#warriors and time are used to this but still flinch

[makoodles]

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

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

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Problem?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey–”

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

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

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

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

“Tawtute?”

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yes.” You say.

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

“How would you like me to–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

[amoreva]

yes i’m so glad you’re writing for clarisse because im obsessed with your writing.

could you write something with reader being a really confident and vain daughter of aphrodite who channels her mothers war goddess attributes and is one of the best sword fighter in camp? also playful teasing from reader and sparring because 1 i need justice for the massacre of aphrodites character and 2 clarisse x aphrodite!reader is essential to my life force. haters can hate.

maybe also show how other campers interact with her as well, like luke showing percy around idk

LOVER AND A WARRIOR

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pairing: clarisse la rue x daughter of aphrodite!reader

summary: clarisse has always been a hard hitter and a tough lover, but a certain someone from aphrodite makes her soft. and she doesn’t entirely mind it.

warnings: use of “y/n” once or twice, kinda switches to percy’s pov, fighting, almost death(?), fluff, mentions of beckendorf!!

a/n: i really hope i did this request right! enjoy! i was trying to crank this out as soon as i could.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

Everyone thought you’d be claim by Ares (even though your dad was still very present and not a god) or at least by Athena. You were smart and a hell of a lot strong; both mentally and physically.

So it came to a surprise when Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, claimed you.

Though, Clarisse knew you were her daughter. You were every bit of passionate: about life, hobbies, interests, her. You paid attention to every little detail that flew out of her mouth (she noticed).

It didn’t help that you channeled your mother’s past title and abilities. After all, in Sparta, she was known as Aphrodite Aeria, “Aphrodite the Warlike”.

Clarisse was head over heels for you the minute she saw you fight (you even bested Luke, how was she not supposed to not fall in love with you?)

You and Clarisse started dating at the peak of the Summer Solstice and never looked back. No one knew Clarisse could be so…tolerating to someone outside of her cabin, especially to one of Aphrodite’s daughter.

Percy surely didn’t expect it either.

Clarisse was so callous and you were compassionate. He guessed that thing about opposites attract was true.

“Look, you want attention here, dummy?” Clarisse spoke condescendingly to the newest camper. She just couldn’t believe a scrawny kid took down the Minotaur. “You better be ready for it when it comes.”

Clarisse made Percy flinch and walked past Hermes’ kids. An amused smile plastered on her face. Luke shook his head as Ares’ kids passed which begged the question. “Why don’t they mess with you?” Percy asked.

“They know better.” Luke smirked.

“Luke’s the second strongest swordsman in camp.” Chris added with a proud grin.

“Who’s the first?”

“Y/N.”

Suddenly, you walked by in perfect timing. Percy’s eyes glued to you. You witnessed the whole situation and went to talk to your girlfriend. “Clarisse…” You muttered.

Percy watched Ares’ daughter soften at the mention of her name from your lips. Nothing in the facial expressions, it was all in the eyes.

“She doesn’t look menacing or intimidating—” Percy acknowledged.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Luke reminded as he glanced back at you and Clarisse. “Got my ass handed to me when I sparred with her.”

Percy looked at Luke. “Really? Can I train with her?”

•••

It wasn’t odd to find Clarisse in Aphrodite’s cabin; nor was it odd to find the two of you cuddling on your bunk. Sunlight beaming onto the two of you and the only sounds were the campers outside. All of your siblings when do go enjoy camp activities while you read to Clarisse.

Ancient Greek flows from your mouth like the water from River Styx. Clarisse had one arm haphazardly thrown across your abdomen. Her head perched on your shoulder.

Silently, she admired the way your lips moved. The way you were invested into the story. The way she can see all the tiny details on your gorgeous face from this position.

Clarisse found herself falling for you more and more with each second of the day. She was aggressive and intimidating. She was Ares’ favorite daughter after all, but she found herself becoming more softhearted to you.

“You’re my…everything.” Clarisse whispered fondly. It might’ve been a slip of the tongue, but it made you blush.

She never failed to make you blush. Your rosy cheeks complimented with a sheepish grin. “Clarisse…” You mumbled and put down the book.

“I mean it.” Clarisse stated firmly and sat up on her elbow. Her heart locket fell from her orange Camp t-shirt. It matched yours, except you had a sword charm. Clarisse insisted on giving it to you (after threatening Beckendorf once or twice) for your two month anniversary.

“I know.” You reassured and pecked her lips quickly. Clarisse smiled and dived back in to press her lips into yours

A giggle erupted from you. A rush of dopamine intoxicating your brain. It always felt like the first kiss with her. “I love you, I love you, I love you—” You repeated into her lips.

“I get it, lovergirl.” Clarisse chuckled as she pulled away. Her cheek tinged with pink. “I love you too.”

She continued. “Will you keep reading? You sound so beautiful when you read—”

“Clarisse!” You exclaimed. Your blush even more prominent.

“What? I can’t tell my girlfriend she has a voice from the sirens that could bring the Big Three to tears?”

“Clarisse…”

“Keep reading, lovergirl.”

•••

“This is safe, right?” Percy asked Grover.

“Yeah! Perfectly safe.” Grover reassured with a smile.

Luke had recruited you to help train Percy (Clarisse just so happened to tag along). There were swords in all of your hands. You were going to fight Clarisse and Luke and Percy doubted you were that good.

It was all to help Percy learn more about fighting with the sword and a great way to show off. The forest clearing gave enough room to really show your talents in combat.

“Don’t go easy on me!” You yelled at Clarisse and Luke on the other side of the clearing. Percy and Grover were sitting on rather large rocks anticipating the battle.

You took a deep breath and your eyes hardened. It was like switched had been flipped within you. You shifted your foot, sliding it in the dirt. The air felt different. Tense, sharp, lung-crushing.

Clarisse and Luke tightened their grip on their swords and gave each other a confirming nod. Percy and Grover watched as the three older half-bloods charged one another.

With precision and quick-wit, you were able to keep Clarisse and Luke on their toes. Luke shifted his weight in his feet before charging you again. You clashed swords. Celestial Bronze against Celestial Bronze.

Your ears perked up on shoes slapping against the dirt. You ducked causing Clarisse to swing at Luke. There was no trace of a your warm sweet smile Percy saw, only your hardened gaze.

It was kind of scary to see Aphrodite’s daughter switch up so fast.

Clarisse cursed under her and swiped her sword as if flicking off imaginary blood. She met your gaze, her heart skipped a beat. She rushed you again and swiped your legs. You jumped back with the grace of a swan, but Clarisse parried her sword immediately after.

You riposted Clarisse when Luke cane out from behind Clarisse to continue an onslaught of attacks. You scoffed quietly, but you could never complain. It was a good workout.

Yet, a particularly heavy swing from you knocked Luke’s sword from out of his hand. His sword flinging at Percy’s head. Percy shouted and ducked.

“Oh my gods!” You exclaimed and slapped your heads over your mouth in surprise.

Clarisse and Luke stopped their attacks and looked back at Percy and Grover. Luke’s celestial bronze sword was sticking out of a tree. Percy centimeters away from the blade.

You apologized for your reckless behavior. Percy was more scared of how fast you switched from your focused nature to a worried attitude.

“It’s okay…” Percy laughed nervously.

“He said he was fine!” Clarisse called out and walked towards you, pressing a small kiss to your cheek.

“Sorry, Percy.” Luke apologized.

“A lover and a fighter. Got it.” Percy noted in his mind as you complained to Clarisse about feeling bad about impaling Percy.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Mr. and Mrs. Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut

His eyes are cold and restless, his wounds are almost healed, and she’d give half of Prythian just to change the way he feels. She knows his love’s in the Hewn City and she knows he’s going to go. But it’s not a female he’s leaving for, it’s his damned duty to the Night Court.

Warnings: sexual content, grinding, dom/sub dynamic, language, bondage, grinding, fingering, toxic couple, using intimacy as a form of persuasion

Her mate was strong but gods damn it, so was she. Perhaps that’s why by some cruel twist of fate, she was mated to the infamous Spymaster of Night Court. A male that could torture the secrets out of seasoned liaisons with even the highest of clearances. Nobody in Prythian was better at the game than him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone a moment to doubt it. “Cold”, “Calculating”, “Ruthless”, those that feared him would whisper.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Azriel?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

His cold, stony gaze fixed on the door behind her as she pressed her body against it, blocking the exit.

Placing two palms to his leather covered chest, she shoved - perhaps she was the only one who didn’t fear him. In fact, she loved him and that was the fucking problem. She wished she didn’t, wished she could let his ass walk right out that front door and not give him a second glance. Instead she was so hopelessly devoted to him that she couldn’t fathom letting him go without a fight. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she needed him, like he needed to draw information from anyone he perceived as a threat to the Night Court. Those that respected him would call it honorable. She called it fucking insufferable.

To his credit, at the belligerent outburst of his mate, a slight tick of his jaw was the only sign of his irritation - a large hand raising to each of her shoulders.

“You just got back! This is fucking bullshit and you know it!” She huffed. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see her weak. No, not today. Let him read the resolve in her eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” His firm tone left no room for argument.

Too bad for him she didn’t give a damn about personal space as she made room to retaliate anyway.

“You’re not even healed! Your left wing is tattered in two places. Never mind the fact that I’ve barely seen you this past month. What the hell, Azriel? Do I not matter to you?”

His cold, restless gaze faltered for a moment. “That’s unfair, Y/N, and you know it. You matter and so does ensuring the safety of the court we live in. It’s my duty.”

She pushed a finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “No, Azriel, what’s unfair is the way you are walking out on me again. Fuck this court and every person in it, I only want you.” Rage seeped through her, rising to a boil beneath her heated skin. Azriel’s lips remained pressed in a firm line, a slight rustle of his wings the only show of frustration.

Lifting a scarred finger and tracing it lightly along the side of her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mean that.”

Her brow creased at the implication. “I do and you know it. You are all I care about, you’re my fucking mate, not the people of this court, not the city of Velaris, YOU.”

Shaking his head, he remained calm, letting out an exhale. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You’ve known my duties since well before we mated. You don’t see me complaining when you’re away on missions for the Valkyries.”

Oh- he struck a nerve with that. Bracing himself for the recoil he stood firm, crossing his arms in the warriors stance he and Cassian had both perfected over the years. With a cock of his head he continued, “Did I strike a nerve there? Let it out, Y/N. Let’s get this out of the way so you’re not stewing the entire time that I’m gone.”

“You are infuriating!” She howled, her power rolling off her skin in waves, Azriel’s shadows recoiled but he didn’t flinch. “You know why you don’t complain? Because you’re still fed, fucked, and fawned over every single night you’re home. Do I get the same treatment in return? No!”

“So that’s why you’re upset?” He challenged. “You need me to fill your pretty cunt? Is that it baby?”

He hit his mark with the statement. A rush of arousal barreling into him before she clamped down on their bond, rage again lining her sharp features. “I can get off well enough on my own, Azriel.” she spat, his name dripping off her lips with venom. He wanted to bite those lips, suck the venom coating right off of them.

He leaned in, centimeters away from her ear, running a thumb gently up and down her forearm. “You sure about that? You seem a bit-“ hazel eyes roved hungrily up and down her form, from the exposed flesh of the thighs her negligee did very little to cover, to the hint of areola peaking over the deep cut of lace trim, disheveled in her haste to catch him before he left the house. He closed the distance, his lips now caressed the shell of her ear. “-tense.”

“Fuck you.” She snarled.

“Oh, did I not make that clear enough?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hazel eyes boring into the depths of her own. “That’s what I’m offering.”

“You can’t fix this with fucking! I’m going to get Rhys, now. You’re not leaving. Not this time.” She stormed to their bedroom, the curve of her ass teasing him as he followed her through the house. Throwing open the armoire door she grabbed a silk t-shirt and leggings, hurriedly putting them on over her slip. Azriel’s tall form leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching his angry little mate with a smirk.

“I’m not fucking joking.” She scowled. “I don’t give a shit that he’s your High Lord. You’re MY mate first. Or did you forget that?” She marched toward the doorway shifting to slide past his towering frame. Just as she thought he’d let her past he flung out an arm. “How could I forget, my love? Your fiery rage is the soothing balm warming my own forged of ice.”

She hissed as she barreled into his arm, no match against the 500 years of hard-earned, corded muscle beneath. “No you don’t.” He hauled her over his right shoulder as she kicked and beat her clenched fists against the defined muscles of his back. “Put me down!”

He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the fact that though his mate was livid as all hel with him, she still was careful to throw those fists away from the sensitive membranes of his wings.

Reaching the edge of their oversized bed and much to her dismay, Azriel cradled one hand to the nape of her neck, and looped the opposite arm beneath her ass, dropping her onto the bed, his shadows darting out to restrain her.

“This isn’t going to work!” She yelped.

He hummed, a look of pure male arrogance crossing his gorgeous features. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he braced his weight on his left arm, tracing a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts. “Is that why the sweet aroma of your need is filling every inch of this room?”

Gritting her teeth, she fought the shadows pinning her to their bed.

She loved this and he knew it. His mate was wild, untamed, only yielding within the safety of their bedroom walls.

He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them, and placing just enough pressure against her core to earn a whimper at the friction.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” he demanded.

The female shook her head.

“I may be a patient male, love, but I don’t have time to wait for you. Going to need you to use your words.”

She only scowled at him and he didn’t miss the way she almost imperceptibly arched her back, raising her chest, pebbled nipples peaking from beneath her silken shirt.

“Very well.” He tsk’d, turning his back, wings flaring slightly to remind her of just how accurate the rumors about wingspan were.

He stepped outside the door frame, turning the corner when a pitiful “Wait.” came from their room.

Her scent flowed to him from their room, his cock jerking at the win, at the fact that her submission and desire for him was so evident. He waited a moment. Oh yes, he was going to make her wait for this. Spymaster duties could hold off long enough to punish his girl for her outburst, in all the ways she loved to be reprimanded. She needed the attention and her behavior was a clear sign of it.

So he sauntered back into their room, oozing with confidence as he took in the sight of his mate, defenseless in her binded state.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” He asked in a condescending manner.

She nodded her head, apology dancing in her eyes.

“Promise me, baby.” He teased. “Show me just how good you can be.”

“Yes, sir.” She spoke submissively.

Pride sparked in his chest at her changed behavior. Releasing his shadows, he looked to her with faux empathy in his eyes, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “Strip.”

She did as he requested with no argument.

“Good girl.” He cooed, patting his thigh. “Now c’mere”

He took in every inch of exposed skin as she strode toward him, avoiding eye contact in a show of deference. Very well, the subtle bounce breasts with each step was captivating his attention anyway.

His submissive girl was so fucking good for him.

She spread her legs, straddling his thigh, dropping her weight down onto it, waiting patiently for his next command.

Looking into her eyes, he whispered in a low voice that sent chills through her, his palm cupping her jaw, thumb running across her lower lip. “You’re so delicious, you know? Those pretty lips make me want to devour them until they’re puffy and red.”

He was setting the bait. The next sentence determining whether she’d be rewarded or not based on her response. “But, unforunately” Azriel let out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t have all day. Our court needs me.”

He caught the flash of violence in her eyes, the rage warring within them. But to his surprise, she didn’t react. Not one single word of resistance falling from that pretty mouth.

He placed a hand on either side of her hip, situating her center over the seam of his leathers. “I know you didn’t like that, sweet girl. But look at you, you’re being so good for me right now. You’re learning.”

She smiled coyly at the praise, biting her lip and looking up to him with fluttering eyelashes.

“You can move now, baby. Take your pleasure.”

So she did, finding that perfect angle and rhythm to bring the friction she so desperately needed to her aching core.

Her body began to tense, little moans and whimpers spilling from her lips, brows furrowing as she focused on her pleasure. “Azzie.” She whispered innocently. “Please, may I come?”

He brought a scarred hand to the back of her head. “Such good manners, baby. So proud of you.”

She beamed at the praise.

“Yes, my good girl. You may.”

A whimper fell from her lips as his thumb found the sensitive bud of her clit, moving it in those rhythms he’d long ago perfected, bringing her to the edge in no time.

