. He released his hip and wrapped his hand around his speckled length, giving it a few pumps until (Y/N) was squeezing the life right out of him. "Jesus."

With a cry, (Y/N) arched up into him and spurted all over his hand, staining Miles's olive green shirt in the process. Miles's rutting grew messy, his thighs quivering and threatening to give out on him. He pressed his mouth against (Y/N)'s again in a sloppy kiss and he let out a long, muffled groan when he finally felt the knot snap. His body slumped over (Y/N) and his arms wrapped around him firmly, keeping him from slipping out of reach.

"How's that for a vrrtep?"

"Could have been better." (Y/N) muttered tiredly, his fingers lightly dancing along Miles's braid.

Miles snorted. "Fuckin' brat."

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littlcdarlin · 3 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂

𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒏𝒆

summary: There is nothing more important to Joel than keeping you safe, and if you need a reminder, he'll oblige. warnings: dub!con, Joel keeps reader locked away “for her own safety” (reader consents), Joel fucks the desire to leave out of her, mention of reader having asked Joel to stop during past sexual encounters, daddy kink, confinement kink???, praise kink, breeding kink (mentioned once), girthy age gap (unspecified), knowledge imbalance, overstimulation, sort of free-use but not really

note: Part one of a six part series in celebration of Lana’s upcoming album The Right Person Will Stay! Each part takes inspiration from lyrics from one of the songs that have been confirmed to be on the album — hence the title. Enjoy reading <3

Although nobody says it out loud, it is an unspoken truth that survival equals a varying abandonment of morals. You don’t walk into the apocalypse and come out the other side without blood on your boots, without a skeleton or two (or plenty) to hide. Joel certainly didn’t – didn’t even want to. Not after the wounds that were ripped open, and aren’t ever going to close again, because some things cannot be overcome. They can be pacified, stitched up, bandaged, but that’s it. The throbbing can be dulled, but it won’t stop.

The closest thing he’s come to a remedy is you: you, with your syrup smile and scarless skin, with a knack for pretty things in a world spilling over with ugliness and terror. The throbbing doesn’t stop, but you make him believe it might. Tommy can bang his fists on the table all he wants, can shatter the wood and pick the splinters from his palm, it won’t change Joel’s mind about you.

Sure, in a different world his brother might be right – that he’s a dirty old man tainting your innocence, sucking it out of you because he lacks it himself, reveling in your youth for all the wrong reasons. Not now, though, when there’s worse things outside the wall than the loss of innocence, not when nobody else is looking out for you. What is a twisting of societal morals if it keeps you from picking up a gun? From firing it? From being fired at? Is his name on your lips at night not a small price to pay for that untainted smile you still smile, for your eyes that haven’t seen all that he’s seen? The truth is if he didn’t care for you the way he does, your life would turn out the same as his, would result in bloodshed and cruelty. He can’t have that – if you can be spared from it, you should be.

So Joel doesn’t listen to Tommy, or his own conscience, or the tears you sometimes shed when you’re overwhelmed by solitude and restlessness. He knows waiting around for him all day without leaving the house can’t be easy on you, but he’s willing to make that sacrifice to avoid the gruesome alternative. Yes, Jackson is relatively safe, but there is not a single person inside these walls Joel trusts. Except for Tommy, but even he is a man. He has to see what Joel sees when he looks at you, so really, there is no way Joel is going to take the risk.

Your backtalk and petulance are rare, anyway, usually you’re quite content with your life. He keeps you happy, makes sure you have a full belly and pretty things to entertain yourself with. When you do act up, he sets you straight, not so much with violence as with an abundance of pleasure, as if to say this is how good I make you feel, don’t make me turn it painful. Sometimes he has to, though, and when your cries of too much, I can’t do it again turn into incoherent whimpers, he tries hard not to examine the particular slosh of pleasure in his gut.

No, you’re certainly not innocent anymore, Tommy is right about that – but you’re free of the sort of sins the end of the world would ask of you under any different circumstances, so Joel accepts it. He’s reminded it’s not a price he’s willing to pay whenever he’s on patrol – one foot in the apocalypse and one in the cotton-soft oasis he returns to every night. Perhaps it would be good for you to get out more, and he might let you, if he didn’t know how bad it can get, how much worse than how you are now. He’s played this game for more decades than you’ve been alive, is playing it still, which is the very reason why he needs to keep you as far away from it as possible. When the whole world has turned inside out, the only thing to do is to turn outside-in, and that’s what he does to you, for you, even if Tommy calls it confinement.

