#i simply am not very quick or skilled with words

[fate-defiant]

something something rue who's been fed and sustained on blood since she was a baby something something two notable times we see her attempt to nurture her loved ones it's by offering them water

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

[smallfrenchstudyblr]

"The biggest issue is students using it, me spotting it and having no recourse whatsoever to do anything about it." can you elaborate a bit further

Hello !

So to explain a bit more: we [aka your lecturers, teachers, teaching assistants, etc...] know that some students will use ChatGPT.

And there is a discussion to be had about how to work with this, how to design assessment which allow students to leverage something which may simply become a fixture of writing in a workplace environment, but that is not the discussion we are having here. Because that is not what we are worried about.

The defensible, problematic situation is: a student straight up entering the essay prompt on ChatGPT, and using the grand skills of Ctrl+C / Ctrl+V, submits it as their own paper.

And our main worry, I think, was for a long time that we would not be able to catch it. That students would, actually, be able to fool us and that we would actually think this was a student who understood the course, who put in the work, and who deserve to be rewarded for their grade. That was the main fear.

But here is the thing.

And listen up, students :

Essays written by ChatGPT :

Suck

Are spotted from a mile away from the person reading it

For real. They suck.

I cannot stress enough how easy they are to spot. You are NOT fooling anyone. I do not need the platform's AI-detecting tool to know when an essay was written by Chat GPT. It is so, very painfully obvious when that's the case.

But the problem then becomes : ok, I have spotted a student who cheated.

What am I even supposed to do with it.

It is one thing to KNOW that an essay was AI-generated, it is another to defend it to a plagiarism committee. First of all, does it actually count as plagiarism ? Second, how do prove, with certainty, that the student did not write it ? How to I convince the plagiarism committee that this is worth looking into ? I am in the role of a police officer, who needs to convince the DA that this is a winnable case, that prosecuting will not be a waste of their time. But I don't have a Similarity Percentage to rely on. I don't have an original source to say "look, this is the exact same wording!" like in a classic plagiarism case.

Best case scenario, I can make my case for thee student to actually be called to the plagiarism committee, where we probe into how, exactly, they wrote their essay, until they fold. Unlikely, morally questionable, and in all likelihood, ineffective on students already so confident in their bullshit that they have the audacity to submit a fully AI-generated work for their finals.

Now, students, gather up, especially if you have considered using Chat GPT this way. Because right now, you might think it means you can get away with it.

But let me tell you something. First, that essay is getting the shittiest grade we can give you. Because you know what is more difficult than a lecturer proving that a student used AI to generate their essay ? A student proving that they deserve a better grade. Once we give you a grade, burden of evidence is on you to prove that you have not been graded properly. And we can come up with 15 reasons why an essay is a shit essay. We put on kids' gloves, when we lecture and give feedback. We give the simplified version of most theories, we give the basics of how to structure an essay, the bar we set is spectacularly low, because students come in good faith, they are learning, they will not be held at the same standard as academics. But if you try to argue that you need a higher grade, when you had the audacity to not write a single word of your work, the kids gloves are going to come off real quick, and your lecturer will be able to very convincingly explain why, actually, giving you a passing grade was a mercy in the first place.

Second. Academics, especially angry academics, are a gossip machine.

You may get a passing grade, and there may be no official note of it in your file whatsoever. But I can guarantee you that your lecturer will chat with their colleagues. That every single one of your essay that year, and the years to come, will be looked at with so much scrutiny I hope your referencing for every single work reaches perfection. Every single paragraph will be looked at with the knowledge that you are likely to have had it AI-generated. Lecturers will tell their TA to look at for That One Student when they grade you .You will not be getting any flexibility from us, no extension without full documentation to support it, no letter of recommendation from any member of the faculty, no word in your favor if you are bordering a grade bracket. If we are feeling especially petty, we might even forget to answer your emails or answer any question you have with such warmth and kindness you really still never feel like asking a question again in our class. And I know that, because that's already happening. I have the name of three undergrads that we know, for a fact, did not write their own essay. Two are not even in my modules at all.

Now. That's pretty mean. But if you have the absolute audacity and lack of ethics required to submit an essay for which you have not written a single word, and thought it would actually work, when your lecturer spent probably more that 80 hours working in this module this term, gave you the opportunity to meet for office hours, to ask any question in person or in email, to have extensions, accommodations, additional time ? When you decided that putting exactly zero second of your time, considered that you were above that - and above other students- and yet we were not able to officially sanction you for it, we had to give you a passing grade, the same passing grade as students who actually made an effort?

Yeah, sorry, you are not getting any sympathy from your lecturers anymore.

[ada7201]

Jealous Sae Itoshi x manager reader? The reader is the manager of Sae's team and Sae is in love with her. The reader is a sweet and kind manager who is nice to everyone and would help them in anything, this causes her to get lots of attention from Sae's teammates. Sae gets really jealous when his teammates try to be close to the reader. His blood boils when he sees his teammates being simp around the reader (only he can be a simp for her). He wanted her to only be with him. One day he couldn't take it anymore. He fired his own manager from his job and asked her to be his own manager.

hello! sure i can do this, sounds like such a cute idea! 🤍 also, im just making Sae’s team the u20 team because it’s easier. (^з^)〜☆ also i am very sorry for releasing this late. i have been a bit busy lately :(

miss manager

Sae Itoshi x female reader

Sae was cooped up in his office, signing away at papers with an angry and tired scowl on his face. although, the malice which was radiating off of him before had melted off as he heard two knocks on the door, followed by his sweet little manager’s voice.

well, not his. but his. you know?

“yes, come in.” he’d say, masking the happiness he was feeling with a neutral expression and tone

“Itoshi, you have a request for an interview, and the team is going to be having a group training session in a day or two. will you be able to make it? and i need your signature for this document. oh, and don’t forget to get back to me about that interview. they’re quite impatient!” your words are quick, and you pull a paper away from your clipboard and slap it right onto Sae’s desk, before you flick through the rest of the papers that are clipped onto your board.

Sae quickly signed the document, eager to do whatever you asked of him. “yeah, i can make it to the training. and is the interview necessary?” he’d inquire, sharp teal eyes looking up at you, who had already clipped the now signed document to your clipboard as you headed towards the door. “and please, call me Sae.”

“it’s not necessary, i’ll decline it. i apologise, but i need to get the rest of the team to sign a few things, give me a call if you need me!” you say hurriedly, before rushing out of the room - leaving as quick as you came.

Sae sighed.

you’re always in and out like a flash, and he barley gets to see you. you’re always busy with the rest of the team, but after a few subtle questions he found out that you’re just a busy person. how annoying. what were you doing all the time? just relax a little … with him!

the next time he saw you was in the group training session, and that was probably the first time the team had seen you in one place for more than 5 minutes.

“miss l/nnn〜” Shidou would grin, wandering over to where you were sat, calmly taking notes on the team’s improvement. “watcha’ doin?” he’d ask, leaning down to look at the notebook in your hand. it was filled with sticky notes and bookmarks, each labeled with a variety of things, ranging from wins, losses, each team member, and other things that you thought were important.

if Shidou was being honest, he had no idea why you kept that. but he didn’t care, either!

“taking notes. your skills have improved s lot since the last match, Shidou.” you say sweetly, looking up at the player as your back rested against the chair you were sat on. it was a nice setup, the team really treated you, with an umbrella shielding you from the hot sun, a cool drink, sunglasses, and some snacks.

well, it wasn’t the team. it was Sae who had done all that for you.

“awe, thank you!” Shidou would coo, making himself comfortable on the floor next to your chair. “you were watching me train, right?” he’d ask, tilting his head slightly as he smiled at you.

“i was watching everyone.” you respond simply, but keeping the sweet tone on your voice. your hand reached over to Shidou, gently scratching at his scalp to calm him down before he has a tantrum.

Sae was watching from the other end of the field, foot rested on a ball as his eyes narrowed. what was that fool doing with you? yeah, it was his break, but he shouldn’t be spending it with Sae’s manager!

“l/n.” Sae would call out to you, before kicking the ball away and walking over to where you and Shidou were sat.

you looked up from your notebook, eyes locking with Sae’s. “oh, hi Itoshi.” you smile at the man.

“hello.” he greets, sending a glare over to Shidou, who simply grinned back at him.

“hey, little manager!” Aiku would shout from the field. “watch this, it’s for you!” he’d wink, before his foot slammed down onto the ball and he… scored!

Sae grumbled something under his breath, before reaching out and grabbing your hand, pulling you up from your seat before dragging you away from the team.

“aw, don’t take her for yourself!” “where are you going with l/n?” “l/nnnnn!” “come back miss manager!”

“don’t listen to them.” Sae would huff, tugging you closer to him before walking into his office.

“Itoshi! what are you doing?!” you squeal, a hand pushing at his chest.

“how many times have i told you to call me Sae?” he’d frown. “whatever. you should be a manager for me and me alone. i’ll quit this stupid team and join a new one as captain, yeah? and you’ll be mine.”

“what? that’s absurd!” you respond, eyes widening at his words. “how would that even work-“

your voice was cut off by Sae’d arms wrapping around you, one hand on the back of your head as he (gently) pushed it into his chest.

“shut up.” he’d say simply. “please?” he adds after a moment of hesitation, suddenly terrified of the way he was going about this. could it really work? like, he literally just dragged you into his office and forcefully hugged you. maybe this wasn’t -

“alright… if that’s really want you want, i wouldn’t mind.” you say, snapping Sae out of his doubts “Sae?”

his ears perked up at the sound of his name, his arms instinctively hugging you a little closer. “yes, y/n?” why was he blushing so much after just … speaking your first name? well, you say his… so it’s only fair, right?

“can i tell you something?” your voice comes out a bit shaky, hesitant, even.

Sae nods.

“i like you.” you confess, slightly impressed with the way you managed to not stutter.

“i like you too…” Sae pauses. “but i’ll like you more when you’re my own manager.”

sigh.

[alemi-i]

stars in your eyes :

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

# lmh x afab : reader ! ( fluff + smut )

cw : smut , exhibitionism , nonidol!au , degradation ( f rec. ) , slight overstim , creampie , brat reader , minho is a brat tamer though , face slapping ( 2 ) , namecalling : slut , whore , baby , brat . unprotected sex ( don’t try this at home ) !!

a/n ; hehe 🤗 im not very confideng witb my smut writing skills so JUST KEEP THAT IN MIND BEFORE READING….

wc : 1,726 ?!

an arm encased your body, resting around your waist. camping with minho and his members felt extremely therapeutic to you. 

the sun had already fallen, and you all had watched as it sunk into the ground. what you were truly waiting for was the shining stars that would litter across the sky. 

you first discovered your passion for stargazing when your sweet boyfriend took you out during midnight, so you both could admire the glitter in the sky; you weren’t sure whether to look at the stars that strayed across the sky, or the star that beamed just by your side.

admiring the sparkles, you hear shuffling beside your and minho’s bodies, your head cocks up to see seungmin and jeongin heading towards their tent.

“i’m off to bed!” seungmin declared, lips forming a light grin as he sees jeongin trail after him. everybody exchanges a goodnight to the two youngest boys, and your eyes meet with one particular star.

“d’you wanna head back to the tent too?” minho asked, voice hushed and honey-like. you simply nod, grinning the same way he does. “me and minho are off too!” you announce, both of you are quick on your feet, hands and fingers interlocking. 

“goodnight!” he exclaims, waving everyone goodbye as they greet you both goodnight. 

he drags you into your shared tent and you both lay down on the blanket that pillowed your sides.

minho spoons you whilst gently running his hands through your hair. you feel your eyelids flutter, on the verge of closing shut– until you feel a tug at your scalp.

you whimper, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to stifle any other sounds that could escape. your hips grind against his, feeling the suppressed bulge in his pants push against your ass.

“what’s wrong baby? you’re grinding all over me.” he teases, whispering into your ear. “m-min..” you try to find the words, but your tongue falls short, instead releasing a breathy whine as he grinds into your back rougher. 

“cat got your tongue?” he taunts, halting his movements to let you breathe.

“yeah, you.” you spat, panting heavily from the stimulation. your head turns to face minho, who has now sat up. you turn to lay on your back.

he raises a brow, eyes narrowed and dark. he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “don’t be a brat,” he growled. “you and i both know it’s only me who could make you feel good.” 

he was right, but no way were you going to admit that. “yeah right, you wish.” you retort, ignoring the wetness that dampened your cotton panties.

his hand wraps around your neck, the other coming down to smack you across the face. you wince, mouth agape and cunt throbbing. he pulls you up, fingers tight around your neck, restricting your airflow.

his gaze is heavy on you, making you feel smaller than you already are. his tongue pokes at his cheek. your vision is blurry from the lack of air– his fingers finally leave your neck to grip your jaw. 

“you think you’re better than me, hm?” he questions, your eyes locking with his. 

“you know i am.” you mutter, a grin forming on your lips. you weren’t sure where you were getting this confidence, but it felt good to finally put minho in his place for once.

he chuckles, releasing you from his hold. “then show me.” 

your eyes are wide, and he cocks a brow. “what? y’want me to repeat myself?” he mocks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip.

“shut up– i know what you said.” you hiss, shoving the waistband of your shorts between your fingertips and pushing it down. 

he sucks in a breath, staring at the way your pussy has absolutely drenched your panties. he looks at you expectantly, and you quickly succumb to his gaze; your panties are off in not more than a second, and you whimper at the way your hot cunt is exposed to the cool air.

“what are you waiting for?” he sighs, feigning disappointment. “won’t you show me how good you make yourself feel?” his voice is thick and taunting you. 

“s-shut up.” you mutter, yet your hands travel down your body anyway, shivering at your own touch.

your fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles around it. your whines pierce through the silence.

 minho shoves two fingers into your mouth. you instinctively begin sucking. “stop being so loud would you? the other members are trying to sleep.” your mind backtracks, had he cast a spell on you? how did his words alone erase such significant memory.

“or, is if that you want them to hear?” he whispers, and you’re quick to shake your head ‘no’. your free hand spread the folds of your cunt apart, your whines muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

you quickly shove two fingers inside, fucking yourself on them. you quickly realize the stimulation just isn’t enough– but your dignity is on the line here. you push in a third finger, moaning at the stretch.

“does it feel good, hm?” his eyes glancing at your wet, finger-filled cunt. you hum, signaling yes. “better than this?” his fingers exit your mouth, producing a pop sound. 

your eyes travel to his hands, that are quickly unhooking his belt buckle. he tugs down at his pants, revealing the black boxers you watched him put on earlier that day. you continue thrusting your fingers in and out, eyes locked on his bulge.

his cock is throbbing beneath the cloth, and your pussy becomes wetter. you bite your lip watching his boxers being pulled down, releasing his hard cock. you suppress a moan, eyes lingering on the dick you know too far and well.

his tip is angry; flushing red and leaking precum. you observe the way it twitches whenever your fingers sink knuckles deep into your cunt.

“y-yeah. way better than that.” you lie through your teeth, hand rubbing quicker circles on your clit. it felt good– however you couldn’t help but desire his fingers inside you instead. 

“lying slut.” he lowly grunts, a sharp sting spreading across your cheek. your whimpers increase in volume, before they’re suddenly turning into begging and babbles.

“fuck.. min– ‘m sorry! need your cock, please–“ “i-i lied, please fill me up!” you continue to beg, tears dripping down your face. he pulls your fingers away from your cunt; you’re whining at every single touch that’s his. his fingers, his hands, just his.

“you think you deserve my cock after being such a brat?” he spat, voice hushed to prevent waking someone up. 

all you could respond with are rambled apologies, praises, begging.

“so dumb and i’ve barely even touched you.” you can hear the smirk in his voice, but you can’t bring yourself to snap back.

“‘m so s-sorry, min!” you cried, before you’re suddenly moaning loudly, whining at the sudden stretch in your cunt. “s-shut up, dumb whore.” he pants, sharply thrusting into you, walls slippery and tight.

your hand covers your mouth as you spew muffled moans into it. though, you quickly notice that the stimulation didn’t feel fulfilling.

he deliberately thrusted into you, just missing your sweet spot. each thrust getting louder, faster– but not exactly deeper.

“what’s wrong baby?” he taunts, his voice is breathy and rough. your hand leaves your mouth, still biting back moans that threaten to spill. 

“min.. min, deeper!” you sob, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. your eyes roll back.

thankfully, he doesn’t resist, allowing his tip to kiss and poke at your sweet spot; your walls closing in tighter around his dick and your eyes squeeze shut. he groans, pounding into you with little mercy. your walls are squeezing him, while his fingers grip and bruise your hips. 

