Portrait of Empress Maria Alexandrovna, (Detail), (1857), by Franz Xaver Winterhalter (German, 1805–1873), oil on canvas, 120 × 95 cm, The State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg
Curvy Vintage Lingerie Morning Glow in 1950s Style
Step into a cozy vintage morning, where confidence shines as bright as soft sunlight filtering through lace curtains. This plus-size woman celebrates timeless beauty, with copper pin curls and a playful dice tattoo that hint at her bold personality. Let this intimate moment remind you: vintage glam is for every body and every day. Like, comment, save, and follow us for more empowering retro inspiration! This image is for inspiration only, but we'd be happy to create a digital version for you and make it available on Etsy. Click here to go to the ETSY-Contact and follow us here on Tumblr. (AI-Art)
“isn’t it crazy that we were once strangers and now we’re cuddling in bed, with each other’s rings on our fingers?”
you exhale, heavy, tired. “go to sleep, satoru,” you mumble, burying your face into his chest. and he automatically moves his hand to thread his fingers through your hair.
“like, we had our own lives, had no idea who we’d end up with or where we’d end up,” he continues, awe laced into his voice. “and one day, bam! every second of my day was suddenly consumed by you or thoughts of you. or dreams about you.”
satoru’s mind is way too busy for 2 a.m.
“if you don’t let me sleep, you won’t live to see another day.”
“ohhh, so that was your plan all along, huh? seduce me, make me fall in love, then kill me in my sleep?” he says, theatrically woeful and pained. “after all i’ve done for you. am i still just a stranger to you?”
you can’t help but snort, a quiet sound muffled by his chest. “why would i wait four years to kill you? i probably could’ve done it after one year. you were already whipped.”
“probably after one month, baby. you’ve always had me whipped, let’s be honest,” he says, completely proud and unabashed. he gently massages your scalp with his fingertips before drifting them back down through your hair. it’s a mindless action, soothing for both you and him. “but you’d never kill me.”
“mm, i don’t know. depends on how much the job is. i could be a multimillionaire.”
he gasps, his hand moving down to tickle your side. “you traitor. besides, you’re already a millionaire, silly. you have me. everything i own is yours.”
you squirm, letting out a giggle when he tickles you and he does it again just to hear that sweet sound. and also just to be a little bit of a menace. you try to wiggle away but he uses his other arm to keep you tethered to him.
“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” you laugh breathlessly, trying to swat his hand away. “just stop tickling me.”
“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your nose playfully. he’s pouting a little, staring down at you as you catch your breath, and his expression softens. it’s one of his favourite views - your faint smile, the sparkle in your eyes, your flushed cheeks.
he groans, defeated, forehead falling to press against yours.
he could never stay upset, or even faux-upset, around you.
“what?” you ask softly, curious about his sudden groan. you feel his hand at your side squeeze. not teasing. more like he's holding himself back from something.
“i’m so in love with you, it’s insane,” he murmurs, almost sounding pained, like his heart physically hurts. “i'd let you kill me, y'know. let you torture me, drag it out, whatever the hell you want.”
you giggle, your nose brushing against his. his smile ghosts your lips.
“you’re insane.”
“incredibly, for you.”
you hum, thoughtful, closing your eyes. feeling his breath on your face, warm, alive.
“it is pretty crazy. that we were once strangers and now you'd let me kill you for money.”
he breathes out a chuckle, lips brushing yours but never fully kissing. he's soaking up your touch, your closeness. satoru never seems to understand personal space. not that you'd ever mind.
“anything to make you happy, princess.” he begins to draw circles on your side with his thumb. small, light circles.
and you reach up, placing your palm on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your touch and the way it begins to quicken.
“this makes me happy. knowing it’s beating for me.”
he pauses, breath catching in his throat and fingers halting in their circles for a brief moment before he brushes it off casually, “… you love me sooo much.”
if your eyes were open, you’d roll them. you know that he's deflecting. that he's masking the vulnerability with humour. and that he knows you know. no one knows him better than you do, after all.
“says you, mr i’d let you kill me,” you tease, though your index finger traces an ‘i love you’ on his chest, right above his heart.
he grins, dimples adorning his cheeks. he draws hearts on your side over and over again. engraving his love into you, wishing to carve himself into your soul.
“and i stand by those words.”
“well, if you keep me up too late, your wish will be granted.”
"well, then... i was also thinking about how crazy it is that male seahorses can get pregnant. like, sign me up heh."
notes: pining, jealousy, misunderstandings between the two, reader and neteyam are dumb, lo'ak being the sensible one.
word count: 5.9k
prompt: all along he thought you knew he was courting you but when you start avoiding him when you see him with another girl, he thinks you want him to stop courting you not knowing you weren’t really aware he was trying to mate with you.
main masterlist | neteyam masterlist
credits to the gif owner
The sun dipped low over the lush canopy of the Omatikaya forest, casting golden shafts through the leaves that danced across your azure skin like fleeting fireflies.
You sat cross-legged on a woven mat at the edge of the communal fire pit, your lithe frame relaxed after a long day of gathering herbs and weaving baskets. Strands of your dark hair, loosely braided with feathers from the hexapede you'd befriended, framed your delicate face, where wide amber eyes sparkled with quiet contentment. Your beauty was effortless, a soft curve to your full lips, high cheekbones flushed with the day's warmth, and a slender neck that led to the gentle swell of your shoulders, bare save for the thin straps of your beaded top.
You were known in the clan for your sweetness, always offering a kind word or a helping hand, your voice like a gentle breeze carrying notes of laughter that eased tensions among the hunters and weavers alike.
Neteyam approached from the treeline, his tall, athletic build cutting through the underbrush with purposeful strides.
His blue skin held a subtle sheen under the fading light, broader than the average Na'vi, he moved with fluid grace as any born of Eywa. His golden eyes, sharp and watchful, softened the moment they landed on you, and he carried a skewer of roasted yerik meat in one hand, the savory aroma wafting toward the fire. He had been out on patrol all afternoon, his lithe muscles still taut from the exertion, a faint sheen of sweat tracing the defined lines of his chest and abdomen, where faint scars from training marred the otherwise smooth expanse.
Without a word, he lowered himself beside you, his thigh brushing yours in a way that felt natural, protective like a shield woven from his very presence. The heat from his body mingled with the fire's glow, and you shifted slightly, making room, your tail curling idly against the mat.
"Here." He said, his voice deep and warm, laced with that attentive care he always reserved for you, extending the skewer. "You haven't eaten since morning. Take this."
His free hand hovered near your shoulder, as if ready to steady you, his fingers long and calloused from bowstrings.
You accepted the meat with a grateful smile, your lips parting to reveal straight white teeth, and bit into the tender flesh, juices dripping down your chin. "Thank you, Teyam. You're always looking out for everyone."
Your tone was light, sincere, as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, savoring the smoky flavor.
He watched you eat, his gaze lingering on the way your throat moved with each swallow, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
When you'd finished half the skewer, he reached over casually, his knuckles grazing the soft plane of your midriff just above your woven skirt. His touch was light, playful, as he poked gently at the slight give of your stomach, testing.
"Full yet?" He teased, his golden eyes crinkling with amusement, the firelight reflecting in their depths like stars.
You giggled, the sound bubbling up sweetly, your hand instinctively covering his for a moment before pulling back, the contact sending a warm flutter through you that you dismissed as simple comfort.
He poked your tummy once more, firmer this time, until he nodded in satisfaction, withdrawing his hand but not his proximity.
Leaning back on one elbow, his broad shoulders rolling with the motion, he grinned a full boyish expression that lit up his handsome features, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. "Good. I have to keep you well-fed, or else you'll be grumpy all evening, and no one wants that."
His words carried a fond lilt, protective undertone threading through like vines around a tree trunk.
You felt a flush creep up your neck, your cheeks warming to a subtle lavender hue, but you waved it off with a laugh, assuming it was just his way. Neteyam had always been kind, especially to you, like an older brother watching over the clan.
