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hopelessromantic5 · 3 months

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Arthur is found by a little old witch in the woods, and is cared for.

But the witch realizes that her magic is no good on him.

She hovered her hands over Arthur’s body, with her eyes closed. Arthur could see the light cascading out her fingertips but he could not feel anything.

“Ah.” She said, smiling at him sweetly. “You are protected by one very great indeed, young warrior. My magic cannot even help you, let alone could it hurt you.” She giggled, as if this was something funny.

Arthur, high on pain and unable to move at all without searing hot flashes of it, was a tad put out.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

She shook her head.

“The opposite. The magic that protects you is more powerful than any I’ve felt, in all my years. And there were a lot of years, believe me. The person watching out for you, Arthur Pendragon, must care for you a great deal. Especially in knowing how you feel about the subject of sorcery.” She rattled these things off as if it were idle chitchat, as she went about the room collecting herbs and creams and throwing them into the pot in her hands.

Arthur was extremely confused. About everything that was said, but definitely one thing.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t invite anyone into my home without knowing who they were.”

“You helped me anyway? Knowing my father executes magic users?”

Arthur could not find it in himself to be afraid, he knew he was in no danger, and she’d just said she couldn’t hurt him or heal him with magic. So that’s good at least. She could’ve left him for dead, another reason to be thankful.

He had no intention of mentioning any of this healing excursion to his father.

“You would not turn me in. I know you have a true and noble heart. You are the Once and Future King.” She smiled over her shoulder at him and continued on her way.

Arthur played back the entirety of what she’d mentioned previously and his brows furrowed even more, if possible, giving him a slight headache.

He didn’t mean to appear rude but the question just came tumbling out of him.

“Someone powerful is stopping you from using magic on me? With magic?”

She turned back to her work station, which faced Arthur’s bed, and nodded again.

“Your guardian angel.” She smiled again, very sweet but also secretive. A smile of knowing things that Arthur had yet to even begin to comprehend.

Arthur was struck back to his fathers voice saying that same phrase. And all the numerous times he’d come away from a battle he thought lost, with nothing but a few scratches.

Someone was saving him.

Time and time again. Someone was always there.

But who?

The woman’s head snapped up from her working hands as if reading his thoughts. But still no malice was found in her eyes, only concern.

“Heed my words.” She began. Nothing good ever started with that. “They are not your foe. They have been there time and time again, you know it. In your heart of hearts. A moment will come when you must make a choice. If you turn this into a war, as your father did, everything you hold dear will be lost. Your kingdom, your happiness, the color of the world through your eyes. You will see nothing but grey ash.” A tear slid down her cheek and Arthur could feel them welling in his eyes, though he didn’t know why.

“But,” she smiled wetly. “If you choose to trust your heart, and open it to them willingly, you will prosper. Even in death, you will not truly die, as so many men do. You will be the Once and Future King, and your soul will live forever.” Arthur blinked, and he felt the wetness because he knew he was crying. But he didn’t feel sad, he felt ecstatic. Like it was bursting out of him, but he couldn’t move. Because everything was still broken and sliced open, making him vulnerable to everything. Even the feelings in the air, which Arthur usually held a dutiful immunity to.

“Who?” He managed to croak out, when he regained his princely manner.

“I will not tell you, Arthur. And you would be wise not to go looking. The answer to your question will come in its own time. For now, keep learning.” And then she winked, like Arthur was supposed to know what that meant. And how was he supposed to just keep going with the knowledge that someone close to him, or someone who thinks highly of him, has protected him even in knowing they could be caught at any second, knowing they would die. All to save Arthur.

At the thought, he wondered why his life was worth so much. Yes, knights uphold their honor and would fight and die for Arthur or Uther. But Arthur didn’t meet many sorcerers with loyalty of that kind.

Or maybe he didn’t really meet any sorcerers. Unless they were heading to the pyre and looking down their last minutes.

Of course, the sorcerers he’d come in contact with didn’t fancy a chat, because Uther never offered it. There was never a question. Magic equals death. It didn’t matter if it was healing, or helping a dying crop, or growing a shade tree for the children.

In the low light of the old woman’s tent, everything made perfect sense.

But it didn’t.

Because, not very many people knew that Arthur didn’t always agree with his father on these matters, Uther would never allow that to be made too public.

Maybe guards had heard something and whispered their secrets to handsy maids, or stable boys. Whatever the preference.

It would be entirely possible for the staff of the castle to know things that they shouldn’t.

So that narrows it down to about…three hundred people give or take.

Lovely.

Arthur took a deep breath and heard the old woman’s words in his head.

So he stopped thinking of it, stopped trying to find an answer and just waited for it to come to him. Or for death. Whichever came first.

The next day, as he woke, he almost startled realizing he wasn’t in his bed, and wouldn’t see Merlin first thing, but then didn’t because it hurt too much.

“Do not fret. It is almost time for you to go, Arthur Pendragon.”

“What do you mean?”

Then he heard it. A faint voice. Like music to his ears.

Yelling his name.

Oh thank heavens.

Merlin found him.

He always found him.

A pang of…something hit his heart before he could stop it and it upset him deeply.

But then the smile returned, because he was about to go home.

The woman came and helped him up, dressed his various wounds with her mysterious poultice once more, and then turned to look him straight in his ocean blue orbs. Right into the very depths of him. Hers were almost clear, like the sky.

“I know you have love for your father, but he lives in fear every day of his life. All of his decisions are made out of that fear. You cannot be the King your people need you to be if you follow in his footsteps. Choose love instead. Always. Even when it’s most difficult.”

She walked him out of the canvas tent and into the cool winds of spring morning.

“I wish you the best of luck, my King.” She bowed her head. The first sign of respect for any title, she had ever shown him. He almost blushed because of it. And he felt proud. To have someone like her rooting for him.

He would think about that old woman and what she told him, for years to come.

“Arthur?” The voice was getting closer. Then a lanky body burst through the line of trees and found him standing there, strapped together with bandages.

Arthur turned back to introduce the woman to Merlin, but she was gone.

And so was her tent.

It had all vanished.

For a moment he thought he was insane. But looked down at the helpful linens that were holding ointments on his carved skin, and knew that he hadn’t made it up.

“Arthur!” Merlin ran straight for him, but stopped a few feet off, clearly seeing he was hurt.

“Thank God you’re alive. I mean I knew you were, I knew you wouldn’t leave without sending me to the stocks one last time for good measure.” Arthur was smiling, he could feel it. He’d missed his friend. More than he should’ve.

He wished he could hug him, but as previously stated, he could barely move.

“I could go for a hug,” he admitted. “But I can’t really move anything without…ya know, pain.” He was still a little woozy and wanted to just get on with the journey.

“Guess I’ll have to help you on your way then.” Merlin sighed, but smiled anyway and looped Arthur’s good arm around his shoulders.

Then they walked.

And walked and walked and walked.

And neither of them said anything.

Arthur was lost in his own thoughts about destiny and the people that would one day rely on him for protection and peace.

Merlin had issues of his own he was meddling through, Arthur assumed.

And when the limping boy realized they’d been walking all day in complete silence, and hadn’t stopped once.

He finally voiced a question.

“Were you wounded?”

“What?” Merlin asked quietly.

“In the battle. Trying to get away, were you wounded?” Arthur’s eyes scanned his body and did not see any marks on his pale skin.

“No, I got away unscathed. Can’t say the same for you though.” He looked down, assessing Arthur’s own wounds.

“Did someone help you?”

“Yes.” He answered shortly. “An old woman. She was very kind.”

“She looks like she knew what she was doing. So I’m glad.” Merlin didn’t ask any more questions, Arthur was grateful.

“How did you find me?”

Merlin looked sheepish for a moment, but schooled it, and managed to get the redness out of his neck before it spread to his face.

He shrugged.

“I’m not really sure. I just had a feeling. Like I said, I knew you weren’t dead. So I just, kind of, followed my gut. And it led me to you standing in a field all by yourself.” He chuckled, as if the scene were funny.

“Hmm.” He said. Then looked around, and noticed there was water running somewhere.

“There’s a stream nearby, and it’s getting dark. We’ll stop and finish the journey tomorrow.”

“Alright. I’ll gather wood for a fire.” Merlin led him to a log and leaned him up against it for support.

Arthur could only watch as Merlin went about gathering dry wood where he could find it.

In the process of that, Arthur fell fast asleep.

In the darkness, Merlin crawled to Arthur and began to heal all his many wounds. Black smoke rising from them as they closed and left nothing but a scar.

Arthur would think the old woman’s poultice worked well. And they would be able to get home that much quicker.

Before Arthur opened his eyes the next morning, he knew something was different.

He tested his leg and it moved without delay or surging pain. His arms in the same strong condition.

His eyes flung open, and he ripped the bandages off to reveal closed skin.

Arthur might be a bit dull sometimes but he knows fairly well that nothing of any mortal nature could heal him so quickly.

But the old woman. She’d said no one could touch him with magic. Helpful or otherwise.

So what had done this?

His eyes glanced his surrounding and found only one clue.

A body curled in on itself with dark curls springing out.

Merlin.

But it couldn’t be. Merlin might not be as much an idiot as Arthur usually claimed. But he was no sorcerer.

Was he?

The pieces started clicking together. Merlin was always the one to conveniently drag him to safety.

He’s always the one there when unexpected victories are won.

Merlin.

Of course.

Something in Arthur must’ve known. Because he was not surprised even for a second. It almost seemed right in his mind. Merlin. Magic. Of course.

But that means Merlin’s been the one risking his life every single day, just to do what? Muddle about and polish armor? Muck out the horses?

If Merlin was as powerful as the old woman said, why did he stay? And why didn’t he trust Arthur with his secret?

Merlin started to rouse.

Arthur had to make a decision.

Confront him or act oblivious?

#merthur #merlin #merlin and arthur #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merlin bbc #hurt Arthur #wise old woman in the woods #sorry it’s a bit long #from the drafts

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yourlocaltreesimp · 9 months

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I got a massive headache and would like some yandere hyrule comforting reader from a headache

Cw: Implied druging, Yandere behaviour

As another person with inexplicably horrible headaches, I feel you. And so, I offer you this:

Herbs and Headaches

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your head hadn’t even started hurting by the time you were mourning the loss of your day. You felt the familiar pressure wrapping it’s way around your head, temple to temple. You didn’t want to make it a big deal, really, you didn’t. Not after last time. One murmured word of your aching head and the band of heroes dropped everything -almost literally- so you would not travel for the day. So you were stuck with the dilemma. A) Say nothing and resign yourself to silence as you’re practically lobotomised. Or, B) Say something and risk being smothered. You were about to give in to the pain of your skull being pried open when a small detail slipped its way in. Rulie. He can heal, right? Granted he’d tried before and it hadn’t worked fully as you weren’t Hylian, but he could dull the pain lightly. You couldn’t really stop yourself from walking to his side, the pace of your stride matching with the throbbing pain of your headache.

“Rulie?” His eyes cast over to you, and eased smile finding his face as he does.

“y/n?” He matches the tone of your voice, mimicking your accent unfamiliar to Hyrule. The flush that overtook his cheeks spread up to his pointed ears. Faerie. You knew enough of them to know a few things, the most important of which being that they can’t lie, don’t give them your name (oops bit late for that) and to never make promises with them. A promise with the fae is more than a promise, it’s a bind. The words never to be broken, lest you wake the wrath of the others soul.

“Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell the others” With the faux innocence in your voice and saccharine tone you would’ve thought that he surely wouldn’t give in, or at least suspect you.

“Anything my flower, what’s up?” His eyebrows knitted in worry.

“No, you have to promise to not tell the others- please?” Your headache flared, causing you to wince.

“I promise. What’s wrong.” His voice deepens on instinct, seeing your pain. It was an… unfamiliar sight to see Hyrule so fiercely protective… but certainly not an unwelcome one.

“I have another headache” You kept your voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear.

“Honey… that’s it? Hylia above- I thought you’d been stabbed” He chuckles, the familiar lopsided grin that took his face was enough to make your heart swoon. He presses a small kiss to your temple, holding your hand as he hides his magic between your palms. The pain dulls, no longer sharp and stabbing. It doesn’t go away, but good company certainly helps. You absorb yourself in the surrounding scenery, finally able to live life without a headache.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hyrule’s pov:

He could’ve been more or less sleepwalking. The forest was quiet, the fields were empty, no one spoke, not even the wind as it blew through the trees. But it thankfully didn’t stay that way. A light tug on his tunic sleeve had him looking over his shoulder. His love beside him, gently holding onto his sleeve. They looked up at him, eyes dazed slightly.

“Rulie?” Goddesses themselves- he’s sure your voice would complete. Everything down to the way you from your words was so inherently beautiful to him.

“y/n” He savoured the way your name sounded, better than any song or ballad.

“Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell the others” They batted their lashes, face tensed in anticipation. Hyrule’s heart flutters like the faires he’d grown so accustomed to. His very reason for being -they’re could never be anything in his life that could outcompete you- not only wished to speak with him, bless him with their voice, but wished to trust him with something no other of the heroes could fix.

“Anything my flower, what’s up?”To him, you were a flower. Beautiful and fragile, sculpted by the muses themselves to strike inspiration and adoration after all you sought to surround yourself with. A treasure that with such proper care and love would bloom into something no mortal could ever achieve.

“No, you have to promise to not tell the others- please?” He paused at that, along with the way you winced slightly as you spoke. You double checked there was nothing that could’ve slipped past them, that nothing could’ve found it’s way to tainting you. The vary thought made him sick.

“I promise. What’s wrong.” Heroes be damned, If something hurt you, he’d see to it that it was delt with.

“I have another headache” you sheepishly admitted, voice quiet and fragile. Relief flooded him, that you were ok. Alive and well. He could deal with this. He was prepared for it, even. Afterall, Mirroot was so abundant in his universe. Helpful for gettin you to sleep on nights were your body wouldn’t agree. Helpful for calming nerves and soothing stresses. Helpful for easing sore muscles. Helpful for causing headaches.

“Honey… that’s it? Hylia above- I thought you’d been stabbed” He chuckled, pleased to know you were alright. He kissed your temple, knowing whatever pain might be there will be gone soon, threads his fingers in yours and enjoys your presence. Even if he had to pull strings to have you.

#legend of zelda #linked universe #link x you #link x reader #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere link x reader #x reader #yandere #yan!hyrule #fae #fae!hyrule #yandere!hyrule #fluff #comfort #firreplies #fir’s library

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alitheakorogane · 1 year

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Freedom's Protection: Please Forgive Me

Summary: Venti tries to visit you while you're still recovering from your injuries and tries to apologize. At the same time, you found out the truth about the Divine Creator from Venti.

