#i knew queue were trouble

[ahsokryze]

obi-wan: where could anakin be?

*explosion goes off in the distance*

obi-wan: ah, found him.

[whydoifeelthisquiet]

Cost-Effective, a poem. 🪽 (ID in alt description)

ko-fi if you’d like to support my work as a Disabled writer <3

[ellies-enrichment]

[drfrankensteinvsthequeerborgs]

just reached “Yellow Fever”, you know what that means:

alexa play “I Knew You Were Trouble” by Taylor Swift

[bat-boys]

a healer's touch

pairing: Azriel x fem reader

word count: 5.8k

warnings: mentions of injury and blood, a small amount of angst, lots of fluff

summary: as a healer you meet many people as part of your profession but when you are asked to heal a certain spymaster you are unprepared for the connection that comes with it.

a/n: hello, I'm new here! I had this in my head so needed to write to down. I hope you enjoy.

It had been a regular, if somewhat busy, morning at the healer's centre in Velaris. There had been a steady queue of people coming in and out to collect medicine, ask about a rash that concerned them or even pop in to express their thanks for healing a family member. You hummed a soft, familiar tune as you mixed herbs to create a salve for one of your regular patients whose old, aching bones continuously bothered them. 

It was days like this that reminded you of why you loved being a healer so much.

"Girl! Come with me. We're needed at the House of Wind." The calmness that had settled over the room was banished as Madja, the head healer, your mentor and distant aunt on your mother's side, bustled into the workroom to grab her box of salves, potions and herbs she kept on hand for moments like this.

"T-the House of Wind?" You squeaked as you set down your mortar and pestle, absentmindedly brushing your suddenly sweaty hands on your apron. 

"Yes," Madja sighed, "I curse the day I gave Rhysand permission to call for me personally anytime any of his friends get themselves into trouble." The words may have been harsh, but there was a warm fondness to her tone, and you knew she fussed over the Inner Circle like they were her own children.

"But me? Are you sure?" You may have been apprenticing under Madja for nearly a century at this point, but she, your peers, and the people of Velaris consider you a skilled healer in your own right. However, this was new and somewhat scary. You had never set foot into the House of Wind and barely interacted with the Inner Circle, whom you revered and respected for the future they were building across Prythian. You knew it was irrational, but you were terrified of attending to them and your healer skills fleeing at the very moment you needed them most. 

Madja stopped fussing and turned towards you, understanding flickering across her features as she took in your hands, wringing nervously in front of you. 

"Y/N, you are my best student, my successor - you are ready for this." Her voice was firm in her conviction, but her smile was soft as she fondly brushed a stray strand of hair clinging to your sweaty forehead, "Now come, get your things; I dread to think what they've gotten up to up there!"

The following five minutes passed in a blur as you shucked off your apron, grabbed your bag similar to the one Madja carried and met the two Illyrian lieutenants who bundled you up in their arms and flew you to the House. 

From the entryway alone, you knew the House of Wind was the most beautiful home you had ever stepped foot in. Madja chuckled beside you and didn't give you time to appreciate the room's beauty before she walked ahead of you and gestured for you to follow. Your heart was thumping rapidly in your chest as you swung your head from left to right and walked through the lovely hallways, trying to capture every ornate detail that decorated the walls. You must have been staring wide-eyed because Madja gently bumped her shoulder into yours, reminding you to remain professional. 

It wasn't long before she led you up a series of stairs and stepped outside into the sun's warm rays. For a moment, you let your head tip back slightly, closing your eyes to let the rays dance along your face. Down in the city, you very rarely got to feel the sun on your skin like this. There was always the long shadow of a building to obscure the sun, or you were simply too busy rushing from patient to patient to fully enjoy it. 

You used the moment to centre yourself, reminding yourself of your extensive training and ability and capability to heal almost any wound. You were the head healer-in-training, and you could do this.  You let your eyes adjust to the scene before you as you took in the outside training centre. The floor was covered in what you assumed was red dust, coating the hem of your dress and clinging to the brown leather of your slippers. Racks of weapons lined the walls, a ring was set up in the centre clearly for sparring, and ropes and punch bags were littered across the space, too. You could see that the training session was still ongoing, and you could hear people shouting suggestions to each other over the sound of swords clashing, but your attention snagged on the two males you saw grumbling next to each other. You knew who they were immediately and swallowed thickly as you realised it was them you had been summoned to heal. 

"What trouble have you two found yourself in now?" Madja called as she walked towards the pair of them. 

"It isn't our fault!" The one you immediately recognised as Cassian exclaimed.

"It never is." Madja teased back.

"We saw the guards in the Summer Court using a new training technique, and we decided to try it out…it didn't go well." 

"Evidently not. You tend to Azriel, I'll take this one." Madja sighed, already moving away from you to deal with Cassian. 

You faintly heard Cassian make a witty comment behind you before it was cut off with a hiss as Madja laid a hand on the cut slicing his chest. However, you were distracted as you turned to face the other Illyrian sporting a nasty injury, and made direct eye contact with those beautiful, disconcerting, ice-cold hazel eyes. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you made your way over to him, your heart slamming into your chest.

"Hi, I'm Y/N." You cursed yourself for sounding breathless and for the blush that no doubt was creeping up your neck.

"I'm Azriel." His deep baritone voice sent a shiver of delight down your spine and knocked the rest of your breath from you. 

"I know." You smiled at him, and he smiled very faintly back, a soft huff leaving his lips as you set your bag down and reached out your hand to him, "May I take a look?"

Early on in your training, you discovered that if your patient was conscious and capable of answering questions, you would ask consent to touch them and walk them through anything you were about to do. You found this calmed them down and created a sense of trust.

Azriel blinked at the question, not used to someone with such a soft demeanour looking after him. He didn't respond but simply extended his arm towards you. Gently, like he could bolt at any moment, you held his wrist in your hand and slowly tilted his arm to get a look at the gash you could see through his leathers. 

A soft hum escaped your lips as you saw the slash in his leathers and the blood leaking through the cut to his skin. It didn't look too deep but would undoubtedly need healing if he needed to use any of his weapons anytime soon. 

"I'm going to remove your leathers. Is that ok?" You asked, forcing yourself to make eye contact with him again, ready for the way his gaze knocked the breath out of you again. He simply nodded, and you smiled at him before you bent your head back to the task at hand. 

Azriel barely breathed as he watched you unbuckle the strap at his wrists and then push the leathers off his arm. He had never experienced such softness from a healer or anyone before. He allowed himself to look at you, to let his eyes roam over your beautiful face. His eyes snagged on that strand of hair that had fallen from the bun that rested above the nape of your neck, and he had to physically stop himself from reaching out and discovering how soft your hair felt between his scarred fingers. He almost gasped when your fingers finally touched his bare skin, and a jolt of electricity zipped through his body at the contact. 

"Oh, this doesn't look too deep; that's good!" you mumbled as you gently sponged away the blood from around the cut to get a better look at it. "Ok, I'm going to close the cut. You probably know this, but it may tingle." 

The shadowsinger watched as your brows furrowed, and the hand that wasn't clutching his wrist hovered above the cut on his arm. Warmth spread down that cut, turning into a delightful tingle reverberating around his body. He had always hated this moment of being healed, cringing at the way his skin would knit together before him, almost against his will. However, he didn't feel anything as he watched the cut on his arm disappear and marvelled at the almost pleasant way your magic brushed against his. 

"Thank you." Azriel sounded breathless.

"You are most welcome." He watched, unable to move, as your hands slipped from his forearm to gently trace the scars around his hand. Azriel was often jumpy around his hands, hating the way they looked, but he couldn't help marvelling at the way you touched them as if you weren't afraid or sad—merely curious: "Do your hands get stiff at all?"

"Sometimes after a long day of training or when it's cold." You could feel his eyes on you as you continued to examine his hands. You had noticed them when you had first looked at his injury, having heard of them through various whispers and rumours that filtered through Velaris. What you hadn't been prepared for was how beautiful they were. To you, the scars that had been left behind, were a testament to his strength. 

"Hmmm, I thought as much," you said, looking up from his hands to meet his gaze. "I have a salve that will help if you would like it?"

"I would like that very much." His answer was very soft, and it caused the breath to escape your lungs once again. 

"Pop down to the clinic when you're next in the city. I'll have it ready to collect from tomorrow. Or just send word, and I will ask a courier to deliver it to you. I know how busy you are!" You could tell you were rambling now, and from the quirk of his lips, you were also blushing furiously. 

"I'll collect it myself, Y/N, I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble at all." You whispered. 

"Y/N! Can you also check over this Valkyrie once you're done with the spymaster, please?" Madja's voice broke through the peaceful silence you and the spymaster were enjoying—both of you shocked but not displeased by this steady connection you seemed to have. 

"Of course, I'll be right there!" You turned back to Azriel with an apologetic smile, "I'd best go; it was lovely to meet you, Azriel."

He watched as you gathered your supplies, brushing that strand of hair behind your ears, "And you, Y/N. I'll see you in the clinic."

As you walked away to tend to one of the young females who was smiling sheepishly at you, you couldn't help the butterflies that flew about in your stomach at the thought of seeing Azriel again. 

…

You hadn't expected to see him walking through the door to the healer's centre the next day. So when you heard the soft tinkle of the bell above the door and turned around to greet whoever had walked through, your heart leapt into your throat, and your breath left your lungs as you beheld the Illyrian warrior who had wandered into your sanctum. 

"Azriel." You whispered, similar shy smiles falling on both of your lips. 

"I hope this is a good time? I wasn't sure when would be best to pop in."

"Oh no! This is great. I finished your salve an hour ago, so it's ready for you to take home." You grabbed the small bottle you had filled not long ago off the counter and passed it over to him, "Rub this liberally over your hands when they are stiff. You can also use it as a preventative measure on days you know you might need it. Let me know if you need any more and how you get on, and we can adjust some of the ingredients."

"Thank you again, Y/N," You had to hold your body incredibly still to avoid the shiver that wanted to wander down your spine at the sound of your name rolling off Azriel's tongue. 

The pair of you stared at each other as silence once again settled over the room—a comfortable silence, one you didn't feel the need to fill. It was refreshing to feel that with someone, not having to say something to fill an awkward void. It was peaceful, and it surprised you to feel that with someone like Azriel, someone who was feared in every Court across Prythian, whose stories were used by parents to get their children to behave. 

"When do you finish your shift?" He finally asked, breaking that comfortable silence. 

"Oh! I actually finished ten minutes ago - you caught me as I was closing up." 

"In that case, can I get you dinner? To say thank you for the healing yesterday and the salve." Azriel looked almost shy as he shifted on his feet, having to clear his throat a couple of times. 

"Oh, you don't have to do that!" You were sure a vibrant blush was sweeping up your neck, and along your cheeks, at the soft smile the spymaster was giving you. 

"I'd like to." His soft voice made your heart melt, and in that moment, you knew you'd give anything to spend even a second more in his presence. 

"I would like that. I know a restaurant just a few minutes away that I've been meaning to try?"

His lips turned up into a broad smile, "Perfect. Lead the way."

…

If you had told yourself when you had joined the healer's centre all those years ago that it would lead to a friendship with your High Lord's spymaster, you would have laughed till you were hoarse. But that lovely meal you shared with Azriel in that charming restaurant along the Sidra was not the last. 

Azriel had taken it upon himself a couple of times a week to drop by the centre - either just as you were about to take your lunch break or just as you were finishing up for the evening - to take you out for a meal. Together, you had explored almost every cafe, restaurant, and picnic spot on this side of the city, and each time, you had left beaming ear to ear.

He had also taken it upon himself to either call down to the centre or request you come to the House of Wind to personally attend to the injuries he received from training or whilst away on missions. You had started to suspect that he called you even for injuries he could heal himself, and you blushed furiously every time you thought about it but refused to call him out on it, even jokingly. You lived every day for those visits, for those moments between the two of you, the times after the healing when you would sit together and talk, and the easy companionship you found in Azriel. 

Madja and Cassian had caught on to it, and both just smiled knowing looks when you told them you were off to the House of Wind or when you passed them in the hallway. Your frequent visits also meant that you had been introduced to Azriel's family, the Inner Circle of the Night Court. Slowly, over the months, you and Azriel developed your friendship, and you also began to cultivate friendships with the others, particularly Feyre, Rhys, and Cassian. 

Cassian made you laugh with his jokes, Rhys and you bonded over your shared ambition for the future you both so desperately wanted to create, and Feyre had become a dear friend who sometimes winnowed into your small apartment in the city to have girls' nights. 

You couldn't believe your luck at how your life had pivoted in the last couple of months, the happiness you now felt. All thanks to one person.

And one evening, after healing a nasty gash on Az's leg, you sat on the sofa next to him with the rest of his family scattered around you, a glass of wine in your hand and Az's wing hovering behind you to block out the cool breeze coming in through the open window you realised just much you loved him. 

…

"How many times a day do I use it?" the elderly patient in front of you asked again. You gave them a soft smile before reaching for a scrap of paper and pen beside you and scribbling the instructions down for them.

"Twice a day, once when you wake up and then again before you go to bed," you handed the piece of paper over to them, and they offered you a very grateful smile. "If you see no improvements within three days, come back, and we'll try something else."

"Thank you, Y/N, truly thank you." You waved them off with a fond smile as they shuffled out of the centre.

You were just turning to offer a smile and welcome to the next person who stood in line at the large counter in the centre of the room when the main door to the centre burst open, and Cassian stood in the doorway. Immediately, you knew something was wrong. His body was heaving, and he was out of breath as if he had rushed to find you.

"It's Azriel," he thundered. Your blood ran cold, and your heart stopped dead in your chest before starting up at a thunderous pace. Immediately, you allowed your calm healer's mind to take over, silencing the roaring in your ears and the panic clawing up your throat.

"Marta! I need you to take over at the counter. If it's urgent and you can't help, call for Sara. If it's something that can wait, take note of their name and where they live, and I will personally visit them in the next couple of days. Is that ok?" You didn't wait for a reply, throwing the apron off your body and grabbing the box of supplies you always kept by your feet when on counter duty in case you needed to rush off to a patient before diving around the counter towards Cassian. 

He threw an arm over your shoulder in greeting and comfort and to steer you through the crowd to a section of the street that was less occupied so he could fly you both up the House of Wind. 

"How bad is it?" You mumbled as you felt his strong hands cup underneath your knees and around your back, your arms reaching up to loop around his neck. 

"Bad," he grunted as he soared into the air. Being in Cassian's arms as he flew was so different from being in Azriel's. He was warm like the spymaster, but the desire to explore the air with the male wasn't there. The joy you often took in this short journey was missing. 

Cassian landed heavily on the tiled floor of the entryway, back where you had stood all those months ago when you had first been summoned. The House was deathly quiet as you made the familiar walk through hallways you barely acknowledged towards the bedroom Azriel always occupied. 

