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the-travelling-witch · 1 year

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𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘

summary: what do they do and how do they cope after you suddenly go where they can’t follow?

pairings: scaramouche/ wanderer :: venti :: kaveh :: zhongli x gn! reader

warnings: angst, reader dies/ has died, arson [scara], alcohol consumption [venti, kaveh]

genshin impact masterlist || a million miles away- belle

the loneliest [pt. 2 - xiao, kazuha, aether, childe]

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄

“Come back to me, and stay by my side I feel my heart shake; come, ease this ache..."

Dull amethyst eyes watched in apathy as the golden flames swallowed the edge of the picture, slowly singeing away your smile, then the arm you had thrown around his shoulders and lastly his hand holding you close by the waist, until only small flakes of grey ashes remained and fluttered to your lover’s feet.

The silence around him was too loud, pressing on his ears and threatening to crush his skull. Letting his gaze sweep through the space you’d once lived in together made his chest constrict like vines wrapping tighter around his ribcage the more details he took in. Every chair, every tea cup, every stray piece of paper brought back memories of you, together with the bitterness of knowing he’d never get to hold you in his arms again.

It was then that he realised, getting rid of all your possessions, every picture you’d taken and every gift you’d given him wouldn’t be enough. Your presence had long since invaded every corner, nook and cranny of this house, the space irreversibly intertwined with you. And now that your physical form had faded, your soul had come back to haunt his every waking moment and to even follow him into the depths of his dreams.

Perhaps this was his divine punishment, the atonement for all the sins he had committed clinging to his newly taken form. Or perhaps it wasn’t you at all, only his mind mocking him for not living any and every moment with you to the fullest, not giving you all of him when he had the chance to.

Whatever it was, he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d have to cut all ties with this place in order to rid himself of the shackles he found himself bound by. Even if it meant reducing the centre of your shared happiness to cinders.

As he laid the fire, meticulously making sure no room of the house was spared, he wondered. How would a real human feel in a moment like this? Would they also feel nothing? Or was it just him, an artificial puppet, who’d only feel numbness at the death of his loved one? Were any of his feelings real in the first place? You’d have deserved someone who actually loved you and cherished your memories, not someone who destroyed the very place you’d called a home.

The flames singed the ends of his clothes the same colour as your photo as he stepped out into the evening breeze, which now carried smoke and the smell of burning wood with it. Even as he watched the roof cave in and the support of the house break away, he felt no sadness, yet the vines seemed to creep only deeper between his ribs, snaring around the place where a heart should beat.

Your lover looked around the area where your home once stood. And it felt like all air had been knocked out of his lungs.

There, between two trees, grew the flower you had loved so much. And was that your favourite dish he could smell? A flock of birds flew overhead, probably to escape the fire, reminding him of the ones you’d fed over winter, the ones he reprimanded you not to spoil.

To his horror, the more frantically he searched for something which wouldn’t bring back thoughts of you, the more images flooded his brain. The force of his realisation brought him to his knees as he stared at the damage he’d done with his mind clear for the first time in days. There was a pressure building behind his eyes and his throat tightened uncomfortably, constricting airways he didn’t need. Was this what happened when humans cried?

“I’m sorry.” It was barely there and completely broken at the same time. The weakness he’d so despised in others overwhelmed him as embers swirled high in the sky.

He was a fool, a complete and utter fool, to think he could ever get rid of you, of his feelings for you. It had never been the house you were bound to. From the very start, your soul had been intricately intertwined with his, and it would continue to be, until he too faded from this world in the distant future. Hopefully, then, you would be reunited and you could forgive him.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈

"...I'm standing over here, reaching for you A million miles away, come back and stay..."

Venti had no idea how much time had passed since that day. Not that he as an archon was very good at keeping track of time spans as short as days or weeks in the first place. It wasn’t like he avoided thinking about you, no. He did. A lot, actually.

Before his mind’s eye, the shine of your smile and the sparkle in your eyes as your joyful laughter rang through the air was as clear as day. The days spent lazing around in the grass with cider and apple tarts while Venti hummed a lazy tune filled him with more warmth than the sun. Yet, his smile at the memories didn’t quite reach his eyes, just how his brain never reached the point where he’d seen you last. And he never strained himself to remember it either.

All his actions felt heavy, like an invisible weight was holding him down. Venti was sure if he were to use a wind glider, he’d fall out of the sky like a stone. Thinking was akin to walking through mud, every step hardly leaving the ground and every fibre of his body screaming at him to stop and just lie down.

After your funeral was held, most of Mondstadt’s citizens reckonned they’d find the usually playful bard at the tavern even more often from now on. At first, that was true. Venti sat down at his usual table and ordered what he’d always ordered but the other patrons quickly caught on that he wasn’t doing okay at all. Normally the centre of attention and excitedly talking to anyone who’d listen, it was shocking to see the bard stare down on the contents of his glass in silence.

So it came as quite the shock when after a few days, Venti didn’t show up to the Angel’s Share anymore. In fact, he was hardly spotted around the city at all. It was mostly the guards from the morning and night shift who saw him come and go. When he left, there were only two locations where one could find him. Either on the windy peak of Starsnatch Cliff or in the arms of the tree at Windrise. Both would do, as long as he was away from the pitiful glances people would throw him.

On that particular day, Venti was mindlessly strumming his lyre to the sound of the rustling leaves as he overlooked the planes of Mondstadt, not actually taking in any of the sights. His mind was here and there, not lingering on any one thought very long. Before coming here, he’d overheard people in town wonder about the wind which had recently picked up, how it tasted a lot saltier, as if coming from the sea, how unusually cold it was for this time of year and how it bit at the skin more. He supposed that was true.

In the beginning he’d brought a basket of apples when he came out here but they all tasted as if he’d taken a bite out of a handful of flour, so he stopped. All the cider tasted bitter and wine only added to the constant pressure building behind his temple. So Venti eventually gave up on trying to find something he could stomach. It wasn’t important to an archon anyway.

The melody his hands subconsciously called into existence snapped him back into the present. It was a song he had started writing with you as his muse, a song he’d not yet shown you, wanting to wait until it was finished, no matter how much you begged for him to show you already.

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded foreign. As the patron god of Mondstadt’s bards, he’d always prided himself on his smooth and serene voice. But now it was nothing but a hoarse whisper, cracking as he tried to voice the words he’d engrained in his mind. His vocal cords felt raw and burnt after hardly talking to anyone longer than he had to. In the corner of his eyes, the statue depicting his image seemed to mock him; a bard who couldn’t sing, a god who couldn’t even protect a single person.

When he reached the part of the song where he left off faster than he’d like, his hands were trembling and he slumped against the tree bark in exhaustion. Yet, with your memory in mind, he willed himself to continue, to capture your spirit in his art at least, if he couldn’t hold onto you any other way.

Despite his best effort, what started out as a lovestruck ballad quickly turned into a lament, no matter how he filled the lines with affection and joy. He tried and tried, with more vigour than he’d shown in the last weeks altogether, to right the verses, to do your image justice, but it was all in vain. Every version was more sorrowful than the last. When the moon peeked through the twigs, he resigned himself to his fate and cast his gaze to the far heavens above.

“My darling dove, can you hear me?” He whispered into the still night air. Only the distant call of an owl answered him. “I hope this song reaches you all the way up there. I really wanted to play it for you.”

Leaning his head back, Venti was suddenly overcome with a tiredness he hadn’t experienced for a very, very long time. Now was as good a time for a slumber as any, he supposed. Perhaps by the time he opened his eyes again, things would be different and his chest would feel light as air once again.

𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇

"...No matter how far the memories may be When I close my eyes, you're all that I see..."

It was his fault.

The reason he’d never get to throw himself into your arms ever again was him, and him alone.

If he hadn’t answered your question whether he’d like you to get the materials he needed for his newest project from the Akademiya with a 'That’d be a big a help, my rose' he could still call you that nickname now and in the future. If he’d just gone and gotten them himself, you’d never been caught up in that horrible accident, an experiment gone astray, as the mahamatra had explained to him. If he hadn’t been so selfish, you’d still be alive.

Deep down, a reasonable part of him knew he wasn’t to blame. His friends had emphasised that as well, nobody could have expected something so gruesome to happen. Still, Kaveh couldn’t accept it. It didn’t feel right to excuse himself like that. You died because you wanted to help him, he deserved to carry this blame, this pain, this guilt.

Despite Tighnari and Cyno showing up to console him, Kaveh turned them away without much hesitation. Grabbing a glass and a bottle of wine, the architect disappeared into his room, sparing his roommate not so much as a glance. This behaviour didn’t change much over the next few days, except for the fact that wine was swapped with coffee, thanks to Al-Haitham.

Speaking of the Grand Scribe, he’d normally be happy to have some peace and quiet, yet, seeing the normally talkative blond isolate himself for days on end made him genuinely worry for his old friend. Neither of them acknowledged the way plates of food would appear in Kaveh's room or how he would wake up with a blanket draped over him which hadn’t been there when he fell asleep.

There was a single instance in which Kaveh spoke and it was only a single word. When Al-Haitham had been cleaning up around the house, he’d picked up a vase holding sumeru roses that had wilted beyond recognition. Just as he was about to discard the flowers, there was a low, muttered ‘Don’t’ that made him stop in his tracks. It wasn’t so much the word in itself as it was the way Kaveh said it. The roughness in his voice was so foreign from its usual melodic lilt, no emotion swinging in it at all.

Al-Haitham faintly remembered how you had brought the roses over one day when you two had gone on a date and wordlessly put them back on the table.

In general, not many of Kaveh’s -and by extension your- possessions moved at all, collecting dust as they lay just like on the day of your passing. The only thing that changed was the growing pile of scrolls and papers littering the architect’s room. In order to get his mind off everything, Kaveh had buried himself in work. Yet, none of his sketches turned out to his liking and he grew more frustrated and irritable the more crumpled or ripped papers covered the floor. Never before had he broken this many pencils as a consequence of jabbing the coal onto his designs and pressing down harder than necessary.

Until he found himself staring down on a completely blank sheet with no idea whatsoever. All utensils were strewn about the space, discarded and never picked up as dreary and washed-out crimson eyes drooped without the mercy of sleep overcoming him. Every time he tried to rest, your face and voice would startle him awake again and he’d choke on the breath he tried to take.

With his hair unkempt, clothes rumpled and dark circles under his eyes, the “Light of Kshahrewar” was merely a shadow of his former self as he hunched over his messy desk. The first sobs tearing through him broke the dam on all the feelings he’d bottled up inside, burning his throat like acid as they tore free. The previously untouched scroll served as a canvas for all his regrets spilling over in the form of falling tears, drawing a portrait of his tumultuous state of mind.

Still, the sinking weight in his chest prevailed, the guilt a constant reminder of the loneliness he couldn’t shake.

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

"...Come back to me A million miles away, come back and stay”

Zhongli had been setting the table for when you came home from work, two tea cups already waiting to be used as a kettle of water boiled on the stove. Soon the pleasant aroma of tea leaves and the cheery sound of your voice would fill your shared home, Zhongli plating two bowls of bamboo shoot soup as he waited for you to come home.

Right on time, there was a knock on the door and he quickly made his way over, elated to finally be in your presence again. A genuine smile graced his lips as he opened the door, a smile that fell abruptly when he came face to face with two millelith, their faces decidedly neutral. Still, the air felt ominously sombre.

“Mr. Zhongli?” One of them confirmed before bowing his head as continued. “We are sorry to inform you that there has been an armed robbery. The person who is registered to live here with you has unfortunately not survived the violent encounter. Our deepest condolences.”

After handing him the bag you always carried with you, the soldiers departed, leaving the consultant alone with his thoughts. As in trance, he sat down and carefully opened the bag, almost as if a sudden movement could make it crumble in between his fingers.

Considering his incredibly long lifespan, this was hardly the first time Zhongli had lost someone he cared for deeply. That, however, didn’t mean it was any easier. Parting ways with loved ones was something any sentient being couldn’t get used to, especially if it happened so suddenly.

While his mind had already processed the information, it seemed his heart had a hard time keeping up with what was happening, his mind in a strange limbo between reality and thought as he unpacked your belongings. While turning each one over between his gloved fingers, Zhongli tried sorting out his emotions. Even the sweetness of shared moments replaying in his mind couldn’t sugarcoat the bitter sting of grief taking root in his very being.

The shrill screeching from the tea kettle drew his attention away from the items on the table occupying the space where you’d usually link your hands as you traded stories of what happened in your respective days.

For a few seconds that felt like aeons, Zhongli held the tea kettle in his hand before ultimately deciding to brew tea after all. Perhaps it would help him retain a sense of normality. Before he realised, he’d already filled your cup, an action he was so used to it apparently became routine at one point. With a sigh, he did the same on his site before taking a seat again and watching the ripples of water move across his cup.

When he awoke the next day, Zhongli couldn’t tell how long he had sat like that or when he’d gone to sleep, his motions automatic as if pulled by strings. Making breakfast, getting dressed, staring out of the window into the busy harbour… He was aware he was doing all of these things, yet he didn’t feel fully present, merely looking onto the scene.

Being with you had shown him so much of what mortal life had to offer, your perspective refreshingly different from his own, he couldn’t help but smile melancholically at the memory. In light of your brilliance, perhaps the old god had no chance but to fall in love. Enveloped in your affection, Zhongli had finally felt like he found his place among the people of Liyue but once more this connection had been severed.