“stupid slut, i thought you didn’t need my cock, huh?“ he hissed, hips stilling as he’s deep inside you.

you whine, grinding against him. “‘m sorry, can’t live w-without your.. c-cock.” you whimper, your eyes flutter open to see his gorgeous face.

he scoffs, thrusting into you again– harder. “that’s right, can’t live without my cock, hm?” your cunt clenches around him, and you feel him pulsate against your walls.

“oh shit.. so good baby, feel so good around me.” he praises, and you moan in content. “f-fuck min! g-gonna cum!” you sob, squeezing him tighter. “shit,” he drags, head thrown back. “d-d’you really deserve to cum, hm? after being such a brat?” he groans, hips stuttering slightly.

“g-gonna be good, i promise! p-please, wanna cum..” your whines grow louder, as you’re inching towards your orgasm. 

“then cum.” he commands, your body subconsciously obeying. you see stars flickering over your vision. your juices drip down onto his cock, but he doesn’t stop his thrusts.

“you’re finished when i am.” he whispers, although it’s obvious he won’t last long.

he drags his cock against your fluttering walls, he’s throbbing inside you making you clench around him. you moan loudly, overstimulated and unbothered about the fact your friends are just next door.

“shit– gonna cum. you’re gonna take it, okay? take my cum like a good fucking slut.” he curses, voice thick and gruff. 

you babble multiple “yes”s, repeatedly squeezing around him to milk his cock. “want your cum!” you sob, squeezing him one more time before he’s dumping his hot seed in you. you whimper, wincing as he’s thrusting his load deeper into you. 

once he pulls out, you whine at the feeling of emptiness.

“you okay?” his touch is now gentle on you: pushing the uninvited strand away from your face, wiping the droplets of sweat off of your forehead, and gently pressing a kiss to your lips.

you nod, slightly shaking from the ‘workout’. smiling when minho’s arms embrace you as you doze off to sleep.

you’re awoken to the sound of giggling and yelling coming from outside the tent. you look around and minho isn’t by your side. you pout, before sitting up and unzipping the flimsy entrance. 

before exiting, you notice you’re dressed in minho’s shirt. it hangs upon your body loosely, but you feel so warm in it.

you struggle to get out, legs slightly wobbling. the sun flashes your eyes, and as soon as your presence is noticed, everyone bursts into shouts and laughter.

“minho!” the seven boys teasingly yell, all in synchronization. 

once your eyes adjust to the light, you see your boyfriend’s face hiding in his hands, and ears flushed a deep red.

so they heard.

[starsxblazing]

hi! i absolutely love your writing and was wondering if you could do a request for azriel, a bit of angst with fluff.

i'm a very sensitive person and i get hurt by people easily and just let stuff get to me wayyyy too much. it just really gets me down and upset. looking for some comfort from az or cassian <3.

Perserverance

You overheard Feyre speaking to Mor about a simple mission that Cassian and Azriel were leaving for in the next two days. It was nothing more than hiding in the shadows and watching the target’s movements. You knew the general was capable of spying but you also knew that it wasn’t something that he particularly liked to do. It was a job that you wouldn’t mind doing, especially since it was with your mate.

The two of you could sit in complete silence for hours and it would never be uncomfortable. You both simply enjoyed each other's presence so you weren’t sure why you were overlooked. In truth, you were often exiled from missions because they thought you incapable, which hurt more than you could put into words. You weren’t anywhere near as skilled as they were, this much you knew, but you had been training hard.

“Did I hear you say that there’s a mission coming up?” you asked as you officially entered the sitting room with them, both females going still at your question.

“Cass and Az are heading out tomorrow,” Mor answered carefully. “It’s simple and should be quick.”

“I could take Cassian’s place and-”

“No.” Rhysand had entered the room with the three of you, his face set in his determined refusal. “You do not need to be anywhere near this.”

“But why not?” Your heart was hurting but you fought against the tears. “If it’s so simple and easy, if it’s just hiding, why can’t I be a part of it?”

“Because you aren’t-”

“It’s just hiding and watching!” you exclaimed, becoming more frustrated by the minute. “I’m perfectly capable of being quiet!”

“Nobody said that you weren’t,” Feyre replied gently as she tried to pull your attention to her. 

“You need more training than you have.” The High Lord sat beside his mate, an ankle crossed over a knee as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “The last thing that any of us need is for you to get hurt simply because we rushed you.”

“It’s spying for Mother’s sake.” You crossed your arms over your chest as the tears finally lined your eyes. “It’s not that hard-”

“Even a spying mission has the possibility of becoming an outright fight,” Rhys countered. “You’re not ready and nothing you say will change my mind.”

Just as the tears began to fall, you were running out of the river house and felt more defeated than ever. It was very rare to hear about a mission of Azriel’s missions going wrong because he had been spotted and that made it hurt worse. You finally made it home, the trip feeling longer than it usually was, and simply fell on the couch to cry.

You wanted nothing more than to help contribute to the court in some way but none of them ever gave you the chance. All that you had was wandering around Velaris or training with Cassian or your mate whenever they had the time to. It was the later hours of the night before Azriel returned home which was nothing unusual. You would never speak on it but all of the time apart weighed on you heavily, making you feel more lonely by the day.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

His worried voice sounded through the silence just as soon as he had his boots off. You weren’t able to conjure up a response, still stuck in the way that your heart ached. The couch dipped beside you and you felt the comforting warmness of him as he pulled you into his arms. He stroked your hair, a sweet and loving action that usually comforted you.

“Do you think I’m as useless as everyone else seems to think that I am?”

“What?” he asked, disbelief filling his voice. “Why would you think that?”

“Feyre was talking to Mor about your mission and they all basically told me that I wasn’t good enough.” More tears started but your mate simply held you until they subsided. “It’s just hiding and I just want to get some experience and help. I want to help you.”

“You help me every single day that you are still here waiting for me even though I am gone so often.” His voice was low and gentle, his hand still stroking your hair. “You are more than enough but we all love you and we don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“But I want to help!” you screamed, your breaths coming heavy as you stood.

“I know.” Azriel placed his forehead against yours, cupping your face in his scarred hands. “I know.”

He picked you up gently and carried you to your bedroom. The softness of your bed paired with his arms wrapped tightly around you when he joined you was enough to calm your breathing. Your quiet breaths was all that could be heard for a long time but it was comforting simply because he was with you. Any time that you got with him was cherished more than anything else in this world and you would be content to spend the rest of your life just as the two of you were now.

“I will tell Rhys in the morning that you are coming with us.” His voice was still soft as his hand rubbed gentle circles on your back. “With both me and Cassian with you, you will be well protected if something were to go wrong.”

“Really!?” you asked excitedly while leaning back to look at him, your previous heartache easing slightly.

“You will never learn unless you have true experience,” he answered, his gaze was confident but there was a hint of worry there. “I need you to promise me that you will still continue to train.”

“I will,” you agreed eagerly. “You are the best mate that a female could have.”

His answering grin was breathtaking and you could only press your lips to his. It was so easy to get lost in him every single time, always leaving him to be the one to pull away. You could never get enough and he was the brightest light of your life.

“I love you so, so much,” he murmured against your lips. “You are absolutely perfect.”

All that you could do was press your lips to his, reveling in the fact that at least one person would always have your back.

Tag List:

@amara-moonlight @allygrace74 @sidthedollface2 @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @kalulakunundrum @historygeekqueen @bubybubsters @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @caroline-books @justvibbinghere @wisdomofthebrain @nighttimemoonlover

[deliverusfromevillll]

A Sticky Situation [Mammon/F!Reader]

❝ What fuckin' nonsense have ya' been telling y'reself this entire time? ❞

warnings ⨾ blood, descriptions of gore, guns, gunshot wound, choking, swearing, arachnophobia (the irony), established prior connection, soft mammon, sexual content, unresolved sexual tension, resolved angst

terms ⨾ ❝ Drakon ❞ the Latin word meaning "dragon." ❝ Bogan ❞ Australian slang meaning (in negative connotation) someone who's a bit of a nerd or geek, holds no dress sense and/or has poor social skills.

notes  ⨾ I am very much not Australian so when I looked up slang and could not find ANY concrete definitions for anything: I was in major pain. Anyways quick thing because [F/n]'s lore might seem confusing. I created an entirely different race of "humanoid" dragons that acted as the knight/official guards for the Ars Goetia incase of extermination/assassination attempts. [F/n] retired from her position as knight for an unnamed Goetia. This entire chapter was originally 13K words but I felt as though the plot arc with the Goetia drifted way too far from the original point of this fic since it was so, so needlessly lore heavy for a reader insert and made this 100x more angsty like you have no idea. Especially since this is only meant to be two chapters. This chapter was cut down for your reading pleasure!

Chapter 2 smut hyperlink will be added when I release it Ɛ>

As always minors DNI.| 6.3K words

[F/n] and Mammon's relationship is unique.

He was her boss, and she was his secretary.

Running the errands, info graphing, and scheduling his business appointments when due. But it wasn't so simple.

With his artificially friendly attitude in public, behind the scenes he was nothing but cynical— snarky and demanding. Hardly surprising for the king of greed.

[F/n] was no fan, she made it clear.

Despite the lethal glares and threats she managed to shoot a quip or a snark in return each time. It initially prompted a warning hiss or a growl, an insult or a threat.

Then he resorted to shredding through his confined costume to intimidate her one time after they both seriously got into it. Neither party was satisfied in not having the last word.

Despite however many threats were hurled nothing ever came about them.

[F/n] desired the experience the job gave her and Mammon found her too entertaining to simply let go.

[F/n] and Mammon's relationship is undeniably unique.

But damn, there was no shying away from the fact [F/n] did her job exceptionally well. The best in all of Hell. And that's another one of the handful of reasons why he tolerated her.

"Y'er getting on my nerves lizard." Mammon seethes with a false smile.

He sulks leaning away, poisonous puff of green air seeping though his teeth.

[F/n] raises a brow at him, eye roll following. "I need you to work with me here, asshole." [F/n] adjusted herself, turning towards him.

"If you wanna reduce the immediate damage Asmodeus and his little lapdog made we need to start advertising the twins asap. What's bothering you right now?"

Mammon huffed. "The leftover Fizz merch— sales are declining incase ya' haven't seen mate. I'm losin' money."

[F/n] clicked her tongue.

"Whatever doesn't sell now we can resell in a few weeks as vintage or some other bullshit with a higher price tag. You have any idea how much these loser collectors will pay to get their hands on discontinued merchandise?"

That's all it took for Mammon to light up, snatching [F/n] with his top hands in excitement.

"Y'er a bloody GENIOUS!" He shakes her, dropping her instantaneously. "We could double —no— TRIPLE our profits thanks to these degenerates! Ahh I taught ya' so bloody well!"

Mammon splays his hands towards the imaginary dollar signs in the air, clapping eagerly.

"And that's why I love ya' doll!" He shouts with a hefty grin, giving her a final charmed glance as he turned to make way towards the awaiting camera crew. Robo-Fizzies chasing after him with lighting sticks and microphones.

[F/n] catches herself after his stare, the spines on her tail rattling flustered. Her posture eases before anyone else can see as she flicks her tail in response.

Damn did she hate whenever he said things like that.

It's almost as if he knew the effect he had on her, doing and saying things that would purposefully rile her up. [F/n] refused to acknowledge any part of it, counteractive to the very obvious blush on her completion.

Through the commotion, Mammon smiled charismatically in [F/n]'s direction as their eyes met again. This was going to be a long shoot.

"That went better than I expected." [F/n] mumbles. Mammon appearing in a green cloud next to her. Bells chiming happily.

"Why'dya say that? Doubted me?" He rung.

"Well for all the years I've known you— Accepting you got fucked is definitely not something you're known for... You're taking losing your star clown better than I thought."

Mammon chuckles in amusement.

"Star clown? I am the star clown. With or without him I'll still make a fuck ton o' money." He nudges her. "With y'er— uh, our ideas and my reinforcement I don't see any issue mate."

[F/n] looked very, very, unconvinced. Mammon thinks for a moment before shrugging.

"At the end of the day you are my most valuable asset after all."

"What a way to make a girl feel special Ammo." Her eyes roll.

Mammon only giggled for a moment, attention immediately stolen upon taking in a familiar scent.

The smell of coffee meets his nose as they walk before the café in his estate. It takes him no time to decide he's in the mood for another cup of coffee.

[F/n] could already tell by the expression on his face. However unconvinced about giving the bug even more caffeine after his last.

Mammon playfully puts on a puppy-eyed expression as he bends town to her level.

He shoves his face in front of hers, frowning, the green glow of his pupils becoming brighter. "C'mon doll, ya'd say no to my lil 'ol face?"

His smaller spider eyes make a show as he frowns with an exaggerated pointed lip.

She sighs, gently pushing his face away. "Enough with the eyes. I'll be right back... Not like you'd let me say no anyways asshole."

Like a cat that ate the canary, Mammon smiles triumphantly as he took a moment to get seated on one of the empty tables outside the shop.

He enjoys the smell of coffee beans while searching in her direction through the large glass windows. He watches her make some hand motions towards the menu.

Letting out a big yawn, he blinks blearily. He could use a nap after all this.

Exploiting his employees was hard work after all.

Mammon observes her pull out her wallet, swiping her card. His smile becomes gentler, enamored at the idea of her willingness to spend her own money on him.

He became increasingly aware the expression he wore, quickly clearing his throat to look more serious.

It takes the café worker a second to hand her the single cup of coffee alongside a paper bag. He waves her goodbye with a bold wink, [F/n] unable to hold her laugh.

Mammon gritted his teeth. He conditioned his employees not to unnecessarily pester him, or her, especially when they were out together. Seems like one of them hadn't learned this yet. He took a mental note.

He was about to get up from his seat until [F/n] audibly shut the door behind her with a small jingle. She takes a seat across from him as he leaned forward and snatched the drink from her hand.

"'Bout fuckin' time cunt." He grumbles.

Mammon takes a sip of the cold coffee, ignoring his irritation as the sweet contents hit his tongue.

Or at least he tried to, the sweetness of it tasting rather dull part in due to his thoughts.

"Was this made by that fuckin' bogan?" He wonders.

His hand tenses, squeezing the drink at his palm slightly.

"I got you this." [F/n] mumbled, scooting the bag towards him.

Mammon snaps his attention towards back towards her, pausing to glance between her then the baggie before fishing through it. He pulls out a small box, opening it to reveal a cream colored pastry.

It takes him a moment to collect his thought.

Confused, he asks, "Why the cake, doll? Ya' know all I wanted was my coffee."

"You were feeling like shit earlier." She puts it simply.

Mammon shifted from the cake to her in his peripheral vision.

She was worried about him. Had him in her mind. Considerate about how he felt, albeit she wouldn't admit it out loud.

He couldn't help but grow a fat smile, genuine smile, as he scoots closer towards her.

"I'm starting to think ya' actually care about me, love." [F/n]'s eyes widen for a second.

She looks away from him, scoffing.

"Don't overthink it. I don't want to deal with you when you're in a mood."

Mammon takes a small bite, savoring the even sweeter taste. Humming with delight, he takes another portion of it with the plastic spoon, leaning forward to bring it to her mouth.

[F/n] glances between the cake and Mammon, who's unashamedly eagerly watching her.

"I-I don't—"

"Ahh don't fuckin' be like that mate. It's good, try it!"

The dragon takes a bite, flushed, as she ate the piece in silent agreement. Her tail sticking to her leg somewhat embarrassed.

He was right, the pastry was fluffy and flavorful. Not that she expected any different, that was the reason why she bought it for him. She would've never anticipated this however.

Another spoonful reaches her lips, she accepts it without complaint this time. Expression easing. Her tail wags behind her in satisfaction.

Mammon carefully scoops more, bringing it to her face once again.

[F/n] quickly swallows the bit already in her mouth, shaking her head this time.

"I bought it for you, I'm eating more of it than you are. You're being a little bit too charitable."

"Yeah but who's to say I'm not getting anythin' out of feeding ya', love?" He dotes.

[F/n] felt the tips of her ears warm, tail flicking.

Mammon soaks in her flush, turning to take another sip of his coffee. His eyes follow the direction of his lips for a glance before returning at her image.

He freezes for a moment, brows furrowing. Mammon checks the cup again to ensure he saw it correctly. [F/n] immediately notices his expression drop and leans over to see the source.

A phone number was written just under her name with a heart.

"Aw how cute!"

Mammon gags. "Cute?!"

"Yeah, first time someone has done that for me. It's kinda sweet!" [F/n] reaches for the cup, Mammon hisses as he holds it further away.

"Doll, there's no bloody way you're actually interested in this cunt. He's some fuckin' nobody workin' below minimum wage!"

"Oh please, you sound jealous, he was really n—!"

Mammon immediately crushes the cup in his grip, indifferent feeling the coffee spill onto his glove and trickle to the table. He reaches over to grab [F/n]'s extended hand to move it away as he leans towards her features.

