#its the homesickness and the. wind.

[transgaysex]

my brother is homesick 😭

[filmsnroses]

going to downtown this weekend to buy some fall candles 🤎 now that the weather is getting cooler, its been so much more nice~  

[quinzzelx]

Shadows and Starlight

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Mor return from a long mission on the Continent. Nine Months have passed since your departure and you couldn't wait to reunite with your best friend, a best friend you'd had a crush on for centuries. Only that Azriel wasn't there when you returned home. He would only return on Starfall.

Part 02

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: A little spice at the end there. But honestly just a little! Otherwise Fluff, Reader being part of the IC!! I have not proof-read it yet.

A/N: Well, hello there! I have never posted writing for this Fandom before, so I truly hope it is enjoyable and finds it's people. Overall, I haven't really been posting on this blog in ages and felt inspired. I would love to write a second part if this is received well. This isn't proofread yet, I will do that eventually, so I apologize for possible errors. Please let me know what you think and feel free to drop into my inbox.

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The night was cool and crisp as you and Mor made your way through the streets of Velaris, the city lights casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Returning to Velaris had been a relief, the mission Rhys had sent you on should have taken no longer than six weeks, lastly spanning nine months that felt like an eternity. What should have been a rather quick trip to the Continent turned out to be far more complicated than anticipated. You were supposed to look into the whereabouts of a magical artifact while Mor should keep up her work as emissary. What you did not take into account whatsoever was the uprising conflict between two of their biggest noble houses, which complicated things. Trust was not easy to come by. Diplomats and Mediators by day and treasure hunters by night. Of course, you also had plenty of time to bask in the sunlight, smothering heat seeping into the marrow of your bones. Even with Mor by your side, there had been moments of homesickness that gnawed at your heart, a longing for the familiar comforts of home that seemed to grow with each passing day.

But now, as you made your way through the streets of Velaris, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. The city was alive with the buzz of activity, its streets bustling with life and energy. Even the stars seemed to shine and twinkle brighter than usually, welcoming you back. It was good to be home. As you stepped into the grand foyer of the House of Wind, you felt a rush of nostalgia wash over you. Albite nine months were nothing for Fae, you had missed this. The scent of fresh bread filled the air, no doubt made by Elain. A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the familiarity, your shoulders relaxing slightly.

Mor wasted no time in making herself comfortable, stomping off to the sitting room and throwing herself onto the chaise with a dramatic sigh. You couldn't help but chuckle at her antics. As she settled into the plush pillows, you perched yourself on the edge of the nearby armchair, your gaze drifting to the flickering flames in the hearth. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows across the room, its warmth a comforting embrace after the long journey home. "So, what is on your mind?" Mor's voice broke through the silence, her eyes fluttering open as she regarded you with a curious expression. You let out a soft sigh, your thoughts drifting back to the tribulations of your time overseas. "It was... intense," you replied, voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "So much happened.” You groaned then. “Cauldron boil me, I really don’t want to fill out that mission report…” Mor nodded in understanding, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. "I can imagine, me neither" she said, her tone filled with empathy. "But Rhys will not push us. He probably missed us as much as we missed him. It’s been a while after all.”

You smiled gratefully at her words, a sense of relief washing over you. "Yeah, you're right," you agreed, your spirits lifting at the thought of being back in Velaris once more. Back home. You fell into a comfortable silence then, the crackling fire the only sound echoing in the room. But beneath the surface, you felt a restlessness stirring within yourself—a longing to see him, to feel the familiar comfort of his presence. Obviously you missed the entirety of your family wholly. Definitely not thinking about one person more than the others. At least that is what you told yourself.

"I'm going to check on Az," you said suddenly, your voice breaking the silence. "I haven't seen him in a while…" Mor raised an eyebrow inquisitively, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Really now? Here I thought we saw none of them in a while." she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Missing someone, are we?" You felt a blush creeping into your cheeks at Mor's teasing tone, but you brushed it off with a playful roll of your eyes. "Don't be ridiculous," you retorted, though the fluttering in your chest betrayed your true feelings. With a playful wink, Mor waved you off, her attention already drifting back to the warmth of the fire. "Go on then," she said, her voice soft but encouraging. "I'll be here when you get back." And with that, you rose from your seat and made your way to Azriel's room, your heart fluttering with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again after so long. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you picked up your pace subconsciously, your steps quick and eager. You had grown so close over the years, so comfortable in each other's company, that knocking on doors had become a formality you rarely bothered with anymore- and even if you usually still found yourself knocking from time to time, you just were too excited.

But as you pushed open the door to Azriel's room, your heart sank at the sight of the empty space before you. The room was quiet and still, save for the faint scent of cedar that lingered in the air—a stark reminder of the Male you had missed so much. Disappointment tugged at your heart as you surveyed the deserted room, your lips curling into a soft frown. It was Starfall in just a few days, you really thought, hoped, he’d be here when you returned. Before you could dwell on your thoughts any longer, a familiar voice broke through the silence, startling you. "So, Y/N, are you finally going to confess your undying love for my brother?" he quipped, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips now as you threw yourself into Cassian's awaiting arms. You had missed him, missed all of them, but the absence of Azriel weighed heavily on your heart somehow. After you pull away from your embrace, Cassian offers you a kind smile, his eyes warm with understanding.

"Hey, just so you know, Az has been on a mission for the past few days," The tall Illyrian says gently, his tone filled with reassurance. "But he should be back before Starfall." You feel a surge of relief at the news, your heart fluttering with anticipation at the thought of seeing Azriel again. You waited nine months, you could wait a few more days. "Thank you, Cass," you says sincerely, gratitude shining in your eyes. Then the tall male shifts on his foot, raising an eyebrow in mock offense, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Hey now, Y/N, I hope you're not just excited to see Az," he says with a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "I mean, I know I'm not as brooding and mysterious as our Shadowsinger, but a little appreciation for your favorite warrior wouldn't hurt." You roll your eyes again with a grin, shaking your head at Cassian's antics. "Oh, please, Cass. You know you're my second favorite warrior," you quip, your tone teasing as you give him a playful shove. You share a moment of laughter before Cassian's expression turns more serious, his gaze softening as he looks at you with genuine concern. "How was the mission? Everything okay?"

Nodding, your smile faltering slightly as you recall the challenges you faced overseas. "It was... intense, to say the least. But we made it back in one piece, thanks to Mor and her quick thinking."

Cassian nods in understanding, his expression reflecting his relief. "Well, I'm glad you're both safe. We'll have to celebrate your return properly, once you've had a chance to rest." Humming you find yourself relaxing into the familiar warmth of his company. You nod in agreement then. “Yeah, Rhys always has something up his sleeve for Starfall,” you say, voice tinged with anticipation. “I can only imagine what he has planned for this year.” Both of you fall into comfortable silence for a moment. Only when a yawn claws itself up your throat and past your lips does Cassian speak again. “Does Rhys know you’re back?” His gaze is gentle in the way he looks at you, it was easy to tell that the oaf missed you just as much.

Stretching your tired muscles slightly, you nod hastily. "Yeah, you should have seen his face when he came barging into the kitchen and saw us drink tea with Feyre." A soft chuckle leaves him then, and you share a knowing grin as you both recall similar situations.

Making your way down the hall, you find Mor fast asleep on the chaise lounge in the sitting room, her features relaxed in slumber. Cassian retrieves a soft blanket from the nearby cupboard and gently drapes it over Mor's sleeping form, his movements gentle and caring.

You settle into the chairs nearby, he joins you, and the two of you engage in light conversation, catching up on the latest developments with Nesta and the Valkyrie. You share stories and anecdotes, laughter punctuating the quiet of the night as you relish in each other's company. Eventually, exhaustion catches up with you, and you bid Cassian goodnight before retreating to your own chambers for some much-needed rest.

As you settle into bed, your mind can't help but wander towards Azriel. Despite the exhaustion weighing heavy on your limbs, thoughts of him linger at the forefront of your mind, like whispers in the darkness. You can't help but wonder how he's been faring on his mission, what trials and tribulations he's faced in your absence. A pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you realize that you hadn't even sent word of your return, leaving him in the dark about your whereabouts. Closing your eyes, you try to push aside the worry and uncertainty that gnaws at your thoughts, focusing instead on the memory of his warm smile and steady presence. You find solace in the thought of seeing him again, of being reunited with the friend who has always been a steady anchor in your life. With a soft sigh, you let the rhythmic sound of your breathing lull you into a state of calm, allowing yourself to drift into a restless sleep filled with dreams of starlit skies and whispered promises. And as sleep claims you, you hold onto the hope that tomorrow will bring with it the long-awaited reunion you've been yearning for.

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The next days pass in a blur, the absence of Azriel weighing heavily on your heart despite the moments of joy spent with your family. You find solace in the familiar routines of daily life, in the laughter and chatter of your loved ones gathered together in the warmth of the House of Wind.

Mornings are filled with shared meals and lively conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the aroma of freshly baked pastries. On the day before Starfall you find yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life in Velaris, as you join Feyre, Mor, and Nesta for a day of dress shopping. The air is filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked goods, adding to the festive atmosphere of the day.

As you weave through the throngs of people, your eyes alight on a quaint boutique you’re all too familiar with, nestled between two bustling shops. Its windows are adorned with elegant gowns in every shade of the rainbow, their silken fabrics shimmering in the sunlight.

With a shared glance and a knowing smile, you make your way inside, greeted by the tinkling of bells and the warm smile of the shopkeeper. The interior of the boutique is a veritable treasure trove of fashion, with racks of dresses in every style and design imaginable. As you browse through the racks, your eyes are drawn to a stunning gown in a shade of deep midnight blue, its bodice adorned with delicate lace and sparkling sequins. It catches the light in such a way that it seems to shimmer and dance with every movement, and you can't help but feel drawn to it.

Feyre picks up a flowing gown in a shade of pale lavender, holding it up against herself with a thoughtful expression. "What do you think?" she asks, turning to you and the others for their opinion. Mor nods approvingly, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "It's lovely, Feyre. You would look stunning in that." Nesta, ever the pragmatist, arches an eyebrow skeptically. "It's a bit too... ethereal for my taste," she remarks dryly. "But if it makes you happy, then go for it." You can't help but chuckle at Nesta's blunt honesty, knowing that she speaks from a place of genuine concern for her sister's happiness. "I think it's beautiful, Feyre," you offer, a warm smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But ultimately, it's up to you." Feyre returns your smile gratefully, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Thank you, Y/N," she says softly, her voice filled with warmth. "I think I'll give it a try." As Feyre disappears into the dressing room to try on the gown, Mor turns to you with a glint in her eyes. "So, Y/N, have you found anything that catches your eye?" she asks, her tone teasing.

You shrug nonchalantly, though your heart races at the thought of the dress you had spotted earlier. "Maybe," you reply coyly, a playful smile playing at your lips. "There was one that caught my attention." Nesta raises an eyebrow curiously, her gaze sharpening with interest. "Oh? And what does it look like?" she inquires, her tone betraying her curiosity.

You hesitate for a moment, your cheeks flushing slightly as you recall the details of the dress. "It's... um, it's a deep midnight blue," you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words to describe it.

Mor's eyes light up with mischief as she interrupts, a knowing smirk on her lips. "Sounds like something a certain Shadowsinger would most definitely like," she quips, her voice filled with amusement. You feel your cheeks grow even warmer at Mor's teasing remark, knowing that there is some truth to her words. "Maybe," you mumble, unable to hide the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips.

Before the conversation can continue further, Feyre emerges from the dressing room, the lavender gown flowing around her in a cascade of ethereal beauty. You gasp in awe at the sight of her, your heart swelling with pride and admiration.

"Feyre, you look incredible," you exclaim, your voice filled with genuine awe. "That dress was made for you." Feyre blushes at the compliment, her smile radiant as she twirls in front of the mirror. "Thank you, Y/N" she says warmly, her eyes shining with happiness. "I think I've found my dress."  As Feyre twirls in front of the mirror, her radiant smile lighting up the room, Mor and Nesta exchange knowing glances before turning their attention to you.

"Well, Y/N, it's your turn now," Mor says with a playful grin, her eyes sparkling again. "You can't just talk about that mysterious midnight blue dress and not show it to us."

Nesta nods in agreement, her expression curious. "Yes, I'm quite intrigued to see this dress that has caught your eye," she adds, a hint of amusement in her voice. With a nod of determination, you make your way to the dressing room, the anticipation building with each step.

As you slip into the dress, you can't help but marvel at how perfectly it fits, clinging to your curves in all the right places. The fabric is soft against your skin, the deep midnight blue hue shimmering in the light, casting an enchanting glow around you. The bodice of the dress is adorned with delicate lace, the intricate patterns weaving a spellbinding tapestry across your skin. The neckline plunges low, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of skin, while the back dips into a daring V, leaving just enough to the imagination. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the reactions of your companions, before stepping out of the dressing room to reveal yourself to them.

Feyre gasps in awe as she lays eyes on you, her expression filled with admiration. "Wow, Y/N, you look absolutely stunning," she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine wonder.

Mor and Nesta nod in agreement, their eyes wide with astonishment. "That dress was made for you," Mor adds. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, a surge of confidence courses through you. It's been so long since you've worn anything other than fighting leathers, and the sensation of silk against your skin is a welcome change. You feel sexy, beautiful, and alive in a way that you haven't in months, the weight of responsibility and duty momentarily lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in what feels like forever, you allow yourself to revel in the simple pleasure of feeling feminine and desirable.

But amidst the rush of excitement and adrenaline, there's a nagging voice in the back of your mind, whispering of doubts and insecurities. What will Azriel think when he sees you like this? Will he be pleased, impressed, or will he merely see you as the same old friend he's always known? You bite your bottom lip nervously at the thought, a flush rising to your cheeks as you imagine his reaction. But deep down, beneath the layers of uncertainty and self-doubt, there's a spark of hope flickering within you, a glimmer of possibility that maybe, just maybe, he'll see you in a new light. That maybe the feelings you had harbored for him for the past two centuries weren’t one-sided.

With a determined shake of your head, you banish the doubts from your mind, focusing instead on the here and now. Tonight, you'll revel in the joy of the moment, surrounded by friends who love and support you unconditionally. And tomorrow, well, tomorrow is another day. "I must say, I almost forgot you had it in you to clean up so nicely."

You roll your eyes playfully at Mor's teasing remark, unable to suppress a laugh at her antics. "Oh, please, Mor," you quip, your tone laced with mock indignation. "You act as if I've been wearing armor for the past century." Feyre chuckles, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Well, you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself in that dress," she remarks with a knowing smile.

Nesta, ever the pragmatist, raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Yes, but can you actually afford it?" she asks dryly, her tone tinged with amusement. You feign offense at Nesta's remark "Of course I can afford it, Nesta," you reply with a playful smirk. "I'll just put it on Rhysand's tab."

The group erupts into laughter at your comment. With a final twirl in front of the mirror, you turn to the shopkeeper with a grin. "I'll take it," you declare confidently, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you make your purchase. "And put it on Rhysand's tab, of course."

The shopkeeper chuckles at your remark, nodding in agreement as she wraps the dress in delicate tissue paper. "Very well, Miss Y/N" she says with a smile. "I'll be sure to send the bill to the High Lord's estate."

With your new dress in hand and your spirits lifted, you bid farewell to the boutique and make your way back into the bustling streets of Velaris.

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Azriel strolls through the lush gardens of Tarquin's estate, the relentless heat of the Summer Court bearing down on him with an intensity that he finds almost suffocating. Sweat beads on his brow, trickling down his temples as he walks, and he can't help but curse the relentless sun that beats down from above, as if intent on draining him of every last ounce of energy.

He sighs heavily as he reflects on his current predicament, his thoughts drifting to the far-off lands of his homeland where snow, cold, and winter reign supreme. The sweltering heat of the Summer Court is a stark contrast to the familiar chill of the Night Court, and Azriel can't help but wonder if it's possible that he's somehow managed to burn his wings in the sun. But such thoughts are quickly pushed aside as he reminds himself of the task at hand. Everything had gone well with his meeting with Tarquin, and now he simply longs to retire to his chambers and escape the oppressive heat for a few precious hours of rest.

As he continues on his way, Azriel can't help but think about the upcoming Starfall celebration. Tomorrow would mark the end of his short mission in the Summer Court, and he couldn't wait to return home to Velaris. The thought of spending Starfall without Y/N weighs heavily on his mind, and he can't help but feel a pang of longing in his chest at the prospect. Suddenly, a voice breaks through his thoughts, a familiar presence intruding upon his mind with the ease of a whisper on the wind. It's Rhys, reaching out to him.

"Enjoying the summer heat, brother?" Rhys's voice echoes in his mind, a hint of amusement lacing his words. "Remember, not all of us are fortunate enough to have wings to shield us from the sun's rays."

Azriel can't help but snort at Rhys's teasing, the sound reverberating silently within his own mind. "I'd take a blizzard over this heat any day," he replies, his tone dry with sarcasm. "At least in the Winter Court, I wouldn't feel like I'm about to melt into a puddle."

Rhys's laughter fills his mind. "Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he quips "Besides, think of it as a challenge. A test of endurance, if you will."

Azriel shakes his head incredulously at his brother's words, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. "You would find amusement in my suffering, wouldn't you?" he retorts. But Rhys's next words carry a weight of sincerity that catches Azriel off guard. "In all seriousness, Az, you'll be home before you know it," He assures him, his voice filled with warmth and encouragement. "Starfall is just around the corner, and there are loved ones eagerly awaiting your return."

There's a cryptic hint in Rhys's words, a subtle suggestion that Azriel can't quite decipher. He furrows his brows in confusion, his mind racing as he tries to make sense of his brother's words. After all, he's only been gone for a week.  Rhys's voice fades from Azriel's mind, leaving him with a sense of calm and reassurance. "Until tomorrow, brother," he murmurs silently.

Azriel retreats for the night, the weight of exhaustion heavy on his shoulders. As he settles into his chambers, a sense of relief washes over him at the thought of returning home tomorrow.

His mind wanders to how he'll spend his first day back in Velaris, imagining the familiar streets and faces that he's missed so dearly the past week. But amidst the anticipation, there's a nagging sense of longing that tugs at his heart. Clasping his scarred hands together, Azriel reaches into the pocket of his bag and pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment. It's a letter from Y/N, the only way they've been able to stay in contact while she's been away on her mission.

He doesn't know why he took the letter with him, but holding it in his hands brings a sense of serenity and comfort. Even though their last exchanged letters had been about a month ago, knowing that Y/N is safe and well brings him a measure of peace.

With a sigh, Azriel unfolds the parchment and reads over her words once more, the familiar handwriting bringing a smile to his lips. He makes a silent promise to himself to write to her as soon as he gets home. But now, as he prepares to return home for the celebration, he can't help but feel a pang of sadness at the thought of Y/N missing out. He wonders what she might be doing on Starfall, if she's found a way to make the most of the day despite being apart from their shared family.

Azriel knew how she hadn’t missed a single Starfall since… The heavy feeling of subdued rage settles in the pits of his stomach at the thought of what she endured during those dark years under the Mountain. He wishes he could have been there to protect her, to shield her from the horrors of their captivity.

His thoughts drift to a darker memory then, one that haunts him even now. He remembers her broken body, her spirit shattered and her light dimmed, when she and Rhys returned after Feyre broke the curse. The sight of her lying there, broken and bruised, fills him with a sense of sorrow and rage unlike anything he's ever known. He can still feel the weight of her pain, the echoes of her suffering lingering in the recesses of his mind. In that moment, all he wanted was to take her pain away, to hold her close and mend her broken spirit.  Azriel thinks of the first Starfall after they returned from under the mountain, how Y/N had opened up about her grief and trauma for the first time. He can still see the sadness in her eyes, the weight of her pain etched into every line of her face. It was a stark contrast to the joyous celebration unfolding around them, a reminder of the darkness that still lingered. From that day forward, Y/N never missed a single Starfall celebration.

As Azriel drifts off to sleep, frustration gnaws at his insides like a relentless beast. Despite his best efforts to push Y/N from his mind, she lingers there like a haunting specter, her presence weaving through his thoughts and dreams with an undeniable persistence. Rubbing his hand over his face in a futile attempt to banish the memories, Azriel can't help but feel a sense of shame at the intensity of his longing for her. He prides himself on his control, on his ability to keep his emotions in check, but she has a way of unraveling him like no one else.

And then there are the dreams - vivid and all-consuming, they play out like scenes from a forbidden fantasy, leaving Azriel feeling both exhilarated and guilty in their wake. They were friends. Just friends. Best friends, actually. And even though this urge was nothing completely unfamiliar, these thoughts had overtaken him completely as soon as she left.

Again his mind wandered. Asking himself how her lips would feel clashing against his, how she would wrap her arms around his neck, having to crane her neck for a kiss due to their height difference. What she would taste like, what sounds he could coax out of her. How those exact plush lips would feel wrapped around his cock.- A growl leaves him through clenched teeth. His eyebrows pinched as he squeezes his eyes shut, palming himself through his briefs. Confusion etched on his beautiful face then, because he just could not understand. She was his best friend, so why could he not stop thinking about her like this? Thus, so very determined, he decided that this had to change, while simultaneously fisting his heavy cock in one of his hands. "Fuck"

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I hope you enjoyed this little piece of my imagination. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! Please let me know if you'd like a part 2 :)

[stormhearty]

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Triggers: pregnancy trope, longing, mention of death, thoughts of suicide, blood, baby’s death, open-ended ending

Summary: Hiraeth definition: “homesickness, longing, nostalgia and a wistful desire for something irretrievably lost.” It had been several years since your passing, one that he cursed the Mother and the Gods for. Now he wanders the world, endless and lost, waiting for the day you would whisper in his ears to come home — home to you.