In the late afternoon, a knock sounded through the humble abode yet again. This time, however, it was not the millelith.

“Director Hu, what an honour,” Zhongli politely bowed. “Is there a matter in which you need my expertise?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” the young woman said, her crimson eyes seemingly looking straight into him. “I heard what happened, so I came to see how you’re doing.”

“Your concern flatters me, Director. Please do come in.” Stepping aside, he opened the door wider to allow Hu Tao entry.

Gliding right into his living room, she took a seat at his table, gaze sweeping through the room. It was then Zhongli noticed how there were still two cups sitting there, one empty and one untouched.

“Ah, please pardon me. I was not expecting guests on this day.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind,” she gave him an understanding smile. Naturally, in their line of work, both of them had seen many people suffering through the loss of a loved one and it was an understatement to say grief showed many different faces. “I won’t be taking much of your time anyway.

“First of all, I’d like to offer my sincerest condolences. An incredible person like them will be deeply missed.” Despite the simplicity, her words were fully genuine. “Take as much time off work as you need, your healing is the most important thing right now. And while I hate to bring business into a personal situation like this, you should think about what kind of ceremony you’ll want to hold. When you have an answer, just tell me and I’ll handle the rest.”

“Thank you, that is very generous of you, Director.”

When the house was empty once again, Zhongli gently picked up both cups and poured out the cold tea inside. With the sinking sun dipping Liyue in liquid gold, its former archon commenced his evening ritual. Turning the cup that was supposed to be yours between his fingers, he chose two new ones and set them up with his usual care for details.

As the tea brewed, Zhongli went to retrieve a journal you had gifted him once but which he hadn’t found any use for yet. Taking his place at the now empty table, he dipped a quill in ink as he contemplated what to write.

In the end, he settled for describing his day, just how he would when you’d sit across from him, listening to his stories attentively. He could vividly picture your expression of awe before him, bringing a fond smile to his face. As more time passed, dried flowers or notes you had left him eventually found their way between the pages as well.

Naturally, your loss cut deeper than Zhongli ever could hope to understand. At times it made him feel empty, like the sun would never smile upon him again. And while mourning was an important part of coming to terms with devastating loss, he had learnt over time that wallowing in sorrow and getting swallowed by pain would not honour the life you had lived.

Instead, his priority lay on treasuring every moment where your paths intersected, to preserve a part of you which would remain untouched by corrosion, so you could continue to shine forever like gold in his memory.

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fangsandfeels · 1 year

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I think about protective Astarion a lot:

I strongly support the idea that he is Tav's protector as much as Tav is his. He is more closed about discussing his concerns with others - even on happily concluding the romance, he maintains his coy behavior and rebuffs all attempts at prying. But as always, there is a lot going on under the layers.

- I believe he stops seeing Tav as his protector/meatshield even a bit prior to the confession. He has always been more comfortable with “I’ll watch your back if you watch mine” arrangement, but he only fully embraces it after either Tav takes his side in his argument with Araj or helps him murder the orthon and learn more about his scars. Before that, he still subconsciously relies on Tav for safety to the point of rationalizing the necessity to do what he doesn’t want to do just because Tav told him to.

- His best and usual protective side is that he is always there to catch Tav when they fall. To drag them to safety, help them get up, and keep them going. He is there to talk and hear them out when something is weighing down on them. He drops all this flamboyant flirtatiousness he wears when discussing his relationship with others the very instant Tav needs him. He is calm, firm, and attentive because Tav needs him. Being strong for someone else is a very new feeling for him, but it also comes naturally. He doesn't like seeing his partner in pain, but finding himself as someone's source of strength and support is life-changing for him. He likes to realize that he is capable of caring about someone. That part of him is still alive. Like no other, Astarion knows that sometimes you can’t slay all the monsters and terrors that haunt your loved one, but you can be there for them when they fight their own battles. And that’s what he does. His approach is similar to Karlach’s in that regard: if you can’t walk, I’ll carry you, if you need a hand, you have mine, you you need to talk, my ears are all yours.

- After he stops seeing Tav as a protector, he is much more aware of Tav’s vulnerability. Tav isn’t invincible. Tav gets hurt. Tav can be in danger. It becomes particularly glaring when it’s revealed that they all haven’t turned yet because a rogue illithid holds their lives in its webbed hands. A rogue illithid who was lying about a cure all this time. Who never had any intention of removing the tadpole. Who saw ceremorphosis as something good. The Emperor has almost the same hold on Tav and all of them as Cazador on his spawns. It would have puppeteered them into doing its bidding hadn’t it been spending its energy on resisting the brain. This is why Astarion calls Tav a “mindflayer thrall” during their argument. Because this is what they are as long as their safety depends on the Emperor’s good mood. It’s not their fault, really. But Astarion clearly has been thinking about it and worried about it. He probably wished not to be stuck between a rock and a hard place for once, not having to choose between two evils, to be strong enough to get them both out of it. So, he doesn’t exactly lie or try to manipulate Tav when he says he wants to keep them both safe. He wants it. He hates to be helpless, but what he hates even more is to watch Tav trying to keep their spirits up and looking for a way out of their predicament while thing just invades Tav's dreams or invites itself into their skull whenever it wishes. He hates wondering what will happen if the Emperor stops playing nice one day. Oh, if only he could be stronger.

- In general, it seems that he is most riled up and protective of Tav when there is a particular type of threat. Tav can handle themselves in a fight. They take a beating sometimes, but they bounce back (what can’t be said about the other guy) and if they don’t find a fight, the fight finds them. Astarion knows it and he doesn’t really mind. He loves the thrill: his spawn endings made it clear that the man embraces the chaos of making decisions and choosing paths with a smile. Danger is part of the fun. It makes his heart beat.

- He generally does his best to be strong for Tav, just like they stay strong for him. But there are also moments when Tav is in danger, and Astarion sees red. And I imagine it’s not only when Tav ends up at the death’s door. It’s also when something directly challenges Tav’s autonomy. A crazy drow wants to run experiments on Tav? Absolutely not, what the fuck? Even if Tav agrees, Astarion is still uncomfortable with the thought and doesn't hide it. Had Araj tried to force her experimentation on the unwilling Tav or trick them into participating, she would have been turned into a dagger cushion very quickly. Cazador calls Tav cattle (another lover to follow Astarion and lose everything, even their right to their soul and body, because of him)? The mere thought of it, the association, the hint at him being a failure dragging his lover down with him makes Astarion lose his composure and just go for the jugular. The idea of Tav enduring the same abuse or being forcibly changed terrifies him. When Tav does it to themselves, it hurts already. However, if someone does it to Tav without letting Tav have any say, then Astarion would go absolutely feral. If that someone can be stabbed, they will be stabbed. If they can’t be stabbed, Astarion WILL find a way to stab them and eviscerate them. Then, regardless of whether Tav is alright or not, Astarion will experience an emotional breakdown that he will then refuse to discuss with anyone else. He has come a long way, but certain negative emotions are still too much to handle.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 #astarion x tav

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hotchscoffeecup · 5 months

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for her, i’d endure

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

rating: t

word count: 7.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs

summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.

It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.

Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.

“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.

“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”

Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.

“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.

“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.

“Don’t panic.”

“Emily?”

Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.

“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.

“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”

“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.

Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”

The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.

“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”

You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.

“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”

“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”

Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.

“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.

Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.

There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.

“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his

“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.

You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.

“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.

He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.

“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”

His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I think I did, didn’t I?”

His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.

“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”

The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.

“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.

“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.

“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.

The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.

“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”

You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.

“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”

Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.

He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.

Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”

A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.

You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.

Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.

She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.

You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.

He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”

•

Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.

“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”

A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.

Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.

“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.

She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.

Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.

A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”

You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.

“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.

“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.

A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.

As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.

“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”

As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.

“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”

“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.

Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.

“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.

“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.

Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.

“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”

As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.

•

A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.

Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.

“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.

“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.

“Too bright,” you grumble.

“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.

You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.

“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.

“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.

You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.

“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”

Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.

Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.

Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.

“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.

His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.

“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”

“But Derek—”

He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”

“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.

“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”

Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.

As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.

“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”

His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”

Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”

Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”

“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.

“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.

Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.

“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”

Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”

“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”

We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.

It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.

A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.

“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.

“Understood.”

The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.

“To see Emily.”

Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”

“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.

Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”

Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.

The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.

“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.

Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”

JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.

Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”

When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”

You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.

Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.

You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.

You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”

You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.

“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”

You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”

Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.

Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.

She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.

You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”

Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”

You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”

As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.

You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.

•

Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.

Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.

Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.

You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.

“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.

You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.

Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.

She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.

You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”

Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”

“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.

You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”

You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.

Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”

“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.

“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”

She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”

Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”

You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.

As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.

You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”

“I love you,” she says.

“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.

“Impossible,” Emily promises.

300 notes · View notes

moonlightsolo · 2 years

Text

beauty of all things.

summary: joining the military was never on your bucket list. mostly just a fantasy that your parents couldn’t live out themselves. somehow, you snagged a job to study the native people of pandora and were sent to space. after slowly figuring out that the organization you work for is crooked, you decide to escape into the pandoran forest to seek out the omaticaya clan. on the way, you take quite a tumble, and a certain na’vi boy saves your life.

pairing: neteyam sully x human!fem reader

warnings: smut 18+, vvvv descriptive, unprotected sex i'm sorry, slight size kink, squint for breath play, mentions of animals dy!ng, violence, guns (sorry but the reader is a badass), brief uses of y/n, also non-accurate na'vi language but i tried my best.

word count: 8.5k+

note: hello i havent written smut in so long so if its terrible just tell me i did good and scroll !!! thanks ily <3

the year is two-thousand, one-hundred seventy, and you’ve finally arrived on pandora at the rda base, now named bridgehead.

the feeling of waking up after six years in cryosleep is indescribable. your brain feels like jelly bouncing around in your skull, the organ thumps in sync with every beat of your heart.

even a slight movement of your finger feels as if your bones will shatter up your arm.

“calm down. everything will be fine. just breathe.” someone speaks to you. the sound of their voice echoes in your head, making your ears ring as if they screamed directly into your ear drum.

but fuck, you can’t breathe.

something covering your mouth and nose is flush against your face, making it hard to take in a full breath. one of your arms lift up, sending a shockwave of pain throughout your body.

you grunt as you rip the oxygen mask off of your face, taking a deep breath of fresh air. your lungs burn from the feeling, making tears spill from your waterline. your eyes finally flutter open, welcomed by a bright white light above your head.

maybe you’re dead. wouldn’t that be something.

“calm down, private.” a nurse dressed in blue scrubs shines another bright light in your eyes. “reflexes look good.” she talks to another person on the other side of your bed.

“where am i?” your hoarse voice croaks out, making pain sizzle in your esophagus.

“you’re on pandora.”

the nurses don’t waste time to get you ready for your first mission. your bones and muscles are still sore, but you’re required to join some fellow colleagues on a tour on the outskirts of the forest.

well, what’s left of it.

your first step outside made you realize that the people you’re working for are making the same mistakes as they did on earth. stripping the planet to its bones, and killing anything in their path just to pocket a dollar.

the destruction of the environment around you makes your heart ache for the na’vi and the native animals. the area is barren and dry from the wildfire they caused when the first group of ships arrived last year.

you couldn’t help but feel slightly emotional, completely regretting letting your parents make this decision for you.

you reluctantly follow the group, the trees and vegetation growing thicker as you trek farther into it.

you didn’t know there could be this much green on a planet. the exotic flora fascinates you, how it glows and interacts with the world around it.

“hold up.” the guide of the brigade raises his hand, all of the soldiers halt in their steps. an animal that resembles a much larger deer strolls from behind a large tree, grazing on the grass.

from your studies, you recognize it as a hexapede. you go to step forward to admire the creature, but you can’t help but notice your lieutenant move his hand to his gun.

he snickers and lifts his gun to aim at the animal, “watch this.” he cockily smirks at the other male comrades next to him, who grin excitedly at the mention of a hunt.

before he could pull the trigger, you turn your back and cover your ears. the ring of the bullet being fired makes you jump. tears instantly burn in your eyes, seeping from your eyes and trailing down your cheeks.

your breath shudders in your chest, heart breaking for the animal that just lost its life for some sort of game.

“look at her.” some of them chuckle as they pass you.

another soldiers walks by, hitting you with his hip which causes you to fall to the ground directly on your ass. the wet dirt seeps into your uniform, soiling your pants with a mud stain.