His face was centimeters away from hers, sharp breath tickling her features.

"I ain't the sharing type." Mammon growled.

The cup gets engulfed in a green cloud, vanishing as the smoke dissipated. [F/n] glared at the spider, brows furrowed in uncertainty.

He was acting like this again.

"Fucking hell, I didn't want any of your coffee. I just wanted to see the goddamn number."

Mammon blinks, head tilting. He mutters something under his breath as he stands, breaking eye contact.

She thought he was upset over sharing a drink? Far from it, but he wasn't going to clarify if that's the conclusion she came to.

Still holding onto her hand, he strings her up as he gets out of his seat.

"Better ya' don't. This cunt wouldn't even be able to take care of ya'." [F/n] rolls her eyes. Though it didn't go unnoticed, as Mammon grimaced.

"It's impossible to find anyone at all when you scare everyone off." She growls lowly.

"Don't fuckin' hiss at me doll. I'm savin' ya from the embarrassment."

"The embarrassment of what exactly?"

"Of goin' out with the lower class, hells y're considered a knight for the Goetia ain't ya'? Y're not gonna get anythin' worthwhile in some random mutt."

[F/n] swats her tail very irritably, yanking her wrist back forcefully.

A loud tear following in the process.

"I can be with whoever the fuck I want and feel like, I'm not some goddamn princess."

Mammon looks at his glove, seeing as the motion of her pull had tore through the material. It was a reminder of how sharp her scales were.

It wasn't deep enough to cut his actual skin. But the damage on his glove was done. A rush of anger at her defiance. 

He sneers, looking between the café and her short figure. A cloud of green exits through his teeth as he grips her by the neck, lifting her effortlessly to his face.

[F/n] grabs his wrists, squeezing equally as hard, as her wings flutter behind her to give herself some leverage and room to breathe.

She looks genuinely shocked for a moment, though it only took a second for her to regain composure to glare at the sin with bared teeth. Scales began to form on her complexion. 

Mammon stares deeply into her eyes with a menacing smile. His miniature eyes emitting a soft glow.

"REMEMBER Y'R PLACE BENEATH ME BEFORE I REMIND YA'."

He let's her go, watching as she wobbly lands on her feet.

I gust of wind hits his face as she flapped her wings to soften the fall. The scales that covered her face immediately erase as the tension breaks with a longer sharp inhale of air.

They had instantly gained the attention of everyone around them if they hadn't already, silence deafening.

[F/n] felt humiliated. Hurt. Used.

Defeated, for once.

"I don't fuckin' pay ya to run 'round with y'r bitch hormones. I hired ya' to serve me and me only."

[F/n] bites her lower lip, her claw reaching up to feel where his met her throat.

That was the first time he'd ever grabbed her like that. Sure he'd scream and threaten her before, even swung at her at times however each time he did so slow enough to miss.

He'd chuck random items in reach sometimes knowing she could just dodge or fly out of the way.

It never crossed further than that.

Now to be grabbed by the neck? That was new.

The trace of his hand lingered warningly as she tried to sooth over her bruised skin.

She looked up at him, tail tucked in between her legs.

He would only ever harm people he saw replaceable. His subordinates. The realization came crashing down on her incredibly hard.

He could've just as easily killed her in that moment, snapped her neck and that would've been it.

Did their history mean nothing to him? 

What changed?

"Fuck you..." It came as a whisper.

Unsure of whether he heard that or not, he chose to ignore it either way in favor of her tail.

He pointed at it, releasing a laugh as if it was the most amusing thing he'd seen.

It felt nauseating. One moment he was warm: the next, cruel.

Despite all the time spent, she concluded he never saw her as anything further than another form of entertainment.

An animal he can poke and prod for a reaction. Even in her state of shock all he did was laugh. The sound echoed in her head.

A familiar tone rings, buzzing. And Mammon instantly snaps out of his laughter.

He fishes through his pocket to pick up his phone.

His alarm was going off.

"Ahh fuckin' bitch— meeting is about to start." He groans, recovering quickly.

"C'mere." He demands, forgiving the glare she shot at him as he pulled her arm so forcefully she knew she'd bruise.

Mammon teleports the two of them into his office.

The jiggles of coins chime as he lands into his web, [F/n] perched beside him.

Her eyes widen slightly, trying to adjust herself in a better position. She tugs on one of her wings stuck into the webbing with an irritated scowl. He quickly removed the damaged glove and snaps a new one in its place out of thin air.

Mammon, who's busy with a drumstick he seemingly pulled from nowhere, nonchalantly untangles her wing in a simple swipe.

He stops chewing for a second to give her a toothy smirk: [F/n] returning a huff.

"Oh come off it will ya', ya' bitch?"

"We need to talk."

Mammon, who doesn't give it any thought, takes another bite of his food.

"More bitchin'." He imagines.

"Some other time."

[F/n] looks away from him, curling her tail around her leg to try and provide some sort of self comfort. She felt disappointed.

Despite all the breakthroughs made in their partnership, he still treated her like an object. His object. Something he was free to do whatever he wanted to. Truth be told, it stung deeply.

It was the only thing she could think about lately.

There was no denying Mammon grew incredibly on her, she only wished he felt the same in return. Maybe then he wouldn't be so needlessly mean.

Was it something she did? Something she didn't do?

There was no point in even thinking about it, [F/n] didn't want to be embarrassed again. She refused.

Security open the doors of his office, and in come a small group of incubi.

The one leading the group takes a quick bow before the two, tipping his hat while smiling on his way up.

Both watch as they fill the room, trotting with some briefcases in hand. The thumps of their boots semi-absorbed into the carpet they walked on.

"What an honor to see Mammon and his little butterfly, even more so present our wonderful idea to." He starts, slowly pacing left and right.

"We all know about the massive, massive, slaughter that came of the drakon specie during the first war with heaven. Terrible thing really." He smirks.

[F/n] raises her brow, crossing her arms further.

"A bigger shame would be to allow the fun of them go." The incubus pulls out his phone to project a screen before them.

[F/n] and Mammon look less than impressed.

"I present to you the dragon dildo, made with real dragon scales! The synthetic crap can't compare to this." He chuckles, arms extended either way.

The incubi look impressed by their own work. "Dragon scales are the hardest material in all of hell. This thing would be fucking indestructible! It's every horny sinner's dream!"

Mammon yawns, waving a finger.

"And how exactly are ya' going to farm real scales? There's hardly a handful of drakons in all o' hell left mate n' the survivors are all considered royalty."

"Well my good sir, that's where we were hoping you would come in. Seeing as you already possess one of them. I'm sure the king of greed wouldn't mind parting with it in turn for a greater profit."

[F/n] leans out of her seat, seething at the disrespectful implication. "Are you stupid or suicidal?"

The incubus hands one of his partners the briefcase, who held it sideways.

"Oh but my dear, you are very valuable. Your title as knight is only a benefit you see. You can be a brand on its own with how infamous your status was."

He starts unclipping the handles of the case.

"My title was granted to me because of how efficient I was in fighting angels. You— I'd MOP the floor with you."

Mammon tugs her back onto his side. His expression doesn't say much, however, the hand planted around her thigh possessively said it all.

"Y're gonna die for wastin' my time." He snarls, grinning wildly.

Mammon snaps his fingers and in rushes his security of robot Fizzarollis.

[F/n] felt him squeeze her thigh as he presses her deeper into his side. Her initial anger melting as her heart beats faster in reaction. [F/n] stares up at him, his image burning into her mind.

Her hand rested on his chest— able to feel his warmth, his breathing, it felt too intimate.

She felt his heartbeat at her fingertips, beating a tad bit faster than usual.

Then, she remembered. She thought his claim over her was nothing more than superficial, for looks, all this to keep her obedient and lull her back into his claws until the next time she slightly agitated him.

She looks back at the group, frowning.

"Shame, really. I was hoping you'd cooperate for your sake." The incubi frowns.

He opens his briefcase, incubi's devilish smile doesn't go unnoticed.

[F/n], unable to say anything in time, connects two and two as a familiar glint reflects off the metal brandished.

Breaking out of Mammon's grasp, she straddles him and extends her wings— covering as much of him as she possibly could.

A glowing bullet hits [F/n] directly the bend of her wing, the jolt of pain sucking the wind out of her as she slips onto Mammon's stomach.

The incubi's angelic revolver smokes at the barrel.

Security tackles the gunman.

They struggle to get each of his henchmen into cuffs, but with increasing numbers it quickly becomes apparent the gunman along with his goons has no chance.

Mammon immediately moves to shield [F/n] with his body, placing her onto the web. They both look at wound, [F/n] hissing as she tries to stretch her injured wing.

"Fuck— A-Are ya' alright? I didn't think..."

"I'm fine Ammo, he just nailed my joint. That's it." She interrupted, groaning.

His face turns between her injury and her expression several times. He looked worried. His eyes glossed. 

[F/n] frowns.

Electricity flies off of Mammon, turning to look at the commotion behind him. Panic quickly turns into rage as he bursts out of his confined costume with a deafening yell.

The room fills with green.

Sounds of screaming immediately follow.

Mammon smashes some of the incubi into the floor, completely crushed under his weight. He makes sure to smear them in, grinning like a Cheshire cat as he does so.

Those unfortunate enough not to cease on impact were left wailing in agony: taking a fistful of the carpet in a hopeless attempt to pull themselves away with a gaping hole going through their back to their stomach..

It was messy.

The blood from their bodies popped similarly to that of water-balloons. It was a gross, alleviating sight. [F/n] could take comfort knowing sinners like these wouldn't be able to come after her again.

After having his fun, Mammon darts his head towards the remaining incubus.

His mini spider eyes radiated a toxic green as he slinked over. The two robo-fizzies who had captured him meekly raised him towards Mammon: who instantly snatches the man and brings him towards his eye level.

"PLEASE N—"

"B̴͍͚̀E̴̯̘̊G̴͈͍͝ ̸̯̩̌F̸͖̗̈́Ò̸͉́Ṛ̶̪͆ ̶͓̑͒Y̷̥͌͂Ŏ̴̖̩̒U̷̲̳͆͌Ṙ̶̟̂ ̸̦͓͂L̶͍̺̈́Ḯ̸̬F̶̨͓͋̅E̵̩̦̋."

Before even giving him the chance, his please come strangled into whispers as Mammon squeezes him in his fist.

He exhales a large green cloud onto his pitiful expression as he attempts to gasp for air, coughing violently in response. A crack erupts.

Mammon drops him to the floor, watching as he contorted with a deafening scream. Observing him cry for a moment: he does the same as he dealt with the ones previously, popping him like an unwanted pimple.

His breathing labored, the high coming down upon realizing he was the last of the group.

Mammon raises one of his bloodied spider legs out of a fresh carcass, inspecting it, grumbling something under his breath.

The security group of robo-fizzies seem unsure on how to proceed, each of them timidly watching awaiting orders.

"The fuck are ya' looking at? Get this cleaned up NOW!" He roared.

The robots scrambled, tumbling over each other as they struggled to organize themselves.

Mammon slinks back towards [F/n], expression instantly softening.

She lets out a whine, yanking out the glowing particle as the pain of it courses through her back. "Gods fuck that hurt..." [F/n] bit her tongue, aimlessly tossing the bullet at the floor.

"Shit, let's go get ya' patched up beautiful." He mumbles, taking her carefully into his arms as if she'd shatter entirely at the slightest bump.

"Fucking— OW!"

"Ahh can ya' fuckin' hold still for a minute mate!?"

Mammon quickly wraps a thick webbing around her wing, using a splint to keep it straight in place.

[F/n] squirms, suppressing the acid-ball forming at her throat. Mammon makes his final wrap as he sticks the web onto itself, hands gently caressing her wing.

He sighs.

Neither of them say anything for a moment. The silence deafening as the reality of the situation sinks in.

He frowns, gently letting go of his work.

Moving to cup her cheek as he turns her expression towards him even gentler, afraid he would somehow shatter her.

"Why the face? What's the matter beautiful?"

There it was, again, the rapid beating of her heart over his artificial pet names.

"Nothing. Just... I can't fucking believe I got shot right in the elbow." She mumbles, sparing a glance at his handiwork on her wing.

"Normally my scales are able to tank angelic bullets... Maybe I'm becoming weak." [F/n] sighed.

"I, uh, well ya'know... That bullet would'a sent me to the bloody hospital. Cunt aimed for my head." Mammon swallows.

He drags a finger under the fabric of his neck, pulling on it momentarily.

"And honestly... I think y're the only bloody demon crazy enough who'd ever do anything like that for me."

He strokes the webbing gingerly, feeling the material brush against the rest of her scales. He paused.

Mammon tenses slightly as he rehearsed his next sentence in his mind dozens of times, feeling awkward as the very unfamiliar phrase leaves his tongue.

"So —uh— I appreciate ya' more than ya' think..."

It falls silent as her face hues.

Though it doesn't bother him remotely, continuing to massage around the bend of her wing.

If only he were consistently like this. Then it would make the signs so much more visible.

Visible he actually wanted her.

[F/n] swallows thickly, doing her best to calm the trot in her chest. She knew despite everything if she could go back in time she wouldn't change the outcome of it.

Even in the chaos of it all she cared too deeply about him to imagine him hurt. With that, the wave of knowing she completely lost to him finally came crashing down on her.

Their game of chess was finally concluded, he won, and that's why she needed to get out.

"Mammon we really need to talk."

Her wing pulls away from his petting, curling back into its usual space. He seemed disappointed as the warmth of her injured limb left his grasp.

"What about?"

Her lips quiver, the frown on her expression breaking through the poker face she tried to maintain. Her eyes water, tail curling.

She thinks of all of their mishaps together. To when she first agreed to work with him, their first banter, their first success together, how they progressively got more and more comfortable with each other.

She went from someone behind the scenes to being his only companion. He was a hothead, but so was she. But their differences felt too great: the hot and cold treatment was driving her crazy.

"We need to end our contract."

Mammon blinked. Frozen.

He slowly clenches his fists impossibly hard.

"Why? Was it because o' that fuckin' incubus? Y-Ya' watched me kill 'em. I promise next time I—"

"It's not that. None of that."

"Then what is it? Fuck changed?"

"Mammon as much as I love being here with you and working alongside you, I just can't be around you anymore."

It was obvious he didn't understand, his pause with unsure searching eyes sought to try and read the static expression she did her best to maintain. 

"I'm sorry."

Mammon felt himself burn. He felt his insides ignite with such intense desperation with a feeling he didn't entirely recognize.

Even knowing her more basic tasks could be given to someone else to fill just as easily did nothing to reassure him.

Hells he didn't feel this lost when Fizz quit his position. He got over that so insanely fast. It was deeper than that.

This was the only person he remotely cared about in all of hell resigning.

The idea felt so unreal.

"I'm so sorry." [F/n] repeated.

The click of her boots echo as she walked towards the double doors of his bedroom. Like a whisper, she faded.

Mammon watches as her tail hovers just above the ground. Immediately noting how she didn't just drag it as she normally would. The low rattle it'd make was erased, as if she wanted to create the least bit of noise possible.

Why? Did he scare her?

Nonsense. She was the only one who wouldn't cave to his ridiculous disrespect despite his threats. And though it did get in his nerves initially, it grew on him and made everything in his life new again.

He enjoyed hearing her voice.

Hearing her talk about frivolous, nonsensical, shit. Enjoyed observing the smallest things about her.

Like the way she would hide the joy in her expression but unable to maintain the same façade in her eagerly wagging tail.

Or the way her wings would flutter for a second whenever she was blushing.

Or when she would get too excited her hair would pulse the color of her element. And how whenever she's extremely upset her clear complexion starts forming scales as if she were ready to morph.

Or how she sometimes has difficulty not tearing clothes due to the sharpness of her claws. She would always let out a loud groan and a few swears before deciding if it were salvageable.

He felt electricity course through his body. His eyelid twitching.

[F/n] hugged herself, shutting the door behind her as she power walked through his manor.

She used her sleeve to wipe away the tears before they could spill. Quietly whimpering to herself to alleviate the ache in her chest.

She doesn't get very far however, before snapping out of her emotions as a loud bang interrupts her.

[F/n] points her gaze backwards, watching the doors fly open while cracking at the force of his push.

"OUR CONVO AIN'T OVER!"

She backs up hesitantly as Mammon runs at her. The thumping of his soles grew louder, seemingly indifferent at the idea he may trample her.

Clouds of swamp green smoke exit through his teeth. He halts just before her, punching a hole through the wall next to them to release his rage. Chips of brick and dust recoil along with his fist.

"You— YA' THINK YA' CAN JUST JOG OFF?" He growled, leaning down as he stared at her.