She cried out his name through shattered moans, her head falling to the crook of his neck, breasts heaving against him. When her panting settled, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Opening his mouth to accept her gratitude, he was taken back by something pulling at his wrists, ankles following suit.

His mate hopped off of him, heading to the closet. “What the hell?” Azriel shouted.

“Some Spymaster you are.” She chided, eyes rolling with contempt. “When would I ever submit so easily? Think with your other head next time, Az.”

Throwing on a set of leathers that typically would have had his cock at full attention by the way they hugged her like a second layer of skin, she flashed him a vulgar gesture and left the room, leaving him pinned to their four-poster bed by his own damned shadows.

He fought against the binds but the traitorous things were having none of it.

“Y/N! Come back!” He yelled but the only response was the slamming of the front door echoing down the hall.

——————————

Hours later a disheveled Shadowsinger found himself in the Hewn City. After much convincing his shadows had finally let him free of their restraint when he promised the lecherous things their share of playtime with their favorite little mate - their mate who was absolutely going to be punished later.

He was fuming, embarrassment weighing heavily upon him like an anchor. He almost felt bad for the subject Rhys has sent him to elicit information from today. They expected it would take at least a day, if not two to work on this one. Azriel guessed a day based on the less-than-generous mood he was in.

His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hewn City dungeons as he neared the cell of his subject, shadows promising violence, an obvious attempt to win back his affections after their betrayal.

Azriel gaped as he rounded the corner to find his leather clad mate sitting in a chair outside the cell, seated in a relaxed show of dominance with one leg crossed over the other, irreverently picking at her cuticles with fucking Truth-Teller.

“What the hell?” He fumed at his mate. “Where is the prisoner?”

“Oh, him?” She flashed a wicked grin.

“He’s gone. I got the information Rhys needed.”

His brows furrowed with disbelief. There was no way. It had only been a couple of hours. “How?”

She stood, swishing her hips as she sauntered toward him, brushing her chest against his. “I have my ways. Certainly you would know that.” She flicked her gaze to his swirling shadows who quickly hid in shame. “Your shadows surely do.”

Gripping him by the front of his leathers, she pulled him into a kiss, claiming his mouth with her own. The Shadowsinger too dumbfounded to argue.

“C’mon Shadowsinger.” She quirked an eyebrow, as she looked into his eyes with challenge. “You’re mine. Now, let’s go home.”

—————————————-

A/N: you get extra credit if you know where the summary for this story came from.

General tags: @lilah-asteria

[librarygarten]

Chain x Space Orc! Human! Reader

Been thinking about those humans are space orcs posts. I know I'm not the first person to think of this, but the idea of humans just being built different than Hylians has been living in my head rent free.

You had been traveling with the chain for a while now. Long enough for them to notice you were different from them. For one, your ears were round, not pointed, but that difference was easy enough to dismiss. No. It was apparent that you were built… different.

It had all started when the group was transported into Wild’s Hyrule, directly onto Mount Hylia. Wild had been quick to pull out warm clothes for the group, but even bundled up in cloaks everyone couldn’t help but shiver in the icy wind. That is, everyone, except for you, who had declined Wild’s offered cloak and seemed completely unbothered by the fact that you were on top of a mountain in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt. When asked, you merely commented that the wind was a bit brisk, but not too bad.

 Then there was the incident with the Wizzrobe. Legend had reluctantly agreed to give you and Wind a tour of one of the dungeons he had cleared during his adventure. Unfortunately, whatever dark entity that seemed to be toying with the group had uncleared the dungeon. Legend saw the magic hit you square in the chest. He expected to see you at least stumble backwards from the blast, but you didn’t. You didn’t even flinch. You just looked down at where you had been hit, then back up at the Wizzrobe.

“Umm… Was that supposed to hurt?” you asked. The Wizzrobe responded by teleporting away, never to be seen again.

The final nail in the coffin was when you, Time, and Warriors had been cornered by a Lynel. The rest of the group was off exploring, so you couldn’t wait for backup. Before Time could even try to formulate an attack plan, you had up picked up both him and the captain, tossing them over your shoulders as you sprinted away.

“HOW ARE YOU LIFTING US? WE’RE WEARING ARMOR FOR HYLIA’S SAKE!” Warriors yelled, a bit indignant at being carried like a sack of potatoes.

“Do we even weigh anything to you?” Time pondered, resigned to his fate.

“Nah,” you grinned, still running, “It’s like holding a bunch of grapes.”

[estell-allary]

APHRODITE’S BANE

Relationship:romantic

Pairing:Clarisse La Rue x fem!aphrodite!reader

Warnings:fighting,mentions of blood,reader getting injured,swearing pls tell me if I missed any<3

A/N-this is my first time writing,also this is just a fluff about Clarisse and you loving each other AND you are like the past Aphrodite the fighter and warrior that she truly is,not this soft weakling that people preseve she is just because she is the graceful goddess of love~(it is also 00:30am and this is heavily inspired by the song Salvatore by Lana)

Shocked.That’s what you would say you (and most of camp half-blood) were when you found out that your mother-Aphrodite-claimed you,especially in the middle of capture the flag! No it’s not because you’re not pretty-hell your one of the prettiest girls in chb,but because everyone was sure you would be claimed by ares or even Athena.

Everyone had no doubts to you being one of there children because you were strong,quick witted, intelligent and understanding you also had an undying loyalty towards the ones you loved, but after you were claimed people started to relate you to your mother more-or well who your mother used to be,Aphrodite Areia.

When you were unclaimed you would hang out with the ares kids and a few other people,but there was only(not even)a hand full of people you talked to in the Aphrodite cabin-them being piper,livia,Valentina and silena

I mean you were only claimed a few weeks after you arrived at camp half-blood that being in that years game of capture the flag..that’s also when you met her.Clarisse La Rue,honestly you didn’t really think of her to be all that before the incident,sure people told you to stear clear of her because she was a bully and would not hesitate to flush your head down a toilet,but you just saw her as a normal teenager who had anger issues.

You’ve only been at camp half-blood for 3 weeks and the date of capture the flag was today,everyone has been preparing and training extra hard for a few days now and you still haven’t even found out who your godly parent is yet,tho everyone’s already assumed who they are,ares or Athena,because your a natural for sword fighting and one on one combat or because you are wise and patient-most of the time.

You were placed on the blue team with the hermes cabin until your claimed same goes with the rest of the unclaimed kids,Chiron did his speach and then the red team let out this loud monstrous war cry that made you flinch,“um Luke,is that normal”you asked in a hushed voice to the black haired boy that was standing next to you “yep,they do it every year,don’t worry you’ll get used to it”he pated you on the shoulder biding you goodbye as the blue team departed.

Stumbling through the woods trying to get to your spot was..difficult to say the least let’s just say you got lost a few times,when you finally get there you lean back against a rock,it was smooth and rough at the same time,just right.You could feel the sun levitating off of your now warm skin,this was sure to give you a light tan.

‘Catch me if you can,working on my tan Salvatore’

You heard a twig snap behind you and you quickly jumped up and grabbed your sword,turning around to see no one,“hello?..”you said confused but keeping up your fighting stance “annabeth?..Luke?” You called out knowing annabeth was close by but Luke wasn’t you were just confused…that was until you got tackled to the floor by non other then..someone? it was a boy and he smelt vile but you had no time to think about that before you panicked and slashed your sword at the side of his amour and flipped him off of you before quickly getting up and taking a step back.

He lunged up and swung at you but you quickly dodged and bolted for the woods, running,in hopes he would head for the flag instead of following you,but he didn’t..it was strange he was going after you and not the flag, “ow!shit!” You cried out as you were tackled to the floor again this time with him stabbing at your amour.

You pushed yourself backwards and kicked him in the stomach sending him back a few meters,you jumped up again and so did he this time you lunged at him stabbing at his chest but he kicked your legs out from under you and pushed you back making you fall of a small ledge and land on the small,damp rocks of the beach.

‘Dying by the hand,of a foreign man,happily’

He jumped down on to you and held his sword to your neck,he was about to open his mouth to say something but you kicked him in the shin making him fall and his sword pierce your skin,not enough to properly injure you but just enough to draw blood,he yelled out as he hit the damp rocks “ah!you bitch!”you both got up again and started clashing your swords together “why the hell are you still trying to fight me!”you grunted out.

Before he could respond you heard yelling and both the blue and red team came running out the woods the blue team with the red flag,the person holding it was annabeth but she faltered for a few seconds seeing that you were is a fight.

Then you caught her eye,for the first time you both looked at each other and gods she was gorgeous.Clarisse La Rue.

But you got distracted.“HEY!”luke yelled out as the boy stabbed with full force at your chest.

‘Calling out my name in the summer rain,ciao,amore’

You huffed out a breath,gasping for air as you grabbed the end of his sword cutting your palm and two of your fingers but kept your grip on it strong,you raised your foot and kicked the boy in the stomach making him stumble and lose his grasp on the sword.You threw the sword into the water and just as he was about to punch you,you grabbed his fist and flipped over above him landing behind him (thank god for you being able to do gymnastics)

Just as annabeth got the red flag to the post you punched him in the back making him fall on his front and he stayed down..OH GOD YOU KNOCKED HIM OUT!!

You looked up panicked and everyone was staring looking shocked at yo-..wait why were they looking above you?You looked up and gasped,

“Wha-?”

Suddenly you were tackled into a hug by silena who was laughing “oh my god” you heard annabeth say,your gaze went from Silena to Annabeth to Clarisse..she was looking at you with a puzzled expression before saying the thing that everyone was thinking, “how the fuck are you a daughter of Aphrodite?”she said your eyes grew wide before you furrowed your brows “HEY!are you calling me ugly!?”you yelled out looking offended even tho you were thinking the same thing.

“Well no bu-!”Clarisse started before she was interrupted by Chiron “Aphrodite areia..you take after your mother’s original origins from being a warrior”he said with a kind smile on his face.

“Well that’s enough for today everyone go get some rest get fixed up and carry on with your day!”Chiron declared.

A/N:sorry that there was like no Clarisse x reader in this I promise there will be way more in my next one this one was just a tester btw😃

[tenderleavesbob]

Alternate "Warriors meets the chain" take.

Captain Link stared silently at the destruction, then at the three young men being held at sword point by his soldiers. He studied who appeared to be the eldest, with the odd marks on his face and towering over the other two boys. One of the boys looked like he was about to spit in Link's face. The other looked embarrassed. Swallowing a sigh, Link turned back to the wreckage.

"So," he said. Fire crackled in the distance. Several soldiers ran with buckets of water toward the destruction. Several others watched them go and waved. One saw Link looking at them and waved an apple in his direction. They didn't have apples fifteen minutes ago. Link's headache slowly worsened as he shook his head at the offer.

"We saw these brats destroying the fort!" a soldier exclaimed. His cheeks were plump with baby fat and his eyes were bright. Link knew he had been that young once, but right then, it felt like a very long time ago. "We captured them, Captain!"

"Us!" The one who looked like he was five seconds away from violence glared at the soldier. The soldier flinched back. This time, Link bit the inside of his cheek to keep from sighing. "Didn't you see the bokoblins, you idiot!"

Movement from the direction of the fort. Link saw the eldest of the trio facepalm and wished he could do the same. "Jenner, please go stop the soldiers from using the fire to roast their lunch. We don't know what's in that fire. Tono, were their bokoblins in the fort?"

The young soldier blanched. Link had remembered his name correctly. One positive for the day. "Ah, I'm not sure, Captain. I just got here."

The other soldiers mumbled. The look the embarrassed young man gave Link was filled with an amazing amount of pity. Link gave in and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Right," he managed. "So you ran in, saw a fight, and went after the Hylians before looking to see if there were monsters in the area? And you decided several swords would work against what looks like a very powerful fire rod?"

All of the soldiers stiffened. They looked at the fire rod still in the young man's hand. The young man glared at them. The fire rod gleamed dangerously.

Link's headache worsened. He swallowed his sigh. And a pained whine. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. Lower your swords and go help with the blaze. Please, for the love of the Goddess, wait until you're done and then roast your lunch over a regular campfire. I'll deal with these three."

Tono didn't seem to have learned a thing. "But Captain! We don't even know who they are!"

Link broke. He sighed. "Of course I do." He turned to them and raised an eyebrow. "Link, right?"

The tall one offered a smile which looked more like a grimace. The fiery one glared. The last offered a sheepish wave.

"Soldiers," Link said drolly, "meet the Heroes of Hyrule."

[ckret2]

Chapter 24 of human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's extremely inconvenient prisoner, featuring: the Pines figuring out a way to chase off Bill's ex-girlfriend... who happens to be a giant eyeball with bat wings.

It kinda goes like this.

(A head's up before we get going: this chapter is a bit more mature than prior ones, so I feel like a warning's in order. There's no sex, and nothing here is erotic or sexy (unless you, too, happen to be attracted to eye-bats), BUT there IS some academic speculation on the logistics of alien sex, and some very filthy-sounding dialogue describing acts that, to humans, aren't sexual at all. Plus some dirty humor and toilet humor. And nothing here is what I'd call billford quite yet, considering Ford still very much hates Bill's guts—but like, he's definitely a little too obsessed with the anatomy of triangles for it to be normal. If any of this is too spicy for you, skip this chapter and come back next one. We'll be starting a new "episode" then.)

####

It was past midnight. In his search for the eye-bat repellant recipe, Ford had flipped through every notebook he'd used during his initial interviews of the residents of Gravity Falls, flipped through them a second time, torn apart half his bookshelves looking for any reporter's notebooks he might have accidentally sorted in with his larger binders, and now he was exhausted, frustrated—and, worst of all, bored out of his mind.

Which made it hard to avoid thinking about more interesting topics.

And for the last hour he'd been unwillingly plagued with the question of how an eyeball and a triangle had a "casual physical thing." 

If that didn't mean sex—and you never knew with aliens—then it was still something close enough to fill the same social/recreational niche. It certainly meant sex on the eye-bat's side, Ford had fully documented the reproductive cycle of eye-bats, that was sorted out—but triangles?

It had to be something that would work in the second dimension. Ford had visited a two-dimensional universe populated by geometric shapes, he knew roughly how their bodies functioned: a shape's perimeter was its external surface—its "skin"—and its internal organs were inside that perimeter. So if Bill was still configured the way he had been in his home dimension, any external reproductive anatomy would have to be somewhere on his perimeter, right? Maybe at one of his corners? Or camouflaged where the seams of his brick pattern reached his edges?

But then if Bill were a normal two-dimensional person, he'd have his eye on the edge of his body, not right in the center of his "internal organs." So he'd been rearranged to some extent. Who knew how the rest of his body worked now? His top hat contained flesh and a skeletal structure; maybe it was a removable reproductive organ that could be passed to a partner, like some cephalopods' detachable tentacles—

Ford flinched as he realized Bill was staring at him.

To aid in his anatomical speculation, Ford had drawn a diagram of Bill in his journal and labeled various points on the triangle that might be concealing reproductive anatomy. He quickly scratched out the drawing's staring eye and slammed his journal shut. 

He'd happily gone thirty years assuming that Bill had no sex life—Bill was an energy being who presented himself as a floating featureless triangle, his hobbies involved cheating at chess and discussing multidimensional transportation, he probably wasn't designed for "physical things," and if he was designed for it then surely he wasn't interested. Ford was not pleased to have his assumptions disputed.

Because the thing was—Ford knew more than any living human about the mating rituals of unicorns, werewolf/mermaid couples, stomach-faced ducks, and tentacled warrior piglets. (Did he ever know about tentacled warrior piglets.) He had the only photos of a gnome mating ball, which he didn't need, because that horrible sight would be forever seared into his long-term memory. He knew the names of twenty obscene acts in siren sign language, and knew how to use his extra fingers to make them extra obscene. This wasn't unfamiliar territory to him. He was curious about how strange, supernatural creatures functioned; and those functions included how the reproductive drive influenced their behaviors; and a living triangle that had escaped from the second dimension was certainly a strange supernatural creature.

But, unfortunately, it was also Bill Cipher. And Ford did not want to think about what Bill did in bed. ... Assuming he used a bed. Really, at this point the only thing Ford knew was that Bill's only admitted partner was capable of flight. Maybe he just hovered while he—

Ford slammed his journal shut again to stop himself from scribbling down more theories, then stuffed the journal in a desk drawer for good measure. Did normal people think like this? He had no idea. He didn't even know who he could ask.