“Y/N.” Rhys breathed your name as you strolled towards him, and you noticed how Feyre, Mor and Nesta stood around the open door, each looking more nervous than the last. 

"Rhys," you acknowledged your High Lord, someone who had become your friend in the last couple of months, "is he in there?" You asked, his head dipping in a single nod as you slipped past him into the room. 

A sob almost wrenched itself from your throat as your eyes finally landed on Azriel. He was deathly pale, his body sprawled atop the covers of his bed, his wings flared out beneath him. You stared at him for a second, silently willing his chest to rise and fall with breath, and when it did, you almost screamed to whichever God would listen. A part of you couldn't help but acknowledge that he still looked handsome in this state, the proud line of his nose, the sensual curve of his lips - even as blood dripped from the huge wound in his chest and pooled on the bedsheets underneath him. 

"Where is Madja?" Rhys quietly asked as you stepped into the room and dropped your supplies by the side of the bed, your hands shaking as you began to raise them to assess Azriel's condition. 

"Away tending to a terminally ill family member." You tightly replied. 

"Shit." Shit, indeed, you wanted to grumble, but you were also suddenly, unspeakably angry. 

"With all due respect, Rhys, I have been trained personally by Madja for over a century, and I have been tending to this male's wounds personally for the last couple of months. I know his body and how it heals better than I know my own. I will take a look, and if it is beyond my capabilities, we will call for Madja, but I promise you now I will heal him." Everyone froze in the wake of your outburst, but you kept your eyes locked on the High Lord of the Night Court, a male you had grown increasingly fond of as you spent more time with Az and his family. He simply looked at you, a beat of understanding flashing in his eyes before he turned to his mate standing beside him, reaching out to take her hand and smiling softly at her before turning back to you.

"My apologies, Y/N. Please, do what you do best." His words were soft and apologetic, and you simply nodded at him before turning back to the male sprawled on the bed before you. 

Your heart broke to see him in such a state, the man you had grown to love. 

"What do you need?" Feyre softly asked behind you. Suddenly, you were incredibly grateful that Az had friends who cared about him so deeply and honoured that he had introduced you to them, too, and brought you into the lovely warmth of friendship. 

"Two bowls of water—one warm and the other cool—and some rags, please, Fey. I also need someone to help me get him out of his leathers. Can someone close all of the curtains and drapes in this room and get some faelights in here, please?" Immediately, Cassian was in front of you, starting at the buckles on his wrists, ankles, and chest. 

"Why?" Someone asked behind you, you thought it was Mor. 

"His shadows. They'll help heal him, but we need to create the environment in which they thrive best: darkness." Both you and Az had tested the theory over the last couple of months and you had found he was stronger and healed quicker when his shadows were around. It was something you so desperately wanted to study further but didn't want to overstep a boundary. 

Finally, between you and his best friend, you managed to wrangle Azriel out of his leathers, careful not to jostle him too much to not irritate his wound. 

"How bad is it?" Cassian asked, parroting back to you the question you had asked him not ten minutes ago but what felt like hours. You ignored him for a second, taking a look at the hole in Az's chest, punched just above his heart and cutting through those beautiful Illriyan tattoos before reaching your hand out to hover over the wound to get a better feel of it.

"Bad," you mumbled, "but easily enough to heal." A series of sighs cut through the tension in the room as every member of the Inner Circle let out a breath they had all been collectively holding. "He was stabbed from the front with a blade tipped with an ash arrow, I believe. He pulled the blade from his body, but it has left some splinters behind, draining his powers and stopping him from healing. Infection has set in so I think this happened a couple of days ago, he must have gained enough strength to winnow back here before passing out."

"Do what you need to, Y/N." Rhys's voice was soft but had the undercurrent of a High Lord's command—heal my friend, he commanded. You nodded once before rolling up your sleeves and turning back to Azriel.

For hours, you worked at healing Az, praying to the Mother throughout it all that he would pull through - if only so you could tell him how much you loved him.

…

There was nothing gentle about the way Azriel surfaced to consciousness. One moment he was swimming in darkness, and the next, his eyes shot open, and he sucked in a huge faltering breath. After years of meticulous training, his senses immediately began to take in his surroundings, and his brain was already calculating his escape route. It was only when he took in the soft bed beneath him, the familiar decorations in the room, and the female sat curled up in a chair beside him that he could recognise that he was home. That he was safe.

Safe.

He felt the twinge in his chest. He knew the moment he moved, a biting pain would radiate throughout his body, so for the moment, he just lay there. His eyes stayed focused on you, on the way you had clearly pushed a chair as close as you could to his bedside. Your hair piled up in a messy bun on the top of your head—tendrils escaping and framing your beautiful face—and a damp rag hung limply from your hand.

His shadows flitted around him, whispering your name to him in a fond way he had never heard them speak of another before. They told him how you had rushed to his side, commanded the room, and stood up for yourself and your capabilities. How you had spent hours upon hours pulling splinters out of the wound and then encouraging his skin to knit together, to heal. How you had nearly spent your entire magic to save him and had then stayed and made sure he battled the infection, sponging cool water onto his skin, talking to him as if he was conscious. 

“Y/N.” He whispered, his voice hoarse from misuse and lack of water. Immediately, your eyelashes fluttered and opened, scanning the room before landing on his awake form. Now that your beautiful eyes were open, he could see the smudge of purple underneath each one, and a pang vibrated through his chest at the thought of this incredible female staying by his side even when you were exhausted. 

"Az." You whispered back, tears begin to shimmer in your eyes as you took in the shadowsinger finally awake. Still pale and far from healed entirely, but awake. 

He winced slightly as he reached out and hesitated somewhat before gently cupping your jaw, stroking his thumb along your cheek and catching the tears slipping free.

"Thank you." You knew his shadows had whispered to him that you had almost depleted yourself for him and risked yourself to heal him. 

"You scared me." His face crumpled at your words as he saw in your eyes the terror you went through for those hours you weren't sure he would make it through. Guilt ate at him for not spotting the trap that had been laid for him.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I was ambushed." He continued to brush his thumb over your skin, and you let the feeling ground you and reassure you that he was here and alive.

"I don't need to know," he heard what you were saying, that you didn't want to know, "do you want to sit up?" 

"Yes, please." You moved swiftly and efficiently, having done this for so many patients before Az. You gently scooped under his arms and lifted his weight so he could move to a sitting position. He winced as the movement tugged on his newly stitched-together skin, but with your expert handling, he wasn't in too much pain. "How long was I out for?"

"A day and a half."

"Shit. I need to debrief with Rhys." He made to sit up further, to swing his legs over the side of his bed, but your hand was instantly there on his shoulder - softly but firmly pushing back. 

"Later. Once you've had some water and food, and I've had a chance to assess your wound again."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirked and gently took the hand that was on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and running his thumb comfortingly over your knuckles. 

Another soft silence settled over you both, and Azriel found himself glancing down at your connected hands, "That day we met was the first time someone had dared to look closely at my hands. It was also the first time I saw someone examine them and not flinch."

"Your hands are beautiful, Az." Your voice was soft, still shaky from crying. 

"You don't need to say that Y/N." 

"No, I'm serious," you frowned, "your hands are beautiful, and they are strong - just like you." You both watched as you trailed your fingers across the back of his hands, tracing the lines of scar tissue. "I was so scared when Cassian burst into the centre, but that didn't match the terror when I saw you unconscious, and I didn't know if I would get a chance to tell you how much you mean to me." He could hear the emotion building in your voice again. 

"Come here, sweetheart." His face was soft as he held his arm out and motioned for you to come closer. A sob lodged itself from your throat as you shifted, taking care of his wings and injury, to slip onto the bed and move into the warm space of Azriel's body. Immediately, you curled into his side, carefully slipping a hand around his waist to hold him closer. Az curled his arm around you, and the feeling of being in his arms, being held by him, had your heart soaring in your chest. 

"Did it snap in place for you?" he asked softly, and you knew what he was asking—he was tugging at that soft thread that now sat between you. 

"When I saw you lying there unconscious. You?" That moment when your eyes had landed on Azriel on his bed, true terror had speared through you as that bond had snapped into place, and you had realised it was your mate lying there in the space between life and death. 

"That first day, when you held my hands so gently and offered me that salve." His voice held so much emotion, and you felt warmth trickle down that thread and disperse throughout your body as you both acknowledged the bond. 

"Az." He closed his eyes at the sound of his name on your tongue, and he could never get tired of hearing the way you said it as you propped yourself up to look at him. 

"We can talk about it later, about what you want to do and how we move forward. You don't have to make any decisions now." His hand stroked the skin on your exposed arm, the other finally brushing that strand of hair out of your eyes. A frown fell on your face at his words.

"I hope you are talking about how we accept the mating bond and not whether I want to accept it in the first place. I am honoured to be your mate, Azriel, and to get the chance to love you for the rest of our lives." He was sure he had stopped breathing, convinced he was still dreaming. That you would be willing to spend the rest of your life with him, to love him the way he loved you so fiercely. 

"Are you sure?" His voice sounded small, and you couldn't help the smile that danced on your lips. 

"I have never been more sure of something in my life, Az. You deserve this type of love. Let me give it to you." You whispered as you closed the space between you two. Your eyes scanned his face, ready to pull away if he gave the signal that he wasn't ready. But as his breath fanned your lips, your eyes locked, and the hand that had brushed your hair aside cupped your jaw firmly in his large palm, as he surged forward to capture your lips in his. 

Immediately, fireworks erupted behind your eyes at the delicious feeling of his lips moving against yours, wave after wave of pleasure rolling down your spine as you tilted your head back to give him more access. A soft moan slipped past your lips when Azriel gently nibbled on your bottom lip, causing a gasp, which he swallowed expertly with his mouth. You felt Azriel's hand slip from your jaw to cup the back of your neck, holding you firmly as the kiss transformed from something sweet into something else, something more wonton, something close to fire. 

Far too quickly for your liking, Azriel pulled away, gasping for air. Your eyes fluttered open as he rested his forehead against yours, a soft grin dancing on both of your lips as you made eye contact and saw the emotion swimming in both of your eyes. Azriel watched, entranced, as he swiped his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. Your eyelids fluttered as a soft moan escaped again between your lips; Azriel wondered if that was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.  

"My mate. I have waited for over five hundred years for you." He whispered into the heated air between you. 

"I hope I was worth the wait." You joked. Azriel couldn't help but close the space again at your words to press his lips to yours again in a soft kiss this time.

"You definitely are." Your toes curled at his tone, and as his lips still brushed against yours as he spoke. 

"The healer and the spymaster… there's a story there, I think." You grinned as you brushed his hair back off his forehead, wanting to take in every inch of emotion that he was freely displaying on his face. 

"And we will write it together," he promised, and you couldn't help the matching grins on your faces as you leant forward again to join your lips together in another spectacular kiss—knowing that for the rest of your very long life, you would never get tired of kissing Azriel, your mate. 

[normspellsman]

She Is Mine

part one | part two

pairing: neteyam x fem!omatikaya!reader

genre: violence, bit of angst + fluff, & comfort

word count: 2.7k+

warning(s): death threats, mentions of death + injuries + blood, reader thinking she’s going to die + accepts it, neteyam going apeshit on an avatar soldier, reader being stabbed, mentions of brutal killings / violence, reader crying, & a bit of dark!neteyam

taglist: @aonungsmate @dearstell @optimisticblazetrash @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @liyahsocorro @amortencjja @universal-s1ut @goodiesinthecloset21 @chshshhshshshshshshshs @minkyungseokie

word bank: mawey — calm; calm down, eywa / the great mother — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in, ikran — winged creature used for flying + hunting, yawne — beloved, & yawntutsyip — darling; little darling

note: literally wrote this within two to three hours so it might not be that great, so bare with me. hope you guys liked it & let me know if i should do something similar to this with lo’ak <3

It was stupid really.

When you think back on it, it was definitely stupid to agree to tag along with Lo’ak and the rest to wherever the hell they were planning on going. But you could not say no to Tuk when she asked you to come with them. She was your weakness and used it to her advantage.

You’d been silently weaving a new armband for your boyfriend, Neteyam, when his youngest sister had approached you, hands interlocked behind her back and the all too familiar ‘innocent’ look plastered on her face. You knew that whatever she was thinking of saying or asking you would end up in you ultimately agreeing to it, most likely getting you in trouble with your lover.

“Join me and Kiri to the mountains with Lo’ak. Pretty please?” She had asked, pouting and widening her amber eyes up at you as she gently swayed from side to side.

You gave in immediately.

It was sad how fast the youngest Sully got you to cave in so quickly. You had restraint with the others, even Neteyam, but had none whatsoever when it came to Tuktirey. You had such a soft spot for her and Tuk took advantage of it every time.

Should’ve never said yes, you grumble to yourself inside your head, head shaking to yourself as you struggled against the restraints the RDA soldiers had put you in upon catching you all when you attempted to leave the scene you weren’t supposed to be at.

Jake instilled it into you guys so many times to never get close to the abandoned shack. You needed asked why. It was something that Jake wasn’t going to argue about and made it very clear after his youngest son tried to pry the answer out of him the first time he mentioned it. Should’ve listened to Jake.

Everything went by so fast, you had barely had time to process what was going on before you were shackled in handcuffs and essentially held prisoner by RDA Avatars.

“Who is she?” A deep voice asked, pulling you out of your seething thoughts.

Quaritch had a good estimate on who was who in the little rag tag group he caught. The five fingered teens one-hundred-percent belonged to Jake Sully while the human boy was a result of the Corporals past. So, that left you and Tuk. He would give it a fifty-fifty chance that the both of you were also Jake’s kids. Man, he and the Missus sure was busy, he thinks to himself, smirking at the thought.

By the only Na’vi boys reaction, Quaritch could tell that you were something else to the kid. A girlfriend perhaps?, he thinks, best friend?.

Lo’ak knew he was fucked the minute Tuk managed to convince you to join in on their little ‘adventure’. Neteyam continuously told him to look out for you whenever he left to go hunt or do whatever their parents told him to do, threatening bodily harm and death if he didn’t obey. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing but regardless of it, still continued on with his plan. Neteyam was so going to kill him.

“Our sister,” Lo’ak muttered, the soldier behind him still had a tight grip on his queue, tightening it before he answered.

Everyone on the scene could tell that Lo’ak was lying. It was evident. The boy's ears were pinned back, mostly in pain, and his tail fell limp beside him as it gently curled in on itself.

Bingo, Quaritch thought to himself, more leverage.

“Hmm, I think you’re lying, boy,” the Corporal starts, inching closer to Lo’ak, “And do you know what I do to liars?” he asked.

You gulped at the man’s words. You could only assume his following answer would entail torture or death. You all were totally fucked either way.