This is the sixth part of Mondstadt's storyline for the Reader Protection Squad SAGAU series.

Warning: There are mentions of blood but it's nothing major. Also, there are instances of grammatical errors and incorrect lore because this was written on a whim.

Note: I apologize for the delay, it's been a month or two since I updated this! This draft was been gathering dust for months and decided to add some ideas little by little. To those who are actually waiting for Archon Venti, just be patient, this was cut into parts so this wouldn't be too long for a chapter, I can assure you he will appear in his Archon form in the next chapter (as of this date). I still had to write them, review the next chapter for errors and place some additional ideas.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (current), 7

You woke up with the most pounding headache you had ever felt in your entire life.

You had no clue what happened, as you were still adjusting to the situation you're currently in. With difficulty, you slowly sat up and looked around the place, ignoring the aches and pains you felt, trying not to shake your throbbing head. By the looks of it and the fact that you can smell the lingering scent of disinfectant, it seems that you were placed in some sort of clinic.

You reached your forehead to calm yourself but were surprised to feel some kind of fabric on your head, possibly bandages wrapped on your head.

You were confused as to why you were lying down on a bed in an unfamiliar room when you were supposed on your room. After all, since the pandemic has begun, you're on online modality and you are supposed to be at home right now, playing Genshin or doing something worthwhile to kill some time. You wondered what place you are currently in and why you woke up with a killer headache.

Suddenly the door opened wide, making you nearly jump up off your bed in surprise. A young woman then entered the room, holding a cart full of medical supplies and medicine. By the looks of it, she looks like a nun... a fancy nun who looks like a nurse. You couldn't help but notice how she looks so familiar to you but you couldn't pinpoint what.

As she closed the door behind her, the young woman saw you try to sit up so she rushed to you and abandoned her cart beside her so she could help you get up.

"Thank Barbatos, you are finally awake..." the young nun spoke up as she grabbed a glass of water from the pitcher she had carried. You gratefully received the glass and drank the liquid, feeling the cold water rushing on your parched throat. You were still groggy from being recently awake alongside the throbbing feeling on your head, so your mind was still as blank as a clean slate of paper.

As you focused your sight on the woman in front of you, a plethora of memories regarding your recent escapades in Teyvat suddenly rushed into your mind, causing you to wince over the throbbing pain in your head. The woman, the lovely Deaconess Barbara, noticed your pained expression so she tried to heal you with her Hydro Vision, but it wasn't as effective as you expected it to be. But at least the pain was slightly reduced due to her efforts.

So your unfortunate trau... adventure throughout Tevyat was not a dream after all. It was real as it had been.

"How long have I been asleep?" You groggily asked the young nun as she was preparing to give you some herbal medicine that you assumed the nuns of the Church of Favonius had made them. Of course, they are not as modern as in your time, and had to rely on healing and elemental magic rather than science and technology to cure people in this world.

You then saw her sprinkle some herbs on the glass of purple juice and waved her glowing hand, signaling that she used her Hydro Vision on the drink.

As she had finished preparing the drink, she then sweetly smiled at you as she offered the glass in front of you, "I hope you like it, it's actually Wolfhook juice mixed with some healthy herbs to help you recover. I even made sure that you can't even taste the bitterness of the herbs I freshly plucked a while ago."

You received the drink and looked at it with a hesitant look and a grimace. The young Deaconess had noticed your strange expression so she cutely giggled, "Don't worry, it has no poison on it, I could assure you. After all, I'm a healer by trade."

Then she crossed her arms with her right hand raised in the air as she waved her finger for emphasis, "And to answer your first question, you have been asleep for two weeks. We are even wondering why you slept that long without food or water."

You were flabbergasted as your eyes looked at the nun as if she had grown a second head, and you should have seen your jaw drop if you were in a cartoon, "WHAT?!"

You still can't believe what you have heard, until you remembered how time flies on Teyvat compared to your world and you suspected that even though you were isekai-ed to the fictional world of Teyvat (which is apparently real in some other universe), you were still bound by your world's time.

You found this out when you first came to this world, when you noticed how you can spend days without food or never slept for weeks. After all, according to the game, 24 hours in Teyvat is 24 minutes in yours.

Barbara nodded as her face turned into a serious look, "But of course, I wouldn't be surprised if you do that, but we're still worried. Based on the ancient book our family had treasured for centuries, which was given and written by Lord Barbatos, the Divine Eminence has been gone, probably asleep, for centuries. And you're actually the Cre-"

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, earning a slightly annoyed look from the Deaconess and a curious look on your face, "I'll be right back."

She went to the door and opened it, revealing a tired-looking bard clad in green and gold accents, his cape flowing through a non-existent wind and you were not surprised that he was currently in his mortal bard form. After all, he has an identity to hide.

He seems to be holding a bouquet of fresh Cecilias and a bottle of apple juice in his hands, a well-thought gift that you assumed he possibly stole from Master Diluc's winery basement.

"Ven-Lord Barbatos!" The young Deaconess exclaimed as she bowed gracefully toward the new visitor. You did the flabbergasted look on your face once again, and by the looks of it, you did it a thousand times already ever since you woke up.

The Archon in question, Venti, entered the room, his beautiful face was struck with guilt and self-loathing as he walked towards you and the young nun, who paved way for the Anemo Archon to come inside the room you were in.

"You can call me Venti and you don't need to bow. I am just a regular bard at the moment," he replied to Barbara with a crinkled smile on his young-looking face, as Barbara blushed in embarrassment over her mistake, but you could see the guilt and child-like wonder in her eyes. You can probably guess that she was still thinking about her embarrassing moments with Venti during the Holy Lyre incident.

He then set the apple juice on the tabletop beside your bed, but he looked around for something to put the flowers in. Barbara could notice the bard fidgeting nervously so she offered her help to place the flowers in a vase, her arms now free from medical supplies she had carried a while ago.

Venti thanked the young nun gratefully while giving the flowers and the apple juice to the young woman, who sensed that you needed some time with Venti. She excused herself to grab some nice containers for these beautiful flowers, leaving you and the guilty Archon in the room.

As Barbara was gone, the young Archon was still standing near the door and fidgeting nervously, as his eyes were staring at the ground and his lips quivered as if he was about to cry. You just sat on your bed with your forehead covered in bandages, your eyes looking at him with a sympathetic gaze.

"Just come here beside me, I won't even bite," you teased him, as you patted your right leg in emphasis, signaling him to sit on the chair beside you. The bard hesitated to follow suit, but you made a puppy eye stare at him, complete with a pout, and he then gave up when he saw you still maintaining the look for minutes. He quietly sat on the chair, but he was still bowing his head down, his eyes were still covered under his bangs.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, (Y/N)," the green-clad bard suddenly apologized up to you for the first time since he came here. Your eyes widened as it was the kind of first time seeing Venti nearly breaking up in tears and begging for forgiveness in front of you.

"I...um," you stuttered out, not knowing what to react.

"I know you can't forgive me, I even knew that even my own people can't forgive me for what I have done," he raised his head slightly as his eyes sparkled in unshed tears, "I nearly killed my own people, (Y/N), and I couldn't forgive myself for that. I could have killed lots of innocent people just like what I had done a few centuries ago. I feared that I was starting to become like Decarabian... Worst of all, I could have killed you, even though I know you're not what I have perceived you to be."

You smiled sheepishly as you spoke back, reassuring the bard that you were fine even though there was still a lingering headache caused by his outburst a while ago, "No need to apologize, in fact, I was grateful that you were one of the people who defended me that time! So don't cry, Venti."

The bard just said nothing, as he sniffled with quivered lips, but you could notice the tears started to fall in his blue-green eyes.

"I supposed that you are really involved in the Cataclysm 500 years ago since you said you had experienced killing innocent people a few centuries ago. The Khaenri'ahns, isn't it?"

Venti looked away in shame as he had heard your remarks, making you wince at the words you just released, so you try to salvage the situation, "I don't want to pry, though. I know it's kinda traumatizing for you after all."

To be honest, you never even knew what happened during the Khaenri'ah disaster, as the game was still in the Sumeru patch, and the nation was still mysterious as it was when the game was first released. All you know is the latest dump info about it in the recent patches, where Nahida once said that the six Archons are involved in the Cataclysm, while she was protecting the Irminsul.

"I guess you know all about that, after all, you're the Divine Creator of Teyvat themselves. You were supposed to know as Celestia must have been doing all of this shit in your honor," Venti whispered but you could still hear him, his eyes still looking at the window behind him, "And here I have thought that you're just an imposter."

Your eyes widened once again, for this is the first time you hear him curse, and his tone suddenly filled with a little spite. Also, the words he had said to you made you a little confused, so you asked him with a confused tone, "Why do you say that?"

Venti shook his head with hesitation before he replied to your question, "The blood, you're actually bleeding in your head because you bumped your head to the floor and it actually glittered gold like the legend says. The Divine Creator in the legends of old was supposed to have the blood of pure gold, with constellations shining in their eyes. I dunno about the constellation thing, but the gold blood we had seen coming from you was the legitimate indication that you are really the legendary deity."

"Fortunately, the citizens had been evacuated to safety thanks to the brilliant minds of Acting Grandmaster Jean and Master Diluc, along with other Knights, and that means not everyone knew about you bleeding an aureate color. But even though Bennett and Razor had to carry you to the Cathedral without gaining attention from other people, we need to have someone look at your wounds and protect you while you're still recovering."

You nodded as if you now understood everything, but deep inside, confusion and doubt was still simmering on your mind. You had known your whole life that you were born a regular human, a normal speck among billions, but being the greatest god of Teyvat that can bleed liquid gold? Last time you remembered, your blood was red. You have been in too many blood tests to confirm that.

You theorized that it has something to do with you being isekai-ed to Teyvat. The phenomenon has made your biology change to fit the essence of the game. Then you suddenly remembered how Barbara reacted when she saw Venti.

"But what about you? Based on Barbara's reaction, everyone now knew who you were..."

Venti rubbed his neck with a sheepish look, "Well, it's bound to happen sooner or later, but honestly, I wouldn't expect that I would be revealed while being in an unstable state."

He then smiled brightly but you could see the empty look in his eyes, "But on the bright side, they now gave me free wine and good food to eat for free. But to be honest, I don't really deserve their kindness after what I did as their absentee Archon who suddenly shows up and tries to hurt them."

You nodded again as you looked at your hands which were still clenching on the blanket covering your legs. Since you were just recently conscious after being knocked out for weeks, your memories of the past events were kinda fuzzy.

Yet, you were curious about what happened after you were knocked out, so you asked the bard, causing him to look at you in the eyes, "Can I ask you something?"

Venti nodded as you took a deep breath and the question was now dropped from your lips.

"What happened after I went unconscious?"

-----

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brewsterispunkk · 6 months

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marriage of convenience: part 5

pairing: pero tovar x f!reader

WC: 10.1k (longest part yet!)

summary: reader’s relationship w/tovar develops. she and lisbeth dare an adventure.

a/n: thank you to everyone who has stuck with this. it has been months (!!) since I updated this story so if you’re still here—thank you. i hope u enjoy this extra long update :)

series masterlist

PART FIVE

“My love,” your mother called as you made your way to the door, rushing. Tovar was already annoyed at how late you were running, waiting outside, and you didn’t want to keep him waiting for long. He was already unpleasant enough.

“Yes?” You threw over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

“Will you see Lisbeth today?”

“I expect so.”

“Give these to her for me,” she handed you a bundle wrapped in linen–herbs, of course. Your mother was practically an apothecary at this point. “They’re for her mother’s headaches. And when you stop by Olga’s today, see if she has any of the lemon-honey concoction she uses during the cold months.”

You puzzled. It was late May–your family would not be in need of such a thing until mid-autumn at the latest.

“Why? Will she even have some? It is early summer.”

“I expect she will,” Your mother walks in from the kitchen. “She always has some reserves for the occasional late spring cold. It is for your father. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Your stomach turns to stone, but you force yourself to nod as you take your basket and leave through the rickety front door.

Of course. Of course it was for your father. You silently said a prayer to whatever god was listening for his recovery, like you always did whenever he took a turn for the worse.

He had always had issues with his health, ever since he came back from the war when you were twelve.

It began with a leg injury that never really recovered–he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder and fallen off his horse, breaking his leg in the process. If your mother had been there, he would have healed almost completely and even been able to walk again, but the encampment he had been in had no one with healing knowledge. The wound had festered, according to your mother, and your father was lucky to be alive. He hadn’t walked fully since.

The injury had caused your father to have to sell his blacksmith’s shop in town–the one Tovar apprenticed at now.

His health had been slowly declining ever since. Last winter, he suffered a chill and a bout of a coughing illness that took his ability to breath unencumbered, the winter before that, he’d suffered fainting spells and lost feeling in his injured leg. Until recently, he’d been able to hobble down the stairs with the help of your mother, but in the past weeks, he has been too weak to even make it downstairs for supper. You feared the worst, as you always did.

Graciela and James, your two siblings with enough sense to know something was wrong, were more hopeful than you.

“He will recover soon. He always does.”

Grace had told you the night before, over mending by the fire. Your mother was so weary these days that the two of you had to do much of the household chores. “Womens’ work,’ Petyr called it. You dreaded it and found it odious, but it was your duty. You would not let it fall to your mother, who had enough on her plate keeping the family afloat.

You wished you could believe your sister, but you were always the more cynical one.

You’d spent the better part of your life waiting for the next hammer to fall; waiting for the day when your father didn’t recover and the family was left in the care of the next male relative in line. Petyr. The very thought made your blood turn cold.

If Petyr treated you the way he did now, when your father was alive and coherent, you had no desire to discover what horrors would await you when your father departed from this world.

There had been a time when you dreamed of marriage; yearned for it, even. There had been years when you and Lisbeth, on May Day, had gathered ten different kinds of wildflowers and put them under your pillow to dream of your true love, a practice your mother swore led her parents to find each other.

But as you grew older, more well-versed in the ways of the world, it dawned on you that real life was rarely like the tales that bards sang of. At least, for people like you. You also knew that if you ever dreamed of escaping your village, of seeing all the world had to offer, marriage would end all aspirations of that.

You squared your shoulders as you stepped out into the fresh morning air in front of your family’s small home, urging all thoughts of your father’s illness to the back of your head.