“get a grip. you need to toughen up, princess. it’s not going to be castles and rainbows out here.” the lieutenant spits out at you from above, face red with anger.

you flinch, shoulders rising higher to your shoulders with every insult thrown at you. the laughter from your comrades makes your anger and embarrassment grow stronger by the second.

you slowly stand to your feet to follow them, facing screwing up in pain with every step. you decide to walk farther behind them since you would rather be eaten by a predator then have a conversation with any of them.

the rest of the day was filled with indoor training, lectures, and meetings with the big guys. all they yell about is reprimanding the na’vi, and if we see them, we shoot to kill.

somehow, every single person in the room seems to be too excited to go out and hunt them- everyone except you.

the thought makes you queasy, like you could vomit at the thought of using violence against them.

back on earth, you studied the omaticaya people for years. the last thing you want to do is to hurt them.

every day is the same. training, lectures, and numerous meetings. the rda somehow created their own avatars, and are using them against the omaticaya people to take down jake sully.

it’s already your fifty-seventh night on pandora, and it feels as if you’ve been here for months. every day, the heavy feeling of wanting to leave grows heavier in your chest.

the thought looms above your head like a dark storm cloud, following you around everywhere you go.

tonight is the night you decide it’s time to leave. you’ve seen and studied enough of the forest to know how to survive for a few days.

all you know is that you need to find this jake sully everyone is talking about to warn him about everything.

you’ve already packed a bag full of non-perishable food and water, a fresh pair of clothes, ammo, and a poncho for the rain. the pistol you stole from training is tucked in the waistband of your pants. you would rather not use it, but if it came to surviving you would have to.

taking a deep breath, you crack open the door to your quarters. you look down the long corridor of the dormitory, seeing that the coast is clear.

you flip your hood onto your head before stepping into the hallway. you keep your head angled down so the cameras can’t get a glimpse of your face.

you truly can’t believe you’re about to do this. you’re honestly stupid. how will you ever get past the guards? you mentally battle yourself to go back to bed and plan this out more, but you’ve already gotten this far.

once you get outside, you pull the full-face oxygen mask up from where it was hanging loosely around your neck. you truly start to believe you actually might get away with this.

you take another deep breath, “you got this. you can do this.” you give yourself a little pep talk, before scurrying behind a wall.

you peek your head out to scope out the area. there’s the gate that leads to the outside and it’s guarded by one guy. it’s only one guy- well, one big guy.

you press your back against the wall you’re hiding behind, looking up at the dark sky that sparkles with stars. you take another deep shaky breath before stepping out and heading straight towards him.

your eyes dart around the area to make sure nobody else is coming. you slyly bring out your knife that sits in a sheath connected to your belt.

“hey! you’re not supposed to be out here.” he shouts loudly at you, forcing you to pick up your pace towards him.

“hey! what’re you doing?!” he goes to grab his gun, but before he could, you lift your heavy boot up to kick in his knee. a loud crunch sounds from his leg, making the man fall to ground with a loud yelp of pain.

before he could cry for help, the blade of your weapon is pressed against his jugular.

“scream, and i’ll kill you.” you hiss at him quietly, eyes still looking to the side to make sure nobody is coming.

“give me your keycard…now!” you tighten your grip on him, pressing the blade into his neck. he grunts as his hands scurry to unhook it and reach it up to you. “you sick fucking bitch.” he seethes out through his teeth.

before you grab it from him, you land a blow to his temple with the handle of the knife. sending the man to the ground unconscious, “douchebag.” you grumble as you bend down to swipe the card off the ground, pressing the plastic key to the scanner.

the gate beeps green, and slowly clicks open as the multiple bolts unlock. you push through the gate, slamming it shut behind you before you break out in a sprint down the steps and into the dirt.

the buildings behind you begin to blare sirens, red lights flashing into the sky. they must’ve found him. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” you whisper to yourself, picking up your pace as you dash to the tree line.

the forest in front of you is dark with no sign of life nor light. you continue sprinting, jumping over logs and hopping over puddles. before you know it, you’re surrounded by vast darkness and the base is no where in sight.

you slow down, leaning against a tree to take a breath. you can’t believe you did it- you actually escaped from that hell hole.

your eyes squeeze shut as you breathe slowly, attempting to slow down your heart rate. “eywa, if you’re there. please don’t let me die.” you speak out into the air desperately.

when you reopen your eyes, you can see absolutely nothing in front of you. that cues you to grab your flashlight from your pack and to begin your hike.

you have no idea where you are going, but from all the intel you overheard in all those meetings you know that their base is somewhere in the hallelujah mountains.

you fish through one of your pockets in your cargo pants, finding the map of the surrounding area. your eyes locate bridgehead, the coastal rda city, and then the mountains.

“holy shit. that’s a long way.” you grumble to yourself as you continue walking forward.

crack!

you stop in your tracks to spin around in a three-sixty, shining your flashlight every which way. another loud crack sounds from behind you that seems even closer than before.

“fuck this shit.” you spit out and take off in a run again. you weave and bob between large tree trunks and leap over fallen ones. you need to find shelter and wait for the sun to come up for the last two hours of nighttime.

you’re thankful that training helped build your stamina because if you couldn’t run for more than five minutes, you’d probably be dead already.

once you slow down, you realize there’s a clearing to your right. as you grow closer, you realize it’s an old hut- specifically an rda scientist pod. your eyes scan the area for any possible danger before stepping out into the open. you keep mind to where you step, making sure to make as little noise as possible.

you notice the pod is overridden with vines, and the windows are shattered. as you step inside, grass cracks under the sole of your boots. you wince from the noise, peeking behind your back to make sure you’re still alone.

you decide to sit down in one of the non-smashed-in avatar capsules, taking a deep breath.

wow, you really did it. you’re now a fugitive of the government.

unbeknownst to yourself, your mind is more exhausted than you thought. you take a few gulps of water, before leaning back to finally (sort of) relax. before you know it, you’re fast asleep.

a few hours later, you’re awoken by a loud screech of some sort of animal. gasping and automatically reaching for your gun, you pull it out and aim it in front of you through the broken window.

the sun has already risen, streaming through the numerous trees surrounding the opening. you take another deep breath to slow your breathing, realizing there’s nothing to worry about.

you decide it’s time to get up and eat something, but you would rather begin your very long trek to the mountains instead. so you grab a granola bar and start heading north.

you pull out the map and your compass, following the directions and hoping you’re going the right way. “god. i’m so stupid.” you whisper to yourself as your head lifts up to see where you're going.

you didn’t realize where you were walking since you were too busy paying attention to the map. suddenly, your feet are taken out from under you and you’re tumbling down a rocky hill.

unfortunately, you land in a large pool of mud at the bottom. sticky, heavy mud that gives off heat.

the air in your lungs feels like fire, oxygen fuels the embers deep in your chest. your throat constricts as you wheeze, the wind is knocked out of you, and it feels as if you’re suffocating.

mud splashes up on your face, the feeling of the thick dirt sucking you under makes you panic even more. another wheeze punches your chest as you attempt to climb out of the pit, but to no avail. the mud continues to suck you under the surface as your nails dig into the grass in attempt to keep your head afloat.

you let out a loud cry once some oxygen returns to your lungs, but you can feel the mud compressing the tube connected to your backpack. some of the air from outside is slowly leaking into your headpiece, making you feel extremely lightheaded.

“please..” you squeak out, eyes squeezing shut as you slowly start coming to terms with your death.

unsure if you’re hallucinating or not, you hear muffled commotion in front of you. your eyes flutter open, vision blurry and unable to make out the large figures. “help.. me.” you softly call out, lungs compressed by the weight of the mud.

suddenly, hands are gripping any part of your exposed body they can get to and you’re being pulled from the pit and laid on the plush grass. you instantly gasp for air as the oxygen returns back into your mask, chest heaving as it alleviates your dizziness.

a coarse cough pummels your chest and you roll over on your side, sucking in fast deep breaths.

“hey, hey… it’s okay.” an accented voice speaks to you before going back to speaking in a foreign language. seemingly, talking to someone else who responds in the same language.

your eyes finally open to see your rescuer, praying to every supernatural god that it’s not the rda.

to your surprise, a very blurry na’vi is crouched in front of you. his golden eyes are wide with fear that glance between you and the person behind you.

your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of him. a very beautiful one, at that. he’s adorned in handmade beaded and weaved garb. his head is covered in very tight knit braids with various decorations tied in them.

you can tell that he’s arguing with the person behind you in their language, almost making out a few words.

dangerous… human… girl… listen to… dad…?

before you could say anything to him, one of his arms slide under your head and the other slides behind your knees. “don’t worry. we are going to help you.”

his warm skin gives you a sense of relief as he holds you close to his chest while he starts to run. blinking through your blurry vision, you notice another blue figure following closely behind you.

you float in and out of consciousness, every breath you take squeaks as if you have an instrument in your lungs. your head is sitting in the crook of his elbow, now watching mountains flash by. beside you, is another boy flying a banshee.

are you in the fucking air right now?

“please don’t die. stay awake for me.” the one holding you mumbles, making eye contact with you before your eyes flutter shut again.

something burns your nostrils, sending signals to your brain to wake up. “ah!” you yelp, going to sit up but the pain in your body causes you to fall back down in a crying mess.

once your watery eyes finally open, you’re greeted by another pair of yellow eyes, but this time it’s a girl- not the boy who saved you. “hi, i’m kiri.” she smiles wide. her face looks quite familiar.

“don’t tell her your name, skxawng.” someone scolds from somewhere around you, which just makes her roll her eyes. it’s another boy, but not the one who saved you.

“where am i?” you rasp out, looking around at the room you’re in. it’s almost like a makeshift hut with a strong smell of herbs and smoke.

“i can’t tell you that, but just know that you are safe.” her hand gently runs down your hair, making you tense up before relaxing. her entire presence calms you down, there’s just something about her.

“i think you might’ve broken one of your ribs, and you definitely have a concussion.” she sits back on her heels to grab medicine that’s laid out next to her.

“i still think we should get mom and dad.” she chirps, eyeing someone out of the corner of her eye as she crushes something in a mortar.

“if we tell dad, he will kill us for bringing her back here, and then mom will skin us afterwards.” the same voice sounds from the corner of the room.

you can’t help but attempt to lift your head, but kiri’s hand presses on your oxygen mask to keep you down. “stay.” she reprimands you as if you are a dog.

you groan in annoyance, but continue to stay put as she scoops up the medicinal paste she was grinding and swipes it on your forehead and temples. “to relieve your pain.” she smiles at you and nods.

wooden beads clink together as someone enters the room, “is she okay?”

there he is.

“yes and no. she’s in a lot pain but she will live.” kiri speaks to him as she continues rubbing the paste on different points of your body. like your neck, wrists, and numerous pulse points.

the paste gives off a cooling sensation, almost making your pain go away instantaneously. this time, you refuse to listen to the girl. you swiftly sit up to look at the boy, teeth gritting together from your aching muscles.

your movements makes him take a step back, almost like a scared puppy.

“look, i’m not going to hurt you.” you glance at all three of them before continuing, “i’m here to warn your people about what’s coming- what the rda is planning next. i need to talk to jake sully.”

once you mention that name, they all pause and look between each other with an ‘oh shit’ gleam in their eyes.

“what do you know about jake sully?” the older boy stands up straight with his shoulders back, his height towering over you intimidatingly.

“i know he’s your eytukan, and your toruk macto. so that means he’s in charge, right?”

“why do you need to warn him?” the younger boy stands up from behind him, walking forward to face you and await your response.

“the rda. you know, the mercenaries. they brought in avatars, but they want to kill him and everyone that comes in between them.“ your voice is strong as you lay out the facts, but on the inside you’re nervous as hell.

“how do you know you weren’t sent here to spy on us?” the older one speaks again.

“neteyam. i don’t think she—.” kiri gets cut off by his hand raising for her to be quiet.

neteyam… so that’s his name.

he sighs at his name being mentioned. obviously bothered by it as one of his hands come up to rub the bridge of his nose.

“i promise i wasn’t sent here. i came here looking for jake because i just… couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. trust me, please.” he takes a second, almost as if he’s deep in thought.

“i’ll relay the information to him, but i can’t let you be seen by our people. they won’t react well.” he mumbles, “they don’t trust humans that come from where you’re from.”

“lo’ak, why don’t you go get her some food?” neteyam looks back at his brother who throws his hands up in annoyance, “and kiri, why don’t you clean this up so nobody wonders where you are?”

kiri grumbles under her breath as she packs up her medicine and herbs into a pack to leave alongside lo’ak.

and then there were two…

thankfully, neteyam sits down in front of you with his legs crossed- instead of intimidatingly towering over you from above. your eyes travel over his body, admiring the color of his skin and the stripes that adorn him, “so what’s your name?”

“i’m y/n.” you respond with a smile, “i’m guessing you’re neteyam?” you almost let out a laugh, which makes his lips quirk up a bit.

“that’s me.” he shrugs with a shy grin. his fingers tap gently on his knees as he looks around awkwardly.

“how do you know english so well?” you question, making his pointed ears perk up. you watch how his tail curiously flicks behind his body.

“some of the scientists that work here. they’re humans… the good ones.” he quickly adds, his glowing eyes watch your every move.

“thanks for saving me back there. ya know, like in the mud and stuff. i probably would have died if you weren’t there.” you breathe out, almost as if you’re slightly embarrassed by the situation you got yourself into.

“i will be honest, i was kind of scared of you. i didn’t know if you were one of the 'good ones', but i couldn’t just leave you there. i’m a gentleman, you know.” a cocky little grin tugs up on the corner of his mouth.

a deep shiver runs through your body from his words, feeling heat rush onto the apples of your cheeks. for some reason, this na’vi boy is way too charming for his own good.

something stirs in your belly, a gut feeling to keep prying at him slowly. maybe you’ll get to know him better.

“so how old are you?” you ask out of pure curiosity, not for any other reasons…

neteyam slightly stiffens at the question, eyes squinting at you for a brief moment before softening. almost as if he was deciding what to say, “i’m twenty.” he states simply with a blank face.

“i’m nineteen.” you blurt it out, even if he didn’t reciprocate the question.

neteyam smiles and goes to answer, but lo’ak bursts through the beaded doorway with various foods in his hands. he dumps it on the bed in front of you, bowing like a servant.

“bon appetite.” he grumbles sarcastically before turning around and heading back out of the room- but not without purposely bumping into neteyam with his hip.