And anyway, you’re able to leave if you really want to. He doesn’t lock the door, because he doesn’t need to. He probably would, if it came down to that, but his rules, his unrelenting hands on your body, are more effective than any lock and key anyway. You’ve never yet tried to leave, although you express that desire from time to time – the only times Joel doesn’t chase away the shame in your voice. Sometimes he’ll talk to you, then, tell you about the lengths to which he’d go to to keep you out of harm’s way, and if that doesn’t work, he’ll fuck you deep and long, to remind you that even if your soul might be able to bear the thought of being anywhere else, your body isn’t. When you’re fucked out and sleepy, you’ll murmur an apology he doesn’t need into his chest, and he’ll stroke your hair and wonder which holds more truth, your initial proposition, or its consequential apology.

He ponders this as he makes his way home through the crystal-cold snow, heavy leather boots leaving prints the size of kayaks – that’s what you call them when you see your shoes beside his. Not that you wear yours much, not inside. His are dotted in a dark substance, something washed away by rain and time, but he still remembers how the spots got there. The raider deserved what Joel gave him, although even Tommy had a hard time justifying his brother’s violence. He wonders if you guessed what the spots on the soft leather mean and hopes you never will.

You mentioned leaving again this morning, just a fleeting, off-beat comment about what the rest of your life held in store for you, and Joel wanted to dissect your words then and there, but he had to leave for patrol, or his brother would have had his head. He remembers your little Bambi eyes, staring up at him almost apologetically. He never gets mad at you when you say these things, because you need his understanding for him to be able to drive the desire out of you.

He opens the heavy front door, is greeted by the smell of whatever dinner you made him – he doesn’t eat in the dining hall down the street, but with you. In the beginning, it was what bothered you the most, it’s so much work, Joel, why can’t we just eat with everyone else, but he patiently explained the dangers to you. The lingering gazes of men who knew what hunger meant, and felt some remnants of their starvation whenever they looked at you. You understood that, even if it annoyed you. He got you a cookbook, urged you to look at it as a creative project rather than another way of laying down your freedoms at Joel’s feet for him.

"Hello," you say softly, spoon still in hand, that pretty forget-me-not-blue apron wrapped around your body. He got it for you from a kind woman who sews all kinds of wonders out of old scraps of fabric. It suits you, brings out the flush in your cheeks.

"Hi, angel," Joel answers, pulling you towards him and tilting up your chin with one finger. It’s your little ritual, his lips, and attention, and hands on you the second he steps over that doorstep. You taste of the spices you must have added do dinner, the coffee he allows you to drink – one cup a day.

"How was patrol?" you ask him, putting his jacket on its hook when he slips out of it. So attentive, like you didn’t mention leaving this very place the last time you spoke to him. It seems like you slipped right back into the role he assigned you months ago, but he knows you can always do with a reminder of how much you want this life, how much you want him. So instead of answering, he takes the spoon from you, puts it on the little dresser right next to him – a smear of sauce on the dark cherry-wood. When he turns around, there’s a pout on your pretty face, and he’s half torn between chuckling and frowning.

"I’ll clean it up later. You ’n I have a bone to pick, young lady."

You know what he means, know he can only mean one thing, and you look down at your feet covered in the pretty socks the old lady who made your apron knit for you last winter.

"I’m sorry about this morning," you say softly, voice laced with genuine regret. He almost lets it slide, then, your widened eyes staring up at him. But he can’t. The reminder is for your own safety.

"You say that every time, darlin’."

"I mean it every time," you answer, gaze still lingering on your spoon, but far off somewhere Joel can’t get to. It drives him mad – it’s the one place he can’t keep you from going, your own head. Not that he doesn’t try.

"You know the rules," he says softly, as if they’re God-given, as if he didn’t make them himself. Part of him trusts you’d obey him even if God told you to do the opposite, though, that’s how deep your devotion runs, and he can’t risk any part of this fact changing.

Your head tilts forward in acceptance, and a warm feeling spreads through him. You have doubts, urges to leave this safe haven, but you voice them and ultimately decide to ignore them — you stay every time. It means more than if you didn’t have them in the first place. Any remnants of fear at the thought of you leaving are washed away by your submission, relief light and airy, spreading through his body.

"Five minutes," Joel says and pinches your chin gently to make you look at him. You do, and he smiles at you. The pout disappears from your face – already his reminder is working. You nod, and he lets your lack of a verbal answer slide. You go back to the kitchen to put away your apron, and Joel takes off his heavy boots, puts them next to the shoes you haven’t touched in months. Their dryness and cleanliness cause satisfaction and a deep contentment to settle on his old bones.