"I'm not grumpy." You protested softly, nudging his arm with your elbow, the muscle there solid under your touch. "But I appreciate it. Really."
The flattery settled comfortably in your chest, a quiet joy at his attentiveness, yet you chalked it up to platonic concern, the kind he showed to his siblings or close friends.
As the evening deepened, the camp buzzed with shared stories and laughter around the fire.
Neteyam stayed glued to your side, his knee pressing against yours whenever he shifted to gesture during a tale, his arm occasionally draping over the log behind you, fingers nearly brushing your hair.
You leaned into the space without thinking, your shoulder nestling against his, reciprocating the closeness naturally by tucking a loose strand of his braid behind his ear when it fell forward, or passing him a gourd of water with a soft tone. "Here, you look thirsty."
Each act felt easy, instinctive, like breathing in the humid air, unaware that to him, they were signals blooming in the silent language of courtship.
Neteyam interpreted your every response as understanding, as quiet acceptance of his intentions. He had never spoken the words outright. Why would he? In the ways of the People, actions wove the bond stronger than declarations. Your easy touches, the way your amber eyes met his without pulling away, filled him with a swelling joy, his heart pounding a steady rhythm whenever that purple flush colored your cheeks under his gaze. He believed you knew, that your sweetness masked a shared secret, and it made his protective instincts burn brighter.
The next morning dawned with mist clinging to the ferns, the air alive with the calls of ilu in the nearby streams.
You knelt by the riverbank, your slender fingers dipping into the cool water to rinse fresh fruit, your lithe legs folded beneath you, the curve of your hips accentuated by the morning light filtering through the leaves. Your beauty shone in these simple moments, skin glowing like polished sapphire, the gentle arch of your back as you reached for a low-hanging vine, full lips pursed in concentration.
Neteyam emerged from the path leading to the hunting grounds, his stride confident, a small woven pouch slung over his shoulder. He had risen before the sun, his mind fixed on you as always, seeking you out amid the clan's morning routines.
Spotting you by the water, he veered toward you without hesitation, his tall frame casting a shadow that made you glance up, your face brightening with that sweet smile.
"Good morning." You greeted, straightening with a handful of berries, droplets trailing down your arms like liquid diamonds.
He knelt beside you, close enough that his knee dipped into the damp earth next to yours, his scent earthy and spiced from the hunt washing over you. From the pouch, he drew a delicate necklace, woven from fine fibers dyed in deep indigo, threaded with small beads that matched the ones woven into his own braids, iridescent and polished stones, symbols of promise among the Omatikaya. Such gifts were no small thing, only those spoken for exchanged beads and jewelry, a quiet vow etched in adornment.
His golden eyes held yours steadily as he held it out, voice soft with earnest warmth. "For you. I made it last night."
Your eyes widened, fingers trembling slightly as you took it, the beads cool against your palm.
It was beautiful, intricate, and you traced the patterns with awe, slipping it over your head without a second thought. The weight settled against your collarbone, warm now from your skin.
"Neteyam, it's stunning." You breathed, touching it lightly, your voice laced with genuine delight. "Thank you so much. You're too kind."
To you, it was another gesture of friendship, a token from a dear companion who noticed your love for such crafts.
He watched as you adjusted it, his chest tightening with quiet elation at how it complemented the curve of your neck, drawing out the glow of your eyes.
Leaning in, his breath ghosting your ear, he murmured. "It looks pretty on you. Suits you perfectly."
His hand lingered near your shoulder, thumb brushing the strap of your top in a fleeting touch, protective and tender.
Throughout the day, he positioned himself near you effortlessly, standing at your side while you helped mend nets, his arm steadying yours when a knot proved tricky, the heat of his body a constant reassurance.
At midday meal, he claimed the spot beside you on the log, sharing bites of breadfruit from his own portion, his knee bumping yours under the pretense of passing a utensil. You reciprocated without reservation, feeding him a piece of fruit in return, your fingers grazing his lips accidentally, laughing softly at the juice that smeared his chin.
"Messy eater." You teased sweetly, wiping it away with your thumb, the act intimate yet innocent in your mind.
Neteyam savored these moments, his heart swelling each time you leaned into him or met his gaze with that trusting warmth. Your acceptance fueled his belief that you understood that this was the dance of courtship, unspoken but profound. He never pressed for words, in his eyes, your sweetness was the answer, and it made him seek you out even more fervently.
That evening, as the hunters returned from a brief foray into the woods, Neteyam was among the first to break from the group, his eyes scanning the camp until they found you seated by the weaver's circle, your fingers deftly threading vines into patterns. He approached with a small bundle wrapped in leaves, his lithe form still humming with the thrill of the chase, chest rising and falling steadily under his harness.
Kneeling before you, he unwrapped it to reveal a cluster of rare glow-fruit, their skins luminescent even in the twilight, plucked from a hidden grove.
"For you." He said again, his voice rich with affection, golden eyes locking onto yours as he placed it in your lap, his hand covering yours briefly, thumb stroking the back in a soothing circle. "Saw these and thought of your smile, they light up like you do."
You blushed, the purple tint blooming across your nose, and accepted the gift with a soft gasp, your free hand touching his wrist in thanks. "Neteyam, you didn't have to. But... I love them. You're always bringing me the best things."
Popping one into your mouth, the sweet burst made you hum in pleasure, and you offered him the next, unaware of the courtship ritual in the sharing. He took it from your fingers, his lips brushing your skin deliberately, a spark of joy igniting in his chest at your oblivious sweetness.
As days blurred into a rhythm of closeness, you couldn't help the quiet worry that gnawed at you during quieter moments.
Neteyam spent so much time with you, guarding your path to the river, joining you in the evenings to stargaze, his arm around your shoulders as if warding off the night's chill. It was flattering, the way his attentiveness made you feel seen, cherished, but you fretted silently that it might deter other potential mates. He was the clan's golden son, brave and skilled. Surely, his focus on you could ruin his chances.
Yet, deep down, a selfish part of you wanted to bask in it longer.
You'd always harbored a secret longing for it to be you, imagining his hand in yours during the mating rituals, his golden eyes promising forever. But if he truly wanted that, wouldn't he have said it outright? Na'vi didn't play games with such things.
So you kept quiet, letting yourself enjoy his presence while it lasted. The way he'd pull you close during a sudden rain, shielding you with his body, his laughter rumbling against your ear or how he'd braid a fresh flower into your hair after a swim, his fingers lingering on your scalp, massaging gently until you sighed in contentment.
One afternoon, as you walked the forest paths together collecting vines, he stayed a step behind, his eyes tracing the sway of your hips, the elegant line of your spine. When a low branch snagged your arm, he was there instantly, plucking it away with a tsk of concern, his palm cupping your elbow to inspect the minor scratch.
"Careful, sevin." He murmured, the endearment slipping out like a habit, his touch feather-light as he blew on the mark, golden eyes fierce with protectiveness.
You smiled up at him, heart fluttering, and squeezed his hand. "I'm fine, thanks to you."
In these drawn-out exchanges, his affection unfolded like the petals of a sunbloom, attentive in the way he anticipated your needs, sweet in the stories he shared by the fire, his voice dropping low as he described hunts just to see your eyes widen. He'd draw you into his side during communal dances, his hand at the small of your back guiding your steps, bodies moving in sync under the bioluminescent glow.
You reciprocated with hugs goodbye after shared tasks, your cheek pressing to his chest, inhaling his scent, convincing yourself it was all just the warmth of friendship.
~
The bioluminescent glow of the evening settled over the Omatikaya village like a soft veil, vines pulsing with faint light as the clan gathered for the communal meal.
You wove through the crowd, your bare feet padding silently on the woven platforms, the sway of your hips subtle under the lightweight loincloth that hugged your curves.