"Whatever idea ya got in that pretty lil' head o' yours, toss it. I won't break our contract. You are MINE."

[F/n] sighed, eyebrows furrowed as she shook her head at him.

"You don't get it." Her disbelief erases as her head comes to point towards his.

She snaps her fingers and out manifests a golden sheet between them with both their signatures held within the bottom. 

"It's written agreement in our contact that only requires the consent of one party to break it."

Mammon felt a drop of sweat come down his neck.

He froze. The pain grew.

And she was right, the section she was referring to glowed faintly among the rest of the text as she highlighted it. Demanifesting as she withdrew her hand.

"A rule you imposed since you were initially skeptical about my performance in your estate."

"I- I... Fuckin'..."

It goes silent.

The rush of anger evaporated from his body with the sparks. Feeling at a loss on what to say, Mammon swallows thickly as he blinks.

He reaches a hand to clutch the material over his chest, squeezing it.

His gaze eventually trails back to hers.

His mind returns to the thought of massive their height difference was. She was so small compared to him. It made his heart chirp. His hand comes up to erase the flustered look looming on his features.

Mammon recollects himself as best he can in a pathetic attempt. He brushes his hat shakily, the bells chiming as the material bounced back.

"So then tell me why—?"

[F/n] growls, pressing her claws into her palm.

"STOP!" She shouts at him, quickly wiping away at the corner of her eyes. "D-Don't make this needlessly complicated."

Again with the tears, only this time she couldn't prevent them.

Mammon frowned, reaching out to her. He wanted to console her, wipe away those tears. It pained him knowing he was the source.

The tip of his index finger brushed against her cheek unable to get far.

[F/n] swatted away his hand. And that hurt him.

"You fucking... g-goddamnit you fucking dumbass... Can't you see what's going on?" She hissed stomping a few steps away from him.

"I fell so hard for you, and it fucking blows because I can't just have you." She turned towards him.

[F/n] gestures to herself angrily through her cries. "Do you fucking get it now?! I'm in LOVE with you— that's why I need to get the hell away from you. I want to be something more to you but you'll only ever see me as your subordinate."

She shouted, adrenaline coursing through only heighted by her emotional outburst.

Mammon grabs her despite her struggling with his lower pair of hands, leaning over and forcing her to allow him to clean her face.

He absorbs her tears through the material of his upper pair of gloves with gentle strokes.

She grips his wrists with enough force that'd dislocate them if he were any other sinner. He felt her tremble against him.

How could he not notice her pain before?

How long ago did she start feeling this way?

There was a pool of regrets swimming in his chest and among them the biggest was not erasing her doubts sooner.

"What fuckin' nonsense have ya' been telling y'reself this entire time? I'm smitten with ya' dollface."

"You're a king sin— hell you outed Asmodeus for dating someone beneath him, how am I any different from that? People would think you're a hypocrite."

"Ya' think I give a remote fuck about what these cunts think? I'm the richest fucker in all o' hell, I didn't get here caring about what some bitch thinks o' me. I don't really give a flying shit about Asmodeus fuckin' some circus imp."

[F/n] immediately becomes less resistant to his advance. [E/c] eyes staring up at him in disbelief.

She searched desperately for any indication he was lying.

Mammon cups her jawline.

"I dunno how ya' haven't realized how obsessed I am with ya'... Thought it was reaaal obvious: I mean for fuck's sake I don't wanna be anywhere without ya'. Everything I do is with you." Mammon sighed nervously.

He lifted her in her arms, bringing down his face to gently set his forehead onto hers.

He didn't entirely recognize it before, but now that the cat was out of the bag it was so painfully apparent.

Everything he did was by her, to her, and for her. He found himself more temperamental and bored in the situations he had to exist without her. The cogs in his head finally spun, blushing for a mere moment as he finally admitted it out loud. 

"I'm obsessed with ya princess. I'm fuckin' crazy over you."

If her heart pounded any faster she was sure she'd pass out.

Her eyes glued to the tiny white slits in the sea of bright green within his eyes.

They both glance down at each other's lips then back at their gaze.

Immediately realizing what the other was doing, they both smash into each other desperately. Mammon felt a firework go off in his head. She was putty in his hands. A little butterfly caught in his web.

He growled.

[F/n] caresses his features, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks and pulling him closer.

A surge of electricity runs through his expression and tickles hers affectionately. It courses her hands and down her arms eagerly. 

Mammon drags his bicolored tongue across her lips, pushing himself in at the slightest gap.

Their tongues dance and with no protest Mammon explores his new territory. Their teeth clatter, Mammon doing his best not to pierce her.

The taste of coffee and pastries still lingered strongly on his saliva. Their tongues dance, aching. It's as if they couldn't get close enough to one another, both feverishly pushing into each other craving every bit of contact the other could provide.

Pleased with her submission, he makes way back into his room.

Massaging her ass with his upper pair of hands and grabbing onto her heels with the other. [F/n] releases a muffled moan.

Mammon breaks the kiss first, glancing at the spirit trail that still connected them. He licks the drool from his lips, savoring their long overdue tension-breaker.

He steals a few more pecks before taking a seat on his bed, holding onto her. He brushed a strand of her [h/c] hair out of her face.

Mammon chuckled softly, enamored with the bright hue on her complexion: gaze hungry.

Mammon stares at her. Unmoving. As his breathing very audibly becomes heavier.

It takes him a painful few seconds to snap out of his own trance.

"As much as I wanna fold ya' in my bed and have ya' take care of my stiffy— y're injured and need to rest princess."

"Oh come the fuck on Ammo, I'm fine!" [F/n] pouts, huffing while trying to feel him up through his clothes.

She slinks downwards to attempt and grind against the growing tent underneath his layers of clothes to entice him.

Mammon with every bit of self control in his body, has none of it, interwinding her hands into his instead with force as he pulls her back up to steal another peck.

"I love y're excitement but I will hurt you."

"You're no fun."

"You'll fuckin' get what you want later... Needy whore."

He scoots closer into bed.

Mammon snaps his fingers. A puff of green surround both of them, clearing quickly to reveal he had changed them into their sleepwear. He smiles softly.

His blanket flies over them as he adjusts more comfortably, plopping [F/n] on his chest.

[F/n] coils into a ball, purring happily while nuzzling herself into the crook of his neck. She quickly settles. His hand reaches to pet her hair lovingly, listening patiently as her purring gradually became more distant overtime until she drifted off entirely. 

Mammon sighed with satisfaction, captivated, only then closing his eyes. "Y're gonna stay mine forever." 

[ughgoaway]

I need you like a heartbeat

content warnings: mentions of sex... that's kinda it the rest is just very soppy lovey-dovey stuff!! word count- 1.9k

a/n: hi!! so I kinda lied about doing under 1000 words but once I got going I couldn't stop lol. I did write this quick so if it's really bad don't tell me (please do I cannot cope not knowing). This was inspired by this request for some fluffy aftercare, thanks for the request!! this is my first time writing fluff so be gentle with me... I'm not good at being in love (haven't done it irl yet) so we'll see how it goes. also would just like to reiterate I am English but I did use braid instead of plait because I have beef with the spelling of plait, I think it's stupid so refuse to type it. also, I was gonna include a full skincare scene but alas I don't do any so had no idea what to write... anyway here you go!!

Thump. Thump. Thump. All you can hear is your heartbeat in your head, the repetitive rhythm being the only thing keeping you grounded. Without it, you fear you would just float away. You fear your weightlessness would simply cause you to disappear from the earth as you know it.

Soon a pair of hands come up to wipe your tear-stained face, you instinctively lean into the touch despite not quite remembering who it is. “Baby? Darling, you with me?”

Matty.

The calloused hands delicately wiping your face belong to your boyfriend and his touch makes the fog in your mind begin to lift. As it always does when you're around him. 2 years in and still you've never met someone you feel so clear around. That may seem unusual to some people, they all say “isn't the love of your life meant to make you a bit hazy? Make your head swirl and your mind go blank?” But no, not to you. You've never felt anything but clear around him, just so completely yourself it almost hurts. There was never any fogginess in your mind, there was nothing but a clear choice. Him. It was as if there was a spotlight on him wherever you were, he was in plain sight. The first thing you saw no matter what.

Slowly your eyes blink open and you're met with the sight of your very naked boyfriend hovering over you giving you a warm smile, “there's my sweet girl” he says staring adoringly at you. The smile was quickly mirrored by you followed by a small giggle. Despite having seen him naked 1000 times, suddenly this time was very funny. 

“What are you giggling at, hmm?” Matty says, despite lightly giggling himself, he always found your laughter so contagious. Your joy always lit up every room you were in. The pure happiness that surrounded you was so contagious it couldn't help but rub off on him. So for the first time in his 34 years of life, Matty would describe himself as giddy, not just from your giddiness infecting him but from just you in general. The love he felt for you made him feel 15 again like he was crushing on a girl way out of his league. Becoming slowly obsessed with seeing her around school. But with you, that feeling never went away, that slight obsession was ever permanent. And he loved it. He was nothing but absolutely, unbelievably obsessed with you. And he told you as such, over and over again.

“You’re naked” you manage to splutter out in your fit of giggles, Matty felt his heart flutter at the sight of you. Naked also, tears of dark mascara staining your cheeks and dozens of hickeys and bites blooming on your body but also giggling with no care in the world.

“Hate to be the one to tell you this sweetheart, but you're naked too. Don't tell me you forgot about my amazing lovemaking skills so quickly” Matty says, acting offended at your forgetfulness. 

“One,” you begin, acting mock serious at the man on top of you “Never call it lovemaking again or it will start happening substantially less” Matty laughs at you and begins pressing small kisses over the expanse of your face. “Two” you try and list off your second point but soon get lost in another fit of giggles at the myriad of kisses being littered over your face.

“I'll never get my second point out if you keep kissing me” you manage to stutter out, trying to speak but being accosted with pecks. 

“Fine, fine, sorry baby- go on,” Matty says leaning back slightly and looking back at you fondly, loving how you can go from moaning his name and crying from pleasure to giggling at your naked boyfriend.

“Thank you,” you fake clear your throat to assure your boyfriend this was a serious matter, “Two- I could never forget, I just suddenly found it funny you were naked.” You finish your statement and look up at your boyfriend. 

His hair was sweaty and sticking up in 50 directions, a pink flush decorated his cheeks and his pupils were blown so wide if you didn't know better, you'd think he had black iris’. He’d never looked more beautiful to you. Well, aside from the 50 other times you had assured yourself he never looked more beautiful.

You attempt to sit up to return the onslaught of kisses but you hiss as you're soon reminded of what you were just doing. Everything hurts, in the best way, of course, your arms feel like jelly and you can faintly feel his cum leaking out of you.

As quickly as you try to sit up you are ushered back down by Matty, “No, no don't get up sweetheart. I’m going to go get a warm cloth from the bathroom and clean you up a little yeah?”

You nod lightly, closing your eyes and resting on the silk pillowcases behind you. You are almost lulled back to sleep at the noises of your boyfriend moving around the room but a hiss soon left your mouth as Matty begins wiping you delicately.

The various marks on your thigh burn as Matty wipes your wetness off them, he apologises over and over. Only getting more insistent as he begins to wipe at your core. He starts at the top, lightly patting your clit and hushing your whimpers, hating he was hurting you. 

But soon the feeling of him cleaning stopped, you looked down only to catch your boyfriend staring longingly at the sight of his cum leaving you. For the third time tonight, giggles leave you as you stare at the blank expression on his face

“Oops sorry darling, got a bit distracted there but I'm back to business now I swear” Matty assures you before cautiously swiping at your hole and cleaning up the mess he made. The cloth was tossed aside as Matty worked his way back up your body to your face, smiling at your blissed-out look.

“You feel well enough to walk yet baby? We really need to get that makeup off and do your skincare. You’d kill me if I let you go one night without rubbing some oil or serum on your face.” 

You smile and nod at your boyfriend, preparing to walk only to be scooped up in his arms and carried into the bathroom. The cold tile of the vanity soon hit your bum causing another hiss to leave your bitten lips, red and puffy from the nights events. 

“What was the point in being able to walk if you were just gonna carry me huh handsome?” you say staring at your boyfriend while he grabs the makeup wipes and begins wiping your tear-stained cheeks. 

“Always gotta give you the princess treatment baby, just wanted to make sure if you had to walk you could. But I would never make my girl walk all the way to the bathroom! What kinda boyfriend would I be huh” he says jokingly. He's so intensely focused on finding your numerous skincare products he doesn't notice the massive smile that takes over your face. 

Matty has about 20 bottles in his hands, each one causing the confused frown on his face to grow. You stifle your laugh at his clear confusion and grab the various products from him and place them by the sink next to you. 

“Don't worry about all that tonight baby, just some moisturiser I think. I'm too knackered for much else” You notice Matty let out a relieved breath at your shortened routine, not quite sure what he would do if you wanted to do the full thing.

He grabs the small tub nestled between the mess of products on the counter and begins rubbing it in small circles on your cheeks and forehead. You almost catch your eyes closing at the feeling of him massaging your face but force yourself to keep them open to look longingly at your boyfriend's very focused face, tongue out and all.

“You wanna have a bath darling or should I just braid your hair and we call it a night?” Matty says, still rubbing your face despite all the moisturiser being applied. He just loved touching you, anyway he could. Not necessarily sexually, as much as he enjoyed that. But just loving small touches, a kiss on the cheek when he walked past, a hand on the small of your back when you stood together, even just your pinky fingers linked together as you spoke around a dinner table. Little affectionate touches kept Matty going and he wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to touch your very pretty face.

“Just some braids would be amazing, thank you my love” You smile at your doting boyfriend as he nods and grabs the hairbrush, slowly bruising out the multitude of knots caused by him, he's sure.

His nimble fingers pass your hair between them, slowly braiding your now neatly brushed hair. Matty grabs a hair tie and secures both of your braids at the end. Finishing with a flourish and a kiss on your nose that made your face scrunch up in that adorable way he loved.

Silently Matty picks you up again, smiling at the roll of your eyes and a bashful grin that you give him whilst in his arms. He places you on the edge of your bed before going to the chest of drawers behind him to fetch you both some clothes. 

You hold in your giggles at your boyfriend's bare bum, assuming he wouldn't love another fit of laughter at his nakedness. 

He soon returns with 2 pairs of black calvins and your favourite one of his shirts, the peach Panasonic shirt he once wore all the time. But mysteriously he stopped, about 2 years ago.

The first night you'd slept together Matty lent you that shirt, he remembers watching you sleep so soundly that morning in the shirt he adored. He vowed there and then to never wear it again, not wanting to sully it with any other memory than the memory of you.

He slipped the shirt over your shoulders and the calvins up your legs, giving your bum a cheeky pat when you lifted your hips to get them on. He followed you up the mattress and settled on the pillows, facing you and staring fondly into your eyes.

Each time your eyes met you treated it like a staring contest, never wanting to be the first to look away. The pure adoration in the other's eyes always kept you looking, staring, not ever wanting to leave that moment.

Matty broke first this time, a small celebration happened in your mind as he pulled the duvet over the two of you. He swung his arm over your shoulder as you settled on his chest. He leant down to give you a gentle kiss on the crown of your head with a large smile on his face. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said, a smile evident in his voice.

Yours was slightly muffled by your head pressed into his chest but you returned his comment, “I love you too baby, thank you for making me feel good”

“Always” is the last thing Matty said, or the last thing you remember hearing before sleep took over you in the arms of the man you were sure was your soulmate.

[drangercore]

Love and Other Historical Accidents by @pacific-rimbaud​

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy never intended to blow up their life's work, but that's rather what they've gone and done. Now they're trapped 200 years in the past, with a broken Time Turner, a missing snuff box, a handful of overly-eligible daughters, and a House-elf in a cable knit cardigan. It will require the combined power of their keen intellects to get them home, if they'd stop arguing long enough to use them. As it turns out, history is just one damned accident after another.

Fandom: Harry Potter

Relationship: Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

Art by @gingerhuneybee​, @jjuuppiter​, @jaxxartbox​, & yours truly

My first fanbind! 

L&OHA is an impeccable story and is so very dear to me. This was the fic that made me go “I want that on my shelf!”, so here we are. 

keep reading for more binding info and to see my gushing on the fic.

QUICK SPECS

153,854 words | 571 pages | 5″ x 8.5″ 

Binding Method: 3 Piece In Boards Bradel  Body Font: Adobe Caslon Pro Decorative Font: IM Fell English

I am very proud of this book, having accomplished many firsts with it. My first book that I rounded and backed, sewed double-core endbands on, painted the edges, and used toner reactive foil and HTV on!