“Took you long enough,” Tovar grunted from where he leaned on the small wooden fence meant to keep the family goat in. “We will be late. The blacksmith will not like it.”

You rolled your eyes, opening the gate and walking past him onto the small road that led through the forest and into town.

“Then remind him who it is you live with. He will have no qualms.”

It was one of the things you hated most about him; his tendency to take everything so seriously.

“Just because your father trained him does not mean he will extend me grace,” Tovar grumbled from behind you. You could hear the buckles bump against the metal of his armor.

That was something that puzzled you; you didn’t know why he still wore it—he wasn’t at war, and nothing so exciting as a sword fight ever happened in your village.

“And why not?” You asked, entering the treeline. The trees cast shadows on the dirt road in the early morning light. “He would do so with William or any one of my brothers if they expressed interest in the family trade.”

Tovar huffed in annoyance from behind you and your lips curled into a smirk. It had become one of your pastimes in the weeks that he’d been escorting you to and from the market. You liked to see how annoyed he could get.

“I am not like your brothers,” he said. “Or William for that matter.”

You chuckled—that much was obvious. Your brothers and your cousin were much more open, more kind than Tovar, who barely expressed any emotion besides annoyance and occasional anger.

“That I know,” you threw back at him. “No one would ever accuse you of being as sunny as them.”

“That is not what I meant.”

You puzzled and turned behind you, realizing what he was implying.

“You think it is because you are foreign?” You asked in disbelief. “From another kingdom?”

Tovar kept walking, face impassive, not betraying any emotion but annoyance.

“It is the same in this part of the world as it is in others,” he says like it’s nothing. “They need but look at me for a moment to tell that I am unlike them.”

You rolled your eyes. So dramatic.

“This village is used to foreigners,” you said matter-of-factly. “We see strange people from strange places every day. People trade everything from silk from the far east to salt from the continent to the south. You aren’t so special.”

Tovar just leveled you with a dry look, and you took it as a sign to keep talking.

“Your scowl and that armor don’t help,” you added with a smirk, swinging your basket back and forth beside you as you walked.

“What is wrong with my armor?” Tovar sounded puzzled. You stifled a laugh.

“Really?” You turned your head to stare at him, but found his brows furrowed in genuine confusion. You sighed. “You walk into the village everyday in full armor. Like you expect someone to put a dagger in your side at any moment. You do not smile, do not try to speak with anyone unless it is for trade. You should not be surprised people are wary of you.”

“I wear my armor everywhere except when I sleep. It is—”

“A habit, I’m sure,” you finished for him. “But still, this is a peaceful village. The most violence we see is from a brawl at the tavern or a rowdy group of traders on leave. Wearing full battle armor sends the message that you don’t trust us. And that makes people nervous.”

It was true—there hadn’t been even a skirmish on your lands in years. Not since the war, when the old Lord died and power passed to his son. Since then, your land had known peace.

Tovar huffed what you almost thought was a laugh, but when you looked back at him, his mouth was downturned and his eyes were narrow.

“I don’t trust you.”

At that, you laughed, a deep thing from deep in your stomach. If someone told you Tovar slept with a knife beneath his head, you’d believe them. You weren’t even sure he trusted William.

“That I believe,” you shook your head and continued down the dirt road to town, leaving a grumbling Tovar trudging behind you.

—-

In the recent weeks, you and Tovar had begun to form a kind of begrudging companionship.

You still didn’t like him–not in the least. He was uncouth and rude. He never exchanged pleasantries with anyone at the market and you were sure you’d never seen him smile. Not even once. And the two of you often bickered. So much so that your mother had taken to seating you on opposite sides of the table at dinner to avoid as much conflict as possible.

Hence, the begrudging part. The companionship merely meant that you had begun to be able to tolerate his presence. Barely.

Your brother hadn’t reared his ugly head in the recent weeks either, being either too drunk or preoccupied with other things to notice you. That was a blessing in and of itself. You still hadn’t really gotten over the embarrassment that had come over you at Tovar seeing your bruises. You knew it was what caused him to volunteer to escort you to town daily and still, you hadn’t addressed it with him.

Still, as May slogged into June, you were stuck with him. Unless you wanted your drunk, unpredictable, brute of a brother to accompany you to the townsquare every other morning, you had to learn to endure the company of the quiet Spaniard.

And endure you did.

You’d learned not to ask questions; whenever you did, you were either met with silence, or a stilted, annoyed response. In fact, the conversation you’d shared this morning was the longest conversation you’d had with him.

That was just one thing that set Tovar apart from your cousin, William. Both men had seen so much of the world, lived so many different lives, and while William spoke of his time abroad with bright eyed and excited words, Tovar’s past hung over him like a heavy cloud. You didn’t know what the grizzled mercenary had experienced during his time traveling, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.

Which was difficult for you—you could listen to William talk for hours about his time on the road. But, you’d heard all of William’s stories. Tovar kept whatever tales of his travels closer to his chest than his armor. And you resented him for it.

You resented that with all the freedom in the world, with a lifetime of stories and lived experiences under his belt, with the blessing of being born as a man in this world, he had the nerve to act the way he did: angry at the world, scowling at every kind face.

The absence of that—of freedom—pulsed and throbbed deep in your chest. And all you could feel was anger.

The sights and smells of the town’s center flooded your senses when you reached the market. You took a deep breath and tried to savor it: the aroma of spices from far-off places, the sharp smell of lemons from Arabia, the colorful hues of silk and fabric, the bustle of business and trade. It was as much of the wide world you were afforded, so you took it in with wide eyes and a smile.

You looked down to your basket, mentally going over the deliveries and trades you had to make before meeting with Lisbeth by the bakery. You were fingering a sprig of stray lavender when Tovar nudged your shoulder, breaking your train of thought. You turned and glared at him.

“I will leave you here,” he mumbled, looking around you and scanning the faces of the people bustling by. “You will meet me at the blacksmith’s when you are finished.”

“I will, will I?” You asked, feeling your temper flare. You hated when he gave you orders–like you were an animal and not a person.

Tovar leveled you with a dry look, before rolling his eyes himself.

“Do not be late,” he said, before adjusting his satchel and walking away.

You glared at his back as he went, cursing the broad expanse of his shoulders. Not only was he an ass, but he was a handsome ass. That was even worse.

With a sigh, you set about making your first delivery, already planning on being late to meet Tovar later in the day.

- -

By the time you’d completed your second delivery, the sun was high in the sky and strong. You could feel the back of your neck glisten and knew that when you looked in the mirror at the end of the day, there would be freckles dusted across your cheeks.

You’d already delivered one order of tea to the miller’s wife, who promised you a satchel of grain in return by week’s end, and traded the town seamstress for some new thread. Your stomach buzzed with excitement at the news you’d heard as you left the seamstress’s parlor.

It had been a normal business dealing: the seamstress, an elderly woman who had been a friend of your grandmother, had long been a customer of your mother’s. You knew her well. Your mother had sent you to get new thread for mending, but you always stayed for a cup of tea whenever the seamstress, Agnetha, whenever you traded with her.

“You look more like your grandmother every time I see you,” she said, sitting down gingerly on a stool behind the wooden counter at the front of the shop.

You smiled at her. You’d never met your paternal grandmother, but you had always been told that you resembled her—the same facial structure, the same hair, the same stubborn spirit. It warmed you to hear it from someone who knew her so well.

“Thank you,” you said, finishing the cup of herbal tea and setting it down. “And thank you for the thread. My mother sends her regards. She apologizes that she can’t be here to see you in person.”

“Oh, pay it no mind dear,” Agnetha’s gnarled hand pats yours. “With a household to run and that business with your father, god only knows how she can manage it all.”

You clench your teeth at the mention of your father. That was what it was like living in a village of this size: no one’s business was private.

“I was sorry to hear about your father, dear,” Agnetha continued. “Do let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thank you,” your lips spread into a tight-lipped smile.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the sentiment–you did—it was just that you had grown tired of hearing the same sentiments from everyone. It was suffocating, having everyone know the trials of your family.

“I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” you said after a beat. “I must make haste if I am to finish all my business by day’s end.”

“Of course,” Agnetha waved you off, but then held one finger up, turning back to the back room of her shop. “But give me one moment! I had forgotten—I have something for you.”

You puzzled but obeyed, your interest piqued. What could she possibly have for you?

After a moment, the white-haired woman reappeared with a bushel of flowers with small, white petals: yarrow. She held them out to you.

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What is–”

“For tonight, my dear,” she leaned in and smiled at you like you were in on some secret. Your confusion grew.

Nothing save for seasonal festivals and feasts ever happened in your village. Besides, if there was anything happening tonight, you were sure you’d know about it.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean—”

“Oh, hush,” Agnetha cackled. “I remember it all too well when I was your age. Your grandmother and I snuck off to Geris many a time when we were girls. These are for your hair. It is said they will bring you good fortune and a happy husband if worn on the feast of Saint Julia.”

“Geris,” you mumbled, all of it clicking into place.

Geris was a neighboring village—a town really—nearly an hour walk north of your own. It was larger and a bigger hub for trade than your own home, as it bordered the sea. Petyr would often go there to drink or gamble with his friends, sometimes not returning for days on end. You had never been.

“There is a festival in Geris today?” You asked Agnetha, who now looked as confused as you had been moments ago.

“Why yes,” she laughs. “The largest one of the year—Saint Julia is the patron saint of Geris. I–did you not know?”

“No,” you laughed, suddenly giddy with excitement, already plotting in your head how you could sneak off to experience it for yourself.

“How the times have changed,” Agnetha hummed. “When I was young, it was every mama’s worst nightmare for her daughter to sneak off to the festival of Saint Julia.”

“Is it still as grand as you remember it?”

“I imagine so,” she smiled. “The dancing is what I loved the most.”

“Well then,” you smiled at her. “I believe I shall have to dance, won’t I?” You took the flowers from her. “With flowers in my hair.”

Agnetha smiled a secretive grin and patted your hand.

“Do, dear. Twirl a little extra for me,” she said. “Now, be on your way—and be safe!”

You thanked her and left, walking out into the balmy warmth of mid-morning, feeling all-of-a-sudden more hopeful than you had that morning.

You met Lisbeth by the miller’s pond just before noon, like you’d planned. It had been your meeting place whenever the two of you were in town for years. Growing up, since your father’s property bordered here, you’d often meet in the forest. But, once you’d become old enough to do some of the household work trading in the village, you’d had to find a place to meet during the day.

Now, you buzzed with excitement, the news of the festival on the tip of your tongue.

Recently, you’d been itching to do anything to distract yourself from the monotony of life in your village. As the days got warmer, more and more traders passed through, bringing with them goods and stories from far-away lands. Lands you longed to see, but knew you never would. You longed to stretch your wings, if only a little. Sneaking off to Geris would be the perfect opportunity to do that. Now the only issue was convincing Lisbeth.

You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you saw her approach, eager what you’d heard back to her. You just hoped she would be willing to go with you.

While Lisbeth understood your desires to leave, explore, and see the world, they were not desires she shared. She had always, ever since you could remember, wanted to be married. She sighed at tales of princesses and knights, longed to fall in love and have children. And you knew that when she did that, it would be beautiful. Still, a small part of you envied her for her dreams. You wished that that could be enough for you.

As she approached you, Lisbeth rooted through her basket, looking for something buried in its depths.

“Please tell me you have the herbs for my mother’s headaches,” she groaned as she came to stand beside you, leaning on the wooden fence by the pond. “If I have to listen to her moaning for one more day, I will bash my skull against the wall.”

You grinned at her.

“What?” She asked, finally looking at you. She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why do you have that look—”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh dear God,” she sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Before I begin, you must promise to at least consider my proposition,” you raised your eyebrows. Lisbeth sighed your name. “Promise.”

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll consider it. Now tell me, I am withering away in suspense.”

“Alright,” you smiled. “We always complain that nothing ever happens here, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we moan about wanting to see more of the rest of the world, of the rest of the country—”

“I would say you complain more than I—”

“Yes, yes, whatever,” you waved her away, causing her to laugh. “Tonight, there is to be a festival in Geris. If we leave after sunset, when our families go to sleep, we can be home before dawn—”

“Geris?” Lisbeth’s eyes widened. “That is madness—”

“It isn’t!” You assured her. “We have walked further distances many times to trade before. The only difference is—”

“It will be night!” Lisbeth shook her head. “After reports of criminals in the woods in the surrounding villages, do you really think it smart to go venturing to Geris after dark?”

You sighed.

“No,” she raised her hand. “Do not try to argue. You have a chaperone now because of the dangers. Even your father can see we are at risk.”

Your heart sank.

“Lisbeth,” you reasoned. “That happened weeks ago. Nothing more has happened–it was likely ruffians passing through. Traders, nothing more.”

“You are mistaken,” she folded her arms. “I heard tell this morning of another attack on a young couple. At a village only a few leagues away.”

“What?”

“It was a farmer’s daughter from Frayley,” she elaborated. “She snuck away in the night to meet with a boy from the village. Her lover was killed, and the girl was ruined. Her honor sullied, barely living.”

Your breath left your chest, a familiar clamminess taking over your hands.

This story was nothing new; when you were younger, before the new Lord of your county had taken power, such attacks were commonplace. The forests around your village had been infested for a time—small bands of ruffians and criminals who would carry maidens away in the night and burn houses to the ground after looting them. There were several girls in your village who had been abducted and held for ransom, and one who had even been forcibly taken to wife. By the time the Lord of the county had gotten word, they had already been married in the eyes of god. There was nothing to be done.

It had been something that had enraged your mother. You were too young to worry about such things, but you have vivid memories of the doors being always bolted shut, your mother sleeping with a dagger beneath her pillow.

The thought of such uncertainty and violence returning to your land made your stomach turn.

“I see,” you said.

“Yes,” Lisbeth sighed. “I wish to explore, but not at the risk of our lives and honor.”

You smiled at her sadly and nodded.

“Two women alone in the wood at night is a recipe for disaster anyway,” she continued. “How I envy men.”

You threw your head back and laughed at that, having had the same thought multiple times.

You wondered often what navigating the world would be like if you weren’t seen as a target simply for your sex. You would ponder what the world would look like if you could walk alone, unaccompanied, how different your life would be if you were able to work, own land, travel alone. If you had the liberties afforded to the likes of William, of Tovar. The very thought of it made your stomach turn with envy.

That’s when it hit you: William. Tovar. And you knew what you had to do.

- -

When you arrived at Olga’s little stone cottage at the edge of the village, your brow was damp with perspiration.