Lo’ak refused to answer the man’s question, making Quaritch smirk even more.

“I punish them,” he answered, a sick and disturbing glint in his eyes as he stared down Jake Sully’s second son.

Anxiety spiked in all of our systems, making you struggle further in the soldier's grasp.

“Don’t hurt him,” you and Kiri pleaded, the soldiers behind you yanking back on your braided queue, making you cry out in pain.

Quaritch tsked at your response, turning towards you as he stalked towards your figure. “I’m not going to hurt him, sweetheart. Just you,” he finalized, pulling out a knife that was sheathed in its carrier on his hip.

You and everyone else began to protest at his words.

“(Y/N)! No!” Lo’ak cried out, trying to inch closer towards you to protect you but was pulled back by a soldier, hissing out in pain and frustration.

Tuk began to cry as she saw the knife inch towards your face before it dipped down to your neck.

“You fucking asshole!” Spider yelled out, struggling in the grips of the two Avatar soldiers holding him, surprisingly making them struggle to keep him in their grasps in return.

Kiri could only close her eyes in response, not wanting to see you get hurt in front of her.

You stopped at the contact the cold knife made with your warm skin, the temperature of it making you lightly flinch back at it. Your heartbeat rose increasingly within the confines of your chest, hammering against the bone. Holy shit, you thought, this is how I’m going to die.

As you looked around and saw your friends' reactions, you accepted your fate. You accepted that you were going to be murdered in front of them. You could only hope that your death would help the Sullys and Spider escape from the soldiers and Quaritch safely and unharmed. You also hoped that it was going to be a quick death. You didn’t want them to see you suffer.

It’s okay, be calm. Don’t fight back, it’ll only make it worse. Mawey. Eywa, please ensure the safe return of the Sully’s and Spider. And make sure that Neteyam finds only happiness after this, you prayed.

Quaritch had taken your queue from the soldiers grasp behind you, granting you momentary relief from the tight hold only to be replaced with an even harsher grip. You hissed out at the returning pain.

“Now, listen here boy,” he starts, pointing the clean knife at Lo’ak, making him look at him, “I want ‘ya to contact your Father and tell him that if he isn’t here after the sun sets, girly over here,” he gestures to you with the knife in hand, “Is going to be gutted and strung up on the tree line as a little surprise for your Daddy. Am I clear?”.

His words makes Tuk cry even harder, making the soldier behind her give up on her hold on the girls queue and instead hold her up by her arms.

Lo’ak reluctantly nodded at his words, swallowing down the gathering spit in his mouth. His eyes jumped from Spider to Quaritch to you, then to Kiri and Tuk. He was dreading the moment his parents and Neteyam arrived, knowing that regardless of how much they cooperate, Quaritch is going to do whatever he wants to even if that includes staying true to his words of harming you.

———

The three were close to nearing the old abandoned shack when Lo’ak called in again, the line going static for a second before he spoke up.

“Quaritch is giving you until after sunset to arrive,” he shakingly starts, anxiety clearly evident in his tone as he speaks, “Or…or he’ll gut (Y/N) and string her up as a welcome gift for you.”.

Neteyam nearly crashes into a tree when he hears his brother's words.

Quaritch was threatening the life of you, his mate, in hopes of riling up Jake. Well, it was working, except it was Neteyam who was riled up and not his Father.

All the boy could see was red as the three of them silently continued their flight towards your destination after Jake told Lo’ak that they were on their way and that the message was clearly received.

Rage boiled up inside of Neteyam’s body, causing him to slightly shake from the emotion atop his ikran. He was going to kill every single one of the soldiers there once he arrived. He’d do anything to get you back. Anything.

———

Everything ached.

From your queue, to your scalp, to your neck, and to the fresh new wound Quaritch left after he decided Lo’ak was taking too long to relay his message to his Father. He had sliced your thigh and stabbed the wound in response, jamming it into the flesh/plush of your thigh. You cried out to the brutal attack, growling out in pain as a handful of tears fell down your cheeks. Quaritch only smirked at your reaction, throwing you down onto the ground as the rest of the soldiers followed suit in discarding their prisoners, herding them into a circle.

Kiri helped you up, allowing you to lean into her. She quickly assessed your wound and deemed that you were going to be fine, as long as no one pulled the knife out from your leg.

Lo’ak held your head in the palms of his hands as he looked for any other slices Quaritch managed to make before stabbing you. He didn’t find any and sighed out in relief from that.

Spider had gathered Tuk in his arms and tried to silence her crying before any of the soldiers got inspiration from Quaritch and decided to punish the child for crying.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” you whispered between grinded teeth after the attack, trying your best to not yank out the foreign object in your thigh. You began to think that maybe you will end up dying out here after all, amongst the beautiful greenery of Pandora. Albeit it not being the way you wanted to go out, it still wouldn’t be the most gruesomest death you imagined happening. You just wished that you were able to kiss Neteyam goodbye one last time.

———

Furious wouldn’t even begin to describe the type of emotion he was feeling at the moment. There probably was no word equivalent to the emotion he currently felt.

Neteyam had ended up disobeying his Fathers orders of him staying with the ikrans, saying that he was ‘too emotionally invested’ and that his anger was too risky for what he was about to face. He thought it was utter bullshit that he wasn’t allowed to aid his parents in rescuing his siblings and his lover from Quaritch. If anything, it gave him more of a reason to focus and get everyone out of there safely.

He had managed to take down two Avatar soldiers in his search for you. He decided that they weren’t worthy of wasting his arrows on, slicing and stabbing them until their throats were practically open wide in exposure or had any time to process the pain. He’d been quick and brutal in his attacks. The more bodies he left behind, the more closer he was to having you in his arms.

His Mother had already released her arrow by the time he arrived on the scene, causing the other soldiers to shoot out into the trees and pull you all up in response. He was forced to hid behind a tree, eyes desperately searching for your familiar figure amongst the Avatar bodies and his siblings.

Neteyam’s eyes finally found your body, still in a soldiers grasp as they tried to pull you away towards where the others were gathering.

His gaze narrowed at the soldiers tight grip on you, robotically notching an arrow and drawing his bowstring back, almost immediately letting it go just as quick as his initial drawing of the arrow.

The arrow lodged itself in between the eyes of the soldier, it’s body slumping backwards as it’s grip loosened on your body, allowing you to follow its descent to the ground.

You groaned out in pain when your body made contact with the forest floor. You were too tired to move out of the way once you realized the soldier that had you in its arms had died, accepting your fall to the floor as gracefully as you could. The knife was still in your thigh, shooting electric hot pain up your leg upon being disturbed from the short fall.

You felt another pair of hands grab you and roughly pull you upwards, you screaming and kicking in retaliation. But just as quickly as their arms grabbed you, they let you go, a loud grunt and hiss following as their body was thrown to the side.

Neteyam had quickly made his way to you once he spotted another Avatar pull you up. He had unsheathed his knife and jumped on the soldier, causing the two of them to roll around on the floor before Neteyam brutally and repeatedly drove his weapon into the Avatar’s body, not stopping until he was certain that he caused enough damage to the fake Na’vi.

Stay away from her, he thought after every stab he inflicted, it’s not her time.

You had looked up when Neteyam delivered the final blow, slitting the insignificant soldier's throat.

You had never seen your mate this angry. Sure there were times where he lashed out at you after an argument or got so angry he hissed and growled at his brother for his ridiculous antics. But never, never have you ever seen him so vengeful. You didn’t even know if vengeful was the right word to describe how Neteyam looked like at the moment. But nothing else came to mind.

“Yawne,” you whispered out, desperate to catch your boyfriend's attention, wanting to get out of the line of fire as quickly as possible.

The teen whipped his head towards you, eyes dilated to the point where they looked like slits in his pupils. His chest was heaving up and down heavily, lungs taking big gulps of air as he did so. A few braids fell in front of his face, masking some of it as he looked at you.

His whole expression softened once he laid eyes on you. He could tell that you wanted to get as far away from the scene as you quickly could, that sad and traumatic look in your eyes at you pleaded with him.

Neteyam quickly shook out of his stupor and gathered you in his arms, being weary of the knife in your leg that he just noticed. Another thing that made him want to kill Quaritch himself.

“It’s okay, I got you yawntutsyip,” he whispered back, dodging all of the flying bullets and arrows he could as he weaved into the heavy forest foliage. His grip on you never faltered as he jumped over logs and ducked under stray branches to get you to safety. His whole body was on autopilot as he ran around, solely focused on getting you out of there alive.

Once Neteyam had decided he was far out enough to not be chased or caught by any more Avatar soldiers, he gently laid you down onto the soft grass, eyes quickly assessing your figure for any other injuries he should be aware about. He let out a sigh of relief when he came to the conclusion that you had no other wounds that needed tending to, softly bringing you into his arms for a warm embrace.

You immediately broke down into the hug, burrowing your face into the crook of Neteyam’s neck and wrapping your arms around his back to bring him in closer. Your sobs were a telltale sign of how distraught you were from the events that just occurred, brain still racing to process it all.

Neteyam softly shushed you as he put one hand on the back of your head and the other on the lower portion of your back, softly rubbing the skin in attempts to comfort you.

“You’re safe now, my love,” he whispered, kissing your hair, “I got you. You’re safe.”.

You relaxed into your lovers arms as he comforted you, feeling safe in his hold.

Neteyam had never gotten that blood thirsty before and that frightened him a little. If he acted like this when you were in trouble, can you imagine how’d he act if you actually died as a result of tonight’s events? He didn’t know the answer to that. All he knew was that you’re his and he’d do anything to ensure that it is not your time yet.

[zzprompto]

☆ our teachers are gay?!

gojo satoru x male reader [he / him]

sypnosis: you and gojo are both teachers at tokyo jujutsu high. your students start catching up on little things about the two of you, coming to a conclusion that their teachers are gay, but is that the truth? (meant to be viewed as romantic, hints at an established relationship.)

the lowercase is intentional !

satoru and [name] had been teaching at tokyo jujutsu high for a few years now. the two have made memories, had laughs and even arguments during the time. the students loved their teachers, always finding them amusing.

this years first years were a first, though.

"he's definitely gay!" a student yells. "no, he's not! he definitely has a wife and two kids!" another student yells. the person that they were talking about? [name]. itadori and nobara were arguing about whether or not they thought their teacher was gay for their other teacher or not, whilst megumi just sat there listening to their bickering. nobara thought [name] was gay, whereas itadori thought he wasn't.

megumi just sat there, listening to his friends arguing. it was constant, but he knew it was just banter after all. megumi had a small smirk on his face as he listened.

megumi knew the truth, well, half of the truth. he knew of gojo's feelings towards [name], but he never knew of [name]'s feelings towards gojo. megumi and gojo were practically father and son, not that megumi would admit that, so he could tell how gojo felt. megumi was the only reserved first year, so he learnt to pick up on people's emotions and feelings quickly, which included gojo's.

it was clear, by megumi's perception of the world, that gojo was definitely into [name]. gojo always tried to, and not so subtly in fact, flirt with [name]. yet, it always ended up in [name] saying a bunch of curses with a red face. maybe [name] did like gojo back? but, how was megumi going to know? he's not [name] and maybe the red face megumi always saw was just his teacher embarrassed, not flustered.

megumi also noticed how close the two teachers were. there were always together eating lunch or talking or supervising training sessions where they also talked more. perhaps it was because they could only talk to eachother, they were the only teachers there excluding the principal. or.. maybe it was something else? it did seem like there was more of a rivalry going on between the two men in megumi's eyes, but who knew. only gojo and [name] did.

a certain someone clears their throat after hearing all the bickering down the corridor. "and what are you three talking about?" the voice asks, and it just so happens to be gojo. itadori and nobara are in big trouble now.

itadori looks at gojo in horror, already accepting that he's been caught. nobara just looks at gojo with a small, innocent smile, hoping itadori won't mess up and say something wrong.

"uhm.. we were just talking about [name]'s love life-" itadori starts before nobara jabs him in the stomach to get him to shut up. "we were discussing what places we can visit in tokyo during our days off!" nobara cut in. gojo had a smirk plastered on his face. it was so obvious that he knew the truth about what they were talking about.

megumi sighed and he rolled his eyes at his two friends. "you idiots.. look at his face. he knows what you two were talking about." megumi muttered under his breath, shaking his head at how stupid his friends were. "plus.. his six eyes probably sensed you guys were talking about [name] anyway." megumi decides to add his own snarky comment.

"ah, so my suspicions were true." gojo chuckled. "if you really want to find out more about [name], why don't you ask him yourselves? although, he'd probably want to punch me if you told him i suggested the idea.." gojo spoke his thoughts aloud.

as if on queue, [name] steps into the room with a confused look on his face. "what are you all standing around here for? i thought training was meant to start ten minutes ago.." he sighed, a hand resting on his hip. the three first years all look at eachother before rushing out of the room to go to the field.

[name] just shook his head as he watched his students leave. "what were you doing in here with them, satoru? because it definitely wasn't reminding them that training was about to start." [name] said, looking at gojo as he spoke. gojo just shrugged at [name]'s question, starting to follow the first years out to the field.

the first years quickly got to training. they were practicing their cursed technique skills and hand to hand combat whilst [name] and gojo kept a close eye. the two teachers were standing close together, smiling as they occasionally made small talk.

"so, what about that date i was talking about earlier?" gojo pipes up, smiling at [name]. [name] just scoffed in response, punching gojo in the shoulder. "don't ask me about dates whilst we're infront of our students, satoru." [name] chuckled and gojo joined in.

gojo then snaked an arm around [name]'s waist, pulling him in closer and giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "okay, okay. but we're still going on that date after work, right?" gojo asks. "you're not helping yourself!" [name] replies, pushing gojo away with a huge smile on his face.

of course, the three first years saw this play out. when gojo and [name] thought they were being so subtle, they were caught in the act. the three first years stopped what they were doing and stared at their teachers in shock.

gojo and [name] just watched their students with smiles on their faces. gojo still had his arm wrapped around [name]'s waist as he pulled his lover in for a kiss, not caring about their students. they had already been caught, so what was the harm in sharing a kiss in the end?

"see! i told you he's gay! you owe me big time, itadori!" nobara yells out, starting to chase itadori around the field.

☆ author's note: ill try get requests done soon, sorry if you're waiting on one. do request some more, i have barely any ideas of my own.

☆ request ▪︎ masterlist

[etheries1015]

Imagining Yuu being Lillias as first and last love.

Let's say he was gravely injured during the war, and you, a human, had snuck him away to tend to his wounds. (I like to imagine this in a scenario where in chapter 7 when they meet Lilia in the 'dream world', he retains those memories, only for it to loop back to the modern day, less than a reincarnation.)