“what’s up with him?” you almost laugh as you rummage through the exotic fruits in front of you.

“that’s my brother, lo’ak. he’s an ass.” he shakes his head with a laugh, his braids swing on his head as he does so.

you go to pick up a bright pink fruit to bite into it, “wait! don’t bite it. you cannot eat the skin.” he crawls toward you, unsheathing his knife from his waistband.

“what’re you gonna do? stab me?” you ask playfully which makes the boy smirk at you, “yeah, i might as well. it’ll keep you from asking anymore questions.”

his response makes you laugh and shake your head. his large hand wraps around the fruit to take it from you, slicing around the center to follow the seed in the middle. almost like a giant pink avocado.

he lifts the top off, and there sticks out the oblong seed sitting inside yellow pulp that looks disgustingly delicious. “so all you have to do is suck on the seed…” he trails off, bringing the fruit to your lips. you pull the oxygen mask off your face, holding your breath.

“and pull it out with your teeth, then you can drink the inside.” his voice is breathy as he watches your lips wrap around the seed to lick off the extra pulp stuck to it. you can’t help but tease the boy by looking up at him through your eyelashes, which makes his breath evidently hitch.

neteyam gulps as he watches you pull the seed out with your teeth, before you take the fruit from his hand to tip the fruit back to drink the inside.

you pull the mask back over your face, looking up at him with a little smile. “that was delicious, thank you. it kind of tasted like vanilla pudding.”

his eyebrows furrow, “pudding?” he questions.

“oh yeah. it’s from earth. like a sweet, thick textured milk. it’s yummy, but not good for you.” you lean back in the bed you’re laying in, stretching your arms above your head.

neteyam‘s heart beats a little faster as he watches your shirt slowly hike up to reveal your belly.

“so who’s bed am i in?” you smile softly up at him from where he’s sitting the end of the bed, shaking him out of his trance.

“mine. this is my… erm- kelku.”

“oh, your room?” you smile at him and he nods, “yeah, m'sorry i didn’t know the english word.”

“don’t be sorry.” you shake your head at him, still smiling away, “does your kelku have a bathroom i can use?”

neteyam grins at your use of a na’vi word, “ah no, but… i can take you to get cleaned up. you just might have to wait until sunset.”

you overly exaggerate a loud sigh, making the glass fog up but you can’t help but still smile at him so he knows you’re not really upset. “okay fine..” you grumble sarcastically as you sit back up with your legs crossed.

“they really made more avatars, huh?” neteyam asks.

“and they’re dangerous and were created solely for combat. i don’t want to see you and your family get hurt. all of you have already gone through so much.” you mumble, eyes falling down to your hands sitting in your lap.

neteyam reaches out to lay one of his hands on yours, completely engulfing your lap with it. the soft touch makes your eyes raise to look at him, “you… are brave.” he nods his head along with his words.

you couldn’t help but beam, a sense of accomplishment filling your chest. “thank you.” you turn your hands up so your palms were against his. you carefully wrap your hands around his, holding his one hand with both of your own.

“you put your own life at risk to help us… to let us know we’re in danger. so i thank you.” his fingers curl in to hold onto your hands with a soft smile curling onto his lips.

something in you urges you to leap forward, to rip this goddamn mask off and kiss this boy to show your appreciation for his kindness.

it seems as if he’s feeling the same way by how he is looking at you. his big round eyes glance over your lips before returning back to your eyes, his chest is picking up pace from his rapid breathing.

the sound of beads rustling snaps both of you out of your mutual fascination with each other. “just coming to check on her.” kiri walks forward with her hands on her hips.

“and what are you two doing?” she looks down at your hands wrapped around each other, making neteyam jump back and stand swiftly to his feet. you can’t help but notice his braids swing wildly with every move.

“i- um…” he points at you then scratches his head, “i’ll be right back.” he bolts out the doorway, leaving you silent and shocked.

“boys.” kiri sticks out her tongue in disgust as she bends down to your level to check the paste she smeared on you. “seems like your body is reacting to it well. are you feeling okay?” she looks up at you.

“yeah. i actually feel completely fine. a little sore, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.” you laugh, which makes your ribs ache.

“then you didn’t break a rib, but just bruised yourself.” she hums as she stands up to her feet.

“you need to get cleaned up. you’re covered in mud.” she looks over your body, her nose scrunching up at the sight.

“oh yeah.. um neteyam said he would take me during sunset.” you awkwardly laugh as you gnaw on your lip.

kiri slightly side-eyes you, before shrugging. “okay... then. get some rest, i’ll have neteyam come to you when he’s ready.” she comfortingly rubs your shoulder before walking out.

you let out a groan before falling back against the cot, rolling onto your side with a slight wince from the dull pain.

your body refuses to fall asleep, unable to get comfortable from the curiosity of wanting to see what’s outside of your room. you decide to just peek, it won’t harm anyone, right?

you quietly slide out of the bed and tip toe to the beaded doorway. your hands move them to the side so you could get a good look. it’s nothing but rocky wall and the backside of another hut, which is disappointing.

you slowly creep out from behind the beads, looking around to make sure nobody can see you.

you press your back to the outside of the hut, sliding across it to the front to look on the other side. before you could step out, a very large hand presses against your mouth and an arm wraps around your waist to hoist you up.

you let out a yelp into the palm of your captor, kicking your legs once they leave the safety of being on the ground. “shh, shh… it’s just me.” neteyams voice whispers next to your ear.

your body relaxes as he turns around to walk back inside of his room to put you down. you turn on your heel to scold him for scaring you, but he starts first, “i was coming to get you so i could bring you to get cleaned up, but you decided you would like to escape now, huh?” the tone of his voice seems agitated, and his breathing is quite fast.

“anybody could have seen you! my parents could have seen you! they would have tried to hurt you. you’re not trying to leave, are you?” he slightly whisper-yells at you, now obviously frustrated.

you’re a bit taken aback by his demeanor, “look, i’m sorry. i wasn’t trying to leave, i just wanted to look around. ya know… see what it looked like.” you sheepishly speak out. you can feel your heart rate starting to pick up.

“i don’t believe it. are you trying to spy on us?” his eyes are slightly squinted, now starting to pace in front of you. “i don’t want to keep you here, if you’re the one putting us in danger.”

your eyes blow wide in shock, heart dropping to your feet. “no, no! neteyam, believe me, please!” he stops in his tracks to watch you, “i wasn’t trying to spy or anything, i swear! i’m just a curious person and i’ve studied the omaticaya clan for years. i just wanted to see what it looked it. i wasn’t trying to spy, i promise you!” your voice gets higher as your emotions start to take over.

neteyam notices your watery eyes and shaky hands, slowly coming to terms that you’re actually telling the truth. “don’t cry.” he mutters out, running a stressed hand through his braids.

he takes a hesitant step towards you, head angled down to look at you from above. one of his hands cradle your head, tip of his thumb rubbing over your forehead and down the bridge of your tiny nose. “i don’t want to make you cry.”

“i just don’t want…” you sniffle, “you to think of me that…” another sniffle, “…way.” your bottom lip quivers, as all the horrible memories of the rda come rushing back into your brain.

“i don’t, i don’t. i am sorry.” he bends down slightly, eyes darting over your face in attempt to search for a way to help you. he wishes he could kiss you, to make you feel better.

“would you like to go get cleaned up? i found woman’s clothing in the scientist’s shack.” he mumbles, gesturing to the pack on his back.

“oh really?” you brighten up slightly at the sound of getting clean clothes.

“follow me.” neteyam motions with his hand for you to walk with him.

he parts the beads for you to walk through with him, bringing you down the rocky hallway with numerous huts filled with other na’vi. “i may have told my dad about you. he wants to meet you after i get you clean.” he nonchalantly speaks as if you know who his dad is.

“and who’s your dad and why do i want to talk to him?” you question with a laugh.

“oh… well my dad is jake sully.” he mumbles, “i didn't tell you because i didn’t trust you at first.”

“hm.. that’s reasonable. i can’t believe he’s your dad though that’s crazy. the big and bad toruk macto.” you giggle softly, covering your mouth with your very dirty hand.

neteyam can’t help but laugh along, “yeah… big and bad, sure…” he grumbles sarcastically as he walks you up to a clearing.

there’s a few banshees laying on the rock next to an opening in the floor, and a giant hut in the middle next to the science pods. you can see the tops of a few na’vi’s heads but they don’t notice you thankfully. you can't help but feel excited to finally see one of these in real life, let alone ride on one.

“let’s go.” he jogs toward his ikran, bringing his braid forward to make his bond with it. he easily climbs onto the large animal before he reaches out to you to help you climb on. “we’ve got to hurry. hold on to me tight, okay?”

your arms wrap around his waist tightly, one of his hands reach back to pull you closer by your thigh. “wrap your legs around me. this is gonna be a wild ride.” he chuckles. you can’t help but feel nervous as your legs wrap around his hips, making your body quite literally flush with his back.

the banshee squawks loudly before nosediving off of the landing, making your stomach do somersaults in your stomach. “neteyaaaaaam!” you squeal loudly as the wind rushes by your ears and your arms hold him in a deadly grip.

he finally levels out, cackling loudly and throwing his head back. “the way you screamed my name!” he belly laughs as he continues to fly forward.

“you can’t just drop us into the sky with no warning!” you can’t help but laugh along, arms and legs still wrapped around him tightly like a vise.

neteyam slightly descends into the forest below, dodging numerous trees and taking turns until he finds where he needs to land. “finally.” you breathe out once you slide off the animal, “i’ve never been so happy to see the ground!” you exclaim which makes him laugh.

neteyam pulls the pack off of the side of the bird, swinging it over his shoulder and walking forward. you take it as a cue to follow him, hopping over a few rocks that he easily steps over.

the sound of running water grows louder as you keep walking, eyes searching the area for where the sound is coming from. “just up here.” he calls back at you, picking up his pace.

you can’t help but start running, since his speed walk is like a sprint for you. “god, neteyam. i’m tinier than you. slow down!”

before you know it, he stops in his tracks right in front of a clearing. “here it is.” he breathes out with a wide smile.

you duck under his arm, a gasp leaving your mouth from the view in front of you.

natural pools cascade down a mountain, spilling into each other like a domino effect, creating multiple spouts of water that pour into a lake. the color of the water is cerulean, sparkling in the sunlight.

“the best thing about this place. is that humans can naturally breathe here.” neteyam states as he admires the small waterfalls.

“what?!” you shriek in excitement, tugging on his arm happily, “how?!”

“the mix of gases in the air and in the water create the perfect recipe for humans to breathe, but only for a little bit.” he grabs your hand to pull you forward down the little hill towards the lake.

“you can get cleaned up here.” he drops the bag onto the ground before bending down to rummage through it. “stole this.” he hands you a plastic bottle of old spice body wash from earth, “and this.” he hands you another bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner.

obviously the stash of a man, but you couldn’t be happier to see soap. you know that you have to smell terrible.

“thank you very much, kind sir.” you hold the soaps to your chest and dance around happily like a kid in a candy shop.

“what… are you doing?” he stares up at you in awe, his pearly whites on show.

“dancing cause i’m happy. now close your eyes so i can get undressed.” you cheekily smirk at him, making his eyes go wide and turn his head away from you.

you place the soaps on the ground, using your hands to finally take the mask off your face. you take a deep breath of fresh air, the natural smell of dirt and plants filling your senses.

you swiftly pull your shirt over your head and your pants down your legs, along with your underwear and sports bra.

you keep your eyes on the back of neteyams head, grabbing the soaps and taking a few hesitant steps into the water.

“oh my god! it’s warm!” you cheer with a surprised laugh, continuing to walk farther into the lake until you reached one of the spouts of falling water.

you can’t help but put the soap down on a ledge, ducking your head under the natural faucet. you almost moan from the feeling of the caked mud washing out of your hair, “neteyam! this is amazing!” you glance back at him, seeing his back is now towards you.

aw, what a gentleman.

neteyam can’t help but turn around slightly to glance at you. you’re waist deep in the lake, standing under the water as you wash your hair.

he admires your back, watching how the brown water turns to clear as it flows down your skin in little streams. he wishes he could reach out and touch your soft body.

he feels terrible for looking, but he can’t help himself- you’re just so beautiful. he wants to admire your body like a form of art, not for an object of his own personal pleasure.

some ways that you move, he can catch an glimpse of the swell of your breast. making his head around turn to stop looking, but something deep in his belly urges him to go in there with you.

the sound of moving water behind you makes your heart skip a beat. something wants you to turn around, to look and confirm what your gut is telling you.

neteyam is in here with you.

before you could turn around, a tall shadow looms over you from behind. your hands drop to your side, breathing picking up in pace from his proximity.

“can i… touch you?” his voice is low, deeper than normal.

“please.” you desperately respond into the air.

neteyam’s fingers dance over your sides, sending shivers down your spine. his thumbs gently press into the dimples of your lower back as he bends down.

you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your shoulder and onto the next one before he finally lays a kiss against your damp skin. “you are so beautiful.” he whispers, which makes you smile.

“i shouldn’t be doing this.” his voice murmurs in your ear, making your head lull back against his abdomen. “you’re right, but it’ll feel so good.” you look up at him, watching how his face screws up in shock from your words.