Your azure skin caught the ethereal shimmer, highlighting the graceful taper of your waist and the gentle rise of your breasts beneath a top of supple leaves. Strands of your hair, adorned with tiny shells that clinked softly, fell in loose waves over one shoulder, framing your heart-shaped face where your amber eyes held a lingering warmth from the day's simple joys.
You spotted Neteyam near the central fire, his broad back turned momentarily as he conversed with a group of hunters. But then, as you drew closer, your steps faltered. He was leaning in toward a female Na'vi you'd seen only in passing.
Kalife.
The one whose voice enchanted the nights during celebrations, her songs weaving through the air like threads of moonlight. She was striking in her own right, her lithe form draped in a shawl of iridescent feathers that accentuated the elegant length of her limbs and the high arch of her brows. Her skin gleamed with a deeper cobalt hue, and her full mouth curved in easy laughter as she tilted her head, exposing the slender column of her throat.
Neteyam laughed a deep, resonant sound that rumbled from his chest, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges in a way you'd rarely seen, softened by an unfamiliar tenderness. A faint azure tint colored his cheeks, blooming across his sharp jawline, and he reached out to lightly touch her arm, his fingers lingering just a beat too long on the smooth expanse of her bicep.
They stood close, shoulders nearly brushing, the space between them charged with an intimacy that twisted something sharp in your gut.
Jealousy uncoiled like a viper in your chest, hot and insistent, mingling with a wave of insecurity that made your throat tighten.
Who was she to him?
You knew little beyond her reputation, the clan's finest singer, her melodies drawing sighs from even the sternest warriors during feasts. But seeing Neteyam like this, his usual guarded demeanor cracking into that rare blush, you couldn't help the assumption that solidified in your mind.
He liked her. Of course he did.
She was everything vibrant and captivating, while you'd been fooling yourself with his attentiveness, mistaking brotherly kindness for something more. Embarrassment flooded you, heating your face as you imagined how naive you'd been, reciprocating his touches and gifts like they meant what your heart had dared to hope.
You turned away abruptly, your tail flicking with agitation, and slipped back toward your family's marui without a word to anyone. The woven entrance flap closed behind you with a soft rustle, sealing you in the dim, vine-draped space.
For the next few days, you retreated fully, curling into your hammock with a blanket of furs pulled tight around your frame, the curve of your knees drawn to your chest as if to ward off the ache. Meals were brought by your mother, her concerned eyes tracing the shadows under yours, but you waved off questions with murmured excuses about fatigue from the heat.
On the second day, a familiar voice echoed from outside.
Neteyam's, low and laced with worry. "Is she alright? I brought some healing herbs from the lowlands, they ease any fever."
Your heart stuttered at the sound, but you pressed a hand to your mouth, nodding urgently to your parents.
Your father stepped out, his voice steady as he relayed your fabricated illness. "She's under the weather, Neteyam. A stomach ache from bad fruit. Best to let her rest."
You heard the hesitation in his tone, but he held firm, and after a pause filled with Neteyam's murmured concern. "Tell her I hope she feels better soon, please."
His footsteps retreated, leaving you with a pang of guilt that only deepened the hurt.
By the fourth day, the isolation gnawed at you, the marui's walls feeling too confining.
You emerged into the dappled sunlight, blinking against the brightness, your body moving with a deliberate stiffness as you gathered a heavy basket of woven fibers for the clan's repairs. The weight strained your arms, pulling at the lithe muscles of your shoulders, but you gripped it tighter, determined to manage alone.
That's when you saw him.
Neteyam crossing the platform, his stride purposeful, the harness across his torso accentuating the powerful V of his back and the ripple of his abs with each step. His braids swung gently, catching the light, and his gaze locked onto you immediately, concern etching lines around his mouth.
He quickened his pace, reaching out with an instinctive offer.
"Let me take that for you." He said, his voice warm but edged with that familiar protectiveness, his large hands already extending toward the basket.
In the past, he'd always insisted, lifting it effortlessly from your grasp with a teasing grin, his fingers brushing yours in the process, claiming it was no trouble to spare you the strain. But now, you stepped back, hoisting the load higher against your hip, the edge digging into your side.
"No, thank you, Neteyam." You replied coolly, your tone polite but distant, the sweetness drained from it like water from a cracked gourd.
Your eyes flicked away from his, focusing on the path ahead, and you walked on without waiting, the basket's weave creaking under your effort.
He froze for a moment, his extended hand dropping slowly, confusion flickering across his features, those sharp handsome planes tightening as he watched you go.
From his perspective, the shift hit like a sudden storm. The first day of your absence, he'd accepted the news of your sickness without question, lingering outside your marui with a bundle of fresh-picked leaves that promised relief, his mind replaying the easy laughter you'd shared just nights before.
But by the second day, unease settled in his gut, a quiet worry that gnawed as he patrolled the borders, his bow slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning the treetops more restlessly than usual.
Something felt off.
When you finally reappeared, the change was stark. Your avoidance of his help, that basket he'd carried a dozen times without fail struck him like a slap. He replayed his actions in his mind. The necklace, the gifts, the constant nearness.
Had he been too forward, pushing the boundaries of courtship too aggressively? Na'vi ways were subtle, but perhaps he'd overstepped, made you uncomfortable without realizing.
Worry coiled in his chest, making his breaths shallower during hunts, his focus splintering as he glanced back toward the village more often. He didn't approach again that day, respecting the invisible wall you'd raised, but he watched from afar, ensuring the path you took was clear of roots, his golden eyes tracking your form with a mix of longing and self-doubt.
At the communal dinners that followed, you enforced the distance with quiet resolve.
You chose seats on the far side of the fire pit, your posture straight and composed, legs tucked gracefully beneath you as you picked at your portions of smoked fish and roots. When Neteyam's gaze sought yours across the flames, you met it with a nod and a smile that didn't reach your eyes. It was polite, detached, the once-affectionate “Teyam” replaced entirely by the formal “Neteyam” in the rare instances you spoke.
"Pass the salt, Neteyam." You'd say evenly if needed, your voice stripped of its former lilt, and turn back to conversation with others, your fingers twisting a vine idly to avoid his stare.
One evening, as the fire crackled and stories flowed, you glanced up to see him settling beside Kalife and another lithe female from the weavers' circle, her features soft with rounded cheeks and eyes like polished amber.
He frowned briefly in your direction after your latest dismissal earlier, when he'd offered you a gourd of water, you'd taken it with a murmured thanks and no further engagement but then he turned to them, his shoulders relaxing into the group.
Kalife leaned in to whisper something, her hand gesturing animatedly, and though he didn't laugh this time, the sight of him there with a small soft smile, surrounded by her easy camaraderie, soured the warmth in your belly. Bitterness rose like bile, confirming the whirlwind of speculations in your head.
He had something with her, or at least the beginnings of it. Why else would he seek her company now, after your withdrawal?
You'd been a fool to bask in his attention, and the realization stung, sharpening your resolve to pull away further.
Neteyam felt the shift acutely, his confusion deepening into a persistent ache. He'd sought out Kalife only for advice on a melody she'd sung, a way to perhaps share it with you later, to draw you back with something light but your distant smiles and full-name address cut deeper than any blade. He wondered if his affections had overwhelmed you, if the beads in the necklace now felt like chains.
From across the camp, he continued his quiet care. Leaving a fresh-picked cluster of berries near your marui's entrance at dawn, hidden just enough to avoid intrusion, or positioning himself during patrols to overlook the paths you frequented, his lithe form perched on a branch, bow at the ready should any danger stir. But he held back from direct approach, uncertainty rooting him in place, his mind a tangle of worry.
Had he misread your reciprocation entirely?
The thought haunted his nights, sleep evading him as he stared at the canopy, heart heavy with the fear of having lost the quiet bond he'd cherished.