You, knowing Lilia from NRC and being enamored with him for so long, obviously had no choice but to help their fae....friend. When he became gravely injured during a particularly difficult battle, He awakes and is immediately on guard. He never really trusted you and the others who suddenly came face to face with him, two humans, a beastman, and a fae-human hybrid. You were all suspicious to him, yet he couldn't help but feel a ting of familiarity in his heart the second his eyes met yours. He knew, by some force, you were different than the other humans; you were kind, caring, and worked on your lonesome rather than a group.

"Are you okay? Do your wounds hurt? I can change your bandages If you'd like. You have been out for only a few hours..." You pursed your lips, hands hesitating over his injured waist, "But...I understand if you rather me leave now. I just wanted to make sure you would be okay, you really took a hard hit."

He just stared at you with wide eyes and a rapidly beating heart. He came to realize you were truly no threat, and he honestly, owed you his life. He never thought he'd see the day; General Lilia Vanrouge allowing a human tend to his needs, he frankly felt rather pathetic at the notion of this being affecting him as much as they had. Since the moment they arrived at his camp, he knew you were trouble for his heart.

"There 's...no need," Lilia said, sitting up slightly grasping his covered wound with one hand and holding his other out for you to set the spare bandages to him. You nodded slightly and handed it to him, turning around and starting to walk out. Before you had reached the door, Lilia called out to you.

"Human," He said, causing you to turn around in surprise and tilt your head with anticipation of his next words, "Why...why aren't you like the other humans? Are you not betraying them by helping your enemy?" You sighed and shook your head, chuckling at a question that seemed obviously ridiculous to you. Your reaction had caused Lilia to furrow his eyebrows and frown.

"Because I have... a lot of love for everyone," You finally said, looking up with the most serene, sincere, and peaceful gaze he had ever seen, "I love Humans, I love Fae, I love beastmen...and.." You blushed slightly, "I love you, too." The general couldn't wrap his head around it- your comments seemed utterly ridiculous to him- you hadn't known him for long at all, it seemed you two had only met for a couple days at best and here you were already admitting your affections for the fae? Despite this fact, he could tell by your unwavering stance and confident voice, that you were not lying. He simply replied with a nod and dismissed you with a wave of his hand as he had done so with many of his subordinates, muttering a quick thank you before you exited the hut.

Lilia stared down at his hands where the bandages you handed him lay, his cheeks taken a rosy tint. The red-eyed Fae shook his head and wiped his brow beaded with sweat, scoffing in disbelief. Did he just fall for a human...? A human he hadn't even known for long yet felt like he knew a lifetime, at that, over some silly hopeful words? He couldn't deny the way his heartbeat sped up at your kindness, your gentle touch tingling across the skin you cared for, and his ears begging to hear more of your mellifluous voice. Taking a deep sigh, he felt a deep rooted resolve force him to stand upon his feet and chase after you- his heart yearning to learn more about this mysterious human that had somehow shaken him to his core.

However, he never could find you after that.

Queue modern time.

Lilia had well after a while understood he would never be able to find that human- he knew after decades you must have wound up dead. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that you were around, somehow, somewhere, alive and living a happy life- yet he had no proof you were either dead or alive. He didn't particularly look very hard, either. You had given him conflicting emotions that he had never experienced before, yes, but he knew he had a duty to attend to. There were indeed nights where he re-played your words over and over again- eventually bringing him to his resolve of peace between humans and fae and finding solace in the idea of loving all creatures for what they were, just had you did for him when you saved his life with reckless abandon.

So the moment he lay eyes upon you when you stumbled upon NRC, he had the same exact feeling all those years ago rushing back to him all at once, as if he had been hit by a sudden train of emotions. His heart thumped and the sound of blood rushing overtook him overwhelmingly- There was no way, right? The human who saved him must have been long dead by then. It couldn't possibly be...

Then you said your name.

You had the same name, the same unwavering confident eyes, the same serene peace that he felt wash over him in that little hut during the years of war. He wasn't sure how, if this person who suddenly came to NRC was a long distant relative of that person, or if there was something else going on beyond his comprehensive skills. You were alive, your voice as beautiful and mysterious as you were all those years ago. He spent a considerable amount of time studying you, being by your side, trying to put together the puzzle piece by piece. Yet he surprised himself- he never knew, even at his old age, he could feel such vibrant emotions as strongly and just as beautifully as the first time he laid eyes upon you. He felt like that young general again- passionate, young, and this time without animosity and war to get in the way of his curiosity.

Perhaps it was old age getting the better of him making his mind warped into believing he had some sort of magical entity on his side bringing you back to him, or his old heart yearning for something he had never had before and had deeply regretted never experiencing; love. Whatever was going on, Lilia knew one thing for certain;

He would not let his chance slip away this time.

[theshinazugawaslut]

Sanemi as a best friend who is obsessed with you, so when you tell him you've never ridden someone he offers to let you practice on him. On his face, abs, thigh, on anything that you can ride, he'll train you before you take his cock

a/n: sorry if this didn't come out good, I wrote it under a half-hour since I'm sick.

He's your best friend, the little boy you grew up with in the same neighbourhood — everyone knew the two of you were attached at the hip, everyone also knew that Sanemi would never let a single boy near you and so, no boy ever tried.

Your earliest memory of him is when you were both three years old, standing in a long queue on a hot Summer's day outside an ice-cream van in the park.

He had been right behind you, humming a tune, and you had turned around and said, "I love that song!"

The boy had the lovliest, archangel-white hair with the softest, lilac eyes; his cheeks all soft and squishy. He had smiled shyly and gave a small nod, though the two of you ended up holding hands as you took him to play in your sandpit.

Ever since, the two of you have been inseperable.

He always held your hand — tight, firm, like a kite he was afraid of letting go — and he looked at you like you had been weaved out of starsong and rose dew and the most honeyed siren song.

God, in his eyes you were this shimmering moon that he yearned to touch, you felt like what heaven must be like — he'd heard so many stories of heaven when he went to church with his mother, he imagined God had a face like you. There couldn't be anything else.

He was a sweet boy, you realised very quickly. Always helping you put pretty flower clips in your dishevelled hair, always using his own chubby hands to try and tuck your hair into a lopsided ponytail and smiled shyly as you squealed and squished your cheeks together to his.

He didn't mind being the subject of your childish eyeshadow palettes either, letting the cheap glittery gel being smudged across his eyelids though it did help him learn his own talent for eyeliner.

You're always over at his house or the other way around, too, and you're always making the loveliest drinks and snacks so you can watch Cinderella together, tiny hands weaved with his as you gush about how pretty the sapphire-blue ball gown is.

Soon enough, school starts, and Sanemi remains your best friend, sitting right next to you and saying no to playing football with the other boys in favour of reading a story book with you in the corner of the classroom.

You also witnessed him grab a boy bigger than him by the hair and hurting him because the boy had tripped you over and made fun of you in the playground where you had been awaiting for Sanemi.

Even when he'd gotten in trouble, he'd given you that smile that only got wider as you kissed his cheek.

He'd always been a serious child, a happy child but mature, and when he got a younger sibling, he was ecstatic, taking his newborn brother out his cot and running over to your house carelessly to show you Genya.

When his mother had rushed out in a panic a few hours later, she found you and Sanemi in your room, Genya bundled up safe and warm. The newborn safe in your arms as Sanemi snoozed against your shoulder, you looking at the newborn with bright eyes.

When Sanemi awoke later on, Genya now in his mother's arms, something inside of him stirred seeing you hold a baby with such care. He didn't know what.

Ever since he was a child, he'd give you flowers, braid your hair, kiss your cheek shyly when he was feeling very bold but one thing remained the same in highschool, that firm grip he had on your hands.

Everyone knew you two, nobody dared come near the either of you as Sanemi made it abundantly clear that his only interest was you and made it clear to everyone else - much to your obliviousness - that you did not need for friends and you especially did not want for any boys.

You never thought much of it.

You were more than happy being with him, cheerful nature and bubbly personality meaning you'd cling onto his arm anyway, doe-like eyes looking up at him as he kept an arm around your waist as he walked you from class to class.

You're bright, like the Sun, and he burns just looking at you, but for now, he's more than content helping you study for maths (you're hopeless) in the library, slipping you sweet treats every few minutes that make your eyes light up though his own shine brightly when you give him the after-school snack you baked for him in the morning.

You always give him so much — often making him bentos with all his favourite foods; spending time in his house to help take care of his six younger siblings whilst his mother worked — bathing his little sisters, changing his baby brother's nappy, singing songs and playing games with his siblings to keep them occupied so that Sanemi can finish his essays in peace, and you coming into his room after putting them all to bed, giving him dinner.

Though he rolls his eyes as he sees how you've made your notes all colourful and pretty.

"You're finding the equation of the tangent of the curve, you're supposed to do that by finding the y co-ordinate, differentiating it, calculating the gradient, and finding the equation of the line not... drawing flowers and galaxies on the page, doll," he says, exasperatedly fond.

"What's a y co-ordinate?" you ask innocently and he bangs his head against the table.

"How can you be good at fucking politics and biology and literature but be so utterly shit at maths?" he groans though you only look at him with that sweet expression of yours. "Hell, how are you good at Physics and not good at maths?"

"...I just copy your answers in Physics, and I only understand the theoretical stuff," you tell him and he glares at you, causing you to giggle. "I'm kidding! I sometimes copy your answers."

He flicks a sweetie wrapper at you then so you shriek as it touches your lashes. "You almost ruined my mascara!"

"You don't need it, anyway! Your natural lashes are like spiders anyway."

He snickers as you pull a strand of his snowy hair. "Sorry, dumpling," he says teasingly.

"You're the dumpling here! With your big, mochi cheeks!" you say with a huff.

"Next time when we go to the gym, I'm turning your treadmill to the highest speed," he threatens and you blanch, causing his laughter to grow louder.

Soon enough, you're both adults, sharing a dorm for university even though Sanemi was rather upset about having to leave his siblings and mother behind at home. Thankfully, you're adamant to keep in contact with his family which means an hour-long video call to his siblings and mother alongside your own family.

And even now, as you share a dorm for university, both wanting to become teachers, you're glued to the hip.

And now you're both twenty-one, still virgins, and you're currently cooking, calling for Sanemi who is lazily sitting on the couch, reading a book about teaching.

"'Nemi?" you say in that sweet voice of yours, calling for him as you cook something — usually Sanemi would cook but you wanted to try out a recipe this time yourself.

He puts his book down, taking a moment to come into the kitchen, thinking you had probably burned something though he's pleasantly surprised to find that's not the case though he tries to not let his jaw drop at the sight of you.

Pale-pink off shoulder top showing him just your left shoulder, all smooth and pretty, and your apple-green, pleated skirt had you looking so girlish.

"Hmm?" he says, deep voice all thrumming and rich, like smoked apples and wind-swept ash. "Oi, if you're cooking, you should do your hair back, do you want to be set on fire?"

With the words, he's already come behind you to start doing your hair in a loose braid — you're used to it; he always does your hair, helps with your make-up, most of the time he'll blow dry your hair as you study.

"What's it you called me here for? Ya missed me?" he asks behind you.

"I was just wondering," you begin. "But how come I've not had a boyfriend yet? You've not had a girlfriend either, ever... Mitsuri's dating Obanai; Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma are all with Tengen... And- and Shinobu's been seeing that Tamayo. Even my little sister has a boyfriend and I don't..."

Sanemi has frozen up behind you before he continues finishing the braid. "Why are you thinking about this?"

"I wanna love someone, too!" you tell him. "I wanna be loved! Is that so bad? I've never had a single man ever like me. I've never even kissed someone, how am I supposed to even have sex when the day comes? I have no experience and-"

"-You're seriously thinking about sex?" he interrupts, voice a little cold.

"Well, yes, I want a lover, too, and I have no practise! I know you don't either so it's not like you could actually help-"

"-I could," he whispers, mouth suddenly grazing your ear. "It'd be nice, no? Learning with me? We could learn together, it'd be fun." You don't have to look to know his eyes are hot and intense and bloodshot, that rabid grin on his face. "I'll be good to you. I'll help you learn whatever you want, hmm?"

You've entirely stiffened up, pretty eyes blown wide. It's no secret you're head over heels for the man but you didn't think...

"I'll let you think about it," says Sanemi, leaving a wet kiss on your jugular that makes you shiver, and he leaves the kitchen to finish his studying.

Though it takes only till night-time for you to agree and Sanemi gives you that tender smile of his, gently taking your hand and guiding you to his room.

"I knew you'd agree, since you're just the best," he laughs gently as he sits you down on the soft mattress, reaching over to brush some hair from your face. "My darling girl..."

You hadn't known Sanemi could look so sweet, so ravenous; his hunger a bottomless abyss, his love an endless well. He thumbs at your lips.

"Though I'm worried," he croons, suddenly gripping your jaw and making you face him. "You're such a delicate thing, you won't be able to take my cock so quickly. Tch, what a shame."

Your eyes are doe-wide now, blood rushing across your cheeks and making your cunt hot — you've never felt like this in your life. Sanemi... you hadn't expected him to be so filthy with his words immediately.

"That's fine though, I'll help you," he says with a sweet smile, as if sin wasn't clouding his eyes. He leans forward and he looks at you tenderly before capturing your lips with his; it's shy and a little awkward but god, Sanemi is desperate, grabbing your face as he peppers wet, feverish kisses against your lips. Taking your first kiss, your second, third, fourth, fifth...

You don't even realise he's deftly taken off your shirt and unclipped your red, lace bra, allowing your breasts to come spilling out and you whine, shy, trying to cover them up in the eyes of your best friend who only grins but removes your hands gently.

"No, no... You can't be doing that," laughs Sanemi. "I like'em, they're pretty, though that's only expected."

He takes your small hands and covers them with his larger, rough ones. He brings your fingers closer to his shirt, urging you to unbutton them with your own fragile fingertips, grinning as you starts kissing his chest with unsure, intoxicating lips that cause him to moan softly as you take off his shirt.

"So pretty," he coos, rubbing the base of your head as you kiss all the way down to his abdomen. "So good to me, always giving me the best gifts."

"'Nemi, I... 'm scared," you whispers against his skin and the rough pad of his thumb strokes the shape of your brow.

"So am I," he says softly, in that sincere tone you've known since you were young and he gently lifts you up so you're eye level as you both kneel on his bed. He holds your face like it's the moon. "But I trust you, and you trust me, right?"

You nod in his hands and he grins. "Atta girl." Then he's kissing you, languid and slow, keeping a hand on the back of your head so that you can't pull back. His other hand reaches for one of yours as you kiss him, lacing them together, teeth grazing your jaw momentarily as your free hand comes to drag nails against his skin.

Between those slow, sweet kisses from your best friend, you find that he looks so sweet with his wintry, moon-kissed hair from the dim light of your unconcealed window. He freezes, looking at you as though you were radiance, as you trace a finger from his strong forehead to his stronger nose — silvery scars almost glowing under the light as large hands made you shiver as he cupped your breasts, making you whimper under the searing heat of his hands.