Enough of this. Back to searching for that eye-bat repellant recipe, and this time he wasn't stopping until he found it.

####

Like a vast eye in an upside-down triangle, the circular center of the portal lit up so bright blue it was almost white. The four energy vents glowed in sympathy. A rainbow constellation lit up in twirling patterns around the central light.

Bill watched with bated breath, a second-dimensional shadow waiting for his door to the third dimension to open. The cavern walls shook; the ground quaked and rumbled ominously; Bill didn't care. The portal was stable, the lab was somebody else's problem, and Bill had a party to get to.

The steel beams supporting the cavern rolled like a wave, and Bill's stomach roiled with them. They weren't supposed to be able to move like that. But he knew what he was doing, the portal was stable, he was not here to destroy this world, he'd come here to save it, whether it wanted to be saved or not—

The whole world undulated. Bedrock and steel were not built to undulate. Bill bobbed on the energy wave like a toy boat on a choppy sea; but the steel shattered, rock crumbled, shrapnel and rubble sprayed out. There was a peal of deafening thunder as the world below him cracked apart.

####

Bill woke with a gasp.

Oh. Right. Dreams.

Dream diary. With a groan, he sat up, checked to make sure no humans were coming by in the next few minutes, and pulled his stolen journal out of its hiding place.

The guide on lucid dreaming had recommended writing down his dreams in full, vivid, rich detail—any people or scenes or events, anything he could detect with his five (?) senses, as much as he could recall.

He drew a portal—gray inverted triangle with a center circle, four circles around the triangle, all five circles filled in yellow green—and then a yellow green line trailing out of the portal's side that grew progressively wigglier like a seismogram. He labeled his doodle, "this." He'd remember the rest.

After a moment of thought, he wrote, "Don't remember if I was a human or a shape. My organs were doing things a shape's shouldn't." (He wrote "human" as 人; there was no translation for the word in the language Bill wrote in. The two angled strokes stood out in Bill's rows of Morse-like dots and dashes.) "Being around so many humans who are CONVINCED I'm trying to destroy their world must be getting to me. Sixer pitched another hissy-fit about the portal yesterday. Enduring all that negative talk can't be healthy for me. I know I'm just helping their boring little planet, but maybe their accusations are getting lodged in this stupid brain's subconscious."

Maybe he should meditate a bit—go think positive thoughts, drown out the mortal voices that insisted they knew his plans better than he did. He'd had enough dreaming for one night, anyway.

Beneath the note to himself, Bill added in English: "Everything would have been fine if you'd just let me finish, Fordsy." If the humans ever did find this journal, Bill was determined to get the last word in.

Then he stowed away the stolen journal and shuffled downstairs.

He wondered how much was left of Ford's portal.

####

Old man bladder. Stan dragged himself out of bed. The other guest room bed was empty. Stan hoped Ford was sleeping in his study—he'd mentioned once he kept a cot down there. Better than pulling another all nighter studying alien sorcery or whatever.

He skipped his glasses, groped his way to the downstairs bathroom, and, yawning, lined up with the toilet.

The toilet said, "Pretty forward of you, Stanley."

Stan screamed.

He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom and hit the wall. Bill flipped on the light and leaned out to grin at him. "Careful! You're due for a broken hip any day now."

"BILL! What are DOING!"

"Trying not to get urinated on."

"Jsh—shut up!" It had dawned on Stan that if he could hear Bill without his hearing aids, then half the house probably could too. He hoped no one had overheard that. "Why are you sitting on the toilet in the dark!"

"It's a free country, Stanley Pines."

Stan raised a fist. "GET OUT!"

Bill bolted from the bathroom like a scared rabbit, then caught himself, rolled his eyes, and raised his hands over his head in mock surrender. "You could have asked nicely!"

Pointing at Bill as he retreated, Stan added, "And stop being so darn creepy! Lurking in the dark and sneaking around silently all the time, like a... some kind of—burglar ninja assassin!"

Bill turned to shout back, "What, do you expect me to make a peace cry every time I walk around? Make sure I can't sneak up and stab you in the back?"

Stan had caught about half of that. "YEAH, smart guy! It might help!"

Bill flung his hands out in defeat as he rounded the corner.

Stan finished his business, went back to bed, and glared angrily at the ceiling another ten minutes.

####

It had taken half the night, but at last Ford had disassembled the filing cabinet and found a few notebooks that had gotten stuck behind the bottom drawer, including the one with Old Lady Sprott's eye-bat repellant recipe. Ford copied it down, left a list of ingredients on the gift shop cash register for Soos, and finally dragged himself into the house to sleep.

And paused in the entryway.

Bill was sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window; Ford had seen him like this before. Usually, he could make himself walk by.

But he couldn't tonight. Maybe it was yesterday's conversation still weighing on his mind, the loose ends they hadn't tied up tangling around his throat. "What are you doing up?"

Bill's voice was inappropriately calm: "Dying."

Ford's guard went up. "Do you... Literally or metaphorically?"

"Literally," Bill said. "Hey—how many decades do you think this body's got? Probably not even a century, right?"

Ford's guard went down. Just moping. But it was an interesting question, one he'd put some thought into himself—what age had Bill's body been made at? How had his body been made that age? How long would the body last? Ford had wondered whether studying Bill's freshly-made-but-already-adult body might reveal anything medically useful about how aging affected the human body; but the odds of convincing Bill to participate in any medical studies—much less finding someone to conduct the study who believed their story—were nonexistent.

Ford said, "At a loose guess, I'd put you around... fifty, maybe? A very spry fifty." Bill's hair was a shockingly vivid gold, not a hint of gray, and when he was in a good mood Bill bounced about with an enviable lack of joint pain; but Ford had seen faint, delicate creases around his mouth and eyes that spoke to age. And the look in his eyes... Ford hated the phrase "old soul"—he'd been called that by some of his school teachers, and it only made him feel the distance between himself and his age peers all the more strongly—but with Bill, it was uncannily fitting. His eyes aged his whole face.

"You think this thing looks fifty? Wow." Bill took a deep drink from a cider can. "Shooting Star's best guess was half that. Thanks for shoving me twenty-five years closer to the grave."

Half that? When Ford had been a child, he'd had a harder time guessing adults' ages, and he supposed Mabel might be the same; but it was difficult to mistake a 50-year-old for a 25-year-old. Maybe there was something else going on. He'd have to ask her later. "With exercise, a healthy diet, and a little luck, you could still live another fifty." Ford nodded at the two empty cider cans already sitting on the table. "With your current drinking habits, I'll give you five."

Bill cackled—loudly enough to make Ford tense up, afraid someone would catch them talking. "Cheers!" Bill finished off the can and slammed it down with the others. "Ugh. Finite lifespans. Awful."

"Welcome to being human," Ford said dryly.

"'Welcome to death row,'" Bill said. "Ha! What'm I doing, worrying about decades. Let's be real, I don't even need to worry about the next five years. If I haven't found a way out of this body before then..."

Bill left the thought unfinished. An uneasy weight formed low in Ford's stomach.

"Ah, whatever. Like you'd let me live that long. Right, Sixer?" Bill pushed himself up unsteadily, keeping his balance first with a hand on the back of the chair, and then on Ford's (suddenly very tense) shoulder as he passed him. "I'm going back to sleep before that last can kicks in."

The way Bill was walking, Ford wasn't sure he'd make it up the stairs. "Why don't you sleep on the folding bed in the living room?"

"No window," Bill said. "I've g—" (He stumbled on the stairs.) "I've gotta see the stars."

Of course he did. When Bill said it that way, it was so obvious Ford didn't know why he hadn't realized that himself. Where else could Bill sleep but as close to the sky as possible?

Ford listened as Bill stumbled his way upstairs, creaked across the floorboards, and collapsed onto his makeshift bed.

Ford had thirty years left. Exactly thirty years. Don't have a heart attack, you're not ninety-two yet! Ninety-two was a good, old age. Older than his father had been. But thirty years felt too soon. And yet it felt fitting, somehow, for his life to be divided so neatly in thirds.

If Bill lived another fifty years in this body, and Ford lived thirty, who would stand guard over him? Would he and Stan have to pass that burden on to their gniece and gnephew? Or to Soos and Melody?

Why was he wondering—what made him think they wouldn't find a way to kill Bill before then? What made him think he wouldn't kill Bill before the end of this very summer?

What made him so sure Bill hadn't been lying about when Ford would die? Thirty years felt too soon; but ninety-two felt flatteringly optimistic.

Ford sighed, and picked up the cider cans to recycle.

He wondered whether Bill—hiding from his ex, fretting about death, sleeping on his enemies' floor—regretted how he'd spent his life.

####

Bill's second entry in his dream diary started, "Wet dream about Iris."

He filled most of a page with an extremely graphic summary before he sighed in frustration, stowed the journal away, and stared at the ceiling as dawn crept in. Well. Terrific. He was pretty intimately familiar with how humans coupled, but he didn't have much practice with the solo act. Plus the humans would give him heck if they caught him at it. He'd just have to suffer.

So here he was, all riled up and nowhere to go.

Who else could he make miserable?

####

Stan was startled awake by a heavy pounding on his door.

"Heeey Fisherman!" Somehow, Bill's voice was even more grating at dawn. He rattled the door several more times. "Just passing by! Wanted to let you know! Here I am! Right here!"

Did that demon ever sleep? And, follow up question, could Stan knock him out for a few hours?

Ford—who must have come up after Stan went back to bed—groaned and muttered something.

Ford wasn't nearly as loud as Bill. Stan reluctantly sat up and put a hearing aid in. "What?"

"What the devil is he up to now."

"No idea," Stan lied. "Go yell at him about it, he listens to you."

Ford sighed, but got up and left the room.

A minute later, Stan heard Bill exclaim, "I can't win with you people!"

He smirked.

####

The kitchen reeked that morning. When Stan came in for breakfast, the window was open, a fan in the entryway futilely directed fresh air into the kitchen and a fan on the kitchen table directed the noxious fumes outside, there were bags of groceries on the counter—he noticed hot sauce, peppers, cheap perfume, and an entire bag of raw onions—and Ford was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of vile-smelling brown liquid. The moment he saw Stan, Ford put him to work stirring the pot so Ford could start dicing onions.

While they worked, Ford explained the situation with the eye-bat harassing the tourists and the solution he'd hit on to drive it away. Soos had collected the necessary ingredients this morning, but couldn't help cook because he was busy finding a way to block the bottomless pit—

####

Outside, Soos scooted a trampoline up to the pit, carefully lined it up with the edge—the trampoline and the pit had nearly the same diameter—and shoved it in. It plummeted into the dark. After a short wait, Soos chucked a baseball down the pit. It disappeared, then bounced back up.

Soos pumped his fist triumphantly. "Aced it."

####

—so, Ford was working on the repellant, and in the interest of public safety and the greater good he was drafting Stan into helping too.

Which Stan supposed he couldn't argue with, but considering the smell he would've preferred dicing the onions. "Is all this really necessary for one eye-bat? I usually just swat 'em off with a tennis racket."

"This eye-bat happens to be large enough to carry off a first-grader," Ford said. "And Bill claims it's his ex-girlfriend, so I don't want to risk them meeting."

"Huh." Weird thing to date, but then Stan didn't know what he did expect a triangle demon to date. "Somehow I figured he was tangled up in this."

Ford laughed ruefully.

After a moment of chopping and stirring, Ford said, "Speaking of Bill—he claims that you ordered him to announce his presence? And that you tried to pee on him."

"I did not and he's a dirty liar! He made the whole thing up!" Stan didn't expect Ford to believe him. Stan also didn't expect Ford to believe Bill. Ford knew they were both liars. What Stan expected was for Ford to side with the person he liked best.

"Uh huh." Ford didn't question Stan further. Ha. Pines solidarity.

Even though he'd already won, Stan went on: "All I did was mention how quiet he is! I can never tell where he's lurking. Sometimes I almost forget he's here." In Stan's mind, Bill had been rapidly demoted  from "active existential threat" to "annoying houseguest who blends in with the shadows." Watching him help Mabel cut pretty pictures from fashion magazines with plastic safety scissors drained away most of his intimidation factor.

Ford gave Stan a funny look. "Really? I can't forget he's here for a second. Sometimes I swear I can tell where he's been in the house—like a cold spot left by a ghost."

Stan tried to figure out how to ask whether that was a reaction to decades on the run feeling like hunted prey—which Stan knew how to cope with—or a lingering magical side effect of Ford and Bill's alien possession deal—which Stan did not. Then Ford added, "It's probably because I hear him bumping into the furniture all the time."

"Oh. Yeah. That's probably it. You've got better hearing than me." Case closed. Stan turned back to the stove—

A deafening buzz made them both start. Stan splashed boiling brown stink across the stovetop. "What—!"

Standing in the doorway with a kazoo, Bill said, "How's that, Stanley? Do you like that better?!"

"YOU!" Stan flung the stirring spoon to the floor.

Bill bolted from the room with Stan in hot pursuit. "Whoa! Mercy! Truce! You can have the kazoo! It's not even mine, I'm just holding it for a fr— Ow ow OW ow—"

Stan hauled Bill in by the back of the neck and didn't let go until he was in the middle of the kitchen. He pointed at the spoon, then pointed at the pot. "Pick it up. Get stirring." He grabbed another knife and joined Ford chopping onions. Whew, what a relief.

Bill gave Stan a perplexed look, but picked up the spoon, gave the pot an experimental sniff, and got stirring. He didn't even wince at the smell. "Is this the gnome wizz? What is this, punishment for not letting you use me as a urinal?"

"Whatsamatter, I thought you were the one who thinks pee belongs in the kitchen."

"You're both too old for toilet humor," Ford snapped. "Bill, this problem is your fault, the least you can do is help prepare the spray, and you're not getting a knife, so you're on pot stirring duty. Deal with it."

Bill rolled his eyes dramatically. (At the moment, they were both uncovered; but one was already half squinted shut against the morning light.) "Fine, but only because I like hanging out with you."

Ford scoffed.

"And I don't see how this is my fault just because we happened to date. It's not like I invited her over," Bill went on. "If anything, you should be grateful she's my ex, or else I wouldn't be helping you chase her away—"

"Hey, that's what I wanna know about this," Stan said. He gestured toward the window; the ex in question was currently circling above the gift shop entrance, like a vulture waiting for something to die. "Exactly how do you 'date' an eye-bat? Just—how does that work?"

"Well, it depends on the eye-bat, doesn't it," Bill said, a touch patronizing. "They don't all have the same tastes, you know. But she happens to like art films and water parks. Easy date."

"I'm not talking about that! You're telling us you slept with an eyeball with bat wings—right? That's what we're talking about, right?" From the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford giving him a sharp look, but he didn't tell Stan to stop. Yeah, the nerd was curious, too.

"Yes, Stanley." Bill's condescension was almost more overpowering than the kitchen's stench. "That's what we're talking about. I 'slept' with an eyeball with bat wings." He exaggerated the finger quotes around the euphemism. "Any more prying you want to do into my personal life, or...?"

"You look at that freak out there and think it's appealing?"

Bill stopped stirring and squinted out the window. Flatly, he said, "Yep. She's still drop dead gorgeous. Thanks for asking." 

"How do you even know that's a she! How can you tell a girl eye from a boy eye?"

Ford said, "Technically, Stanley, all eye-bats are female." He held up an onion and used his knife tip to gesture at it like it was a model eyeball, "They're parthenogenetic parasites that reproduce by attacking other species' faces and depositing egg-bearing spores on their eyeballs, which swim to the tear ducts to begin incubating. Over the next few weeks, the infected eyeball grows wings and develops its own nervous system while the host slowly goes blind in one eye, until the new eye-bat is mature enough to emerge from the host's socket and seek out her mother's colony—"

Bill let out a strangled scream. "Enough!"

Stan and Ford stared at him.

"Would you stop talking about eye-bat sex?! I'm already riled up! I don't need help making it worse!"