When he walks into the living room with a heavy gait, you’re lying on the couch the way he trained you to – hands folded over your stomach, stark naked. You always were a fast learner, and he’s proud of how adept you are at obeying him. There was a time this would have made you blush and hide your face, back when you were still fighting this dynamic, still caught up in the outside world. Joel smoothes one hand up your leg when he reaches you, ankle to thigh, feels your plump and young skin under his. As much as he does this to protect your mind from the horrors he’s seen, whenever you’re naked in front of him, he sees your body littered with scars behind his eyelids and knows he’s doing the right thing, protecting you like this.

"Remind me why we’re doin’ this," he asks you, not unkindly, as he takes of his own flannel shirt. You told him months ago you like for him to be naked, too, and although the contrast of having you bare while he just pulls down his jeans and y-fronts is delicious, he knows you respond better to positive reinforcement.

"Because I’m safest with you," you breathe, eyes trained on his hands as he drags down the zipper of his fly, "and there’s nothing out there worth the risk."

He nods, satisfied with your answer. His jeans are crumpled on the floor now, he’ll fold them later when you’re sleeping. He watches you for a second, taking in your smaller form, so defenseless and vulnerable in front of him, and feels all of a sudden a violent gratitude that he was the one to take you in before someone else could, someone who wouldn’t have your best interest at heart.

He settles over you, body heavy, but he knows you like it – the reminder of how strong he is, how solid and real. He strokes your stomach, your waist, your thighs, takes his time looking at you and for a fleeting moment he tells himself to remember this, in case you ever do leave.

"That’s right," he says, "if you’d seen what I’ve seen, you wouldn’t doubt me."

You swallow – you know this, he’s told you of the violence, though never in detail. He doesn’t even like you watching gory movies. There’s enough of that out there, why bring it into a home meant to protect you from that very same violence?

"Yes," you say quietly, "I’m really sorry, Daddy."

That name. He never asked you to call him that, and he knows you’ve never seen porn, had no opportunity during your sheltered, short life before him. It means you mean it, probably have no idea how laden it is, charged with clips of women in primitive school-girl outfits and nurse uniforms, feigned innocence that becomes perverse in its falseness. There is something pure about the word when you say it, regardless of the context – whether he has you crying on his cock, or after a soft good-bye kiss in the morning, you say it with such love and devotion, it makes Joel think of himself as good. Nobody else would if they were to hear you, but nobody else knows what it signifies – complete and utter safety and care under his guiding hands, your faith in someone wiser leading you through life. It speaks of your trust and devotion more than anything.

"I know you are, sweetheart," he answers, and softly traces your clit, feels the way you twitch under his breath of a touch. He smiles – you’re wet already, your body incapable of denying him even if you wanted it to, which you don’t, never have.

"I love you too much to allow the risk," he says, although he knows you understand, just to force the words into your head until the thought of leaving scares you as much as it does him. "You know I’d give you everythin’ you want in a heartbeat. It’s the only thing I ask of you."

"Yes," you say again, breath hitching when he presses circles into your clit, "you’re right, Daddy."

"Why do you doubt me, babygirl?" He hears the pain in his own voice, but doesn’t try to keep it out of it. "You’re livin’ the best life you possibly could on this earth, and you still wanna leave."

"No," you whine, "don’t wanna leave, Daddy."

He holds down your hips with one hand, your control over your own body already slipping with the pleasure he’s dragging out of you.

"No?"

"No…ah, I just…I get curious, D-daddy, when I remember my old life."

He can understand that. It’s the one thing he regrets the most, that there was a time in your life when he wasn’t around to keep you safe, when you could have gotten hurt in ways he finds physically painful to imagine.

"Oh, baby," he drawls, feels you tremble under his hand, "if you’re curious, you ask. I’ll tell you all you need to know, hm?"

"Yes," you agree, and Joel speeds up his movements just slightly, until your voice grows high-pitched, and you shake under him.

"See how good I make you feel? You wanna risk this?"

No, you want to say, but the word dies on your lips when he pinches your clit between his big fingers, and you come with a shout. There was a time he made you ask for permission, back when he thought the withdrawal of pleasure was the way to make you learn, but now that he’s figured out you respond best to too much, he doesn’t bother with that anymore. You don’t ask, and neither does he – just keeps rubbing no matter how you twitch and thrash. You don’t ask him to stop anymore, either, know it’s no good. As long as you’re able to come again, and he wants you to, you will.