The sun was high, well past mid-day, and you knew you had to meet Tovar soon. You would be late, just like you’d planned. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d kept him waiting and you knew that he’d be in a sour mood for the rest of the day–well, sourer than usual–and that was detrimental to your plan. You needed him agreeable if it was to work.

You sighed as you made your way up the dusty road to her door.

Olga was someone who you held fondness for. She was an old woman, a widow with white hair and a thick accent. Her husband was a merchant who left her a reasonable sum of money when he died, so she lived comfortably and alone, something you’d never seen a woman do before her. She was from a country from the far South, Aragon, and she had forsaken her homeland for her husband. For love. It all sounded so romantic to you that you almost forgot your own personal objections to marriage.

You have memories from your younger years of your mother and her exchanging herbal wisdom over tea. She educated your mother on the herbal remedies of her homeland and in exchange, your mother shared her knowledge of the plants native to your own kingdom.

As you approached her cottage, you heard the faint sound of voices conversing inside made you puzzle. Olga was a generally reclusive woman–it was rare for her to have visitors.

You approached her door and knocked gently, calling inside.

“Olga?” You called, hoping your voice would carry through the open window.

“Ah, yes! Come in, come in,” she called back, voice painted with laughter.

You nudged open the door and took in the small sitting room in her cottage. On the wooden table in the center there was a clay bowl filled with oranges, no doubt traded from a merchant. Your mouth watered. You knew oranges were commonplace in the South, but here they were a luxury few could afford, including yourself.

“In here,” Olga’s voice called, louder now, from the adjoining room which served as a kitchen.

What you saw made you stop in your tracks.

There, standing in Olga’s well-furnished kitchen, leaning against the worn brick of her stove, stood Tovar, arms folded in front of him, across his face a genuine smile. A smile. It was the first time you saw one cross his face. Your breath left your chest.

Of course he’d have a gorgeous smile, you thought spitefully.

You hadn’t realized you were frozen until a warm hand on your shoulder startled you.

Olga looked at you expectantly, the lines on her face graceful in the early afternoon light. You blinked.

“What?”

“I said, have you met Pero, mi amor?” She smiled at you softly. “He is a blacksmith’s apprentice in town. New.”

You stumble over your words for a moment, tongue like lead in your mouth.

“Si, Doña.” Tovar–Pero’s–eyes caught yours from across the room. “We are acquainted.”

“Ha!” Olga laughed, throwing her head back. “Doña he calls me. You flatter me, caballero. I am no Doña.”

You smiled at them, shifting on your feet. You knew nothing save a word or two of the strange language they spoke. Castillian, you thought.

“He speaks to me as if I am a high-born lady, child,” Olga said, sensing your confusion.

“You are mistaken,” Pero smiled slightly at the older woman. “I know una mujer honrada when I see one, Doña.”

Olga leveled him with a wry smile and held up a finger, wagging it at him.

“You watch out for this one,” she looked over to you. “He is a charmer.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped your lips. Of all the words you would use to describe your surly bodyguard, a charmer was not one of them. Pero shoots you a withering glare at your laugh.

“What is so humorous?” He tilted his head.

“Forgive me,” you smirked, sensing his wounded pride. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘charmer’ to describe your countenance.”

Olga tilted her head, hands finding her hips.

“How exactly do the two of you know each other?”

“I am a companion of her cousin’s,” Pero’s gaze moved to the woman in between you. “We have traveled together for… too long. Her family is providing us with lodging until we are able to find work and continue on.”

“Well, a small world indeed,” she smiled. “How have you found our village, then? Quite different than Toledo, no?”

Pero chuckled, shaking his head and looking down.

“Quite,” he said. “In truth, it has been a long time since I have journeyed home. But compared to other places my trade has brought me, it is not so different. Though I have found the people of this kingdom more skeptical of outsiders than my own homeland.”

The admission surprised you; you had spent months trying to pry any bit of information out of Tovar you could to no avail. And now, with Olga, he was an open book. It made you wonder: was it just you that he had an aversion to sharing with? You bristled at the thought.

“Yes, it is something to adjust to,” Olga patted Pero on his shoulder. “They are not used to Southerners here. We must stick together.”

Olga turned to you.

“What brings you here, child? Do you bring me more concoctions from your mother?”

Your smile thinned and you clasped your hands in front of you.

“No,” you admitted. “It’s my father. I was sent to see if you have any of your lemon-honey tonic left from the cold months. His breathing has gotten worse.”

Olga’s lips pressed together in a sympathetic smile.

“Of course,” she said. “I keep some reserves in the cellar. I’ll go get them now, and I’ll have another batch brewed specially for him in a fortnight.”

“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself–”

“Hush, it is no trouble at all.” She walked over to you and grabbed your shoulders, her eyes sparkling as she regarded you. “With my Louis gone, there is no one for me to look after. I daresay I have missed it. Besides,” she placed a soft palm on your cheek. “Your family has shown me true kindness in the years I have known you.”

You smiled a tear-filled smile at her.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Think nothing of it,” she patted your cheek. “It seems your family has a habit of adopting strays.”

With a wink, Olga flitted away to the wooden door that led to the cellar, leaving you and Pero standing awkwardly in her kitchen.

“So,” you began before an awkward silence could settle. “What brings you here?”

“A delivery,” he huffed. “A new lock for her door.”

“I didn’t know Colm has you running deliveries now,” you picked at a fingernail. “I thought the whole point of being an apprentice was to learn.”

Pero rolled his eyes at you, annoyance clouding his features. He leveled you with a glare.

“I know my way around a forge better than that man,” he hissed at you.

You smirked. You always knew how to set him off—how to wound his pride just enough that he would lash out.

“I have been an apprentice since I could walk. I have nothing to learn. It is only an easy way to earn coin.”

“Your father was a blacksmith, then?”

Pero’s eyes narrowed at you before he sighed, seemingly tired of your antics.

“Yes,” he said. “He taught me his trade before I took up my sword.”

“Hm,” you said. “I always wished I would’ve learned the trade. But no, it was too unladylike for me. My mother forbade it.”

Pero snorted at that. You bristled again and shot him a venomous look.

“What? You think it silly for a girl to want to learn something other than sewing or weaving?”

“I think it silly that people in your kingdom think that is all a girl is good for,” he countered. “A waste. My father made sure my sisters knew a trade before he died.”

You blinked.

His response surprised you. A sentiment like his was rare, especially in a place like here. But more than that, it was the first time he’d said something remotely kind to you. In your mind, he was a brute, with no compassion or regard for others.

“You have sisters?” You asked, your curiosity piqued. It wasn’t often you could squeeze information out of him; you wanted to see how much you could get before his mood turned sour again.

“So many questions,” he shook his head.

“Forgive me for trying to make conversation,” you replied dryly.

“It does not matter,” he huffed after a moment. “They are gone now.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Olga’s footsteps nearing the kitchen stopped you.

“Here we go,” she said kindly, handing you a clay jar sealed shut. “This will help. Come back next week for another batch, or come tell me if it gets worse.”

You smiled at her kindness.

“Thank you, Olga.” You said. “Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, Doña, for your hospitality. But I’m afraid we must be going if we are to make it back in time for supper.”

“Of course, of course.” Olga waved her hands, ushering you to the front door. “Be safe. I’ve heard tell of bands of criminals in the woods as of late.”

“We will,” you waved as you left her house, basket in one hand and the tonic for your father in the other.

“No preocupes, we will be home before dark,” Tovar said over your shoulder from where he walked in front of you.

He seemed more chipper as he walked down the dirt road, beginning the journey home. You silently thanked the gods for it–you’d need him in a good mood for your plan to work. Even though you knew the deciding factor would come down to William, you still needed Tovar to be there in order for Lisbeth to feel safe enough to journey to Geris. You would be futile in convincing him, you knew; he hated you. But, though he put up a front, you knew that William could convince Pero of anything.

As the two of you walked home, you silently hoped that your plan would work.

- -

“You are out of your mind,” Pero’s eyes were wide as he regarded William, hands on his hips in front of the fire.

It was well past sundown, and your family had gone to bed already. You hid in the loft, peeking down into the large room below where William stood speaking in hushed tones with Pero.

You’d pulled him aside before dinner with your proposal: to sneak off to Geris in the night for the festival and be back before dawn tomorrow.

You knew he was your best chance. You’d begun to recognize the signs of restlessness in him–the twitching of his fingers, the brainstorming with Pero about where they would go after the harvest ended in the autumn. He and you were alike in that way: always longing for adventure. The only difference was that he actually had the freedom to seek what he longed for.

Either way, after some badgering, he’d agreed. You always had that effect on him–he couldn’t ever say no to you, even as a child. Besides, you’d already told Lisbeth to meet you after dark in front of your family’s house, with the promise that the two mercenaries would be there to protect you on the road.

Now, the only one left to convince was Pero.

“Come, brother.” William reasoned. “We have had nothing but work for weeks. Don’t you fancy a drink in a tavern? A change of scenery?”

“There is a tavern here,” Pero ground out, throwing up his hands. “There is no need to traipse through dark woods in the dead of night for an ale. I have spent my day laboring in front of a hot forge and acting as a sworn sword to your child of a cousin. All I wanted was to come home, fill my belly, and sleep. Now you ask this of me.”

You felt a pang of hurt at the belittlement, and a surge of resentment toward the Spaniard. You were not a child; you hadn’t been for quite some time. You’d practically had to be the man of the house in the months before William arrived, with your mother so preoccupied with your father’s help and Petyr drowning in his cups. That was a responsibility you suspected Pero would never have to shoulder.

William’s voice called your attention back to the men by the fire.

Pero had moved, sitting in the wicker chair to the left of the kitchen, sharpening his sword with a whetstone. His eyes looked deadly trained on the blade. William stood with his arms crossed next to him.

“She is a woman grown and you know that,” William said, sighing. “I do not know why you dislike her so. She is a fine young lady.”

“You watch her then.”

“Really, Pero. Why do you let her affect you in such a way? You can face the enemy’s sword without so much as a flinch, but put you in the presence of a maiden and you tremble like a leaf.”

“I do not tremble,” you heard Pero seethe. “She is insolent and foolish, and cannot follow a schedule. I am always late because of her.”

William laughed at that.

“You are bothered too easily, friend.”

Pero grumbled in response, eyes still focused on sharpening his longsword. You heard a rustle from outside the opened window and realized with a start—it must be Lisbeth.

You hurried over to the window and peeked out, catching a glimpse of Lisbeth’s auburn hair in the light of the fire that showed through the downstairs window. She was hidden by a long dark cloak, no doubt belonging to one of her brothers.

A surge of pride shot through you at the sight of her. You knew she was risking a lot–much more than you–by sneaking off into the night like this. She was of a higher station than you, and would soon be wed to some far flung lord, or even a duke. She risked her reputation being tarnished. And yet, here she was, brave as ever.

“If you do not agree, you will force my hand,” you heard William’s voice. You hurried back to the loft to spy yet again, knowing that soon you’d have to go fetch your friend who watched from the downstairs window.

You saw that now, William stood in front of the fire, blocking the line of light Pero needed to sharpen his sword.

“Move, amigo. I’m not in the mood.”

“And I lament that, but you are coming with us.”

“Us?”

“Yes—”

“I should have known she was behind this. No. If my mind wasn’t made up before, it is now. I will not go with her—”

Your laugh interrupted him, and gave away your hiding place. Pero’s eyes, full of ire, snapped to you. You stood up and raced down the stairs, conscious to not make too much noise, lest you be discovered by your family.

“Oh, please Tovar,” you said, approaching where he sat. “It will be fun.”

He looked at you with a dry expression.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.” He gritted his teeth, standing up to come and stand toe-to-toe with you. You flushed at how close he was—you could see every wrinkle, every freckle, every dimension of his scar. It made your throat dry.

“Why?” You asked, voice packed with as much irritation as his.

“I am driving myself mad escorting you to and from town every day, Señora.” He spat the word, making you blink. “I will not spend another moment more than necessary in your presence. Not unless forced.”

“I’ll call in my favor, then.” William drawled amusedly from in front of you.

You started, having forgotten that he was there. You took a step back from his counterpart.

“Pardon?” Pero turned to William.

“My favor,” William smirked and tilted his head. “You owe me.”

“I owe you nothing—”

“Remember Vienna, Pero?” William’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already–”

“I’ve forgotten nothing.” Pero’s glare would scare even the fiercest of knights, but William didn’t even look phased by it.

“Then it’s settled,” William clapped his hands together. “We will leave immediately. We’re losing moonlight already.”

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” you piped up, already pulling your satchel over your shoulder.

Pero looked like a deer caught in the headlights. William moved to follow you, picking up his sword from where it was leaned against the brick of the fireplace.

“Lisbeth’s in the garden,” he repeated after you, smiling at his companion, who glared into the side of his head. You giggled.

“Make haste, Pero,” you called over your shoulder. “Or we’ll miss the festivities.”

Wordlessly, he sheathed his sword and stood, glaring at you. The glare didn’t scare you though. You knew it was one of annoyance—one you often drew from Pero.

He grumbled to himself before shouldering his sword and following you out the door.

- -

William had convinced Pero that the horses could handle two riders, with the distance being so small between your village and Geris. Besides, the two mares had gotten little to no excitement since the two mercenaries made their way into your small village. William reasoned it would do them well to stretch their legs.

So, you were two to a horse each. And since Pero intimidated Lisbeth, you were stuck with him while Lisbeth rode comfortably with your cousin. The two made small-talk as you trotted through the kingsroad by moonlight. You gazed over at their shadowy figures as they talked, Lisbeth sidled up to William comfortably in the saddle behind him. You smirked. She had always thought he was handsome, ever since you were children. She was quite at her leisure. In contrast to you, who was trying to sit as far away from the grumpy man steering the horse in front of you.

You jostled as the horse trotted over a bump in the road, yelping and grabbing roughly onto Pero’s waist.

“Alright there?” William called from a few steps away. You nodded a yes.

“Hold on,” Pero grumbled. “You’ll break your neck, and your mother will have mine.”

You had no quick-witted response to that. If there was anything in this world that could cause an experienced mercenary to tremble in fear, it was your mother. So, you simply tightened your grip around his waist, locking your hands together. He stiffened as you did.

You hated how comfortable his broad back felt pressed into your front, how his scent overtook you. He smelled of fire, the forge, sandalwood, and leather. It was a far-cry from the rank stench that followed him and William when they arrived.

Lisbeth laughed from her place on the road beside you while William regaled her of stories from his travels. You frowned at the grumpy man in front of you, silent save for the way he mumbled under his breath to the horse in his mother tongue.