“bad influence.” he snickers, nose scrunching up cutely. his hands quickly take dominance over you, twirling you around so your back was pressed against the cool surface of the damp rock.

he leans down just enough, lips barely pressing against yours with a featherlight touch. your breath mixes with his, making you lean forward to attempt to kiss him but he pulls back.

“are you sure?” he asks, which just makes you roll your eyes. your arms swoop around his neck to pull him down to you- finally kissing those damn lips you’ve been dying for.

neteyam smiles into the kiss as his hands slither up your sides, making you giggle from the soft touches. “does that tickle?” he hums into your mouth, making you nod fervently.

your lips move in sync, tongues wiggling against each other as he deepens the kiss by turning his head to the side. his giant hands cup your breasts, the tips of his fingers reaching just above your collarbones.

his hands move to your back, snaking downwards under the water to cup your butt with his hands. “your body is amazing.” he groans against your lips which makes your face flush.

neteyam can feel his back aching from bending down to your level so he lifts you up from your ass, making you squeal as your back is pressed against the wall behind the waterfall.

“backs hurtin’… can’t bend down.” he breathes out against you, moving his lips away from yours to slowly kiss down your neck. he spends time ravishing your skin with kisses and tiny love bites.

you gasp and wriggle in his arms, shivers wrack your body from his teeth running over your sweet spots.

neteyam slowly backs away from the wall, shuffling directly under the water which spills over both of your heads but neither of you could care. you’re both completely enamored with each other.

he shuffles back over to the rocky bank where your clothes are piled up. he gently lays you down on the flat surface, standing tall to admire your nude body from above.

suddenly, you feel overexposed and you go to cover yourself but he stops you, “don’t do that, tìlor.”

the little nickname makes you smile, even if you have no idea what it means.

neteyam leans over you, lips hovering over yours before kissing you softly. so delicate as if you would shatter from the slightest touch.

“means beauty of all things.” he mumbles against your lips before dragging his lips down your chin. he presses wet kisses down your neck, between your breasts and down to your navel.

his hands cup under your ass to push your legs up, shins resting on his shoulders. “gonna make you feel so good, ma tìlor.” he repeats the same word that makes you go crazy.

the feeling of his breath puffing over your core makes you wiggle in anticipation, “please, ‘teyam…” you whine.

he smiles at your begging before dipping down, swiping his tongue through your dripping folds. “oooh my god.” you gasp out.

neteyam smirks as he dives deeper with his tongue, keeping his eyes on you the entire time to watch how you writhe under his touch.

his entire mouth fits over your cunt, his tongue flattens against your clit before his lips wrap around the bud to create suction.

you cry out in surprise, hands flying to his head to grip it as your back arches off of the ground. one of his arms wrap around your hips, right above your pelvis to hold you in place.

he chuckles against you, which sends another shockwave of pleasure to course through your entire body.

he can tell by your body language, and the heartbeat he can feel that you’re already so close to release, so he reluctantly pulls off with a pop.

a string of saliva and your juices connects his lips to your core, a giddy smile pulls up on his face. your eyes glance over his wet chin, the look on his face makes you want to push his head back down between your legs. your chest bounces with every sharp breath, now starting to feel the effects of the toxic gas getting to your head.

neteyam kisses his way back up your body, tongue licking random stripes on your skin. your hands attempt to reach down to untie his loincloth, but they aren’t long enough.

“so tiny.” he mumbles against your skin before pulling back. he presses one forearm against the rock to hold himself up on top of you, while his other one is working on pulling the thin cloth off.

your eyes can’t help but bulge out of your head once he throws the cloth to the side. his cock sits heavy between your bodies, blue and striped like the rest of his body. the pink tip is oozing pre-cum, just begging to be licked up. it's almost as if he could read your mind...

“not now, later… wanna be inside of you first.” he swiftly kisses you before he grips the base of his cock to line it up at your entrance. your legs absentmindedly wrap around his slender waist.

nervousness bubbles in your chest from his size, because how is that going to fit inside of your body...?

“i’ll be gentle with you, ‘promise.” he reassures you, eyes looking over you before leaning down to pepper kisses all over your face.

he slowly thrusts forward, letting it run through your folds to soak up your wetness. he breathily moans into your mouth from the feeling. the sound could quite literally make you cum without being touched.

“ready?” one of his arms are above your head as he looks down at you, while the other holds his cock.

you nod and bring your bottom lip between your teeth, glancing up at him and in between your bodies to watch. your hands rise to rest on his sides, right on top of his rib cage.

he tantalizingly presses his tip against your entrance, making you suck in a sharp breath. your eyes are wide as you look up at him, but his gaze is too focused watching himself push into you.

god, he stretches you out. it burns, and you feel so full- overly full. the tip gets sucked in by your entrance, making his face screw up in pleasure. his plump lips part in awe before his eyes look down at your face in attempt to read your expression.

“good?” he asks softly with a shaky voice, and all you can do is nod.

his hips push forward after letting you adjust for a moment, your nails dig deep into his skin as a mewl falls from your lips.

you throw your head back against the rock, face screwing up as his cock completely splits you open.

he gets about half way before he pulls back out, and thrusts back in to the same depth. “ngh!” you whine, hands desperately clinging onto his body.

neteyam digs his head into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, biting down on your skin. almost hard enough to draw blood with his sharpened canines.

“oh yes, ‘teyam...” you moan out as the pain of the stretch slowly succumbs to the pleasure sparking in your lower belly.

“you feel so good, my girl.” he chokes out, one of his hands cups the side of your head to pull you in for another kiss.

it was barely a kiss though, mostly just moans and breaths spilling into each others mouths.

neteyam uses your sounds as a suggestion to slightly pick up his pace, his cock going even deeper inside of you than before.

your body bounces with every thrust, drunken hiccups and gasps bubble from your lips as your nails scratch over his ribs.

“pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.” your words slur together as you feel the tightness building up in your lower belly.

neteyam starts rambling in his language, the tone of his voice shows how desperate he is for release. his tail absentmindedly twitches and wraps around your ankles, locking them into place around his back.

you couldn’t even care at this moment if he would cum in you. the feeling of him inside you has you hypnotized.

your head feels dizzy, and you can see stars in your vision whenever you blink. the lack of oxygen is getting to your brain, making you feel lightheaded and even more sensitive to his cock ramming into you.

“gooooonna cuuum.” your voice is high and your words are drawn out.

“mmmm sran, ma tìlor.” he moans out, his teeth bite down on your shoulder. definitely drawing blood this time by the pain that sparks up your neck.

one last thrust, he pushes almost the full length of his cock inside of you as he releases. you swear you can feel it in your throat.

he lets out a guttural groan against your skin, his back quivering as he thrusts every last bit of his seed into you.

you cry out in pain and euphoria, eyes rolling back inside of your head. your body arches off of the ground as you climax in unison with him, thighs gripping his sides tightly and chest pressing into his.

neteyam uses this moment to kiss you as if he would never kiss you again. his lips move intensely against yours, savoring the taste of your lips before pulling his head back to shove the oxygen mask back on your face.

you instantly suck in a deep breath, chest heaving as your foggy head begins to clear from finally being able to breathe clean air.

neteyam gently rolls over onto his side next to you on the rock, his hand still holding your mask on your face as he attempts to catch his own breath.

he gently presses soft kisses along your arm, and uses his other hand to touch the bruised puncture wounds on your shoulder.

“m’sorry. got carried away.” he breathes out heavily, resting his head on your shoulder.

you take a moment to pull the mask onto your face fully so he didn’t have to hold it for you.

“don’t ever… be sorry. that was fucking amazing.” you laugh in shock as you look down at him. a big smile is on his face as he stares up at you from his place on your chest.

you both lay there in silence, the only sounds being your heavy breathing and birds in the distance. “we should probably get dressed and head back since my dad wants to talk to you.” he mumbles a bit sadly.

you huff a breath out, but nod in agreement. “you’re right.” you mumble, sitting up along with him.

he ties his loincloth back on himself before grabbing the pack to fetch the clothes for you. he hands them to you with a little smile.

you hold out the shirt, seeing it’s a very old rda employee shirt and some sweatpants. you stand to your feet to pull the clothes onto your body, and thankfully they fit.

“oh…” neteyam breathes out disappointedly, “your neck… i’m sorry.” he reaches out to run his thumb over the hickeys and teeth marks he left behind.

“nobody will notice, right?” you attempt to look down at the damage, but from the angle you can’t see what he is talking about.

“uhm.. right.” he agrees with a nervous little laugh.

the ride back was full of laughter and light-hearted remarks coming from neteyam about his dad. mostly just preparing you to talk to him, on what and what not to do.

once the ikran lands on the rocky floor of the cave, you can’t help but take notice to a very tall na’vi man waiting directly in front of you.

“and that’s my dad.” he whispers quietly enough to you as he helps you off the animal. he lets off a little sigh as you duck under his arms to walk up to jake. rule number one was to let neteyam introduce you first, but you didn't listen.

“hi, sir.” you clear your throat, reaching a hand out for him to shake. jake uncrosses his arms to shake your hand, and you can’t help but notice that he has five fingers. unlike four, like his son.

“i know this is terrible timing, but i promise the information i have is worth while.” you give him a curt nod, standing tall with your shoulders back so you wouldn’t look weak.

jake let’s out a little breath and his eyes glance over your body before raising to stare at his son, “and do you think whatever you did to her neck was worth while?”

you freeze in your spot, body instantly heating with embarrassment. you slowly turn your head to look up at neteyam. his eyes are wide like saucers as he stares at his dad, his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps.

when the boys eyes trail over to you, humor bubbles in your chest when you make eye contact. it seems like he’s feeling the same by the way he’s trying to force the smile away that’s slowly creeping onto his face.

almost like a ticking time bomb, the two of you burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, stumbling into the space between your bodies to lean on each other for support.

oh my eywa, you’re both really in trouble now.

tags: @supernerdycookietrashblr @fireflystoughts @eddieslvt @bluealiensimp @aliseaaah

#avatar #avatar twow #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar x you #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam sully x y/n #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully x you #neteyam sully #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x you #avatar x y/n #neteyam smut #neteyam sully smut

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chimielie · 2 years

Text

“I’m just saying,” you tell your roommate as she shoves her wallet into her purse while you scoop up two of her bags, “spending so much money here for gourmet groceries is...”

You trail off as you realize that she’s more preoccupied with spending an extra second staring at the cashier she’s been pining after (expensively, you might add, because she comes here every week just to stand in his line) than listening to your half-hearted lecture. You glance back at him with her, jolting when you notice someone crossing in front of you from the corner of your eye.

“Move, register's mine for the next hour.” You look involuntarily at the speaker, who taps your friend’s crush (Yahaba, his nametag reads) on the shoulder. It’s a crowded space, so you stare up at the replacement cashier from scarcely six inches away, absorbing his visage like several blows directly to the kidneys.

He’s thicker-set and shorter than Yahaba, hair shaved to his skull and dyed blond with the exception of two dark stripes at his temples. Two tiny metal spheres straddle his left eyebrow, featuring above lashes so long he might as well be wearing eyeliner (actually, he might be) over burning eyes you could spend hours admiring. And—be still your beating heart—the shaved head reveals thick black hoops hung in his ears, glinting merrily under the fluorescents. There are piercings studded into the cartilage above, too, matching his eyebrow jewelry. He turns a little, so you can see the nametag pinned to his tie-dyed shirt; it reads Tarō, in awful scrawled handwriting.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my whole entire life,” you say loudly, not a single thought passing through your brain prior to or during the process of speaking.

He stops talking and stares at you. The sounds of the store, the squeaks of cart wheels and the music over the speakers, are suddenly headache inducing. Your friend slaps you lightly on the arm, a motion that you read immediately as you did not just say that, holy shit.

“Say thank you, Kyō,” Yahaba says jokingly, and she emits a noise too high-pitched to actually be laughter. Your face, meanwhile, is frozen. You think you might actually be deceased. This must be rigor mortis.

“Don't think I’ve ever been called beautiful before,” he says, squinting those gorgeous eyes like he's trying to decipher a dead language.

“I am so sorry,” you say, reaching out to haul your ass and your roommate’s out of here now. Your hand closes around nothing and you look around to find her engrossed in conversation with Yahaba, who is now apparently off the clock despite his replacement coworker wasting time looking at you like someone might look at a dead fish that had been thrown at them. “Um. I am so sorry. I didn’t intend to... harass you at work.”

He grunts in dismissal, flashing you a smirk that reveals fanged canines, and if you’ve had one thought that’s inappropriate in a public setting, you’ve had them all by now. “I have to deal with—” He tilts his head toward the growing line, cussing under his breath and rolling his eyes. “You have a good night, though."

Despite your miserable shame, you take comfort knowing that your friend finally had a real conversation with Yahaba, even getting his number while you suffered under his intense gaze. You can cope with embarrassment if it brings something good into the world.

The silver lining is gilded over when, at two minutes past ten, you get a text from an unknown number.

just closed. u doing anything now?

this is kentarō from the grocery. i got ur number from yahaba who got it from ur friend.

hope thats ok

You smile at your phone, envisioning the wrinkle between his brows as he typed the last message. You're gonna have to start budgeting for fancier groceries.

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all-wrung-out · 4 months

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Whumpblr Intro

Hey! I've gone far too long without actually making an intro, despite having this side blog up for a bit. So here we go!

I go by Tac when I'm interacting online (my main blog is calligraphic-tac, and that's my chaos-corner where I try to post things I like, things that inspire me, and my more general writing, when I can actually get words out). Pronouns are she/her, although they/them are good backups.