Meanwhile, you carried the hurt in silence, a jealous fire smoldering beneath your composed exterior. Each glimpse of him with Kalife, her laughter ringing out during a midday gathering, his head tilting attentively fueled the insecurity, whispering that you'd never been the one he wanted, just a convenient friend in his orbit. You believed it fully now, the embarrassment of your misinterpretation locking the pain in place.
Yet, beneath it all, you missed him fiercely, the solid warmth of his presence, the way his touches had made your days brighter.
In the quiet of your marui, you'd trace the necklace he gave you, fingers lingering on the beads that matched his braids, a secret ache blooming as you wondered what might have been if you'd been braver, or if he'd ever truly seen you that way. The distance stretched, a chasm of unspoken misunderstandings, leaving you both adrift in the village's rhythm, yearning across the divide.
The days blurred into a haze of unspoken tension, the village's vibrant hum fading into a dull echo for Neteyam.
He moved through his routines like a shadow of himself, sharpening arrows with mechanical precision, his callused fingers gripping the stone too tightly, or scouting the perimeter with a bow that felt heavier than usual across his sinewy shoulders. The once-vibrant spark in his golden eyes dimmed, replaced by a furrowed brow and a jaw set in quiet frustration. His lithe frame, honed from endless hunts, seemed to carry an invisible weight, his steps less assured as he navigated the woven bridges and fern-shrouded paths.
Sleep evaded him, leaving dark circles beneath his lashes, and even the clan's evening songs couldn't coax a smile from his lips.
His family noticed the shift immediately.
Jake's sharp gaze lingered during family meals, his own broad form leaning forward with unspoken concern, while Neytiri's ears twitched at his subdued responses, her elegant fingers pausing mid-gesture as she wove nets. The younger ones picked up on it too. Kiri's empathetic tilt of the head, Tuk's wide-eyed questions about why Teyam looks sad.
But it was Lo'ak who confronted him first, cornering him one afternoon near the edge of the training grounds, where the air hummed with the distant calls of ikran.
Lo'ak crossed his arms over his chest, his lean muscles flexing under his skin painted with fresh hunt markings, his braids swaying as he cocked his head.
"Skxawng, what the hell is wrong with you?" He demanded, his voice a mix of brotherly exasperation and genuine worry, eyes narrowing at Neteyam's slumped posture. “You've been moping around like a hexapede with a thorn in its hoof. Energy's gone, poof. Spill it."
Neteyam sighed, running a hand through his braided locks, the beads clicking softly against each other. If it was any other day, he would have beaten Lo’ak for calling him that but right now, he just doesn’t have the energy for it. He leaned against a sturdy tree trunk, its bark rough against his back, and met Lo'ak's gaze with a weary intensity.
"It's her." He admitted, the words tumbling out low and raw, his throat tightening around the confession. "She... dismissed me. Cold as the deep caves. Won't look at me, won't let me help, calls me by my full name like I'm some stranger. After everything, the hunts, the necklace, I thought... I don't know. Maybe I pushed too hard."
His voice cracked slightly on the last part, vulnerability etching lines across his handsome features, the high cheekbones and full lips that usually curved in confidence now drawn tight.
Lo'ak's expression softened, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He clapped a hand on Neteyam's shoulder, the gesture firm and grounding. "Bro, you're overthinking it like always. Guessing games? That's for dummies. Just talk to her straight up. Ask why she's acting like that. Can't fix what you don't face."
His tone was direct, laced with that reckless honesty that always cut through Neteyam's reservations, eyes gleaming with encouragement.
The advice lingered like a persistent vine as Neteyam ventured into the forest the next morning, the canopy filtering sunlight into golden shafts that danced across the mossy undergrowth.
He needed a quiet moment, away from the clan's watchful eyes, to gather his thoughts. But fate or perhaps Eywa's subtle nudge led him to you. Hidden among the thick foliage, his body low and still like a predator's, he watched as you knelt by a cluster of luminous blossoms, their petals unfurling in shades of violet and gold.
Your form was a vision in the dappled light.
Azure skin glowing with a soft sheen from the morning dew, the curve of your spine arching gracefully as you reached forward, fingers delicate yet sure plucking the stems. Your hair cascaded in loose, silken waves, catching flecks of pollen that sparkled like stars, and the gentle swell of your hips shifted with each movement, your loincloth whispering against your thighs. Beauty radiated from you effortlessly, a quiet allure that made his chest ache with longing.
He'd missed this, missed you, the way your presence lit something fierce and tender within him.
Heart pounding, he stepped forward, leaves crunching faintly under his feet, revealing himself with a soft rustle.
You startled slightly, your hand pausing mid-reach, but when your eyes flicked up, they darted away immediately, focusing on the flowers as if they held the secrets of the universe. Your tail curled tightly around your leg, a telltale sign of unease, and you rose slowly, brushing dirt from your knees with averted gaze.
"Why?" Neteyam asked, his voice steady but laced with a raw edge of hurt, stepping closer until the space between you hummed with tension. He towered gently over you, his broad chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, the scent of earth and sweat clinging to his skin from the trek. "Why are you avoiding me like this? Is it because you do not want me to continue courting you?"
The words hung heavy, direct and unyielding, his golden eyes searching your face with desperate clarity.
Shock rippled through you, widening your amber eyes as you finally met his stare, your lips parting in disbelief. The forest seemed to still around you, the distant chirps fading as his confession sank in, this was the first time the pieces aligned, his actions no longer platonic gestures but deliberate pursuits of your heart.
"Courting?" You echoed, voice breathy with surprise, a flush creeping up your neck to tint your cheeks. "You're... courting me?"
Neteyam's brows furrowed in confusion, his head tilting slightly, braids shifting like dark rivers over his shoulders. He took a half-step nearer, the heat of his body palpable, his expression a mix of bewilderment and earnest plea.
"Of course I am." He replied, tone deepening with frustration at the misunderstanding, his large hand gesturing vaguely to encompass the memories between you. "Was it not obvious? The portions I bring from every hunt, carved just for you. The woven necklace with beads pulled from my own braids, so you'd carry a piece of me? The way I linger close, touch your arm in passing, shield you from the rougher paths during patrols?"
His voice softened on the last, eyes tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your mouth, as if memorizing you anew.
Surprise ebbed into a whirlwind of emotions. Embarrassment heating your skin, hurt uncoiling from where you'd buried it. You looked down, fingers twisting the stem of a flower, the petal's velvet texture grounding you.
"I... I thought you were just being kind." You admitted quietly, voice trembling with the vulnerability of it, your shoulders hunching slightly as if to shield your heart. "Like a brother, or a friend. After seeing you with her, with Kalife, I felt foolish for hoping more. Embarrassed that I'd misread everything."
A soft chuckle escaped Neteyam, low and rumbling from his chest, relief flooding his features as tension eased from his frame. He shook his head, a fond smile curving his lips, exasperation mingling with amusement in his gaze.
"My fault, too." He murmured, stepping fully into your space now, his presence warm and enveloping. "I should have spoken it plain from the start. You thought I didn't want you... after everything? Baby, you thought I was just being kind? Have you ever seen me do that “kindness” to anyone else other than you?"
He paused, voice dropping to a husky whisper, eyes locking onto yours with unwavering intensity.
"The gifts, the way I stay close, the way I... watch over you, even in the quiet moments? I don’t do that for anyone else paskalin, only you."
His hand lifted, hesitating before gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin there, calluses rough yet tender.
Emboldened by his nearness, you pressed on, the jealousy spilling out like a dam breaking. "I saw you laughing with her, blushing. Close like you shared something special. It hurt, Neteyam. Made me think you'd chosen her, that I was never the one."
Your voice cracked, eyes glistening as you searched his face, the forest's humidity mirroring the mist in your gaze.
Neteyam's expression softened further, a gentle laugh bubbling up as he drew you nearer, his free hand capturing yours.
"I wasn't talking to her like that." He reassured, tone warm and steady, laced with a hint of playful denial. "I was asking for advice. I thought maybe you didn't want me, since you hadn't said yes to my pursuits."