ON THE STORY

Sighs. What more can I say? It’s simply brilliant. A unique multifaceted story with incredible dynamics, clever foreshadowing, great character studies of Draco and Hermione, and such beloved original characters. It’s comedic and refreshing but it also takes on grief and goodbyes, and heartbreak. It’s fucking romantic and also So nuanced. I dislike stories that spoon-feed every little thing about the character, so the parlor tricks on this one? Ate every crumb of it. It was filled with implications and was misleading in the best sense. You’ve got to be an astute reader to catch some things the first round (which I definitely wasn’t). 

While it doesn’t entirely shy away from typical lovey-dovies, the regard for mundanity and the inconsequential, I just find more inherently romantic. The exploration on time travel and the vivid prose further underscores the depth of PR’s talent. She captures so eloquently, the mind of an extremely logical person in a very illogical experience. I saw myself in Hermione so many times. The story demands to be read again and revels upon doing so. Pacific Rimbaud is such an incredible writer *sobs* all her works are simply a masterpiece. 

That said, this beautiful story deserves to be turned into a physical book.

DESIGN PLAN (or lack thereof) 

This is my first fanfic project and my third book overall which I must say was quite a leap considering my very little binding experience. I think the demon small niggling part at the back of my head got the best of me and positively thought she could make a relatively fastidious book despite the lack of skill. BUT nothing can stop me when I am overly enthusiastic about something, thus began my 2 month research, soaking up every gobbet of binding info in reach. As far as my book binding journey goes, gathering supplies was the hardest part lol. Bookbinding is not a common hobby in the Philippines so it was tedious to to look for materials and/or to settle on alternatives.

I credit 70% of the 4 month stretch of this project to my indecision. The novelty and sheer excitement with a new hobby, I think, divested me to properly conceptualize heh. I redid my typeset 1 billion times because I kept switching softwares: Word→ Pages→ InDesign. I probably have 8 versions of the typeset that will never see the light of day. Anyway, I did finally get the stuff done. Here’s my little design dump:

Nothing symbolic about the design really. I just worked around elements I thought were appropriate with the regency era and time traveling aspect: vines/ flowers and the time turner. I tried to reflect PR’s elegant writing in the book so hopefully I did it some justice. I added my fave works for this fic too and even drew fanart myself, here are some of them:

BINDING

I watched DAS bookbinding religiously during my research phase and I knew then that I wanted to someday follow his in-boards 3-piece bradel tutorial, but it wasn’t supposed to be so early on in my binding journey. One look at this book however threw me off course. It was incredibly ambitious of me, so I guess I deserved all the stress I endured in the process. I was supposed to trim the edges in between glueing the spine and rounding/backing, but I only had my poorly sharpened Php145 wood chisel to finish the task. That and nursing the finger my chisel wounded took enough time for the glue to dry, so I was fiddling with a stiff textblock the entire time after. I learnt along the way that a blow dryer and bone folder will be your best friends (and plenty of patience). I’d also like to apologize to my neighbors if you heard any hammering at 1am 😳 

The covers were... finicky. For some reason, midway, I decided to make either covers differently, and all to the good because the one made following DAS’ tutorial ended up slightly warping. DAS’ was with two 1.25mm boards glued together, while my experimental one was with a single 2.5mm board of which I peeled layers off of to reduce its thickness in half as needed.  (see pictures below for reference)

A lot of how the book looks like now is either born out of impulse or a desperate remedy. The book in turn is very gold. Chapter headers were impulsively foiled with gold laser reactive foil (so much for illustrating the headers only to cover them up haha *eye twitches*). 

I accidentally stained the edges while smoothing with black sandpaper so I covered the mess with an admix of Sakura acrylic paint in black and Liquitex acrylic ink in iridescent gold (Paint order: 1 layer gold- 2 thin layers black- 3 layers gold).

 I am very proud of my sewn endbands as this was my very first attempt at doing a double-core. I used DMC cotton threads in cream (712) and gold (E3821). Below is a close-up because why not. (as you can see, I had some flaking on the paint, luckily this was on the bottom edge so I fixed the issue on the more visible sides.)

I don’t like the bookcloth selection where I’m from (if there’s anything at all) so I made my own with pastel blue eco-ramie cloth, flour paste, and 80gsm paper. I ordered my fabric online and the shade was too icing-like. It looked tacky so I bleached to lighten. The white cloth also came from the same fabric which I bleached till it paled to white.

Titling was one of my biggest worries because majority of binders I saw were using a cricut to cut HTV. I almost entertained the idea of cutting it manually or even painting or embroidery, but to my luck, I found a local shop that offers vinyl ! cutting !! service !!! I sent them my design and they cut and weeded the vinyl for me. I chose white for the title and metallic gold for the vine detail. I messed up applying the word “historical” though, but let’s pretend i did it on purpose for the vintage feel.

Four months of faffing later, I have this story in corporeal form! Overall, I’m overjoyed with the outcome and I’d like to thank PR for the opportunity to have such a wonderful story on my shelf (and free to be read by anyone!)

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! 

[schvmacher47]

venus | oscar piastri (preview II)

1 | quick pause in conversation (preview word count: 2054, total word count: 4044)

»Maybe it wasn't boiling enough… Maybe I just have no talent… I think this might be the biggest issue here«, Oscar mumbled. His body language was very much giving signs of early defeat, as if he’d already accepted his fate, when Robert went and whispered something into his ear. I couldn’t quite make out what Robert said, but I was pretty sure it was something along the lines of ‘You’re so doing this on purpose, I know you’re not that bad…’.

»There’s microphones on!«, Oscar exclaimed and looked straight into the camera, or more like behind the camera, to see if anyone of us heard what was being said.

»They’re not listening«, Robert reassured him and grinned knowingly. Sure, nobody was listening…

»So let’s try this again«, Oscar said. »I’m sticking to the ‘no swirling’ technique«, he added and immediately put the second raw egg into the boiling water.

»This one’s even worse!« He sounded very disappointed, especially as he watched Robert attempt and then succeed the challenge with his second try.

»That one’s actually pretty good!«, Oscar exclaimed, as he inspected Robert’s attempt. Robert started celebrating, being very sure of his second victory in a row. »He actually did a good job on that…«

»Did I split the yolk? Maybe… Is that a problem? No…«, Oscar mumbled with a wry grin on his lips, as he took out his mishap of a poached egg. Both he and Robert erupted into a fit of a full body laughter, as they inspected the poached egg. »And to think this was my best bet–«, Oscar laughed, as he presented his rock solid poached egg to the camera. I chuckled, innerly thanking God for choosing to make Oscar a racing driver and not a cook. 

»I bet Kaia is very impressed by your cooking skills!«, Robert said, laughing.

»Oh I sure am!«, I grinned, but also started laughing. Their laughter was simply too infectious to not join in.

Robert’s egg was the definition of a perfect poached egg, the yolk was still runny, when he cut the egg open. Both he and Oscar went to try the poached egg and were visibly impressed by how good it was. 

»You seriously have to try it!«, Robert said and waved me over to the kitchenette.

»Are you sure you don’t want to poison me?«, I joked, but still got up and left my spot behind the camera, to take the fork loaded with bits of the egg, which Oscar held out to me.

»Poison you? I don’t think we’re that bad…«

»That’s why your egg is rock solid… but sure, you’re not that bad«, I grinned, as I finally took the fork from Oscar, our fingers brushing as he passed it to me. 

I inspected the egg one last time, for safety reasons, before I got over myself and gave it a try.

»Yeah, Robert definitely wins this round… Without a doubt, which also means I get the honour of driving you to the airport…«, I grumbled, giving Oscar my best deathglare, to which he only raised his hands in surrender, as if he were rejecting all blame. »Just to warn you now, I get to choose the songs we’re going to listen to. Capito? My car, my rules«, I playfully said.

»Yeah, whatever, as long as I’m getting to the airport, that’s fine with me…«

Oscar did end up winning the fried egg, but over easy challenge, but it didn’t change a thing about Robert’s overall win. As soon as the cameras were off, Robert put on that mischievous grin again.

»Well, I guess you’ll be having the honour of driving Mr. I don’t get rental cars to the airport. Please do my car rides justice and don’t be too nice«, he said, a big grin playing on his lips.

»I’ll make sure he’ll still get the Robert experience,« I chuckled, as I started packing up the camera equipment.

»I know that’s not gonna happen because you’re most definitely not as reckless of a driver as Robert. So that’s a relief for me because I for once won’t be carsick.«, Oscar said, getting rid of his apron and chef hat.

»On the expense of my dinner, thank you very much«, I joked.

»Now you’re making me feel bad…«, he mumbled as he helped me clean up the kitchen.

»If I remember correctly you’re the one who lost the challenge, so I think that’s deserved.«

»Evil!«

***

»Do you have everything?«, I asked Oscar as I grabbed my bag and car keys. 

»Yes!«

»Are you sure?, I asked again, making sure we wouldn’t have to turn around. I remembered all the countless times Robert had to turn around because Oscar forgot something. At this point, the only important thing he didn’t leave behind was his phone. I hoped I didn’t just jinx it… If his head wasn’t permanently attached to his body, there would’ve been a great chance of him losing it somewhere around the world.

»Yes«, he confirmed as he pushed his suitcase to the main entrance. I quickly grabbed a water bottle from the minifridge before I followed him to the main hall. Oscar had already brought his luggage outside and was waiting for me to unlock the car.

As I stepped outside, the crisp evening air sent shivers down my spine. The sky was painted in beautiful hues of oranges and pinks, as the sun began its descent. I unlocked the car and opened the trunk for Oscar to put his, multiple weeks worth, of luggage into it.

»Buckle up, you’re in for the ride of your life!«, I told him as I got into the driver’s seat. I connected my phone to the car’s bluetooth and chose a playlist as Oscar also got into the car. The first notes of ‘Red’ by Taylor Swift sounded softly from the sound system as I pulled out of the car park. Loving him was like driving a new maserati down a dead-end street.

»As long as we don’t end up in a dead-end street, that’s fine with me«, Oscar said, a knowing smile resting on his lips as he made himself comfortable. It took a minute for my brain to process the ambiguity of his words. He for sure knew how to use his words, how to send my brain cells into a frenzy. Still waters could run deep. Very deep. 

»Are you questioning my abilities right now?«, 

»I would never!«

»You better not, since you’re relying on my abilities right now…«, I said, grinning as I drove onto the carriageway. 

»I promise I won’t complain«, he said. »This is definitely an upgrade, came here thinking I was going to have to deal with Robert’s horrendous driving, but got an unexpected upgrade to first class.«

»As if you didn’t lose on purpose to get this upgrade, let’s be honest.«, I stated, quickly glancing over to him. He shook his head, but had a knowing grin on his lips. He of course did it on purpose.

»I would never!«, he repeated his statement from before.

»Yeah, as if I’d believe you… Just say it, you enjoy my company.«

»I thought that was obvious…«

»No shit Sherlock, it was obvious from the moment where you all of the sudden forgot how to boil an egg to get me to drive you to the airport«, I joked.

»So where’s the problem?«

»I don’t know, you tell me?«, I asked, grinning.

There was a quick pause in conversation, we fell into a comfortable silence, as I focused on the traffic ahead and Oscar was doing God knows what. Probably just staring out of the window for most of the time. 

At some point, I turned the music up. I felt the need to fill the void with some background noise. A few songs in, which I classified as my ‘warm up’, I started humming along to One Direction’s ‘No Control’. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Oscar glancing over at me. A grin spread across my lips. Oh, he had no idea of what he was going to witness. I wiggled in my seat, as I started to sing along to the last lines of the first verse. The One Direction carpool  karaoke video was my roman empire, the choreography to No Control was engraved into every single one of my brain cells and everytime that song popped up in my playlist, I couldn’t help but dance along.

Oscar chuckled softly next to me, shaking his head in amusement as I belted out the lyrics. Once the chorus hit, the last bit of self-control left my body and my hands left the steering wheel to do the choreo justice. I was challenging my inner Harry Styles. I literally had no control.

»First of all, I would very much appreciate it, if you would keep your hands on the steering wheel and focus on the street head…«, Oscar mumbled, a terrified expression resting on his facial features as he watched my impromptu performance. »Secondly, I sometimes wonder if your mothertongue really is English or you’re just fucking with me…«

»Why?«, I asked, once the chorus was over.

»The way you sing these songs with so much confidence really has me questioning if you know what you’re singing about«, Oscar chuckled. I raised an eyebrow. He thought this was bad? I made a mental note to introduce him to Zara Larsson’s music in the future.

»This isn’t even the worst one…«, I said, grinning as I continued to bob my head to the beat.

»There’s worse?« I just nodded in amusement and watched him shake his head.

»Could you take the next exit please?«, Oscar asked, when we were halfway through our journey to the airport.

»Why, do you need to use the toilet?«

»Just do it, okay?«, he practically begged me as we approached the exit he was talking about. It was a service station area that even accommodated smaller versions of supermarkets. I sighed and moved over into the exit lane, slowing down as I reached the parking lot.

»I’ll be quick«, Oscar said, as he got out of the car. He rushed over to one of the service points, but then disappeared behind a passing truck. As I waited for Oscar to come back, I decided to also open my door and stretch my legs out of the car. I reached for the water bottle that I’d placed behind my seat, and opened it to take a few refreshing sips. 

A few minutes later, I saw Oscar coming back. He was carrying a brown paper bag, seemingly from one of those supermarkets. I raised an eyebrow when he opened the door and flopped down on the passenger’s seat. 

»Why are you looking at me like that?«, he asked and fastened his seatbelt again. 

»I thought you had to use the bathroom?«, I asked, tilting my head in confusion.

»I lied, my bladder is not that weak –«

»Funny coming from you, when you have to go to the toilet right before getting in your race car, but sure, go on«, I chuckled, earning a death glare from Oscar.

»If you’d let me finish, you’d know the reason why I lied«, he stated. »I felt bad, when you said you still had to go grocery shopping and since I am basically the reason for you not having a proper dinner tonight, I got you something…«, he mumbled and pointed to the brown paper bag. I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his thoughtfulness. 

»You did what?« He didn’t even acknowledge my question, instead he put the bag on his lap and reached into it.

»I got you dinner.«, he said, pulling out what looked like a big salad bowl, bread and a bar of chocolate. »Consider it a thank you for driving me to the airport.« I couldn’t help but stare at him in disbelief.

»You didn’t have to do that«, I mumbled. I was at a loss for words. »Thank you…«, I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. »I really appreciate it.«

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

[homunculus-argument]

The thing about cultures is that babies really are the same everywhere, and the act of raising an adult who can function in this specific society is cultivating the natural skills this specific individual already had potential for, and minimising the natural and instinctive behaviours they are prone to which this specific culture considers undesirable. Sure, people have their own distinct tempers and personalities from birth, but functional adults are still shaped and formed by carving away from that block of Baby, like you're making a sculpture, whether the starting material is marble or granite.

Because of this, different cultures have different ideas of what sort of behaviour is "acting like a toddler" or "this is what people do", and seeing a fully grown adult person openly and shamelessly behaving in a way that was nipped in the bud in you when you were five years old and embarrassing your family can be shocking. In the past few centuries white westerners have been quick to label peoples of other cultures as "child-like" due to their own egocentric and childish assumption that their own way of living is the only objectively correct one, and not even entertaining the idea that different cultures simply have different outlines of what is, and is not, appropriate adult behaviour.

This is why it's so hard to explain the difference between introvert cultures and extrovert cultures to people who grew up in extrovert cultures. I am going to assume that children of both types are born equally in every people - just as children of different tempers and personalities are born in every other way - but the distinction is in what kind of behaviour is considered mature and is encouraged, and what's considered a personality flaw one should work on.

In extrovert cultures it's polite and good manners to be open and talk to people at every opportunity - they invented the term "small talk" for filler talk you're supposed to fill the air with when neither of you have anything important to say - and it's considered rude to dislike being talked at. In introvert cultures, it's rude to assume that someone wants to be bothered with your chatter. Assuming that a stranger wants to talk would be just as weird and rude as walking up to a stranger's car sitting at the red lights, opening the door and sitting in the passenger's seat, completely unprompted and uninvited.

People from extrovert cultures see introvert culture behaviour as weird, stunted and childish - if you don't know what someone else is thinking, why not just use your words and ask them? Forcing someone to communicate isn't considered abusive, but refusing to comply to these demands somehow is. The idea that someone could just ~intuitively know~ that there is something going on, but never ask what it is, because it's none of your business, sounds absurd.

In introvert cultures, people are expected to have at least some level of sense when and whether their attention, opinions and questions are welcome. It's no different from physical touch - if you can't tell whether someone happily consents to being touched like that, or is simply reluctantly enduring you, you just shouldn't be trusted to be around people at all. Someone demanding open communication is just as absurd and childish as a toddler throwing a tantrum because they want to eat that very one specific piece of food that someone else just put into their own mouth.