He slammed the stirring spoon down and started pacing. "I'm losing my mind. Do you know what it's like to be randy for something you don't have the right body for?!" He gave them a pleading, slightly crazed look. "I need to feel her pupil contracting against mine. I'd lick her hot, salty tears off her sclera. I'd bite deep enough to taste her retina. I want to look like I've got pinkeye from all the bat spores coating my face. I'd give my right eye just to have one of her wings fingering my eyelid again—but if I cave and go that far I know I'd lose my head and give her the left one too, and then I've screwed up, because STUPID HUMANS BODIES can't regrow their STUPID EYEBALLS—"

He kicked the wall so hard he lost his balance and stumbled back into the stove. "Ow. I'm going insane. I can't take it. I need to kill somebody. I need to set something on fire."

Stan and Ford were petrified. Stan's jaw had dropped.

Bill was panting from the exertion of his outburst, arms trembling, face flushed. His shoulders slumped. The picture of a broken man, he said, "I'd do anything to rim her optic nerve again."

Ford let out a strangled noise.

Bill took several deep breaths. He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry! Wow. That was... I think the fumes are getting to me." He shook his head. "The fumes and the hormones. Human hormones. You know, your species has very insistent..." He gestured vaguely toward the doorway. "I'm—think I should lay down."

Stan and Ford nodded. Bill trudged from the room. A few seconds later, Stan heard springs creak as Bill flopped his full weight on the living room sofa.

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan said, "I shouldn't have asked about..."

"You shouldn't have asked."

"You should have skipped the science lesson."

"I should have."

They lapsed into silence. After a moment, Ford stood up to take over stirring the pot.

Stan resumed chopping onions. "Say, d'you think he staged all that to get out of stirring?"

Ford didn't reply.

"Sixer?" Stan glanced up.

Ford had turned away from the stove, and was staring at nothing with a faraway, troubled look. It was the look he got when he'd just latched on to some mystery that would haunt him until he solved it.

"Ford—?"

Ford slapped down the spoon and stomped into the living room. "But you hate losing your eyeball! So how did you two— I mean—! The spores—?"

"Incompatible biology." Bill's voice sounded muffled. "It's why we never got serious. She wants kids and my tear ducts can't incubate wings."

"Ah! Of course. That makes perfect sense." Ford returned to the stove with a look of triumph.

Stan didn't know how Ford had recovered from that fast enough to ask follow-up questions. Weird nerd. Stan shook his head but said nothing.

####

In Ford's journal, he scratched out most of his speculation about the anatomy of Bill's species, scribbled over the diagram, and added, "I severely underestimated how much his eye is involved."

####

At one point, during Weirdmageddon, when Bill had been torturing Ford for information, Ford had spat in his eye. Bill had licked it off. He'd seemed eerily undisturbed.

Ford would probably wonder how Bill had interpreted that act for the rest of his life.

####

Outside, dressed in a homemade hazmat suit consisting of painter's coveralls and a scuba mask, Soos faced off against the eye-bat, a spray bottle strapped to each hip like a cowboy's revolvers. Dipper and Mabel stood behind him, armed with a rake and a golf club, wearing a bicycle helmet and a football helmet with tree branches taped on. The eye-bat stared them down warily.

Leaning on his elbows over the kitchen table so he could stare out the window, Bill said, "Bet you a hundred bucks she steals Questiony's hat."

Stan snorted. "I'm not taking that bet. You don't have any money."

Bill grunted and turned back to the window, just in time to see the eye-bat dive for Soos's face. Soos whipped out one of the spray bottles, dropped it, ducked down to retrieve it just as she swooped past where his head used to be, and lifted it in time to spray the eye-bat when she circled back to attack him again. She reeled off screeching, eye watering, pupil contracting. Bill winced in sympathy. Poor gal. And she didn't even have an eyelid for protection. But, hey—better for her to suffer than for Bill to risk getting caught in this body. He'd take someone else's pain over his own embarrassment any day.

"It seems to be working the same as it does on any other eye-bat," Ford said. "Good. Once she's gone, Soos and the kids can spray the rest on the roof. That should drive her off while keeping the worst of the scent away from the tourists."

Streaming tears, the eye-bat dove at the kids. They yelled in alarm. Dipper threw his rake at her and missed. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to squint at the battle with both eyes.

"What, do you see something?" Stan asked.

"Just appreciating her sphericality." Bill sighed wistfully. "That spray's gotta be excruciatingly painful—but, I've never seen her that wet before. Sure, we've fooled around with a little hot sauce a few times, but even then—"

"I'm sorry I asked."

Outside, Soos shouted, "Hey! My hat! Give that back!"

Bill wordlessly held a hand out toward Stan.

Stan smacked it away. "Nyeh."

As the eye-bat retreated toward the forest, Ford sighed in relief. "She's gone. It worked."

"You sound surprised," Bill said.

"Frankly, I can't believe that you gave us accurate information on how to get rid of her."

"What! You wound me! Why would I lie about that?"

"To trick us into doing something that strengthens her? To arrange an opportunity to meet her?" Ford suggested. "After all, as one of your Henchmaniacs, she could have helped you escape."

Bill's blood ran cold.

She could have helped him escape. SHE COULD HAVE HELPED HIM ESCAPE! He'd been so worried about not looking stupid or losing his eyes, when all this time—! He could have signaled Iris from the window, and—and the bottomless pit was right there, she could have carried a message to the gang—at the very least, she could probably open doors for him—and instead he just—when he could have—

He watched in despair as Iris's pretty little optic nerve vanished behind the trees.

No, Bill decided—no, getting her help was a terrible plan. If it was a good plan, he would have done it; so it was terrible. He had a better plan. What was his better plan?

"Come on, you think I need her? I've got all the pals I need right here—whether you're ready to admit it or not." He elbowed Ford. Bill had decided he'd wheedle Ford back over to his side, and he would. His survival depended on it. Now more than ever. "I've got a way out, don't worry about that—it's only a matter of time—and she's not part of the plan."

Ford scoffed. "Really. Last night you were moaning about being on death row."

"Wh—Hey! That was..." Not fair. He scrambled to revise his story.

"You're lying about something," Ford said. "If it wasn't how to get rid of her, then it was why you wanted to get rid of her. For all we know, maybe she wants you dead as much as we do."

"Yeah," Stan said, "the 'girlfriend' story sounds crazy enough to be true, but you seem like the kind of guy who has a string of exes who'd love to kill you." (He did, as it happened, but it wasn't his fault he kept falling for petty jealous psychos who hated seeing him thrive.)

Ford said, "If she hadn't been a danger to the tourists, perhaps I should have invited her in to talk."

Unbelievable. Even when Bill did exactly what he was supposed to, he was still the bad guy. "Fine, she was a notorious black widow and you saved my life, happy? Do you like that story better? I made it up just for you." He jabbed a finger in Ford's shoulder. "You know what your problem is? You're too paranoid. You can't trust anything anybody says. You'll only hurt yourself like that—"

Ford shoved Bill's hand away and stepped out of poking range. "I spent years unlearning the paranoia you gave me. And when I finished, do you know what I figured out, Bill? All along, there was only one person I shouldn't have trusted: you."

It stung, but only in a distant, impersonal way; like a hard slap on a numb cheek. Bill turned to give Ford a sour look. "At the lengths you take it to, I could tell you the sky is blue and you'd have to check."

Ford's gaze automatically flickered toward the window.

"Ha!" Bill angrily shoved the table against the wall as he stood up. "Thanks for taking care of my pest problem, boys." He stormed upstairs, flipping his hood up as he went. Ingrates.

####

The view out the attic window was more interesting than usual, mainly because there were three humans traipsing around on the roof spraying eye-bat repellant. From time to time Mabel came by to make funny faces at Bill through the glass; he did his best to one-up them. Once, Soos nearly fell off the roof and died; Bill hadn't laughed that hard since he was murdered.

Their return indoors was heralded by Mabel shouting, "Dibs on the shower!" and Dipper replying, "I take shorter showers, let me go first!" They pounded up the stairs. Mabel tried to take them two at a time, tripped near the top, and by the time she recovered Dipper was already in the bathroom. She groaned. "Augh! Not fair! I don't want to smell like onions and gnome pee!"

"Neither do I! I need it more, I haven't showered in two weeks!"

Bill wondered why Dipper got to go so long between showers without getting dumped in a cold tub in his sleep. (He knew why.)

Bill whistled to catch Mabel's attention. "Consolation prize." He waved a cheap perfume bottle toward Mabel. "We had leftovers after mixing the repellant. It smells like strawberry candy."

"You're my hero." Mabel took the bottle and sprayed it all over herself, in her hair, and under her sweater. "You need a shower too, you know."

"Sure, but until Dolores fumigates the kitchen I'll just blend into the background stink. I can put it off til tomorrow without anyone complaining."

"You're grossss." Mabel emphasized the hiss by poking Bill's arm. "Once I'm clean, I'm not talking to you until you've showered too."

"I'll be devastated."

"Those are my terms!" She kicked aside Bill's cushion-bed so she could sit under the window without stinking the cushions up, and settled back to wait for the bathroom. After a (very short) companionable silence, Mabel said, "It's too bad we had to chase off your ex. I can see why you like her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Can you?"

"Iris was so graceful!" Mabel said. "And murderous, but mostly graceful. Like an evil swan."

Bill laughed. "Yeah! Yeah, she is. Floats like a dream. If you think she's graceful in the air, you oughta see her in the pool. She's the only person I know who can make a cannonball look elegant."

Mabel gave him a sly grin.

"What?"

"Look at you. Yooou still like heeer." Mabel propped her elbows on the edge of the window seat and balanced her chin in her hands. "How did you meet Iris?"

For the last couple of days, almost everyone in the house had talked about Bill's ex like she was some kind of malevolent creature, rather than a person. He was used to outsiders talking about his friends that way—heck, most of his friends were malevolent creatures—but it grated all the same. (He missed home.) Just hearing Mabel call Iris by her name was a breath of fresh air. No one else had even asked if she had a name.

"I met her at a party," Bill said. "I'd just gotten a piano and was showing off, and she came by to ask about Earth music. She wasn't in my crew then—but the party was open invite, and everyone in that corner of the Nightmare Realm knew that if you wanted info on Earth, you came to Bill Cipher. So, we talked about waltzes and tarantellas, I played a little Beethoven, we hit things off..."

They talked until the bathroom was free and Mabel went to shower. Sweet kid. Hopeless romantic, though.

When Bill got out of this place, he was gonna find the first boy who would break her heart and kill him before they could meet. It was the least he could do for her.

####

The third entry in Bill's dream diary: "Shooting Star's cartoon is getting to me. I dreamed about the wolf and the cat arguing over who had to host someone's birthday party. The wolf refused to let guests into his enormous mansion, but the cat's house was burning down. They asked me how to resolve this. I told them the cat should execute the wolf as punishment for his inhospitality, take over his mansion, and wear his skin as the party host. The animals were so in awe of my wisdom that I was deified as god of the jungle."

That was not what he'd dreamed. The animals were so horrified at his suggestion that they'd tied him to a stake and forced him to watch as they threw the cat into the flames of her own house. He couldn't remember whether he'd dreamed that he was a triangle or a human.

He preferred his version. Once he'd regained control over his dreams, he could replay this one and make it end properly.

He'd get the hang of this in no time.

####

(You're legally required to tell me if you had a reaction to this one. Even if it's horror. Especially if it's horror.)

[incculum]

Avatar headcanons

top male reader

a/n: this is my thank you for 1k. I still can't believe I hit that milestone, thank you so much. warnings will be put before each character's headcanons & there’ll be a small scenario for each character.

Jake Sully

sir k. | hair pulling | deepthroating | brat taming

RDA Jake was definitely into calling you "sir", before he gained his confidence as a warrior. He blurted it out to you without you even needing to coax it out of him.

Hair pulling is a big kink of his, especially when he sucks you off or you fuck him from behind. He still hasn't gotten used to how sensitive his avatar's braid is.

If you pull on his braid while shoving your cock down his throat or pounding his guts from behind, he won't be able to hold back from drooling.

He's loud and whiny.

Can't hold back his cries when you ignore his whiny "wait"s and continue pistoling your cock into him, even after he just came.

He gained more of an ego after becoming a respected na'vi warrior and getting put in his place became a necessity.

He started acting out on purpose just so you would force him down and make him take what you gave him.

Jake's just a slut for you behind closed doors. Letting you have your way with him and whining when you don’t.

“You can do better than that, can’t you?” You watched Jake do his best to fit your heavy cock in his throat. Jake shook his head, looking up at you through his wet eyelashes. You sighed, running your hand up his neck and gripping his braid. Jake flinched, eyes fluttering shut when you brought your other hand to the top of his head.

He moaned around your cock when you forced him down, your cock bullying its way into his throat. Jake choked and drool seeped past his lips, drowning your cock in his saliva. The grip you had on his sensitive braid was unfaltering and it only made Jake needier. The strong Jake Sully on his knees before you was something you could get used to.

Neytiri

praise | dacryphilia | pussy eating | cockwarming 

This pretty girl's still so shy when you fuck.

Neytiri comes undone in seconds when you praise her. Just hearing a "good" leave your lips will have her biting her lip to hold back her smile and hiding her face behind her hair.

She’s so pretty and the tears that threaten to spill over when you hold her only make her prettier.

She’s so sensitive that it makes her cry, especially when you eat her out.

When you first ate her out, she couldn’t decide between throwing her head back or letting it fall forward against yours, between her thighs.

She loves it, feels that it’s intimate.

Neytiri is vanilla, at least during the beginning. 

Everything makes her shy and she just wants to be held and taken care of.

Cockwarming. 

She’ll sit in your lap or lay with her back against your chest, your cock heavy inside her tight walls.

She’s so obedient. She never moves unless you tell her to, and when she’s desperate, she only whines and pleas.

She’s so cute, sorry.

Neytiri played with her braids, looking forward to avoid eye contact with you.

“You’re so pretty,” you pressed a kiss against her neck and she tensed, turning her head to finally look at you over her shoulder. She had a shy smile on her face and could only hope her flushed cheeks were unnoticeable under her hair. “So obedient for me.”

You placed your hands on her thighs and rolled your hips for the first time. 

“Ah-!” Neytiri moaned, throwing her head back against your shoulder. You turned to kiss her cheek and she placed her hands on yours. “Good girl.”

Tsu'tey

manhandling | belly bulge | size kink a little bit 

Tsu'tey was an uncharacteristically shy virgin, and remains pretty vanilla. Intimacy and sex are still foreign to him.

He had trouble stifling his moans even when you kissed him longer than he was used to.

He let you take control and his mind spun when you pushed him into different positions for your own pleasure.

Tsu’tey is so aware of how easily you fit your hands around his slim waist and thighs.

His waist is so tiny that a belly bulge is inevitable. He nearly came untouched the first time he saw it. 

Possessiveness makes Tsu’tey weak. He loves it when you add a “my” when talking about him.

Pairing that with praise gets him whiney.

Something as simple as “my strong warrior” makes Tsu’tey desperate.

You pulled Tsu’tey back against yourself, hands engulfing his little waist. You bottomed out and Tsu’tey moaned, throwing his head back. 

“Look at that,” you squeezed his waist to get his attention. Tsu’tey looked at where you were looking and felt his breath get caught in his throat. You pressed against the bulge in his stomach with your thumb, “Fuck…” 

Tsu’tey chest heaved and he pressed his hand flat against his stomach. You grabbed one of his thighs and pressed it against chest, fucking into him with a newfound desperation. Tsu’tey nearly whined, lifting his hand to look at his stomach again with eyes blown wide. You smiled, “so good… all mine.”

Miles Quaritch

humiliation | degradation | deepthroating / facefucking | choking / breath play | gun play

He still hasn't gotten fully used to an avatar body so he's sensitive to every touch.

Miles has trouble admitting that he likes it when you make fun of him.

He finds it so hot when you put him in his place for talking back. He's so used to being the one feared and respected that it always shuts him up when you insult him.

Miles has a thing for deepthroating. Forcing his head down and forcing your cock further down his throat until he can hardly breathe has him near delirious.

The way you treat him is far from how he was treated in his division. 

When he acts out, you disregard his words and only use him for your own satisfaction, leaving him alone as soon as you finish.