I've been into whump for as long as I can remember, but in my 33 years on the planet, I only learned last year that there's a whole community for it. I'd heard the term "whump" before, and kind of knew what it was, but never made the connection to the type of media I like.

There are some whump tropes that I'll always enjoy, but the favorite flavor of the week is usually on rotation from the following list:

Superhero whump

Kidnapping

Defiant/Stoic/Strong/Snarky Whumpees

Self-sacrificial Whumpee

Pushing oneself until collapse (especially for Heroes/Leaders)

Whumpers who feign rage, but are actually very calculated and careful in their treatment of Whumpee

Whumpers who actually lose their temper, especially when triggered by a defiant whumpee

Team whump

Non-human Whumpee (especially when it pertains to the good, old-fashioned "what makes us human" trope)

Drug/poison whump (Fucked up balance and altered perception, anyone?)

Medical whump (specifically, medical treatment, but "This is gonna hurt.")

Lab whump (especially testing the limits of a living weapon or attempting to forcibly manifest powers that may or may not exist)

The good, old-fashioned Beating trope

Pinned/Trapped

Drowning/asphyxiation

Environmental/Wilderness whump (extreme temperatures and survival)

Animal attacks

Used as bait

Infected wounds (especially when it comes to treatment of said wounds)

Self-surgery or self-care

Mind control (Specifically, conflict between Whumper/Whumpee within Whumpee's mind while Whumper tries to take control. OH! And Whumper causing Whumpee to experience things that didn't happen; I have a really neat story idea for this one!)

I'm sure I'm missing some, but I suppose I can amend this post when I remember some more. Some of my whump tastes are also kind of specific, so listing them concisely can be a challenge.

Not going to list my squicks here. (As the saying goes: "If you don't want someone to get your goat, don't let them know where it's tied.") However, if you're looking for NSFW-type whump, I don't typically write that. (Not for other folks, anyway; I'm rather terrible at it.)

I used to write a lot as a kid, but was often ashamed of my affinity for whump, so any time I tried to write it, I chickened out and wrote something else. I still wrote plenty of action and peril, but the whump was usually not as heavy as I initially imagined.

I've also been in a bit of a writing slump for... oh, goodness... It's going on 14 years now. I really want to get out of it, so I'm hoping whump writing will help.

Fun fact about me: A lot of my stories are grown from a kernel of whump. I think of a specific scenario I want to put an OC through, and then a whole story grows out of it.

Some of my favorite whump blogs include: @whump-me @whumperofworlds @allthewhumpygoodness @emmithar-blog @soheavyaburden @whumperfultime @roblingoblin285 @blackrosesandwhump @evilwriter-originals I'm still collecting whump blogs to follow, so feel free to interact if you're one such blog!

Also, I'm going to be rusty as hell, so please bear with me while I get my writing brain reinstalled in the ol' skull-housing.

Last thing (I know this post is long already): I've seen the way the whump community interacts and I'm happy to be a part of it. I'm not especially social myself, but I'm nonetheless proud to be part of such an amazing group of folks. Keep rockin', y'all!

#whump #whumpblr #writing #whump intro #whump blog #whump writing #whump community

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

Text

Zombie God Reader-

Dazed and barely conscious, you wake up after going to a party you didn't even want to attend with a killer headache - and your teeth on the floor. You scramble to the bathroom, come to find that every denture was still in place. A voice in the back of your skull mocks your panic. Just what did you take last night? As the evening's events unfold, you learn that everyone at that party is either dead or missing. That "voice" is the remnants of a decaying God who's blood you consumed from an infected glass of bunch. It tells you the only know cure is to eat another humans flesh, and that's only temporary. You have the choice of clinging to what little humanity you have left by commenting one of the most heinous acts known or giving your body and mind to this ancient deity. Your thoughts deteriorate by the day and you... wait....what are you eating? it hurts..stop that. STOP-

Who would've guessed your terrible diet would be the one force capable of stoping a world ending horror from devouring your brain?

You're eventually scouted out by the cult members at that party. They commend you for holding on this long, but you'll succumb soon enough. They always do. Unfortunately, none of the other candidates they've chosen have survived or kept as much of a physical form as you. Was your will that strong to resist their lord's presence and influence like that? They plan to kidnap you to see how your brain works. Maybe you will be the only host they need. As luck would go, they try to capture you on one of your off days. You ambush their leader and beat them half to death. They're uncaring of their fate as someone else will take their role. Your teeth close around their neck and.... And...

"...nh...n...o."

No. You climb off their battered body and tied your jacket around their twisted ankle before sprinting off. The others ask what happened and they..don't know. They watch you closer. You become something else in their eyes. A survivor. A fighter. You are not their god. You are its rebirth - killing off the disease that was once their idol. They band their members to praise you as you are and slaughter those who oppose. They offer you home cooked meals with bits of their flesh and blood baked inside to help you in your battle. They sneak micro doses of the god's cells to further your ascension. You just want to go home and eat fast food and nearly expired goods from cans.

Crackpost under cut

[Zombie God Reader being held at bay by three cult members when a fourth runs up to them with a severed arm in their hands. Reader kicks them square in the face and flails around like a bat out of hell]

Yan Cultist: What in the nine circles are you doing? We don't do that shit anymore! When you kill someone for our master, you throw the body away! Hurry up and get some frozen pizzas. We can't hold them off much longer.

Dying God: Help me, my child. Once I am reborn, I can make your wildness dreams a reality.

Yan Cultist, staring at Reader wearing a muzzle as rabid foam drips from their mouth as they snarl: Believe me.... They already are.

"What can I get you today?!"

Dying God: Flesh.

Zombie God Reader: burger

Dying God: Human Flesh, you moron!

Zombie God Reader: Three burgers

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere #yandere blurb #yandere oc #zombie reader #yandere concept #yandere cult #tw yandere

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floral-force · 1 year

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American Hospitality - One Shot

Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

summary: A girls' night out gets interrupted when a handsome stranger spills your drink. Can this mystery man salvage your night with chivalry and smooth British flirting?

words: 2.8k+

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY/NO MINORS, flirting, innuendo, meeting at a bar, alcohol, drunk task force 141 are little shits, ghost is a gentleman, meet cute, Chicago traditions

masterlist | read on ao3 | taglist

part 2: breakfast in bed

The crowd was rowdy and unpredictable—Saturday nights always brought out the annoying drunks—and you were used to being pushed or moved around, but never with such force. Usually, being even a little tipsy meant you brushed off that type of contact, but this shove was so jarring that you couldn’t ignore it. That, and you’d just turned away from the bar with your new drink in hand. The shove knocked it to the ground, thankfully missing your outfit and ruining the grimy tile floor instead.

Just as you were about to scold the person responsible, you looked up and saw a broad chest right in front of your eyes. Tilting your head back a bit more, your eyes widened at the sight of a man in a black balaclava, a skull jaw printed on it, his wide brown eyes and raised eyebrows the only visible features. A large hand came to rest on your left bicep, and you gulped. Here was one man you didn’t want to pick a fight with; you could cough up another ten dollars for a replacement drink.

“Fuck—I’m sorry, love,” he said, the pet name and low British accent making your heart skip a beat. He looked you up and down. “It didn’ spill on you, did it?”

You dumbly shook your head no, your buzzed brain too stunned to speak.

“Thank God, else I’d feel even worse,” he sighed and moved his hand to the small of your back, guiding you back to the sticky bar top. “Now then, let me buy you a new one.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shouted over the music.

He was so broad and tall that he commanded space, forcing people to move out of his way. Being ushered by someone with that type of presence made your heart flutter. It didn’t help that the black shirt he wore was tight around his arms and torso, accentuating his size. Feeling his hand on your back made your skin hot in the best way possible, as did his deliciously deep, accented voice.

He shook his head, and you noticed that his pale exposed skin had a hint of a blush near his eyes—just barely.

“Nah, I can’t let a pretty gal like you have her night ruined by an arse like me.” His eyes landed on yours, taking you in with a calculating stare. “What’re’ya drinkin’?”

You swallowed. “Um, a, uh,” you stuttered and rubbed the back of your neck, hot under his brown eyes. “A vodka cran.”

He nodded. You watched him flag down one of the bartenders scurrying around, jealous of how easily and quickly he was able to do it. His hand remained on the small of your back as he ordered your drink and maybe something else, but you weren’t too sure; you were too focused on trying to slow your heartbeat and breathe normally. One pink drink and one dark brown drink in shitty plastic cups were set down, and two shots of amber liquid soon joined them. You heard a muffled word of thanks as he handed the bartender cash, stuffing his wallet back in his pants pocket.

Before you could take your drink, he set it down in front of you. His hand dwarfed the cup—he could easily crush it in his fist.

“Now,” he said, turning to face you, taking his hand off your back. “My mates and I heard that we had to take a shot of Malört while we’re ‘ere in Chicago.”

You grimaced, eyes falling on the ominous liquid in front of him. You sighed deeply and shrugged, meeting his eyes. “It’s fucking awful, but it is a Chicago thing.”

He chuckled. “So we gotta sort this ourselves now?”

“We?”

He shrugged. “Can’t do it alone, love.”

“Let’s be clear,” you said, smiling and pointing a finger at him, “I’m only doing this because you got me a drink.”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re a right saint.” He handed you one of the shots, taking the other in his hand and pulling up the balaclava enough so he could drink. Your lips parted when he smiled. “Name’s Simon, by the way.”

You told him your name, standing on your tip toes as he bent his neck so he could hear it. He repeated it a few times, straightening and looking at you with something affectionate in his eyes. “I like the way it sounds, sweetheart.”

You giggled like a schoolgirl talking to her crush. You raised your shot, and he followed suit. Feeling bold, you said, “Here’s to Chicago, and handsome strangers.”

Simon chuckled, a low rumble from his chest. “I’ll drink to that, and to meetin’ stunnin’ lasses.”

It was your turn to laugh. You tapped your glass against the bar top and brought it to your lips with a grimace, knocking it back as fast as you could so the taste didn’t hit before you could swallow. You tapped the glass twice against the counter, hoping that you timed it right. Luckily, you had, and it hit a few seconds after the Malört had burned down your esophagus. You shivered and shook your head, immediately gulping down your vodka cran.

You heard a deep ugh and looked over to see Simon setting his empty shot down and shaking his head. He looked over at you and pursed his lips.

“Yeah,” he rasped, “that’s fuckin’ mingin’.”

You laughed at his response; seeing the reactions people had to Malört never got old. The sweetness and tang of vodka from your drink had finally covered the fermented licorice taste, and you watched Simon drink his, chestnut eyes squeezed shut as he chugged. He set the empty cup down and looked at you. You were twirling the straw in your drink, absentmindedly gazing at him, and embarrassed when he caught you looking.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he purred, pulling the mask down again.

You nodded emphatically. “Very much so.”

“Me too,” he breathed, taking a step closer. When he brushed a thumb across your cheek and pinched your chin, you bit your lip and stared up at him through your lashes. Simon shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Don’ go lookin’ at me like that, pretty girl.”

Usually, you hated the smell of whiskey, but on his breath, it was intoxicating. “Why not, Simon?” you asked innocently, setting your drink down.

He inhaled sharply and got even closer, your bodies almost touching. The heat in your gut was almost unbearable, burning with anticipation. He placed his hands on your waist, kneading your flesh with his fingers.

“Because you won’t be able to walk when I’m through with you,” he husked, eyes sparkling with lust.

You giggled and placed your hands on his broad chest, stroking up and down. The man was toned—you could feel the muscular ridges under the tight material—but soft at the same time. The Malört must’ve melted part of your brain because you suddenly imagined what it’d be like to let your hands explore his bare torso while he was on top of you. You just knew it would be a holy sight and sensation.

“I’ll take my chances, hot stuff.”

“You’ll give me a proper Chicago welcome, yeah?”

He squeezed your waist and you saw the corners of his eyes crinkle with a mischievous smile. You nodded emphatically, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ll give you that and more,” you purred.

He chuckled, then his sultry tone dropped. “How much ‘ave you had to drink, love?”

You took a deep breath and forced air across your lips as you thought. You glanced at the abandoned vodka cran, barely half empty. “Aside from that—” you jerked your head- “and the Malört? Maybe two. I got here an hour or so ago with a few other friends.”

He nodded, his eyes dropping to the floor, hands loosening. Simon met your eyes again, asking, “You free tomorrow?”

You smiled and playfully tapped your finger on your chin, looking up at the ceiling as if you were thinking. “You know what, Simon? Suddenly, my schedule is wide open. Oh, and my legs if you’re interested.”

Simon shook his head and laughed. “Cheeky thing,” he commented, a hand rising to pinch your chin. He then pulled out his phone, the bright light illuminating his pale skin, his hands nearly dwarfing the device. He unlocked it and pulled up a blank contact page, looking back up at you. “Before we get too battered, what’s your—fuck, what d’you Yanks call it—cell phone number?”

You rolled your eyes as you started telling him, hearing him swear when he pressed the wrong number with his too-large fingers. He asked you to spell your name—“Don’ wanna fuck something that lovely up, lass”—and nodded, quickly sending you a text so you could save his number.

The text he sent made you shake your head and rub your temple. Simon grabbed your arm, gently stroking it.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“No! You just didn’t strike me as a ‘kissy-face emoji’ kind of guy.”

“That a bad thing, sweetheart?”