And then being more upset when what you forced them to spit out wasn't as nice as what you wanted it to be.

[anohai]

A big issue with Seyka’s character arc in Burning Shores...

*clicks tongue* Fuck it. 

I debated over writing this out and posting it. Decided I might as well for not only my personal catharsis, but because it's been over 3 weeks since Burning Shores came out, I have had the time to mull things over more, talk with some friendly people who came to the some of the same conclusions I did, and really analyze everything. I’ve seen a sprinkle of other people expressing something similar to what I am about to cover, but I felt this deserved its own topic of conversation. 

And forewarn, there be spoilers. 

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.

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Of course, we're back to Seyka. I promise I'm not trying to pick on her. She actually has loads of potential, and I don't think she's a bad character. It's just she deserved better than what was shown in her overall character arc.

Last time, I wrote about the Seyloy romance, and why it is difficult (for some more than others) to feel good about it. This critique isn't going to be about that again in case you are wondering if I'm simply yelling louder in the echo chamber, but there will be some correlation to it. The more I played the DLC, the more I realized that while I still wasn’t sold on the romance, it wasn’t the root of why something felt off with Seyka’s story to me. So once the adrenaline of having a new shiny DLC to run around in wore off and was able to properly take my time soaking things in, this was the conclusion I came to: 

The biggest issue with Seyka's entire character arc is that they tried way too hard to make her near-exile situation comparable to Aloy's when it very, very much is not. 

In any capacity whatsoever. As to why? 

Seyka tells us at one point that she loves her tribe, her community, and has always felt she's had a place in it until recently. The reason she's in any hot water at all when we meet her is because she ran off and stole a diviner's focus. Seyka is a marine, not a diviner so we know this is considered a huge taboo among the Quen. They are a sovereign tribe with a classicist system where the people are allowed to know only what is deemed necessary based on their role and/or rank. Should rules be broken, we are left to assume based on our conversations with Alva and even interactions with the Ceo & Overseer Bohai in HFW that the royal family and those in charge are imposing & unforgiving enough that normally there are severe consequences. 

Luckily for Seyka, this isn't the case. 

The first time we follow her back to Fleet's End, we're met with those who are referred to as Compliance Officers who are wanting a nasty word or two with our new friend. We are brought to Admiral Gerrit, the real person in charge, and he is....actually quite understanding of Seyka's actions. He gives her a quick verbal slap on the wrist but proceeds to give her full permission to continue her search for her sister and their other missing people with the stolen focus on hand. He's humble enough to tell Aloy in a private conversation afterwards if you choose to talk to him that their faction of the expedition has been spread thin enough as it is and Seyka has already proven herself to be a valuable and skilled member. Enough so that he admits he’s become increasingly reliant on her regardless of only being a petty officer in title. This assessment is fair and kind. It’s more than I would have expected out of someone with such a high position among the Quen of all tribes. 

Seyka is given a huge safety net thanks to this swell guy. The compliance offers themselves can't do anything, and from what we see in the side quests, they are seemingly nothing more than a few school-yard bullies without any real authority to their position. They are annoying & petty at worst. All bark, no bite. As far as the rest of the Quen go, most individuals we come across seem either pretty cool or neutral with Seyka. It's not until later that we get any indication  there are some who are calling for her exile afterall, but we only know this because we hear it from Seyka instead of seeing it happen. People are talking, as they will, and she's furious about it. 

But really....the threat still isn't there. It never was. At least not to the extent I think we are supposed to believe it was. 

All things considered, Seyka was placed in a very privileged, advantageous position amongst those in her tribe. Along with the lack of visible threat, there is never any real tension shown minus a few grumblings expressed in the background when we first arrive in Fleet’s End. And despite how Aloy perceives her, Seyka isn’t exactly a black sheep here. Especially when you consider she never had any personal turmoil with the rest of her tribe until not long before the events of Burning Shores and happily tells you herself she has always felt like she’s belonged. She's pretty much allowed to do what she wants without much pushback, and I found myself rolling my eyes during the final scene where she says she's unsure of where she stands with her tribe. Seyka is not an outcast, and I, for one, was never convinced or afraid she was at real risk of becoming one. 

Which makes this all the more confusing when Aloy says she's an inspiration. An outcast in all but name. I'm willing to chalk some of this up to hormones talking and Aloy's growing infatuation taking a choke hold as most first time crushes will do. Except the problem here is that the writing clearly felt like we were meant to connect Seyka's strife with Aloy's on some level; carry the same sympathy for her that Aloy expresses, and see more of where their similarities hold up. 

And yet...

I felt more for Kotallo who was kicked from his initial clan because his leader saw him as a threat and then later, might as well have gotten demoted for losing an arm because his tribe sees him as near useless for it..

And Zo who lives among the most pacifist, peace-loving tribe and was admonished when she not only went to fight back in the Red Raids, but wanted to do something about the blight and their broken Land Gods..

And Talanah who had to fight against blatant sexism that many carry in her tribe and an actual attempt for her murder all because she wanted to move up in the Lodge and make things better..

And Aloy, herself, who was outcast at birth for simply being born without a mother. And spent her entire life with only the man who raised her for company. In one small valley. For 19 years. Because there was no choice for her. 

But somehow, we're supposed to see Seyka the same way Aloy does? Like no one she's ever met??

I...Really? 

I'm sorry, but I don't buy this rebel fighter, near-outcast ploy here. And saying she's unlike anyone Aloy has ever met feels like a slap in the face to not only Aloy, herself, but to some of her companions we have come to know & love in the first two games. Most of whom I'd argue have been through more hell because of their own tribes long before they even met her. Seyka's plight is trivial, inconsequential in comparison and no where near as crippling as Aloy's was or her friends. It's honestly frustrating that it feels suggested it is. 

What's worse is that this plotline is used as one big narrative tool to bring Seyka and Aloy closer on standing grounds outside of ability and personality. This essentially means Seyka and her entire character arc were written for the sole purpose of the romance. A character built for Aloy to quickly fall head over heels for and add progress in her own arc. I wrote last time that I can see this growth as an opportunity to explore romance further for Aloy with a pre-established character or two in H3. If I’m right & that happens to be the heart-wrenching, long-term, master plan Guerilla is going for, they have my applause (and my stress). Great for Aloy. In my opinion though, being created to be a love interest (lasting or not) for the main hero is a bit unfair to Seyka. 

She's clever, she's badass, and she isn't afraid to take action without permission and help where she can. Next to Aloy, however, she stands as a self-reflection of her. A spotless mirror as to who Aloy could have been had she grown up under a community as well. I would love to see Seyka break out on her own as an individual character that isn't in the context of romance if ever given the opportunity. 

Heck, if Guerilla wanted to in the eventuality they will be finished with Aloy's story, the Quen have easy potential to have an entire spinoff game revolved around them. We have a whole side quest in BS where a small group of Quen want to sneak focuses to non-diviners for the sake of knowing what's usually kept hidden from them. Hello, is that the beginnings of a rebellion, I see? And the world of Horizon has yet to be explored in places outside of the North American continent. Other tribes, different machines, more Old World locations, etc. Loads of potential everywhere. And guess what!? We practically have a budding main character on a silver platter: Seyka! She obviously has big enough main character energy. Might as well utilize it outside of a DLC if you can, and I don't mean for the next game. 

It's hard say for sure whether or not Seyka will remain a DLC character. No matter what fans say, the ending was left ambiguous. Not only because of the romance but also where Seyka's future lies. She knows about Nemesis, yet she tells Aloy she's unsure of what she wants to do after her faction reunites with the other half in San Francisco, whether it's going home or something else. I would think if Guerilla had solid plans to include her in H3 while they were developing Burning Shores, they would have written the ending where she either offers to stay behind in Legacy’s Landfall for a time like Alva does or Aloy asks for her aid to help fight against Nemesis. Something to make it more clear she's here to stay. We don't though, so as far as anyone outside of Guerilla is currently aware, Seyka is not guaranteed to play a big part in H3 if any at all. And remember, DLCs are meant to be an extension of the main game and are primarily optional. They are typically not a requirement for playing the next big installment as far as understanding the story goes. 

If she does show up in H3, the only thing I dread is the idea of her coming up and saying she's basically denounced her tribe because she still feels out of place and doesn't think she can belong afterall. Not to mention she has her sister, and after what happened with Kina, it would be a really bad look if she just decided to permanently leave her behind when her tribe isn't or never was trying that hard to push her away in the first place. And Seyka said it herself. She’s “not some weak-kneed sailor who abandons ship when the seas get rough,” and I’d like to believe she means it. It'd be one thing if she actually is forced into exile, but after the events of the DLC, she has too good of a repertoire for that to happen now. At least while she's outside of Quen homelands. 

(Btw, don't even get me started on Aloy's convo with Kina over "remember Seyka's been through a lot too" as if we didn't just rescue this poor girl from A CULT and nearly groomed into becoming this centuries-old dude's image of his dead wife. Like honey, I know you're in love but have some thought & tact here.) 

That’s about it. I will reiterate that as a character, I do actually like Seyka. As a self-imposed outcast? No. As Aloy’s love interest? That…needs some serious work. But as an individual who loves her tribe but will fight for what she believes in even if it means going against the royal, societal grain? Absolutely! And special kudos to Kylie Liya Page for bringing her to life. 

Also, if you want to read a review that summarizes everything I just ranted about better than I could manage, along with everything good and not-so-great when it comes to the DLC, I recommend this essay here by ariseis. 

If you made it to the end of this long rant, thanks for reading~ 

[ma1dmer]

Final Fantasy - G'raha Tia NSFW

sweating, c-catboys

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he is trying really hard to stay awake, because he wants to spend as much time as possible with you, to hear you talk and help you get comfortable, but he is practically falling asleep on you because hs is so comfortable and content

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): stomach, its an odd little thing to be fascinated with but he loves your stomach, he splays his fingers right below your navel and presses down when he is inside you to feel you clench around him ,or on his way down between your thighs he can’t help but press kisses all the way down the length of your torso

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): he is ashamed to admit how much he enjoys the idea of breeding, not the idea of a child, but this sort of complete trust and sort of ownership in the moment 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): we all know what i am gonna say and its ,drum roll please, HEAT!

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): he has been alive for very very long, and he definitely has some experience, nothing brag worthy but its there, on top of that he is a quick study, his eyes and ears keen to whatever makes you twitch or gasp just right

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): anything where you can both be close, sort of in a cuddling position , he wants to be close to you, his tail wrapped around your thigh or hip

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): generally more light-hearted, wants you to be comfortable likes to feel you squeeze around him when he makes you laugh and just your joy is enough to send him over the edge if he is honest

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he has a happy trail that leads from his toned stomach down to his crotch and he generally tries to keep things trimmed as much as he can if he has the time to remember

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): very romantic in the moment, he'll stare deep in your eyes lips parted in awe as he drives into you, foreheads touching , mumbling about how gorgeous or beautiful you are, how much he adores you everything he feels ,he wears it all on his sleeve for you

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): a big fan of mutual masturbation ,whether you are watching each other or helping each other get off, he loves it, he loves touching you and loves your touch on him

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): praise, body worship etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): he can be convinced into doing stuff in some pretty wild places, you just need the right wording and about 20 minutes of looking around to make sure no one is gonna be bothering you

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): he has some very sensitive parts on his body , they are not that hard to find when you know where they are, and even centuries later he still flinches surprised and flustered when you brush your lips or fingers against them

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): cause you physical harm, he just can't bring himself to do so ,even if you assure him that that's what you want he can't imagine himself being the reason you are in pain

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): loves giving, could spend hours not thinking for once, relaxing between your thighs tail swishing languidly as he simply works you with his tongue

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): depends he is generally not rough, but he has his days where he simply wants to have you while you are both sleepy ,all soft ,in each other's embrace and there are days you can barely manage to get each other's clothes off before he is in you, mostly in his ,days 👀

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): he loves the idea of them, but finds it so hard to untangle himself from you after, that it aches

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): depends on what you ask of him, he might consider it but if it's something too extreme or something he deems dangerous for either of you, he'll kiss you and apologise but refuse and explain why, maybe suggest some alternative

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): so much pent up energy to spend on someone, but he does need breaks in between

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he gets so flustered at how much he loves the idea of toys, wether using them on you, himself or bringing them out to spice up your bedroom activities ,he has so many ideas he wants to share with you, sometimes he is more confident ,sometimes less so, but he really loves them

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he is very playful but you wouldn’t exactly call him a tease, he is easy to fluster and its very difficult for him to deny you , he likes to tease you with his words though, the things he can say in the throes of pleasure would make anyone blush, even himself when he isn't quite so,,,,busy

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): he whines and whimpers a lot, you’d almost think you are hurting him but its just his sounds of pleasure, he also can’t help but profess his love to you a thousand times, prayers to every god for blessing him with you and how lucky he is to know you

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): definitely a switch, anything you want he'll do it, he wants to please you so badly and it shows, you want him to be more in charge he'll pounce on any chance to do so, you want to take control from him, watch him drop to his knees immediately for you

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): average size a bit on the thicker side,,,,,,knot?

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he is full of yearning, and its all plain on his face for all to see, the flush of his cheeks or the nervous twitch of his ears and tail, his thoughts so often seem to return to you, distracting him from his tasks 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he’ll try to return to his work, he only needs to be told once by you to rest and he is melting in your arms, he is a heavy sleeper once he falls asleep though

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

The River

warnings: violence/suggestion of assault, water/drowning (all quite brief).

pairing: Sihtric x you (f)

summary: You asked for self defense training, but the Dane had a rather harsh approach, which landed you both in quite the situation.

word count: 4,8k.

note: zero notes here! Except maybe feel free to let me know if you enjoyed it :)

'But you gave me your word!'

'Then I will take it back! I do not want you going into battle if it ever comes to that again.'

'Uhtred, you promised me.'

'No, I will not hear another word about this,' Uhtred said sternly.

'At least teach me how to defend myself then,' you begged one last time.

Uhtred had promised you years ago that he would train you, but little did you know, he only said it so you'd stop asking. You'd been close with Uhtred for many years, after he had saved you during a raid. You had no desire to go into battle, but you wanted to be able to fight and defend yourself if you ever had to. You knew the chances of an attack were slim, as Uhtred had finally claimed Bebbanburg years ago and the land had remained quite peaceful ever since. But still, you wanted to be taught how to fight, because the future was unpredictable.

'Only to defend,' Uhtred said after a long pause, 'nothing more.'

'Fine,' you said.

'Fine,' Uhtred snapped back. He looked mad but also worried. He knew there was always a chance that the fort could be breached while he was gone, and you would not be able to defend yourself properly. And he would hate to see something happen to you. You weren't lovers, never had been either, but you had a bond that could not be broken.

'I'll have one of my men train you, I have other things to do,' he muttered, 'tomorrow, noon, near the river behind the woods.'

Uhtred walked away without looking back at you, so he never saw your excitement.

The next day you arrived early at the river, ready for training, and as you had just settled yourself you heard someone approach. You looked back over your shoulder and saw it was Sihtric. You rolled your eyes and felt yourself blush, because you knew exactly why Uhtred had sent him. He had told you about Sihtric many times already, and Uhtred kept telling you that you'd make for a good wife and that you should get to know Sihtric, but you always ignored it. 

You thought Sihtric was very handsome but you were also intimidated by him, because you simply didn't know him very well and he was always quiet. You knew all the stories about Sihtric, for Uhtred had told those many times to you when he had drunk too much ale. So you knew that Sihtric was one of Uhtred's most loyal men, that he was a very skilled warrior, always eager to battle, and you knew he was a Dane. His appearance was very muscular and confident, and in the past years you occasionally saw him around Bebbanburg, usually as he was taking care of his horse. He always had a serious and thoughtful look on his face. His hair was dark, at shoulder length, and it was always unbraided when you saw him. There hadn't been a battle he had fought in for years, yet you never saw him in anything other than his leather armour, and it looked like today was no different.

You felt nervous as he came closer. You didn't know if Sihtric was aware of Uhtred's intentions, but if he was, he clearly wasn't interested as he had never really spoken to you before.

You secretly regretted asking to be trained. You had a feeling that Sihtric would make you go through hell today as he walked up to you with his jaw clenched and that serious look on his face.

'Are you (Y/N)?', he asked once he was close enough.

'Yes, lord.'

'I'm Sihtric,' he said and gave you a quick nod.

You saw he had brought wooden sticks with him, instead of actual swords, and you already didn't look forward to getting hit with those. Without saying one more word to you he tied his leather arm bracers, and you awkwardly watched him.

'Lord, am I underdressed?' you eventually asked, as you didn't have any form of armour or anything else that could somewhat protect you from getting hurt.

Sihtric looked up at you and studied your plain clothes as he adjusted his bracers.