He squeezed your fingers, his grip firm yet yielding.
"I only want you." His eyes sparkled with mirth, the earlier confusion dissolving into clarity. "Besides, she has a mate of her own, a woman from the weavers, just as stubborn as you."
In truth, that first encounter you'd witnessed had been Neteyam pouring out his insecurities to Kalife by the fire's edge.
"She hasn't acknowledged it." He'd confided, cheeks warming under her knowing gaze as she leaned in, her eyes teasing. "What if she doesn't see me that way?"
Kalife had grinned, her full lips quirking. "Then grow some balls and tell her outright then you'll be making babies with her under the stars soon enough.'
The blush you’ve saw had been from her bold ribbing, not affection, and Kalife's reliability stemmed from her own mated life. Her partner, that pretty girl with the rounded features and amber eyes, waited nearby, their hands often clasped in quiet solidarity.
It was all platonic guidance, her experience a steady compass for Neteyam's fumbling heart.
And those frequent talks after your avoidance? More desperate queries. "Why does she pull away? What did I do wrong?"
Kalife had offered insights, her mate chiming in with nods, but in your pain-fueled haze, you'd missed the intertwined fingers of Kalife with the woman sitting next to her that you bypassed before as she talks with Neteyam, the casual leans of their shared life, seeing only threat where there was counsel.
Relief washed over you like a cool stream, warmth blooming in your chest, easing the knot that had tightened for days. Your body relaxed, shoulders dropping as a tentative smile curved your lips, the flower's stem forgotten in your grasp.
Neteyam sensed the shift, his thumb tracing your knuckles before he lifted your joined hands, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lips soft and lingering against your skin, breath warm and reassuring.
"You're mine." He whispered, voice thick with emotion, eyes half-lidded in quiet possession. "And I've been hoping you'd see it."
You laughed softly, the sound light and airy, embarrassment tinting your cheeks but overshadowed by bubbling happiness. Your free hand rose to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath the taut muscle.
"I guess I was too slow to notice." You replied, gaze lifting to meet his, vulnerability giving way to joy.
Neteyam's smile widened, radiant and full, as he pulled you flush against him, arms encircling your waist in a secure embrace. Your bodies aligned perfectly, his height enveloping you, the solid planes of his torso pressing to your softer curves.
"You don't have to assume anymore." He promised, voice a low rumble against your ear, one hand stroking down your back in soothing arcs. "I'll make sure you always know."
The forest enveloped you both, a private sanctuary where misunderstandings melted into certainty, the pretty flowers at your feet a silent witness to the mending of hearts.
“hedgehog!” 𑣲 .✦ ݁˖ ۶ৎ
in which baby megumi doesn’t recognise dad!toji with stubble!
content: fluff, husband!toji x reader, baby megumi, reader as mamaguro (if you want), domestic toji
you’re in bed, propped up on your side and reading a book as the dim lamplight washes over your skin in hazy flickers. the house is uncharacteristically silent, with megumi in bed and toji away on a mission, and you sigh in relief.
it isn’t like megumi’s a particularly difficult kid — rather, he’s almost concerningly quiet for a four year old, his penetrating gaze unsettlingly perceptive at times — but he’s a kid nonetheless, and what with toji away on mission after mission to support your little family, you tell yourself that the least you can do is try. to fill in the gaps that are left, to show up, to be there for your son.
so you make it your life’s mission to give megumi your absolute undivided attention. to take him out to feed the ducks, to watch pokémon with him, to doodle with him.
sure, the overall family dynamic may be a little rocky and unfamiliar at times, but it’s yours nonetheless. after all, with toji insisting on taking up more and more missions to provide for you and megumi, it at least meant that you could spend more time with your son.
you smile to yourself a little when you hear the door from the hallway.
click!
you look up from your book just in time to see those familiar deep green eyes, the light of your lamp falling across the lick of pale flesh that curled its way across his lips to form a handsome scar. you prop yourself up on your elbows, smiling at your husband.
he looks worn down — exhausted — and yet he’s still wearing that familiar lazy smile he always seems to brandish only for you. he walks slowly to the bed, and you can’t help but note a tiny limp in his step, but you say nothing, instead watching as he sits down beside you, feeling the mattress sink with the added weight.
sitting up properly now, you inspect his face, your eyes raking across those tired, sincere features. you blink slightly at the sight of newly grown stubble. he’d only been gone a week, and yet within that time the gentlest lick of dark fuzz had appeared across his face.
“you’re back.” you breathe out, leaning forward to brush his hair back a little, thumbing through the straight inky strands. “gumi’s asleep…just put him to bed twenty minutes ago. i didn’t know you’d be back so soon, otherwise i’d have—”
you feel a big hand come to meet the crown of your head as he gently ruffles your hair with a smile, a silent attempt at calming your rambling. you lean into his touch almost instinctively, the gentleness of his touch entirely contradicting his sharp, jagged demeanour.
“nah, it’s okay. i missed you guys.” his voice is hoarse, rough around the edges but unmistakably laced with a kind of reserved tenderness.
you smile, and it’s not long before you’re both in bed, him now fully showered, a lazy arm resting around your waist. he exhales against your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, practically breathing in the warm air around you both, the soothing motion of his thumb against your waist lulling you into a state of drowsiness until eventually you’re both asleep.
but that doesn’t last long. the blissful sleep, the gentle bubble of contented relief, is broken by the slivers of morning light across your face and the tug of a small hand on your sleeve. you blink drearily, lashes fluttering back shut slightly in a weak attempt to block out the intense morning light. you feel you vision begin to piece together eventually only to be met by your expectant 4 year old’s face staring up at you, expression serious.
“mommy. who’s that…?” he points at toji’s sleeping body with a tone of slight disgust, as though he’s just seen a pile of dirt in the place of his father.
you smile sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you slowly pull away from toji’s grasp. you gently kick your legs over the bed to fully face megumi now. “your dad, honey. two sec…let’s go get you breakfast. then you can say hi to daddy when he wakes up, ‘kay?”
he doesn’t see to have any resignation as he follows you quietly, dark brows slightly furrowed and chewing his little lip as though he’s deep in thought. he follows you, wolf plushie tucked under his arm, his soft green pjs a bit too big for him, dragging along the floor. he pulls himself up to sit on a chair, watching as you quickly prepare his breakfast.
you slide a bowl of banana porridge across the table and sit across from him, a cup of coffee in your hand, watching with a smile as he eats, that thoughtful frown still plastered onto his young features.
”morning.”
you turn to see toji stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes sleepily, his messy flat hair slightly ruffled. clearly somebody slept well, at least.
he yawns and walks over to the table, kneeling next to megumi’s chair and wrapping an arm around his body towards him to pull him into a sleepy hug. the boy, however, grimaces a little, small hands pressed against tojis head as he tries to push him away with a look of utter distaste.
toji’s relentless though, smirking a little as he tries to press a kiss to the boy’s forehead before lifting him into his arms. megumi turns to face you seriously, small hands pressed firmly against toji’s right eye and cheek in a feeble attempt to get him off. “mommy. mommy, who is he?”
you pause, trying and failing to hold back a small laugh as toji’s face seems to drop, any lingering signs of sleepiness immediately leaving his face. he blinks harshly, looking as though he’s been stung, momentarily stunned, before eventually recovering from the blow and readopting his confident tone again.