“Does your horse have a name?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He grunted, turning his head a bit to face you.

“The mare. What is her name?”

“Horse,” he replied shortly.

“Horse?” You asked incredulously. “Her name is horse?”

“She has never needed a name,” he said.

“All animals need names,” you sighed. “All of mine do.”

“Hm,” he hummed, not unkindly. “I suppose I wouldn’t know what to name her even if I desired to.”

You paused and thought for a moment. This was perhaps the most civil conversation you had ever had, and it was about a horse. Still, you were loath to see it end.

“She is quite fond of the clovers that grow by the barn. I often see her grazing there. What about clover?”

“Clover,” he repeats, turning the words over in his mouth. He hums. “It is better than Horse, I suppose.”

After that, the rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence save for the sound of the hum of conversation from the couple on horseback beside you. Despite yourself, you smile. Perhaps you and the Spaniard could find middle ground after all.

The festival was like something from a fairy story. And as you stood there, even Lisbeth, who had grown up surrounded by nobles and visits to court was in wonder at the gaiety of it all.

As soon as your group had approached the city gates, you could hear the music—upbeat and lilting, with clapping and voices singing accompanying it. Your heart had leapt at the sound.

Dancing. There was little in life you enjoyed more than letting the music take you and spinning away.

As you took in the city, you didn’t know where to look. There was light everywhere: torches and lamps making the streets seem like they were glowing. You could hear strange languages on the tongues of passersby as you walked, making sure to keep close to your group. The smell of the sea breeze lingered in the air, telling you you were close to the sea. You smiled at it. You’d never seen the ocean, and though you knew you wouldn’t tonight, the smell of it awakened something in you. Above the thatched roofs above your head, you could make out the shadowy figures of the tops of sails—boats, resting in the harbor.

You and Lisbeth followed William and Pero to a stable near the heart of the city, where William payed to have the two mares quartered for the few hours that you planned to be there.

When you reached what must’ve been the town square, Lisbeth gripped your arm tightly, face beaming as she took in the grandeur of it all.

There were countless stalls set up around the perimeter of the cobbled town-center, tents and poorly-built shacks selling all manner of trinkets and gifts. There were food-stalls, jewelry, flowers, tapestries—too much for you to fully take in. In front of one of the taverns that bordered the town center, there was a group of people, sitting in rickety wooden chairs and stools, playing music. There was an old man with a mandolin, hair graying and beard long, a young woman with a lute, a lumbering man sitting behind them playing a violin with startling precision.

In the center of the square, countless couples danced in tune with each other. It was a popular dance in your part of the world—an upbeat ballad about a hare and a tortoise, one you’d been dancing at harvest and midsummer festivals since you were a child.

You smiled so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Look!” Lisbeth cried, turning to you, grip still on your arm. “Do you remember when were ten and you had to dance with—”

“Eldon!” You winced, remembering the handsy youth only a few years older than you that you’d been forced to dance with by your mother. There had been a time that she was hopeful for a match between the two of you, but he’d ended up marrying a girl in a neighboring village and moving there to take over her father’s house. You were glad of it; he’d been an unpleasant boy.

“The candle-maker’s son?” William smirked from the other side of Lisbeth.

“The very same,” you groaned.

“Oh, he was the most odious boy,” Lisbeth added.

“Really?” William asked. “I remember him being quite shy, if a bit ill-,mannered.”

“Ill-mannered doesn’t even begin to describe him,” you countered, remembering his wandering hands and leering gaze. “I don’t know if I can remember someone else whose face was so vile.”

“Are we remembering the same boy?” William asked. Beside him, Pero’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking bored with the conversation. “I remember him differently.”

“Because he wanted to be you, cousin,” you smiled at him. “He was positively disgusting.”

“He had a scar that cut across his forehead,” Lisbeth added. “From a riding accident.”

At that, Pero stiffened and his jaw clenched, his eyes finding you as William and Lisbeth continued talking.

“Yes, that’s the boy,” William nodded. “Was he truly so bad?”

You opened your mouth to respond before being interrupted.

“Ah yes,” Pero snapped, surprising you. The sharpness of this tone was something you were unused to. His lip curled as he addressed you. “Because a scar is truly what makes a man’s character. How unfortunate for you that you had to look upon the face of someone so…what did you say, Senora? Disgusting.”

He spit the word at you like it was poison. You gawked at his tone, at the malice in his voice, before feeling your own ire bubble in your gut. William and Lisbeth stood perplexed between you.

“He was disgusting,” you countered, taking a step toward Pero. “Because of his untoward behavior and hands that had a habit of wandering up ladies’ skirts. The scar had nothing to do with it. Though how good it is to finally know your opinion of me, Tovar.”

He just opened his mouth, gaping like a fish, before you grabbed Lisbeth’s hand and began to walk toward the crowd.

A new, more slow, group number had begun to play, and you and Lisbeth fell in line with the masses enjoying the festival. From behind you, you could faintly hear the sound of William scolding his companion.

“I see what you mean,” Lisbeth said to you after a moment.

You looked at her in confusion, before turning into the next step of the dance.

“He is unpleasant,” she elaborated. “And rude. No matter how handsome he is. I am sorry for ever thinking otherwise.”

You sighed and linked your arm with hers, as the dance called for.

“It’s alright,” you smiled. “You couldn’t have known.”

She returned your smile and squeezed your arm.

“I wonder why he is so…”

“So…uncaring? Aloof? Unkind?”

“...melancholy.” She finished, and you started.

Of all the words you would use to describe Pero Tovar, melancholy was not one of them.

“What?” She asked, noticing your confused look. “You cannot deny he has a sad air about him. Besides, to think someone so cruel as to call a young boy disgusting because of his scar? To think that you could be that cruel? He must have a sad outlook on life indeed.”

You hummed, reflecting on her words.

Lisbeth was right—as she so often was. It hadn’t been a point of view you considered before. Perhaps the reason why Pero’s countenance was so impatient and dreary was because of something else, something out of your control. As soldiers, he and William had seen the worst of mankind. You remembered what he’d said to you earlier that day, about his sisters. It doesn’t matter, they’re all gone. Perhaps there was a reason he didn’t wish to discuss his travels.

You rid all thoughts of the Spaniard from your mind as you finished the dance; you didn’t want your one night of freedom ruined.

As you and Lisbeth exited the center of the town square, you spotted Pero, sulking and leaning up against a wooden beam that supported the awning to a tavern. You suppressed a smirk at the glowering look on his face. William must have scolded him for speaking to you how he did.

Good, you thought.

“Pero,” Lisbeth called cheerily once you got close enough. “Where has William got to?”

Pero’s eyes flickered to you for a moment, clouded with something you didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to say something, deep, dark eyes still trained on you, when William’s booming voice interrupted you.

“Cousin!” He called jovially, four frothing metal cups in his hands. They were overflowing with an amber-colored liquid.

“That had better not be beer,” you wrinkled your nose, always having hated the grainy-tasting drink.

“Mead, cousin. Come! Let us make merry while we can,” William looked as if he’d had a drink himself already. “I would beg of you both one dance before the night is through. I cannot bring the most beautiful women in the land to a festival and not demand a dance.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at your cousin’s silver tongue. Beside you, Lisbeth blushed behind her cup. You took your own drink, the metal cool beneath your fingers, and relished in the sweet, honey-flavor of the fermented drink. Mead was a delicacy to you. Your family was rarely rich enough to afford more than ale, and you had long been wary of it, not wanting to fall prey to the cup like your brother. Tonight, though, you drank eagerly. Behind his own cup, Pero’s eyes remained trained on you, full of an emotion you couldn't place.

- -

After her dance with William, Lisbeth pulled you aside.

Her pale cheeks were rosy with exertion and with drink, her breath sweet and smelling of mead. You smiled at her, glad to see your often high-strung best friend relaxed for once.

She stepped on an uneven stone and lost her footing, stumbling into you with a giggle.

“Oh!” She exclaimed through a laugh, leaning into you. “If my mother could only see me now. She would be aghast.”

You giggled with her, pushing a stray auburn hair away from her eyes.

“Her high-born lady, absolutely ruined,” you teased.

“And dancing with a mercenary, can you imagine?”

“What ever shall we do with you?”

Lisbeth just laughed. It was a deep laugh, coming from her belly. One you didn’t hear often. Once she caught her breath, Lisbeth sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. The two of you watched as the people danced in the square, content.

“Thank you,” she mumbled after a moment. “I have had a wonderful time. I am glad to have had at least one night like this before—”

Lisbeth stopped herself, clamping her lips shut. You paused.

“Before what?” You asked.

Lisbeth pulled away from you, wringing her hands together in front of her, gaze trained on the cobblestones below your feet.

“Before what, Lisbeth?” You asked again.

When she looked up at you, her eyes were teary. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth before she spoke.

“I am to be wed,” she said, voice warbling. “Before midsummer. My father just told me this morning.”

“What?” you asked, all breath leaving your chest.

“I wanted to tell you right away,” she said, a tear streaming down her face now. “But when I tried, I just couldn’t. Then, I wanted to enjoy tonight. I thought if I’m to move away and become a wife, I’ll at least have tonight.”

You blinked, processing what exactly this meant.

Of course, she’s to be married, you thought. It was strange enough that she wasn’t betrothed at the age of ten and nine. Her father had finally made his decision. She was a lady of high station, the daughter of a Lord—this was her duty. One she was excited for, even. She had always wanted to be the mistress of her own house. You should be happy for her.

So why did you feel so sad?

“Who,” you croaked, before clearing your throat. “Who is he?”

Lisbeth smiled weakly.

“A Lord,” she said, laughing a little. “He lives a two-days ride to the North. My father says he is kind.”

“Have you met him?” You asked.

“Once,” she smiled. “But I was little more than a girl, and I barely remember.”

“Will you have time to…be acquainted before…”

Before the wedding. The words hang in the air between you.

“Yes,” she nodded. “He will come visit in a fortnight.”

You nodded dumbly, realizing the reality that faced you: your best friend would be leaving you to begin her life, and you would be left behind. The thought brought tears to your eyes.

“And he’s not…old, is he?”

It had long been one of Lisbeth’s fears that her father would wed her to a man too many years her senior—an old, country lord who she could never grow to love. If she was to be sold off like a broodmare to a man old enough to be her grandsire, you didn’t think you could stand it.

“No,” she smiled shakily. “He is young—only nine years my senior.”

You breathed a sigh of relief at that. Little mercies. You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, willing the moisture to leave your eyes. You would not cry in front of her.

“And, are you happy with the arrangement?”

Lisbeth considered it a moment.

“I am… relieved he is not old. It is too soon to tell without actually meeting him, but I trust my father’s judgment. I am his only daughter. I do not believe he would part with me for someone unworthy.”

You smiled at your best friend–your ever constant, loyal companion. Her auburn hair shone around her head in the yellow light of the evening. Her eyes shone with hope. She was ready for this, you knew it. You ignored the pang of melancholy in your stomach and squeezed her arms. For now, you would be happy for her. You would save your tears for later.

“No, I daresay he wouldn’t.”

You pulled her into a hug. She sighed against you.

“You shall be at my wedding,” she declared once she pulled back. “I will refuse to be wed without you.”

You laughed at her.

“Me, surrounded by lords and ladies,” you snorted at the idea.

“Hush,” she smacked your arm. “We are not so different from you lot. Besides, I much prefer your company to theirs any day.”

You smiled at her, linking your arm with hers as you ventured into the square to find your companions.

“Come, let us enjoy the rest of the night,” you said.

“Let us,” she replied jovially.

As the two of you continued on, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the idea of Lisbeth’s impending nuptials.

- -

Your group departed with hours left until sunrise—plenty of time to return to your beds without your families noticing.

The hopeless feeling that struck you at the revelation of Lisbeth’s engagement stuck with you, though, even after you bridled your horses and began your trek home.

Beside you, William hummed a tune while Lisbeth dozed off behind him. Your arms were loosely wrapped around Pero’s waist as he rode silently. The two of you still hadn’t exchanged a word since the tense encounter in Geris’s town square. Still, you hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of his glares for the rest of the evening.

You pondered what your life would look like after Lisbeth left. You couldn’t help it. For as long as you could remember, it was you and her. Your mother has acted as midwife in Lisbeth’s birth, and ever since, her mother had been a loyal patron of your mother’s herbal remedies. You and her had been friends since infancy. And now, she was leaving. Entering and finding her place in the wide, expansive world. And you were going to be stuck where you’d always been: caring after your ailing father and serving as a punching bag for your drunken brother.

The thought of Lisbeth’s absence from your life made your eyes fill with tears, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your cheeks.

You turned your head away from William, knowing if he saw you cry, he’d make a fuss. You took a few shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself, but failed. Before you knew it, you were shaking with tears against Pero’s back.

You knew he could feel your sobs, but couldn’t find it in you to care. He was going to judge you no matter what you did—he’d made that much clear tonight. You might as well let yourself weep.

After a moment, though, he surprised you. You heard Pero breathe your name, so quietly you scarcely heard it.

You sniffled, trying to cover the sounds of your tears. You mumbled an apology, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. But instead of pestering or making fun of you, Pero only hummed in acknowledgement, before wrapping a rough palm around your own and squeezing.

His hand remained wrapped in yours the rest of the way home, a silent show of support. It baffled you, but you didn’t have time to even begin to question it. Instead, you just let yourself cry, leaning against the Spaniard for support. The rest could wait til the morning.

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar imagine #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #pero tovar fic #the great wall fanfic #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar x y/n

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coven-of-genesis · 1 year

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Rosemary metaphysical uses

Rosemary has been used in various cultures throughout history for its metaphysical properties.

Here are some of the metaphysical uses of rosemary:

Protection: Rosemary is believed to have strong protective properties. It is often used in spiritual practices to ward off negative energy and protect against evil spirits.

Purification: Rosemary is also considered a purifying herb. Burning rosemary as incense or using it in a bath can help to cleanse the aura and remove negative energy.

Memory and clarity: Rosemary has long been associated with memory and mental clarity. It is believed to improve concentration and focus, making it a popular choice for students and those who need to stay mentally alert.

Healing: Rosemary is said to have healing properties, particularly when it comes to physical ailments such as headaches and digestive issues. It is also believed to help with emotional healing, promoting feelings of calm and relaxation.

Love and romance: In some traditions, rosemary is associated with love and romance. It is often used in love spells or placed under pillows to attract a new romantic partner.