'No,' he said.

He gave you one of the wooden sticks and gestured to you to stand opposite of him, two paces away, and so you did. You looked at him and tried not to show how nervous he made you.

For a moment you just stood there, expecting him to explain what he would be teaching you today, but he remained silent and just looked at you with a stern face.

'Fight me,' Sihtric suddenly said, without any change of emotion.

'What?'

'Fight me.'

'But… Lord, you aren't holding a stick, or anything else for that matter.'

'Fight me.'

You chuckled nervously and shook your head, 'Lord, it is not fair. You have no weapon.'

Sihtric licked his lips and looked up to the sky for a moment, then back to you, and you saw how he clenched his jaw tightly.

'Fight me.'

You just looked at him, clearly confused, not knowing if he really wanted you to fight him or if he was just making a fool out of you. You took a step closer, expecting him to move, but nothing happened. He kept his eyes locked on you and stood still, confident with his hands behind his back as the wind blew softly through his loose hair.

You decided to do what he had asked. You raised your arm, stick in hand, and you lunged at him. And you don't know what exactly happened, but a split second later you opened your eyes and you suddenly looked up at the sky, gasping for air as your back was on the ground. You vaguely saw Sihtric above you, leaning over you as he held out his hand. You hesitantly took his hand and he pulled you back up on your feet.

'Are you okay?' he asked as he stepped back.

'Lord,' you wheezed and gave a quick nod. You instinctively rubbed your hand over your shoulder, feeling a sharp pain, and for the first time you saw a smile appear on his lips.

'I didn't think you were going to do it,' he chuckled and looked slightly impressed.

You groaned as you straightened your back and felt another sharp pain shoot through your neck.

'What even happened?'

'You tried to fight me, I took you down,' he shrugged arrogantly.

'Why- how-,' you stammered, and took a second to compose yourself. 'How is this going to help me defend myself?' you asked, and as you were slightly annoyed, you decided to drop the formalities.

Sihtric looked at you, amused, and took the same stance as before you had tried to hit him.

'Fight me.'

'What?'

'Fight me.'

You stared at him for a moment and shook your head.

'No,' you said and crossed your arms.

Sihtric didn't say anything, he just looked at you with a very slight smile as he waited patiently.

After a moment you let out an annoyed sigh and went to pick up the wooden stick that had somehow ended up several paces away from you.

'No,' Sihtric suddenly said. 

You looked at him, confused, and you saw he was clearly amused at this. At least he was having a good time, you thought to yourself.

You threw your hands up, gesturing that you did not understand what he wanted.

'Fight me,' he said again, and gave you a sly smile, 'no weapon.'

'A fair fight?'

Sihtric was quiet and you swear you saw the tiniest hint of a smirk.

'A fair fight,' he eventually said.

You gathered your courage and tried to forget about the pain in your shoulder and neck. Then you quickly stepped towards him and once again, before you knew it, you were down on the ground, with no air left in your lungs. Without saying a word, Sihtric helped you up again, much to your annoyance.

Sihtric took his stance again and gave you a slight nod. Knowing he meant you had to fight him, so you did the same as before and brought your fist up. And again in the blink of an eye, you were flat on the ground gasping for air, and you decided you had enough of this game.

As you laid there and tried to catch your breath, Sihtric suddenly got down on top of you. You panicked and tried to push him off, but he was too strong, too heavy and he held you down with ease. You screamed and you tried to kick your legs up, without any luck. He used one hand to pin you down by your shoulder, and as you tried to punch him, he quickly grabbed your arm with his other hand. You desperately tried to get out of his grip when you suddenly saw the knife attached to his belt, and you quickly reached for it with your free hand.

You managed to grab the knife and you swung it towards his face, which caught him by surprise and you felt the knife collide with his cheek. Sihtric groaned and loosened his grip on you, after which you managed to kick him off you and he knelt down beside you. As he had one hand on his freshly cut cheek, you gave him a firm kick in his ribs, which caused him to lose balance, and he fell on his back with another groan.

You quickly got on top of him and made another attempt to stab him with his own knife. But he was aware, quicker and stronger. He blocked your hand and he pushed you off him, a little harder than he had meant to, and you stumbled backwards.

He saw you were too close to the edge, where the land went steep down towards the river, and he quickly got up on his feet and reached out for you as you stumbled further back. You yelped as you felt yourself slip down. Sihtric managed to grab your hand, but he also lost his balance, slipped, and tumbled down with you through the bushes and into the cold river.

You hit the water hard as Sihtric nearly landed on top of you, causing you to go down under even further. You gasped for air once you got back up to the surface and you tried to stand, but you'd fallen into the deeper side of the river and you couldn't feel any ground beneath your feet. The stream was strong enough to carry you further in the water, and Sihtric saw you struggle as the water dragged you away from him. He quickly reached out and grabbed your arm.

'No!' you screamed as Sihtric pulled you towards him, trying to fight his grip, but you ended up swallowing water and started coughing.

'I'm not going to hurt you, lady,' Sihtric panted, 'I'm trying to get you out of here.'

Sihtric was taller than you and he managed to balance himself onto the slippery riverbed, as the water reached up to his chest.

The side you fell from was too steep to climb back up to and it was covered with small bushes, so you both had to get across the river, where the land was low. From that side you could reach the bridge that was not far from where you had slipped, and only through that bridge you could get back home.

Sihtric had one arm wrapped around your waist as he struggled to walk through the water without losing his balance. His armour was heavy and it was pulling him down. He couldn't get a good grip on you, which slowed him down even more, as he tried to keep you from going under again.

'Get on my back,' Sihtric said, breathing heavy, as you were nearly halfway through the river. You didn't argue, as you felt really cold and were in pain. You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, and he supported you with his strong arms under your knees.

It was much easier for him now to make his way across the river, until he slipped and you both went heads under in the water again. Sihtric quickly managed to get back on his feet again as you were still clinging onto his back, desperately not wanting to be dragged down the stream.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm not sure,' you admitted and you coughed again, still feeling there was water left in your throat.

'Just hold on, okay? Don't let go, even if I slip.'

You held tightly onto him and it gave you time to discover the many scratches you had on your arms, caused by the bushes which you fell through.

After several long minutes, Sihtric had finally made his way across the river and you got off his back as soon as you saw you could safely stand in the water. But Sihtric held your hand firmly in his until you were out of the water, making sure you wouldn't get dragged down the stream again if you were to slip.

Once you stepped out of the river, you both fell down to your hands and knees, panting heavily. Sihtric looked up at you as you started to cough again. He crawled over to you and took out a flask, which was attached to his belt, and he kneeled down next to you.

'Drink,' he said as he panted, bringing the flask to your lips as he gently tilted your head back, giving support with his hand on the back of your head. You sipped the fresh water and felt the burning sensation in your throat wash away. After you had enough, he also took a sip from his flask before closing it and attaching it back to his belt.

He got up and offered you his hand, which you accepted, and he pulled you up to your feet. You started to shiver after the adrenaline had left your body. You were cold and hurting, which Sihtric saw, and he wished he could help you, but as he was also cold and soaked, he had nothing to give you that would keep you warm.

'Luckily you underdressed,' he said in between breaths, pointing at his heavy armour.

'You said I wasn't.'

'You weren't underdressed for me,' he chuckled, 'but you were for those bushes.' He pointed at your scratched arms, and after a few seconds you also couldn't help but chuckle. But your chuckle quickly made way for tears in your eyes when Sihtric turned to look at the river. 

This afternoon had been a whirlwind of emotions. Sihtric really scared you when he suddenly got down on top of you, and then you remembered you had hurt him with his knife.

His knife, you suddenly thought, where was it? And you tried to remember where it went before you fell down. You knew you were the last to hold it, but you couldn't remember if you still had it when you hit the water.

Suddenly you heard Sihtric groan and he let out a defeated sigh as he placed his hands onto his hips. You followed his gaze across the river and right there, where you had slipped down, you saw the knife had been caught in the bushes, making it impossible to get it back without falling into the river again.

Sihtric placed his hands on his knees and he groaned again. He stood in silence for a few seconds and then walked back to you.

'Let's go,' he said, as he nudged your elbow.

The walk back to Bebbanburg was long and horrible. You both felt cold and were shivering. You had, sort of, accidentally lost his knife, the cut you gave him was bleeding again and of course it started to rain. You both didn't speak to each other and just walked, and as you finally reached the fort it was almost deserted, for it was absolutely pouring by now.

You slowly walked further away from him, meaning to go home, but then Sihtric called your name, to which you stopped and turned to look at him.

'Where are you going?'

'Home?'

Sihtric looked at you as he wiped his wet hair out of his face.

'Do you have a fireplace?' he asked.

'Yes.'

'Can you use it?' he asked, squinting his eyes at you.

You looked at him with a puzzled face. You could not use your fireplace right now, you remembered. But you had only told Uhtred about that. A bird had made a nest inside the chimney, which you couldn't reach yourself, so you had to get someone to do it. But you hadn't gotten around to having it fixed yet, and you didn't understand how or why Sihtric was aware of this problem.

Sihtric waited patiently for your answer as he shivered.

'No,' you eventually mumbled.

Sihtric chuckled and shook his head. 'Then come with me,' he said, 'I need you anyway, to fix me up,' he said and he pointed to the cut you had made above his cheek.

You felt bad and agreed to follow him, and you also desperately wanted to feel warm again.

He lived on the opposite side of Bebbanburg you found out, and as expected, his home was at least three times the size of yours. But then he was a Lord, and you believed he had earned to live wealthy after all the stories you heard about him. You stood there shivering, admiring his place as you waited for him to change into dry clothes in his bedroom. 

He quickly came back to you, wearing comfortable clothes and he gave you one of his shirts to wear. He apologised that he had no dry pants for you, for they would all be too big, so he gave you his cloak to cover your legs with if you wanted to. You turned away from him and changed clothes as he made a fire at his, bird nest free, fireplace. You threw the cloak around your shoulders and as it was made to fit Sihtric, the cloak dragged over the floor behind you as you walked to the fireplace. You heard him chuckle at the sight of you as you sat down on the furs, completely wrapped into his cloak. 

Sihtric soon joined you with a clean rag in his hands and a bowl with salt, which he both handed to you. And without saying a word you cleaned the wound and you carefully sprinkled it with salt to stop the bleeding, to which he slightly flinched, and he thanked you when you were done.

'Do you have any lavender?' you asked.

'I think so.'

'Could you bring me some water, another clean rag and lavender?'

He nodded and soon he brought you what you had asked for, and he sat down next to you as he curiously watched you stir the lavender into the water, and then soaked the clean rag in it.

'Here,' you said and you gestured to him to get closer.

'What is it for?'

'It soothes the pain,' you told Sihtric as you gently wiped the soaked piece of cloth onto his cheek. 

'Where were you all this time when I was on the battlefield?' Sihtric asked and he smiled sweetly at you.

You felt yourself blush and quickly looked away as you wiped the rag over your scratched arms. Then you moved all the items up to a table next to you and you looked at his cut again, making sure the bleeding had stopped. The wound on his cheek wasn't big, it was a smooth and clean cut actually, which you were a little proud of, but it was a rather deep cut and you felt bad knowing that it would become a scar.

'I'm really sorry about that,' you said and pointed to his cheek, 'but you scared me. I really thought you were going to hurt me.'

He looked down and shook his head. 

'No, I'm sorry,' he said softly, 'I needed to know what you were capable of before I could decide how I would train you. I'm used to training men, and I shouldn't have used that same approach on you.'

You felt yourself blush again as you admired his beautiful face, and you saw that he was actually not as intimidating as you always thought he was. 

He suddenly shivered as a few drops of water trickled down from his wet hair onto his back. You saw he was cold and without thinking you unwrapped his cloak from your body and you put it around his shoulders.

'No,' he said gently, smiling as he stopped you. Sihtric pulled you close to him, so he could wrap you both into his cloak, and without hesitation he wrapped his arm around you, to which you instantly felt warm.

'I'm sorry I scared you. And I'm sorry you fell into the river.'

You said nothing for a moment but then started to chuckle and Sihtric looked at you.

'You could've killed me when you fell down after me,' you laughed, and now Sihtric also broke into a chuckle.

'Luckily I saved you instead,' he smiled and gave you a teasing push.

'You did,' you smiled at him, 'you did save me.'

Then you both laughed at the clumsy adventure and quietly stared into the fire for a moment. 

'Sihtric, how did you know I couldn't use my fireplace?'

'Uhtred told me,' he said without looking at you, and a smile appeared on his face.

'Uhtred told you? Why? There is nothing about that problem that could possibly be relevant to you.'

'Uhtred tells me alot about you, actually. Only good things, I swear.

'But why?'

Sihtric shrugged at your question and looked at you. 

'I don't know. He just started telling me about you one day, and I never stopped him,' Sihtric smiled as he looked deep into your eyes, and suddenly you felt and energy shift between the two of you.

'Uhtred has told me a lot about you too.'

'Has he now? Only good things I hope.'

'Yeah, mainly good things,' you chuckled.

'At least good enough for you to be here now, I guess,' he smiled, and you felt his thumb lightly caressing your shoulder.

'I'm sorry about your knife,' you said, changing the topic as you felt yourself blush again.

He let out a loud chuckle, 'Yeah, I don't know if I can forgive you for that.'

'I'm sorry, if there is any way I can make it up to you...'

'Well, you could go to the river and bring it ba-'

'If there is any other way,' you cut him off, and Sihtric laughed.

'There might be another way,' he said cheekily after a pause.

'And what is that?'

Sihtric didn't say anything, instead he leaned in and held his face inches away from yours and you saw a smirk appear.

'Sihtric?' you smiled shyly.

'How do you think you can make it up to me?'

'I don't know,' you said flustered.

'You don't know?'

Sihtric gently rested his forehead against yours, 'do you know now?' he asked in a low, soft voice.

'Actually, lord,' you smiled, 'I think you have to make it up to me.'

'Oh, do I?'

Sihtric pulled away from you and he gave you a curious and flirty look as he sat back.

'Yes,' you said, 'If you hadn't thrown me onto the ground several times, from which I am still hurting by the way, and if you had warned me that you were going to attack me, then none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have taken your knife, I wouldn't have stabbed you and we wouldn't have fallen into the river. Therefore you would still have your knife. So, honestly, this is all your own doing, lord.' 

Sihtric had looked at you with teasing eyes the whole time you spoke, and when you were done, he leaned in and bit his lower lip as he gave you another smirk.

'I guess you are right,' he said quietly and smacked his lips, 'I should make it up to you,' he looked at your lips and back into your eyes, 'so show me where you are hurting.'

You pointed to your neck, 'Here. And my shoulders too actually.'

'Okay, then I will make it up to you,' Sihtric said, with a serious but cheeky face and he gently pulled the collar of your shirt slightly down, exposing your shoulder. He leaned in to kiss your shoulder softly, and after you gave him a satisfying sigh, he slowly kissed his way up to your neck, taking his time.

'Are you hurt here?' he whispered, after he gave you one more soft kiss on your neck.

'Mhm,' you murmured with a smile, and you heard Sihtric chuckle lightly in your ear.

Then he softly kissed your jaw, 'And here too?' he asked, 'or here?' before he he kissed your temple.

'Yes,' you lied, which he knew and he looked down at you with a smile.

'You know,' he said softly, his smooth and deep voice making you dizzy, 'I think you should stay with me the rest of the day, and maybe even the night.'

'Oh really?'

'Yes.'

'And why do you think so, lord?'

'Because you, my lady,' he whispered, 'seem to be hurting in more places than you thought,' he smirked and softly kissed your cheek, 'and it will take a while before I can be sure that I've made it all up to you.' He lifted your chin and gently kissed your lips. And when he kissed you again after a short pause, he felt your hands run through his soft, damp hair and you felt his hands slide on to your shoulders, before he gently pushed you down and got on top of you. And this time you weren't going to fight him.

The next morning you woke up alone and, after you opened your eyes fully, you realised you were not in your own bed. But when you saw Sihtric's cloak on the floor next to the bed, you remembered that you had never left his arms after he had pulled you close to him in front of the fireplace. And that left you wondering where he was.

'Sihtric?' you called out.

As you waited for an answer you saw his armour was folded onto a chair. And as you never got a reply, you got up out of bed and threw the cloak around your shoulders.

As you walked into his living room you suddenly heard the front door open. You looked over your shoulder and saw Sihtric walk in. His hair was braided today, but looked darker than usual, his face and hands had fresh scratches, and his black tunic and trousers were both completely soaked.

'Sihtric? What happened to y-,' 

Sihtric held up his knife. The knife you had taken from him yesterday and lost during your fall into the river.

'Oh, no, Sihtric,' you said and burst out in laughter.

'Not a word,' Sihtric said, but couldn't hold back a chuckle himself.