You humiliate him and insult his pride and he always comes back for more.

Gun play is something that plagues Miles’ mind. He can only bite his lip and roll his hips desperately when you point a gun at him and threaten him. He can’t help but find it hot.

Especially if you press the barrel against his mouth and force his lips open to shut him up when he gains some of his ego back.

Has trouble keeping his hands to himself, always fucks something up and you begin to wonder if it’s on purpose.

“You- ah!” You pulled Miles down onto your lap.

“Yeah?” His breath hitched when you rested the cold barrel of your gun against his neck and he only scowled in response. He hoped you’d ignore the way his chest heaved and the way he was clenching your cock. You shifted your thighs to bounce him in your lap, “you said you’d ride me, wouldn’t you? Do I have to help you with this, too?” 

Miles shook his head and lifted himself up, you put your free hand on his thigh, “you’re shaking.”

[purple-writer8]

Long Story Short - ACOTAR

“And he’s passing by, rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky. And he feels like home, if the shoe fits walk in it everywhere you go.”

warnings: war, war injuries, past relationship tension, new mating bond, self doubt, angst (but like not a lot), allusions to sex

1.9k words

Part 2 to Closure

Masterlist :)

You fought in the Winter Court battle along with Thesan and the Dawn Court’s Peregryn legion. You were a skilled warrior, trained by Rhysand himself— you used to love training, now you despised those memories. 

Looking into the mirror in your bathchamber, you flinched as your fingers grazed over the purple bruises forming on the side of your face. It wasn’t pretty, it was horribly gnarly looking. A Hybern warrior had given you a hard blow to the face, beating you to the ground. If it wasn’t for one of the Peregryn warriors, Thesan would have probably needed to plan a funeral for you. 

It was all a blur. One day you were mourning Rhysand and your failed romance, the next you were fighting in a war alongside him and all of the other courts. You had told Azriel that you did not care to make amends, and you meant it. But this was for a greater good. 

A soft knock came upon the bathchamber, making you snap out of your haze and exit to find your brother standing there. Thesan looked miserable. Your brother was a protector, ever since you knew reason, and this war— the casualties— took a steep toll on his mental health. “Why are you here?” 

He was supposed to be back in the war camp with everyone else. You only left because you did not wish to heal and sleep amongst Feyre and Rhysand. The wounds in your heart still needed time to heal.

“Azriel is hurt.” Thesan looked distraught. You could not explain the way that your heart plummeted at those three simple words. For some reason, it made your heart ache— the thought of Azriel hurt. “It’s his wings. I could not heal them… they are not the same as Callan’s. Will you try?” Thesan asked, and instantly you nodded. Your healing abilities were good, almost as good as his. You could try. 

Your brother grabbed you and in a blink of an eye, you were winnowed away. 

-

A chill ran down your spine when you winnowed into Azriel’s tent. He was screaming, Rhysand holding him down as he writhed in the bed— his wings shredded in a horrible manner. You felt yourself freeze, eyes wide— it was like you could feel his pain— and you would do anything to stop it. You would rather take on his pain than let him feel it. 

Rhysand was there too, but for the first time ever, you didn’t even glance at him. No, instead you rushed to Azriel, kneeling besides him. There was something in your heart, something that made you strain, that broke you— all because you saw him in pain. 

He stopped his thrashing when your hand reached for his face, his hazel eyes widening by the bruise that overtook your own face. “What happened?” He asked, as if he weren’t the one with shredded wings. 

“Nothing. I am fine,” you assured him, feeling like he was truly gravely worried for your wellbeing. His eyes remained on you, searching all over your body for more injuries. “I am not the problem, please sit so I can heal you. Please,” you begged him, feeling like you couldn’t breathe the longer you stared at his wings. 

He sat up, and you got to work.

-

You spent all night working on his wings, and by dawn they already looked much better than when you had come in. Azriel had fallen asleep, and he had slept peacefully for many hours all while you watched over him. You did not sleep at all, you were sick with worry. 

“Thanks for coming, I know that you took a harsh beating in Winter,” that velvety voice you had once worshipped whispered from the doorway. To turn and see Rhysand there, in Azriel’s tent, made you angry.

You almost wanted to tell him to leave, but you were in no place to make commands. This was still his camp. “I came for Azriel. He doesn’t deserve this,” you responded bitterly and you meant it. 

Ever since that talk the two of you had in your balcony, you had become obssesed with the shadowsinger. For some reason, you could not get him out of your head, even in the battle, while killing and fighting— you thought of him. “Well, I thank you. Thesan was drained after the battle and struggled to heal him… when he said you would do it… I doubted,” Rhys confessed, his violet eyes drifting to his sleeping brother. 

“You think I am so selfish that I wouldn’t heal him just because he is your friend?” You asked, and you truly tried to reel in your emotions, but they were too strong for you to control. It wasn’t even about Rhys, you realized, it was about him thinking you wouldn’t help Azriel. 

“You can sometimes be selfish, yes.” Rhysand shrugged, and you wanted to lunge foward and strangle him for suggesting you were selfish. He was the epitome of selfishness, and here he stood— accusing you after you came and healed his brother. 

You had tried avoiding him ever since Thesan told you the Dawn Court would fight alongside him against Hybern. You tried picking your battles, and decided Rhysand was not a battle worth fighting, yet here the battle stood, picking you. 

You decided to ignore the dig, your gaze drifting to the still asleep shadowsinger and asking, “how did he get so hurt?” 

“He went to save Feyre’s sister from the Hybern camp,” he replied, and you could not explain the jealousy that surged within you at the mention of Azriel saving that girl. 

Those freaks of nature bring more harm to Prythian than good, you wanted to tell Rhysand about his mate and sisters, but once more figured it wasn’t a battle worth picking. 

A groan escaped the shadowsinger, and instantly you ran to his side, helping him sit up in bed. His facial expression was one of pain, and you knew taht he was trying his best to mask it. But you knew... you felt his pain. 

“How are you?” Azriel croaked, his voice more hoarse than usual due to all of the pain filled screams he let out the night before. You scoffed in disbelief, “me?! I am not the one whose wings were torn apart.” 

He winced at the reminder, but still his hazel eyes did not leave yours. “You healed me…” he said in the gentlest of tones, making your heart skip a beat. You frowned, wondering why in all of Prythian your heart was thundering inside your chest. 

“Will he heal fine?” Rhysan’s icy tone snapped you out of the trance Azriel has you in. You turned to him and nodded, scowling at the High Lord. “He will heal completely but he will not be able to fly for a while.”

Azriel protested, saying how he felt fine. Though one cold glare from you made him sink back down unto the bed. Rhysand noticed this, how you were able to tame down Azriel with just a look. “For how long?” The High Lord asked. 

“For a few weeks, at least. For the health of his wings, he can not fight anymore battles…” you trailed, looking at Azriel with a solemn expression. You somehow knew he wanted to fight, to protect his family and Prythian.

“How is Elain?” Azriel asked Rhysand, and you snarled. You had always been a jealous female, but always over Rhys, never over anyone else. 

“Fine. Shaken up but fine, everyone is fine… we will be meeting up later today to discuss some things. Join us, Az…” Rhys’ violet eyes shifted to you, “you may as well.”

“Thanks for the permission,” you mumbled sarcastically. 

Rhysand stared at you. A cold, unforgiving glare, then soon after you felt those talons you had once adored caressing your mind. He wasn’t looking for a way in, no, he was reminding you who he was— what he could do. You didn’t say anything, only glared at him as he left Azriel’s tent. 

A beat passed and you turned to the shadowsinger, “I’ll get you some food.” You were quick to your feet, and before Azriel could protest, out the tent you went.

You didn’t understand your new and— quite blinding— feelings regarding the Night Court’s shadowsinger. You’d known Azriel for almost a century, and you had never cared for him further than for friendship. And now, suddenly, you felt as if you had been stabbed when Rhysand said he had been hurt because he went to save another female. 

Was this your mind’s sick way to get over Rhysand? You stood over a pot of rice that boiled on top of a bonfire, filling a ceremic pot you had found with rice and chicken for Azriel. 

Azriel. While you swooned over Azriel, some Ilyrian warrior snatched the plate from your hands and walked off. You shouted an obscenity, but the male’s glare made you shrink back into yourself. 

Fuck your life. You looked back to the pot that had been cooking and realized that plate contained the very last of the rice and chicken. You couldn’t let Azriel starve. 

You groaned and got some more rice from a nearby sack, throwing it in the boiling pot and letting it cook. A yawn escaped your lips as you watched the rice cook, then a few minutes later— it was ready for him. You served him a big bowl and went back to his tent. 

You went inside, only to find Azriel squirming in bed, his large wings twitching uncontrollably. You gasped, setting the bowl down and rushing to him. “What happened?!” You shrieked as you tended to him. 

“It’s nothing, really. I just stood up too fast,” he tried keeping it cool, but you knew well that he was hurting. You looked up at his face, and you gasped when you felt it. 

A mating bond snapping inside your soul. So strong it almost sent you flying to the floor. 

“What the fuck?!” You asked in shock, your chest rising and falling in a heratic manner as you stared up at the Ilyrian male. He looked devastated, solemn as he looked at you. “Im sorry…” he whispered, and you frowned. 

“Why would you apologize?” You asked, still reeling from the knowledge of who your mate was. “It is disappointing, I know. To be mated to me instead of who you always wanted. If you wish to reject me…” 

“Why would I reject you?” You asked in shock, your mind running an entire marathon as you thought about everything that this meant. Azriel was your mate… Rhysand’s brother was your mate. You had known him for ninety years and you never felt the bond, no… because you were in love with someone else before ever meeting him.

“Why would you accept me?” You reeled from his words, and your heart— you could feel it— begged you to accept him. 

Because you thought back to the years you lived in Velaris, to your interactions with Azriel and the Inner Circle. 

One Winter Solstice, before Under the Mountain, you and Rhysand got into it— and it was bad— one of the biggest fights you had ever had. You had left the townhouse in a hurry, not even putting on your shoes and coat. Rhysand demanded you to come back, his voice thundering in your mind over and over again. You didn’t. You were so mad, you sat in a small Velaris coffee shop— freezing to death— until Azriel appeared. 

He held your shoes and a coat. You wondered if Rhysand had sent him, though he hadn’t— because Rhysand was still ordering you back in your mind. 

As you recalled the many times Azriel only ever showed you kindness and gentleness, you took the bowl of rice you had made, handing it to him. 

His hazel eyes widened in shock. He looked at the bowl, as if it was the most grandiose thing in the world. “You are serious?” He asked, his tone soft and gentle. 

“Please eat, Azriel.” 

-

Two Years Later 

Losing Rhysand felt like falling off a precipice. Loving Azriel was like climbing right back up that hill. It was absolutely everything. Your mate was… perfection reincarnated. He swooped in. Just when your life could not get worse— he came in and turned it all around. 

You never thought in a million years that Azriel would be, could be your mate. You had pined for Rhysand for ninety years for cauldron’s sake. But now… now you only ever thought of your doting mate, of the male that taught you that love could be something beautiful, something that you didn’t have to beg for or ask for. It was given freely, willingly. 

You were currently sitting on your bed, preparing the final touches for Azriel’s winter solstice gift. It was already noon, and he had spent the day with his family in the Night Court as you had asked him to. He had wanted to skip his family’s celebration, but you didn’t let him. 

Your relationship with the IC was still difficult, you and Rhysand were not yet completely healed from your ninety year tryst— but regardless of that, you never wanted Azriel to push his family away. Even though Rhysand and him had definitely grown apart. 

Rhysand didn’t care about the bond, that was what he claimed. But then he grew hostile, and always sent Azriel on long missions— away from the Dawn Court where you resided, or he didn’t let Azriel visit you. He wasn’t jealous, obviously. He had a mate and now a son. Rhysand just did not think you were enough for Azriel. 

You hummed a solstice tune as you fixed up the little gift box, and just as you finished it, your beautiful mate winnowed into your room. You squealed, lunging at him and wrapping your arms around his neck, eagerly kissinng him. 

Azriel chuckled, “my angel seems happy to see me.” He hugged you back, despite the flowers he held in his beautiful hands. You nuzzled your face into his chest, warmth and love engulfing your senses instantly. Azriel was your home. 

He kissed the top of your head as you pulled away. “How was it?” You asked him, watching as he moved to his dresser, carefully discarding all of his leathers. “Good, but would have been better if my angel mate was there,” he groaned the last part, still upset he didn’t spend winter solstice morning with you.

“Your angel mate was preparing your gift and spending the day with Thesan in the village,” you answered in a chirpy manner. You did not care that he hadn’t been there in the morning. All you cared was seeing him, period. 

You watched as he changed his leathers into more comfortable clothing, salivating as you ogled the way his muscles flexed with any sort of movement. After he was done, he turned to you, a smirk adorning his handsome face, “ready for your gift?” 

“Are you my gift?” You asked excitedly, making him laugh as he grabbed a tiny box from his discarded coat pocket and strided across the room towards you. Cauldron forgive you, but this male was your religion.  “No… well… later.” He said, his voice gentle and soothing as always. 

His loving arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you closer into his figure. You looked up at him, smiling as he leaned down to engulf you in a passionate kiss.  “I go first,” he whispers as he pulls away and hands you the velvety sapphire blue box. 

You squealed and opened it to reveal two sets of keys. You smiled, eyeing the pieces of metal before looking up at Azriel with inquiring eyes. “I bought us a house in Velaris… near the hills…” He trailed off. 

He eyed you for your reaction and then his wings twitched in excitement, “and a home here, in the city.” At that statement you gasped. 

“What?!” You shrieked, eyeing the keys in sheer shock. He had bought two houses?! For you?! 

“We can never agree on a place to live. You don’t want me away from my family, and I don’t want you away from your brother. So I figured… we split our time as we wish… I’ve spoken to both Rhysand and Thesan and they have agreed, we can go and come as we please. We get to live together without sacrificing our lives in our home courts.” Azriel explained, and the way he spoke made your insides flutter beyond remedy. 

“You are serious?” You asked in shock, not expecting such a thoughtful and frankly, expensive gift. Azriel nodded, “all I want is to be near you. I will buy a home wherever you want as long as I have you. I know you don’t want me to leave my family… and I would hate for you to have to compromise for me…”

“I… fuck, my gift is so bad.” You cursed, rubbing your temple as happy tears swelled your eyes at the thoughtfulness of your mate. Thoughtfulness a partner had never given you in the three centuries you had lived. 

“Angel, you are the only gift I will ever need. You know that. This bond… is everything I ever wanted, and more.” Azriel kissed your forehead as he soothed you. You rested your head on his chest until he asked, “is my gift the leather cuffs I wanted for my armor?” 

“Yes.” You groaned. 

“Fuck yeah, angel. Cassian will be so jealous when he sees what Nuan came up with.” You giggled at his words and handed him the box. 

You watched as your mate eagerly opened and then put on the brand new mechanical cuffs. They were black and blue, and had some features that apparently would make him a more unbeatable opponent. “I feel like this is so bad compared to the TWO houses you just gave me.” 

“Sweetheart,” he frowned, “you think I kid when I say my mate is my most exquisite, excellent gift?” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, only for him to tackle you to the bed, his wings flaring wide as he peppered your face with sweet kisses all over. “You are all I have ever wanted.” 

You laughed gleefully and gave in to your loving mate. 

Long story short, you survived. 

-

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @wallacewillow0773638 @lilah-asteria

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and in Death

male!knight x female!reader

CW: mentions of murder, blood and corpses

A/N: check the end for a full one

Death. Death is when your lungs stop inflating with oxygen, when your heart slowly comes to a stop and when your vision slowly fades to black. Some people find death scary and a creepy affair. Others welcome death and embrace it, leaving the world with a smile on their face. Some fall in between or have no opinion at all. However, two people have different opinions. If you ask the fifth daughter of Count Balcom, she'll tell you that it's an annoying event and that she wished it would end. If you ask Lucca Puhlavan, a commoner referred to as the Divine Warrior, he'll tell you that he hates it because it takes his loved ones away.

These two souls have similar perceptions of death. This is a story about a woman who is tired of dying and just wants to live and about a man who has sworn to get revenge on the people who robbed him of a peaceful life with his family.