Note: From this request! Thank you @soulsansang (I cannot tag you for the life of me), for sending this request! I fought every urge to connect this to my Seer!Reader fics. The idea of hiraeth fit perfectly with a mourning Azriel; however, I needed something else. Needed an Azriel who was mourning not because of his actions, but due to unforeseen circumstances that fate seemed to have placed him in. I’m sorry for the “pregnancy trope”, I didn’t think I would be writing this one like this. If you do not like that trope, I completely understand and I respect you not reading this. But I do hope you enjoy, and I hope it fills the angst and sadness that you had requested!

“Azriel~!”

He looked over his shoulder, his name echoing in his ears, as he stepped out of his apartment and into the pouring rain. Dull hazel eyes stared at the gray skies as the rain poured down, relentless and unforgiving.

It had been days since this rain had started, and it seemed as if it would never stop. It was torrent, heavy with the mix of strong that howled through the empty alleyways. Valeris was almost like an abandoned city — its inhabitants were locked indoors due to the storm that shook its walls.

Azriel’s form shuddered, the wetness seeping into his clothes. He barely wore something that would keep him warm in such icy weather — a simple black jacket, a long-sleeved tee hidden underneath, and black jeans. His leather shoes were soaked in the rain as he stepped into another puddle, not caring that the wetness soaked into his feet.

He walked through the deserted city, only a few who braved the torrential storm were running through the streets. Those out looked at the Spymaster with confusion and worry, but none voiced them out loud — he wouldn’t have listened anyway.

He had one destination — and he would make it there — despite the storm.

Stepping across the Sindra River, the cobblestone bridge was overrun by the river below. Waters crashed upon slowly decaying rocks, splashing over the sides and onto the bridge. Traversing it might seem impossible for any normal Fae, but for Azriel, it was easy.

He stepped onto the bridge, not minding how the cold waters of the river splashed onto him. He paused, at the arch of the bridge, leaning over the stoney rail to look at those rapid waters that raced down the riverbend. They crashed and crescented over rocks, splashing against everything and anything that stood in its way — and the downpour only amplified the river’s maelstrom.

Azriel looked into the waters below him, barely making out his reflection in them. He blinked out the water that tricked into his eyes, and when he looked back down into his reflection — instead he found a familiar figure — hair blowing in the raging wind, eyes looking up at him, hand reached out as if to tempt him into those frigid cold waters below him.

It was tempting, to say the least, the call to be submerged into the depths of the river, to feel the icy liquid deep into his skin — and make the river his grave.

He couldn't help it — the image was like a siren with its sailors, tempting them to their end. Leaning across the cobblestone rail, he leaned down — down into the depths of the water. Azriel had every mindset, every want to drown in that very river.

However, he felt his body pause, as if a tiny hand tugged on his shoulder — a child’s laugh echoing in his ears.

His body snapped up, his head whipping over his shoulder, frantically looking around, only to stop. Eyes noticed a fallen blue-violet on the drenched cobblestone. Azriel felt his body go rigid at the flower, remembering what it had meant. He turned around and knelt, shaky hands reaching down to pick up the soaked flower. He felt his eyes prickle with tears as he turned it in his hand, before bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on the petals, standing up and pocketing it.

Dull hues stared at the river below him, noticing his reflection once more — and not the mirage that tempted him to death. A frown tugged on the edge of his blue-tinged lips before making his way across the bridge once more, the call of death barely whispering in his ears.

He turned, his feet bringing him off paved grounds into a mud-soaked one. The mud squished underneath his feet. He weaved through familiar trees, and as he delved further into the forest the canopy above him blocked the gray skies above, the pitter-patter of rain on soil lessening. There, underneath the canopy, Azriel shook his wings out — the rain that had drenched his wings flying off in droplets. He raised a hand, running through soak locks, pushing them back away from his face. He fixed his jacket, dusting off the moisture from its soaked fabric before he continued walking.

Hazel hues saw the familiar clearing, watching as the downpour continued to drench the soil in its never-ending attack. He stood at the edge of the clearing, hues staring up at the sky once more. He silently cursed the Mother and the Gods above for this rain — all he wanted was to see the clear skies for once.

Azriel stepped into the clearing, the rain drenching his clothes once more — not that he minded anyway.

He stepped into the middle of the clearing where a lone headstone stood. A simple one, nothing to extravagant. Azriel felt his heart race in his chest as he got closer to the headstone.

Azriel kneeled in front of the headstone, a tearful gaze as he read the words that were etched onto the stone: Here lies (Y/N), the wonderful wife of Azriel. Mother of their unborn child. May the Mother and Gods bring her safe passage to the Havens.

It had been two years since he had to bury your body, along with your unborn child.

The Mother was cruel to him.

You and Azriel had been married for over three centuries — his life was full of color, full of happiness and full of love. You were everything to Azriel. He would miss you when he went to missions, kiss you silly when he got home from said missions; he would spend lazy time with you, your head on his lap or vice versa — just spending time with each other. And for those three centuries, both of you had tried for a child, but because Fae menstrual cycles were so sporadic, it had been difficult.

But two years ago, your miracle baby happened.

“Azriel!”

Azriel turned around after shutting the door to your apartment, only to catch your body that flung towards his way.

“Hey love,” he greeted you, a chuckle escaping his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, looking down and noticing how your head tucked into his chest. He could feel your excitement vibrate through your body and he couldn't help but wonder what had gotten you so happy.

But at that moment, he just leaned down and pressed a kiss on the crown of your head, watching your head tilt up to look at him, your eyes shining.

“What is it?” he hummed out with a raised brow.

He watched as you bit your lower lip, fighting the smile that tugged at the edge of your lips.

“You know how I have been feeling unwell the past few weeks…” you had started off.

Azriel hummed out, shifting you in his arms so that you were at his side, his arm wrapped around your waist before leading you into the kitchen. He maneuvered you around, grasping your waist and lifting you with ease onto the countertop next to the stove.

“Azriel!!” You shrieked in surprise, your hands grasping his shoulders to stretch yourself.

He smirks up at you, settling himself between your legs, “Now what were you saying, love?”

He watched you huff softly before continuing your story, “Well I went to Madja earlier today and I told her of my symptoms—-”

“Nausea, headaches, bloating…” he listed off.

Azriel knew your symptoms, it had worried him to the max. Both of you didn't know what had happened — he was worried about some sort of poisoning… he thought of the worst-case scenarios. And you had to be the one to calm him down from those spiraling thoughts.

You hummed and nodded your head, “Well… it looks like you didn't have to be so worried about that poisoning scenario, my love…” you whispered as you leaned down to press your forehead against his.

He felt your hands slide down his shoulders, down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Azriel always loved how you touched him — there was no hesitancy in the way you held him, touched him — whether it he sexual or intimate. You had always initiated touching him and now, he can't live without your hands or body near his own.

He felt your hands grip his own, sliding then to your lower abdomen, pressing his hands against the soft skin.

“… I’m pregnant, Azzie…”

Your words were a whisper and Azriel felt his eyes widen at the words that had left your lips. He stared up at you and watched as your eyes sparkle light the night sky at your confession.

Hazel hues looked up at you before sliding down your body to where your hand lay over his own. A wide smile tugged on his lips before he slipped his hands away from your own, cupping your cheeks and kissing you.

He poured everything into that kiss — all his love for you and this unborn child.

When his lungs screamed for air, he was content with pressing kisses on your skin while you giggled, feeling your hands run through his hair.

“We’ll be having a child…” he whispered in disbelief.

He heard you let out a hum, feeling your head nod, “Yes we are… after centuries… our beautiful child…”

Every word that you whispered was full of happiness, adoration, and excitement. He knew, from hearing you speak, that you'd be a wonderful mother… one that would dote on that child.

He was elated — after centuries of both of you trying, watching your family build their own little families — Azriel was worried that both of you would never be blessed with a child. Yet now, the Mother seemed to rain her fortune on the both of you.

But deep within him, worry festered like mold, slowly growing. He worried about the complications — he heard about it with Rhysand and Feyre, Nesta and Cassian. And he worried for you — and all he could pray to the Mother that you would be spared from it.

“What color should the baby’s room be?”

Azriel hummed and raised a brow, turning his head to gaze at you. He fought back a smile — he had found you so adorable. You had waddled, your belly large protruding your tiny stature. Your hand tucked in the crook of his elbow protectively.

Azriel had ensured you were in good hands during your pregnancy; and that he would always prioritize your health and safety. He would never let you go out without him, either himself or his shadows. He always had a hand on you — whether it be around your waist or, like now, your hand tucked into his elbow.

Your features glowed despite the exhaustion he knew you felt — you had looked so beautiful during your whole pregnancy and Azriel worshiped you like the Goddess you were to him.

He watched as your gaze went up to him, your head tilting slightly at the look he gave you. Azriel shook his head, “You know I'd be biased if you asked me, love…” he answered.

Azriel would choose blue, even if it was a girl or a boy, his siphon colors would be that room’s color.

He watched as you rolled your eyes, and felt your hand pat his forearm, “Why am I not surprised that, out of all the colors, you’d choose your siphon?”

The two of you walked into the paint shop, the doorbell ringing above you. You were greeted by a Fae, one who was shocked and nervous to meet the Spymaster and his wife.

Azriel patted your hand and slipped your hand from his elbow, “Go ahead my loves… I'll be here…” He watched you smile before following the Fae to the color room, and he watched with adoration.

“You can't leave me, (Y/N)…” he sobbed, grasping your flaccid hand in his, pressing a kiss on cold skin.

The room was deathly still, his sobs echoing in the loud shared room.

You had gone into labor hours ago, and that labor… was difficult on your weak body. The babe, as Madja had warned you and Azriel all those months ago, had taken a toll on your body. You had been sick and bedridden for most of the pregnancy — Madja had stressed for you to terminate the pregnancy — it was either you or the baby.

Azriel had fought for you to terminate the pregnancy; begged and cried you to.

He could live without the unborn child but without you?

Never.

He watched you cry, begged him to let you keep the babe — he listened to your bargains, and promises; he listened to you cry in the night whispering to the baby all the while rubbing your stomach.

He watched everything… but he couldn't lose you.

But you had been stubborn, wanting to keep the pregnancy — pushing it to term — despite the consequences of it.

And so when you went into labor, the amount of blood you lost… was too much for Madja to replenish with her powers. The baby that was born was already too blue to try to bring back alive. Azriel was by your side the whole labor, watching you push your body to the brink — all for the child.

He felt your pulse slow underneath his fingertips, his hazel eyes frantically trying to find yours as he watched them roll backwards.

“No…No!” he yelled, dropping your hand onto the mattress and cupping your cheeks, “My love… (Y/N)…” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours, trying to pull you from the call of death.

Azriel watched you smile up at him, your eyes focusing on him, crescenting as you looked up at him, “…Azzie…” you whispered.

He fought back tears as he nodded his head, “Hey, my love, yes, I’m here… I’m here…”

“I’m sorry…”

It was as if you knew… this would be the outcome of your decision.

“No… Don’t be sorry… Please don’t… Just… Please don’t leave me… You can’t leave me…”

He watched as your eyes roll again and he brought your face closer to his own, watching them focus on him again, “…I don’t want to… But, I’m so tired Az…”

Azriel felt a heart wrenching sob escape his throat. His thumb caressed your pulse point, feeling it slow more. He looked up at his High Lord and the Healer and both of them looked at him with a somber look.

A shake from his High Lord gave his answer.

The tears finally fell, as he looked back at you — and you back up at him. He watched your brows furrow in confusion as you stared at him.

All he did was shake his head, leaning down to press one final kiss on your lips.

“Sleep… My love… if you’re tired. I’ll wait for you to wake up…”

He felt you take one last breath, a smile tugging on your lips as you whispered, “I love you, Az…”

Azriel felt your body go limp in the bed, your head roll back and your pulse stop completely. He watched your eyes dull, that smile still on your features.

His body shook, and tears never ended as he pulled your body into his arms, cradling your head as he let out a cry, pressing his face into the crook of your neck — the final time he’d ever feel you against him.

Azriel never thought heart break would be so painful.

He stared at the tombstone, pulling out of his thoughts and memories to reach down and caress the marble stone.

“… Hi my love…” he greeted you, like usual, “It’s raining again… It seems that Valeris is in a typhoon of rain recently…”

Azriel sat himself down on the muddy ground, not caring if the mud and rain soaked through his clothes again.

He had sat there, talking to you about his day, what had happened recently with the family, what was going on with Valeris and Prythian in general. He talked for hours until he felt his voice go sore and his body shake due to the cold from the rain, but he didn’t leave… not until the skies turned dark.

Azriel laid himself down on the patch of dirt in front of your grave, laying on his back as he stared up at the sky. It seemed the rain ceased and the beautiful starry skies of Valeris peaked through the rain clouds.

He watched the stars twinkle, before a shooting star blazed through the sky before another one — much smaller — followed it.

“…Was that you, (Y/N)?” he whispered, thinking that those two fallen stars were you and the child, reaching out to him from the Havens above.

Azriel had been searching for signs, for the past two years of any sign of you in the Havens. Looking for signs that you were calling for him — looking for him. All he wanted to know was that you were out there.

And that shooting star was it.

He smiled and closed his eyes, “I’m coming back home to you…”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 5

Part 1 Part 4

Eddie’s filled a shitty back-to-school backpack with anything useful he can find. There’s more wet wipes, and gauze, antiseptic, and a hammer. He’s got a lighter, a few newspapers, and a few shitty plastic cups. In a fit of whimsy, he stuffs a pack of playing cards in there as well. 

They go.

Hawkins is bigger than he remembers. Eddie’s not sure if it’s just the fatigue, the general atmosphere of this place, or it’s just another fucked-up thing that’s just a little off about this place. Hawkins, but not.

And god, he didn’t ever think he’d be homesick for Hawkins. His trailer, sure. Wayne, of course. But Hawkins? No way.

But he’s pretty sure he’d give his left kidney to be walking down 2nd street with all its residences clutching their pearls and crossing the street to avoid him. 

The street stretches out before him unnaturally. It’s quiet. There’s ash in Harrington’s hair where he walks by his side. Eddie’s never felt more out of place in his life.

“Do you think we’ll make it back?” he whispers. It’s so quiet, it feels like his words bounce across the town, anyway.

Harrington’s gait stutters. It could be from his fucked up feet. Eddie doesn’t think so. His brows pinched, lips pursed, skin golden under its ashen sheen.

“Someone will have noticed us missing by now, right?” He doesn’t sound sure. Eddie can’t fathom why.

“It’s…Sunday, Right?” Eddie asks, not waiting for an answer before continuing, “I’m supposed to be at band practice. The guys will notice.”

Harrington nods, starts walking again. 

“What about you?” Eddie asks.

Harrington’s eyes are shifting back and forth like he’s watching the ghosts of the real world in this fucked up mirror dimension. Hell, maybe he can. 

“Nancy noticed,” he says, quiet enough that Eddie barely picks up on it. He’s looking down at his feet and he looks small. Unsure. Before he looks up at Eddie from the corner of his eye. “Right?”

Eddie looks at this guy he’s hated for years, this guys who Eddie’s sure didn’t even notice him enough to hate him back, and says the only thing he can, “Right.”

“She’s smart.”

“Wheeler seems like a baddess,” Eddie says, even though she doesn’t. It makes Harrington smile down at his borrowed shoes. 

Eddie reaches out, squeezing lightly at Harrington’s elbow in comfort before skipping a few steps ahead, feeling his ears burn red. Harrington jogs to catch back up. They walk in silence after that.

The walk down the winding path surrounding the quarry is harrowing. It’s long, sure, but the way the red sky is reflecting back off the water’s surface has his gut sinking into his boots and weighing his feet down. It doesn’t look promising.

It looks even less promising up close. But beggars can’t be choosers, and Eddie feels one second away from falling to his knees and begging to a deity he doesn’t believe in.

He pulls out one of the stupid plastic cups, toes of his boots dipping into the red water as he bends over the reservoir and fills the cup, handing it to Harrington. Might as well take advantage of his tagalong jock test dummy,, and all that. 

Harrington grabs it from him, staring down at it dubiously. He tips it sideways, eyeing the liquid speculatively as it pours out of the cup and onto the concrete at his feet. 

It’s hard to tell if it’s actually red, even watching it drip onto the ground. The light’s too fucked, but it’s at least transulscent. It’s not blood, or at least not only blood. Eddie’s more concerned about the ash mixed in, to be honest.

Harrington’s still staring down at the remains of his cup like he’s not sure what to do with it. 

“Don’t drink that,” Eddie says.

Harrington doesn’t reply, but he can feel him watching as Eddie digs through his bag, pulling out a drugstore T-shirt and the second cup. He snatches Harringtons cup from his fingers, puts the T-shirt overtop, and then puts the other cup on top of that, before flipping the cups quickly.

Some of the liquid splashes out as it pours into the second cup, but most of it makes it to its rightful destination. Eddie pulls the T-shirt away and eyes the cup. He pours it out again, humming in pleasure and there’s no ash floating in the puddle at his feet.

A glance in the original cup makes him gag. Harrington siddles up to peer over his shoulder at the congealed black sludge left at the bottom, smeared with ash and dirt.

“I’m glad I didn’t drink that,” Harrington says.

Eddie laughs, handing the remnants of the second cup back over to Harrington. The look in the other boy’s eyes tells Eddie he knows he’s the guinea pig in this arrangement, but he gamely takes a sip. Eddie holds his breath when Harrington makes a disgusted face, but when he doesn’t keel over and die, he takes another sip. 

“Tastes like shit,” Harrington says, downing the rest. 

When Eddie filters the next cup, he can’t help but agree. It tastes like too-strong coffee mixed with blood, and Eddie’s never liked coffee. 

“How’d you learn to do this?” Harrington asks as the squat next to each other, Eddie filtering water, and Harrington filling the water bottles they’d collected from Melvald’s.

“I didn’t,” Eddie says, wringing the T-shirt out. When Harrington scoffs, he continues. “I just read about it in a book one time, and thought maybe it’d work.”

Harrington snorts. It sounds like a pig. Eddie hates himself for finding it endearing.

“You’re such a nerd,” he says, nudging his shoulder into Eddie’s. From his crouched position, Eddie almost goes tumbling into the water, but Harrington snags his shoulder and yanks him abc, laughing all the while.

“Fuck off, man,” he says, but it lacks its usual heat. 

It’s hard to completely hate a guy who dragged you bodily out of a window and away from your untimely demise. It’s hard, but damn if Eddie’s not going to try.

They fill the water bottles. It takes longer than it should, as Eddie tries to find clean enough spot on the T-shirt to make filtering the water any more even possible, but they manage.

Eddie doesn’t put the soiled garment in his backpack before slinging it onto his shoulders. It’s heavier now, but something in him eases with the time they’ve gained with the water. Days of survival has now stretched out to weeks.

He thinks of that Thing again and wonders if that’s a good thing at all. With the way Harrington is grimacing as he slings his own pack onto his shoulders, he’s having similarly grim thoughts.

They both stare up at the steep path they’d come down, hours before.

“What now?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs, and starts trekking back up the hill. Without any better ideas, Eddie follows.

Part 6

[milswrites]

Can I have this dance?

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Lovingly trapped in a moment on a roof in the Rainbow, you and Azriel take advantage of the little time you get alone, enjoying your evening together until dawn makes her appearance.

Warnings: Just cuteness!

Notes: Don’t know why this made me feel homesick for a place that isn’t real. (I definitely didn’t base this off the song from High School Musical 3 👀🫣)

Life couldn’t get any better than this. You had just shared in the most magical evening with Azriel. The delectable meal at his favourite restaurant , secretly hidden down one of the narrow, twisting streets of the illuminated city. The blissful walk along the Sidra, hands entwined and swinging between you as you spoke about everything and nothing all at once. Then finally to end your evening the perfect view of the rainbow, enjoyed only by you and the shadowsinger, hiding away on the roof of Feyre’s studio, not yet wanting the most wonderful of nights to come to an end.

So here you were, sat together on a blanket Azriel had materialised from his shadows, your head resting against his shoulder as you admired the scene. Eyes closed softly as you appreciated the humid kiss of the evening breeze against your cheeks, ears perked as you listened to the bustling streets below. Friends laughing with friends as they crawl out from the rustic bars, ready for an exciting night ahead in the clubs of Velaris. Artists calling out enticingly, attempting to squeeze in a few more sales from the interested public before they packed up for the night. Velaris was a city full of life. The rising of the moon, and the dotting of twinkling stars appearing in the inky sky, called its people from their homes like a sirens song.

You and Azriel had always been wallflowers, preferring to sit back and absorb the moments you were in. So being here, sat only with each other for company on the silent roof, heightened senses taking in the sights, smells and sounds from the streets below, was your idea of heaven. You mainly sat in comforting silence, though Azriel occasionally released a low rumbling laugh from his chest, pointing out a poor fae who had drank a little too much and was struggling as they stumbled wildly down the cobbled streets. Or you would gasp in adoration each time a dog ran by, tongue hanging out as its tail wagged happily. You were watchers and this was the perfect place to observe.

Hypnotised, you were unsure just how long you had been sat there entwined together, the night sky being your only guide as to what the time was, hundreds of stars now shining in the night sky. The vendors had all taken their leave, wheeling their lightened carts away as their places were taken by musicians and performers seeking to make a few coins and share their passion with the keen citizens of Velaris, who were all too willing to stop and watch as if they had all the time in the world.

Which it felt like you did, you and Azriel sat here on the roof trapped in your little moment with no concept of time. It was almost as if you were merely figures in a painting. Too enticed by the transfixing tug of the city that was Velaris. The only thing that could ruin your enjoyment would be the rude interruption of dawn breaking, and so until then you would absorb this picture in its entirety.

The wind carried a melodic tune from the streets which you overlooked. The airy whistling of a flute accompanied by the harmonic pull of a harps strings. It was the type of music you liked to imagine the gods would listen to, the skilled musicians drawing all kinds of emotions from you through their beautiful symphony.