#Rosemary #herb magick #green witch #witchblr #witchcore #witchcraft #witchlife #white witch #beginner witch #witch tips #grimoire #spirituality #book of shadows

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teyammybeloved · 1 year

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YOU KNEW when mating with neteyam would mean that he would be busy, a lot. you knew that he would be gone for days at a time, and return home late, and leave early.

you knew the chance for you two to get a minute alone would be difficult, almost impossible. it had been over a month since the two of you had last had an hour together.

you tried to ignore it, the feeling that burnt into your stomach as it seemed everyone had been more important, despite already knowing this was how it was going to be.

you were in your pod, neteyam — surprisingly hadn’t left yet, he was in the corner, finishing some work — before having to leave for work, while you were changing for the day.

as you bend down, you’re suddenly overtaken with dizziness, stumbling back. until ur against the wall, regaining your balance. you open your eyes to look at neteyam, his eyes never teared from his work, it made you frown, but shake it off.

you tried to ignore the headache, the feeling over your body— it was like it was on fire. “tey” you mutter, that gets his attention, he had missed you and was trying to finish this as soon as possible so he could spend time with you before you both had to leave.

“ma y/n” he said, smiling softly. you give him a half hearted smile back, before reaching down to grab a bag you had weaved, “i am leaving.” you say, wanting to go to the hut as soon as possible, it had gotten to the point, being around neteyam when his focused seemed to be on anything else, had caused an ache in your heart.

his smile dropped, furrowing his eyebrows. “it is still early” he said, he was almost done, cursing himself for not working faster. you just nod, placing a jar of herbs in your bag. “i have no reason to stay, may as well start early” you mutter, not meaning for it to come across as harsh as it did.

“actually i was hoping- don’t worry, its okay, have a good day yawne” he said, standing up, figuring if you wanted to stay you would. he walked towards you, hoping to maybe get a quick kiss before you left, but you slipped past him.

“bye tey, see you later” you said, his heart twisted, was this what it had been like for you.

the real reason you had left early was because you wanted mo’at to check you, walking into the healing pod you were overfilled with the sense of nausea.

“my child, it is early.” mo’at said, eying you carefully, “you are sick?” she asked, you just shrugged, stumbling over to a seat, you felt as if, if you didn’t sit, you were going to pass out.

“tell me what you are feeling” mo’at said, as she poked your arms with something. you hummed, thinking carefully before answering. “not hungry, the smell of food makes me feel sick, i have been getting horrible headaches, and i feel dizzy a lot.” you say, softly.

“are you eating?” she said, you shook your head, “i can’t, everything i eat i vomit up”

she ran a few more ‘test’ like things, but in the end she was slightly confused herself. “i am not to sure, but it should only last a week at most, but it is dangerous, you are overworked, you must take the rest of the week off, and im afraid, neteyam will as well” she says, leaving you confused.

“neteyam? why” you ask, tilting your head.

“you’re weak. you cannot leave resting. i am worried that if you do to much it will get worse. neteyam must take care of you, if he cannot, which he can, but if worst comes to worst, you stay with me, i care for you” she said, despite knowing neteyam would take a million days off for you.

“okay” you nod, “now go home and get rest, do you need assistance getting back?” she asked, you just shake your head, just silently hoping neteyam had left.

much to your dismay, as you pull the opening back you find neteyam sitting, but also jake and neytiri sitting at the table as well. they look up as you enter.

“oh! y/n, neteyam said you had left early for work.” jake said, you felt sick all over again, “uh yeah, i just forgot some stuff.” you lie, i mean there was things you could grab, but you hadn’t actually forgotten anything.

but there was no way you could ask neteyam to take a few days off to look after you with his parents here. “its good to see you sweetie, it has been a while” neytiri says, walking up to you to brush your hair behind your shoulders, you smile.

as she examines you, she furrows her eyebrows, “are you sick, child?” she asked, neteyam’s ears perk, looking over. “not at all, i feel great!” you smile, “just very busy, a little stressful” you laugh softly, moving away to collect a few jars.

neteyam’s mind seems to ease at your words, going back to the work with his father. “does y/n know?” jake asks, neteyam furrows his eyebrows before his eyes widen.

“know what?” you ask, turning to the two men. “i was going to tell you tonight! we are arranging a trip, a hunting trip,- my dad want’s me to lead it” you knew this was a big opportunity for him, you smile. “that’s great tey!! im so happy for you” you say softly.

“we are planning on leaving tomorrow” jake says, ur smile drops a little, before returning, but neytiri catches on. “that is great, very soon”

neteyam can’t help but frown at how excited you are, he was too- he was over the moon. but he wanted to spend time with you, “how long will it be?” you were thinking a one night, one day thing.

“a week!” jake said, patting his son’s shoulders with pride, neteyam smiles up at him, “oh” you mutter, furrowing your eyebrows, before just smiling, “that is great.” you say, feeling a little betrayed that neteyam hadn’t talked to you about this, yes he was out during the days but he returned to you everynight, that wasn’t even the problem.

its the fact it was tomorrow, for a week. and he was planning to tell you tonight when whatever you reaction was it didn’t really matter, it was already set.

“we must get to work,” jake said, patting neteyam’s arms once more, neytiri sighed, as the two boys got up, jake walked over to place a soft kiss on neytiri’s lips, before walking out.

neteyam looked between you and his mother, no matter how long it had been, it was still so weird to do anything like that in front of his mom, she knew it as well.

she sighed, following jake outside to leave you and neteyam for a minute. you were fighting tears because of the pain in your head, but either way you just smiled at him.

“im sorry, it all happened really fast” neteyam said, grabbing onto your hand, you just shake your head. “its fine, tey. i get it. i am really happy for you, this is amazing”

“will you be okay? i told dad that when we get back, i want to spend more time with you. its just a week, then i promise-”

“tey it is fine, have fun, you deserve this”

neteyam left the next morning, you were awake, sitting up in bed, in the early morning, “i made you breakfast when you are ready” neteyam said, you were confused as to why he had been so affectionate the last day or two, after being so busy for a month straight, was it because he was leaving for a week.

“thank you tey” you mutter, pulling the weaved blankets higher onto you, neteyam didn’t get home until very late last night, you weren’t awake when he got home. he looked outside, to see the time.

“i have to go, yawne. you sure you’re going to be alright?” he asked, you just laugh. “when have i ever not been okay on my own” you say, laughing softly, he smiled.

“love you” he said, leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lips, he pulled away quickly. “you are hot darling”

“thank you i try” you tease playfully, despite the nausea coming back to you as the scent of neteyam’s cooking fill your senses, it was nothing against his cooking, he made great food, it was just food in general.

he smiled at your comment before shaking his head. “im going, ma’ y/n” he said and just like that he was gone.

three days had passed since neteyam left, you had seemed to only have been getting worse, your body was on fire, the headaches the came were so bad to the point you were crying, covering your eyes because the tinest bit of light irritated you.

everytime you stood up you felt unbalanced, you tried to eat the breakfast neteyam made you on the day he left, but it ended with you vomiting it up. you constantly felt dizzy and weak. unable to do anything.

you tried to sick to your normal daily routine with the minus of work, you hadn’t mentioned to neteyam you were sick, or anything about what mo’at had said, and you had mentioned to mo’at that neteyam was unable to care for you.

well he was able, you just didn’t ask. you hated asking for help, thats why you stayed in your hut.

but you were getting worse and worse.

it lasted another two days, the day neteyam returned had to have been the worse out of them all. as soon as you stood up, you were down, passed out.

neytiri had been helping in the healers tent due to mo’ats request. “it has been so busy without y/n” she said, which had confused neytiri.

“y/n hasn’t been working?” she asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“you do not know? y/n is sick, horribly sick. i do not know what is the matter, but i worry. neteyam is looking after her” mo’at said, neytiri’s eyes widened.

“neteyam is on a hunting trip, he has been all week” she said, mo’at turned. “please check the girl” she asked, neytiri nodded, it was so in your nature to not ask for help, she saw the way your face dropped , how hot you felt.

she rushed to your shared hut with neteyam, she noticed the hunting party return, neteyam was laughing along with his dad, any other day she would’ve taken the time to appreciate the moment, but she rushed into your home.

she gasped as she saw you, passed out on the ground, she also noticed the face your shoulders was bleeding, she looked at the bed frame neteyam had build, your blood stained on it, she figured you hit that on your way down.

despite that she leant down, picking your body up, she rushed to carry you back to mo’at, unfortunately, neytiri had caught jakes attention.

then she caught neteyam’s, and within a minute, both boys were at her side, neteyam’s eyes wide as he took your body from her, asking what had happened, jake was just as confused.

“she has been sick neteyam! apparently she was supposed to ask you to take the week off to look after her-mo’ats request but she never did!” neytiri said, as they rushed to mo’ats pod.

“stupid child” were mo’ats words as she saw your body, you were pale, bleeding, you looked sick.

neteyam was worried sick, how hadn’t he noticed, why didn’t you tell him? did you think he would say no? had he made you feel like that?

“what is the matter with her? is she okay?” he asked, placing you down softly. mo’at scowled at him, “you did not notice your mate ill!!” she slapped his hand away from you, despite knowing he was busy and you hadn’t told him.

“i know- i know, i am sorry. i am here now/ what is the matter?” he asked, full of guilt and responsibility, wanting nothing more than to care for you like he shouldve from the beginning.

“i think she has a cold, but she has been overworking herself, that is the reason for her passing out. she needs to be cared for.” she said? coming up with a summary,

hill

“take her home, you are both to have time off until she is completely healed and healthy and has been approved by me, do you understand me?” mo’at said sternly, eyes falling over the three sullies in the room, eyes stern on jake, telling him there eas nothing he could argue, neteyam would be staying home.

“take her home, wait for her to wake” she said, before passing him a jar, “put this on her chest if she isn’t awake within half an hour” his grandmother scolded, still in shock that he hadn’t noticed his mate was sick.

neteyam did as he was told, carrying you bridal style back to your hut, placing you on the bed, he took time to admire you. you were thin, sickly thin, your eyes were covered by dark circles, your skin was burning hot.

thankfully, before the half an hour was up, you had awoken, although in that time it took for you to awake, neteyam was in his own head, pacing the hut.

how had he missed that? how did he miss that his mate was ill, so ill to the point you had passed out.

why didn’t you tell him — he wondered. had he been so distant and busy that you no longer felt comfortable coming to him? were you worried he would not take time off to care for you, it made him feel sick to his stomach.

although you being sick wasn’t his fault — the fact it had gotten so bad, was.

when you woke, neteyam was preparing a cup of water. you however, did not remember passing out, in your mind, you assumed you had taken a nap, hence why you were in bed. although there was a stinging pain in your shoulder, one you did not remember having, was this another part of the sickness.

you hadn’t even noticed your mate in the hut when you woke up, you shuffled in the bed, getting ready to stand up, however when you did you were overwhelmed with a wooziness.

“ma y/n” neteyam cursed as he turned around, placing the cup down on the table, he rushed over to you, helping to balance you out. “you mustn’t leave bed” he scolded.

you furrowed your eyebrows, when did he get back?

and why was he worrying so much, last time you checked he had no idea you were sick.

you discard his scold, despite staying in bed, maybe he was just tired snd wanted to cuddle. however you felt a tingle in your stomach, not a good one either.

you ignore it, you were good at that. “how was the trip tey” you ask as he settled next to you on the bed, you had missed his company, even if sometimes it felt like it didn’t exist.

he scowled at your, why were you acting like nothing was wrong. “it was fine, y/n” he said sternly, you frowned, why was he upset.

“what is wrong?” you ask, the look his was giving you made your chest ache, did you do something? was he upset you didn’t greet him when he returned — that must be it

“im sorry i didn’t greet you, i must’ve fallen asleep, i am so sorry tey, id love to hear all about your trip” you say, despite everything in you telling you to shut up, talking was so much effort.

he frowned even more, “i am not upset about that y/n” you frowned now, the pair of you a mix of frowning messes.

“what did i go then, nete” he wanted to cry at how pained your voice sounded, your face was pale and your eyes drained from colour, not holding the usual lint of happiness like normal.

“you didn’t tell me” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper, you tilted your head in confusion. “what? what didn’t i tell you?” you ask, mind fuzzy.

he sighed, shaking his head. his hands found yours softly, pulling you closer to him, despite the way your skin was burning his, he didn’t care.

“that you were sick y/n, you didn’t tell me” he said, you furrow your eyebrows before your eyes widen, before returning to their normal size, you felt like you could sleep for a whole week, your head felt heavy, your stomach felt tight, everything hurt.

despite that, you shrug, “it isn’t bad nete, i am okay” you nod, voice convincing, but its really not. neteyam knows you better then that, but even he is second guessing that — why didn’t he fucking know, you shouldn’t of had to tell him, he is your mate he should just know.

“why do you lie” he asks, eyes squinted as his eyebrows furrow in a mix of annoyance and confusion. you squint at him, “i am okay neteyam.” you say.

he grows frustrated. “you are not okay, y/n. if you were okay i would not have returned to you being passed out in my mothers arms because you have been sick.” he said.

you tilt your head in confusion, you had passed out once a few days ago, was that what he had been talking about? did he have to come home early.

“oh nete— im sorry i didn’t mean to ruin your trip!!” you say, eyes filling with heavy guilt, he shook his head. “you didn’t. i came home today to my mother carrying you to grandmother, because you had passed out”

a simple oh leaves your mouth, as even more guilt seeps in, he seems to notice your expression. he grips your hands tighter. “you did not tell me you were sick” he said.

you went to talk but he cut you off “you also didn’t tell me you were bed rested” he said, you frown at his words, already knowing what was coming next.

“you didn’t tell me i was supposed to take days off to care for you”

you just chew your lip nervously, he shakes his head as he looks at you, while you look anywhere but at him.

“why didn’t you tell me” his voice cracks mid sentence, it makes your heart clench in your chest, its hard to remember the last week, all you can really remember is vomiting multiple times, and crying about the headache.

“you were excited about your trip, this is a big deal for you, i just didn’t wanna ruin it” your voice is small, you words are soft, as they leave your lips.

“you already do so much, i didn’t want to be the one to take something fun away from you.. or put more on you” you admit, his heart breaks.

it takes everything in him not to curse at himself, for making you feel as if you couldn’t tell him.

he failed, “fuck” he curses under his breath. “my girl” he says, looking at your face as you look down at your hands.

he has to remove his hand from yours, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him.