Let the story begin.

You harshly grip the window sill, turning the tips of your fingers white. You shudder at the scene below you. Corpses line the front lawn and blood flows everywhere. You hear screams, yells and pleas for mercy from the occupants of the once-glamorous mansion outside your room. You shake your head at the sight and turn around. Determined, you make your way to the drawers against the wall of your moonlit room. You unlock one and grab the blue stone glimmering in the faint light. It's called the Returner's Stone. You hold it up to admire it. It's a pretty gem. It's round in shape and sparkles with a beautiful blue light. Once consumed, it allows the consumer to travel back in time. It can only be used once. Thud, thud. You freeze at the sound of footsteps sounding in front of your room. So he came. You think. You don't turn around. Even when the chilling creek of the door being opened echoes through the room, even when you hear the tip of a sword drag across the wooden floor even when the shadow of a man falls on you, “Are you the fifth daughter of Count Balcom?” he asks.

You know the question is rhetorical yet you still turn around and answer, “No. I think you have the wrong person.”

The man in front of you scoffs and you take the time to look him over. His navy blue clothes are soaked with blood. His sword hangs from his right hand dripping with the crimson liquid. His black cape falls over his shoulders. His silver hair catches the moonlight making it seem to shine. You pore into the depths of his grey eyes. You shiver at his gaze. It's cold yet empty. You're reminded of the 15-year-old boy your father brought 10 years ago. You were told he was killed. Murdered in one of the hunts, your father liked to organize. You're not sure how he's alive right now. You stop before you can sink more into your thoughts. Stop it! This isn't the time for these thoughts! “Spare me!” You suddenly blurt out.

Lucca (You think that's the name that was mentioned in the newspapers) immediately responds, “No.”

You grimace. There was no hesitation in his voice. You grip the Returner's Stone tighter and ask, “If-if I saved you and prevented that ‘incident’ would you spare me?”

The tall figure in front of you lets his head fall back and laughs, “No. The only way I would spare you is if you drain all of the Balcom blood from your body. Only then would you be spared.”

You flinch at his creepy laugh and cold gaze. Suddenly, Lucca raises his sword, obviously meaning to strike you down. Adrenaline kicks and you shove the sparkling blue Returner's Stone in your mouth and swallow. You suck in a breath at the sudden pain in your chest. Lucca falters and hesitates. Yet before he could swing his sword and complete his revenge you fall to the floor in agony, clutching your chest. The last thing you remember is the black boots of your would-be murderer filling your fading vision.

A/N: this is heavily (and I mean heavily) inspired by the manhwa Even if the Villain’s Daughter Regresses. It’s a good read but the ml is kind of annoying. When I was writing this it kinda felt awkward to switch from 3rd person to 2nd person. Should I keep it in 2nd person or switch to 3rd? Also, should I keep it as an ‘x reader’ or make an oc? What do you guys think? Let me know by dropping a comment!

[sleepingdayaway]

You were a wonderful experience.

Characters: Warriors, Wind, Hyrule, Wild, Time, Twilight, Legend, Four, Sky. Dark Link (mentioned)

Fast paced since I'm writing this at night and running on vibes only. I'm so sorry if it's terrible.

The soft sound of in sync breathing can be heard amongst the buzz of insects that's around them. The group of Hyrule's heroes silently stare ahead in shock as they take in the object that it ahead of them. Glimmering rainbow light emerges from the portal as it hovers slightly above the ground. Emitting an aura of something from out of this world; it's a bit intense than what the group is used to.

A shaky exhale escapes from the one, who's this portal is meant for. Your vision blurs as tears threaten to escape. The realization that you might finally be able to return home. After all this time and suffering.

Hesitantly you take a step forward towards the portal. It was so close. Just a few more feet and you'll be able to go back to everything that you left behind.

But of course. He can never make it that easy, now can he?

As if the world knew of your hope. The surrounding area suddenly rolled in a blanket of twilight. A dark misty fog began to form right in front of the portal. It begins to form a familiar figure of that damn monster that forcefully dragged you into this world.

With no hesitation in their stance; the group of heroes quickly began to try and put some distance between you and the shadow. But their efforts were in vain when multiple rushed footsteps was heard and a variety of monsters appeared.

Legend immediately went back to back with Four as the both of them decided to tackle with the green Bokoblins from Twilight's home. Meanwhile Twilight and Wild are side by side dealing with a Lizalfos from the Time's Hyrule. Those fucking things are agile as hell.

Sky and Wind are currently facing one of the Wizzrobes from the Great Sea. In which normally, the sailor would be delighted to deal with one of them but under these circumstances it was in the way. Hyrule is closer to Time as he fights off a few Skulltula's; Warriors is right next to him assisting so he won't get overwhelmed.

Time, assessing the situation at hand, placed himself in one of the hardest decisions he has done so far in their entire journey. Face their entire focus on the monsters, so that they could deal with the Shadow head on but they would leave you vulnerable. Or assist you and deal with the Shadow, but it would be overwhelming with the monsters.

Having one of the boys to work with you could give a higher chance of surviving, but taking count of all the monsters that are currently surround them. It would be impossible.

The Shadow made sure that no matter what decision Time made, you'll still be at risk.

For once, throughout the entire time he has been traveling. Did his face betray him, and an emotion of fear crossed his scarred face. There was no way was Time willing to lose you again. He just got you back.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the sword of a Stalfos swung at him. With a quick slash from his own blade caused the skeleton to drop to the ground. Either way Time made his choice.

"There isn't much time! [Name] hurr-"

"You all better stay the fuck there!"

Your voice echoed across the area. It was filled with such hate and desperation as you stared down the one who chased you across lands. It's sinister smirk haunting you as it doesn't move an inch. Appearing to enjoy this little staring contest.

Every single one of them flinched at the sound of your voice. They all desperately long to be by your side, and make sure no harm comes to you. But with that tone in your voice made them stay in place.

They all decided to listen to you, and leave you to your own devices.

Time digs his teeth into his lips before closing his eyes for a moment. He steadies his weapon and faces a different target, "Well, you heard them! We continue fighting and provide back up." He takes a another swing at the incoming monsters, "We leave the Shadow to them!"

It's over.

You hold the sword in your hand. The one Four made for you earlier on in your journey when you were barely being taught how to wield one properly. It was one of your most prized possessions.

Dark Link has returned to its place among the shadows. Your hand is shaking as you stare down where he once stood. Red eyes, burning with hatred as he cursed you out.

Your body fails you halfway into your thoughts as you collapse on the grass. Immediately the boys are beside you; Hyrule being the first one to reach you. Taking care of your external injuries first and foremost, but it seemed that you were heavily exhausted since you just leaned on him.

Warriors is there next, as he gently held you, so that Hyrule could work properly. The rest of the Chain are trying to patch each other up; they didn't mind with you being the main priority.

After some time has passed that allowed for the entire group to recover, did everyone finally acknowledge the portal once more.

Everyone knew that this portal wasn't for them. It had a much more powerful presence, and an unbearable pressure. Almost as if it was trying to push away the heroes, but for you?

It was if it was calling for you. As if it knew that you didn't belong here; a call for you, that it was time for you to return home.

With trembling legs did you stand up, and remove yourself from Hyrule and Warriors. Taking simple steps towards the unworldly portal, as it pulses like a faint heartbeat.

Immediately the boys tried to reach for you when they realized where you were going, but the pressure emitting from the portal was too strong. They collapsed a few feet away from you; from behind Wind perks up and follows after but he too suffered from the same thing.

Twilight comes after but only with the goal of gathering the boys, and bringing them back. He knew that he wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure and he despises that. Wanting desperately to grab you too.

Sky appears besides him and grabs Wind with Legend coming from behind to help Warriors. Time is silent as he watches the entire thing, a feeling of dread coils in him. Four is beside him holding onto Wild, who's moving and thrashing around trying to get to you.

Until everything stops.

The surrounding area disappears and they have appeared in a familiar place.

Instead of the luscious green forest with the varying wildlife. They are now in the place that brought the group of heroes to their destiny. A chamber of tall walls with a high ceiling; with only one window that has sunlight shinning down on them.

Time immediately recognized this place, and for a moment his heart drops to his stomach.

You stand before the portal. Tall and unwavering as you brought a hand out to reach towards it. It was finally time for you to leave. It pulses as if sensing you nearby as something shoots out from within.

Turning your head to look back at your heroes did it all came crashing down on you. In an instant all of the dialog that you practiced in your head for this moment, disappeared.

All you could do was stare at them as they struggled to comprehend that this was really it.

Until finally did you muster up the courage to give them a loving smile. The tears that were building up from your eyes freely fell. Only a sentence echoed in your head. Those would be your final words. Focusing on them as you walked back into the portal. Your eyes never once leaving them.

"You were a wonderful experience."

A hushed silence fell on the group. As they watched helplessly, unable to fight for you. When you looked back at them all they could think of was how relaxed you looked.

Gone was the bright blue color of the sheikah energy that combined with you from the beginning of this journey. They all forgot how human and alive you looked before all this started.

Now you're safe.

No longer burdened with the fear of being stuck here.

They did their duty.

But they just got you back. It wasn't fair.

'You were, everything'

[bestpigeon]

THE FALLEN ONE

LUCIFER X MALE READER

You, an angel, betrayed heaven and refused to kill demons. How will this go?

Words- 1.4k

Warnings- swearing, gore, fighting, gay

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It was extermination day. How exciting.  The truth is, i genrally despise extermination day. We get sent down to hell to kill souls. yeah, theyre evil and in the pits of hell for a reasom. however i dont believe that its the right thing to do. i mean, its still souls were killing. They dont deserve death. Were not very angelic if were killing souls? For what, so they wont revolt? They will anyways.

Adam was giving us a pep talk. I was on the front lines since im a worthy soldier. Adam was talking, shouting, about Vaggie. Vaggie betrayed us ages ago, Lutes long life plan is to kill her and rip out her other eyes or something. I sniker at the thought and i get a large death stare from Lute. Adam then shouts something that i didnt care enough to listen and everyone started charging through the portal and into hell. I fly down into the dome that some percular demon had created. It was all green and weird.

I land and look at the other angels either killing canibals, or getting killed themself. i scurry into a corner and hide near some broken rubble. I suddenly hear a chuckle. i whip my head in panic to.. shit, Lute.

"well well well. Really thought youd slack and get away with it?! this isnt the first time ive.. caught you avoiding battle." she says as she chuckles at my patheticness.

I roll my eyes and stand up. I flap my beautiful and delicate white angelic wings behind me. I turn my mask to face Lute.

"what? all to join in on killing souls? They arent innocent, yeah, but.. they dont deserve this-" i say before getting lunged at. Lute jumps ontop of me and we tumble backwards. I groan in agony and annoyance

"your so fucking pathetic. how about you join Vaggie? You and that bitch can rot down here. Worthless fu-" she says as she grits her teeth. I interup her by thrusting her off my lap and kicking her aggressivly with my legs. I stand up and point my spear at her.

"i am NOT going to join in with this shit anymore! you will not control me like the freak you are" I say as i squint my eyes under my mask. I didnt want to be controlled like a peasent, a doll, a puppet. Not anymore.

She laughs and stand up clearly pissed. She glares at me before thrusting her spear near my stomach. Like the trained angel fighter i am, i quickly dodge it easily. We fight back and back for a while. Both throwing some degrading. Some Lunges, spear attacks, grunting later, Lute has me pinned to the floor with a spear aimed at my head. I look up at her with nothing but hate and anger.

"Fucking kill me- Just like you did to Vag-" I say in anger, before getting interupted with a spear being jabbed into my leg. I scream out in pain as the angelic spear peirces the flesh on my leg.

"Yeah, us angels kill pathetic souls like you. People who dont deserve life, or the honourous position your in" She says as she lifts her spear up, prepaired to finish me off, finally. Then, out of the blue, Lute gets blasted with angelic power. I flinch and cover my face in worry. It was another angel, so i thought. Until i looked up and saw the King of hell himself. I leaned on the floor on my elbows before quickly pulling myself backwards. It was..over? All the angels were leaving, going back to heaven, including Lute.

Lucifer approaches me and knees beside me, he glares at my with symapthy. My mask was half cracked, you could see half of my face. "you alright kid?" he says as i looks down at my legs.

"um..yeah, im alright apart from the yknow, big slash in my leg-" I say before i clear my throat.

"why did you help me? Im an angelic warrior, im on the other side..?" I say confused as i cock up an eyebrow. Lucifer chuckles and smiles warmly. I thought it was a big perculiar, i mean demons being nice?

"I couldnt help but overhear your conversation while fighting Adam, by the way i absolutly destroyed Adam- anyways, your not like the other angels." He says as adjusts his beautiful white and red wings behind him. Though his wings were like mine, they still were different. More majestic i should say.

"mh..yeah well i dont agree with the extermination.. yknow? killing innocent- well not innocent, but killing souls in genral.. its, not something us angels should do." I say, as i spoke i kept eye contact the whole time. I could see the visible change in Lucifers expression. It seemed to soften, he clearly shared the same opinions as me.

"right, exactly the reason i saved you. You think like a real angel. well, now your in hell, but..better then death, right?" I coudnt help but notice he started to move his arms, one around my lefs anad the other around my back. He, bridal style, picked me up and held me in his arms. I gasp and i tense slightly. I glare up at him and he smiles at me before bringing me to the other demons.

He puts his hand on my leg and heals it, he closes his eyes as he does so. I couldnt help but realise how pretty he was. I blush at the thought before he puts my down on the floor. I smile when i realise my leg was healed finally.

"thank you" I say quietly. I see a collection of other demons looking at me weirdly, i dont blame them, im meant to be trying to kill them afterall. I smile awkwardly before Lucifer wraps his arm around my neck and pulls my to the group of demons. Some blonde demon approached me, her name was Charlie, Lucifers daughter.

"hey..? dad why is there an angel here?" she questions as she steps a step infront of me and twists her head. I look at her awkwardly and i cant help but notice vaggies peircing eyes stare aggressivly at me.

"um..im joining you? i guess? i betrayed the angels. Its just..not right to kill souls without reason." I say, i see Charlies face light up slightly. I feel Lucifers hands go onto my shoudlers.

"See Char Char! Hes on our side." He says i blush slightly when he gets really close, he leaned his head near my shoulder. Vaggies feirce appearence calmed slightly, though it was clear shes still on edge.

"oh! well hi! Its nice to meet you! Its amazing when we have other members of the Hazbin Hotel!" She says before she hugs me. I gasp when she lunges towards me and i flinch, my eyebrows lift in confusion but i hugged back soon as later. I didnt think kind souls existed in hell, maybe it isnt that bad?

I smile awkwardly. "Thank you- i appriciate it" I say as Charlie steps back and smiles at Vaggie. I notice the other demons were just doing whatever, mainly chatting and laughing together. I cant help but smile. Demons arnt that bad?

I feel the hands on my shoulders move and turn me around. I glare down at Lucifer, huh, didnt know he was that short.

"Are you all healed?" He says as he touches my waist and stomach to check if i was okay. I blush slighty and chuckle awkwardly. "yeah- yeah im fine your majesty"

"please, its Lucifer, and im glad your alright." He says as he smiles warmly at me, i return the smile.

"They might take a while, but they should warm up. Angels dont do well round here, but they will adjust." He says as he smiles. His hands were still on my shoulders.

"alright, im thankful still, thanks for helping me. Lute would have killed back there." I say smiling at him. He chuckles before walking towards his daughter.

I watch as he leaves. My thoughs are bombarded with all different things. Am i in the Hazbin hotel now? Hell can be nice? Well somewhat, i mean, i did nearly die down here.

Maybe, just maybe hell isn't too bad? My thoughts get interrupted by a huge explosion behind me, i turn to see a few demons ripping an angels wings to death. I squint in disgust, realising i should get us to that. Other than that, this couldn't be that bad.. I might even like it here.

[muffinlance]

Zuko, banished, no crew, no uncle, no quest for the avatar. Says "fuck this" aka, if I can get back to caldera maybe I can convince my dad to take me back. Horribly wounded thirteen year old finds dragons, starts a civil war by accident

Zuko didn’t think he was still delirious. The Sun Warrior’s healer hadn’t wanted him to leave yet, but—

But he’s standing here, back in the throne room, and the room is set up again for another war meeting so maybe he should have waited before coming in. But the guards hadn’t even asked him—or anyone inside—before they’d thrown the double doors open, so. He’d thought father wasn’t busy.