Azriel, who had always been appreciative of good music, softly hummed along to the tune, his voice beautifully harmonising with the notes from the instruments below. Captivated, the song made you sway softly, continuously brushing against the shadowsinger’s shoulder as you did so.

Gleeful giggles joined the orchestration, you could almost feel the vibrations of the joyful sounds as the wind gently blew them towards you. Curious, you moved from your comfortable position to lean over the edge. Still humming contentedly, Azriel absentmindedly shot out a reassuring arm to hold onto your own, ensuring that you wouldn’t topple over the ledge, interrupting the magic that was being produced below.

You peered over, merriness filling your eyes as you watched couples, both young and old, joined together in an enchanting dance. Arms embracing their lovers as they swayed to the mesmerising tune.

You squealed at the sight, hopping excitedly to your feet as you wanted nothing more than to do the same, Azriel lurching forwards in fear at your sudden movement. The male stilled as he saw you were alright, eyes glancing in confusion to the open hand you were holding out for him to take.

You chuckled at his furrowed brows marring his handsome face, his thoughts still lost to hypnotising rhythm of the music. “Dance with me” you grinned, waving your arm about energetically as impatience flooded your system, wanting to start the dance before the melody came to an end.

A matching smile crossed his face as he placed his hand in yours, “I’m not much of a dancer” he nervously mumbled, afraid to disappoint you with his skills, or lack thereof. Mustering all the strength you could you pulled the male up from the floor, “it doesn’t matter Az, all that matters is you, this. Right now.”

You raise your entwined hands just as you saw the elder couples doing below, resting your head on Azriel’s chest as you wrapped your other arm round his muscular back, the male following suit and doing the same to you.

Taking the lead you began to sway in time with the tune, taking small steps which Azriel copied, his eyes locked onto your feet to ensure he didn’t step on them. Briefly, you removed your hand from his back just to take him by the chin and move his face to meet yours before returning it to its original position, his golden-amber eyes which were fogged by lust meeting your own.

Gaining confidence as his eyes bore into yours, Azriel began to guide you, steps widening as the two of you began to move around the roof, spinning together in broad circles, allowing the moment to take over and let your bodies do all the work. He raised your joined hands, allowing you to twirl under his arm, being mindful not to bump into his wings which were slightly curled around you both in your embrace.

You moved fluidly, two shadows dancing together under the moonlight, the powerful music controlling your movement. It was an elegant mess of unplanned yet coordinated spins and dips, Azriel doing whatever felt right at the time, allowing his instincts to work for him. He drew you into a deep dip, your back arching over his supportive arm as he did so before lifting you back up and spinning you in a circle once more, pulling you close to his chest after you were steadied on your feet.

Beginning to run out of moves, both your arms drifted up his body until they locked around his neck, his own hands coming to rest at your waist. You resumed the gentle swaying, head pressed against him feeling the vibrations in his chest as he once again began to hum the melody as you moved.

You continued this dance until the music began to fade, still making the small steps even after the last note rang out through the wind, too enthralled by this perfect little scene shared between you. Enjoying the rare time you get alone when you are both off work and aren’t joined by your family - as much as you loved them.

And so the dance didn’t end with the song. The sound of your steady steps against the roof echoed until dawn finally made its appearance. The two of you still tangled in your enveloping embrace until the sun had long since risen. Allowing your perfect night to carry through into a beautiful new day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: literally had this idea and wrote it in an hour as I was just too excited

[theblueflower05]

Tizin(Entangled)| Part Three

A/N: Ah, and we’ve made it here! The first two chapters were like the worst kind of edging- I always just wanted them to be in love lol

Word Count: 11k(of almost pure smut. I’m sorry)

Warnings: Cursing. Talks of past trauma. Oral sex(female and male receiving), Penetrative Sex. Loss of virginity. Submissive Male. Femdom. Neteyam’s a munch.

Summary: In which Neteyam goes into heat, and makes it clear that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Omega Neteyam x Alpha Female Reader

<Part Two(previous)

>Part Four(next)

Series Masterlist

It’s never over,

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

It’s never over,

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

- Lover, You should come over. Jeff Buckley

Last Time:

“Ma Y/N” Neteyam calls to you clear and true. He’s chosen these words carefully, they don’t stick in his throat “I am yours if you’ll still have me”

Only then do you notice that the black Pearl necklace that you had strung together for him hangs around his throat.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A clear symbol of his acceptance of your courtship.

The crowd, chalked full of all members of the village-gathered close for the Iknimaya ceremony-, had gone still. Or maybe that was just him, his brain working too fast, not able to compute everyones movements as they fought to catch up with him.

Neteyam’s never been that scared before. His heart pounded in his ears like waves battering shore, his stomach queasy- a storm brewing inside of him. Hurricane levels of emotion stirring in his taut belly. He’d faced open battle, sprays of bullets and fire in the skies, with less fear in his chest.

Many things had happened at once.

Ronal’s outraged hiss.

Tonowari’s sway, as though he had taken a physical blow.

Gasp’s. Laughter. Shrill calls of protest. Neteyam can barely hear it over the rushing of his own blood in his ears.

He doesn't look, doesn't pay attention to any reaction but yours. Nothing matters but you, you in the sea of blue.

You're stunned, your pretty face slack with surprise. Ocean eyes wide and plush lips agape. He wishes he had been able to tell you, that night in the forest. That his feelings didnt come as such a surprise.

So Neteyam wait’s with bated breath- his heart in his throat but somehow also in his hands as he offers it to you- the entirety of Awa’atlu as his witness.

You could say no. You could reject him in front of everyone. Make him the village fool who had dared to declare his love for the next Olo’eykte.

The bold outsider.

Silly Omega.

Instead, a smile tugs at your lips and Neteyam lays his bleeding heart at your feet.

When he awakes, its to glittering rays of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds. For a moment, Neteyam feels the disorenation that he’d been accustomed to. The familiar confusion as he drifts back into the world of the living, the dream state left behind.

He still expects to come to in his family's keklu, the one he’d grown up in. The one he’d left behind deep in the Forest with the rest of his childhood.

He wonders if this odd vertigo will ever leave him. If he’ll ever rouse from slumber not missing the earthy smell of moss and leaves and greenery.

The shock of waking, especially for the first couple of months, used to be cruel. It was jarring, the home sickness. All consuming and miserable. He’d hid it well, as he does all things. But he wanted nothing more than to fly home on ikran back as fast as the wind would take him.

He wakes to golden rays of light- in a mauri that’s not his own.

And that familiar pang of homesickness doesn't threaten to choke him.

As he blinks sleep from his amber eyes, he takes in his surroundings. Acquainted to him now. Its decorated finely- clay pots with overflowing herbs. Finely beaded Sun catchers and windchimes that sway in the breeze. A sunken fire pit in the center that crackles. Woven rugs. Hung tapestries. A warm bed mat, piled high with quilts.

Home is a subjective word, Neteyams learned. To most it’s a place, a house. Four walls and a roof. To his father it’s his family; Neteyam himself. His siblings. His mother. To the Metkayina it’s the sea.

Neteyam has found his home-

It’s here. In your Mauri. In your arms.

You’re still peacefully asleep beside him. Your eyelashes kissing your high cheekbones. Your wild mane is everywhere. Spread out on the cushion you lay your head upon. On your face. On his. Strands of it tickle his nose.

You’re beautiful, always. But like this is something else. Soft and sleep warm and so close that he can trace the pattern of your Tahni.

Neteyam thanks the Great Mother for his affinity for early mornings- his internal clock had always been wound tight. An early bird, Jake had deemed him.

You’d sleep until deep in the afternoon if it was allowed.

Most days he’s awake before you, and he loves it. He loves these moments where he gets to watch you. Uninterrupted by responsibility or by your teasing- “What are you looking at me for, huh, Forest Boy?”

As if you don't know. As if he could pull his eyes away.

Greedily he feasts on the sight. You’re tucked in close, on your side, him on his back. Your arms and legs thrown around him, the delicious weight and feel of you pressing down on him. Keeping him cozy far better than any blanket ever could.

He takes his fill of this feeling. Of how content he is with you wrapped around him. Your cheek smushed to his shoulder. Your breath puffing on the side of his jaw.

It’s all so right.

It's bone deep.

He’d realized it the first night he’d spent with you. He belonged here, amongst your things.

Like your eclectic knick knacks and your plants and your well loved soup pot. He was yours. He thinks maybe he has been since the moment he touched down in Awa’atlu. Since the very first time he met your curious gaze. And it used to fucking terrify him. Because all he’s ever wanted was his anonymity and you’d taken all of him without even asking first.

That fear had turned to annoyance- and that annoyance into fondness because you. You are relentless and contagious and Tonowari should’ve known that Neteyam had no chance when the Olo’eyktan had assigned you as Neteyam’s karyu. Fondness had morphed into something else- something that lit his belly on fire and made his blood hot. It was no longer a crush, it was an obsession.

He’s obsessed with you.

He’s drowning in his feelings for you. In his need to be closer to you.

He’d crawl under your skin if he could. He’d crack open his ribs and place you in the center, right next to his heart. It was yours anyway. He’d given it to you. Didnt you want to feel it, bloody and beating in your hands?

No. No, that still wouldn't be close enough.

Neteyam thinks that maybe he’s going crazy.

And you just lay there. In his arms. Resting soundly.

He stews in it, in his head, while the sun climbs higher in the sky. You’ll need to wake soon. Your duties will call you out of bed, steal you from his embrace.

He holds on even tighter at the thought, his nose snuffling into the crown of your head. You smell so good. Bright like fruit and deep like petrichor. Its intoxicating, he breathes it in greedily. Your scent coats his nasal passages, drips in his throat. He can’t help it, he’s nuzzling at you, pawing at you.

In your sleep you turn from him. Desperate to stay in the land of dreams for just that much longer. You go from your side your your back, your legs still somehow tangled with his.

You’re perfectly on display for him now- hair fanning behind you like a halo. Your eyes are still closed and your lips are pursed in the cute way that only happens when you’re sleeping or pouting- he watches your heartbeat in your throat. Your pulse fluttering so near your scent gland. Your delicate clavicle.

You don't sleep with clothes on. There's no reason to, they’ll just tangle in the night. He’d embraced that habit of yours when he spends the night- it’s nice to wake up without his tweng twisted around his legs.

Your body is naked, all of that seemingly endless supple turquoise skin and the swirls of black ink that make up your tribal tattoos.

The only thing marring your bare skin is the courting that he’d made for you. Made of fresh water pearls iridescent shells and stones he’d brought from the forest- you hadn’t taken it off since he’d presented it to you

He can't look away from the curve of your tits and the nipples that top them. Soft from the warmth of your combined body heat. His teeth ache, he wants to chew on them.

Your smooth belly, your wide hips. The mound of your pussy.

Neteyam’s nostrils flare and saliva pools in his mouth.

It’s his greatest fixation, he thinks as he reaches out, his deft fingertips ghosting lightly over your skin. He really has no control over it- no matter how much he tries. Every day in your presence, every night in your bed, it just gets worse.

He grazes the stripes that adorn your arm, the underside of your breast, your naval. He’s memorized your patterns now. He’d know them in a sea of Na’vi. Would be able to point you out without needing to see your face.

Home is this moment, your scent mixing with his own. Your bed has become his nest. The quilts and cushions smell like blossoming romance. The beginning of something long and concrete.

Home is the way you feel under the pads of his fingers. The way you sigh in your sleep- your nose scrunching as you turn your head deeper into your pillow.

Home is between your thighs. Always hot and moist. Ever welcoming to him. An embrace from his dearest friend.

How had he gone all of those years without this?

Neteyam had always been an Omega with a healthy appetite. Even though he’d never acted on it, he’d wanted. Of course he had. He’d gone through his heats crying for a knot, and could be caught on multiple occasions staring at the female Alpha’s of the Omiticaya with longing gazes.

Now that he knows the heat and the comfort of your pussy, he’s sure he couldn't give it up even if he tried. It's silky to the touch, the folds unfurling with his feather light caress.

He wants to taste but knows that his tongue will surely wake you. So instead he just feels, lightly. Watches his own hand play between your thighs. It’s something you’re more than happy to let him do while you’re awake.

You’d be okay with it this way, wouldn't you? If he explored while you're sleeping…he really should've asked but he just can't wait. He’ll apologize later if he needs to.

A vision of you putting him on his knees and demanding he kiss at your feet in apology makes him bite his bottom lip hard to stifle a groan.

You get wet for him so easily and he feels so lucky.

Your pussy slicks up at his touch even in your sleep. It’s heady, it makes his cluttered head feel even heavier. It makes him feel like you’re his.

He doesn't mean to. Really he doesn't.

But his head goes from resting on the cushion next to yours. To resting in your neck, nose against your scent gland. And the moment he's getting your scent potent and right from the source any control he might have had is just gone. He’s under your spell, he’s drunk the potion that is your pheromones.

He’s circling your sticky clit a bit too roughly. His body curled around yours, his hips grinding into your side. His lips moving against your gland.

When you wake its with a breathy moan. Your lashes fluttering and your plush lips parted. Your fingers go tight around his wrist, the one that's between your legs.

“Teyam?” Your voice is groggy and sleep laden around his name. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

“Good morning, narlor(beautiful)” your tendency for pet names might be rubbing off on him a little bit. Plus, is it not true? Are you not the most beautiful woman he’s ever met? The title belongs to you.

He kisses on your scent gland. Then behind your ear.

“It is a good morning indeed” you purr, spreading your legs even further, pressing his hand even deeper into your cunt with your grip on his wrist “You’re so bad, Tey”

“Never that” he whispers, his sharp canine catching on your jaw. “Aren't I always good for you? Waking you up in the only way I know how. You’re a real pain in the morning, you know”

You giggle and its so sweet it makes his stomach hurt.

“Ah, so it's my fault that you can't keep your hands to yourself?” you’re very cheeky, even in those first moments awake.

Neteyam pecks the corner of your lips, before breathing his words into your grinning mouth “It’s all your fucking fault”

When he kisses you it's all tongue.

He wants to taste you, he licks into your mouth. Behind your teeth as his fingers plunge deep inside of you. You gasp and suck him inside, your hands coming up to fist his braids as his hips still grind. His dick rubbing against your bare hip, unsheathed- throbbing and wet and hard as stone.

It’s a needy thing. All too quick as he chases both of your releases. You ride his fingers until you’re squealing, never breaking the messy kiss and he comes with a grunt. Shooting off against your skin.

If he rubs the layer of his cum in before he lets you up to ready for the day, that’s his own prerogative. Scent marking has become a thing for him as of late. He doesn't pay it too much mind.

Neteyam just watches you hurry around your mauri.

You get dress, the plum tweng and twinkling shell top look perfect on you. You brush your waist length hair until it falls in uniform waves around your shoulders. It looks like an oil spill, all dark and shiny.

“Watcha staring at, sayrip(handsome)? Haven't you had enough for now?” You tease with a feline smile and knowing eyes as you catch him ogling you. He just rolls his own and gives you a half hearted hiss- before going and busying himself with making breakfast.

It’s domestic. It’s becoming his routine- his new norm.

Ever since that day on the beach where he had announced your relationship and his intentions to everyone, he spends most nights here.

They’ve begun to bleed into one and other. Has it already been over a month, just shy of two? How?

Time passes so fast when he’s with you. He loses track of it as he loses himself to you.

When you’re both dressed for the day, and eating a hot mix of grains and fruit, you reach over to trace along his side.

Neteyam had completed his rite, he was a fledged member of the tribe now. A hunter and known warrior. He’d gotten the markings to prove it. They were painful and slow healing on his tender skin but he’d taken it(with a flurry of curses during the hours of poke and stick)

Now there's sprawling black from his left hip to just under his armpit. A helluva place for his first marking. His father and Tonowari had both winced when he announced his desired placing, pointing at his ribs naively.

It’s all but healed, but still you fret over it. You’ve see infected tattoos before and they are not a pretty sight “I will go to my mother today, and ask her for more salve”

“No” Neteyam shakes his head at once “That’s not necessary, please don't. It feels fine”

Ronal had made her distaste for him known.

She had been the most outraged at his claim on you. Her eldest daughter. The next leader of the Metkayina. When you’d made it clear that you accepted Neteyam, you wanted him and returned his affections it had ended in a screaming match.

Both of you stubborn Alpha’s. Neither of you willing back down.

The pregnant Tsahik honestly scares him a little and he’s trying his best to win her respect, or at the very least, her blessing to be with you.

“You have spent years rejecting any and all suitors we have suggested and yet this boy offers himself to you and you accept? Without a second thought? He hasn't even properly courted you! It’s a disgrace!” Ronal had shouted and Neteyam felt like dirt because she didn't speak lies.

He should've been doing more, earlier. Instead of denying his feelings and bad mouthing you to his family.

He’d stood outside of your family’s large Mauri. Waiting for you. Listening to the conversation within, his tail hanging low between his legs.

“You have never ever suggested anyone that I wanted. Isn't it enough that I care for him and he cares about me in return? He’s the first person who's ever cared about me!” You’d wailed back “You've never given a shit about finding someone who actually cares about me for me and not for my title!”

Tonowari had broken the two of you up soon after that and you’d stormed out of the entrance with angry tears in your eyes.

It’s safe to say that the tension is still there and Neteyam is trying to keep his distance and keep the peace.

“My mother is Tshaik and takes her duty to the people seriously. You are one of the people now. She will heal you whether she wants to or not” You say simply but with finality. A challenge. You have been challenging Ronal ever since that day. Defending your precious relationship with tooth and nail.

He appreciates it- but feels no less guilty.

Neteyam just squeezes your hand, the one inspecting his all but healed tattoo “I will be fine, please. I think right now distance is for the best. I’ve told you I will have my mom or Tsireya look it over if it starts to lean towards infection, I promise”

You argue and he argues right back. In the end, it’s time that makes the decision.

Your father is outside, waiting for you. He greets the two of you with a smile and a nod. It was time to start rounds.

Tonowari is kind to Neteyam. He accepts the union, and has been trying to keep peace between you and Ronal.

You just sigh. Admitting defeat and get up, “Fine. Just don't be stupid and let someone know if it starts to feel hot again”

“I will. I was going to go home soon anyway. I need a change of clothes” It feels odd to call his parents mauri home. Again, he thinks of what that word means.

“You may as well bring your things over, you spend most of your time here anyways” The way you say it is conversational. Off hand. Factual. You’re fastening your shin guards as his brain is misfiring.

“...All of my things?” Neteyam asks, gobsmacked.

“Obviously. Aren't you tired of going back and forth? Seems exhausting to me. If you need help bringing it all- we can do it tonight if you’d like”

And is it that simple? That he suddenly lives with you? Permanently? Because you are acting as though it is.

“Um?-” Neteyam starts all so eloquently, words not coming out but your father is calling for you. You don't have time to decipher him.

“I will see you later, yes?” you reach for him, holding his face in your hands. He’s still reeling but nods all the same.

“Be a good boy today, won't you?”

You kiss him, a wet smack of a thing, before you’re gone.

And he’s sitting there. He’s pretty sure you just asked him to move in with you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It is.

Simple.

Neteyam doesn't have much; being uprooted from the forest had left him with barebones. When packing to flee, Jake had instructed them to keep it light.

Somehow you make sure that all of his belongings mesh perfectly with yours. His few woven tapestries line the walls of the mauri perfectly. His weapons are now stored with yours. You even set the teapot that he’s so fond of, the one with intricate carvings that his Grandmother had made, on display in the middle of the living area. Every morning you brew him strong beaned pekoe.

You are so good to him, and he isn't even officially yours.

…but he wants to be.

Neteyam thinks of it day in and out, a fuzzy feeling in his stomach.

As he goes through the motions all he can think about is the way that he wants to be yours. Officially. He wants to wear your bite. The thought is dizzying and sizzles under his skin.

He knows that his heat is inching, creeping near. Has a gnawing feeling that it will arrive earlier than usual. He could blame these feelings on his hormones, on his natural cycle-

But in truth. You affect him more than his own body ever had. And considering how intense his season’s had always been, that was saying something.

He’d always been good at shoving this down, this part of himself. The neediness. The call of his inner Omega that screeched at the moons bi-annually. Heats had always been a nasty business for him- days of writhing in pain, desperate for a knot. Back in the forest Mo’at would drug him up. Teas and tinctures and salves, his body covered in herbs in an attempt to quell his raging hormones. His heats are strong, his grandmother had whispered when he was thirteen and lost to his first time. Strong heat, strong heart. Strong leader.

Funny, he felt anything but in those times of mindless need.

He’d try to warn you about them, about how he gets during his season, and you’d just giggled. Stroked his face and told him you couldn't wait. “I do enjoy a good challenge, I’m sure i’ll be able to keep up”

He wonders if you’ll be making jokes when both of you are in the thick of it. And then, he wonders what it will be like to have a partner.

And that thought is maddening.

Too big and obtuse in his brain, he cant think of anything but. Cant focus enough to be useful during his hunt. His bounty for the day is pitiful, nothing but a net of small fish. He’d down right missed a juvenile Naltusa(shark like creature), the aim was off. Lucky beast, He supposes it wasnt its day to return to Eywa.

Neteyam hauls the nets onto the shore with a few of his fellow hunters, a little quicker then normal. Fast hands and bulging biceps. He hopes he doesnt look as eager as he feels, all he wants to do is get back to the village. Back to you.

“Some days are more abundant then others, we can give it another try tomorrow. The tides should be on our side then, they’re very shifty in the warm season” Kenai’s a cheery Beta that Neteyam has come to grow fond of. Him and his mate Akemi are close friends of yours and they’ve taken him under their wing so to speak. He appreciates it.