Your delicate finger traces down the hollow of his throat and Sanemi's restraint begins to wave, his desire increasing tenfold.

You've been driving him crazy with want since the day he met you at that god forsaken ice-cream truck. His voice comes out rich and dark and thick with insanity, "You are sure about this? I do not want... God, I don't want you to regret this. We will only go as far as you please, only do whatever you want, I swear it."

You give an eager nod and he plants a chaste, lingering kiss against your mouth. You're not stupid, you know this isn't just 'practise', you know so badly what it really is. He loves you, too.

"'Nemi, please, touch me," you whisper.

"Okay, okay," he says with the lilt of murmuring brooks as he puts his svelte lips on your hair once, then twice, before move down to touch your soft stomach, tracing a line down to your belly button as he nips at your hips causing you to let out stuttered, breathy moans of his name.

"Nngh- 'N-Nemi," you say between choked breaths as his finger press against your lower back, almost moulding dimples into it.

"I know, baby, god, I know," he whispers, kissing directly above your womb, and it sends liquid lava — coarse and hot — through your veins, making you gut twist with pleasure. "We'll like this, I promise..."

He presses shaky fingers against your hips and you finally notice that dark, crazed glint in his eyes.

"'M gonna fuck you nice and good, 'm gonna fuck you full, you hear me?" Before you can even answer, he's ripping at your skirt and underwear, chucking them to the side. "I've gotta prep you first though."

You whine at the words, trying to grab at his erection though he stops you with three fingers — catching your wrist. "'Nemi, I- I don't need to be prepped."

"Sweet thing, you gotta be prepped," he says, and he gives you a dry, teasing smile, "I wouldn't be a good friend if I just shoved my cock inside you, dry and raw."

"What're you gonna do?" you ask through short, choppy breaths and he chuckles.

"Let's see..." he says, almost playful but he gives your nipple a sudden squeeze that causes you to jolt in his arms.

He's quick to lie down on the bed, still clothed by his bottom half, and he has you right against his rocky abdomen that is all smooth, supple skin and ridged muscle.

"Ride me," he says, one hand on your hip, rubbing soothing circles against the plump flesh. "Move your hips for me, my girl."

You place your delicate hands on his hardened chest, rippling scars flexing as you begin to shyly move your cunt against him. He hisses softly, cursing under his breath, vulgarities spilling like prayers from his mouth.

"You pretty thing," he whines, holding the sweet fat of your hip in his large hand, guiding you back and forth on his body — he wants to be used like a fucking toy, he doesn't give a shit, it's you for god's sake, you're all he's ever wanted.

His thumb tries to search for that sweet pearl between your legs, he almost panics that he might embarrass himself but you cry out as he brushes a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves. He grins.

"There, baby?" he asks as he begins to swipe at your clit as you ride his abs. Your toes are curling into the sheet as you hump desperately against him, crying out as you feel his bulge nudge against your rear as you move back and forth, nodding deliriously to his question, tears leaking like falling stars out your eyes.

Though it's his fingers that have you coming undone as you squirt over his body deliciously, nectar coating his body like a divine sheet.

You don't even have the chance to recover as he grabs both your hips and lifts you onto his face, you squeal and try to scurry off but his strong, veined arms keep you clamped onto his face.

"Fucking sit," he sneers and you whimper, the sound making Sanemi drunk.

You feel something hot and wet flatten against your folds, his tongue silky and burning as he drags it up and down, inhaling like a man starved. "Always wan'ed to try this," he murmurs into your gorgeous pussy as he laps at it and you let out a high keen.

The sound seems reverberate in his lungs. You're all he fucking needs, wants.

You, and this sweet pussy of yours that's suffocating him in the most sweetest way possible, your hips bucking against him.

"Nngh-! O- oh god, 'Nemi," you cry out, trying to hold onto something as he keeps you firmly planted right atop his pretty face as your juices smear across his jaw and plump lips.

He's practically set you alight and crying with his tongue prodding inside your fluttering cunt, tasting you, nose bumping your gushy clit.

"You're so sweet," he groans against your pussy; the tender, pink muscle of his tongue hard at work as he made you see stars. All that left your panting mouth was feverish cries of his name to the point it was more like you were blabbering random syllables.

When you release onto his tongue, he doesn't waste a single drop — teeth almost gnashing at your cunt in his desperation to have it all inside him.

He gets you off his face and simply kisses you, nice and long, you desperately panting into his mouth, tasting your own nectar on his tongue but he just kisses you like a man starved.

"Baby," he whispers as he kisses the fat of your cheek, suckles on it a little before moving to that lovely curve of your jaw. "Wanna fuck you on my finger, my thighs-" He can barely breathe- "Wanna do it all but let me fuck you full first, hmm? We've practised enough for now, yeah?"

And you're quick to nod along to his frenzied words, causing him to lay you down, kissing your neck sweetly before kneeling on the bed to kick off his boxers.

His cock is a pretty thing ― thick, pale; strong veins across the shaft, an angry, throbbing tip. At least seven inches or so, pearls of precum falling down as he holds it.

"You... Are you ready?" he asks gently. "We can stop now if you want, I don't mind, dumpling."

You freeze, tears welling your eyes. God, you really do love him. Dumpling. Even after all this frantic lust, he looked at you like you were his world, his best friend.

He smiles against your mouth when you kiss him and he keeps at it as he slowly pushes his bulbous head through that first tight ring of muscle that has you crying into his mouth.

"You're doing so well, my sweet girl," he hisses through his teeth as he kisses your neck, pushing in inch-by-inch, all slow and languid in hopes to avoid hurting you but he was inexperienced man, he couldn't help but thrust himself all the way in when he felt you squeeze him so tight.

"See, look, such a good girl, took all of me," he groans, smiling down at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

He begins to drag his cock out and then in, soon enough slamming into you over and over and over as you cry out, toes curling. He holds one of your hands with his, fingers interlacing as he cries out into your neck, too, your body causing every primal instinct in him to become this burning thing.

"F- fuck, y-you think 'm gonna let you- let you go to anyone else after this?" he says as he holds your waist to slam your cunt back into him with force, causing you to let out loud gasps as you keened his name. "You're fuckin' wrong. I'll be the only one to- to see you like this."

He knows he's muttering nonsense but you're so damn pretty as you come undone around his cock, squirting against his abdomen a second time and he's sobbing softly as he cums for the very first time right inside your gummy walls.

"Oh, fuck!" he cries and he starts peppering kisses all over your face. "I love you, I love you, I love you, ever since we were fucking kids, I love you."

He collapses next to you on the pillow, kissing your forehead a last time. "Thank you, baby," he murmurs.

As you catch your breath, Sanemi suddenly asks, "So... when should we get married?"

The question would shock anyone else but you're cute as always.

"I always wanted a Winter wedding!"

[imaginidol]

Jongho: Backstage After-Hours

!!mentions of NSFW!! 18+ !! do NOT interact if you are not comfortable with smut!! as requested, here is a Jongho smut fic for you! This one is also pretty long so be prepared for that :3 IF you are comfortable, you may read more smuts here: hongjoong, san, mingi, yunho, wooyoung. PLEASE feel free to request more if you'd like! I'll get to ALL requests soon!!

The last thing you would've expected of this year was to be screaming your lungs out at a front-row seat for ATEEZ.

The shock overwhelmed you the night that the ATEEZ tickets were released for their tour, and no more than four seconds into the queue, you managed to snag a front-row seat.

Front row. Front. Row. To ATEEZ.

Sure, this meant you'd be working overtime for the next few weeks, but it was a small sacrifice to pay for the unmatched excitement that would await you soon. You've never been so quick to put any purchase like this into your credit card, and now the day finally came and here you were--screaming you rabid lungs out for the boys who made you the happiest person in the world.

Your live-in-the-moment excitement bounced off and influenced the fans around you. Soon enough, your side of the pit was the most fun to visit by the boys. They loved the energy, the fact that you were hopping around and screaming your heart out, singing along to all of their songs, and you were one of the few fans who didn't have a phone up to your face capturing the perfect fancam for the entirety of the 3-hour long concert duration.

Now, if your luck for front-row hadn't been enough to convince you that fate was indeed real, you were surely re-considering it when a security guard briskly walked up to you as you started leaving your seat, asking you to follow him once the concert ended.

Am I in trouble? is all you can think in your head as you nervously walk behind the guard, going over the events of the night that might've caused a misunderstanding.

Maybe they think I'm a sasaeng. Maybe my tickets were a fraud!?

To your surprise, you weren't yelled at or interrogated at all. Instead, a tall, slender woman with a KQ shirt greets you with a smile.

"Before you accept to come backstage and we proceed with anything further, I'll need you to sign this," she hands you a pen and a clipboard with an NDA form for you to read and fill out.

I'm being given an NDA. A Non-Disclosure Agreement. These things only happen in...

You shakily hand back the form with your information and initials signed.

...fanfiction.

The woman takes you towards the back and you quietly admire a multitude of stretching backup dancers, audio and sound engineers, large camera and videography equipment, and so much more.

It's a lot brighter than I ever imagined a backstage to be, you thought, attempting to distract yourself from the impending elephant that would soon ensue.

Finally, you're introduced to Choi Jongho, main vocalist, main dancer, and the infamous maknae of ATEEZ.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Ah, I didn't think you'd agree to come back here," he bows his head, offering you a warmest smile and a water bottle. "I'm Jongho, thank you for coming."

He offers you a seat on a single-seater sofa, closing the door of his dressing room behind him. He sat himself on another single-seater to be closer to you, and now you were practically face-to-face with one of the most beautiful boys to ever cross your existence.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Fucking. Happening.

"I know who you are," you giggle, introducing yourself and offering your warmest smile, ignoring the obvious screaming and fangirling raging on in your head.

"I wanted to meet you backstage because I wanted to tell you that I saw you up front," he smiles, "and I really liked your energy. I wanted to meet you so bad."

"You liked my energy?" you scoff, "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"You wouldn't be too surprised if you knew what it's like from the stage," he smirked. "There's always a camera on you. I don't blame anyone, of course, because you do what you want with what you pay for. But sometimes the crowd is too immersed in their videos that they forget to enjoy the moment. It makes me feel like a robot."

He turns to you, covering his mouth in slight embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to invite you here to listen to me vent."

"No," you giggle, "I totally get it. I enjoyed the moment with you guys too, and I loved seeing you come to my side of the stage when we linked. Sharing interactions like that really made me feel like you guys noticed me, too. You're really great performers."

"Thank you," he smiles.

Several small conversations (and several arm pinches to make sure you weren't dreaming or anything) later, you manage to calm yourself down the more and more you talked with Jongho.

He really is just an ordinary person, just like me.

"Who's your bias?" the boy suddenly asks, leaning back against his chair.

"My bias? Currently you, obviously," you laugh.

"Nah, you're just saying that 'cause I'm right here," he says.

"Fine. My bias currently is Yunho."

"Currently? What, it changes?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, "I can't ever stick to one bias. You're all just so fun to stan."

"Okay," he grins, "we could change it from Yunho to me then, right?"

You grin, covering your mouth as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"How about you?" you poke back.

"Me?"

"Yeah, who's your favorite fan? Is that even a thing?"

He lets out a loud laugh, turning back to you.

"You could be my favorite fan," he smirks.

"You're also just saying that," you smile.

"Can I be honest?"

You cock your head to the side, a curious smile beaming across your face. "Honest? About what?"

"You're the only fan I've asked to come backstage for this tour," he says quietly.

"You're lying," you giggle.

"I'm not," he whispers as a more endearing smile crosses his face. "I think you're also very pretty."

He eyed you steadily now, slow blinking and leaning back against his chair. You couldn't help but think about where this could lead to, if you allowed it.

"Is that why you made me sign an NDA?" you smirk, crossing your legs and leaning against the armchair.

The boy scoffs, looking away in embarrassment. "No, I didn't mean to come off as--"

"Relax," you tease, "I'm just messing with you. I think you're really cute, too. Way cuter in person."

You eye him steadily now, a sly grin meeting his. "Can I be honest now?"

He keeps his eyes locked on you, marveling at the way the apples of your cheeks illuminated your face when you smiled.

"I'd love to put that NDA to good use."

Jongho smiles slowly, relaxing against his chair and man-spreading his legs.

"Come here, then," he whispers.

His expression fades to lust at the sight of you slowly making your way to his lap. One of the many things he loved about you tonight was your outfit. You were wearing a black and white blazer dress with a deep, plunging neckline. An outfit that made your pretty face stand out in a crowd, but also one that implied you were grown enough to fuck.

And man, was he glad that you were initiating it.

You lean over him as he pulls your legs over his lap, grazing his lips gently against yours, closing your eyes as you caressed each other's faces and bodies in unison. As he kisses you slowly, he brings a hand against your thighs, curiously outlining his fingertips over your curves. You bring a hand to his jaw and push further into his mouth, inviting his tongue into yours with each fervent kiss. Jongho glides his hand from your hips to your inner thighs, circling his fingers around your clothed groin. The feel of Jongho's fingers poking at you through your clothes was enough to make you crave for his warmth against your body.

"Jongho," you whisper into him, "let me entertain you tonight."

You begin sliding off his lap and start unbuttoning your dress, taking a few step backs as you slowly and seductively exposed more of your collarbone, shoulders, and breasts. You step out of your dress and fold it neatly on the floor, using it as a cushion for your knees.

Jongho bites his lower lip and brings a hand to cover his mouth to hold back a grunt. Seeing you bend to your knees in front of him was enough to ignite an emerging boner rising deep inside his black sweatpants.

You slowly glide your hands against his hips until you reach the waist of his pants, tugging at them slowly until his boxers were out.

Cute, you think, as you're greeted by a pair of pink AllSaints boxers.

"I ran out of black pairs," is all he can embarrassingly admit, his cheeks growing bright and hot at seeing your smile.

"No," you whisper, "these are so much better."

You pull his boxers down to reveal his long, hardened cock already pleading for your entertainment.

You dampen your lips as you begin stroking the erect member with your hands, pulling soft, deep strokes as the boy reposed against his chair.

He bites his lip harder to hold back a low grunt, his lust for you enticing further at the feel of your warm hands wrapped around him. He exhaled deeper and heavier breaths as you began twisting his member, gently stroking it over and over. Suddenly, he felt the warmth and wetness of your tongue delicately licking against his tip.

The boy reaches a hand to your head, calmly running his fingers through your hair before proceeding to nudge you further, bringing your mouth gingerly around his cock. You obeyed, sucking on him considerately before picking up the pace.

You experimented with your timing for a bit, switching between your hands and your mouth (and sometimes both) wrapped around his throbbing member. The boy's breathing intensified as he began to feel himself on the verge of reaching a climax. He massaged your scalp as he pushed you deeper into him, soft sounds of gagging and choking erupting in the air.