“who else, kid? your dad.” he presses his forehead to megumi’s, his flat messy tufts of midnight black meeting your son’s own sea of dark spikes.
you watch megumi’s eyes narrow a little, soft lashes batting slightly as he stares intently at toji’s face, the cogs seeming to turn one by one in his mind as he tries to verify the words through that penetrating gaze.
no doubt, the kid’s perceptive for his age. scarily perceptive, you note.
he seems to somewhat accept the response however as he seems to relax a little in your husband’s arms, a single hand coming up to brush over the gentle stubble forming on his chin. he inspects it wordlessly, brows furrowed.
toji smiles briefly before leaning his chin forward to playfully tickle megumi with the scratchiness, his chin meeting the soft skin of the boy’s rosy cheek and causing him to gasp and lean backwards. he lets out a tiny unimpressed, almost exasperated gasp at the immaturity of the man stood before him, before eventually reacting to the relentless tickles, laughing slightly and playfully pushing his face away.
“take it off!” he squeals, his hand once again coming to meet the fuzz of dark hair on toji’s chin, exploring the unfamiliar texture against the soft skin of his own fingers. “…i don’t like you being a hedgehog anymore!”
“..a hedgehog..?” toji echoes the word with a slight tone of distaste. it was, truthfully, ironic: you had to stifle a laugh upon hearing the nickname come from the very boy with the spikiest, most hedgehog-like hair you’d probably ever seen a 4 year old have.
“yeah, go shave, hedgehog.” you mimic, grinning at toji as he sighs, rolling his eyes light-heartedly and placing megumi down to head to the bathroom.
he grumbles quietly as he leaves the room
“whatever. betrayed by my own son.”
author’s notes:
this is a reupload of a fic i posted back in december ahh i hope you guys like it😓i edited and fixed up some parts because i didn’t like all of it
dad!toji and baby megumi are so dear to me i love them and hope to write about them more in future!!
divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!
ragebaiting gruff older bf toji, except you're all sweet about it ♡
hes by the door first, boots half on, shoulders already set like hes halfway out of the house, and youre leaned against the wall watching him with that soft, sweet look that never matches what comes out of your mouth.
"...when are you leaving again?" you ask gently, voice light like youre just making conversation.
"couple minutes," he mutters, not looking up, hands busy with his laces.
"thank god."
his hands stop, not even subtly, just completely still, head lifting slowly as his eyes cut toward you, sharp and unimpressed, jaw tightening as he takes you in.
"watch how you speak to me," he says, low.
you blink at him like you didnt say anything wrong, then lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, warm and quick, right over the tension sitting there.
"youll be back later," you murmur sweetly.
that doesnt help at all. his hand drags down his face before it drops to your waist, pulling you in just enough to make you stumble closer.
"you gettin' real comfortable talkin' like that," he mutters. "keep pushin' me."
you just hum, pleased with yourself.
later, after he comes home, youre stretched across him on the couch, soft and settled like you havent been picking at him all day, even over text while he was at work. your weight pressed into his chest while his hand moves slowly along your back, steady and absent.
the room is quiet.
"…what did you think of me the first time you saw me?" you ask, tilting your head slightly as you look up at him.
he glances down at you, fingers pausing for a second before continuing their slow path.
"thought you were real cute," he says. "real quiet…kept lookin' at me like you didnt know what to do with yourself."
your lips twitch just slightly.
"figured youd be trouble." he adds, thumb dragging along your side. "didnt think youd stick around." that lands softer than you expect, and you let it sit, and then-
"I thought you were a piece of shit."
his hand stops flat against your back.theres a beat where he just stares at you, brows pulling together, something between disbelief and irritation settling in his expression.
"…you got a real nice way'a talkin 'bout your man," he mutters, voice low and rough. you look up at him like its nothing.
"you looked mean," you add softly.
his jaw shifts, tongue pressing against his cheek before he exhales through his nose, clearly annoyed, clearly holding it back. before you can answer, you lean up and press a slow kiss to his jaw, right over the tension, letting it linger just a second longer.
"I like you now," you murmur.
his hand slides up to the back of your neck, not rough but firm, holding you there like hes deciding what to do with you.
"good," he mutters. "keep it that way."
by the time evening hits, hes already in a bad mood, shoulders tight when he drops onto the couch, one hand dragging over his face like the days been getting on his nerves from the start.
you dont give him a second to settle.
youre already climbing into his lap, soft and clingy, knees pressing into either side of him while your hands settle on his shoulders like you belong there.
"toji," you murmur, then again, softer, "toji….toji…toji.."
he exhales hard, head tipping back slightly as you keep going, your voice deliberately sweet and repetitive while your lips press quick, warm kisses across his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth.
"you dont know when to quit, do you." he mutters, voice rough, irritation clear even as his hands settle on your waist.
you dont stop.
"toji…toji…" you repeat, pressing another kiss to his jaw, slower this time. his grip tightens slightly, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away, breath heavier now as he looks at you.
"been waitin all day to get on my nerves," he adds, eyes narrowing just a little.
you hum softly, pressing one more kiss to his cheek, slower now, softer, like youre easing him down instead of winding him up.
"maybe." you say.
he stares at you for a second, jaw tight, irritation still there but slipping, worn down by the way you keep touching him, the way you stay close instead of backing off. his hand slides up your back, pressing you in against him, holding you there like hes given in whether he wants to admit it or not.
you just smile against his skin, soft and smug, kissing him again, slower this time, lingering at the corner of his mouth before shifting to his cheek.
"you love me," you whisper.
"yeah?" he mutters, quieter now.
his grip loosens just enough to settle, his thumb dragging slow along your side while his breathing evens out, the tension finally easing out of his shoulders, and you kiss him again like youre sealing it.
and then- his hand lands on your ass, sharp and firm where he gives you a swat. you squeak, jolting up, and he just huffs a laugh.
John’s stamina was forged in the fires of endless ops, a battle-hardened SAS captain who could stay up for three days straight and work like clockwork. Of course he takes advantage of his strength while he’s fucking you, slamming into you with savage force as he flips you like a ragdoll, pounding your pussy raw across every filthy angle until your fourth orgasm leaves you a quivering mess, cunt spasming and gushing around his shaft. You slumped forward, body drenched in sticky perspiration, your oversensitive walls twitching with aftershocks that had you biting your lip to stifle the sobs of overwhelmed bliss. Your tits heaved with each gasp, nipples scraped raw against the sheets, and a deep, bone-melting exhaustion settled in, but the filthy hunger in your core kept you clenching, desperate for his next invasion despite the burn.
Price growled low, his massive frame looming over you, veins bulging on his forearms as he gripped your thighs, his cock throbbing against your slick inner leg, smeared with your juices and his own leaking precum. The musky stench of sex hung heavy—cum, sweat, and your arousal mixing into a heady fog that made his balls tighten with fresh need. Seeing you wrecked like this—your cunt puffy and gaping slightly from his abuse—sent a dark thrill through him; he wanted to soil you more, mark every inch as his.
“I'm just getting started”, he grins, voice thick with lust, the words hitting you like a slap to your clit, making it throb painfully. Before you can even whimper in response he shoves your face into the sheets “stay there” he orders, voice rough and demanding. You stay still, fingers gripping the sheets as his rough hands pried your ass cheeks apart. Cool air immediately hit your soaked holes, your thighs trembling as his previous load oozed from your pussy, trailing down to coat your clit and pool on the bed. Your mouth watered involuntarily, tongue lolling out as the humiliation twisted into heat, your body a slick, filthy offering.
He drank in the sight, eyes dark with possession—your arched back forcing your ass up high, cheeks spread wide to show off the creamy mess he left inside, your holes glistening under the soft light of the bedroom like they beg for more abuse. “Look at that, leaking my load like a proper whore,” he rasped, admiration laced with dirtiness, before his palm smacked down hard on your ass, making you jolt and whine “John!”. The pain sparked straight to your core, nerves firing wildly, and you ground back against nothing, chasing the degradation.
“I can't—” you gasped, voice muffled and broken, nails digging into the mattress as tears of overstimulation pricked your eyes. “Come on, love, just one more for me. Can you be a good girl and give me one more?” he cooed, his beard scraping your skin as he leaned in, hot breath fanning your exposed flesh. You nodded frantically in need of his approval, arching your back further into him, “that’s my girl”.