“Naltusa meat is nasty sort, any way. Too tough- we’d be picking it out of our teeth for weeks.” Akemi adds. He’s a huge bulking mountain of a man and if Neteyam didn't know better he would have thought he was an Alpha. Instead, everything about Akemi is Beta soft, from his words to his pheromones.

“Even mighty warriors miss sometimes” his little brother shoves him with his shoulder good naturedly.

Lo’ak and Roxto surround them as well, neither with the markings of adulthood quite yet- if they wanted to attempt their own Iknimaya in the next cycle they figured it would be the best to ‘hands on train’. It's really an excuse for them to tag along, ride the waves. Catch a glimpse of the pretty girls that sway in the shallows, working on collecting from the crab traps.

Neteyam just grins good naturedly with a shrug “Gotta miss a couple times and give you the chance to catch up, don't I?”

A hunter who doesn't gut his own catch isn't much of a hunter at all, no matter the size of the bounty. Dirty work had never strayed Neteyam. Even though back in the forest the other hunters had jabbed about him being too pretty for it.

He listens to his companions chatter, content. His hands are moving, keeping busy. He doest add much to the conversation and that's okay.

He’d been an easy baby, Neytiri told the stories. Barely a peep, no crying or fussing. A quiet child, eager to escape into the thick trees whenever possible. Most had been impressed with his first kill, the fact that he'd accomplished it at such a young age. They grilled him, excited and envious then laughed at his answer. All he’d done is be silent.

The sun is so bright and strong on the isle’s, reflecting off the sea like a mirror. Even late in the afternoon when they return to the village.

Neteyam’s finally started to adjust to the intense rays but still, he longs for the damp sweet shade that came with the forest and its unbreachable canopy’s.There’s sweat beading from his hairline and down his back. He rubs at it with the back of his hand-

“Are you okay, my friend?” Akemi asks after Neteyam has stopped yet again to catch his breath.

“Fine, just hot”

“Don't worry, the storms in the evening will bring cooler weathers. You’ll have to hold our girl close though, she hates ‘em” Akemi grins as they walk along the spongy netted pathways.

“Why?” Neteyam inquires as they sidestep a group of giggling younglings and the Narisi’io(Nanny) that chases them “Is she scared of them?”

“Oh, she’s terrified” Akemi grins knowingly “She has been since we were little, but don't tell her I told you that. You know how she is, always pretending she has no fears. But a little thunder- Eywa forbid lightning, and she’s all but hiding under her bed mat”

Neteyam knows it's stupid but he’s almost jealous that Akemi knows all of this about you. He only wishes that he could’ve seen you, small and ornery. If he can only get in tales, then he’llgreedily take it “Really? She’s never told me that. Anything else I should know?”

Akemi laughs and leans into Neteyam’s space conspiratorially “I will tell you all you need to know- and most you don't. You’ll have to come by soon, spend the evening with us. My Kenai makes the most delicious shellfish stew, don't you, Tiwayn(love)?”

Kenai just chuckles and blushes as Akemi waxes poetic about the thick roux and mix of spices.

Neteyam smiles at the couple. He thinks he knows what that feels like now. To love someone so much that you want to sing their praises to anyone who will hear.

He spots you in the distance, like some sort of beacon. His eyes can find you in crowds so easily now, it's like his body has been rewired to hone in on yours.

You're just outside the big Mauri and he figures the meetings must be over. You stand in a group of elders and tribe leaders. You're smaller than most, your frame so easy to tower above, and yet you hold your own. Shoulders squared and head high. It makes something in his belly bloom. Pride, he thinks.

Yes, he understands Akemi’s need to tell everyone just how amazing he thinks his mate is.

Neteyam has a stupid smile on his face. He just knows that Lo’ak is two seconds away from making fun of him, as usual, for being undeniably whipped-

And Neteyam cant even deny it.

Sometimes, he doesn't like the way people look at you.

Most look at you with adoration, reverence and warmth. Some with heat and lust that makes his hackles rise. The occasional glance of exasperation because of your bold nature. He knows first hand what it’s like to feel all eyes on you, all the time. Knows that you mostly try to ignore it or are so used to it you no longer feel the stares.

There’s one member of the clan that looks at you in a way that makes Neteyams fingers itch for his tstal(dagger).

Vaeyu is everything Neteyam has come to know about Alpha’s and all that he hates. Tall and big and brooding, he uses his body like a weapon and his sharp words and condescending tone like a threat. And that would be enough for Neteyam to dislike him in general.

But.

Its the way that Vaeyu looks at you that cements Neteyam’s distaste for the Alpha.

All sharp and judgmental, or when Tonowari or anyone of importance is around; sickeningly sweet and perpetually bordering condescending.

Neteyam noticed it, even though he hasn't told anyone. The microaggressions. Vaeyu will take any and all chances to dig at you. They’re small things, conversational. He says it with that even voice- a smile on his face. What truly confuses Neteyam is the way that you react. He expects bloodshed; your sharp fangs and that dagger that you keep on your hip at all times go unused. You just…allow it.

Even now when the Alpha approaches you, you just seem to close up. Your arms folded over your chest and your jaw ticking as you grind your teeth. To anyone else it may seem normal. But he knows you.

“I fucking hate that guy” For a moment Neteyam thinks that he’s spoken his thoughts aloud, but the words had come in Akemi’s deep timbre. “I wish he’d just stay away from her.”

“Me too, he seems like a real dickhead” Lo’ak agrees, remembering when the Alpha had joined in on the teasing with Ao’nung and his lackies. The difference between them and him? Ao’nung was a juvenile who didnt know better. Vaeyu a fully fledged adult with a family. Cruelty and ignorance have different tastes.

Neteyam doesn't need to voice his distaste, it’s written all over his face.

There’s any so much he can take. You look so uncomfortable and that just will not do. His feet are carrying almost without his permission. He needs to protect his Alpha. Needs to make sure that you’re okay. There's really no other thoughts in his head, its like fuel.

“See you later, bro! Told you he’s down bad-“Lo’ak calls from behind him rolling his eyes at Neteyam when he gives the group a halfhearted wave.

Your eyes light up as they connect with his. Your whole body just relaxes, like a flower unfurling in the sunlight. “Neteyam, what’re you doing here, I thought you were hunting”

Neteyam’s arm goes around you and he can sense your slight shock. He isn’t a fan of public displays of affection and even though you insist that it’s okay, he knows you crave it.

As his hands rest on your soft warm skin he doesn't think he’ll ever be letting it go again. Fuck it, he cares not who sees.

Actually in this moment there's one person he actively wants to see.

He leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, but his eyes never leave Vaeyu’s. The Alpha is tall and obnoxiously broad, he likes letting it be known. Funny, the way Neteyam stands just as tall and never has to flaunt his size.

“All done for the day, I thought I’d come find you and see if you are as well. I hoped we could spend the afternoon together” Neteyam tells you and it’s half true.

It's not a hope. You’re done for the day whether you like it or not. “Are we done here?” he presses.

It’s not really you he’s speaking to.

Vaeyu’s eyes dance with fire. Anger at being challenged by an Omega…but something else. You cant into Neteyam’s touch, your arms going around his middle as you reach up to kiss at his jaw-

And, ah. Neteyam is able to identify that other emotion. Jealousy.

“Come, I am quite hungry. Are you going to feed me, Sayrip(handsome)?”

“Of course I am, come. Let's go back to our home” If Neteyam emphasizes the word our, it's because he’s not sure Vaeyu saw him move his things in the other day.

As the two of you walk away, backs turned, Neteyam shoots the Alpha one last look. His golden gaze sharp and cautioning as his long thin tail wraps around your upper thigh.

An obvious claim

Vaeyu looks away and Neteyam roars in victory. Internally, of course.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’s thrilled that you let him tug you along, past the Mauri. You dont question it as he leads you down onto the beach, away from the village and into the thick trees. You make him bold in a way that he never had been. You follow him deep into the bush. Trudging along beside him.

When the rocky cliff face come into view you start questioning again “Seriously, where are you taking me, Teyam?”

“I need you to trust me, and listen, very closely” Neteyam instructs, letting go of your hand to step closer to the rocks. He looks up, to the naked eye the wall of rock looks solid, vine covered and towering. “Stay behind me and make no sudden movements”

The chirp that leaves his mouth is sharp and shrill, followed by a chattering squawk. There is only moments between before it is returned.

Hidden atop the cliffs, the Sully family ikrans had made their new roost. The nesting grounds were high up and nearly in accessible- to anyone who couldn't climb that is. Usually he’d be happy to meet his mount well above the ground but he highly doubts you could make it up that high.

The screech that the beast lets out as she glides down, answering Neteyam’s call, is loud and shrill. Landing right in front of him, kicking up the forest sand beneath her great wings that she stretches ominously. Her jaws snap threateningly as she stands on her hind legs.

Neteyam can hear your fearful gasp from behind him.

“Nimwey” He sighs at the entire display and reaches out to push her mouth shut “Must you be such a brat?”

The ikran had always been so dramatic, such a show off. She actually had one of the most docile natures he’d ever seen in her kind. The point is only proven as she shoves her massive head into his chest- nearly knocking him over. His sweet old girl.

There is a disbelieved laugh behind him, certainly a little hysterical

“This is Nimwey, I have flown with her since I was thirteen” Neteyam speaks slowly, turning to you with his arms still full of scaled beast “She is very sweet but please. Approach slowly”

“Sweet? I am not sure of that…” you’re hesitant, feet rooted as you watch the entire scene. What is completely normal to Neteyam is so far beyond foreign to you.

He knows the feeling.

“I have wanted to introduce the two of you, but there has been no time. And she’s been nesting, haven't you momma?” Neteyam speaks to the ikran like one would a child and not a man eating winged predator. He connects his kuru to Atanzaw’s and the bond curls around him like an embrace.

“We share Tsaheylu, she will not hurt you” Neteyam reassures because Nimwey wouldnt. Not when she can feel for herself what he feels for you.

Your steps are slow and calculated as you approach and once your close enough he reaches for you, and with his hand cradling yours, leads you to press your palm against Nimwey’s side, “Feel her strong lungs, and her heartbeat. She is Eywa’s creation as all are, she’s not scary as she seems”

“She’s so beautiful” you whisper as you run your fingers along her scales. Nimwey is stunning, painted in shades of Azure and Emerald with shiny scales and iridescent wings.

“She is. Something the two of you have in common” Neteyam waxes poetic and the side eye that you and Nimwey shoot him is very insulting.

“I remember the day that you rode in on her. I had never seen anything like it- they don’t get this big here. I’d heard legends of ikran riders from far away lands but never thought I would live to see it” your tone is awe laced and it goes right to Neteyams head.

“Would you like to take a ride with me?” Neteyam had brought you here for this reason. He wants to take you, far away. If only for a bit.

“...You are serious?” You look at him, then at the ikran, then back at him.

“Don't you want to be apart of those legends? The great Metkayinan Olo’eykte who rode an ikran?” Neteyam grins as he says it. He knows your adventurous nature, knows that your need to experience and throw yourself head first into life will lead you to agreeing.

“Is it not dangerous?” You don't say no and he knows he’s already won, he squeezes your shoulder, gently disconnects from the bond, and goes to a nearby tree, climbing it quickly.

The Sullys had stashed their riding gear close, so that they could saddle their mounts in a hurry if need be.

“No more dangerous than swimming in the open ocean. At least in the sky there aren't Akula” Neteyam assures, returning with a large saddle and harness.

“In the water you can't fall to your death” You point out in a deadpan, watching him work. He’s quick and efficient as he is in most things as he bounds his ikran in her riding leathers.

“I would never let that happen” Neteyam reassures earnestly, he was one of the youngest riders to date, he feels more in control in the sky then on ground most times “You do not have to, of course. But I want to share this with you”

“Then take me on a ride, Forest boy.”

You look all too adorable as he slide’s Kiri’s riding visor down over your forehead. He wants to smush your face between his hands like you always do to him. He wishes he had his fathers human camera on him.

He mounts Nimwey carefully, can feel her through the bond. She wants to fly, it had been too long since they’d taken to the sky together.

“Come, Y/N” He pulls you up. In front of him, much to your distress. He want to be able to hold onto you, adjusts you on the saddle until you settle, back against his chest- his arms around you as he holds the reins. “Move with me, when I turn lean with it”

“Any other pointers?” you’re shifty and excited and it bleeds into him. Into the bond. Nimwey braces for flight.

“Don't close your eyes” He speaks it into your hair- before yipping out an ikran call, sending Nimwey into action.

Neteyam will never forget his first flight. The way it had felt to soar high above the clouds, the rush that came with the wind whipping through his braids. It is the most exhilarating experience that he can recall having, he had never felt more free.

Watching you getting to experience your own first is something special.

He wants to cement it somewhere deep in his brain, wants to share it with the Spirit Tree so that he can relive it over and over. He never wants to forget the smile on your face or the way your eyes sparkle with childlike wonder. Flying over the ocean is a beautiful experience, watching the water sparkle where the sun touches it is breathtaking- it brings tears to your eyes.

He takes you everywhere- far out, past Three Brothers Rock and up into the frothy misty clouds. The two of you soar around the isles, laughing and pointing out things you see- a flock of brightly colored Fkio. Fast leaping Naltusa that spin as they breach on cresting waves. The living breathing coral pulses just below the surface.

You like it the most when he flies fast, and banks against the wind. Your thrilled laughter and screams chime in his ears, not lost to the whooshing wind. An adrenaline junkie, his father had deemed you. Just like Lo’ak.

He never wants to come down, would be happy to spend the rest of his days in the air with only you and Zuli as his companions, but life has other plans.

The storms have started to roll in, the clouds ugly and bruised with perspiration. It’s only a matter of time before it starts to rain- when he tells you so you tighten in his arms. Going rigid. Fuck.

“We won't be able to make it back to the village in time, and flying in the rain is dangerous” He hollers apologetically- he couldn't have picked a mild sunny day to do this?

“We should seek cover- here. Head for the Cove of the Ancestors- there are many caves that we use for ceremonies, we can wait it out there” You instruct and Neteyam yanks gently on the reigns, leading Zuli to the instructed destination.

The Cove is breathtaking as ever, Neteyam had only just been allowed at the sacred space after he had passed his rights and earned his place as Metkayina. The Spirit Tree glows, bright and purple under the waves that are much gentler here, guarded by the high dome like cliff structures and floating rocks that protect the tree.

You lead him to the mouth of one of many caves, its big enough for Nimwey to fly straight in. It is good timing, the first fat drops of rain have just started to fall from the sky.

The cave is up high enough around that most of the waves can only lap at the entrance; there is a large fire pit in the middle and torches mounted on the walls. You scurry quickly around, eager to get a fire going.

“What is this place used for?” Neteyam wonders as he works on getting the torches lit.

When you speak your back is still turned to him as you spark flame to the big pit in the center “There are many like this littered along these lower cliffs, the people here to be close to Ranteg Utralti(Metkayina Spirit Tree). Mostly for prayer circles, fertility ceremonies, mating”

Neteyam’s lower belly swoops and his cheeks burn. “Ah, that makes sense…”

He goes through the motions that have been so ingrained in him, checks the perimeters and makes sure that all is secure before pressing the com on his neck. It’s staticy, the connection is rough due to the weather.

“Pathfinder to Devil Dog, comming in, over”

“I read you, Pathfinder. Where are you? This storm is wicked”

“I'm in a cave with Y/N, out near the Cove of the Ancestors, we’re safe and dry-We’re gonna wait it out here”

“Are you sure? If you need me to, I will come in for extraction”

“I am sure. We’ll head back as soon as its clear”

“Stay safe. Keep in contact”

“Roger that”

It is nice here, dry and warm from the fires. Lit by the flickering light of the torches and the glow of bioluminescent flora and fauna that grow on the walls. A soft moss that acts like a cushion covers the harsh rock floor.

Nimwey has left- the old girl doesn't care if it's wet. They’re near prime hunting grounds and from experience he knows the ikran does some of her best work in the rain. She’ll come back, with a full belly for her chicks, when he calls.

You’re near the back wall, lounged against a large rock, legs stretched in front of you and crossed over each other. You may look casual, but Neteyam can see the way that you keep anxiously eyeing the rain that falls in heavy sheets outside. He sits a few feet away, giving you distance if you so want it.

How had this gone so sideways? He just wanted some time with you, all to himself. And now here you we’re, stuck far away from home during a storm and it was completely his fault. This is why he’s never been impulsive, he sucks at it. Such an unlucky skxawng

“I am sorry” He whispers with a wince as he focuses on the fire. On the same day he’d learned you’re scared of storms, he’d flown you out into one.

“What for?” You ask, your big eyes turning to him. So confused and soft that it only makes him feel worse.

“I know you don't like storms, and somehow I got us stuck in one” he grumbles, a little embarrassed. He feels like a shit partner. What kind of Omega was he, leading you out into the wilderness with no food, nothing?

You just smile a little and scootch closer to him until you're pressed along the side of his body “You can't control the weather, Yawntu(my love). No need for apologies” you lean your head on his shoulder and he noses at your temple. Your hair is still all mused and messy from the flight “How did you know i'm afraid of storms?”

At that moment the cave lights up as a blinding flash of lightning strikes and splinters across the sky- followed by a ground shaking clap of thunder.

You jump, a gasp caught in your throat and Neteyam pulls into his lap, hugging you tight in his strong arms.

“I don't know, just a hunch” he teases after a moment, breaking up the tense moment. You laugh but it's forced and you’re stiff as a board. “Can I ask why they scare you so much?”

“What’s not to fear? They’re destructive and uncontrollable- we’re usually protected from the big ones, by the reef you know? But sometimes they slip through. Though far between its always flooding and chaos” you explain and huh, he guesses that makes sense.

Back in the forest he loved storms- but he had always endured them from the comfort of his family Keklu high in the trees, safe from floods and damage.

“This one will not last long, the clouds were low” He reassures in a low voice as he strokes the fly away hairs away from your face “It will pass before you know it, Yawntutsyip(little love)”

“I bet I seem pretty pathetic right now, huh? An Alpha who’s afraid of a little rain” You frame it as a joke, but there’s too much self-depreciation laced in.

“Not at all, it is normal to have fears. Tuk’s an Alpha and she’s scared of all kinds of things”

“She’s also seven years old!” You exclaim aghast at his horrible comparison and he sniggers, brushing your thick hair away from your shoulders so that he can press kisses there.

It’s easy to distract you.

The bubble of conversation that the two of you cocoon yourselves in feels safe and hospitable. It’s one of Neteyam’s favorite things; the way that he can just talk to you. About any and everything. He doesn't care what the subject is, he listens raptly to your words and the minutes fly by.

You end up shifting, lying on your sides, facing one another. Your chin is propped in your hand, elbow on the ground.

The council meeting today had been boring, mostly talks of village construction which he finds amusing that you have such a distaste for. When you mention Vaeyu and his desire for an expansion on his Mauri Neteyam scoffs. One of your dainty browbones raises in question.

“I just…do not like him. At all” Neteyam gripes.

“We can agree on that, but he has high rank so I’m forced to keep cordial with him” You sigh with a roll of your eyes “I fucking loathe politicks”

This is the opening that he’s been waiting for and his curiosity about Vaeuy bubbles to the surface “Do you know him well?”

“Well enough, his parents are close with mine”

“I see…” Neteyam drawls, and he should let the subject drop. Really, he knows. “Is there anything more?”

“Why? Has someone said something to you?” You sit up a bit and yeah. Yeah he knows that there is so much unsaid. “Has he?”

“No, but I have eyes. There’s some sort of history there. He’s extremely disrespectful to you and I’m not sure why- or why it is allowed” Once Neteyam starts it all flows out of him “I keep expecting you to break his jaw and you just allow it. I’m confused, is it just his rank? Because you outrank him in every sense of the word-”

“Neteyam” You sigh, but he keeps going.

“I know that Alpha’s have their own way of handling things that I don't care to understand-

“Neteyam, please”

It’s sharp and cuts his sentence off. He’s ticked off and down right jealous and you look suddenly very upset again.

“I do not ask about your past partners out of respect…and because it really doesn't matter who you were with before you met me” After a moment of tense silence, he chooses his words very carefully “You were with him, right?”

He expects you to get defensive like you have in the past. Maybe sassy. Put him in his place a little bit.

Instead you droop with shame.

“Yes” you admit and he frowns. It’s not that he’s disappointed in your sexual experience, the same as you aren't in his lack there of. But Vaeyu?

“I know what you’re thinking” you roll onto your back, staring at the glowing cave ceiling as you speak “Why that asshole?”

“Well…yeah” Neteyam replies so unsmoothly, he wants to face palm.

“My whole life has been planned out for me and I’ve learned to be okay with that. Really. The only thing I’ve ever wanted for my own is the chance to choose who I give my heart to” Neteyam knows the sentiment and stays quiet, giving you the space to speak.“Vaeyu was always older and his family was close to mine so he didn't treat me as just the chiefs daughter. I thought he might like me…for me”

The tale that you proceed to weave makes him sick to his stomach.

You had been young and naive and preyed upon by someone you trusted. Vaeyu touched you before you long before your Iknimaya and then dropped you when he’d been unable to get you to submit. Neteyam swears to the Great Mother that if he ever gets the chance, he’ll kill that motherfucker.

“I understand him, in a way,” you whisper, still not looking at Neteyam.

You cant see the way his face scrunches all the way up “And what fucking way is that?”

You bite your bottom lip hard and in the dim light, your eyes shine dangerously. “I’m…a lot . I can understand why someone would be hesitant to bond with me. I won't fool myself into thinking that I am everyone's ideal of a mate”

Neteyam’s chest seizes painfully and it feels like a part of him shatters hearing you speak about yourself in such ways. His poor sweetheart. He reaches out- he wants to dig his nails onto you and shake you because how could you think that you are anything less than magnificent?

Instead his fingers gently trace along your arms, before his hand settles on your chest. He presses his palm to the place above your heart.