"There you go," Joel mumbles, and slips two wide fingers into your tight body, curling them upwards. Your eyes are glassy, breathing quick, muscles limp and pliant. "Don’t this feel the best? I give ya all you need, babygirl, and still you wanna leave. You’re breakin’ my heart here."

"Daddy," you whimper, no sorry, no yes, no no, just that name. It’s all you need to say, anyway, conveys everything. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, presses against that special spot inside of you he forbade you long ago to touch yourself, before he forbade you to touch yourself at all. You pouted, argued, and he patiently explained his fingers were able to reach it much better than your own smaller ones, and he wanted you to always feel the best you possibly could. The next night you woke him up with a flaming red face, mumbled something about needing to touch that spot, and he felt so proud of you for telling him instead of disobeying his rules, he made you come four times just on his fingers, then fucked you back to sleep, an overwhelmed tear or two slipping from your pretty eyes.

This time, it doesn’t take you long to come again, and Joel basks in your lack of resistance, your body used to the pleasure after all these months. It used to take much longer, sometimes you even asked him to stop, tired and exhausted, and although he proved you wrong every time, showed you if he wanted you to you could come one more time, it thrills him to know you’ve grown accustomed to this unrelenting pleasure.

"You think you’d be happier out there?"

Your eyes are unfocused, when Joel pumps one hand over his hard cock. He keeps talking to you, knows you respond to his words more than anything.

"Think there’s somethin’ better than this outside these walls?"

"No, Daddy," you answer, and there isn’t a trace of dishonesty in your voice.

"No," he agrees, and lines himself up with your entrance. You twitch and clench around nothing.

"This is where we’re meant to be, angel," Joel drawls and puts one hand on your stomach, "right here is where you belong."

He pushes into you, almost curses with how hot and tight you are. Your eyes roll upwards, then flutter closed.

"Know you must think I’m a hypocrite for leavin’ every day myself," Joel chuckles, forcing his cock all the way inside, until he’s met with resistance and the greying hair at the base of his cock presses into your clit.

"No, Daddy," you whimper, "you’re not a h-hypocrite."

He strokes your hair, thinks you’re sweet for disagreeing when every coherent word clearly costs you a lot of concentration.

"The difference is I’m ruined anyway," he explains to you, his thrusts deep and slow, "but you haven’t been touched by this world. I gotta protect that."

Your agreement is muffled, but it’s enough for Joel.

"There’s nothing in the world I care more about than keepin’ you safe."

You twitch and tremble, thrust your own hips upwards until Joel presses them into the mattress.

"You understand that?"

"Yes," you breathe, and grasp at his shoulder.

"Repeat it for me, babydoll."

He knows he’s being mean, can tell you’re almost delirious with pleasure and close to your next orgasm, but he needs to hear you say it before he gives in.

"I…you’ve got to keep me safe," you say, face scrunched up in pleasure and concentration, "nothing more important than for me to be around you."

He fucks up into you, and feels your words spread through him like some sort of emotional pre-orgasm release. It’s all he needs, really, for you to say these words and believe them, mean them. He knows you need his cock for that to truly happen, though, knows it’s the only thing able to drive the doubt from your mind completely.

“Good,” Joel answers, “just needed Daddy to remind you, huh?”

You don’t answer, your breathing is short and shallow now, and Joel slows down his thrusts.

"Breathe for me, angel."

You do, draw in a raspy, choked gasp of a breath, and he smiles down at you, punches his cock into your tight hole one, two, three times, and sees your third orgasm in your eyes before it happens. You flutter around him, clench, then let go and positively gush.

"Good girl," he mutters, fucks you through it, before burying himself all the way inside of you as his cock pulses and releases. It won’t take, not after his vasectomy, but God, does he wish it did. He fucks his come up into you anyway, and you take it, happy and fucked out, and entirely free of any doubts about him.

When you curl up against him a while later, your body clean and limp now, he kisses your hair, lets you doze off, and traces the little marks and moles on your skin. He knows sometime’s he’s too hard on you, perhaps too strict, but when you’re this pliant and content, he finds it hard to regret his actions. Not when they’re this effective. He thinks he hears a soft Daddy on your lips, and smiles. If you’re dreaming of him, surely you can’t be thinking of leaving. And he knows, in that moment, if you ever tried to, he’d move heaven and earth to stop it from happening. in fact, he’ll use that key in the morning, just as a precaution— you don’t have to know.

part 2 of this series

#I need to be locked up royally #you too though it’s a case of supply and demand #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader #Joel miller smut #lana del Rey #the right person will stay #tlou fanfiction #tw dubcon

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