The boy lets out a whimper as he looks down to see you shying away from him, licking your lips and wiping your mouth as you stood up.

"Why'd you--why'd you stop? I.. I was so.."

You grinned, knowing that edging him was part of the entertainment deal you wanted to give him exclusively.

"Are you being entertained? I didn't say I was done," you grin, climbing back on his lap and wrapping your thighs around his cock. You leaned into him, placing your hands over his shoulders as you slowly began riding his dick, throwing your head back as your soft moans progressively got louder. All at once, the tempered boy was also thrusting himself underneath you, desperately wanting to take charge of what was about to come.

And so, when he couldn't hold himself back anymore, he did.

He stood up and carried you towards his vanity mirror, sitting you against the tabletop. Your legs wrapped around his waist, sinking your fingernails deep into his back, gasping as the boy started fucking you. And he was going in hard.

From behind you, he caught sight of himself in the mirror as he fucked you hard, and to his surprise, the reflection in the mirror had aroused him even more. The way your legs were clenched and buckled around his waist, the way you bounced up and down at every protruding thrust, the way your head was leaning into his shoulder as you desperately bit into his blades with hopes of silencing your screams. Now he was going in harder, clutching onto the sides of the desk as the furniture rattled underneath you both.

He turned to face you, sticking his tongue inside your mouth agape. At this point, he was taking full control of you and your body, and all you could do was try to ease the thristing moans repeatedly escaping your lips.

"Fuck," Jongho grunts as he feels himself on the verge of climaxing, and in a sudden instant you find yourself on your back against the floor in an attempt to make you more comfortable.

If only there was a fucking longer couch instead of single ones, he quietly cursed in his head, pulling your legs over his shoulders and mindlessly fucking you on the carpet. While the floor wasn't the most comfortable place to fuck, it had come in great luck as Jongho had managed to finally reach your G-spot.

You tightened your handgrip against the legs of the vanity desk behind you, letting out the last of your cries before feeling the hot release of your orgasm rush through your lower abdomen. You noticed the boy's face scrunch up as he was about to ejaculate inside of you, and then in an instant you felt the rush of his hot cum spilling in and all over your inner thighs, making a mess of the floor beneath you.

"Fuck," he panted, bringing your legs down from his shoulders and wrapping them around his hips instead. You looked in awe as the sweat drops rolled down his forehead, his mouth agape and eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing.

You sat up and placed your hands around his jaw, giving him a quick kiss before he could open his eyes again.

"What was that for?" he smiled tiredly.

"For being a good performer off-stage, too," you smirk.

He laughs, repositioning himself on the floor to where you were sitting across his lap again, his hands wrapped around your waist and your arms around his neck.

"You're a good fan," he says, his eyes softening as a smile crossed your face, "both in a crowd and in private."

You smile, letting him pepper kisses all over your cheek, jaw, and lips.

"Are you gonna look for me when you come back for your next tour?" you say, cocking your head to the side.

"I don't think you believed me when I said you're the only person I've picked from a crowd for this tour," he insists again.

"You're lying, that's why I don't believe you," you tease.

"I'm serious. I mean, I've invited people over before... for my past tours... but none of them have had as much of a colorful personality as yours. You're the first who really stuck out to me in a long time, really. Both on and offstage. I hope you never lose that part of you."

"Awe," you smile warmly, "look at you being so sweet. It makes me kind of want to bias you, now."

"I haven't been able to change your mind from biasing me instead of Yunho?" he furrows his brows in annoyance.

"I don't know yet," you shrug, planting another soft kiss against his cheek.

"Then I guess that leaves me only one option," he grins, giggling into your neck and rocking you gently back and forth, "be my girlfriend one day, so I can make more time to convince you to always choose me."

small pt. 2 coming soon!! (sfw :))

[ahsokryze]

anakin: please don’t be mad :)

obi-wan: i’m not mad, i’m just disappointed.

anakin: no that’s so much worse—please be mad, please be mad—

[whydoifeelthisquiet]

Happy Super Bowl Sunday to all who celebrate! (Grammys day)

[psychwxrdd]

Chapter I

The Collector (1965)

Summary: Rafe Cameron is obsessed with y/n. Unable to make any normal contact, he decides to add her to his "collection" of pretty, preserved objects, in the hope that if he keeps her captive long enough, she will grow to love him.

🎀 - this is a personal adaptation of the classic The Collector, i love the book and the movie as well and i haven't changed practically anything except for the characters. all copyright to John Fowles, i don't own any of the credits or characters, this is just a fanfic on tumblr for my obx girlies!!

also, rafe is non canon, it's just his looks and name to be honest, cause everything else is just loyal to freddie clegg. lmk what yall think about it!

Rafe Cameron's POV.

Whenever she was home on vacation from boarding school, i used to see her almost everyday, as she lived right in front of the Figure 8. I often saw her leaving and entering the house with her sister and, sometimes, with her friends, who i didn't cared about. I was used, when i freed myself for a moment from the files and statistics, to stand at the window, and, through the frost-fogged glass, i observed the street. Then watching her pass by.

It was the best part of my day: Admiring her beauty. My heart always felt waves of love at her sight, i could phisically feel it. At night, at home, i recorded the incident in my journal, initially with an X and, later, when i discovered her name, her initials. I also met her, several times, on the street. One of the times she went to the door of the Public Library, when i stood behind her in a queue. She didn't even looked at me, but I saw her head and her very beautiful hair clearly. I could feel her scent, her sweet, heavenly scent. Only once, just once, before having her as a guest here, i had the privilege of seeing her hair completely down; It was so beautiful, like a mermaid, i had to take a deep breath. She looked just like an angel, what could i do?

I mean... I'm me. Rafe. I'm the bad guy, the most hated person of Outer Banks. Not even my family likes me, what chances did i stood with such a pure creature like her?

I didn't knew it was possible for an angel like her to exist in a filthy earth like ours.

Another time, on a saturday morning, when i didn't had to work and i went to Country Club. She was there. I immediately saw her sitting three seats in front of me, facing me, and so i was allowed to observe her for thirty-five minutes. Seeing her always made me feel as if i were capturing a true rarity, as if she was carefully bringing me closer, silently, to a butterfly with very beautiful, diffuse colors. I always thought of it as something indefinable and rare, as well as refined — not in other words, even the most beautiful ones. Words from an authentic connoisseur. I knew nothing about her when she was still at boarding school, except that her father was a doctor and that, as i heard, her mother drank a lot. I saw her mother once in a store: she had a high-pitched voice and it was obvious that, in fact, she was trouble. Cursing at other customers for a bottle of whine.

I later read in the local newspaper that she had won a scholarship, that she was very brilliant, and that she had a name as beautiful as herself: Y/n. I then learned that she was studying art. That newspaper article was immensely important to me, it was as if we had become acquainted, as if we had suddenly become intimate, even though, of course, we still didn't even knew each other. She didn't knew me. But, from the very first time i saw her i knew that she was the only one for me. I never saw anything so dreamy, so gorgeous before. And i'm not crazy, of course, since I knew it was just a dream, which it would always have been if it weren't for the money. I used to daydream about her, making up stories about me meeting her, admiring her, marrying her, and so on. She painted pictures, and I took care of my collection (in my dreams). She liked me as much as she liked my collection, whose pieces she drew and painted; We worked together in a big, beautiful modern house, in a huge room, with a huge glass wall.

We had local group meetings, where instead of saying nothing, for fear of making a mistake, we were the very popular host and hostess. Y/n was always the most beautiful of them all, and the other men never got tired of admiring her... She was mine. It didn't mattered who wanted her. Y/n was my girl, she would always be.

The only times i didn't have pleasant dreams about her was when I saw her with a certain young, pretentious, noisy man. Blond, a bit smaller than me, from The Cut, probably. I met him once, while waiting to deposit some money, and heard him say: “Give me everything in five notes." The check was only for ten, and the guy thought it was funny. He thought he was cool shit. Well, i saw her get into his van several times and, on those days, she was always very unpleasant towards my colleagues in the office. I then refused to mark her initials in my journal of entomological observations. It was on those days that I allowed myself to have nightmares. She would then cry or kneel before me. Once, I even let myself dream that i punished her for betraying me like that. Maybe that was when it all started...

In one of the sunday newspapers, i saw a large advertisement for a house on the properties for sale page. I hadn't looked for that section, but the ad caught my attention when I turned the page. The title was: "AWAY FROM THE CRAZY CROWD?” Just that. I then read what the advertisement said: Country house, old, privileged, charming situation, large garden, one hour from Kildare, by car, two miles from the nearest village. And so much more. The next morning i got in the car and went to see it by myself. I called the agent and arranged to meet his representative. That's what money gives us. It makes everything easier for us... there are never obstacles. I had expected to find an old house, dilapidated and in a terrible state of repair. There was no doubt that it was old. The exterior was black and white beams and stone slabs. The seller was already there when i arrived. I thought he might be a rude old man, but it turned out he was an well-educated type, making all kinds of not very witty jokes, as if it were not worthy to sell anything - and there was some difference between selling items in a store and selling houses. He immediately displeased me because he was very curious. I think I can still say that i didn't go there just to see if the house was in a suitable location for me, but to have a guest without anyone knowing. What we do next always makes us forget what we did before. The guy wanted to know if the house was just for me. I told him it was for my stepmom. We were already going downstairs, i thought that we had seen everything. I was getting ready to tell him that the house wasn't quite what i wanted, that it was too small, to make him feel even worse when he told me that we had already seen everything except the cellar and the basement. So, there was a basement?

We had to go through the back, where there was a door next to the kitchen door. We went down some very dark stairs. The lights were off, of course, but he had a flashlight. The basement was very cold and damp, being so far from the sun. The walls had been whitewashed a long time ago, and the lime had begun to fall off, giving way to mold that accumulated in the dampest places. The cellar continued throughout the house, as he told me, and there was another cellar, a few steps below, to which I was led through a small door. It was even bigger than the previous one having a lower, arched ceiling, like the basements that sometimes exist under churches. “The ideal place for orgies,” he said.

"What is this cellar for?" I asked him, ignoring the fucking stupid comment. He replied that it was thought to be because the house was so far from everything and because in the past it was necessary to store large quantities of food and other reserves. It was even possible that it had been a secret chapel of the Catholic Church. Well, we return to the surface and go out into the garden. When he closed the door, it was as if that basement had ceased to exist. It was as if there were two worlds. And that's what it has been. There are certain days when I wake up in the morning thinking it was all a dream, until i return to the basement.

The salesman looked at his watch.

"I'm interested," — I told him, — "very interested."

I was so nervous that he looked at me with a surprised expression. The man said that he had to go get another client who was also interested in the house, and i told him that i would stay there in the garden and think for a while, to be able to make the final decision. It was a very pleasant garden, with the back part covered in lucernes. Ideal plant to attract butterflies. The field behind the house extends to a hill. To the east, on both sides of the road, the woods extend almost to the town. To the west, more fields. The nearest house is a mile away, over the hill. On the south side it was very beautiful. Despite being somewhat hidden by the trees in the garden and the fence that surrounds it. The garage is excellent.

I quickly got into the habit of closing the garden gate. It was, in reality, nothing more than a little door, but it had a lock. Although i still saw some people peeking through the fence, the local people soon realized that it was better to leave me alone. I was finally alone, and only then was i able to dedicate myself to work.

I used to do a certain number of housework, which my dad had taught me. So, i was able to decorate the basement room very nicely, although saying so seems vain on my part. After adding several layers of felt, i covered in white, which went very well with the pink walls. I furnished it with a bed and a chest of drawers, a table, chairs, etc. The small bathroom that had already been installed by the firefighters was separated from the bedroom by a partition, the entrance to which was covered by a beautiful screen. I also made shelves myself and filled them with lots of art, porcelain dolls, books and novels, to try to give that underground room a princess, Y/n look, which I finally achieved. I didn't risk putting pictures on the walls, as i thought her taste must be very advanced. What was her favorite movie? Her favorite band? I was dying to know. I wanted to know every single thing about her, i wanted her to tell me. To cry in front of me and confess her deepest fears, to laugh in her purest way.

One of the biggest problems was, of course, the issue of doors and noise insulation. I therefore had to make a heavy oak door to separate the two sections of the cellar. I must say this was my hardest work. The first one I made didn't work, and I had to make another one, this one much better. No man could broke into that door, let alone a small, fragile girl like her. It was two inches thick, completely lined with metal on the inside, so she couldn't try to pierce the wood, and it was no joke getting it on the hinges. On the outside, I adapted an open closet with shelves, where i placed some tools, so that, if someone entered the first cellar, the door would be disguised, and no one would even notice that there was another room lower down. Everything was quite perfect and, for greater peace of mind, i installed a small electrical alarm system, in case someone wanted to enter the first cellar during the night.

And despite those preparations, i had never thought all this time that the thing was serious. I used to say, talking to myself, that I would never carry out that project: that it was all a simulation. And i would never have had that idea if it weren't for all the time and money i had. In my opinion, many people who may seem normal now would also have done what i did, or similar things, if they had been given the time and money to do so. I mean, doing the things they want to do, even though they know they shouldn't do them. An old teacher of mine always said that power corrupts man. And money is power.

Another thing i did: I bought a lot of clothes for her. Colors that I had always seen Y/n wear. Makeup, everything i knew she would love. I mean, i thought so. I just wanted my darling to have everything. I took every precaution possible and imaginable.

I got used to going and sitting in Y/n's room, trying to figure out if she could escape from there. I had to make sure she would never leave, i had created the perfect dollhouse for her. Did she liked butterflies? I hope so.

tags: @h34rtsformilli 💕

[hunter-gatherer-11]

Fight Me For His Health (Avatar: The Way Of Water)

This is the only picture I could find, for some reason, of both of them hurt. Please, though, imagine them as their real selves, not human like in the picture, okay?

The second photo is the room mentioned with Lo'ak.

Prompt: Let's pretend that on the SeaDragon, which is the tulkun hunting ship, Neteyam does get shot, but let's say he survives (because, as always, in my stories, he lives). Lo'ak, who was being...erm, tortured (A/N: Because your author wants as much angst as possible) freaks out and basically annihilates the soldiers for hurting his brother, his protector.

This gets bloody. And violent, like, really quickly, so please be warned.

I believe I wrote a scene/one shot where Neteyam lost control and like...tore someone's throat out. Now, we're going to see Lo'ak's way of doing it, which is almost the same but...well, just read. GORE WARNING!

*********************************************************************

Third Person POV

Neteyam knew his siblings and Tsireya were in trouble. He felt it, the same way Neytiri had once known without being there that Kiri had broken her arm when she was ten from falling out of a tree and had run to get her. He knew it the same way he knew Lo'ak would run to warn Payakan about the charges. He knew it the same time that his siblings and Tsireya didn't return home, and he had to go get them.