“Oel ngati kameie” He says the words that his soul had known. Known since that very first one on one training session. He thinks that maybe he'd known before he was born. His past selves must have loved you, too.

You turn to look at him, tears creepingg down your cheeks “You don't have to…”

Neteyam had always thought that he was put on Eywa’eveng to be a good son. Brother. Hunter.

But now suspects that the All Mother may have created him to find you. And love you, wholly. To love every part of you that others had deemed undesirable.

“Oh baby,” He whispers the English endearment,

“Loving you is as easy for me as breathing. It’s not something I have to force myself to do. It is not a hardship. I’m sorry if anyone made you think differently”

His hand goes to your face, still with gentle touches, but you cup it in your own and press down firm, grounding you both. Your eyes are close, as though your bracing against coming impact.

“All I think about is bonding you. I want a life with you, Y/N” That is an understatement. He wants to wake up with you every morning. Wants to hunt with you. Wants to cook every meal. Wants to see you round with his children, wants to fill your shared Mauri to the brim with little ones that have your eyes and your wild streak “Let me show you”

When he lets go of you, it's so that he can reach behind himself and pull his thick shiny braid over his shoulder.

He offers his kuru to you. Because it’s yours already. Has been, just like the rest of him.

Your eyes follow his movements, widening as you realize what his intentions are. Just for a moment, before they go gentle and you reach for your own braid.

The two of you sit up, both propped on your shins. Kuru’s in hand, the lavender tendrils squirm. Reaching blindly in the dark, desperate for connection.

“Are you sure you’re ready,Neteyam, truly?” even then you have to question it and it makes his need to prove his dedication to you that much stronger“I don't want you to regret this”

“I want to be yours” Neteyam states simply because that is his truth. “I don't need a big ceremony, I couldn't care less about things like that, honestly . We’re here, at the Spirit Tree, in front of Eywa. That’s all that matters to me”

The distance between the tendrils is shortened, then closed. They twine together seamlessly, as though they had always meant to.

The bond is sealed and he can’t help but gasp.

He, as most Na'vi, had spent his life thinking about Tsaheylu. What would it be like to share the sacred bond with another? He’d imagined it, daydreamed about it when he got lonely. Listened to stories both scandalous and reverent.

Nothing could prepare him for the reality.

It’s all consuming and overwhelming, euphoria sings through his veins at being connected to you.

You and Neteyam blur.

Two souls into one being. He can feel you inside of him; your strong wild heart beats within his own chest now.

You collapse into each other: Neteyam slumps, leaning into you. Head falling into your bosom, his cheek smushed against your skin. You welcome him, wrap your arms around his neck, cradling him that much closer.

Why had no one told him it felt like this? He should’ve bonded with you the moment he met you. He wants to crawl under your skin and never come out.

“Yours” he slurs, still unable to open his eyes at the onslaught of intense stimulation “I’m finally yours”

Your joy is bright and eclectic, your love all consuming. He can feel the way that you want him. That you yearn for him. To you he is all things; strong and tender. He’s both the inky night with all of its danger and rough uncertainty and the soft gentle rays of first light during sunrise. He is nuanced and dynamic; you do not just see him as an Omgea. You see him as a person; your equal.

“And I am yours” Your voice echos in his head without you having to speak. “All of me, Neteyam. You can have everything”

His fingers trail along your turquoise skin, groping, taking handfuls of you. Your clothing is stripped, slow and revenant. He’s seen you before, gotten to suckle at your breast and taste your sweet cunt, but it feels different now. New. Every inch of bare skin is a revelation to him.

You’re less graceful than him, more hedonistic. It goes straight to his head, is undeniably sexy as you tug at his tweng roughly- yanking it off his body and manhandling him until he lies flat on his back.

“Fuck, Nete” you groan. He knows what he looks like, he can see himself through your eyes. Liked out on the cave floor, his braids sprawled around his head like a halo. His legs are open and his body lax. He’s the perfect picture of submission.

He’d only ever do this for you “You can have everything” he echo’s your words back to you.

Neteyams already rock hard, his cock peeking out from his puffy swollen slit. The sloppy pumps you give him are only precautionary really, making sure that he’s completely unsheathed before you mount him, your thick thighs spread wide, knees caging in his thin waist.

He can feel the warmth that radiates from your center, the apex of your body calling out to him. His hips rise, seeking it out and the tip of his cock spears through your wet pussy lips.

He hisses at the friction and you just smile, grabbing his girth and aiming it right at your pulsating hole “Slow my love, you’re bigger than anything I’ve ever taken”

His cock jumps in your hold and then you’re sinking down on him.

A crack of thunder rattles the cave but Neteyam doesn't hear it, not really. He feels like his head is underwater, his ears filled with fuzz as your body envelopes him. You take him all the way to the hilt, until your pussy kisses his smooth pubic bone.

There is no greater connection a Na’vi can have, he’s closer to you then he had ever been to anyone. Your kuru’s still connected in Tsaheylu- your bodies joined in harmony.

He can't look away from you, his tawny eyes are glued to your pretty face. Your brows are drawn tightly together, your nose scrunching as you pant. When you circle your hips he lets out a whine that's down right pathetic.

It’s like once the both of you get a taste of that friction, all rules are off.

The need for more is maddening, has you both wriggling and clashing. It’s not the sweet loving making that most think comes with the first time. Neteyam loses his virginity in a desperate frenzy.

He may be submissive, comfortable with being that for you now but he will never be passive. He chases not only his pleasure but yours. His hips snap, hard as they can, up and into you. Watching with his mouth hung open as you bounce atop of them in rough little jerks.

“Oh” you can't catch your breath around the trusts that knock the air from your lungs “G-g-great mother!”

He needs more leverage, needs you close. He reaches for the necklace he’d strung for you. So pretty around your throat, swaying in time with your heaving breaths, and tugs you down onto his wide chest, holding you painfully tight there as he continues to pound you from below.

With your face buried in his neck you have access to his sensitive gland, you worry it with your teeth for a moment “Neteyam- please, let me” you speak right into his skin

“Y/N” his voice is desperate and husky in your ear “Do it. Bite me, fucking knot me. Do it” Your fangs sink into his gland as your body locks around him tight and Neteyam goes limp. Literally. His secondary gender takes over completely. He’s been marked and knotted by his Alpha. He doesn't need to move, does not need to think.

He has you for that now. To take care of him.

He comes with a whine shooting off inside of you as you rhythmically pulse around him. He wants it to take- wants his cum to fill up your womb, to have a piece of him living inside you forever.

In the haze he can barely hold his head up, his arms and legs are useless and loose and your a heavy comforting weight above him. He’s too deep in the post-coital bliss to realize that the rain has slowed to a light drizzle or that the fire is close to being out.

You coo at him, rubbing him down with gentle massaging touches “You’re okay, Paskalin(honey). You did so well for me” you nuzzle at the side of his jaw.

Its quiet sept for the crackling of the dying fire and your sweet comforting hums for a while as the two of you lie in a mess of tangled limbs, still just basking in the connection. It takes him a ridiculous amount of time to formulate the thoughts in his head to words,

“Alpha?” he calls for you and you purr at the name.

“I think I’m going into heat”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam had been correct, of course. He could read the signs of his own body well enough. He’d managed to fly the two of you safely back to the village before he’d lost himself to his primal needs.

That was days ago, how many he doesn't know. All he knows is the eclipses come and go as the two of you barricade yourselves in your home. Your bed mat has been turned into a nest of blankets and quilts and cushions- it smells like your combined pheromones and feels like heaven.

The people celebrate the mating of their future chief joyously. Neteyam had proudly displayed his bloody neck, his long hair pulled back so that all could see the mark your canines had left on him.

The mauri is littered with gifs; baskets of fruit and folded leaf pockets full of sweet steamed meat. Jugs of water and juices and wines. Cakes and sweet rice in clay bowls.Tapestries and woven throws. Necklaces and bracelets.

The clan takes turns coming to the closed mouth of their Mauri and saying their prayers, leaving the gifts behind as an offering. As a token of good fortune.

The celebration drums haven't stopped and play in a constant rhythm that flows in through the windows.

Your families had checked in multiple times, leaving their own gifts. Jake and Neytiri had left a large blanket that they and Neteyam’s siblings had scented. The combined scents of love are palpable. He’d added it to the nest. His mother had helped him unbraid his hair before leaving, freeing his long inkky locks.

Your mother and father; Olo’eyktan and Tshaik had brought salves and tonics, medicines to get you through. Your mother kisses both of your heads as she sings a slow, soulful song. There is nothing to do but accept the mating, it had been performed at the Spirit Tree and bleeded by Eywa. Neteyam had almost cried when she patted his head before leaving. He hadn't realized just how desperately he wanted her approval.

His heats had always been dreaded miserable times. He’d dreadfully count down the days to them and then struggle through with only his hand and the potions his Grandmother brewed.

This one is so different from anything he knew. He spends his days doted upon. You spoil him rotten with hand fed bites of food and endless rounds of knotting. With sponge baths and massages.

If all heats were to be like this, he knows that he’d start to greet them with eagerness instead of dread.

He thought he knew about sex. Had spent months exploring with you in your secret spot in the forest; but holy fuck. He really hadn't known shit.

The two of you take each other in ways that Neteyam had not known existed. Hours of tantric love making that ends in him literally collapsing into slumber. Its rough and hard and slow and passionate and everything in between. He’s orgasmed so much that he’d lost count. He’d forgotten what it was like to wear clothes, to be without your touch.

He knows his heat is sadly weaning to an end. The fire in his blood has begun to cool, satiated by his Alpha.

…He still cant keeps his hands to himself.

Touching turns to kissing and kissing turns to you licking every inch of his sweaty bare body. Neteyam is squirmy and sore but lets you get at what you want, his thighs parting easy and wide so that you can slide between them head first.

Fucking Eywa. How had he lived without your mouth for twenty years of his life?

You’re so good with it; all fast talking and sweet kisses. He loves those plush petal like lips so very much.

Especially when they’re wrapped around his cock. You suckle him where he’s hard so perfectly, rubbing his length all over your face before taking it down your throat. Neteyam knows he wont last long, he never can when you do this…

Especially not when you begin to drift lower, mouthing at his sack, pulling at his ballls with careful little nips. Neteyam knots his long fingers in your long thick hair, his hips raising as you give his furled ass hole a wet open mouthed kiss.

It’s still swollen from your previous assault on it; you’d shoved him full so many times in the last week. He’d ridden your face and your fist and your tongue more times then he could count.

He’d never really played with himself there before you, couldn't get over the burn and awkward angle that came with his own fingers. But All Mother, you’re so good at this.

You suckle on the wrinkled skin, getting it all wet and messy and loose as possible with your tongue before you slide your fingers into his tight body. Neteyam groans and throws his head back so hard his neck hurts.

You’re so familiar with his insides now, its all to easy to find his sweet spot. That bundle of nerves hidden far inside that makes him scream every time you touch it.

“Please” Neteyam blubbers as you prod at him “Be gentle, Ma Muntxa(mate). I'm still so sore inside”

You snort, rolling your eyes meanly “You think I’m not? Should I keep my pussy away from you because you hurt it when you jack hammer into me like a man possessed?”

He just whines and clenches down on your dainty fingers.

“This hole is mine, Neteyam. It’s mine to do with what I please. If I want to lick it, fuck it. Spread it open and watch it flutter for me. I will, and you’ll let me, won't you sweet Omega?” You speak to him in a tone that’s all Alpha and it makes his core shake.

He’d always loathed being called by his designation, but he adores it when you call him your Omega now. He just bites at his lower lip and nods.

You’re finger fucking is slow and hard; a prostate masssage that leaves him shaking and gasping. His chest heaving so hard that his lungs hurt as you work him inside out. Internal orgasms feel different, they’re more intense and yet his body can push out multiple at a time.

You watch him dirty his own pretty striped belly over and over with his own milky cum.

By the time his third orgasm rocks through him his thighs are shaking and muscles are cramping up. He’s running away from your touch, his hips shifting away from the finger fucking at every turn. The oversensitivity has his ears twitching and tails whipping under him. All he can do is hold on for the ride.

“Enough” he begs for mercy, his tone high and whiny and nasally from the overstimulated tears escaping the corners of his eyes and rolling down his temples and into his hairline “I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I cant- I cant”

“Awe but look, baby. You just got fully hard again. You dont want to try to fuck me?” You chide with a tut of your tongue as you pull away from his groin. Wiping your messy mouth on the back of your arm as you pout.

How is he the one that is in heat, and he still can't manage to keep up with you? He gives a hysterical, non believing huff of laughter “I do not think I can. You broke me”

You rub his calf for a moment, getting that contracting knot out before sitting back on your haunches “I dont know, I think you’re underestimating yourself”

Your movements are so fluid, a taunting teasing dance for only his eyes as you arrange your body infront of him in a way that he never in his wildest imagination could’ve imagined.

You face away from him, on your hands and knees and then drop your chest low until the whole top half of your body is pressed against the bedding. Your ass is still high up in the air, jutting out in a clear offering. When your thick tail moves, revealing the plump slick lips of your cunt and the tiny tight ring of your asshole

Neteyam’s eyes almost fall out of his head.

You’re presenting. A move so submissive that most Alphas look down on it. Only Omegas and Betas present. What you’re doing for him is utterly unheard of.

You reach behind yourself, your small hand tugging at the thigh jiggle of your asscheek, spreading even further “It’s all yours, Neteyam. Come take care of me”

He groans, hie eyes rolling as he bites hard at his knuckle “What am I going to do with you, woman?”

But he’s already zeroing in, ready to give you exactly what you please.

“Love me forever” you suggest innocently with a giggle.

“Ay” Neteyam’s chest hurts, so heavy and full, with all of his feelings for you. How is he supposed to keep them contained in his body? He loves you like he’s never loved anything before “I think I’ll do just that”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This chapter was the most exhausting fucking thing i’ve ever writtem my GOD. Between the smut and all of the emotion? Yeah it almost took me out.

Do we like super long chapters? Or should I separate them into multiple little ones?

I def expressed some real feelings here through Y/N, that feeling of not being enough? Fucking painful and we’ve all been there.

I also hate rain and was the victim of flooding this year so that was a nice release lol.

Vaeyu is a creeper and better sleep with one eye OPEN.

Neteyam and Akemi are such a fun duo and I can't wait to explore them in the future.

PLEASE GIVE ME SOME FEED BACK ON THIS ONE GUYS. It mentally drained me and i need replenishment.

Next time we get to see her rut!

As usual I wanna thank my Omegaverse besties for keeping me sane and inspired! @cinetrix @tiredmamaissy @tru-blubelle @imperihoe @eywascall

[ilydeku]

sweet, just like you | senku x reader

Winds of the fall guided themselves through the open window as you leaned against its frame, gazing off into the star-speckled night. That telescope that proudly stood next to you. It was a representation of everyone's effort, everyone's appreciation, everyone's faith. All because of Senku Ishigami. You smiled at the thought as you took a glance at its structure. What a truly remarkable man, indeed.

"Hey, you're gonna be totally useless to me tomorrow if you don't go to sleep. I need you to crush some minerals for me tomorrow."

Speak of the devil.

You paid no mind to him, the soft creaking of wood growing closer signaled his upcoming. Senku rested against the stair railing after reaching the high floor, watching you in silence. He figured maybe you wanted to get some fresh air, but something felt off after a few minutes, which seemed almost like hours. Were you mad at him? He didn't remember doing or saying anything that could harm you. Were you homesick? Nah. You weren't the type to get all sentimental. Senku knows you how you are, now more than ever since he first revived you, but there were probably things still unknown to him. The only way he was going to get answers was to ask directly from the source.

"...so what's up with you? It's not like you to stay up this late. You love to sleep and you sleep like a damn rock, at that."

"Pfft," A light chuckle escaped from your throat. "Why do you care, Senku? It's not like you to ask about someone's feelings. You got a crush on me or something?" You teased, slightly turning your head to get a good look at his humored expression.

"Psh. On you? Not even one millimeter." he retorted, to which you laughed at, walking across the room and gazing out the window alongside you. He let out a breathy sigh before asking you again, in a more genuine way. "Really now, y/n, what's wrong?"

The stars in the sky illuminated the sea of night, but right now, they were glowing brighter than ever.

"Hahh, Senku. There's nothing wrong at all."

"Then why aren't you sleeping?"

"If I told you, you'd probably cringe."

"..." He turned to you, curious as to what you had to offer. "Oh, really now?" A warm feeling rushed through your body as you felt your arms touch. Senku joined you in your midnight gaze, allowing himself to be closer to you. "Tell me, what's on your mind?"

"...It's just that..." You took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. "Looking at all this, all these things we've built, sciency things you've come up with...I realized that I've taken a lot of things for granted in life..." Your eyebrows furrowed as your mind remained on the times you've been negative about in the past, guilt coercing through your form. "I never really stopped to appreciate the things around me; the world we live in, the birds in the sky, the people around me, in fact, I don't even remember the last I told my parents I love them..." You dragged your wrist across your eyelids, attempting to rid of any formation of tears. Senku didn't know what to do at the moment. He didn't know whether to give you space to cry or to come a little closer, as he never comforted anyone before, let alone be this close to one. He thought about hugging you, but he felt that that'd be weird, considering that that's just something he doesn't do. So, he did the next best thing.

"..." His hand hovered above yours. He hesitated, just before resting his hand on top of yours. His fingers delicately indented themselves in between your knuckle, rubbing soft infrequent movements with them. He had his head turned away so you wouldn't see the glow on his face. His attempt at intimate comfort made you grin. You looked down at your hands together and back outside over the village.

"...There's just so many things I turned my head from, so many things I miss. I never took the time to just slow down and open my eyes to anything..."

"..."

"...I miss sitting in a classroom, listening to lectures, and taking notes, even if they were boring. I wish I had paid more attention in class." Senku let out a light chuckle, squeezing your knuckle slightly.

"You say that as if you weren't passing all your classes."

"Okay, and? Maybe I could've gotten straight A pluses instead of just As."

"Pfft. You're really something."

"..."

"..."

"You know what I do miss though, Senku?..Chocolate. That's something I've really taken for granted. That long process of collecting cacao beans and crushing them and whatever else they do to it to turn it into chocolate. My mom always bought boxes of chocolates for me to snack on while I studied. It'd sit right at the corner of my desk. And every time she noticed the box running out, I'd immediately find it replaced with a new one...haha..." You dragged your wrist across your eye once more. "...I guess she thought chocolates were the source of my intelligence or something. Man, and those chocolates were the good kind too, the ones with different fillings and stuff...I'd love to have a taste of them again...-"

"You know, I wasn't gonna say anything at first because you seemed really passionate in what you were saying and I uh..well, appreciate that you're open to me..." You turned your gaze to him and smiled. You've never seen Senku being genuine before. "...but now here you are being emotional over a box of chocolates, y/n. That's kinda cringe," Senku joked, laughing to himself. Your smile quickly faded...into a smirk.

"I knew you'd say that regardless, but look at you, Romeo," you retorted, referring to his hand. "Seems like you do have feelings for me, Senku. Look how close we are-" He quickly took his hand away and covered his face with his arm, hiding the light redness in his cheeks and taking a few steps back.

"Oh, shut up, y/n." You chuckled softly, standing up straight and stretching your arms above your head. "You should really go to sleep, now that you've got that all out." You kneeled down on the wood floor and readied your clothed blankets.

"Yeah don't worry, I am. Goodnight, Senku."

"Night." He made is way over the the steep of stairs, but before he began making his way down, you stopped him."

"Hey, Senku? Thanks for listening to me. It's not often I get to speak my mind to someone."

"Don't get it twisted. I only listened because you said I'd probably cringe, but...you're welcome. Now, go to sleep." He replied as he continued down the stairs. As you wrapped yourself in your blanket, a smile made its way across your lips as your eyes closed, the memory of Senku laying his hand across yours replaying through your eyelids. Senku fell asleep with a sound thought in mind. Chocolates, huh? Pfft. Alright then.

.

A few days went by, Senku being right at your side. Staying up with you for a bit had started to become a regular event unestablished between the both of you, chatting about anything and everything. You wondered why he suddenly became so easy to talk to. It's like you've known him for years, well you have, but through those years, you were never really this close and never struck up deep conversations. It was nice. You treasured every second of them, and so did Senku.

The more conversations you had with him, the more and more he learned from you. Every day was another thing he'd find out about you, which would lead him to more things he wanted to know. For the first time in his life, it wasn't science that was embedded in the driver's seat.

One night you arrived at Senku's place early. All the tasks he especially assigned to you were finished, all thanks to your gorilla-like strength as he calls it, which you always shoot back at by targetting his weak little science nerd arms. You figured today that maybe, finally, you'd get to sleep early, but you were caught completely off guard by the small handwoven basket that sat right on the windowsill you first talked over with him that one night. It was draped in leather to cover its contents held inside. On the leather read the words "To Y/n, the original gorilla". You laughed to yourself and paused. You could feel his presence in the room, so you took it upon yourself to speak.

With your eyes half-lidded, you teased, "Senku, giving me gifts isn't going to win me over, but if you wanna date, you know you could just ask me."

"..." No words were needed. You already knew what his reaction was, you didn't even need to see his face. But you turned around anyways and there he was, cross-armed, leaning against the stair frame with his eyes closed in annoyance. You let out a puff of air from your nose and smiled.

"Alright, alright, my bad. But really, what's this? What's the occa-"

"Just open it already."

"Oh? Well if you insist then-" As you swiftly revealed the contents of the basket, your eyes widened in disbelief. "Is this..." Your fingers traversed over the little mounds of brown that were neatly stacked from the bottom up. A smirk plastered itself onto Senkus face as he witnessed your awestruck expression. You looked like you were about to cry from joy and sadness at the same time.

"Heh, it sure is, y/n." You quickly picked up a piece with your fingers and took half a bite of it. The flavors that enveloped your tongue didn't taste exactly like chocolate, but relatively close. What you could taste, though, was the effort and time put into its making and, most importantly, the love.