He walked into the bedroom and you followed. You watched him pick up his leather armour and saw how he attached the knife back to the belt again. He gave you a playful sour look as you chuckled again, thinking about how he must have struggled to get his knife back. You smiled and shook your head upon the sight of his completely drenched look and you quickly fetched him some dry clothes.

'Lord,' you giggled, as you held the dry clothes up to him.

Sihtric snatched the clothes out of your hands and threw them over his shoulder. He licked his lips and smiled, and before you knew it, Sihtric had you picked up in his strong arms and you squealed upon feeling your clothes getting soaked by his.

You heard him laugh as he put you back on your feet, and he let himself fall backwards into his bed, after which he quickly pulled you on top of him. He kissed you rough and eagerly and he smiled against your lips as he felt you trying to get away from his cold and wet clothes.

'No,' he chuckled as he held you down, 'you have to make it up to me now.' And you surrendered to him as he kissed you again, deeply and passionately.

And you couldn't help but think that Uhtred had been right all this time, for you would indeed be a good wife to Sihtric.

And Sihtric was thinking the same thing, as he watched you take off his clothes and how you then buried the two of you under his warm cloak.

And he swore to himself, on Thor's hammer, that he would do anything to make you his wife.

[justiceforfoxface]

I Should’ve Drowned: Finnick Odair x Gender-Neutral Reader

*so: this is very canon-divergent, reader is gender-neutral and mentions having a district partner who I also tried to keep gender-neutral*

possible tw for drowning, if you didn’t read the title

925 words

I know I have no chance in the Quarter Quell. I won my Games purely by chance, by being quiet and hiding until the last cannon went off. In the Quell, I’ve resigned myself to death, especially seeing as I lacked several basic life skills. It takes me several minutes to tie a simple knot, and I can’t even swim.

But my name was pulled from District Nine’s (very small) pool of tributes, and I was taken back to the Capitol.

Now, I’m standing here, as the clock ticks down to zero, surrounded by tributes much stronger and faster and taller than me. I must look like a stick figure to them.

Then, the clock starts, and the Games begin.

My first instinct is to run, because that’s how I survived last time. So I turn and sprint away from the madness at the cornucopia. Everything is water, I notice as I run. One wrong move and I trip, fall, and most likely die. 

Lucky me.

I hear screams, bloodthirsty screams and screams of pain, and then I hear cannons. Two already. Three. Four.

How are these victors dying so fast?

A spark of guilt emerges in me when I remember my district partner, Arley. I just ditched them for my own survival. But while they’re not very fast, they’re pretty big, and strong. They’ll make it at least through the night, and then I’ll try and find them in the morning.

Then, a huge weight comes crashing down on me, and I fall to the ground, face-first. There’s another tribute on top of me, holding a bloodied knife, ready to split my skull in half. I try to wiggle out from under them, but if they caught up to me, they must be pretty fast. No matter what I do, I’m going to be dead in minutes. Might as well take my attacker with me.

So I push myself sideways, and roll into the water, my attacker losing their grip on me and falling in as well. In a matter of seconds, their head rises above the water and they climb out easily.

That was a stupid idea.

I try to stay afloat, but all I’m doing is flapping my arms desperately, and if I were to make it out of the water, I’d just get stabbed. So I stop trying. 

The cold water fills my lungs almost instantly, weighing me down and pulling me further and further into it. I suddenly feel bad for anyone who’s ever drowned, or come close to it, because this is terrifying. 

I have to remind myself that this is what I want. I want to die, and I want to drown. So I close my eyes, and try to slow my breathing, and let the water take me.

…….

Everything’s blurry when I sit up, and the sky is dark and cloudy. It’s nighttime. I should probably go find someplace to hide-

How did I survive?

I drowned. I made sure of that. And here I am, my clothes damp and sticky against my skin, my hair matted to the sides of my face and almost covering my eyes. I sit up, and pain prickles against my back. I was leaning against a tree.

I try to open my mouth, but all that comes out is a coughing fit and some water. I look around, and then I see it. The flickering of a fire coming from not too far away. And not a big fire. More like a fire you’d cook food over. 

I stand up slowly, my legs and arms shaking. On my way over to the fire, I lean against whichever tree is nearest, shifting most of my weight to the side I’m using to lean.

In just under a minute, I reach the fire. 

No one’s there.

The trees rustle, and a young man with tan skin, blonde hair, and emerald-green eyes comes out from between them, holding a dead rat I assume he means to cook.

“You’re awake,” he simply says, and then sits down by the fire and places the rat over it. 

I know who this is. Finnick Odair. Won his Games at fourteen. Did he save me? 

“I should’ve drowned,” I manage to say, still leaning against a tree. 

“Well, you didn’t,” he says, flashing a quick smile at me. “You’re welcome.”

“Why did you save me?” I ask, sinking down to the ground and crossing my legs to sit by the fire. I figure he’s not going to kill me if he saved me from drowning, or, not yet anyways.

“You’ve won the Games,” Finnick says.

“Everyone here has,” I say, still confused. “I’m not any different.”

“You won your Games by being quiet,” he clarifies. “By hiding. And I figure that would make you a useful ally.”

I stare at him. “You want…me…as an ally?”

Finnick Odair, the Finnick Odair, wants me as an ally. The person who got a three at the training center, the person who can’t swim and won their Games by luck, is supposed to be a good ally.

“Yeah,” he says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world to understand. “Also, I just saved your life, so I think you owe me at least a partnership.”

“Okay,” I say. I’m not going to argue. If I’m allied with Finnick Odair, my chances of survival will shoot up.

He extends his hand. “Partners?”

My hand’s still slightly sticky from almost drowning, but I reach out and shake his hand anyways. “Partners.”

[elfinbloodbag]

Just a Token

Pairing: Astarion x Áradíhena (f!Tav)

Summary: Light fluff, light longing, just a glimpse into a moment of their journey.

Word Count: 2,309

Warnings: I think this should be very safe, but mentions of blood, mentions of battle consistent with BG3.

A/N: I totally understand there is very little desire to read about original characters, this is mainly just my obligatory once every 3 years one-shot fic with whoever is my current OC. But, if you do read it thank you, and any (gentle) constructive feedback is really welcome as I am hoping to do something with an actual plot at some point!

Gravel crunches rhythmically under Áradíhena’s feet. Under all eight pairs of the rag-tag group’s feet. Leather creaks, metal clinks, and the gravel keeps on crunching. It was pleasant at first; a familiar pentameter for the elf to set her stride by. But after a few days of walking with blood and sweat and grime from their battle with Ketheric still rubbing sores under her clothes, it has become more like the sound of a mill, grinding her ability to think into the very finest of flours.  

As a group they had agreed the best course was to keep moving, to keep pushing forward to Baldur’s Gate. Individually, she thinks they really all would rather take a moment to rest. To really rest. To bathe and feel at least partly fresh and new again. Certainly Lae’zel would never say so, but perhaps if someone else were to speak up, and she could be the last to acquiesce... The terracotta haze across the sky starts dull and become grey around the edges of Áradíhena’s vision as the sun begins its descent into evening.  

After the lifetime spent in the Shadowfell every moment of sunlight, of life and of warmth, feels like a gift, and despite her weariness she can feel warmth seeping back into her bones. From the corner of her eye, she can see that Astarion has his face turned to the sun with his own eyes half closed - the hint of a smile playing about his lips. For a rare moment nothing about his behaviour is performative. He is simply basking in the light that he spent so long without. The warmth of that sight fills her as well. Truly it was a gift. 

Her toe catches on a rock and she stumbles slightly, kicking up more pebbles as she half-jogs forward, trying to use the momentum to catch herself. Lae’zel scoffs, Karlach guffaws, and Astarion chuckles through his words. 

“Careful there My Sweet, no need to fall for me twice.” The vampire’s hand catches her elbow, steadying her more effectively than she was able to do herself. It’s a tender gesture that she is still getting used to. His words carry their usual flirtation and teasing, his eyes are heavy-lidded - but his slender fingertips cupped around her arm, and the quickness with which he stepped forward to catch her can’t be entirely disguised.   

Áradíhena takes a moment to straighten herself up, brushing her hand over his with a light squeeze of thanks and trying to catch his eye. But he is in another world, watching that same hand he lowers his side as if it were the setting sun he had basked in moments before. 

“Time to get some rest I think, before our gracious leader here does herself a mischief.” Gale pipes up after a moment, and Ára hardly contains her sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you said it first!” She smiles warmly at him, “I’ve been thinking that for the past, oh, three days, give or take.” 

*** 

The group sits peacefully around the blazing fire, and Áradíhena shuffles her feet, bumping her knee against Astarion’s. On the other side of the fire Karlach elbows Wyll, perhaps a little too hard, in the ribs, saying something about how light on his feet he was as he practically danced to the fire after raising his tent. Halsin whittles a piece of birch he has been carrying for days, and Lae’zel bickers with Shadowheart about preferred weaponry, each firmly planting on opposite sides despite both being skilled with the other’s choice. Gale fusses over the fire, stirring the rich stew and occasionally flitting to his pack to add volcanic salt, or a small amount of dried plum, or some other herb he assures will transform the flavour. She has no doubt it will be delicious, and her stomach grumbles along with the stew. The smell of woodsmoke seeps into her still-damp hair - almost auburn in the orange light of the fire – but it’s better than the acrid smell of sweat that was there a few hours ago. 

She folds forward, laying her chin on her knees and dropping her hands to the floor, causing a series of clicks and snaps along her back. Cold fingertips graze the sliver of exposed skin on her spine, brushing lightly over where the tension has just released. A shiver runs through her and immediately the contact is gone. She begins to reach for Astarion, going to squeeze his knee, to find a way to tell him without words that the shiver was nothing to do with the cold, but drops her hands back to the ground. Instead of saying anything, she rakes her fingers through the fire-warmed earth, searching for something to distract her from the feeling. From the way the firelight seems to put life back into Astarion’s veins where they cord under the rolled sleeve of his shirt.

A small pebble catches on her nail and she rolls it between her fingers for a moment, feeling the sharp edges, the small crags in its shape, and lifts it into the light. It glows a soft, rosy-pink, casting a dull rainbow in a million directions as the light refracts on its unpolished surface. As she sits back up, she holds onto the little piece of beauty from the earth, digging it into her calloused palm and smiling through the instinctive wince. She is still soft compared to the rock. 

*** 

Each member of the party has lips stained red, and Ára adds another layer of colour as she takes a long swig of wine before passing the bottle left to Halsin. With a bust of laughter she almost spits it all back out when Karlach dips Wyll so low to the floor in their dance that his horns graze the floor and he squirms, unused to the sensation. She lifts him back to standing and then falls forward in a fit of laughter herself, slapping her knees so hard that Áradíhena is sure own would buckle with the force. There is an underlying understanding that they may not have long to enjoy these moments of levity and relative freedom, so they share in every piece of joy to be had. 

Áradíhena nudges Astarion with her elbow lightly, and with a rumbling ‘hmm?’ he tilts his head towards her, still watching the dancers with an almost fond expression. His white curls tickle the tip of Ára’s ear.  

“No Astarion, you have to look!” She unfurls her hand in her lap, rolling the rose quartz around her palm so it can catch the light for him to see.  

“What am I looking at?” 

“I found this in the dust. It feels like so long since we’ve had anything beautiful.” She lifts it higher, willing him to see what she sees, to share in this piece of joy with her. 

He leans in a little, and as he catches sight of it a sneer twists his lips, although he very quickly wipes it away and meets her bright gaze through lowered lashes. “Oh look,” he straightens back up and his breath flutters against the hot skin in the crook of her neck as he drops his voice to a whisper, “it matches you perfectly, Pet.” 

Heat spreads across her face and a vibration somewhere between a laugh and a purr runs through Astarion, adding fuel to her flush. One steadying breath later she takes his hand, unfurls his fingers, and drops the small stone into his palm. “Then I suppose it must be yours.” 

His head jerks back and he stares down at the stone, eyebrow cocked and lip curled, “Ára, you found this on the ground!” His voice is comically aghast, “Who knows where it’s been, what in the hells makes you think I want it? It’s not even precious!” 

Fine then. He would not be sharing in this with her. Trying to combat the overwhelming feeling of smallness that overcomes her, Áradíhena rolls her eyes and stands to walk away before she can watch him toss it to the ground as she is sure he will. Companionable and compassionate as ever, Halsin grumbles along and follows her to the stream where they wash up their wooden bowls in a comfortable if slightly solomn silence. 

*** 

The first light of the sun seeps languidly through the window, past the curtain, and casts a syrupy glow over Ára’s face. She’s in a bed. A REAL bed for the first time in gods knows how long, and yet the new day has found a way to rouse her from this small comfort rather earlier than necessary. She stretches out, kicking the sheet off her legs and touching her toes to the wooden bed posts. It was a blessing to find Elfsong Tavern when they arrived yesterday, and entirely worth the minor scuffle over who had first access to the bath. 

All around the room are sounds of sleep. The light snuffling from Scratch and the Owlbear cub could almost lull her back into her trance, if it weren’t for Gale’s muttering and what she assumes to be Halsin’s snores. She sits up, eyes drawn immediately to the opposite side of the room where Astarion normally rests. But instead of seeing the pale elf laying motionless, death-like, on his back when she glances around there are neatly laid sheets free of any sign of rest, and his shirt sits perfectly folded atop his pillow.  

For all his complaints about camping, Astarion hasn’t made best use of their temporary homestead. But, Áradíhena thinks suddenly feeling a weight on her chest, he has the hardest time with rest, with stillness and certainly with finding peace. She hopes that soon they will reclaim that for him. For now, his fearful habits remain. They had spoken alone very little since the quartz incident two days ago, and when they had his growing tension about returning to the city had been evident.  

Although not long ago Astarion had confessed the depth and reality of his feelings to her, she felt more distant than ever. On the verge of losing him to the Rite of Ascension, to an attempt to kill Cazador, to the Elder Brain, or to any one of the myriad of barriers in their path.  

She quickly shrugs on her own loose shirt and begins to stoke the fire, busying herself to distract from the fear, and then from the guilt at her selfishness. Gale and Shadowheart would be glad of coffee when they wake, and she can lay still no longer. 

*** 

“I’m really not sure where to go from here, it feels as though there are one hundred and one things we need to do in the city, all equally important. I’m lost.” Áradíhena hands Gale the steaming coffee, perhaps unceremoniously. She had hardly given him time to dress before seeking counsel, or comfort, or something like either. 

“You know we will all – correction, most of us will – follow your lead here. You haven’t taken us astray this far Áradíhena, I trust you’ll make the right choice on what lead to follow first.” 

“You’re not helping Gale! Everyone wants something different, everyone will be frustrated no matter what I chose–“ 

“You know that I wo-“ he interrupts, trying to reassure her. 

“And don’t think I’m not including you in this!” 

“Then you’ll need to put up with some frustrations. You can’t make everyone happy at all times you know…” Gale smiles a little sadly at her, but his tone is soft.  

Áradíhena heaves her shoulders and rolls her head back with a dramatic sigh, but before she can bounce back with a laugh, Gale claps his hand onto her shoulder, and she knows he isn’t fooled.  

There’s a slight nudge at her wrist, bringing her back to the present. Scratch must have noticed the two of them as the first to be up and about and doubtless wanted to be free of the coup. Odd that she didn’t hear him padding over to them, but she has so much on her mind... “Just a minute, Scratch.” She feels another tug and wafts her hand slightly to temporarily shoo him away. 

She looks back to Gale, saying brightly “How about a morning wa-” but stops short as she sees him smirking, brows raised a little in incredulity. “What?” 

Gale just chuckles and nods towards her hand. 

There, pinned to her cuff with the most delicate golden clasp, is a gleaming red teardrop. A highly polished, beautifully cut ruby in the richest shade of blood.  

“I... how..?” She casts her eyes about the room, slightly slack jawed and looking, she is quite sure, like a fool. In the opposite corner Astarion lounges back on his bed, a carefully curated air of nonchalance all about him as he runs one long finger delicately down the pages of his book and with the slightest flick turns the page.  

The corner of his lip curls into the hint of a smile as he feels her eyes scanning him with less subtlety than she should, and the glint in his eye perfectly matches the ruby. “Now that we’re back in the civilisation, Darling, I thought you really ought to know what a stone of value looks like.” 

“It’s beautiful Astarion, thank you.” She beams and her chest swells, even as she worries about him sneaking out to steal from merchants without her to act as a distraction. 

“Pffft, it’s nothing, just a token. Don’t mention it.” He is blasé, looking back to his book with an air of finality.  He raises his hand to wave her off and brush away the sentiment, and she barely catches the flash of pink inside his sleeve, where he has carefully sewn her rose quartz into the lining.