He knew it, deep in his bones, and he was going to fix it.

Lo'ak's Perspective

The ship, called the SeaDragon, was a tulkun hunting ship commandeered by Miles Quaritch, Spider's real dad and Jake's enemy since the Pandoran War fifteen years ago. Tsireya and Tuk were tied with restraints slapped to the bars. Tuk growled, tugging uselessly at them, but it was no use.

Quaritch stopped his Recom solider as the girl with tattoos over her blue skin went to tie Lo'ak up. "Put him in the Room." He snarled, his gold eyes filled with hate. Lo'ak glared right back as he was marched away to a white room with only a table in it. Lo'ak turned, trying to suddenly attack, and was backhanded so hard he fell to the floor, groaning in pain, glaring. The Recom woman just snickered, shutting the door and disappearing.

Warning: Trigger For Torture!

He sat in there for ten minutes, wondering what was happening, what was going to happen, when the door opened again. Quaritch bent, coming in the doorway, and Lo'ak hissed, backing up. Quaritch didn't flinch.

He carefully walked to the table, as close as he dared to get. "Where's your father and mother?" Quaritch asked. "Kä ne kllte, teylupil! Kalweyeveng!" Lo'ak hissed, which was Na'vi for Go to the ground, teylu-face! Son of a bitch! He glared hotly as Quaritch's face twisted. "I don't think you want to test me, kid." He snarled, but Lo'ak wasn't budging. "Kalweyev--" He didn't get to finish before Quaritch hit him, so hard his ears rang, as his head snapped back, slamming against the glass behind him. Lo'ak cried out, knees crumpling, and heard Quaritch snarl, "Where are they?!" "Fuck off!" Lo'ak shouted, in English, and was rewarded with a sharp kick to the ribs, making him yelp. Quaritch yanked him up by the base of his queue, making Lo'ak scream, clawing at his hands, but Quaritch wasn't letting go. "I have no qualms about killin' a bunch of blue rats," Quaritch spits. "Don't make me." He dropped Lo'ak, and Lo'ak coughed, groaning softly.

Neteyam POV

Neteyam was on an ilu, talking to Aonung and Rotxo. "They must've been caught," Rotxo says, his blue eyes wide with fear. "What will they do?" "It doesn't matter!" Aonung snarled, ears flat. "That is my sister, we are going!" he shouted.

Neteyam shared a look with Rotxo. "I am going, for that's my family." Neteyam whispered. Rotxo's eyes hardened like blue gems, and he climbed on his ilu. "Stick together," he said, which was a phrase often used by the Sully kids. Neteyam blinked, surprised that he'd picked it up, but then all three turned, racing for sea.

Back To Lo'ak...

!! Torture warning, tried not to make it too descriptive !!

He was in the room still, but was by no means able to currently rise. That woman, the one with the tattoos, seemed to love hurting him under Quaritch's orders. "Just don't kill him" was all Quaritch had said before leaving, and she hadn't, just beat him to the point he was tired of moving, even to twitch his fingers. She smirked down at him now. "What's wrong, baby?" She giggled. "Too tired?"

His hiss was like a tiny puff of air, not threatening at all. She snorted, kicking him in the face. His head snapped back, but he didn't even have the energy to scream anymore. He could only lay there, bleeding and broken. His breath rattled in his chest, and he found himself thinking of home, of his mom and Dad, no matter how rocky their relationship was. He found himself thinking of baby Tuk, of Kiri in the jungle, asleep as the wood sprites drifted over her. Of Neteyam, telling him not to go down to the battlefield as they scouted, and he wondered where Tsireya was. Is she hurt? Are they hurting her? But he didn't---couldn't---think of that too long, because any thought of her in pain hurt him, too.

The woman's boot landed painfully on his ribs, and this time, he screamed, writhing, as something snapped. "I'm talking to you!" She shouted over his cries. He turned, trying to be fast, and sank his teeth into her ankle. She yelped, her fist landing on his face, three times before she could make him let go, and her hits were not soft. Fresh blood spilled from his nose and lips until he was forced to let her go. In retaliation, she became reckless and just started kicking the shit out of him, and he heard several sickening snaps before Quaritch was shouting at her to stop. "He's no use to me dead, Z!" He yelled. She was breathing hard, eyes flat and dark gold, her ankle gushing blood. "Out." Quaritch growled, and she stormed out, muttering under her breath. Quaritch merely glanced at Lo'ak's broken and bruised body before leaving. Lo'ak wasn't sure how much more he could take.

NETEYAM

Neteyam pushed his ilu as close as it could get to the hull, slipping his queue from the neural queue of his ilu. Aonung and Rotxo did the same. "Follow me, do not make a sound," Neteyam hissed, reaching for the side of the low ship. Aonung and Rotxo climbed after him, all three boys slipping behind huge crates as someone walked by. "Yeah," The voice, a woman, was saying. "Hey, that blue boy?" She laughed, and Neteyam, Aonung, and Rotxo shared a glance. Lo'ak? Rotxo mouthed, and Neteyam nodded.

"What about him?" A male voice asked, slightly deep and raspy. "Well, after I got done with him, he was more red than blue." Cold laughter. Neteyam's brain seemed to short-circuit. He was more red than blue...red is blood...

What has she done to my brother? He snarled in his head.

The two voices faded, two blue smears walking inside, and Neteyam saw them: the girls, Tuk and Tsireya, bawling against the railing, and he was shook. Tuk looked fine, physically, if not a little shaken up, but he was the eldest brother. He noticed a scratch on her face, a bruise on her cheek. If that wasn't enough, Tsireya's cheek was covered in blood from what looked like a knife slash, and she had bruises on her throat, arms, and face.

Aonung saw red.

"Don't!" Rotxo shouted, but it was too late.

With a shriek, Aonung threw himself at the nearest Recom, fingers spasming into claws and grabbing the guy around the throat before he could even squeak. Both toppled to the ground, and surprisingly, no one came running as Aonung slammed the guy's face into the deck, once, twice---crack! Snap!---three times before dropping him. "Nung!" Tsireya cried, tears falling down her cheeks as the three boys rushed over.

"Tuk-Tuk," Neteyam breathed, sawing with his blade at the restraints with his knife. He gulped, "Where's Lo'ak?"

She looked at him, her eyes full of tears, breaking Neteyam's heart. "T-they said the wh-white room..." She bawled. Neteyam glanced at Rotxo. "Can you get her to safety?" He asked sharply. Rotxo nodded. "Come," He told Tuk, who obediently climbed in his arms, and he slung her on his back as Aonung, helping Tsireya, called the ilu. As the creatures appeared, Aonung whispered, "Come back, okay?" He nodded once at Neteyam and helped his sister down, then joined her. Rotxo climbed over the railing carefully, Tuk glancing at Neteyam once more before she was gone.

Neteyam snuck through the ship, ducking behind crates and whatever was available when someone came around. He kept his ears and eyes open, moved as silently as possible, and wasn't caught, luckily. He made it around a bend and saw the white room, through two doorways, which made him curse. He'd have to either risk it and sneak in, or wait until the two Avatars currently in there left. But...he couldn't see Lo'ak. Where is that skxawng? He wondered.

Then, he saw him, and his world stopped, broke, and crashed. Lo'ak was being yanked up by he queue, which made Neteyam wince just watching it, and his face was bloody, bruises coloring his skin like a fucking ink splatter of blood and different shades of black, blue, and purple...and red, of course. His left arm looked broken, and his eyes were slipping shut. "Let's go," A heavily tattooed Na'vi Recom said, and the man dropped Lo'ak. Even out here, Neteyam could hear the thud his body made, and it made him cringe away. The Recoms exited the white room, stalking down the hall, laughing, like they didn't just beat the shit out of a kid with his (pissed, protective) brother watching. The moment they were gone, Neteyam bolted inside...

And nearly fell backwards, shocked, eyes wide. Blood covered the floor in thin streaks, clearly done by Lo'ak, presumably, dragging himself across the floor the way he was now, without even turning, like he was terrified Neteyam was one of the Recoms come to hurt him. "Lo!" He shouted, and Lo'ak went tense, then suddenly limp, and Neteyam heard him crying against the floor.

Neteyam rushed over, hands fluttering, unsure of where the fuck he could touch Lo'ak without hurting him. "They're...coming back," Lo'ak whispered, and glanced up. Neteyam recoiled at the bruises on his baby brother's face. "Just...just go. Quaritch won't let them kill me, not without Dad." "I'm not leaving you!" Neteyam screamed.

A door slammed. "There he is!" He turned, snarling.

Quaritch raised his hands. "Easy, kid. I won't kill you or your brother, alright?" He grinned, but Neteyam wasn't fazed. He stood, muscles tense, and as Quaritch took a step forward, hissed, to the point where Quaritch blinked, stepping back again. "Alright, alright," He said, raising his hands. "I get it, don't come close." He nodded. "I can do that. However, I need him." He smirked. "Your father's here. I made a deal, and he accepted: his sons for his life." No. Neteyam didn't want to believe it. But that was his dad, he'd do anything for his sons. Even die? What about Mom, or Tuk and Kiri and me and Lo'ak? He wondered. "Let us go, then." "Ah, it's...not exactly that easy. But!" He said as Neteyam's ears started flattening. "I can tell you, the moment he steps onboard, you're free." Neteyam paused. He wanted to rip this guy's fucking throat out, and it grew stronger when he glanced at Lo'ak, crumpled, bruised, bloody, and broken, in the corner, eyes foggy. "Don't, Teyam..." He whispered, the energy to speak leaving him. Neteyam glanced back at Quaritch. "Then let us go." Quaritch waved a hand. "I will. Don't fight," He said as four Recoms came in, two grabbing Lo'ak and two restraining Neteyam. He stayed still, knowing it would be worse, at least right now, to fight.

ON THE DECK

Neteyam saw them first: The Olo'eyktan, Tonowari, with his mate, Ronal. Then, his mother, her eyes hard and dark gold. His heart jumped into his throat, seeing Kiri beside her, her hand on her knife. Thankfully, Rotxo, Tuk, Aonung, and Tsireya were not there. "Mama," He heard Lo'ak wheeze, and it broke Neteyam's heart.

"Jake," Quaritch called. "Come on down," He laughed. Neteyam saw his father kiss his mother, saw him kiss Kiri's head, then come in on a skimwing. "NO!" He screamed suddenly, thrashing. "No, Dad, don't---Ah!" He yelped as something slammed into his face, knocking him to the ground. He was yanked up immediately by his queue, making him scream in pain until that was all he could hear. "Stop, stop it!" Jake was suddenly on the deck. Looking at Lo'ak, Neteyam realized, and he was horrified. "What have you done to my son?" Jake breathed, his eyes darkening. "What I had to." Quaritch snarled.

"Dad..." Lo'ak mumbled, his lips swelling from the bruises. The tattooed lady holding him snarled, "Shut up," her (actually pretty) blue face twisted in rage. Lo'ak ignored her. "Dad, I'm sorry--" He yelped, high and piercing, as the woman slammed her pistol into his already busted nose. That was the last straw for Neteyam.

He shrieked, a weird sort of scream that belonged to a demon, and twisted as the man holding him tried to regain a grip. He swung without really looking, hearing a sickening crunch as chaos exploded around the ship. Jake lunged, the other Na'vi came running (or gliding on ilu and whatnot), and the battle begun. He fought his way towards Lo'ak, who was crumpled on the ground, eyes shut. No, no, please, Eywa, don't take him, Neteyam thought, blindly punching someone else. He heard a sudden shriek and turned, seeing his dad with a knife in his shoulder.

Neteyam was tackled before he could open his mouth.

It was the tattooed lady, snarling as her hands wrapped around his throat. Jake was still in a struggle with three others, the other Na'vi distracted and Lo'ak out for the count, so he was on his own. He choked, tail slapping thickly against the metal deck, and scrabbled for his knife sheath, finally unclipping it and yanking out his blade, but she saw that, smacking his hand. Neteyam's knife slid over the deck, rattling against the metal, and was flung over the side of the ship, lost in the sea. His heart ached almost as much as his lungs. His grandmother, Mo'at, had given him the knife, saying she was proud of him. It was like she was gone, now, too.

The woman laughed, her canines flashing in the sun. "After I kill you, baby blue," She mocked. "I'm killing the other." Her gold eyes flicked to Lo'ak, still unmoving, and that. Was. It. He screamed, his hands flying to her face, and dug his nails into her flesh, her cheeks, the only thing he could think of to get her far enough away. She howled in pain, letting go to clasp her cheeks, and Neteyam, moving on survival instinct, lunged, his mouth open, and sank his canines into her throat.

Her blood spurted from her neck, where Neteyam's canines were lodged up to the gums, and he wasn't letting go. She screamed, gurgling, as he pushed her back, teeth still firm, and jerked back, tearing her throat open, blood gushing from her neck all over Neteyam's mouth and chin, down his chest, and dripping to the metal deck like water. She gasped, gurgling wetly, eyes wide, blood staining both her and Neteyam, before she seized and went still. He was breathing hard, blood covering most of his front and his hands, and turned, eyes wild. Kiri, Jake, Neytiri, and Ronal were staring at him, and he wasn't totally sure if they were horrified or not. "Holy, shit," Kiri said. A groan interrupted them, and Lo'ak blinked, coming to. "Lo--" Neteyam froze, about to run over, but...but he was covered in blood. He couldn't see his brother. He backed up, eyes on Lo'ak, who was shaking his head. Kiri, always so understanding, put a hand on his arm, moving past him to Lo'ak. Lo'ak was staring at Neteyam, and Neteyam...he felt, for the first time in his life, like a monster. Like the demon everyone thought his father was. "I'm so sorry," He whispered, his voice loud like a gunshot in the silence. Lo'ak stood with Kiri's help and stumbled over. He kneeled, grasping a dead recom's shirt and ripping it in half before his fingers, five instead of four, touched Neteyam's cheek, soft as a feather, and wiped the blood away, all without a word. Finally, he spoke. "You're my brother, my tsmukan. Don't act like I'm scared of you," Lo'ak snapped, throwing the cloth, now stained red, to the side. "Oel ngati kameie, tsmukan."

"Oel ngati kameie," Neteyam whispered, tears filling his eyes. *******************************************************************

Glossary: Tsmukan = Brother. Oel ngati kameie = I See You.

[putting-it-into-parc]

jealousy, jealousy - chapter 4: those eyes

f1 fanfic: lestappen (max x charles)

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the grid arrives in melbourne, and max and charles are going through it. they each decide, independently, that they want to get in on some exercise-induced endorphins. and immediately run into each other at the gym.

chapter 4: those eyes

This was the least relaxing off-week Max had ever experienced. Most of the grid had arrived in Melbourne a week in advance to adjust to the time zone and weather, and were making the most of the last vestiges of Australian summer. But Max could not for the life of him shake what had happened last week in Saudi.