"...so? How is it?"

"...it's sweet...just like y-" You hesitated, turning away and looking out towards the sky. Your eyes drifted to rest on the warm autumnal colors radiating from the high. "They're good, Senku. Thank you."

"..." He crossed his arms and stared at you a bit. A small frown drooped from his lips. That's it? He felt like he was expecting something way more than verbal gratitude. "Yeah? Well if it stops you from crying over the past, then-" You suddenly pushed yourself onto him and engulfed him in a tight hug. Senku tensed and stood still,

"Really Senku, thank you. You really are a remarkable person. Call it cringe or whatever, but it's not going to cut out the silver lining I see in you." The arms that hung loosely by his sides began to wrap around your form, and his head rested again the top of yours.

"...it's nothing, really..." He replied. He doesn't rub your back or murmur any soothing words. He's definitely not a man of soothing words, it wasn't his thing. And anyway, it didn't look like you'd need to listen to them. You seemed content already just being there in his arms. "Hey, y/n..? Don't say anything about this to anybody. I don't wanna have anyone on my case wh-"

"About what, huh?" You teased, looking up at him from the hug. "That you held me close in your loving arms, whispering sweet nothings and-" Your shoulders were met with his grip, followed by a force that pushed you apart. He rolled his eyes, but there was still a stupid smile plastered on his face.

support me? :)

[keigh0e]

Friendzone ♥ Bakugo Katsuki

Prompt: It wasn’t just a one off for me; it was me hoping you’d see the connection

Word Count: 3.6k

Triggers: No spice, just fluff, some explosive behavior and naughty words

Author Note: Hi guys! This is my first ever post on this blog, I’d really appreciate some feedback. I’d also love it if you sent me some requests, check out this pinned post to see what anime’s I write for and find a very big prompt list

This is an unedited piece so apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes

Being Bakugo’s longest friend comes with its own perks, at least in your eyes.

You and Bakugo had existed together for as long as you can remember, your mother was best friends with his and they’d ended up getting pregnant around the same time which meant you went through school together. You followed one another to UA as well, and there was no doubt you’d start a Hero agency together, or at least share the same building… Maybe just the same street, depending on how overbearing Bakugo is with you.

You and him were petals flying in the same gust of wind, there was no questioning it, you were simply together.

That didn’t mean you avoided his wrath, you probably got it more than anyone actually, that was only because he knew you could handle it and even match against him.

But you also got all of his softness, it wasn’t as loud as his rage and it made itself apparent in ways most people missed, but not you, you were Bakugo’s best friend, your soul attuned to his.

His quiet softness appeared when he always rushed ahead of you to open a door for you, and when he’d stop mid sentence and kneel down to take care of your undone shoelace, or when he’d always step closer to you and wrap his arm around your shoulders because a stranger had gotten too close to you (or Mineta, but Bakugo normally kicked the little perv away before he got the chance to get too close to you).

There was only one time his softness became loud and that was at night.

You’d taken the UA move into the dorms as bravely as you could, but after a week you were homesick. The longest you’d ever stayed away from your parents was when you had a sleepover at Bakugo’s, that was usually only for one or two nights, plus, it was only a trip down the road.

You struggled with falling asleep and it didn’t take long for Bakugo to notice the change in you. The same day he finally clocked on to the bags under your eyes and the invisible weight slumping your shoulders, he snuck into your room that night.

As he got into your bed you asked what he was doing and he respectfully told you to ‘shut your face’. The next thing you knew, he’d wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his chest, then his hand was running through your hair and sleep came so easily it swept you as easily as he had swept you into his arms. He hadn’t cured your homesickness, he’d done something much better than that, he’d given you a new place to call home.

That was also the night when the lines between friendship and something more started to get blurry. He was still your best friend, still protective and caring, still a pain in the arse. But suddenly, his hand always found its way into yours, his arm always around your shoulder even when no one else was around. And every single night, without fail, he came to your dorm room and snuggled up with you, petting your head before falling asleep.

You did try speaking to him about it once, but it didn’t go very well.

A month had gone by of him sleeping in your dorm room. Once it got to the weekend, you and Bakugo went for your routine coffee which you treated yourselves to every Saturday as a ‘well done’ for making it through another week of high school and surviving all the villian attacks. 

You got a caramel latte while he went for a black coffee, after getting your drinks Bakugo walked you over to a table with his hand on your back and pulled out your chair before sitting down.

“So,” you began, and then you stumbled on what to say so you just blew on your latte to cool it down.

It had never been like this with Bakugo before, so stilted and awkward. He seemed to be noticing the tension as well as he stared down at you with a raised brow. “So?”

“So…” You tried to start again, tried to push through your awkwardness. “Are sleepovers a regular thing now?”

His whole body tensed, but that was the only sigh he gave that your question had affected him. “Yeah, that a problem?”

Yes, you wanted to say.

Yes, it was a big problem, because even after a month you got excited whenever it got to night time and your heart fluttered every single time he wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you so tightly against his body, as if to say ‘you are mine, and you’re not going anywhere’. You were 90% sure those weren’t feelings friends were meant to have for one another.

But, at the same time, the thought of losing that, losing him, was too painful.

You shook your head. “No, not a problem.”

“Then stop acting weird, you’re freaking me out,” he snapped, no real bite to his words. There never was.

That was that. You and Bakugo were still best friends, still hung out, still argued and every night, no matter what kind of day you’d had, you cuddled up together and fell asleep.

It became the new norm, as did living with your brewing emotions.

Until you and the gang had all decided to play a game together one night.

You and Bakugo could have only lasted so long, one of you would have broken eventually, you were just surprised at who broke first.

♥♥♥

You laughed along with Kirishima as Denki did his best opera impression, the noise filling up every crevice in the room and making you cringe to the point your teeth were grinding together.

On your other side was Bakugo, one hand covering his ear, the other resting on your bicep as his arm wrapped around your shoulder. 

“Will you shut up already?!” He yelled. Whilst you’d been coping with Denki’s singing, you did have to lean away from your friends as he yelled directly in your ear. Once he finished, he sent you an apologetic look and then used the arm around your shoulder to pull you closer.

“I caaaaaan’t!” Kaminari sang with a dramatic swing of his hands, “I was daared too serenade the ever-so-lovely Jiroooooooooouuuuuu.”

“She also wants you to shut up, moron,” Jirou hissed. Her words made it out like she was angry, but the blush on her cheeks and the fact she couldn���t look Kaminari in the eyes made you think she was feeling something else other than anger. Though, you may have just been projecting. 

“Fine,” Kaminari huffed, arms flopping down at his side as he finished his performance. He gave you and your friends the gift of perfectly serene silence, for all of three seconds before he straightened up and pointed a finger directly at Bakugo. “As it’s now my turn, I choose you, Bakugo, to be my next victim.” 

The hothead smirked, and you hated the way your stomach flipped at the sight of it. “I’m no one's victim, do your worst Sparky.”

The night had escalated after Mina had proposed a game of ‘truth or dare’, but you had an awful feeling stirring in your stomach when you saw the devious glint in Kaminari’s eye. You knew whatever Bakugo got given, he had too much pride to bow out.

“Truth or dare,” Kaminari asked.

“Stupid question, dare,” Bakugo replied.

“I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

You were the first to move, before Kaminari had even finished his sentence, you were up on your feet, putting space between you and Bakugo. “No, no, no,” you laughed, noticing it sounded more strained than joyful. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” Mina asks, her tone teasing. You’d been asked a million and one times if there was something more between you and Bakugo by your fellow students. It looks like no matter how many times you say no, they just don’t believe you.

“Yes, I’m absolutely sure,” you gruffed, doing your best Bakugo impression as you scowled over at Mina.

You take another step back as Bakugo stands up turning to face you, that usual frown playing on his lips and a surprising amount of determination in his eyes.

You’d seen that look before. The day he decided you were both becoming heroes, the day you decided to go to UA. That look only ever appeared whenever he decided something monumental and life changing. Normally you were filled with excitement when you saw that look in his eyes. Not on that night.

“What are you doing?” You asked whilst taking another step back. It became a new game for you and Bakugo, he took a step forward and you took a step back. Unfortunately, the wall behind you was closer than you realised and the next thing you knew, Bakugo was standing right there, centimeters from your face.

You’ve stood that close before, plenty of times, but never before had you been so aware of his body, of the heat emanating from him. When you looked into his eyes, you saw them solely focused on your lips.

He wanted to kiss you, wanted to break that line between friends and something more.

Is that what you wanted? You weren’t sure and Bakugo wasn’t giving you much choice as he grabbed your face and pulled your lips towards his, the momentum slamming the two of you together.

It started rash and rough, which wasn’t all that much of a surprise as this was Bakugo you were kissing. But then it hit you, the most achingly beautiful thing about every moment you’ve spent with Bakugo, his quiet softness.

The way he moved his lips against yours, guiding you rather than demanding you. It had you melting against him, your hands searching out his chest to relax on, your body leaning on his for support.

His own hands had fallen to your neck, his palm resting on your pulse point while his thumb stroked encouragingly against your jaw, gently moving the angle of your face so that he could explore your mouth further.

You would have given up a lot in that moment if it meant you could stay there in that embrace. Screw the line, it was boring. This, Bakugo’s lips, were exciting and awe-inspiring. He was everything, he was your everything.

“Alright kids, time for bed,” Aizawa appeared out of nowhere, or at least you hoped he had. If he’d watched you fall apart in Bakugo’s arms the way you just did, you weren’t sure how you’d face him in your next class.

You were meant to be a superhero, a badass, but when Bakugo pulled away from you, your lips tried to follow him and a whimper escaped before you could stop it.

You watched him take in your expression, you weren’t in control of it, too taken by how good it had felt to kiss your est friend and how shocked you were by how much you wanted to do it again. At best, you imagined there was a hazy and dim look in your eyes.

That determined look was still fiery in his eyes as he straightened you up so you weren’t leaning completely on his body. Then with a slight nod of his head and one more glance into your eyes, he said the very last thing you expected: “Talk to you tomorrow.”

You blinked at his retreating figure, so many questions floating through your mind as you watched him meander his way to the boys dorm rooms.

‘Talk to you tomorrow’? What did that mean? Surely it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to come to your room later? Right?

♥♥♥

That bastard wasn’t coming to your room. It would be the first night in months that you didn’t have him, and he’d decided it needed to be after he kissed you. He got you hooked and then took away your addiction.

Well screw him. He didn’t get to just do that, not to you.

There was a reason you were best friends for that long, because you could be just as explosive as him when you wanted to be.

The fact that you needed to sneak to his room ruined your ire a little bit, especially when you had to gently tap on his door when what you really wanted to do was knock the damn thing off of its hinges.

A few moments later a tired looking Bakugo appeared. It was well after ten O’clock at night so it didn’t surprise you to see a sleepy expression on your best friend, he was very strict about his sleeping routine and the conditions that he needed when sleeping. You didn’t mind most of the time because it just helped you fall asleep as well.

One rule you’d both always followed was to never go to sleep angry with one another, it stopped you from being able to fall asleep quickly, the anxious thoughts keeping you awake, and Bakugo obviously wouldn’t stand for that when his beauty sleep was much more important..

“What are you doing here Y/N?”

Not bothering to respond, you pushed past Bakugo, earning no resistance from your best friend who often let you have your way. Up until your kiss, you hadn’t though much about why.

“It’s bed time.” You simply answered, shuffling onto Bakugo’s bed and settling yourself on the side furthest from the door. That was Bakugo’s rule, not yours. He wanted to be close to the door in case someone tried to break in and he needed to protect you, when he’d confessed that to you, you’d just rolled your eyes at him.

He continued eyeing you as you moved the comforter over your knees, you met his stare head on, refusing to back down. “Exactly, both of us should be asleep, not knocking on my door.”

“Well I wouldn’t have to knock on your door if you’d come to my room, you know, like every other night,” you sassed back.

He averted his eyes from yours, something had flashed in them though before he’d turned away. Was it hurt? Or shame? “Well I guess things have changed now.”

“And that’s my fault?” It certainly felt like it was. You were the one losing your best friend, even though he’d been the one who’d kissed you. It was unfair, you’d been safely balancing on the line for years, not reacting at all to the way he’d make you feel sometimes. But now he was messing it all up!

He scoffed again at your words, just fuelling your rage. “Did I say it was?!”

“You kissed me Bakugo, then you just walked away and told me you’d speak to me tomorrow? I’ve been your best friend since the day I was born, I deserve better than that.” You were getting so passionate you’d started speaking with your hands, throwing your arms out and slamming your hands against your chest. 

Your former best friend (at least for now) took several moments to take in your words, then he started walking over and you prepared yourself to get manhandled. Instead, he flumped down on his side of the bed, still not looking at you. “You’re right.”

“No, you shut up! Wait, what? I’m right?” He said you were right? Those were rare words form your best friend, you’d totally been prepared to have a screaming match with him, thats how your arguments usually went. You weren’t sure if this was some new tactic to try win arguments with you, so you chose to stick with being defensive. “Yeah, I am right! Glad we’re in agreement.”

Finally he looked at you. “Will you quieten down? Someone will hear you’re in here.” Those his words were aggressive, there was nothing on his expression that showed he was angry with you. He looked upset more than anything else. For some people it might have been hard to tell the difference, but you read his every feature like it was your favourite book. 

So he wasn’t angry with you. Anger would make more sense than that upset expression on his face. You couldn’t figure out a reason for why he’d be upset, unless the kiss had been that bad? No, you realised, if it was bad then you definitely would have known, even if Bakugo didn’t tell you, you’d have been able to read it from his body if he’d not enjoyed it.

“The fact you of all people are telling me to quiet my voice is very laughable, I hope you know that,” you commented. Your voice had gone softer, the anger being swept away like the tide.

“Funny.” He responded, in a tone that held no amusement. He seemed to take a moment to do a deep breath before he continued to speak, finally explaining himself but still not looking you in the eyes. “I thought maybe you’d want space after I kissed you, I know it’s going to change things, I know how I want things to change, but I wanted to give you time to figure out what you wanted.”

“What do you mean?” You knew what he meant. You’d been thinking the exact same thing, but the difference is you weren’t as brave as Bakugo was. You needed him to continue being brave, because you couldn’t just step over that line, you needed his guidance. No, you needed reassurance that he’d be stepping over that line with you.

Maybe he knew that’s why you asked, maybe he heard it hidden behind your nervousness, despite you not saying it. He finally looked up and he even reached out, grabbing your hand in his. “It wasn’t just a one off for me; it was me hoping you’d see the connection.” 

You looked from his hand in yours to his eyes, he was analysing you just as much as he was analysing you. “So you want to be like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and it was almost laughable at how nice he was being to you in that moment. Of course, as soon as you thought that he had to go ruin it. “I mean, we pretty much are already, you’re always hanging off my arm and cuddling up to me at night, only difference is we’d be kissing, and you weren’t that bad.”

The thing is, you liked his backhanded comments, because you knew they were always just compliments disguised. He wasn’t loud with his kindness, and that worked well for you. He was loud with everything else, and nine out of ten times, it amused you.

So even then, as he tried to blame you for all the cuddling you’d been doing together even though he’d been the one who started every interaction, you were completely and utterly charmed. Whilst you may have said ‘so you want to be like, boyfriend and girlfriend?’ He had heard ‘I’m scared you’re not thinking this through and we might be risking our friendship’. And whilst he’s said a load of hot air, you heard ‘you’re who I choose, you’re worth every risk’.

“Uh huh,” you hummed in response. “Ask me.”

He blinked over at you. “What?”

A prideful look that matched Bakugo’s filled your expression as your stature straightened slightly. “You want to date me, then you need to ask me to be your girlfriend.”

“You’re a real pain in my arse, Y/N,” he groaned, letting go of your hand and flopping down on his bed beside you.

“Back at you.” You got comfortable beside him, snuggling under the blanket and turning to face him.

He was looking up at the ceiling. “Be my girlfriend.”

You frowned at that. Did he really think you’d agree so easily? Had he forgotten who his best friend is. “You gonna say please?”

Turning around, his arm automatically fell onto your waist. “You want to be my girlfriend, I don’t need to say please.”

“It’s polite Bakugo.” You admonished.

“After all these years we’ve been friends, you still don’t know I don’t care about manners, they’re just a waste of time.”

“Guess being your girlfriend would be a waste of my time then,” you tutted. 

“Whatever. I’m done with this shit, I’m going to bed.”

“Fine.” Your words were terse but you didn’t budge an inch, comfortable in his hold.

“Fine!” He yelled, showing just how much you’d riled him up. You’d lying if you said it didn’t make you smile.

“Will you stop yelling? They might figure out I’m in here,” you hissed, mirroring his earlier words because you apparently weren’t done with pissing off your best friend.

His arm raised from around your waist to your shoulders, until he was shoving your face into your chest. “Shut up,” he hissed, smothering you. You slapped your hand against his chest three times before he relaxed.

Neither of you said anything, just fermenting in your annoyance towards one another for a little while before it faded. Anytime you argued with Bakugo, it would always fade, the feelings of anger or disdain taking off their mask and revealing themselves as something else, normally frustration. 

Because you loved him, a lot, and you hated fighting with him. It was a difficult thing to avoid when you were both so spirited sometimes, but it didn’t matter, because that love you had for him was stronger than anything else.

It seemed Bakugo agreed with you as his hand lowered back down to your waist, crawling under your vest. He didn’t need his powers, just his touch had you feeling like tiny explosions were going off wherever his hand moved. He gripped you on the curve of your hip bone, his entire body stiffening.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice low, giving it a rough tone that had you trembling in the most wonderful way. “Will you please be my girlfriend?”

[dungeonenvy]

Lumidouce Bell is said to represent parting and the wish for reunion.

In Coppelius's play Golden Hyperborea, the flower is referred to as "Weeping Crystal." The play depicts a homesick flower wandering in the freezing lands of the north. Its beauty is made eternal by the icy winds. Critics of Coppelius's time thought that he was obsessed with eternal beauty and eternal love—this obsession was written into every line of his last works.

-----

Peruere sees the wilted flower and accepts that she will never have her reunion, never see Clervie in the frozen north.

She is given a title and a purpose, but she's perceived by the other harbingers as crazy, dangerous, obsessed, even.

She loves Fontaine, and returns at the first opportunity to care for the children under the guise of a strict and unfeeling Father. Something a flower could never do.

After all, innocence and kindness are useless, right.

[tw1l1te]

Reader who's a fairy like maleficent who has massive wings and horns. Maybe they have some magical abilities too? Wind totally expects to go for a fly. Sky is reminded of home in a sense because loft wings? Four pretending he totally doesn't LOVE being cocooned in their wings for cuddles. Just a random fluttering thought of mine and I'd love to see a quick write up of the chains different reactions!

I think all of them would be curious about you, in one form or another.

Hyrule, which I headcanon as a fae, would be almost instantly connected with you because of your fae roots. He fawns over your wings at least twice a day, but you don't mind at all! Definitely gives you sugar water as a treat <3

Wars is a bitttt nervous, not because he thinks you'll hurt him, but more so about the horns and reminding him of Volga. He thought you were a Great Fairy for a hot minute, so he took a bit to come around, but definitely huddles under your wings when its down pouring.

Time is also quite fascinated, its as if the tiny fairies from his era were much larger and humanoid. He definitely fell asleep against you once and used your wings as a giant blanket.

Twilight is one of the most enamored with you. Being part animal, he feels less alone in his differences from the rest of his brothers and the world. Loves looking up at the night sky while you fly up there, showing off for him just a little ;)

Four is in shock. You're so tall compared to him!! Your wings alone are almost twice the size of him. Absolutely loves sitting on your back while you fly around, he could stay up there for hours but he doesn't want to tire you out too much. Likes tying lil' scraps of fabric or ribbons onto your horns for "decoration".

Sky is also very enamored with you, I mean, he's from the sky. Also loves when you pick him up to fly around for a bit when he's feeling homesick. He always feels better after an hour or so of just flying around Hyrule. If you have feathered wings that "shed" occasionally, he'll make you jewelry to wear with your feathers and one for himself at for a later time if you understand where I'm going with this

Legend initially is freaked out. You intimidate him because of your huge wing span and horns, but suprised by how opposite your personaility is to your initimidating appearance. He thinks flying is cool and all, but he refuses to let his feet off of the ground. Loves petting your wings though, they're so soft.

Wild tries to ride you first time you all meet, consequently causing Twilight to keep him in place so he doesn't piss you off. He's ecstatic once you're comfortable enough with all of them to let him ride on you. He will know how to cook all of your favorite foods, saying "you need energy to fly me around after dinner".

Wind? He thinks you're the coolest being to ever exist. Point blank. You're his favorite, even though you're not one of his brothers. Will almost always fall asleep while being under your wing, especially by the fire and your wing warming him up. Also likes putting twigs and branches in your hair, claiming to be making you a crown, but it just seems like a pile of sticks he's trying

[hcdragonwrites]

Missing Flowers ( @semisolidmind Fanfic)

I wrote this because I was inspired by another bit of work. This one is sweet ans short and Mac centric. Inspired by this ask! Twice as Bad Au make brain go brrrr

Tw for some violence mentions and some allusions to intimate behaviour (it is not detailed at all - in fact you may miss it entirely - but it is alluded to thats why I mention this)

As the sweet scents of spring created on the wind, carrying blossoms and the soft buzzing bodies of bumblebees, Peaches felt a deep pang of loss. Outside in the spring air, walking along the edge of the mountains with the small attendants she was given, she looked out beyond the sparkling sea. Beyond the mountains and the sky and all that lay between. She imagined she was looking homeward. To her village.