But he couldn’t help himself, not when you moaned his name so prettily, not with your fucked up expression and hazy eyes looking at him so sweetly, not with how gorgeous your cunt looked stretched out around his dick. He needed to see you cum until you physically couldn’t.
Price is a man of strength and stamina, and a liar whenever he says “just one more”.
-18+, oral f receiving, dunk is pussy drunk, he doesn't really understand a woman's body lol but he wants to learn! + handjob, slight spit play! ᥫ᭡.
the tavern was a cesspool of noise and stale ale. you sat in a corner, cloaked and hooded, trying to make yourself invisible while dunk saw to the horses. the journey had been long, and the promise of a hot meal and a soft bed was a siren's call you couldn't ignore, even if it meant enduring the company of leering merchants and boisterous sellswords.
dunk returned, his broad frame blocking out the light from the fire as he sat down opposite you. he slid a wooden plate of bread and cheese towards you, his expression weary. "eat, princess. we'll be on the road at first light."
you nodded, too tired to argue with the formal address.
at the next table, a pair of sellswords had been watching the two of you since dunk crossed the room. one nudged the other with his elbow. "big lad like that," the thinner one muttered, not nearly as quiet as he thought. "must've done well for himself."
"aye," the other snorted, eyeing you openly. "pretty little wife tucked in the corner..."
"careful," the first man laughed. "you keep staring like that and her husband'll knock your teeth out."
dunk's jaw flexed, but he said nothing. he simply tore off a piece of cheese with deliberate calm, though a faint line had appeared between his brows. he shifted slightly in his seat just enough that his shoulder angled toward you, broad and solid, subtly blocking their line of sight. the movement was casual. protective. intentional.
"should not call me that here to be safe," you murmured softly after a moment. "princess...i mean" you whispered to him.
his eyes flicked to you.
"they think i'm your wife."
a faint, embarrassed heat crept into his ears. "aye, better that than something worse."
across the room, the noise swelled again as the fat merchant slammed his tankard down. "...and i tell you," he bellowed, "the secret to a happy wife isn't gold or jewels. it's between her legs!"
laughter erupted. you felt the heat climb your neck as before, but this time something else lingered beneath the embarrassment. dunk went still again, quiet, watchful, but his knee had shifted closer to yours beneath the table.
"no, i'm serious!" he insisted, leaning in conspiratorially. "you get down there, you use your mouth on her, and she'll be putty in your hands for a week. they all love it. every last one of 'em. squeal like a stuck pig, they do!"
you felt a hot blush creep up your neck, and you stared down at your plate, wishing you could melt into the floor. but dunk didn't laugh, his focus narrowing in on the drunkard's words as if they were the most important instructions he'd ever received. he took a long, slow swig of his ale, his eyes thoughtful, contemplative. the rest of the evening was a blur. you ate in silence, the merchant's crude words echoing in your mind.
dunk found a small inn on the edge of town, securing a single room with two narrow beds. the silence between you was heavy, charged with a new, unspoken tension. you sat on the edge of your bed, unlacing your boots, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he was watching you. you could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering.
you swallowed and forced yourself to keep working at the laces, though your fingers had gone clumsy. the fire in the small hearth crackled, throwing restless shadows across the walls. the beds were narrow enough that your knees would nearly touch if you both lay on your sides.
"princess."
the word was quieter now. rougher.
you looked up despite yourself.
dunk was leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees, big hands hanging loose between them. he looked almost troubled.
"those men," he said slowly, like he was picking his way across uncertain ground, "they speak like women are something to be handled."
your breath left you in a shaky huff. "they were drunk."
"that's when men say what they truly think."
you didn't know what to say to that.
he shifted, the bed creaking under his weight as he stood. the room felt suddenly too small for him. he crossed it in two long strides and crouched in front of you, close enough that the heat of him bled through the thin fabric of your skirts.
"i don't like it," he muttered. "the way they spoke. as if... as if a wife's happiness were some trick. some lever to pull."
your pulse was a frantic thing in your throat. "it was crude tavern talk."
"aye." his jaw flexed. "but i was listening." his eyes had a look of painful curiosity that made your stomach twist.
"i don't know much," he admitted. "about... that. courtship. marriage. what women want." a faint flush crept up his neck, barely visible beneath the firelight. "but i'd not have it be like that. i'd not have you think—" he stopped himself.
you blinked. "me?"
he exhaled, long and slow, as if the word had slipped out before he could stop it.
"aye. you."
silence stretched between you, taut as a drawn bowstring.
"i would not want it made small," he continued, voice low. "not made into something to be managed." his big hands flexed on his knees. "that no woman should have to endure a fool bragging about her like that. and that if a man is lucky enough to win a wife's affection, he ought to earn it every day. not boast of it over ale."
your heart thudded so loudly you were certain he could hear it. you forced a shaky smile. "you would make a very serious husband."
a corner of his mouth twitched. "i'm serious about most things."
"i've noticed."
his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before he caught himself and looked back to your eyes. that tiny, fleeting slip of attention made warmth bloom low in your stomach.
you cleared your throat. "ser duncan the tall," you said lightly, though your voice wavered, "defender of women's honor everywhere."
he huffed a quiet laugh. "someone ought to be." he didn't move away and neither did you. careful. he was so careful with you. but even as he rose and stepped back, giving you space, the room felt irrevocably altered.
whatever the drunken merchant had meant as crude instruction had done something else entirely. it had made dunk think. and the way he looked at you now, thoughtful, protective, and achingly unsure, made your heart and stomach do flips.
"princess," he said, his voice a low rumble,
"yes?"
"those men in the tavern...what they were saying." he paused, and you could hear the hesitation in his voice. "was there any truth to it?"
your face burned. "i...i wouldn't know, ser."
"dunk," he corrected gently. "and you don't have to...i just..." he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, a gesture of frustration. "i want to make you contented. and if that's something women enjoy...something you would enjoy, i would do it...for you."
the sincerity in his voice was your undoing. he wasn't thinking of his own pleasure. he was thinking of yours, guided by the drunken wisdom of a tavern fool. it was the most romantic, most chivalrous thing you had ever heard.
you stood up, your legs trembling slightly, and crossed the small space between you. you knelt in front of him, taking his large hands in yours. "thank you" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. "then...will you let me? i do not mean to dishonor you i just—"
"dunk, it's quite alright. i do want to...try it, i mean." you stood up, your fingers fumbling with the laces of your gown, your body thrumming with a nervous, exhilarating energy. he watched you, his eyes dark with a mixture of awe and trepidation, as you let the dress fall to the floor.
you lay back on the bed, your heart pounding. he hesitated for only a moment before joining you, his large body hovering over yours. he didn't kiss you, not yet. he just looked at you, his gaze a physical touch.
"show me," he whispered, his voice raw with need.
you guided his head down, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. he settled between your thighs, his warm breath a ghost against your most sensitive skin. he was hesitant at first, his movements clumsy and unsure.
"if you do not enjoy it dunk we can stop—" you whispered, but he only shook his head and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then another, his exploration slow and reverent. then, remembering the merchant's words, he leaned in and gave you a long, slow lick.
you gasped, your back arching off the bed. it was a tentative, experimental touch, but it sent a bolt of pure pleasure through you.
he froze. "did you like that...?"
"yes," you breathed, your hand tightening in his hair. "again. please."
he obeyed, this time with more confidence. he began to explore you with his tongue, learning your body, learning what made you gasp, what made you moan. he was a diligent student, his focus absolute, his only goal to please you.
and then, he found your clit.
he circled it with the tip of his tongue, and you cried out, your hips bucking against his mouth. a new fire lit in his eyes. this was it. this was the secret the merchant had been talking about. he felt almost guilty, ashamed for it, touching you in such a way only a husband would, and he would never forgive himself for taking away your purity before you could wed a man of real status...but all these thoughts clouded away each time you would mewl and whine sweet things at each lick.
he dove in, his clumsy hesitation vanishing, replaced by a determined hunger. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he began to suck, hard and relentless.