“Let me go,” Charles’ angry voice rang in his head. And then his own, “I don’t know why I grabbed you like that."

He didn’t, really. All he knew was that as the paramedics lifted Carlos into the ambulance, he was seized with this feeling, that Charles would run after him.

And why would you care? He didn’t. Shouldn’t. God, Carlos was Charles’ teammate. Wouldn’t Max feel concerned if Checo suddenly passed out during grid breakfast?

Not to the point that I’d forfeit the race. That was it. Max wasn’t afraid of losing Charles, watching him slip through his fingers. He was disturbed by the fact that Charles would give up the race to wait uselessly in a hospital. But that realization didn’t make him feel any better.

Normally, Max would default to his sim racing rig. But even that didn’t seem like it would be enough to quell his anxiety.

His eyes fell onto his ill-used black duffel.

Max had never been all that passionate about working out. He wasn’t particularly athletic like some of the other guys on the grid—visions of Charles viciously returning Nando’s serve on the padel court and Carlos jogging easily with Danny down the track while Max could barely breathe came to mind—and personally believed an hour on iRacing would probably get him closer to a WDC than an hour pumping iron.

So he figured if he felt the urge to exercise voluntarily, he should probably capitalize on it. Who knew, maybe all those workout junkies would be onto something when they harped about endorphins or whatever.

Even though it was past 9, Charles was itching to get in a quick lift, maybe a spin as well. He quickly changed into a pair of lightweight shorts. He debated wearing a shirt but doubted anyone would be in the gym at this hour anyway.

George Russell style, he thought, laughing to himself.

The gym as vacant, just as he’d hoped. He started on the bike, wedging his buds into his ears and queueing up some Hans Zimmer. It felt so good to just dissociate, vaguely aware only of the sweat starting to trickle down his back. The dramatic climax of a song hit and Charles stood up out of the saddle to ride it out—

—and almost fell off his bike when he saw that he was not in fact alone at all.

Max ambled through the doors of the gym, and judging by the looks of the bag slung over his shoulder, he’d only just gotten there.

Charles pulled an earbud out and continued cycling, sneaking peeks at Max but having trouble thinking of what to say to him. If anything. Maybe Max was in another touchy mood and would ignore Charles or see him and leave. The thought made Charles feel…strangely empty. Not as relieved as he would have thought.

He needn’t have worried. Max, spying Charles on the bike, made a beeline towards him first.

“Charles,” he nodded.

“Hey, Max.” Charles wiped his brow with the towel he’d slung over the handlebars. “Here for a lift?”

“Ah, yeah, I was thinking so.”

“Want to spot each other?” Charles dared.

“Sure.”

Charles climbed off the bike and waved Max over to the bench. “I was going for a push day, you good with that?”

Max nodded and loaded the barbell. Charles placed his hands under the bar as Max pressed. His hands brushed Max’s forearms by accident, and Max’s eyes flashed up at him. Charles’ stomach lurched. Calm down right now, he told himself sternly.

Did Charles suddenly think he was George Russell or something? Max rolled his eyes when he saw him pedaling shirtless, bobbing his head to whatever sadboy soundtrack was blasting through his earbuds. Beads of sweat rolled down his neck and collected in the crevice formed by his traps and collarbone. To be fair, his pecs put Max’s to shame…and so did the rest of his chiseled torso. He should’ve been better about going to the gym.

And he just might. He didn’t remember lifting ever being so enjoyable. When his triceps trembled on the last rep, Charles’ tanned forearms rescued him from the bar. And after a set that left him totally gassed, he relished seeing Charles smile brightly, and the feeling of his warm hand clapping him on the back.

His arms felt like jelly, but he wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet.

“Mate,” he groaned. “I’m gonna hit the sauna.” He wondered if Charles would join him. Was it weird that he was hoping he would?

“I’m so finished,” Charles agreed. He slung his towel over his shoulder. “Can I come with?”

Max held open the door for him in response.

The gym sauna was actually quite nice. Dark panels of cedar lined the walls and floor, and nozzles mounted to the ceiling intermittently subjected them to blasts of eucalyptus-scented steam.

Charles stretched luxuriously out on a bench, extending his muscular legs and leaning back onto his hands behind his head. “Ahhh,” he sighed. “I feel like I never see you here.”

Max swallowed. “Dunno, I guess the gym’s not really my scene.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen the light yet, mate. I wasn’t really into it either, but Carlos”—Max stiffened at the name—“is a total gym rat. He converted me.”

“What?” Max asked. “Aren’t you a sports guy?”

Charles giggled. Like, actually giggled. “No way mate, that’s a new side of me. When I wasn’t karting as a kid, the other sports I played were piano and chess.”

This was news to Max. He always felt like a nerd compared to a lot of the other guys. You would never know that about Charles, with his tanned abs and sculpted shoulders and his sun-bleached curls. Max had felt self-conscious the second he’d taken off his shirt as they’d entered the sauna. He was pretty certain that he was so pale it was blinding. Not that he could tan even if he wanted—as soon as his epidermis so much as glimpsed the sun, it decided to go bright red. Bonus points for blisters.

Max stole a glance at Charles. His eyes were closed. There was a freckle right below his right eye that Max had never noticed before. His gaze roamed over Charles’ thick eyebrows, finely shaped nose, neat stubble, down to his lips, the upper one starting in two perfect peaks and curving up into an impish smile. He thought about how the guys regularly gave him shit for being a pretty boy, the legions of girls who fangirled over Charles’ looks.

Girls, Max had seen plenty of pretty girls before. But the Monégasque dozing in the sauna next to him…pretty simply couldn’t do it justice.

Charles’ eyes fluttered open, and Max suddenly remembered that, as a child, he’d bike along the Meuse river in Maaseik. Ninety-nine days out of a hundred, the river was so dark gray it was almost black, but every so often the sun would make its presence known on a spring day, and the river would turn a brilliant azure, fading to green at the banks where the water reflected the trees. He might as well have been right back in Maaseik, gazing at that river. He was happy then. He felt like he couldn’t ask for anything else right now.

Charles must have seen something in Max’s face, because the tops of his ears turned pink. Max felt his own cheeks flush in response. Without so much as a warning, Charles sat up and leaned forward until his face was barely three inches from Max’s. Max felt his stomach somersault, the way it always did before rounding a steep turn. His eyes searched Charles’ desperately, looking for any sign of what he was thinking, what he was going to do.

Then, light as a feather, Charles gently touched a spot on Max’s chin. It tingled; he barely registered that it stung ever so slightly.

“You cut yourself,” Charles said quietly.

Max’s heart hammered so hard, he was convinced Charles could feel the blood rushing through his jaw. Or just see his entire body quaking in time to the beat.

“I…yeah, I must’ve. Shaving,” Max managed, hoarsely.

Charles withdrew his hand. Max fought the overwhelming urge to grab it before it was gone forever. He felt utterly lost in his eyes.

“When I was a kid,” he heard himself say, “Jos took me cycling by this river. In Belgium. I was too young to go karting.”

Charles said nothing, but held his gaze.

“Most days, the river was grey,” Max rambled on, feeling faint. “But every so often, it would be sunny outside, and the water…the water was so blue. And green and brown and all the colors. Like—like your eyes.”

Max saw that Cupid’s bow lift in a tiny, devastating smile. But then it spoke.

“You live in Monaco now. Next time we’re back home, I want to take you to La Mala on my boat. I don’t know why we haven’t been yet.”

Max’s heart threatened to take a flying leap right out of his chest.

Charles continued slowly, “When we get to the horizon, you look in the mirror. Maybe my eyes look like your river, in Belgium. But yours…” His voice dropped a full octave lower. “Yours are where the sky meets the sea.”

He pulled away abruptly, stood up, and left only a trail of wet footprints as he exited the sauna. Max stared dumbly at what was left of Charles, not at all sure if what just happened was real.

It was all Charles could do to not break out into a sprint as soon as he closed the sauna door behind him. His body felt like it had been braised; every inch of his skin felt like it could erupt into flames at any moment. Maybe the sauna had quite literally scrambled his brains. He could not believe he had just told Max Verstappen that his eyes reminded him of the fucking ocean. And he found it even harder to believe that his own had inspired such a comparison on Max’s end.

George’s voice echoed in his head. “He was giving me these eyes…”

No. No no no. This could not be happening. He could absolutely not be thinking about leaving his hand on Max’s jaw, leaning in, letting their lips brush. Except he knew, sitting in that sauna, that was all he wanted to do.

Charles turned the corner to the lockers and promptly slammed into Max, who had replaced his shirt and had his shoes dangling by the laces in one hand.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “I am so sorry.”

Max, at least, looked equally perturbed. “No, that was my bad, I didn’t see you—”

Charles was sure his face was positively maroon. Maybe even his neck. “Uh, well, nice working out with you,” he fumbled lamely.

“Yeah. Yeah, uh, thanks for spotting me. I think I might come to the gym more.”

“You should,” Charles said emphatically.

Max smiled at him, genuinely smiled, and Charles felt like someone had pumped his head full of helium. “Well, see you around.”

“Yeah, see you.” Charles pulled on his own shirt and slipped into his slides. He turned to leave.

“Wait, Charles.” Max called.

Charles stopped short.

“I don’t know if you really meant it, about boating in Monaco,” Max said from behind, his voice betraying the slightest crack. “But if you did, I think it would be nice to see La Mala together.”

notes: i'm not gonna lie guys i screamed a little writing that last line i am unwell the boys are back is officially chapter 3 and has been labelled as such. this is a continuation of that chapter.

tensions will be boiling next chapter. you have been warned. >:)

also, i have been made aware of something called a taglist (tumblr newbie, sorry), so please feel free to reply on any of the chapters if you want to be included on it!! i never thought anyone would read any of this tbh so...v grateful for those of you who've enjoyed the ride so far :')

taglist @fangirl-dot-com

[lindwurmkai]

hey, have you heard that pillowfort has ✨ drafts ✨ now? (as in, the ability to save your posts as drafts.) they're still working on the queue feature (update: it's done!), but drafts are a big step forward!

in case you missed it so far, pillowfort is like a cross between tumblr and dreamwidth/livejournal, with a simplified dashboard reminiscent of old school tumblr and some classic livejournal features such as communities, threaded comments, and the ability to make individual posts followers-only or mutuals-only.

what are communities? basically, central hubs for posts about any subject you want that, unlike hashtags, can be moderated. they may have rules, such as "[subject matter] must be tagged" for example. you can post directly to a community or reblog existing posts to it!

since the site is currently experiencing some financial trouble, i thought i'd help out by spreading the word once again.

edit: the fundraiser was a success! crisis averted! i knew we could do it :D

why you should give pillowfort a chance:

no ads

no venture capitalist funding

no spying on the users

completely free to use except for optional premium features

nsfw is allowed except for sexual depictions of minors. if you're unsure what exactly that means, their tos may help

communities and the privacy controls mentioned above are excellent features

great community, low drama compared to other websites (so far)

the site's features themselves encourage genuine connection and good-faith conversation over endless "discourse"

every blog can automatically be filtered by original posts only or reblogs only

reasons not to join:

if you enjoy algorithmic social media. there is no algorithm at all

if you want to post or look at machine-generated art. they're still finalising the wording and personally i hope some exception will be made for models trained on ethically sourced images, but basically an anti-AI rule is in the works (update: finished!)

if you cannot live without reblog additions (reblogging with comment). all discussions on a pillowfort post take place in the comments section, and only your own followers see your tags. this has its pros and cons for sure! a similar feature to scratch that itch may be implemented in the future, but it will never be exactly like on tumblr.

if you need everything to be an app. the website works fine in a mobile browser and a progressive web app will hopefully be released soon (basically it's like an app in your browser and on mobile these can be added to the homescreen like real apps i think? they have push notifications!), but there's not going to be a native app available through official app stores due to the restrictions of those stores.

other factors to consider:

yes, the userbase is still small. depending on your interests, activity may be very slow. but we can change that! and on the plus side, reblogging your post to a community is a good way to easily get more eyes on it; way more effective than simply adding tags imo

the site culture is a bit different than on tumblr. many people read everything that's been posted since the last time they were online and don't follow more users/communities than they can keep up with. it's still somewhat lacking in shitposts and heavy on "essays" but don't be afraid to post whatever 😅

there are no blog themes like we have them on tumblr as yet, but you can customise your blog's colours and use html/insert links and images in your blog description

likes literally do nothing except to let OP know you enjoyed their post. you can't look at a list of all your likes. beware!

the staff is small and development is slow. some highly anticipated planned features other than the aforementioned queue include: - multi-account management - dashboard filters/reading lists - post bookmarking (since likes don't work that way) but we don't know how soon any of those will be implemented.

there is a user-developed browser extension (well, a userscript) called tassel available that adds additional features much like tumblr's beloved xkit :)

✨ okay, so how do i sign up? ✨

if you're interested but confused by the sign-up process or still under the impression that you need to pay to sign up (false), i'll put some clarifications and invite codes under the read more below. plus a note on donating, premium features, the paypal issue etc.

in a nutshell:

it's free

signing up without an invite code is possible, but you may have to wait a short while - supposedly less than an hour atm. just submit your email to the waitlist

if you don't feel like waiting, you can either use an invite code from an existing user or pay $5 to sign up instantly

every user gets plenty of invite codes and we're all willing to hand them out at the drop of a hat. they're really not hard to come by

some invites to get you started (just click the link):

invite 1 ▪ invite 2 ▪ invite 3 ▪ invite 4 ▪ invite 5

invite 6 ▪ invite 7 ▪ invite 8 ▪ invite 9 ▪ invite 10

invite 11 ▪ invite 12 ▪ invite 13 ▪ invite 14 ▪ invite 15

invite 16 ▪ invite 17 ▪ invite 18 ▪ invite 19 ▪ invite 20

i'll try to periodically check if any have been used and cross those out.

...paypal issue?

ok so paypal doesn't like working with sites that allow nsfw. as a result, you need a credit card in order to donate to pillowfort, buy one of those insta-registration keys, or subscribe to premium features*. i personally happen to have a credit card and would be willing to help out anyone who trusts me enough to send the money to me via paypal, but i realise chances are only my friends will do this.

some users are currently organising various activities for the purpose of letting people who only have paypal contribute to the site's survival. it's not super relevant for new users and won't get you access to premium features, but i thought i'd mention it anyway in case someone loves the concept of the site so much they want to support it immediately. a fundraising community has been created to collect posts of that nature!

*premium features are strictly limited to two categories of things:

fun little extras that no one truly needs

higher image upload limits, because obviously big images take up bandwidth and are therefore a reason for increased costs

you will never need to pay for vital accessibility features or anything of the sort. :)