She missed her village, missed her people who she knew as family and as friends. She missed the smell of the earth, the taste of the rain on her tongue and how the sun angled itself through her shuttered windows to cast the dust motes in startling detail as they passed through the beams. It had been over a decade now since her marriage of ‘demonic fashion’ to the rulers of Flower Fruit Mountain. The ache never would go away- it would linger like a hole in her smile, a tooth lost and never replaced.

However it wasn’t her village today that was making her homesick.

Peaches had a little patch of earth, maybe an acre large that she had dedicated to the propagation of flowers and fruits, vegetables and all manner of growing things. It had taken years of careful selection, of collecting seeds from far and wide, of dedicated research and late nights in the snow and the ice and the building of her greenhouse to gather the collection she had had.

Peaches had turned the soil, mixing it with her grass clippings, ash from the fire place, and the compost to enrich it. It had been years of careful and quiet work to build her collection of plants. The glass bits for her greenhouse had costed her years and years of hard work. She had been unable to have it as large as she wanted but it was enough. Within the wooden little wall sat her favorite flowers, the precious few she had bargained and hunted for, the seeds and clippings, were all here safe within the wooden walls.

All her work over the past few years gone in a flash of fire and a slash of violence. What had happened to her little home? Was the house standing? Rotting in its neglect of the years. Did someone take over her home if it was still standing?

The stairs would need replacing. The second one had been creaking before her kidnapping. The wood had been softening and she had her eyes on a tree just beyond her garden. She had planned to cut it free and carve a new replacement. What of her animals? She had had a small herd of goats, little bleating creatures of brown and white.

The goats had been her source of fresh milk, meat and weed control. Each had been given a name. Each had been loved.

Had they been able to get away?

Had they been burned in the fire?

Peaches knew that the flowers and fruits she had were gone. Those couldn’t have escaped the fire - or the human retribution that would follow from any survivors.

Would Wukong have left survivors ? The Sage had come home many a times from such violence. He had woken her with cold hands grasping and seeking her out. He buried them in her hair or twined them in her fingers. Wukong would pull her to him and away from her own makeshift nest within their bed. In those early days he had not learned that the smell of fire and blood would upset her.

Those nights his blood had been on fire from conquest and he wanted only to enjoy the comfort of one of his dearest prizes. Her. Wukong would touch and whisper love into her ears as he fell asleep, a peace only she could bring in the aftermath of those bloodbaths. Sometimes she would wake in the morning to find blood smeared along her cheeks and in her hair.

It had been one of the times Macaque had found her hyperventilating after such a morning covered in blood that wasn’t hers, confused to where it could be from, and the memories of the night when the drunk had invaded her home.

And her world had changed. She had been pulled to his arms, her own chest pressing to his. Instructed to follow his breathing, to listen to the air whoosh from his body. To hold. Then to fill again like the bellows of a blacksmiths forge. And then to deflate.

When her breathing did not sound like the frantic flapping of a broken birds wing, thats when Macaque had asked her what happened. What had triggered her memories. Peaches asked how he knew- and her second husband rubbed a thumb beneath her eyes and caught a tear.

“You were screaming. Telling me to stop burning the village.” The words sounded sad. Not remorseful. Never remorseful for the actions that led here here. That brought her to residency in the mountain. The sadness was instead about the scars left behind, the invisible wounds that their actions had created.

After that, Wukong never came to bed smelling of blood or fresh from a conquest.

Wukong would never leave survivors of the village. Not after what he thought was a slight to her, to his perception of what was his. An extension of his own self importance. No. That seemed wrong even as Peaches thought it. Maybe she was an extension of his grandeur. But she wasn’t just a prize to be turned and looked at. Somehow, in some way, he had fallen in love with her.

Love for Wukong- for Macaque- was not like human love. Just as two peach trees could produce different fruits. Peaches knew that love between people was more of a communication, a build up to a relationship. At least in the best situations. Demons however … it was more draconic in a sense. To claim and catch, to conquer before another could take the prize between its claws and keep for themselves. Like dogs fighting over scraps, love was something to catch and hoard and keep.

Maybe it wasn’t so different from humans. Stories and mythologies had been woven of love like this. Men had gone to war and killed thousands of others in the name of one paramour, one love.

Wukong had done that. He had taken a conceived obstacle and removed it. He had snatched her as a wolf would steal a lamb in the cold of winter, taking her back to the mountain. Devouring her freedom to secure his happiness. When his brother came to see, to wonder at why their paramour was here. It hadn’t taken much convincing. It was as natural as breathing to take in their world.

Peaches attendants, those young ladies, waited patiently. Peaches stared out across the world and wished she had the eyes of eagles to stare and devour the miles so she could see for herself.

Was her garden truly gone? Had anything wild had been left behind ?

Had the apple trees gone wild? Were green granny smiths now growing wild among the pink ladys and dorsett goldens? Were the nectarines falling from the trees to rot beautifully in a horrid flash of sweet sick decay? Did the bees still pollinate whatever roses and hydrangeas survived ?

Had the fire consumed everything?

She missed her garden. Her plants. She missed her home.

She had been so lost in thought that she didn’t notice how her Ladies in waiting called out- she didn’t notice the shadow length beneath her feet. Until suddenly the ground was not ground at all but a gaping black hole- and she fell screaming.

Right into a warm embrace and soft fur that smelled like orange blossoms and plum wine. Laughter bubbled out of Macaque bare chest. “I would think the Queen would be more aware of her surroundings by now.”

Peaches pulled away enough to hook her husband with a scowl. It was half hearted as the demonic monkey dipped downward and pressed his lips to the side of her face in soft peppered kisses. Peaches laughed at the affection, able to ease into the comfort that the six eared macaque had grown between them. The chestnut trees above them rattled like ladies whispering as casting the sunlight like dice over a game.

“Some brutes don’t walk - some slink in shadows.” Peaches teased back. She lifted a hand up and along Macaques face. Her fingers touched his ears- all six on display today instead of being glamoured and hidden. The large clawed hand tightened beneath her as she brushed her hands over them. Macaque leaned into her touch, pressing his face, and her hand, into hers.

“Slink?” The monkey teased. They were beneath a cluster of chestnut and beech trees. A whole new position upon the mountain - possibly leagues across the great kingdom.

“Slink?” Macaque nipped her ear and she yelped in surprise- cheeky like. “I do not slink.”

And then the stomach flip as the magic pulled them in. The very shadows that seemed to seep and flow through macaques black fur, the ebbing of ocean currents between the jetties of his being. The cold kissed her nose, the sun flashed. Peaches blinked as the orientation of the sky reasserted itself. They were closer to Water Curtain cave now. The mosses and lichens that grew in the soft moisture were tell tale signs.

“I merely use what I have to my advantage.”The Six Eared Macaque pulled his wife into himself as he began to walk. In her decade here she had begun to see the mountain like a second skin. Each turn of stone was becoming like a new crease in her skin. Here she understood that, even though the forest was near the palace, it was no where she had treaded recently.

Her husband was taking her somewhere. But where ?

“You left my ladies in distress.” Peaches asked. The steps against the forest floor were soothing. Would she allow herself to be soothed ? It was easier for Peaches to forget the scars that marred her when it was Macaque. With Wukong …

It would always be a sore spot. Always be cut that had healed too thin and the scar left behind would ache in the cold.

“I left them with a note that said I was taking my wife for a moment.”

How different the world would be if they had just asked her to come with them. Had the two brothers even floated the idea between each other? Thought to show her the beautiful mountain and let her fall into it and in love with it ? Peaches knew she would have come. The beauty here was unmatched - the fruits and flowers and plants and growing things would have stolen her away faster then a demons courting could ever achieve. If her boys had only asked her… only shown her….

“How are you Peaches ?” Macaques voice was soft.

“I am… far away.” She decided to be honest.

“The memories again?” Soft, gentle. Her sweet boy was still there. Still within this … sorrow. Peaches had found the little monkey bleeding among her hydrangeas and honeysuckle. The white and purple petals were turned crimson and crushed beneath the tiny body. Of course he had been a wild thing, a furious flash of teeth and claws. Any animal would be. So when the weak little monkey bit into her hand she hadn’t flinched. Instead she had waited, taking a blanket to scoop the poor creature up and into her arms- and to contain those claws. The bite was foolish- what she did was foolish- but… she was a foolish women.

The bite was deep, the pain a lance in her mind. Those teeth were large enough, sabers in gums - knives of nature that cut into the soft pad of her flesh. He didn’t let go, he didn’t release her hand until the blood on his flank was cleaned. Until the gash in his side had been sewed shut. He was too weak to worry her flesh into ruin. To take his pain and tear her apart. He could have. Though small, though at a disadvantage, the little was gifted with weapons where Peaches had been gifted none. She was soft handed, soft as a magnolia flower. No claws no teeth no strength.

Yet he did not tear her apart. The tiny monkey was left alone after he was patched up. A bowl of water, a small basket of peeled mandarins. And the window- left open to let in the wet jungle air. Her kindness had cost her her hand- the day after it was purple and swollen. It was hard to work in the soil- to work in the garden and her little farm. She had carrots to pull, goats to milk, and trees to prune. By the end of the day she could barely close the hand and it had grown yellow on top of the purple. Like a plum trampled enough to ruin the flesh but not enough to break it open.

The next morning however, when she unwrapped to tend the wound and let it breath… she found the wrappings clean. The swelling was gone. The punctures were still there. But…. They had healed over.

She had been a fool. Peaches had thought it was from her tending that the wound had healed up. She had been a fool. Who would have known that her foolish heart would lead to this future?

“Its not just the memories- its a memory.” They had stopped walking now.

“Which one?” The leaves rustled above them. The air smelled of water and earth and stone. It was … calming. So the memory coming forward now wasn’t cast in sorrow. But in calm.

“Of you.” She reached up and pressed a finger to the very tip of his nose. “Of the garden. When we first met.”

Macaque grimaced.

“Not my best introduction...” He looked down at her hand. The scar was still there, silver moons along her skin.

“Are you embarrassed?”Peaches teased. Macaque paused. He set her down onto her feet, kneeling. His hands caught her wrist- the one he had scared all those years ago- and brought it to his face.

“Truly I am. I mauled your hand.”He kissed it, rubbed a claw over the scars, worried at it with his lips and his tender forehead brushes.

“You were in pain. And you healed it.” Peaches pulled him up. Off his knees. In these moments, these tender touches, was the sweetness that had grown between them. There was the flash of that little monkey she had saved. Who had slowly begun to bring her gifts and treasures. His first gift had never been showed. Macaque had never been talked about- as it had required secrecy.

“Lao Tzi had chased me out.” The simian smiled into her face, teeth flashing like moonlight. “Heaven was in an uproar over my thievery. But … they thought I was Wukong.”

“Mac!” She beat on his shoulder in play. Roaring laughter was rewarded to her as the trickier of the two loomed over and draped his arms over her front, pressing her back to his chest.

“I couldn’t let them know it was me!” His teeth were in her hair, soft croons and gentle nips being pressed to her skin. “I was in a bit of a hurry.”

Her cheeky six eared husband then began to press her and tease her in a very flirtatious fashion that turned Peaches skin flushed and burning. It was long moments and minutes after the teasing and the stolen presses of kisses and promises for later, that Peaches decided to open her heart a bit more to him.

“I miss it all. I miss the house and the village and …. I miss the garden the most. All my plants. My animals…” Peaches rested her face in his arm, drinking in the plum wine and orange blossom smell that was so thickly wrapped in his fur.

“All the growing things… do you think they are still there ?” It was easy to think of it here, when Macaque had been kind and soft to her. When he understood what emotional wounds were still healing, still painfully sore. The rush of his heart was against her ear was nice.

“Have they gone wild and returned to the woods ? What of the roses- they are the hardest here to tend. And the magnolia trees….” A bird flitted and flew its way between the emerald leaves. A dolphin flying through a sea of emerald green.

Macaque spun her suddenly, his hand gripping hers, his tail flicking. She was pulled along, hands grasping his as they walked faster.

“Lets walk. We will go and see the orchards and you will tell me all the flowers you had and loved and never got to tend.”

“I would tell you anyway.” Peaches laughed softly. “I loved my flowers.”

The look of serious thought didn’t alleviate in the wake of her laughter.

“You will tell me in detail and what seasons they grow- and what habitats they grow in. Who the traders were that gave you the seeds and the clippings.” They rounded the corner of a stone outcropping, the path before them becoming more well trodden. The path to the orchards.

“And I want you to find a piece of the mountain- get that foolish orange orangutang of my brother to help you clear it and drain it and turn its soil rich.”

The realization was dawning on Peaches then.

“Ma-Macaque…” Was he suggesting what her heart was starting to hope?

“You get the land ready.” His fingers squeezed hers. “I will collect the seeds in my journeys. I will find the best lines and horticulturists and gather you a collection that will rival the one we foolishly took from you.”

His eyes held hers. It had the same effect that a sunrise had on a snow trapped forest. The light in them was refracted and doubled as Peaches felt her heart fill. She didn’t realize that tears were dripping until Macaque was reaching up to coo and rub them free, calling to her in comforting familial tones a monkey would use to soothe an create comfort.

“And I will be able to play within your garden and see you smile like you just did. I would bring down the lunar gardens to see you smile again… as you did when i first saw you in that garden. ”

[jangofctts]

Ungrateful Heart (Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, fingering, biting, Daemon being a little bitch, a hint of dubcon, degradation, hair pulling, doggy style, finger sucking, rough sex, creampies, (lmk if I missed something!)

a/n: hi yall good to be back after three months lmfaO 

Kings Landing.

A vast city hugging the coast, buzzing with activity and painted in swatches of red roofs and golden banisters. You have been here once when you were a child. Though back then the glory and magic of it still persisted. Nowadays your days are shaded with doubt and a battle to stay afloat in the tumultuous sea of politics. You are not here for leisure—you are here as collateral. There is no mistaking the nature of you and your older brother’s stay at King’s Landing. 

There has always been unrest in the Northlands—the distaste for the South all too common amongst your people. While it has quelled since your grandfather knelt before the Targaryen King, there will always be whispers, threats and rumors of usurpers. Your father did his best to silence this, but the Crown takes no chances. Letters were sent, requesting you and your brother to represent House Stark. Thinly veiled threats, is what you father made of these. And so you were sent off—offered on a silver platter to the beasts that roam the capital. It’s been nearly a year since then.     

Your brother’s adjustment to the South has gone swimmingly. It’s easy to distract one’s self from burdens of sorrow with swordplay and jousting. You? You suppose reading a book could do, but it’s not the same. All that you’re allowed to do is prattle on about the state of the Realm and dispelling rumors of the North. A pretty little figurehead who no one gives a damn about listening to. You sigh. The world is far more accommodating to men than it is to women.

Uhg—and all the damn marriage proposals. An endless stream of papers that grow in number each day—half of the Houses you’ve never even heard of. You toss the majority of them into the fireplace, much at the behest of your brother. Whatever. 

At least the Targaryen’s court is somewhat amusing. A lifetime of petty arguments that you observe from the shadows. Rhaenyra is kind and while you’re impartial to the King, there is one you wouldn’t mind seeing fall off a cliff. You detest Daemon Targaryen. Nothing but a short-tempered fool in search for personal glory and the weight of a crown. Always a thorn in your side 

No matter the reason, he will always be a nagging pest. Always picking at your arguments, and yapping at your heels. There is nothing you are not at odds with when it concerns Prince Daemon. Despite your hatred, your mind seems to always drift to images of him in the wee hours of night. Dark armor, tall stature and sneering face. You frown. Disgusting. You hope he falls off his dragon and breaks his spine.  

Your hateful wishes still do not protect you. Just the same as every night, the Rogue Prince drifts into your thoughts like wet ink spilling onto parchment. You toss and turn in your bed, silk sheets constricting your legs. Fuck this.

You can’t pinpoint the nagging feeling for leaving the safety of rooms this late at night. Oh, but it is beautiful like this—the castle swathed in the soft glow of the torches, the scent of burning wood and the sweet lilies populating the gardens. Not a soul walks these halls at night save for the occasional maester or King’s Guard. They pay you no mind. 

Your footsteps echo on the cold stone, wandering through vast halls and winding corridors until you’re met with open air. Trees rustle in the dark—your feet have lead you to the Godswood. A twinge of homesickness pierces your heart for the cold and vast lands of white. For Winterfell’s homely walls, your younger siblings, your mother and father—

You clasp your hands together and rub at your knuckles. You sigh and drift to the heartwood, its weeping features a strange, basal comfort. Though your peace is quickly tarnished—

You are not alone in this courtyard. 

Dark leather boots appear from the shadows as the hair on the back of your neck rises. The rest of the man’s body slowly reveals itself as he strolls into the flickering torchlight. Daemon Targaryen stands before you, his height towering in the darkness. Ice coagulates in your veins. You take a step back. He inclines his head, strands of pale silver flowing off his shoulder, predatory eyes raking over your figure. “Sleep evading you, Lady Stark?”

“Prince Daemon,” you reply curtly. “What a surprise."  

You don’t attempt to curb your annoyance. Daemon’s shoulder bounce with a huff. “What brings you to the heartwood at this hour? Praying to your Gods for forgiveness? Or, perhaps a tryst in the dirt with a member of the Guard.”

You sniff, steeling your nerves as he approaches. His boots flatten the grass under his weight. “I could ask you the same, my lord.” 

Daemon exhales through his nose and plants himself before you, toe to toe. A common ploy to intimidate you. He raises his hand and pinches a strand of your unbound hair and twirls it around his fingers. You scoff and jerk your chin—he drops his hand. “I only wished to see the Lady Stark safe—she has an awful habit of wandering where she ought not to.”   

Your lips flatten into a thin line, dread clawing at your chest. You take a step away, he follows. “So you thought to follow me?” 

This could end poorly, you are treading on eggshells. Your gaze drops to his hands that rest at his sides. There is old blood crusting under his nails, like rusting metal on a blade. You wonder who it belongs too, if it were just one poor soul or that of many Daemon has cut down. Remnants of his conquests—justice he deems fitting in the name of the Crown. 

Two of those long, battle-worn fingers whisper under your jawline and slot beneath your chin. He tilts your head and your breath hitches. The ends of his mouth quirk into an impish smirk. 

“Tell me something,” Daemon coaxes, thumb sweeping over the divot beneath your bottom lip. “Do I frighten you, little shadow?”

His words are mocking, not a hint of true compassion. He enjoys the foul sport of intimidation far too much.

This alone should disgust you.  

But the air is humid and the night is thick with buzzing possibilities. Honeyed wine coats your tongue, spinning insults you wish to say, into molasses and ash. Your brows furrow. Setting aside the asinine manners and the questionable decisions—Daemon Targaryen intrigues you. He knows this—he is no fool to the sideways glances, the lingering focus on his mouth cradling the rims of golden chalices and his sharp smiles. You trusted in dark corners and the long shadows of the afternoon to hide you away, to keep your curiosities under wraps—a pity it never worked.  

His free hand slithers around your bare arm, his fingers scalding over your already heated flesh. The pads of his fingers dig into your skin, indenting the muscle. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough that faint marks will linger.   

“Tell me,” he prompts again, jostling your chin.  

The warm glow of the torchlight carves his sharp features into something akin to sinister. To him, you are something to be devoured—conquered. A true warrior—wildfire thrums through his veins and each breath that puffs over your flushed skin is invitingly toxic. Lips made of glass and a voice cut from steel. A grin made for war and eyes flecked with embers—

You swallow and forget about the sins threaded in the fibers of his soul. It’s best you do. You do not wish to falter and lose your slippery foothold you have against Daemon. True—you are no fearsome warrior, deft with a blade, but what you lack in a sword, you make up in full with your whip-tongue. All these months you’ve held your head high, nipping back at every wayward insult he’s thrown at you. Every battle of wit and test of will, you’ve bested and shrugged aside. It is a reflection of the North—that your House is unwavering, to tread lightly amongst the wolves. 

The Rogue Prince deemed you easy prey—a poor writhing creature that turns belly up and submits under the barest of pressure. But you are no dove. 

This is a dance of ice and fire. You have no intentions of losing.        

“No,” you finally answer, straightening your spine and your resolve. “You do not frighten me.”

A hum rumbles through his chest. “Is that so?” 

You sigh, “What is there to fear, Daemon? A spoiled princeling, begging for scraps of the Realm’s affection—”     

Daemon lashes out, hand clamping over your jaw like an iron bear trap. You swallow your yelp of pain as your teeth cut into the insides of your cheeks. The tip of his nose bumps yours, his voice a dangerous growl. “Do not think I won’t send your head back to your father on a pike.”

“And risk war with the North?” You bite back, words muddled. Daemon understands you nonetheless. “Don’t be so mindless.”  

Daemon’s teeth clench, pale brows furrowed into a deep crease. His nostrils flare, his irate gaze unwavering. Within it you find only ruin. Fire in the darkness, raging against the void, raising his sword against the Gods. A snake swallowing its tail, sharp edged steel—all that he is, is ripped edges and cracked glass. You haven’t the heart to be afraid of him—promises of tomorrow spark and pop in his mouth, but you will steal them one by one for each time you see the sun set and the darkness take his place. 

Hey squints. His hands roughly drop, but remain close enough to touch you. You wince as you roll your jaw and rub at the sore nerves pulsating under the skin. “Your knavish tongue will be your undoing, Lady Stark.”

And just when you think you’ve got him figured out, the wind shifts and his temperament smooths out. The bemused, coy smirk slips back into place. His hands lift, you flinch and his jackal grin grows. All he does is smooth out the rumbled fringe of your dress, indulging himself in a coquettish swipe of his fingers along the length of your collarbones. To a passerby it would appear as if he were adjusting your neckless—you both know better.    

You chew your lip. Fuck it. You’ll take the risk of insulting him further. There’s nothing to lose here. You square your shoulders and swat at his lingering touch. “It is unbecoming for a prince to take such pleasure in his power.”

Daemon rubs at his chin. Your frown deepens. “My—you are venomous this evening.” 