"gods above... you taste like honey. like the first taste of summer wine after a long winter."
it was overwhelming. the pleasure was so intense it was almost painful. he was no longer just learning; he was claiming. he was obsessed, he loved you, and your sweet dripping pussy so much, his heartbeat was heard in his own ears, devouring you with a single-minded intensity that stole your breath and shattered your thoughts.
the world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth on you, the rough scrape of his incoming stubble against your sensitive skin, the desperate, hungry sounds he was making deep in his throat.
"dunk," you sobbed, your hands fisting in the blankets. "i can't... it's too much..."
at your cry, he froze instantly. he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin glistening, his eyes wide with alarm. "am i hurting you?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "princess, tell me. am i hurting you?"
you shook your head frantically, tears of pleasure streaming down your temples. "no," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "no, you're not...it feels so good...it's— don't stop!"
"oh," he rumbled, the sound vibrating against your core.
and then he dove back in. he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked with a force that made your vision go white. your back arched off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat as the pleasure became a sharp, exquisite agony. your hands flew from the blankets to his head, your fingers tangling in his thick hair, trying to push him away, to ground yourself, to do something to survive the onslaught.
your squirming only seemed to spur him on. he held you tighter, his arms like iron bands around your thighs, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he was determined to give you.
in one fluid, impossibly powerful motion, he moved. he lifted his upper body, his hands gripping your waist, and with a strength that stole your breath, he flipped you over. the world spun, and suddenly you were no longer on your back. you were straddling his face, your knees on either side of his head, your weight settled firmly on his mouth.
he was buried beneath you, his nose pressed against your mound, pressing open-mouthed, hot, wet kisses on your wet pussy. the new position was devastating. you were completely at his mercy, spread open and exposed, every sensitive part of you pressed against his hungry mouth. your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wooden headboard, your body trembling uncontrollably.
"there," he growled, the vibration a shockwave through your entire body.
"dunk! i could hurt you— let me off—" you mumbled worriedly, but his hands gripped your ass, holding you down. there was no escape, no respite.
"m'strong enough m'lady, i could die happy right here." his words muffled, he sucked harder, his tongue flicking against your clit in a rapid, merciless rhythm. the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, a white-hot knot of pure sensation, until it finally snapped.
"gods w-wait!"
"no...no i want it princess," he growled against your quivering flesh, his voice a low, possessive command. "give me all of it." he lapped at you, his tongue stroking you through your spasms, prolonging the ecstasy until you were a whimpering, overstimulated wreck. "that's it... that's my girl. so sweet."
you came with a strangled scream, your body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over you so hard you saw stars, creaming all over his mouth. he held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, drinking in your release as if it were the finest wine.
when it was over, you were a boneless, trembling mess. he finally pulled away, his face glistening with your arousal, his eyes shining with a triumphant, possessive pride. he lifted you off his face and onto his lap and kissed you, a deep, messy kiss.
you could barely manage a response, your fingers curling into the front of his tunic, holding him there as if the world might tilt without him anchoring you. you could feel him, impossibly hard and straining against his breeches beneath you. it seemed your pleasure had become his own.
your head fell against his shoulder, breath still shaky. the rigid, demanding pressure of his cock against your thigh had eased into a warm, heavy presence. a flicker of self-consciousness washed over you, and you reached for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, tugging it up to cover your waist. the soft wool was a small shield against the intensity of his gaze.
he pressed a kiss to your temple this time. then your brow. then the corner of your mouth, gentler and gentler still, as though easing you back from the heights he'd drawn you to.
"stay with me," he murmured, arms tightening just slightly around you.
you shifted in his lap, the hard line of his erection still an undeniable presence beneath the blanket. a new kind of courage, born from the intimacy of the moment, stirred within you. you met his softened gaze, your own eyes clear. "let me help you, ser," you whispered, your voice still raspy from your cries. you let your hand drift down from his chest, over the blanket, until it rested directly over the straining fabric of his breeches. you gave a gentle, questioning squeeze. "please?"
"you don't need to-"
"i want to..."
a low groan rumbled in his chest, his hips pushing up slightly into your touch. he took your hand in his, his large, calloused fingers dwarfing yours. without breaking eye contact, he brought your palm to his lips and spat into it, a hot, wet, shockingly intimate gesture. your breath hitched.
"s-sorry..." he murmured, guiding your slickened hand back down before pushing beneath the waistband of his breeches and bringing his cock out. "like this..." he guided your hand to his length. your fingers brushed against coarse hair and then, finally, against hot, silken skin.
he was massive. your fingers couldn't even close around his thick girth, and you could feel the heavy weight of him in your palm as he guided you down his impressive length. you had felt him press against you, but holding him like this, feeling the sheer size and power of him, was something else entirely. the sounds were slick and obscene. you wanted to worship him, to make him feel as utterly wrecked and cherished as he had made you feel.
you began to stroke him harder. he let out a harsh breath, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut. you watched his face, mesmerized by the way his brow furrowed in pleasure, the way his jaw clenched. you swiped your thumb over the slick head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there, and he hissed, his hips bucking into your fist.
"gods, just like that," he gritted out, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his grip tight. "your hand...so small...feels so good."
you redoubled your efforts, your movements growing bolder as you learned what he liked. you twisted your wrist on the upstroke, squeezed gently on the down. you wanted to see him fall apart, to hear him cry out your name. you wanted to be the one to make him lose control. and as his breathing grew ragged and his thrusts became more erratic, you knew you were close.
"so big dunk...are all cocks this big?" you whispered in awe.
he shook his head, mind in a haze. "dunno pretty girl..." the words were a choked, honest confession.
you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his jaw, your hand never ceasing its steady, slick rhythm. "just yours then," you murmured against his skin.
his control finally snapped. with a guttural groan, his hand flew from your thigh to cover yours, not to stop you, but to guide you, to force your hand to move faster, harder. his hips surged up off the bed, fucking himself into your tight grip with a desperate, primal need.
"look at me," he commanded, his voice a ragged snarl. "please please look at me..." you obeyed, lifting your gaze to his face. his eyes were wild, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. "watch what you do to me. watch me."
and you did. you watched as his face contorted, as his mouth fell open in a silent cry. you felt the thick vein on the underside of his cock pulse violently against your palm. with a final, brutal thrust, he came, spilling himself in hot, thick ropes over your hand and his own stomach. he cried out your name then, a broken, hoarse sound that was more prayer than profanity, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release.
he collapsed back against the headboard, utterly spent, his chest heaving. for a long moment, the only sound was his ragged breathing. you slowly withdrew your hand, slick with his spend, and looked at the mess you had made of him. a fierce, feminine pride bloomed in your chest.
he opened his eyes, which were now soft and hazy with satisfaction, then tucked his softening cock back into his breeches.
for a moment, he simply looked at you. not at your hand. not at the disarray of sheets. at you. a quiet huff of laughter left him, his head tipping back briefly against the wood. "you have no idea what you do to me."
"i think i do..." licking up the cum on your fingers as he lazily wiped his hand on the discarded linen at your side, entirely unrepentant.
you shifted closer, crawling up his body slowly, deliberately, until your knees completely bracketed his hips. he watched every inch of your movement now. your fingers slid up his chest, tracing the rise and fall of his breath, the steady drum of his heart beneath your palm.
"i like seeing you like this," you confessed softly.
his brows lifted faintly. "spent?"
"no." you giggled. your thumb brushed over his collarbone. "relaxed..."
his hands came up, settling on your hips, not gripping, just holding you there. you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his to give him a sweet kiss.
he tilted his head, brushing his nose lightly against yours.
"sleep now, princess" he murmured at last, "we ride early."
"we could always push the two beds together..." you smile, just now noticing how huge he looked on the narrow little bed. ৻ꪆ