“angel, you are my number one priority, every fucking day. everything i do is for you. i know — i have obviously done a shitty job of showing that, but you should’ve told me, i could’ve helped you, now youre ten times worse” he says, tears fill your tired eyes.

“im sorry tey” you say as a hot tear rolls down your cheek. he immediately shakes his head.

“no, youre not allowed to be sorry, ma y/n. i shouldve known, i am your mate and i didn’t know you were ill, i left you here alone sick”

“i shouldve told you”

he nods, “you should’ve.”

you look down, his hand moves from your chin to your jaw. holding your face in his hand. “but i an here now, no matter what”

#avatar #avatarthewayofwater #neteyam sully x reader #neteyamfics #neteyamsully #neteyamxreader #1950s #writing #wattpad #jakesully #neytirisully #neteyamsullyfics #neteyam

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strawberri-blonde · 9 months

Text

01 - Handjob - Neteyam

01 - handjob : happy kinktober!

Summary: You greet Neteyam after training and he looks too good not to be given a handjob.

Warning: Literally said in the summary handjob, but there’s also kissing, nipple play other heavy petting.

Masterlist

In the healing chamber, the sweet melodies of your humming mingle with the rhythmic symphony of the mortar and pestle in your skilled hands. Though preparing herbs can be demanding, you approach it with unwavering purpose. Guided by the teachings of the tribe's healers, you expertly identify and distinguish the beneficial herbs for treating various ailments. Mint, Nolina, and other carefully selected spices are ground and blended, fragrant filling the air. This healing ointment soothes inflammation, heals wounds, and relieves headaches and stress.

You diligently grind and crush the herbs patiently and precisely, transforming them into a fine paste. As you create the solution that will serve as medicine for your people, you embrace this sacred duty with utmost dedication. Yet, amidst the laborious process, you find joy. The delightful aroma of the crushed and ground herbs envelops your senses, bringing a sense of fulfillment and contentment.

Lost in the sight of your finished work, your attention was solely consumed by the paste, causing you to unintentionally miss the approach of Mo'at. The revered tsahík of the Omatikaya, also known as the clan's spiritual leader and the beloved grandmother of Neteyam, your mate, gracefully made her way towards you from behind.

Feeling her warmth and powerful embrace, you tilted your head to the woman. "Tsahík, I finished all the work that you had requested to be done for the upcoming hunting season." The older woman offered you a smile before nestling herself to your side.

Mo'at gazes upon the meticulously crushed herbs, her eyes filled with curiosity and a hint of pride. Your dedication and skill shine through, evident in the quality of your work. A warm smile graces her face as she nods approvingly. "You've truly outdone yourself, dear," she praises, her gaze shifting towards you. She gently transfers the paste into a nearby jar, ensuring its safekeeping. A sense of accomplishment and connection envelops the room as she touches your shoulder.

Slowly cleaning up your area, you turned to Mo'at with a smile. "Thank you, Mo'at. You're a wonderful mentor, and I'm grateful for the wisdom you share with me."

Mo'at's smile radiates warmth as she nods in affirmation. "Guiding our people and sharing my wisdom is my sacred duty. I have imparted my teachings to you with great care, dear, and I will continue to do so, just as I would with my daughter." Her hands rest gently on your shoulders as she leans in for a heartfelt embrace. The delicate scent of herbs lingers on her clothes and hair. With a tender gaze, Mo'at encourages you, "Now, go forth, for my grandson awaits for you after his training. Make your way to him and continue on your path." As she turns to depart, your purpose fulfilled, a sense of gratitude and determination fills the air.

You finish up what you were doing in the tent and look out to see the sun is more than halfway out of the sky. You decide to head to the training grounds, which is probably where Neteyam will be, as Mo'at suggested. You take your time and enjoy the outdoors, breathing in the fresh air of Pandora. You reach the training grounds and see several Na'vi kids practicing their skills. You spot Neteyam in the crowd with his fellow Omaticaya clan members. He is in the middle of a fight with another warrior, trading blows and kicks back and forth. You settle in to watch, amazed with how the lowing sun rays looked on his skin.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes fill with delight as you witness Neteyam's athletic body gracefully move under the sunlight. A magnetic attraction pulls at your heartstrings as you observe his fluid and precise movements. Each powerful punch and kick he delivers to his opponent captivates your attention.

As the wind gently tousles Neteyam's micro braids, the sun illuminates his muscular physique. With a forceful push, he drives his adversary backward, landing a flawless kick to the warrior's chest, causing him to stumble and fall. In that victorious moment, Neteyam's gaze meets yours, and he playfully winks, acknowledging your presence.

A rush of warmth engulfs you like wildfire as a glimmer in Neteyam's eyes reveals his carefree and playful nature. However, ever the respectful man, he swiftly redirects his attention to his companion, offering a nod of respect and admiration. The air crackles with anticipation as your body seems to get hotter.

Your sweet mate nods you off, making you smile softly, understanding that he had to finish up loose ends before he could leave. You watch with pride as Neteyam finishes his practice with his fellow warriors, seeing him bow respectfully towards the group.

You lean in closer as the sunlight bounces off the sweat on his skin and highlights his defined muscles. You gulped as those honeycomb orbs stared back at you with a smile. Neteyam then moves his body to make him look almost graceful as he glides through the crowd of people to reach you. You feel your heart beating faster as you watch him with pride, your feelings of admiration and desire towards him deepening.

Neteyam approaches you, his broad and muscular frame filling your field of vision. He wraps his strong arms around you, embracing you tightly. You inhale deeply, taking in the masculine scent of his body and enjoying the feeling of his arms around you. "Hello, my yawne," he murmurs softly, nuzzling his face into yours. "I missed you," he says, his voice filled with love and affection. He presses his lips gently against your forehead in an intimate gesture. You feel your heart racing and your stomach flipping as love and desire rise within you.

"I've missed you even more," you whisper, rising on your tiptoes to capture Neteyam's eager lips. Surprised momentarily, he swiftly regains his composure, enveloping you in a tight embrace and returning the kiss with intensified passion. Your hands grasp onto his glistening chest, finding comfort in the touch of his meticulously crafted cummerbund, a symbol of your unbreakable bond since the day he soared through the skies on his Ikran with you as his trusted companion. You presented it to him during the early stages of courtship, a gesture that holds deep meaning for both of you. Neteyam wouldn't have it any other way. You were and always will be his beloved.

The warrior pulls away, burying his face in your hair and kissing your neck and collarbones. His warm tongue leaves a trail of desire behind. Whispering in your ear, he playfully says, "Didn't realize you missed me that much, but who am I to complain?"

You drown out the onlookers, reveling in the attention as they witness the bond between you and Neteyam. Their gazes confirm that you belong to each other.

So, you ignore the world as Neteyam's lips slowly explore your body. Hot and deliberate breaths caress your skin, while his words of affection fill your ear. Lost in pleasure, you moan and bury your face in his neck, savoring every touch. You yearn to be consumed by him, to lose yourself entirely in the intoxicating haze of desire. The world can wait, the tribe can wait, but the feeling of Neteyam cannot.

You pushed slightly at his chest and stared at him with understanding, lust-filled eyes. "Follow me." Your breath catches in your throat, and your cheeks burn with passion.

Neteyam grins down at you, a glimmer in his eyes. "Lead the way," he says, his voice low and sexy. You take his hand and lead him away, your body shaking with nerves and excitement. You look over your shoulder at him, giving him a seductive smile before continuing.

Your heart races as his fingers slip around yours, and he follows you, his body so close to yours that you can almost feel his breath on your neck. You're unsure what you're about to do, but it's hard to ignore the urge inside you. You bring him to a secluded spot underneath a towering tree. You look around, realizing no one else is present, but you don't care if you have an audience. you lean close to Neteyam. "I want you," you whisper seductively, pulling him closer.

Your heart races as his muscles flex underneath his skin, guiding him against the massive trunk adorned with crawling vines. The vines bear large greenish/purple leaves half the length of your body. Some leaves even find their way underneath the both of you as your lips meld together in a fierce and passionate kiss. The exotic foliage surrounds you, the rustling leaves adding to the moment's intensity. With each touch and caress, your desire grows, your bodies entwined in a dance of passion and longing. As you both pull away, breathless and dizzy, the hunger in your eyes speaks volumes of the desire that still burns between you.

Your hands fiddle with the leather cummerbund, slipping it off his body to feel his strong muscles. And Neteyam couldn't help but lean down to continue to kiss you. His tongue explores the depths of your mouth as you become lost in the sensations. You passionately kiss him, your lips sliding and dancing with his with each movement. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of the clan.

But your mind only seemed to focus on two things. Neteyam's lips on yours and your hands. They genuinely had a sense of their own as they reached the slightly hardened cock. The warrior groaned deeply into your mouth, sending vibrations down your throat as you squeezed the clothed member. "Fuck, Y/n, you just don't even realize what you do to me."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as you playfully nibbled on his bottom lip, your fingers still fumbling with his growing member. Pressing him closer against the sturdy tree, you couldn't resist teasingly remarking, "Let me see then?"

Neteyam is surprised at your bold comment but doesn't resist or deny you. "Anything for my beautiful girl. " His lips parted slightly as he smiled and nodded at you. His expression hints at mischief; you know you are in for an amazing experience. "Go on, muntxate. What are you waiting for?" You reach for the waist ties of his loincloth, fumbling with it for a moment before it gives way. With a satisfied grin on your face, you pull the garment down. You look down at what is now presented to you and feel a wave of desire wash over you. Neteyam smiles at you seductively as you begin to explore his length.

"That's my girl," he whispered, his lips meeting yours in a passionate yet fleeting kiss. Pulling away, you couldn't help but gaze down at his member. With a firm grip, you slowly slid your hand up his shaft, marveling at the sight before you. His length nearly reached the entirety of your forearm, and as your thumb caressed the pulsating vein at the base, it disappeared beneath the light pink tip. The sight left you with a mouthwatering anticipation.

"Love your cock Teyam." Neteyam lets out a growl, grabbing your jaw in his hand as you gain eye contact. "I love you." His lips pressed against yours eagerly, and you kissed him back with equal force.

He lowers his hands to the lower of your back, with one cupping your butt and the other around your tail, keeping you firmly wedged against his warm body. You reached between the both of you, taking him in the palms of your hands, jerking his dick while twisting your wrists cohesively.

You feel Neteyam's strong body tense as your hands continue to work his throbbing cock. Groans escaped his wet lips, causing you to feel electricity spark through your skin.

"Yawne, fuck, I love you." He mumbles as you pull away from his lips to kiss along his jaw. Feeling your lips kissing the sensitive areas of his skin, the warrior couldn't help but thrust it into your hands. "You're driving me crazy."

You giggle out, kissing him, applying an open-mouth kiss on his lips, moving back down towards his nest, trailing towards his chest, reaching his nipples. "I like driving you crazy." Neteyam didn't have time to reply as you kitten licked his nipples, earning an immediate response.

His breathing became fast, and his cock twitched and throbbed in your palms. Precum leaked from his sensitive tip, making your stroking much more accessible and allowing you to fast your jerk motions. "Fuck, yawne, so fucking," your swollen lips wrapped around his nipple, sucking hard, twirling the sensitive bud in your warm mouth. "Y/n, my good girl." He tugged on your tail, making you clench your thighs together from the growing need you were experiencing from hearing his heavenly moans.

His hand left my soft bottom to tangle his fingers in your braids. Your eyes looked up from sucking on his chest to see his eyes closed and mouth ajar. Knowing that you were making your mate feel good, you couldn't help but feel prideful.

You pulled away from his chest slightly to look down at his swollen cock. Your strokes increased, and his thrust quickened. "You're so hot, Neteyam. So grateful you’re mine." You moaned out, noticing how tense his abs and upper legs seemed to be getting.

"Yours, baby girl." Neteyam panted out, leaning his head against the bark, feeling the ecstasy of the pleasure he felt from your hand working on him. You jerked his entire length while flickering your wrists, squeezing so tight. "Since the moment I met you, muntxate." A broken groan left his throat as one of your hands dropped toward his balls, giving them a little attention. "Make me feel as good."

"Good," you whispered, your lips eagerly seeking his once more, unable to resist the overwhelming desire. The knowledge that he was nearing his peak only fueled your passion further. "I adore bringing you pleasure, Nete. My powerful and loving partner. It's exhilarating to know I'm the only one to witness you in this state." Your words carried a seductive tone directed straight toward his arousal.

His hands tightened around your tail, and his fingers tugged on your roots as his movements quickened animalistic into your hand as you continued to jerk his cock. His kisses became messier, and his whimpers escaped his throat, allowing you to swallow them. You felt him shudder underneath you.

"Y-y/n, fuck." Neteyam's words weren't coherent as he spilled his cum all over your hands and stomach, painting you in white ribbons. Feeling the warm liquid litter your skin, you didn't stop jerking until Neteyam's hand slipped its hold on you to place them on your tired wrists.

You feel Neteyam's hands slowly and gently caressing your wrists, the soft touches driving you wild with desire. You lean against him to keep him close, unable to get enough of him. He kisses you slowly again, dragging it out for as long and passionately as possible. The feeling of his soft and warm lips on yours sends electric impulses through your body.

Your heart races, and you feel the blood coursing quickly through your veins. "So good to me, muntxate,"

You smile seductively at him, your body tingling and your mouth warm. The air is heavy with lust and desire but also joy and love. You are happy to have found Neteyam, and he is pleased to have found you. "Gonna reward you for being a good girl." You giggled as you brought your hands to your face to lick them clean of Neteyam's salty goodness.

"You really are going to kill me, Y/n." Collecting the rest of the cum that painted your stomach, you can't imagine being with anyone else, and you are so happy to be his.

How do we like the first post for Kinktober 2023? feedback is much appreciated!!!

~ Caroline

#neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam smut #neteyam x you #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam sully smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #lunaskinktober2023

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quietblueriver · 7 months

Note

Helloooo! Erm, couldn’t choose between magical or blood for your prompts so just… Imodna, transfusion! (Love your writing btw.)

Thank you so, so much! So kind. <3 <3

Started the below thinking about transfusion of warmth (inspired by the last ep) as a start and then whatever this is happened. Kind of angsty but also absolutely full of them loving each other deeply, as they do.

Thank you again for being so kind and for the fun prompt!

PS-Usual heads up that this was typed in a flurry so pls forgive any errors.

Imogen’s filthy by the time she makes it back to their little cabin, calling out to Laudna without much thought as she begins to prestidigitate.