The general he thought he was going to fight at the Agni Kai is here, and so are all the others, even uncle. And father, at the head of the table, standing.

Father is the only one standing. Everyone else is... They’re kneeling. 

When he’d come back to the palace, the servants in the courtyard he’d landed in had hurried to open the doors for him, all the way here. And the guards had let him in. And now the whole room is kneeling except for father who—

He doesn’t look like he did on the Agni Kai field. Father had been… he’d been so calm, then. He’d been doing what he had to do, to instruct Zuko, to correct him. 

Now he just looks angry. 

So. So Zuko is screwing this up, too. He practiced his speech the whole way home, it was a good speech, he’d based it on the one the Stone Prince made to his father the Mountain Emperor when he’d come home to beg forgiveness, bringing the treasures of the Ice Spirit with him as tribute. But Zuko doesn’t remember how he was going to start. And the flames behind father are getting higher, and hotter, and Zuko is okay now with flames that flicker with purples and golds and greens, but red flame is—

It’s so hot against his face—

“Father,” he croaks. “Father, I’ve returned. With dragons.” 

He is so, so stupid. Ran and Shaw have flanked him from the courtyard, have wound through hallways paralleling his path, are snaking between the pillars of the room until coils of red and blue dwarf everything here. Ran breathes her own flames out, and the fires before the throne shift from Ozai’s reds to the shimmering rainbow-sparks of dragonfire.

“A sign from Agni,” Uncle Iroh says. He’s bowed like the rest, but Zuko can see his eyes, and there’s the same glimmer there that father and Azula get before they do something Zuko should have seen coming.

“You dare,” father says, and Zuko isn’t sure if it’s him or uncle he’s talking to. But when he takes a step forward it’s towards Zuko and when he raises a fist it’s towards Zuko and when he makes the fire it’s towards Zuko and—

(And Zuko cowered the first time the dragons tried to show him their flames. It was all around him, swirling, and he hit his knees and shoved his face against his arms because he’d learned better than to look up. 

The fire stopped, and a whiskered nose nudged him, and then there was a huge scaly coil loosely wound around him until he was done crying, so at least the Sun Warriors below hadn’t seen how pathetic he was.

After that, it was… they made it a game. Little puffs of flames, the kind of sparks he used to make to keep Azula from getting fussy in her crib, until she was old enough to climb out and go exploring with him instead. 

He flinched at first, a lot, but they didn’t hurt. Didn’t even hit him. And then it really was a game, where he would spin their colors in with his own flames, and send them back, and they’d keep playing as the flames got bigger and bigger but somehow they never got scary again. 

When he’d stopped flinching at all, when he wasn’t a coward around his own element, he knew he was ready to return home. Grandfather had once welcomed uncle home with honors for killing dragons. So father would accept his apologies if he brought home two live dragons, right? Making friends with dragons had to be harder than killing them.)

Father’s flames were… they were just red. Zuko didn’t realize what he was doing until the war ministers were gasping. By then he was already spinning father’s flames with his own, mixing in all the colors father’s had lacked, and.

And sending them back.

(Batting fire around with dragons had not given Zuko a realistic grasp on the heat tolerance of the average abusive father.)

Uncle was not the first to bow, when Zuko had first entered. This time, he is.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” he says.

The war ministers are not prepared to countermand the Dragon of the West. Or literal dragons. They never left their knees, and they don’t start now. Foreheads touch the ground.

Zuko… Fire Lord Zuko’s first order is to take his father to the healers. He’ll let him stay there, longer than Ozai let Zuko.

(You can read this and other prompts at AO3. And longer stories, too. <3)

[cloudninetonine]

“He’s not waking.”

“Refusing to sleep for three days straight would do such to a man.”

“Well yes, that and….the lavender mushrooms I put in his stew.”

“Lavender mushrooms- did you spike his food!?”

“Look,” Wild started, raising his hands in defence at Warriors and Twilight’s horrified looks. “The nightmare had scared him witless, it was either this or the hallucinations get to him and trust me, the horrors we have seen do not translate well into insomniac mirages.”

“And this was better!?” Twilight snapped, panic in his eyes. “Champion, he was already refusing to sleep because of nightmares you’ve essentially trapped him in his own head!”

“Would you rather him sleep or start swinging at enemies that aren’t even there!?”

To say it was a tense was an understatement, the whole group staying silent as they watched two of the oldest argue with the cook as the Old Man laid still in his sleep mat. Time wasn’t dead but he certainly looked closed to it, his eyes sunken in with a ghostly pale tint to his skin- you had never seen someone so badly affected by lack of sleep but then again this wasn’t just a lack but any at all. All thanks to the nightmare that had him screaming days before, thrashing violently in his bedroll in the middle of the night which had each of the boys pulling swords ready to fight. Nothing was around. Nothing at all and the Old Man thus began his refusal to set a toe in the land of dreams.

Which led to now.

Glaring at Hyrule beside you, you watched as the brunette slightly shrunk under your gaze. “Is this why you went foraging with Wild earlier?”

Eyes avoidant, the man muttered a hesitant, “...no.” that was enough of an answer to you.

As annoyed as you were you also couldn’t blame the boys. Time was already starting to show the start of losing it- auditory hallucinations, whipping his head around in confusion which was slowly beginning to border frustration with the scowl and hard eyes he had adopted.

Time needed to sleep and finally, he was put to rest.

But what were you supposed to do without your leader? Wallow and fret as he slept off the last 70+ hours that he sorely needed to catch up on? Bask in relief that he was finally able doze? You didn’t really know as you continued to watch the trio argue until finally Warriors snapped for them to shut it.

“We will be stuck here until further notice thanks to your decision, Champion.” Wild flinched at the Captain’s tone, not used to such the aggressive tongue from the other blonde but backing down in understanding. “How long will it take for him to recover?”

“...It took me only a day for the mushroom to finally be rid of my system.”

“Then a day we shall stay, and another to make sure our eldest is well.” Dragging a hand down his face, Warriors grunted. “We are to make sure that the surrounding area is clear- ranch-hand you’re with me and so are you, Champion.”

The two grabbed their weapons, Wild hesitating slightly knowing of the oncoming lecture that the two were about to drag them into.

“Smithy, traveller please keep an eye on him.” 

And they left to the surrounding dense forest in search of enemies to hunt.

Gently, your hand moved to brush away a few stray strands from Time’s face. Eyes narrowing in concern, you witnessed the exhaustion over his face with growing concern, “Feel better soon, Link.” 

His lips twitched as he slept.

----------

The tension had slowly disappeared within the day, leading the lot of you to a more relaxing night. Time still laid comatosed upon his mat, periodcally twitching within his sleep as the evening progressed on- you wondered what exactly went through his mind. Was he fighting the return of that nightmare days before? Was he dreaming of his home or maybe dreaming about his boys? An enigma doused in sopor as you all watched over him.

It was Legend who took first watch. Four, Warriors and Sky would proceed to follow once the veteran’s job had run it’s course, eyes peered into the pitch black of the surrounding thicket to check for any monsters that strayed a little too far into the light. Not that you were expecting anything, when the trio had returned later with dirtied clothes and lightly scathed skin. Tonight wouldn’t be eventful.

Or so you thought.

When you woke up it was still dark, the soft embers of the dying fire casting shadows of the sleeping bodies around it, the dim outlines giants from the position of the fading flame when you pushed yourself into a small kneel, hand rubbing at your eyes.

“Why’s the fire fading…?” You muttered more to yourself than anything, blinking the sleep out of your vision as you glanced around. Something felt off. “Hey-”

Quiet.

It was quiet.

It wasn’t supposed to be quiet.

Just off the edge of the group was a boulder, not too big nor too small, just the right size for someone to sit on as they did whatever it was they wanted. It had become the designated spot for the night watch, a perfect little lookout.

It sat, empty of any participant.

Swallowing the ball in your throat, you glanced around the area nervously counting the multitude of bodies.

1, 2, 3, 4-

Legend, Sky, Four and Wind-

5, 6, 7-

Twilight, Wild and Hyrule.

Blinking, you recounted.

1, 2, 3, 4-

Legend, Sky, Four and Wind-

5, 6, 7-

Twilight, Wild and Hyrule-

Where were Warriors and Time?

“Rulie.” No hesitation, you leaned over the brunette with your hand landing on his shoulder to shake him. “Rulie, please.”

Hyrule did not jerk. He did not spasm. He did not gasp. Nor did he twitch. Still. Hyrule laid still.

Horror dawned your face, the hand on his shoulder slowly sliding to rest over his mouth-

And breaths did leave him.

With furrowed brows, your hand returned and you moved him more violently. “Hyrule.”

Nothing once again.

You violently shoved him.

“Link!”

And there was nothing once more.

Well, nothing from him. Your shout echoed through the small clearing, catching the wind and making your ears ring as you quickly ducked into your sleeping bag, afraid.

One moment, two moments, three- peaking your head out, there seemed to be nothing.

And you hoped it stayed that way.

You went through the entirety of the camp. Shaking and calling, yanking and (whisper) shouting, tugging and pleading but it seemed that nothing was waking them. The boys were alive, breathing but not a single one of them stirred. It was terrifying, the spell that seemed to be cast over them all and the want to go back to your bed roll and hide like a child scared of the monsters within your wardrobe was such an intense feeling.

But you couldn’t sit here, helpless.

Not when Warriors and Time were missing. One certainly incapacitated and the other, well, you weren’t too sure.

It wasn’t the smartest decision but if none of the real heroes could help, then you had to find it within yourself to be the courageous one. You hated leaving them alone but when already 10 minutes had gone by with nothing, not a snap of a branch or the sound of footsteps, you came to the conclusion that any answers laid out in the darkness just beyond the trees. You took Fi for the backup, mentally apologising to Sky for the thievery as you stood just on the line between isolation and separation.

Isolation from the truth and separation from your safety.

The leaves crunched under your feet as you embarked into the lone dark.

Phone light in hand, you followed a non existent path to nowhere. Your breaths quiet along with your steps, glancing around the area with a flick of your wrist to reveal to you more of your surroundings. Tree after tree you passed, save the odd bush or rotting stump from a lumberjack doing his duty, seemed just as normal as the grass beneath your feet. There wasn’t really anything odd. Save for the air. The air felt tense and it felt suffocating, but you blamed such a thing on your own nerves.

Not that you didn’t blame the circumstances, oh, they were your true enemy.

“Wars?” You could barely make out a proper call, your voice more of a whimpered mutter than a concerned cry. “Warriors, are you out here?”

Nothing heard you.

Well, that’s what you thought.

Turning past another grand oak tree, you saw the edge of the forest, the moon peering past the abundance of leaves on the outstretched branches. You had strayed too far, was a thought that popped into your mind, glancing past the nature to see the field that laid beyond it.

Nothing for miles but that didn’t mean the two hadn’t been taken- that they were long gone.

You turned back towards the forest and began to make your way back towards the camp.

Maybe, just maybe, you could wake the group now. Maybe you could have some help and maybe you wouldn’t be alone-

A twig snapped.

Your hand tightened around The Master Sword’s handle in an instant, clutching at her cool surface with an ice cold fear climbing up the expanse of your gut to travel to the depths of your chest. There had been nothing, not a single thing and now something other than you had broken the silence. Would a monster be so still? Be so quiet, so calculated as it possibly stalked you in these moments of solitude.

Was it Dink?

A shiver ran up your back at the feeling of eyes casting upon it. The cold chill digging deeper into your spine when footsteps grew heavy behind you as whatever it was got closer.

Your eyes fell close in uncertainty. It wasn’t real. This was a nightmare. You were back in your bedroll. Experiencing a nightmare.

Though everything was all too real to be just that.

Fi pulsed. Be it a warning or reassurance, you weren’t quite sure. Her sounds did not bring solace as you fought the fear within your heart to escape whatever approached you. You hated the four reactions, why did there need to be four? Why did you need to fight? What did you need to fly? Why did you need to fawn- why did you need to freeze?

The footsteps finally stopped behind you and the presence was large. Your animal instincts tossing about visions of a monster of slender or a creature with rows of teeth, with eerie black eyes, with a too wide of grin. You couldn’t quite fathom what exactly was behind you and you really didn’t want to.

But after a moment and a shaky breath you spun around with Fi at the ready.

Blood. There was blood. There was a lot of blood. The smell of copper finally rolling over in waves as you choked and spluttered at the overwhelming smell, eyes tearing from just how strong it seemed to be. It dripped to the floor and formed a small puddle beneath it as it just stood before you, watching, waiting as it just stared. Your light cast away, but you could see those glowing eyes of white glaring down at you from the darkness overhead.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to scream so bad.

But only a pathetic whimper could make it past your dry lips.

The armour, the cloth, the radiating aura of rage and those eyes…

Fierce Deity was silent.

Fierce Deity was still.

And Fierce Deity was violent.

One step, two steps, you backed up slowly not willing to break the spell cast between you. You didn’t want to encounter the power that so easily rolled off him, scared for what kind of consequences what befall you if his hands even grazed your skin- would he break your arms? Your legs? Would he snap your neck? Would he rip you apart? What would he do? What could he do?

Fierce Deity’s hand raised.

And you had decided you didn’t want to find out.

You ran. Like a coward, like a dog with it’s tail hidden between its legs, you turned tail and sprinted away. Instincts screaming, evolution running its course, you blasted through the bush with the only thoughts in your head being screams of anguish. Leaping over logs, ducking under branches, it was impressive just how much your body pushed its limits when you were truly and utterly afraid.

Dodging another tree your foot began to raise from the ground to take another step only to be caught by the weight of something and leaving you crashing towards the dirt blow you with a choked cry, face scratching against the sticks and leaves.

“Wha-” You thanked the heavens that clutching your phone with a death grip was relfex by now as you span around with that piercing gadget light. 

More blood. More copper. But this time there laid a body that stayed awfully still, the familiar light of royal blue sullied by crimson.

“Wars!” Scurrying to sit upright, you leaned over the injured man with more tears cornering your eyes. “Link, oh my fucking God, please-”

A deep, rattled breath made you yelp before relief flooded your system as you realised that he was still alive. “Oh Link, oh Christ, it’s okay-”

Fierce Deity stood just beside you. So large yet so silent, his giant height made bigger with your kneeled position as you looked upon him in horror. The blood which coated him was red, partnering the blood over your fallen comrade and leading your eyes the narrow with an understandable rage which lead to less understandable actions.

You raised Fi towards him. “Stay the fuck away from us!”

Silence.

Fierce Deity did not speak. 

Fi no longer hummed.

And Warriors only shook in pain just beneath you.

The god slowly leaned down and you hardened your gaze. “Fuck off!”

He paused and your heart beat pounded in your ears from fear.

Did you really just tell a war god to fuck off?

How the hell had you survived this long?

After no more words from you Fierce Deity continued until he was kneeled, face still place as the Master Sword’s sharp point pressed just against his temple as he observed you. No more movement, not a blink or a breath, Fierce just watched as the weight of the world grew heavier and heavier on your shoulders. What was he waiting for? Why did he stop?

You slowly dropped Fi, looking back into those eyes filled with bloodlust.

“...what do you want?”

Fierce tilted his head but did not break eye contact as he acted.

The god’s arms slowly moved under Warriors’ broken body, gentle and careful as the man hissed in pain even within the confines of his pained coma before he raised a knee and finally stood back to his full height. All while still keep that same, eerie eye contact.

He waited.

And waited.

…and waited.

Then when you finally stood, phone illuminating the forest with Fi staying quiet beside you, did Fierce Deity begin to move. Heavy footfalls, with the plants crunching beneath his boots, you watched as he moved in a random direction. With purpose but no prompt, he walked just a little before pausing once again and staring back at you, waiting.

One step, two step- you followed.

Making it back to camp was much faster than leaving it, the embers finally dead within the fire pit and the others still surrounding it, still slumbering away. You did not question the god about anything and instead went to work.