You beamed up at him, putting your phone back in your pocket. “Not at all. But I do get the feeling you aren’t like this with your ‘mates,’” you giggled, using air quotes around the British word.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s the skull mask, innit?”

You shook your head, taking a sip from your forgotten drink. Tilting your head to the left, you gazed straight ahead behind him and jerked your chin forward. “Something tells me it’s that pack of guys pointing at you.”

He whipped around and you heard him groan. “Fuckin’ hell.” Simon turned to face you again, picking up his drink and finishing it off in less than ten seconds. “Yeah, those’re them.”

“You know,” you said, puckering your lips. “Are any of them single?”

Simon raised an eyebrow and leaned against the bar, resting a fist against his hip. “You’re not ditchin’ me already, are ya, love?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m incredibly excited to have those arms around me tomorrow,” you stated. “But I do know my girlfriends would love to flirt with some British guys.”

Simon stared at the ceiling, silent as he considered your offer. When he looked back down at you, he nodded. “Under one—no, two conditions.”

“Shoot.”

“One, nobody goes home with anyone tonight.”

“I like that.”

“Two, everyone takes a shot of Malört.” Simon exhaled, fiddling with his empty cup. “I need those twits bloody humbled.”

“Aye-aye, cap’n,” you giggle, giving a fake salute. “You sound like you give orders all the time, Simon.”

He took a step closer to you and gripped your waist again. “Most people call me lieutenant,” he husked. “But you can call me daddy.”

You were absolutely flustered, words catching in your throat. Before you could attempt to respond, you heard raucous laughter and saw two men ambling towards you and Simon. He immediately turned and put his back to you, his left arm slightly out in a protective stance. His words left you burning and you felt your pussy throb with sudden arousal. You’d explore that innuendo tomorrow; for now, you were focused on taking in the grinning men converging on Simon.

One of them waved at you with a toothy grin. You could see the drunken blush blooming on his pale ivory cheeks, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oi, Ghost! Who’s tha bonnie lass?” he yelled, a Scottish accent underscoring his query.

“Soap, I’ll fuckin’ end ya,” you heard Simon growl.

Another man stared over at you, his cool sepia arms toned and a wide smile splitting his face. He nodded at you and raised his thin black brows. “Ol’ Ghost ain’t scarin’ you too much, is he?”

“If he is, I’ll knock ‘im on his arse!”

“That’ll do!” Simon barked. You placed a hand over your mouth to stifle a laugh, but he heard it anyways and twisted his head to look at you. “Y’alright?”

“I’m perfect, Simon,” you chuckled, pursing your lips and holding back a laugh when his eyes widened as his friends started to howl with laughter.

“Steamin’ Jesus, LT!” The one you assumed was Soap doubled over and guffawed. “Gaz, go get Price!”

Gaz nodded and turned, expertly weaving through the thick crowd. He quickly returned with a bearded man, brunette with a few lines and a smattering of freckles on his ivory face. You assumed this newcomer was Price. Gaz dragged him next to Soap and jerked his chin at you.

“Ghost here told this lass his name,” Gaz chittered.

A smile teased Price’s face, and he nodded. You saw Simon bow his head and groan.

“And he didn’t scare her off?” He looked between Soap and Gaz, who both shook their heads. Price smiled up at Simon and stepped forward, clapping him on the shoulder. “Attaboy, Lieutenant!”

Price’s shoulders shook with a suppressed laugh as Gaz and Soap burst out laughing, and you couldn’t help but laugh too. The sound rose over the din of the bar, your cheeks pained from smiling so much.

You cleared your throat as the laughing died down, and the three men looked at you; Simon’s eyes had never left you. He turned so his back was to the bar, leaning his left arm on it.

“You guys ever had Malört?” you inquired, raising an eyebrow.

When they all shook their heads, you looked up at Simon. He tilted his head towards you and sighed, broad chest rising up and down.

“Well,” you declared, “You can’t say you visited the great city of Chicago if you didn’t take a shot of Malört while you were here! My treat.”

“Simon!” Price exclaimed, his brow furrowed.

“Yes, Captain?” Simon sighed.

“You’re gonna let the lass pay?”

“Bloody hell,” Simon murmured. He grumbled and pulled out his wallet, turning around to order the nasty shots as his friends hollered and laughed. He looked down at you, shaking his head and chuckling. “What am I gonna do with you, sweetheart?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. I’ll leave that up to you, Lieutenant.”

He clicked his tongue and stared down at you, pinching your chin. “Oh, you’re askin’ for it now, love.”

You dreamily smiled up at him, leaning against the bar and propping your elbow up on it, resting your cheek in your palm. Simon ordered and paid, the three shots sitting ominously on the counter. Two vodka crans were set down soon after, and Simon placed one next to you. He lifted the balaclava, revealing his pink lips to you as he sipped his drink, pale blond lashes fluttering on his cheeks. You raised an eyebrow, wondering why he hadn’t ordered whiskey and coke again.

“Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t peg you as the type of guy who likes vodka crans.”

He smirked, the thin black straw resting on his lips. He said your name, and you were enamored with the way his lips looked as he said it. You hoped he’d be pressing them all over your skin tomorrow. It would be a fucking tragedy if he didn’t.

“I’m a man of taste, love. Besides,” he said, taking one last sip before pulling the mask back down. “How can I not like ‘em after spilling one led to me gettin’ your number?”

You nodded. “Fair enough. It’s probably my new favorite drink because of this.”

He snorted, making you giggle. He rapped his fist against the counter and gazed into your eyes.

“Now, how about we make those clowns suffer?”

“I thought Chicago was welcoming, sweetheart,” Simon teased.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “I was ready to fight you when you spilled my drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And how would that have gone for ya?”

“I’m feisty,” you giggled. “But maybe not as well as letting you buy me a new drink.”

“Probably right,” he nodded, rubbing a large hand on your back.

He turned around and slapped Soap’s back with the back of his hand, the man startling from the force and sound of it. The men instantly crowded the bar, each taking a shot glass. Simon moved to stand at your left side, angling himself and acting as a barrier between you and anyone dumb enough to risk spilling on his feisty American girl. The men looked to you, and you raised your drink with them, Simon following suit.

You beamed at them, warming up when Simon placed his hand on the small of your back. “Welcome to Chicago!”

As they took it, you and Simon both took a few sips from your drinks. You looked up and patted Simon’s arms, and he leaned down.

“You’ll get your second welcome tomorrow, handsome.”

You gasped when he quickly squeezed your ass.

Simon straightened to his full height again. The corners of his brown eyes crinkled with a smile, and he nodded. “Oh, I plan on it, pretty girl.”

a/n: I'm a proud chicagoan and just needed to post some gentleman!ghost and goofy vacationing task force 141...also, malort is as awful as it sounds. but if you visit and you're 21+, you gotta take a shot of it. hope you enjoyed! UPDATE: i wrote a part 2 to this fic called breakfast in bed! it is all smut (with a dash of fluff), so give it a read if you'd like.

masterlist | join the taglist! | part 2: breakfast in bed

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fic #call of duty #call of duty fic #task force 141 #gentleman!simon riley #he's a man of honor and treats a lady right #flirting with ghost #meet cute #my fic

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icanhearcolors · 1 year

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Close Encounter pt. 3

Hello beautiful people! I have so many ideas for a camp / long rest scene but we gotta collect the companions first so please enjoy the obligatory Gale and Lae'zel chapter.

pt 1 | pt 2

Word count: 3.8k

You must be seeing things. You blink and rub at your eyes but when you open them again nothing about the morbid scene in front of you changes. There’s a mind flayer on the ground ten feet from you.

You turn to signal as much to Astarion, who must have fallen behind on the way up the hill, and jump out of your skin when you realize he’s standing an inch away- if that.

“Good Gods you scared me!”

“You should be paying more attention. What if I were a blood thirsty vampire trying to sink my teeth into your pretty neck?” He teases.

You point to the clear blue sky with raised eyebrows. The sun is mercilessly beating down on you both. The waves of heat are visible if you squint hard enough, and sweat slicks your clothes to your skin.

“I’d say under normal circumstances that would be unlikely.”

“True. And yet,” he grins, leaning down and snapping his teeth so close to your throat you feel his breath kiss your skin. Some self preservation instinct kicks in and sends you flying before you even process what’s happening. You jerk so hard you surely would have hit the ground if he didn’t catch you by the arm, cackling with self satisfied laughter.

You rip your arm out of his grasp and glare.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Aw come on, it was a little funny.”

“Can we focus please? There’s a mind flayer up ahead.”

The amused look is wiped off of Astarion’s face, replaced with surprise and then accusation.

“Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I’m saying something now aren’t I?” You hiss, returning your gaze to the twitching mass of purple amidst the wreckage up ahead that you believe to be a mind flayer.

“It looks injured. I’m gonna talk to it” You decide, more speaking your thoughts out loud than anything else.

“I'm sorry, did you say you were going to talk to it?! It doesn’t even have a mouth- get back here!” Astarion protests, but it falls on deaf ears.

You step toward the mind flayer, its tentacled face limp. This thing knows more than anyone how to get the worm out of your skull, and it is dying. Before you even decide to do it, your feet are carrying you forward. Astarion follows reluctantly behind.

The mind flayer is a disturbing looking creature. Purple in hue, covered in a film of viscous slime, oozing wine-colored blood. You turn to Astarion, a curious look in your eyes. You wonder if there are creatures even a vampire wouldn't drink from.

“I would rather starve.” He answers the question you hadn’t even asked yet, his nose wrinkling as he glares down at the monster.

That answers that.

You turn your gaze back to the mind flayer, and notice its one visible orange eye is rolling in its socket. You resist the urge to put your knife through the twitching pink flesh of its brain. You need information more than you need revenge. You take a few steps closer, just a foot from it now, and when you glance back at its face you see that orange eye is now focused unblinkingly on you. You can’t look away. It looks pitiful, the poor thing, mangled by wreckage and its own crushed armour. When it comes to creatures who consume the life forces of others, miraculous things can happen when they feed. Perhaps you could find someone to sacrifice to this dying creature. No- it only has minutes to live, you need to sacrifice yourself. It’s for the greater good. This mind flayer has powers beyond your understanding, and you are but a lowly mortal.

“Tav?” A voice somewhere very far away echos.

You ignore it. The fledgling that’s taken up residence in your brain would have turned you into a mind flayer within a few days anyway. Wouldn’t you rather save a life than create a new one? Your mind made up, you take another step towards its welcoming embrace.

An arm catches you around the waist. Someone pulls you backwards, away from the mind flayer. The tadpole in your brain wriggles violently in a way that causes splitting pain inside your skull. You wince and fall back into something, someone.

“It’s in your mind” They whisper, or shout, it reverberates in your pounding head regardless.

You wrestle with your battling emotions, the real contempt and the imposing compassion. The influence of the tadpole lessens now that you have been made aware of it, and you tamp it down to a dull throbbing at the base of your skull. You’re still connected to the mind flayer. You feel its disgust and hatred toward you. Similarly to what happened to you on the path with Astarion, your consciousness is ripped from your body and thrust into the mind of the dying monster. It is fantasizing about your subjugation. It wants to whip you and your companion until the skin is ripped from your backs while you bow before it. The rage you feel destroys whatever vestiges of influence the thing still had over you, and you use it to dive intentionally into the mind flayer’s intellect, searching for answers. You see through its eyes flashes of its story, its rebirth from man to monster, its care for the pool of tadpoles that now live in the brains of the ship survivors, and you feel its fear.

It is terrified of death.

You feel it’s consciousness slipping away quickly like sand through your fingers. Its brain is shutting down and misfiring. You have no idea how to pinpoint the information you’re looking for in the hurricane of foreign memories flashing before your eyes. Still, you are in control here. The mind flayer’s tadpole was meant to kill you, but as you stand over the dying illithid, holding what’s left of its life hostage in your hands, you realize that along with a time bomb in your skull it has gifted you a fraction of the power it wields. A sick sadistic pleasure fills you when you realize you could bend the mind flayer’s will to your own, just as it had done to you. The feeling terrifies you.

You let go of your grip on its thoughts and are flung back into your own body once more. The creature's eyes are unfocused and dim. With an angry shout you lift your foot and drive the heel of your boot into its squishy head.

It jerks, and then falls still- dead.

There is still an arm around your waist you realize, once you've come back to your senses.

You look down to find a pale hand, fingers splayed across your abdomen. You glance up at the owner of that hand, and find Astarion looking at the mess of a mind flayer carcass with a comically shocked expression. He glances at you, then back at the body.

“Perhaps I should do the talking from now on darling.”

You roll your eyes and step out of his hold, striding toward the path again, but as you turn Astarion grabs the strap of the supplies pack flung across your shoulder and uses your momentum to turn you back around again.

“Well hold on just a second! What was that?”

“What was what?” you bluff.

Astarion drops the strap of your bag to cross his arms over his chest.

“Oh so we’re going to pretend I didn’t just watch you offer your brain up for a snack, change your mind, practically pass out, then wake back up again moments later and squash the mind flayer’s head like a cockroach? Great. Carry on then.”

You shrug, nod, and turn on your heel.

“I was obviously being sarcastic!” He shouts, jogging to catch up with you.

“Are you mad at me for killing a mind flayer?”

“Quite the opposite, I quite enjoyed the little show you put on. I just want to know why I had to restrain you from letting that thing snack on your skull. If you want someone to take a bite out of you darling I guarantee you’d have much more fun with me.”