Made it back from the barn. Think I’m gonna head to the market real quick though, unless you need me. Saw some raspberries and thought they might be nice for if you wanted to try makin’ that cake again. Ms. Sawyer says her daughter has a trick to keep the berries from sinkin’, somethin’ to do with…

She’s so distracted by a loose button on her shirt that it takes her a moment to realize something is wrong. Only a moment, though, and then she’s shoving through the front door, boots still muddy and hands lightning hot, scars beginning to glow.

“Laudna?”

There’s no music. There are no words. There’s only static, a harsh, painful, pained sound making its way to Imogen and reverberating in her mind.

“Laudna?”

A grasping black handprint curls over the back of one of the two wooden chairs at their tiny, rehabilitated table, another drips from the wall by the window, and Imogen is sprinting the short distance to their bedroom by the time she sees the third, thick ichor caught on the empty door frame.

Laudna’s frail body stretches across their bed, legs still over the side, one black leather boot half-off. Her skin is leaking ichor furiously, the red and blue quilt on their bed now covered in rivulets of black.

“Shit, shit, shit. Laudna? Laudna?”

There’s no answer, but her eyelids flutter and the static continues, loud and angry, and Imogen’s never been happier to feel the dull pulse of an oncoming headache.

She runs her hands up Laudna’s body, looking for any injury. It’s not until she reaches under her that she feels it, a spot just below her left shoulder blade where the fabric is torn. Taking the scissors from Laudna’s belt, she turns Laudna onto her side as gently as she can to get a better look, cutting away damp maroon material.

A hiss of sympathy escapes between closed teeth when she sees the gash, open and weeping and clearly magical, eating at Laudna’s flesh.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

Her hands are shaking, so she takes a minute to breathe deep, calm down as much as she can. Setting their house on fire with anxious lightning isn’t going to help anything.

It’s not like this is the first time this has happened, but it’s the first time it’s ever been like this, Laudna unconscious and Imogen alone and unsure what has hurt her. She thinks of what Laudna has taught her and what she knows, what she has—hot water, a clean cloth, the box of herbs and healing poultice Laudna keeps tucked into her pack. She can do this.

But first.

She kneels and finishes taking off Laudna’s boots and then situates a pillow at the head of the bed. With a careful eye to her wound, she takes Laudna’s feather-light body in her arms and turns her, places her on her stomach at an angle so that her wound is exposed to the air.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” she whispers as she tries her hardest to find a position that looks natural, like it might not be terribly uncomfortable for Laudna to wake up in.

When she’s as satisfied as she can be, she heats some water, gathers the cloth and the poultice. After she scrubs her hands thoroughly, a concession to the irrational need to feel the aching heat and see the soap even after she has magicked them clean, she folds herself down next to Laudna to get to work, focusing on the task in front of her and, now that the static has quieted, occasionally checking the incredibly slow but still mercifully present pulse at Laudna’s wrist.

The wound cleaned, Imogen takes another warm cloth to Laudna’s skin, slowly wiping away smears of black. The ichor has slowed enough that it’s not an entirely futile task, although she imagines she’ll need to repeat the process at least once more. The loss of fluids leaves Laudna one step closer to translucent.

There’s nothing to do then but wait, and she hates it. Hates feeling helpless and impotent and ignorant. She would do anything to be able to help, but she has done all she knows how to do, all she can do until tomorrow, when she might be able to wrangle some useful information from Meena, another woman at the farm where Imogen’s been working as a seasonal hand whose wife is a healer.

Even then, though, she doesn’t know what to ask, what to say about Laudna’s body or blood or muscle or ichor or the spell itself. She knows nothing, has nothing more to give, and her chest is tight with the reality of her ineptitude.

Because she can’t be helpful, she keeps her hands and mind busy with nonsense: tidies up her supplies, prestidigitates their quilt, changes and finishes cleaning her own clothes. She cleans Laudna again, clears the handprints she left on her way to the bed without letting herself think at all about why they’re there, picks up and puts down the book Laudna has been reading about 15 times, managing a few paragraphs or pages aloud at a time before she’s too restless to continue. Their boots are polished, their clothes are carefully and unnecessarily re-folded, and Imogen’s nails are bitten to the quick.

It’s well into the night by the time Laudna stirs, a soft, wounded sound and matched thoughts of confusion and pain announcing her return to consciousness. Imogen’s head snaps up at the noise, and she rises immediately from the chair where she’s been worrying, hovers at the edge of the bed and brings her fingers to tuck some of Laudna’s hair behind her ear. Her thumb, a little bloody at the nail, rubs at the soft skin of her temple.

“Laudna.”

Wide eyes blink open, unfocused.

“Imogen?”

Her voice is strained, and Imogen reaches for the glass of water she’s had waiting on the bedside table, brings it to her lips with a little lacquered wooden straw Laudna had found a few months back.

“Hey. Yeah. It’s me. Drink this, okay?”

She does without protest, and the exhausted smile she gives Imogen when she’s finished almost drives her to tears. She clears her throat and turns away to put the glass back down, takes a second to get herself together.

She settles more fully on the bed beside Laudna when she feels less like she might start sobbing, rests a hand over one of Laudna’s near her pillow.

“How’re you feelin’?”

They don’t lie to each other, but Imogen hears the brief internal debate over exactly how honest to be, knows from Laudna’s somewhat sheepish look that she knows Imogen is aware of what she’s thinking.

Just don’t want to worry you, dear.

“You’re worth worryin’ over.”

Too tired to fight, even though Imogen can tell that she wants to, Laudna concedes the point and answers the question instead.

“I feel quite terrible.”

“That makes sense. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but that gash you’ve got back there is real nasty.”

Laudna sighs and closes her eyes for a moment before blinking them back open, more alert this time around.

“A cleric surprised me by the stream. He threw the spell before I could react, and it felt like something tangible hit me along with the magic, although I couldn’t see what. A vial of poison, maybe? Or shards of something? Quite creative really. Did an astounding amount of damage on contact.” Imogen bites her tongue as Laudna continues. “In any case, he hit me, and I knew immediately that I was fucked, but I was able to send him running with a quick illusion and managed to make it back here before, well…” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, shaking her head as she looks down at the quilt. “I’m sorry to worry you. And to make you take care of me. I know you had…”

“Laudna.”

At Imogen’s tone, she stops, raising her head to meet Imogen’s eyes again.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for. I’m sorry some ignorant fuck ruined your afternoon and…and…” That I wasn’t there to protect you, she bites back, knowing Laudna will only take it as a chance to turn the focus away from herself. She fists the hand not on Laudna’s, resigns herself to the tear that falls. “I’m so sorry you got hurt, honey.”

“I’ll be alright,” she says with a smile, smaller than usual but still real. Her eyes hold Imogen’s as she adds, “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always,” Imogen says without thought, means absolutely. She breaks eye contact, afraid that she’s going to cry more, and clears her throat again. “You lost a lotta blood, Laud. I wasn’t…I didn’t know what to do about it. I thought there must be some magic but I…” She shrugs helplessly.

Laudna hums. “I’ll be restored with some good sleep. I can show you some more tricks with the herbs later. Healing magic isn’t in my repertoire and never will be, I’m afraid, so we’ll have to make do.”

A few days later, Laudna is back to her normal self and working on something or other with bones on the kitchen table. Imogen has been attempting to read the same paragraph of her book for the last several minutes and finally gives up, letting it falls shut where it rests against her legs on the bed.

“Hey, Laud.”

“Hmm?”

“Is there really no way I can learn healing magic?”

Laudna looks up from her project then, head tilting curiously.

“I can’t say I’m an expert, dearest. My own experience with clerics has largely been, well…” She waves a hand in the air. “But it’s not just clerics who can heal, of course, and I’m certain we can find someone to talk to you about it, if you’re interested. The conservatory will undoubtedly have people who know much more than I do.” She pushes up from the table and comes to settle next to Imogen on the bed, pressing their shoulders together. “Interested in pursuing something new?”

She takes a beat, tilts her head to rest on Laudna’s shoulder. I’m interested in savin’ you from pain. In never havin’ to see you like that again. In givin’ those fuckers a little of their own medicine. It’s kind of hypocritical to maintain her own hierarchy of honesty when Laudna so freely offers herself and her truth to Imogen, but she’s not a perfect person, never has been.

So she tells one part of the truth, promises herself and Laudna she’ll learn to be better, do better, know more.

“Just curious.”

Is she your favorite?

Imogen watches as Laudna comes down on Otohan’s blade, her body broken and limp as Otohan smiles wickedly, proudly. She’s smug. She’s smug as she holds Laudna in the air, and Imogen wants to destroy her, wants to obliterate her, but more than that, more than anything, she wants Laudna, wants...

There is one thing she has to offer, one thing that might be able to fix this, so she gives it, takes down the walls, stops trying to bury the churning power in her stomach and her chest, stops fighting for herself. She makes peace, dirty but rooted in love, with the fact that she might never come back from this.

And then she lets go.

Imogen’s mind explodes, white hot fury and pain enveloping her and demolishing everything around her. She’s gone. She’s nothing in that moment, nothing but a vehicle for someone else’s, something else’s, power. It’s what she has, and it’s what she’ll give, even if it means the end of her, to fix this.

And still, when she wakes up, Laudna is gone.

She’s done nothing to save her, in the end. Nothing to help.

All that power, all that fire, and she’s left with Laudna’s head in her lap, Laudna’s body in her arms, homes and friends demolished. Wreckage of her own making.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.

She’ll bring her back. If Laudna wants to come back, Imogen will find a way for her. There isn’t another option.

But holding Laudna’s body tight to her, Orym’s calls for help and the panicked thoughts of her friends battering at her mind, she has never felt more powerless. She has never felt so deeply that she has nothing useful to offer.

It was a mistake, letting her go on her own. It was such a stupid thing to do, such a selfish thing to do, but Laudna had seemed to know what she needed and Imogen had been so angry at Ashton and everyone had been so checked out, and she’d decided she should stay, decided she could be useful if she stayed.

Laudna paid for it.

Laudna was always paying for other people’s mistakes. For Imogen’s mistakes.

She waits alone in the basement, furious that she doesn’t have a way to find her, that her sending won’t work, that there’s no spell she can try.

She debates, several times, flying out over the grounds and the forest, but she knows their history, knows the likelihood that she’ll just get herself lost and end up fucking things up worse, missing Laudna or forcing the Hells to split their time and energy trying to find the both of them.

Familiar feelings of shame and powerlessness make a home in her hands, her chest, behind her eyelids. She should’ve gone with her. She should’ve gone with her.

She watched Delilah make her influence over Laudna apparent, listened to her preach in that torture chamber, saw what it did to Laudna, what being here did to Laudna.

It’s not that she believes that Delilah will win. She knows Laudna can fight her, even if Laudna doesn’t know it herself.

I haven’t been able to fight her for 30-odd years.

She’d said it like it was some unassailable truth, but Imogen knew better. Knows better. She’s heard everything inside of her, and more than anyone Imogen has ever met, Laudna is full of kindness. Of steadfast love. Of the kind of humor sharp and strong enough to result Pate, who must be a special form of torture for Delilah. Of an optimism so deep that it let her keep going town after town after town and lets her keep trying to play fun-scary games with children in taverns and on the road. In Whitestone, even.

For thirty years, she’s had that bitch inside of her, and she’s still Laudna, the best person Imogen has ever met.

So Imogen knows she can fight.

But fuck, she doesn’t want her to have to. And she never wants her to have to fight alone. Not again. Never again.

That’s what she’s doing now, though.

Imogen had let Laudna go. She had let her go by herself, broken from a betrayal she didn’t have the emotional space to process into this place that tortured her, killed her, and then brought her back gasping and cold and alone.

This didn’t have to happen, and now that it has, Imogen has no way to stop it. Energy hums beneath her skin with nowhere to go, her scars illuminating the graveyard Delilah left here.

Hours pass and nothing changes.

Eventually, she wanders up and tries to navigate the absolute shitshow of the post-shard Hells. Chet’s mostly naked doing…something? Some kind of dance, drinking loudly, because of course he is, and she’s frankly grateful for the consistency, but she understands when Allura pulls her aside to ask if Imogen thinks they’re ready for what’s coming.

Imogen was worried about them before today. Of course she was, because she’s not stupid, and they’ve seen too many battles to be cocky. She’s been in Whitestone before, recalls vividly what can happen when they’re unprepared. So she was worried about them, but now, it’s more than just caution. It’s real, deep concern.

They’re broken, individually and as a group, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. She doesn’t know what to do with the mess of them in the kitchen, and she doesn’t know what to do with the fact that they’re…

“Does anybody know where Fearne and Laudna are?”

There’s confirmation, at least, that Fearne is alright, and that Laudna is safe for the moment, but gods, how many ghosts are in this town, in those woods?

Fuck.

She can’t blame Chet for telling Ashton to leave, doesn’t have the inclination or the energy to defend them right now, and maybe tomorrow morning if they don’t come down she’ll regret it, but it’s nice, for a minute, to shift a little of the shame and blame to someone else. Ashton and their power grab and their idiocy, their unintentional but undeniable cruelty to Fearne, their betrayal and its rippling effects.

God, they’re all so fucked up.

She spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, her mind running the same circles over and over again until the sun is up high enough that she can justify beating down FCG’s door.

She drags them through the castle and outside and then when they find her, Laudna runs. She looks at Imogen and she runs and Imogen doesn’t want to scare her but this isn’t gonna fucking work, so she’s pressing forward as fast as she can, breathing hard and body tired from some of the shittiest sleep of her life.

And it’s not good, none of it is good, but at least they’re together. They’re together, and Laudna is okay, and it’s her, and then she’s giving Ashton a doll and Ashton is crying, Imogen is crying, they’re all crying over this tiny model of Ashton, with its chipmunk head and quartz and profanity and Ashton is apologizing, really apologizing, and only Laudna could do this, only Laudna could make them all…

“Love is pain.” Every muscle in Imogen’s body tenses. “But it’s also warmth.” Laudna meets her eyes for a moment and then looks at the floor, back to Ashton. “It was so cold last night.”

Imogen pulls Laudna into her, releases some of the tension in her body when cold arms wrap around her waist. It’s easy, such an easy thing, to pull Fearne in to join them.

Imogen can’t banish Delilah, can’t heal Ashton, can’t fix herself or any of the Hells. She can’t change what she did and didn’t do last night. There’s still a chasm of fear in her when she considers her own magic and power in relation to Otohan, to Ludinus, to Delilah.

But she has this. She can give this.

Love is warmth, and Imogen is full of fire.

#imodna #southerngothic #imodna fic #cr prompt fic

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