Relight the fire. Prepare a fairy or two. Clean and wrap any remaining wounds.

Fierce Deity was…obediant. Being a god, you expected him to shake you off or growl when you crossed any boundaries, but nope, he let you boss him around. Placing Wars where you demanded, kept him still when the fairies tended to him (Gilda was off with others sisters but the fairies promised to have her return for the extra help) held him up as you wrapped his chest and laid him down gently in his bedroll, watching as you tucked him in carefully.

The blood was gone now. Both from Warriors and from the god. You weren’t sure how exactly the blood had disappeared from the skin and you wondered if he had somehow absorbed the liquid, a disgruntled shiver wracking through you.

“Hope they wake up soon…” Glancing over the group again, you worried hard over each and everyone one before you turned back towards the giant, his eyes still trained on you. “...sorry for shouting at you earlier.”

He tiled his head- you wondered if he liked to do that.

“And thank you for helping me with Wars- hopefully he’s gonna be okay…” You deflated, “Hyrule usually does the healing, I don’t know anything about medical care. You probably know that though.”

Still no words. Fierce probably couldn’t talk.

Or just didn’t want to, for what would a war god need to say?

“...Time’s okay too, yeah?” He narrowed his eyes a little but you didn’t back down, fighting back wetting yourself on the spot. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m concerned.”

When a few moments of more silence passed you sighed, laying back in your bedroll. “Whatever.”

You were tired. Really tired and lying here wasn’t really helping. You needed to stay up, after all, you needed to make sure they everyone was safe while slept away, unaware of anything.

Your eyelids fluttered, fighting back sleep.

Fierce’s hand moved to gently pull the covers over your body, the shock in your system overshadowed by the fatigue slowly making it’s way through you.

“Sleep.” Only a single word, distorted yet familiar as it reached your ears.

You welcomed this darkness with open arms.

[therewasatale]

midnight practice

On Ao3.

Based on prompt.

It was around midnight, maybe even past midnight, you weren't sure. It didn't matter, time didn't matter.

The moon was up, high between the gray clouds, shining its silver rays on the Gibraltar base and the black waves under the cliffs.

You closed your room's door, and began your search. Watching your every step - especially you tried to put less weight on your left leg - you made your way through the corridors. Most people in the base were already sleeping, but some were still up; you were able to see faint light coming out under Angela's room and there was some dim light in Genji's room too.

The briefing room was occupied by Winston; who always kept an eye on the world and the trouble brewing out there.

Slowly the base started to fill up with life again.  

After a couple of minutes, you've finally arrived to your destination. Before stepping inside the practice range, you were able to hear measured and quick movements.

You opened the door and found Ramattra, alone. As you suspected.

Since he joined, and began helping, he isolated himself after every mission; sometimes just for a couple of hours, sometimes he needed a full day to decompress and think, ready himself for the next fight. Or so did Zenyatta tell you once.

However, this was just accepted by everyone, since he didn't destroy anything or hurt anyone in his isolation. Besides, after the fall of Overwatch and the rise of Talon, every one of you needed to get used to each other all over again.

After a couple of steps, you stopped next to the wall, and just watched him in silence. Practicing with his staff, jumping, kicking the air, perhaps fighting with an imaginary adversary. His every movement were precise, calculated. He was made to be a tool of war, and became a warrior after.

"You should be sleeping."

The sudden words made you flinch, and pain shot up from your left leg at the movement.

"You should be resting." There was a soft scolding in his voice.

He was right, but something didn't let you sleep for the last three days. Since the last encounter with Talon. And it wasn't just your healing leg.

"You're being alone for a long time now, Ramattra."

"I was never, how your kind say it - a people person." Finally, he stopped and turned towards you.

"I know that, but this is different. Even Zenyatta thinks something is off with you." You walked closer to him.

"My brother always worried about everyone, no wonder he ended up in here."

"Maybe, but you don't deny it, do you?" A tiny smile played on your lips as you heard a scoff from the omnic.

"I needed to clear my mind, and meditating didn't always work, it didn't help this time." 

A long moment stretched out between you two, but it wasn't awkward. You wouldn't have been able to tell when it changed into a pleasant silence, but it happened not long after Ramattra joined.

"Is this about the last mission? They managed to steal some data about those omnics, but we will help your people out in King's Row. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know."

"And we will get de Kuiper out too, somehow. Even if it will get us in a pickle."

"In a pickle?" The omnic tilted his head.

"It's a human saying." You waved it off smiling.

"Ah yes, those idioms, the British girl once tried to teach me some, without even asking if I would like to learn such phrases. I managed to understand the bloody as an expletive attributive, and not the literally means covered in blood."

"Tracer is nice, but I'd say some rural Irish-english is an even bigger challenge."

"I believe you."

You took another step towards him. "So, why are you still here? The last mission went all right."

"The last mission could have been a disaster." His tone suddenly changed to a serious one.

Reading an omnic's faceplate was impossible, sometimes even the tone of their voice was challenging to figure out, but you felt some of Ramattra's. Anger, which he couldn't let go, so he just let it smolder and wake it up to use it at the right place and time.

"How?"

He looked at you, but didn't answer yet. The memoires of that mission came back to him, like they did for the last three days.

"What's bothering you, Ramattra?"

If any other human would have asked him, he would have just left. He didn't owe anyone an explanation. He still couldn't trust any other human. But you were different, over the time in his eyes you became different from the other humans.

"You were here for the last three days, you're making your brother worried, and making me worried as well." Carefully, without much thinking, you reached out and took his hand into yours.

Another long moment went by.

Your chest hammered, waiting for a reaction, or anything that indicates that you did something wrong, or stepped over a line, however, nothing happened.

He just let his hand rest in yours, enjoying a moment of peace.

For the last three days he tried to avoided to cause of his discomfort, tried deny its very existence. He watched your hand; it was smaller than his. Every part of yours were smaller than his; he still remembered how light you felt was when he carried your unconscious body to the dropship, how quickened and shaky your breathing became, and how much he didn't want to let you go from his arms.

For the last three days he tried to suppress those memories, and the feelings that they have awakened in him.

"Ramattra?" You swallowed back your nervousness.

It was no use. He wouldn’t be able to suppress it, He gently creased your fingers.

"The idea of you getting hurt doesn’t sit well with me." He ran his fingers over your hand, up on your arm, shoulder, neck and finally stopped under your chin.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you let your head tilted up when he gently held your chin, so you could only look at him. "Oh."

Three days ago, on the mission you protected Cassidy's back from a Talon sniper, and on the way, you had an unfortunate meet up with an assassin. It wasn't fatal, thanks to your luck, and a large helping of nanoboost from Ana. But you still ended up with a couple of deep cuts, some lacerations and bruises, even a bullet hole in your leg. Angela has already healed most of your injuries, but some scars will be permanent. It was a small price to pay for protecting a friend.

"I'm all right."

"Yes, and I will make sure you will be in the future too."

Your heart skipped a beat.

Those metallic fingers could have easily crushed your jaw, or every bone of your body if he wanted, and yet instead, they gently creased your skin on your chin and face. For a second, you closed your eyes and leaned against the gentle touch, enjoying the short moment of peace and safety.

He didn't pull away either, instead, he drew a couple of circles at the line of your chin, then just caressed under your eyes.

Finally, the tip of his index finger rested on your nose. Gently booping it once.

"Found something interesting?" You glanced up with a soft chuckle.

"Yes, I've never cared for humans, neither about your words, nor your anatomy. But you make me want to learn about your kin."

"Maybe it's not a bad thing." You placed a tiny kiss on his palm.

Ramattra couldn't help but let out a gentle humm before answering. "Maybe."

"Then how about you walk me to my room, and then I can teach you about anything you'd like to? And you can teach me in turn about your body."

After another tiny kiss you pulled away.

"Sounds intriguing, very well then." He stepped next to you, and let himself being led by you as you took his hand.

Your fingers linked with his, as you two stepped out from the gym.

[hero-of-the-wolf]

This is for the lovely @la-sera , based on this comic here. I really admire your art, and you're such a kind person, so I wanted to write a little something for you :) I hope you like it!!!

Hyrule wasn’t a squeamish person. He couldn’t afford to be with his line of work, but even before he’d taken up sword and shield to fight for his beloved land he’d never been one to shy away from the reality of death. He’d do all in his power to spare the people of Hyrule from it, whether they appreciated it or not, and in turn administered it to every fell beast and monster that plagued his home. That was simply what heroes did.

And so battle after battle, with his eight new brothers in arms, he strove to help in every way he could. He knew that he wasn’t the strongest fighter, but he could hold his own in a fight well enough, and he had spells that the others didn’t know. Hyrule pulled on his magic now, jumping up over a moblin to slash at its head. It roared in outrage, clumsily swiping at him, trying to snatch him out of the air. But Hyrule was faster. He landed and, using his momentum, spun around to thrust his sword through the monster’s back. With a dying gurgle it collapsed at his feet and exploded into black smoke.

This particular battle had been especially brutal. They’d already been low on healing supplies when they’d gotten ambushed, and it’d only gotten worse from there. With no more red potions or fairies, it was all down to Hyrule and his magic.

He rushed to Wind and Four’s sides next. He couldn’t linger for too long trying to catch his breath; the others needed his help. The little pirate had been shot, felled by an archer’s arrow. Already Wind had tears shining in his eyes but he stubbornly refused to let them fall.

“I can’t move my left leg,” he rasped, his voice shaking from the force of the surpressed emotion. “Does my leg have to be amputated? Like a pirate—”

“You’re already a pirate, Wind,” Four chastised gently.

Hyrule looked over the wound. The arrow was still firmly embedded into the sailor’s calf, blood slowly oozing out and dripping down his leg.

It could have been much worse.

“No, your leg doesn’t need to be amputated.” Hyrule held out a spare rag. “Here, bite this.”

“I’ll draw this arrow on the count of three,” Four added. “Ready?”

Wind nodded, a traitorous tear finally leaking free.

“One.”

Hyrule leaned forwards, waiting for his cue.

“Two!”

Four swifty pulled the arrow free. Wind flinched back, a startled cry tearing from his lips. Hyrule wasted no time, placing his hands against the puncture wound and summoning his life spell.

It didn’t take much magic to heal. When he was done Wind smiled at him gratefully, the color already returning to his face. Then he shot a glare at Four. “You could have waited till three.”

Certain that Wind was okay, Hyrule tuned out their conversation and turned his attention back to the battle around them. Four could handle it from here, the traveler’s help was needed elsewhere. The others weren’t faring much better, either.

He caught sight of Warriors next, sitting on the ground and clutching at his shoulder. As he drew closer he realized that the captain was bleeding heavily. He had his scarf pressed tightly against the wound, trying to stem the blood all by himself.

He looked up as Hyrule knelt at his side, his gaze glassy and unfocused. “You don’t… need to heal me, Rule.”

“I want to help you,” Hyrule insisted, reaching out to gently pull the sullied blue cloth away. That would be a hard stain to get out, he knew from experience.

“ ‘s too much… blood….”

Hyrule gently shooed away the captain’s resisting hands. “I don’t mind. Now let me see and heal your shoulder, before you lose more blood!”

Warriors finally relented, letting his hands fall limply into his lap and closing his eyes. Hyrule placed his own hands against the wound as gently as he could, closing his eyes as well and summoning his magic again.

There was so much blood. Hyrule wondered how long the captain had been bleeding, unwilling to call out for help. He resolved to be more observant in the future. None of his brothers would suffer needlessly, not if he could help it.

He’d barely even mended the wound back together when he heard a pained cry ring out across the field. His head snapped up, searching the chaos until he found the source of the noise. The champion had fallen, his body a reddish heap on the ground. Legend stood over him, not letting any monster get too close.

Warriors saw it, too. He squeezed the traveler’s arm in thanks. “Thank you. You’ve done enough.”

Hyrule nodded, squeezing his arm in return, before rushing over. Legend turned at his approach, relief washing over his face. He kneeled down with Hyrule, pulling Wild up into his arms.

“What happened?” Hyrule asked, assessing the damage. He could feel that familiar exhaustion already pulling at him, a clear indication that he was quickly running out of magic. He ignored it.

“Wolfos,” Legend panted. “Can you heal him?”

“Of course.”

Hyrule reached for the wound, summoning his magic yet again. Slowly, the flesh knit back together. Hyrule poured in every last drop. The wounds were deep, but he had enough to do the job. He had to.

Once he was satisfied that it was fully healed the traveler leaned back, his head swimming.

Legend noticed immediately. He reached into his bag, pulling out a bottle. “I have a green potion for your magic.”

Another scream. The sound of it sent Hyrule’s heart racing, every hair standing on end, before it abruptly cut off. Then there was the muffled thud of a body hitting the ground.

This battle wasn’t going well for them at all.

Hyrule accepted the potion gratefully, tipping it back and drinking the whole thing in one go. Then he rushed over to where the sound had come from to find Twilight cradling Time’s body. Hyrule’s breath caught at the sight.

“Time, why did you protect me?” Twilight was crying. He placed his hand at the back of Time’s head, pulling him closer. Blood ran down the side of the old man’s face, nearly obscuring it with crimson red. “No, Time! Open your eyes! Please, do-don’t leave me….”

It was hard to tell from a distance whether he was even still alive or not. That wasn’t going to stop Hyrule from doing what he could.

“I’m ready,” Hyrule panted, sliding to their sides. Twilight’s head snapped up at his sudden appearance, looking almost comically surprised. He reluctantly pulled back, letting Hyrule lean in to assess the damage.

Hyrule pressed his fingers against Time’s neck, ignoring a nearby clash of steel against steel that was far too close for comfort. The old man’s pulse was sluggish, but still strong. He turned his attention to the wound next. Head wounds were always tricky, but he knew that he could help.

He could feel Twilight’s eyes on him as he worked, watching with bated breath. The rancher always worried so much, but he seemed to especially lose his composure whenever Time was the one that was injured. It was hard not to wonder why.

By the time he’d finished healing their appointed leader and finally pulled back the battle around them had fallen silent. Hyrule got up, looking around once again. He spotted the chosen hero standing a ways away from the group, still heaving for breath. His tunic was steadily growing red, but either he didn’t notice or he didn’t care.

Hyrule marched over to the knight. “Sky! Let me heal your wound!”

Sky held his hands up placatingly, giving Hyrule a reassuring smile. “Oh, no need, Hyrule. I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.”

Ignoring his words, Hyrule reached out to poke around the wound, trying to gauge how bad it was. Sky immediately collapsed into a heap on the ground, gasping in pain.

Hyrule went down with him, placing a steadying hand on his back and frowning in concern. “Your wounds are deep. This can be dangerous if not treated immediately.”

Resigned to his fate, Sky didn’t resist as Hyrule finished off his magic, mending the wound back together. He gave him a grateful smile when he was done, one that the traveler gladly returned.

The battle over and everyone taken care of, Hyrule stepped away and let himself sit down roughly on the ground. His brothers were all okay.

He needed a nap.

The others set up camp around him, chatting quietly, the sound a pleasant hum washing over him. One by one each of the others came over, leaving gifts. Twilight’s pelt, Sky’s sailcloth, potions and milk and even an entire apple.

Hyrule got to work cutting the apple up into smaller pieces, struggling to stay awake, his eyes nearly crossing from the effort of keeping them open. He lifted his head from where it'd started to droop and resolved to himself to go to sleep after he finished eating the gifted fruit.

“Ouch!”

A sharp prick immediately brought him back to his senses. He stared down at his finger uncomprehendingly, nicked by his own knife.

Bleeding.

He was bleeding.

He yelled, drawing on the very last of his magic to heal the meager cut. Too close. That was far too close.

He felt eyes staring at him. Hyrule flushed, turning around to see the rest of the chain’s attention fully on him.

“You… okay, Rule?”

“Yeah. Yep.” He pulled the cloaks hanging off his shoulders tighter around him. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Legend waved him off.

One by one, they went back to their conversation. The traveler looked back down at his apple, his ears bright red.

Hyrule wasn't a squeamish person. With his line of work he couldn't afford to be. But the sight of his own blood… the sight of his own blood had always made him feel sick. And knowing now that it was cursed too….

It was best not to leave his cuts unhealed, no matter how small they were.