“I can’t imagine how being exsanguinated would be fun in any way,” you deflect. He takes the bait and smiles.

“No need to imagine it when I can show you,” his voice drips with a dark promise that heats your blood. Intrusive thoughts bombard you with images of him following through with that promise, and you dig through your pack for a bottle of water, taking several long sips. He tosses his head back and barks a laugh at your nervous reaction.

“This is fun. I’ve spent two hundred years hiding what I am, smiling with closed lips, hoping my charm or the dim lighting of a tavern was enough to distract whoever I was talking to from the fact that my eyes are crimson. There’s no reason to hide what I am with you, you already know. It’s nice to just be as I am.”

You stop so suddenly it takes Astarion a second or two to realize you’re no longer next to him. He tosses you a worried look over his shoulder and turns around to face you.

“Did I say something wrong?”

A warm feeling you’re not entirely familiar with but could get used to fills your chest. You’re honored to be the first person Astarion has been able to be himself with, even if that person is a relentless flirt with fangs. In a way, you feel the same. You have a lot of experience pretending to be someone you aren’t too, and Astarion seems to be bringing out a whole new side of you. Whether that's a good thing or not has yet to be determined. You have a feeling he wouldn't want you to make a big deal about this, so you say the first thing that pops into your head.

“They’re not crimson." You clarify when he gives you a confused look, "Your eyes I mean. They’re brighter than that, like this.”

You hold up one of the poppy-red colored health potions.

“What?” He asks in a low tone that you can’t quite decipher. The purple runes on the boulder you both stopped in front of begin to glow, but you don’t perceive any magical threat from them, so you return your attention to the vampire.

“Your eyes… they’re bright red. Startlingly so.”

Astarion places a hand on his chest. He looks absolutely devastated.

“Please tell me you’re lying,” He begs.

“I… I’m lying?”

“Oh this is bad. Really really bad.” He begins to pace a short line back and forth. You’ve never been so confused in your life.

“Do you not know what color your eyes are?”

He stops pacing and looks at you incredulously.

“Of course I don’t! I haven’t been able to see my reflection since this happened!”

He pulls down the collar of his white undershirt and reveals two perfectly spaced scars on his neck. A bite wound.

You nod, still confused.

“Right… that makes sense.”

“I can’t believe no one told me my eyes were bright red. I'm going to have to throw away an entire wardrobe.”

Your concerned expression drops instantly, and you close your eyes, pressing your fingers into your temples.

“For the love of- please tell me you aren’t freaking out right now because your eyes don’t match your outfit.”

Astarion doesn’t appear to hear you, he continues to pace, muttering to himself.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“What?” You shout, and he finally stops pacing, startled to a stop.

You genuinely can’t tell if this is an elaborate bit, or if he’s being serious.

“You were enslaved for two centuries and the worst thing that has ever happened to you is that you found out your eyes were a slightly lighter shade than you thought they were?”

Astarion doesn’t break your stare, he holds your gaze and without any discernible hint that he’s lying or telling the truth he says,

“Absolutely.”

You shake your head in mute disbelief, and reach into the bag you took off one of the dead passengers from the beach.

“What are you looking for?” Astarion asks, peering over your shoulder.

“Holy water.”

“Now wait just a minute-”

“Ahem”

Both you and Astarion leap into action at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

Astarion whips the short bow off his shoulder and knocks an arrow so quickly you would have missed it if you blinked.

You follow suit and pull your knife from your belt, turning to face the newcomer.

Your knife arm falls to the side, forgotten, when you take in the sight before you.

The glowing purple runes of the boulder were now spinning around a black hole, and sticking out of that void is a man’s arm.

An impatient and strained sounding voice, as if the owner is somewhere far away and has to shout to be heard, echoes out of the hole in the stone.

“I seem to be interrupting something, but I could really use a hand… anyone? Please?”

You sheathe your knife and step forward, glancing back at Astarion. He nods at the hand, his bow aimed at the swirling sigil. The unspoken message is clear. If anything goes wrong Astarion will shoot.

Comforted by that thought, you sidle up to the portal, an impulsive thought taking hold of you.

What if you gave him a high-five?

You slap the hand.

Astarion snorts behind you, and the owner of the hand wags a finger at you.

“Perhaps I should have clarified. A helping hand please? I’m not sure how much time I have left before this portal closes, or what will happen if it closes while my arm is on the other side of it.”

With that in mind you abandon any notions of using magic to calm the sigil and just grip the hand in both of yours, pulling with all your might. There’s a terrifying moment when your grip slips, and you’re pulled partially into the portal as the owner of the arm falls back, but you regain your footing and try again.

This time it works, and a man launches through the portal a moment before it seals closed.

He lands half on top of you. Raising up on his arms, he looks down at you in wonder.

“You did it! I can’t believe that worked.” He laughs, sounding relieved.

“Ahem” Astarion clears his throat, much like the strange man did earlier.

His bow is trained on the stranger’s chest, his face passive, but in his eyes you see something darker than you’re used to seeing from him.

The stranger scrambles back on his hands, standing quickly and dusting the dirt off of his robe. It looks expensive, the fabric is a thick rich purple overlaid with brown leather around his shoulders..

Astarion shifts the bow into one hand, and reaches the other toward you, eyes never straying from the man you just saved. You take his hand and allow him to pull you up, dusting yourself off as well. The man waves awkwardly at you both.

“Um. Hello. I’m Gale of Waterdeep.”

He lunges forward to grab your hand for a shake, but quicker than a snake strike Astarion’s bow is drawn again and aimed at his eye. He stumbles back, hands raised, and clears his throat nervously.

“Thank you for the rescue. My apologies, I’m usually better at this.”

“No need to apologize.” You place a hand on Astarion’s shoulder and he reluctantly lowers the bow.

“I’m Tav. My friend with the trust issues here is Astarion. Don’t worry, he warms up quickly. Are you okay?” you ask Gale.

“You were on the nautiloid weren’t you?” Astarion asks before he can answer, and now that you take a closer look you can see that yes, Gale does look familiar.

You study him for a moment. His shoulder length brown hair is swept back, revealing a silver earring in one of his ears. Your eyes travel down to his well kept beard, and further to a fragment of a tattoo that starts at the base of his throat and ends somewhere under his robe. He looks remarkably put together for someone who just fell out of the sky.

“I was about to ask you the same. Back on the ship, you too were on the receiving end of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region were you not?”

You and Astarion both nod.

“This insertee that we speak of, the parasite - are you aware that after an excruciating gestational period it will turn us into mind flayers? It’s a process called ceremorphosis, and let me assure you: it is to be avoided.”

Astarion side-eyes you, his eyes seem to convey a message.

I don’t like him.

You give him what you hope is an admonishing glare in response.

Be nice.

Gale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You don’t happen to be a cleric by any chance do you? A doctor? A surgeon? Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?” He asks with a hopeful lilt to his voice and a flourish of his hand.

“Oh yes, Astarion here can knit with the best of them. Can’t you Astarion?”

The vampire twirls an arrow between his fingers and levels Gale with a bored look.

“Define ‘needle’.”

Gale to his credit only eyes that arrow for a few moments before moving on.

“Well that’s not exactly what I had in mind. We’re most certainly going to need a healer, and soon too. How about we lend each other a helping hand once more and look for a healer together?”

You nod and smile at the charming, if not a little long winded stranger.

“I say the more the merrier. Astarion?”

Astarion turns to you, a bit taken aback.

“You’re asking my opinion?”

“Yes.”

Astarion looks at you, then at the grinning stranger in the purple robe, and sighs.

“Fine. You can keep the wizard, but if he has an accident I’m not cleaning it up.”

Gale furrows his brow.

“What is that supposed to mean? And how’d you know I was a wizard?”

“Because you smell like a library-” You clap a hand over Astarion’s mouth and immediately regret it when his eyes light up with what you know is the urge to bite your hand.

You pull away before he can make up his mind one way or the other.

“Ignore my pale friend here, he gets cranky when he’s hungry, we should get going.” you say to Gale in an overly cheerful voice, who is now looking at you two with thinly veiled suspicion of some sort.

“You two seem close.”

You laugh, a bit hysterically.

“Would you believe me if I told you he tried to kill me an hour ago?”

Gale looks the pale elf up and down. He's still deftly twirling an arrow in his hand.

"I would actually." He says.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was just prepared to do so if you didn’t answer my questions.”

“Oh okay, you should have told me that sooner Astarion that makes all the difference.”

You begin trudging along the path before you, unlikely companions in tow.

Astarion nods, his expression serious.

“I knew you’d see it my way.”

Gale walks in conflicted silence for a moment before curiosity seems to get the best of him.

"So if he tried to kill you, why are you traveling together?"

Astarion addresses the wizard before you can.

"Strange times make for strange companions Gale of Waterdeep."

The sun lowers steadily in the sky as you walk. It feels like walking is all you know how to do at this point. Gale and Astarion bickered for a little while over Astarion's refusal to call Gale anything except his full title "Gale of Waterdeep" but even that had died down as the heat and exhaustion caught up with them, too. Your legs burn and the temptation to turn in for the night plagues you, but you know the wilds of the sword coast are no place to sleep, and you repeat the mantra that has pushed you along these last few miles.

One more step. One more step. One more step.

You're brought out of your thoughts by a hand on your shoulder.

Astarion holds a finger to his lips and tilts his head toward the rocky hill in front of you. He hears something. Someone.

"Zorra was right. Yellow as a toad, and twice as ugly." a masculine voice spits.

"The thing's dangerous. Leave it for the Goblin's to kill." pleads a feminine one.

You reach the top of the hill. Shock freezes your blood when you see the thing they are arguing about. It's your Githyanki ally from the nautiloid, suspended in a tiny cage several feet off the ground above two tieflings. Your tadpole squirms as she meets your eyes, and this time instead of swapping minds, your minds seem to connect. She stares at you intently. Her lips don't move, but you hear her next words all the same.

You again. Get rid of them.

Well. The Gith are not exactly famous for their manners so you suppose the abrasiveness is to be expected.

"And if it escapes? How will you- oh. It appears we have guests."

The man catches your eye as you step into view.

You raise you hand in greeting and nod toward the trapped Githyanki.

"Oh she'll escape alright. The Gith are horribly tenacious creatures. Incredibly dangerous too. We have some experience with them. Why don't you leave her to us and we'll take care of it."

You lie through your teeth. Astarion and Gale nod along, but the three of you make a rather odd little group. Astarion looks the part of a Baldurian noble high elf, except his pupils are red and there's dried blood on his hands. Gale, the human wizard, would have no reason to have any experience with the Gith. And you, well you look like you just fell from the sky.

The tiefling hesitates. He's obviously suspicious of the three odd strangers who have appeared seemingly out of nowhere and offered to solve his problems, but the desire to no longer have the problems wins out and he nods, turning to his companion.

"She's right. Let's go. We need to check out that blast."

Your curiosity is piqued, but you want them gone as quickly as possible, so you don't ask about the blast. They take off down the path.

You turn to Lae'zel, suspended in what appears to be a goblin trap.

"Enough gawking!" She barks, "Get me down."

Maybe you're gaining some confidence out here in the wilds, maybe it's Astarion's influence, but the next words out of your mouth shock you.

"Say please."

Astarion laughs.

Lae'zel is less amused.

She rears back as if you just insulted her.

"Never."

You shrug, turning back to Astarion.

"Those teiflings looked well fed. I'll bet you there's some sort of civilization near by."

"I'll make that wager." He turns towards you, hiding his face from Gale, and gives you a devilish watch this smile.

"What say you Gale of Waterdeep?"

"If you say 'Gale of Waterdeep' one more time I will incinerate you."

Astarion winks at you before rounding on Gale, hand over his heart in mock betrayal.

"That's rather rude Gale of Waterdeep. I thought we were friends."

"Free me from this cage before I slaughter you all like the chattering animals you are!" Lae'zel hisses.

You look up at her with a frown. She sighs deeply.

"Please" She mutters.

Recognizing that's as good as you're going to get, you raise your hand, aiming for the ropes that tie the base of the trap to the rest of the cage.

"Ignis!"

Flame shoots from your hand and snaps the flimsy ropes. The bottom drops out of the frame and with it an angry Githyanki.

She lands in a crouch and stands slowly as you approach. You have to admit the move is pretty badass.

"It appears the tadpole hasn't scrambled all of your senses. Auspicious. But the longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people possess a cure for this infection. I must find a creche, you will join me."

How curious. You know a fair amount about the Gith, and you're quite sure lending a helping hand to others is not written in their doctrine.

"And what exactly is a... creche?" Astarion asks.

Lae'zel turns her withering stare to him.

"It is many things. A hatchery, a training grounds, a shelter. Githyanki protocol is clear: When infected with a ghaik tadpole, we must report to a caretaker for purification."

Gale crosses his arms.

"A simple thank you for saving your life wouldn't be amiss"

Lae'zel glares at the wizard, and he takes an intimidated step back, raising his hands.

"Or not."

She smiles, satisfied with that response.

"You might as well suggest a wyvern bow to worms. The cure I offer you will suffice as thanks."

It seems almost too easy, a solution to all your problems stands before you.

"I'm not so sure about this." Astarion mutters, and Lae'zel scowls.

She doesn't get a chance to respond, however, before the sound of pounding footsteps somewhere further in the distance has you all pausing to listen.

That's when you hear the screaming.

--------

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