Daemon places his hands on your shoulders, the warmth and weight of them seeping through the light fabric of your dress. You fingernails dig into the flesh of your clenched fists. He nudges his palm into your shoulder joint, guiding you to face the weeping heart tree that lies within arms reach. You allow him to. “I take pleasure in my power, because…”

His words trail off. Your breath catches in your lungs as the Prince slots his lean body to yours. “Regardless of my actions, I will be vilified for it. These ungrateful sheep of the Realm will fancy themselves judge, jury, and executioner, but I am above them.”

It’s hot—layers of leather stick to your flushed skin, humid breaths scald your ear and throat. “Beneath me, everyone will burn.” 

Everything is too damn close to you—you itch to peel every layer of cloth and skin from yourself if it offers even a shred of relief. Daemon mistakes the subtle arch in your spine as resistance and circles a weighty arm around your middle to deter your squirming. Daemon indulges in a lecherous squeeze of your midriff—you curse yourself for jumping. 

“So twitchy,” he tuts. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as Daemon’s free hand sweeps back your unbound hair. Each spidery brush of his fingertips over the base of your spine leaves goosebumps in their wake. Your head swims, alarm bells clanging through your mind the moment Daemon curls his long, calloused fingers around your throat. Daemon grins and rests his chin over your shoulder, sharp nose burying into the crook of your of neck and shoulder. You know he can feel your fluttering, thrashing heart, pounding against the porcelain bars of your ribcage. Yet the more you struggle, the tighter his claws hook into you. “I wonder…” 

You wade through the hazy, panicked blur that has settled over your mind. Your tongue wets your parched lips. You don’t understand the beginning of this question, nor do you really want to see how it ends. Regardless, you indulge him. “My lord?” 

His low chuckle vibrates through his chest, porcelain teeth scraping along the column of your throat. “You tremble as if you are a maiden pure…” Daemon nips at ear, warm breath curling like a lick of fire alongside your cheek. “But I have trouble believing this narrative.”    

Daemon’s fingers inch up your throat. His middle and forefinger touch your chin and then your bottom lip. He smooths the pads of his digits over your lip and drags the pliant flesh down, exposing your bottom row of teeth. “How many ingrates have these lips touched?”

His grip cinches tighter, eager to hear your answer. You clench your jaw. “I don’t see how that is any of your concern.” 

“Oh, why don’t you give it up already?” Daemon sneers, “I see through your fucking front—how your pretty little eyes follow me down every corridor, through every room.”

Sharp pain erupts through your jaw as Daemon digs his thumb and middle finger into the joints of your jaw. Your yelp fades to a muffled squeal as Daemon shoves his fingers into your mouth without care. Your nails dig into the tough leather that cradles his arm, but no matter how much you squirm or attempt to shove the digits out with your tongue, there is no escape. Daemon’s teeth latch onto your throat, marring the fragile skin. “You can trick these dogmatic fools with your puritanical Northern ways—but I know the truth.”

You blubber around his fingers, saliva dripping down the sides of your stretched mouth and down his knuckles. Alarm bells continue to rattle inside your head, but that flailing panic drifts and blends into a dark current of gnashing teeth and a vortex of flame. Fervor and fear concoct a blend of sweet desire best left untouched. 

But when has the Rogue Prince ever listened to reason? Instead he takes this love like poison and slathers it onto rusted daggers in search of a home between the vertebrae of your spine. You think of your hands, threading through platinum white hair and the red of his  laughter. A barbed thing, a taunting thing, and a smile that leans to the left and sharp as a scythe. You crave him like hemlock. 

Daemon snickers as his fingers sink deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your soft tongue, the taste of him and salt flooding your tongue. He then pulls them nearly free from your lips, only to drive them back in, then out. A devious lick of arousal pools in your tummy as Daemon Targaryen finger fucks your mouth. He ceases the sick torture the second you gag and claw at his forearm. “There now,” he coos. You shiver despite the heat, his whisper a wicked scrape in your ear. “You desire me just as much as I crave you.”      

You whimper as he drags his fingers completely free from your lips, leaving a trail of sticky saliva over your chin. Daemon jostles your face with a prompting hum. Your voice is hoarse. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” He goads, slithering his sinful hands down the plain of your waist. You writhe under his touch, choking on embers and acidic oaths you hate to dispel off your tongue. 

“Yes,” you grit out, “I desire you, Prince Daemon.” 

Daemon clicks his tongue. “What fine manners,” he replaces his hand over your throat and pushes your head back until it meets the line of his shoulder. “A shame you only use them to persuade me into fucking you.” 

Stretched out like this, bearing your vulnerable neck to his hungry mouth, you meet his eyes. “Your arrogance protects you from coercion—so I believed, my lord.”

Sure, you already know the answer and yes, you’re toying with the untamed viciousness that flickers within his irises. You’re only playing coy to wheedle in a catty insult. It’s one of the simple pleasures in life—making a mockery of Daemon Targaryen. 

“Wretched shadow—I should cut out your tongue for your insolence.”

Before you have a chance to reply, Daemon’s mouth descends onto yours. A kiss full of teeth and iron—nothing about his lips are forgiving. Its blooms like a cut—hard, hungry and victorious. You are the spoils of an enduring, uphill battle, and so he claws at your arms, your clothes, your hair—

He rips himself away when the discomfort of your positioning grows too tedious. Daemon’s chest heaves, lips making a home in the crux of your neck and shoulder. You’re equally short of breath, knees buckling as Daemon’s brash hand cups your breast through your poor excuse of a dress. More of a robe really—

You yelp as he pinches your nipple, rolling it harshly between his fingers. You feel his grin curl up his narrow face, delighted in the results he’s cultivated. Irritation flares in your chest—you’ve slipped seamlessly into his dastardly scheme. Though, right as he moves to your other breast, kneading the pillowy skin, your mind conjures kindling. Your lips tickle his throat, words hushed. “You have a wife, princeling. What would she think of this?”          

The muscles in Daemon’s jaw jump as his jaw clenches. His touches cease as a growl rumbles through his chest. The oncoming silence is terse—swelling with raw nerves you’ve poked and prodded at. You don’t care. 

Daemon’s lip curls, canines flashing in the torchlight. “Not a damn thing. I take what I please.” His fingers leap to the crux of your thighs, securing his hold around your neck and cupping your cunt through your dress. You gasp and arch your spine. “When I please.”

The heel of his palm rocks into your cunt, sparking your arousal tenfold. Wetness has seeped through your underclothes some time ago, yet now you’re at risk for discovery. Not that this poses a real issue—your hips roll into his hand as your lips part in a gasp—you’re long past any sense propriety. He squeezes your throat, thumb making a home over your pulse point, pounding like a war drum. “You will do well to remember this—the world is mine to conquer, foolish girl.”     

A strangled cry breeches your lips as Daemon hikes the skirts of your dress up your thighs. He grabs at your inner thigh, kneading the flesh for a moment before his hand finds your center once more. A stuttered sigh escapes him, feeling your heat through the thin layer of your underclothes. It sticks to your cunt, your wetness amplified by the gentle breeze that whispers through the Godswood, rattling the wine-red leaves as if the Gods themselves sigh in disappointment. Thoughts of sacrilege melt from your mind as Daemon curses, calloused fingers rubbing your slit through the fabric. Your knees buckle, waves of pleasure cascading through every nerve.

Daemon trails his fingers from the top of your cunt, circling your clit then down to rub over your dripping entrance. Despite his touches being blunted, the effect is all the same. “Dae—”  

The hand on your throat slaps over your mouth, quieting your mewls. “Hush, wretched thing.”

The moment his teeth imbed themselves into your neck is the very same moment in which Daemon’s patience snaps. Your underclothes are forcibly removed, ripped seams and soaked cotton pooling around your ankles. His feverish panting scorches your skin, stuttered and edging madness—the world cracks and splits as his fingers finally meet your burning cunt. Your moan breaks against the lines of his palm, unraveling beneath the pads of his fingers that glide through your wet lips. Back and forth they tease, doing nothing to satiate. You thrash—it’s not enough.  

And then, when you think it can’t get any worse, Daemon stops moving entirely. He laughs as you wine and wriggle. He pulls his hand off your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting you for a quick moment, fingers hovering right over your throbbing clit. “Dae—Prince Daemon, please.”

“Desperate little shadow,” he coos, “Wetting my fingers like a common whore.”

You should feel more conflicted—aghast even—but his insults are kindling to a burning house. You murmur prayers of forgiveness to the rustling leaves above you, hushed words tumbling into a whiney pleas as Daemon circles your clit. Your fingernails scrabble over his knuckles, hoping that your efforts will result in gratification. All it does is make him pause.

“I should leave you like this,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. Your heart seizes. “Unsatisfied and dripping.” Daemon’s forehead drops onto your shoulder, his hand dipping further between your pussy. His fingers spread over your cunt, doing the best he can at this angle and teasing out a little moan. You jolt as Daemon abruptly plunges the tip of his middle finger into your entrance. “But you would never learn.” 

Your cry echos through the Godswood as Daemon’s slots his fingers to your swollen clit. Your legs shake—his pace starts off mellow, pressing fleeting little circles to the bundle of nerves. The pleasure is raw, but there’s no place you can run to. You’re pinned to his chest, destined for torture—to witness his black-hearted delight. You curse and Daemon cuts to the quick, fast and rough, toying with your body like a marionette and her puppeteer—tugging on invisible strings until you dance for him. You squeeze your eyes shut and claw and his forearm, unsure if you’re trying to pull him closer or away from you. 

It’s too much and too quickly. Daemon gives no time to build up the pleasure. It all descends upon you in a vicious wave. Searing heat courses through you from the centre of your core and lashes out to your lower spine and beyond. You arch as the pleasure begins to scald, but his touch follows, his hold unyielding. Your mind folds as your orgasm cracks, a string of senseless babbling and cries of his name all that you can make sense of. 

His fingers press firmly against your clit, your core clenching so hard around nothing that it aches. Your ears ring, the ecstasy bursting through your trembling body. Your knees buckle and he lets you fall. The moss coating the thick heartwood roots absorbs the shock of your fall, but the dirt still stains your knees and palms, still shaking with aftershocks. You squeeze your eyes just to rid your vision of the blurriness and sluggishly move to stand. 

Leather creaks and the snap of a belt sounds behind you. A second later Daemon tosses his sword to your left, the silvery hilt glowing pale in the moonlight. You swing your head over your shoulder as Daemon kneels. He shoots you a sharp, toothy smile. Your heart lurches. This is far from over.  

The sound of rustling fabric and low cursing cuts through some of the anticipation. You look back and bite your lip to curb your snicker. Daemon is hunched over, pawing at the drawstrings of his tented trousers, dexterous as a drunk. “Having trouble with your laces, m’lord?”

Daemon snarls and tears through the flimsy string with sheer force. You yelp as Daemon grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks. His lean body curls over yours, nose brushing along your neck. “Speaking is a privilege. Quiet yourself before I silence your mouth with my cock.”

He shoves your head to the soft earth, his other hand pushing up your skirts to expose your bare ass. Daemon murmurs a curse or perhaps a lick of praise as he runs his roughened palm over the globes of your ass. You shiver as his fingers sweep inward, collecting the wetness that has coated the soft skin there. His palm trades in his hold on your throbbing scalp to instead drag his thumbs through your slit. You dare not move from this position. His thumbs part your swollen lips, sliding through the velveteen flesh until he finds your weeping entrance.      

Daemon purrs as he sinks his middle finger inside of you, all the way to the base and without resistance. You keen and fist the grass under you. Your walls stretch around the second finger he stabs into you, lazily thrusting the digits in and out. Heat burns your cheeks at the wet sounds your body makes. Though there’s not much time to enjoy Daemon’s fingers—he’s impatient as they come. 

He kneels up straight and shuffles closer. You gasp as you feel him, hot and straining against your thigh. Daemon strokes his cock, knuckles scraping against your pussy as if to tease you. You wine and push your hips back, your self respecting dwindling to ash. 

Daemon brings the blunt tip of himself to your cunt and rocks his hips coating his cock in your slick. “Tell me you need it.”

His hand is back in your hair, pulling at the strands. You don’t need much encouragement. You force your tongue into coherency. “Please—I…I need it, my Prince. N-need you.”

Daemon snickers and rubs a comforting hand over the base of your spine. And then, with little warning, he sheaths the entirety of his length inside of your aching center. You screech, gouging your fingers through the damp earth and scrabbling for some sort of stability. He’s big—bigger than what you’ve taken in the past and your cunt pulses and struggles to accommodate him. Daemon only laughs, a breathless taunt, as his fingers leave behind bruises in the shape of him. “Fuck, you’re tight. Does it hurt, little shadow?”

“No,” you squeak. And for the most part it’s true—your walls burn, and a dull ache settles deep inside of you as Daemon’s cock touches the end of you. But your wetness aids the glide and sets the burning nerves alight with crackling ecstasy. You bow your head, resting your forehead on your forearm as Daemon rocks his narrow hips. The experimental pace trips into something harsher, encouraged by the breathless squeaks he pushes out of you. His hands anchor over your hips, aiding the brutal rhythm of his cock slamming into your tight heat.     

You lose yourself to this pleasure—washed out to sea to drown in the waves. For the first time since meeting Daemon, he speaks your name to the heavens, but you don’t even recognize it. Can’t recognize it—the syllables are to foreign and grating to your eardrums. These frenzied moments are a blur of white-hot embers, smoke and ash and hard fingertips littering your skin with crescent moon indents. Bites, laden with heavy kisses leech out the sting as you moan and whimper. You roll your hips and arch your back in a way you’d find positively deplorable if you were coherent enough to form proper thoughts.

“Greedy fucking shadow—”

You like that better than your name—that’s who you are—who you always will be to him. It all makes sense with that name tumbling against the ridges of your spine with the cutting lips that follow it. Damp skin and sticky fingers wind around your legs spread legs, fingers slipping over you cunt before the resettle and touch your clit. Daemon presses down on your clit, bucks his hips, swollen cock inside you twitching as your walls squeeze him. He pants against your ear, fingers slipping round and round over your clit. You’re so full, so fucking full that your legs tremble and your toes curl. Everything tightens like a vice, stars scattering behind your eyelids. All that you are is some writhing sweaty mess, biting at your forearm. It’s a gargantuan task, struggling to your elbows, and rocking back as much as you can. Fuck—all you can think about is Daemon—

“Stop wriggling and just fucking take it,” Daemon bites. Saliva or maybe blood, dribbles down your shoulder, your collarbone, and wets the moss below.  

You cry as the edge beckons and explodes. He catches you up whilst you’re faced with the precipice of orgasm. Daemon grabs at your hair, wrenching your head to face the gnarled face of the heartwood. “Scream my name to your Old Gods.” 

You do. Oh, you do, Gods forgive this as you implode and split at the seams. The hard heat of his belly presses through his tunic and sits flush against your back, the line of your spine curved into the pounding echo of his heartbeat. He hasn’t stopped—he still thrusts into your cunt in search for his own end. Your stomach flips as Daemon hooks his elbow under your knee flips you onto your back. 

His length slips free, only to be guided back inside of you once he drapes your thighs around his waist. You throw your head back and claw at his tunic, wheezing when his hand ensnares your neck and restricts your air. He is a mass of burning stardust, a winged fragment of space that burns bright as the sun. People will never be able to understand the true form of him. Yet they still fear the catalogue of coalesced volcanic ash and anger. The wildness. His many black-tinted hungers. You will always tenderly tell yourself that he nothing to be afraid, as if his mouth were not filled with blood. 

You are not made to burn like this, you are a creature of ice and snow, yet you still risk dragon fire. Holding you like a moth to a flame—you let him blind you, igniting your heart and allowing his heat to incinerate all he cares to take. “Look at me,” he commands.    

The inferno rages around you, his hips swinging freely in a stuttered rhythm only meant to service him. There is no concern for you in these fleeting moments, you’re only a means to end, but fuck—it still feels good. Still rubs against nerves that spark and ignite with each thrust. His cock pounds into you, the Godswood filled with sounds of your rough joining, abdomen scraping over your clit. A knowing smirk splits across his face as you cum once more—convulsing and jittery. You reach for him and twist your fingers into his hair—Daemon allows it. With one last wheezy sputter of his name from your lips, he’s done for. 

You choke as the full weight of him collapses onto you—his hips shoving his twitching cock as deep as it will go into your cunt. Warmth floods your insides as he cums, his fragile moaning a delight to your ringing ears. Soon, he settles, panting into the column of your throat, pulse racing. 

Right when its feels as though he will crush your ribcage, Daemon lifts himself and cups your jaw. You blink, eyes hazy with exhaustion and lust. 

“Open,” he orders. You do so without a fight and open your mouth. Perverse joy flickers in his eyes. “Good.” 

Your eyes bulge as he spits into your mouth. You don’t have time to feel conflicted over the way your body roars with a new wave of arousal, because he’s kissing you. Devouring your bruised mouth with tongue and teeth—it leaves you breathless. You don’t like the way your heart yearns for more when Daemon pulls away. He skates his thumb up your jawline, admiring the way your softness catches on his calloused skin. There’s no fuss, nor any words spoken as he pulls his cock free from you, only a hiss through clenched teeth. His spend dribbles out of your cunt and paints your inner thighs—a beautiful canvass of sin and debauchery. 

He stands, readjusts his trousers and reaches for his abandoned sword. He ties the scabbard to his belt and turns on his heel. “Do be careful on your way back to your rooms, Lady Stark,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Who knows what filth lurks in the dark.” 

You bite your lip and watch him pace away, melding into the dark. You lift your eyes to the canopy of leaves overhead and sigh. They shiver and twist in the gentle breeze. “Gods above—forgive me.”  

[astroboots]

Idk if you've answered this before, but how boa and frankie met? Was it love at first sight?

At First Sight

Content: Your best friend Santiago introduces you to his other best friend: Frankie Morales

Word Count: 2,000

Homesick Masterlist | Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

It is probably not the most romantic thing to say about the man who would one day be your future husband. But the first time you met Frankie, you’d barely noticed he was in the room. 

Frankie is one of those men that has a quiet energy about him. Not imposing. Not a braggart. He’s perfectly happy to sit, tucked away into a comfortable corner of the room, sipping on a shitty beer, and almost be forgotten about while the others in the room carry the conversation. 

So no, you hadn’t paid much attention to the man with soft curls, and a sleepy smile, when you were screaming your lungs out in the private karaoke booth to the screeching horror of your friends.

In your defense, you're more than a little bit tipsy. Fresh off a six hour exam with wrecked nerves, and Santiago has decided to spend more than his paltry salary with the army should be able to afford on tequila and Aguila that never seems to run out.

Santiago is faring much better than you on your duette rendition of the Celine Dion song you're supposed to be singing together. Because not only can the bastard sing, but he also seems to know the lyrics to the song, instead of whatever you're doing, which is singing the song title over and over again even as the song has moved on. But Santiago saves it, grinning happily as he pulls you in and continues to sing into the creaky microphone.

His sturdy arm, warm and clammy, in the confined small room, hangs over your shoulder. The weight of it is like coming home, and you treasure that contact.

With every chorus, his heat-flushed cheeks inch closer and you try to ignore it, in a room filled with your friends, but you end up leaning into the warmth of him all the same.

When you finally wind down and the song ends, your throat is scratching at the lining. You know that your vocal chords are going to be rendered useless for the rest of that week as you sit back down on the squeaky vinyl sofa with Santiago who is already pouring you another tequila shot and shoving the wedge of lime between your teeth. 

Your roommate, Greta, tries to offer Santiago's friend the mic when a Michael Jackson song comes on, but he immediately shakes his head, shyly pulling the cap over his forehead like an ostrich trying to hide its head in the sand, mumbling a a quiet excuse that he’s a much bigger Prince fan. 

Throughout the evening, the poor man doesn’t sing, and despite the polite smile on his face, you are convinced that he is probably having the worst time of his life. 

Not that Santiago seems to pay any attention. He's having the best time of his life, showing off how much better of a singer he is than the rest of you (the show-off) as he downs one Tequila shot after another like it's goddamned tap water.

Santiago doesn't seem to have any care in the world that he's wrangled this poor man into a post-exam party filled with rowdy strangers drunk off their asses. Which is typical Santiago really.

Shaking your head with a sigh, you tap Santiago on the shoulder, and he leans into you allowing you to cup your hand over his ear so he can hear you over the chaotic wailing in the background.

“Is your friend alright? I don’t know his name—” 

“Who? Catfish?” Santiago shouts in your face.

You grimace at that stupid army moniker. “Not calling him that.” 

From the corner of your eye, you see the said Catfish look over in your direction at his army nickname being called.

You can't really make much sense of the guy. The only thing you know about him is that he is Santiago's army buddy that's staying with him for a few week while they're on leave.

But there's nothing about the man that screams army about him.

He's soft spoken and polite, and despite the muscular build he's positively skinny. Not the brawny, loudmouthed guys you'd often imagined an army guy would be like. But then again it's not like you've seen or been around many of them. Santiago never brings any of his army friends around you or around his family.

It's a separation he clings onto, two different worlds that should never clash, and he's stubbornly steadfast about his refusal to mix the two.

The only exception he's ever made is for this man named Catfish-- and you can't help but wonder what's so special about this man that would have the most stubborn man in the universe go back on his principles.

"You never bring people from the army around, why him?" you ask.

Santiago, doesn't look up from his tequila shot or at you as he downs it before answering. “His family are some rich hot shots, deals with oil or something in New York, doesn’t get along with them. So I told him to come here before we’re deployed again. Better to be among friends right?” 

With a tilt of the head, you can’t help but observe the man across the room, making little effort in hiding your scrutiny. 

White faded t-shirt, a worn hat embossed with the company logo ‘Standard Heat Oil’, and overgrown hair underneath, the color of deep mud, weren’t exactly the markings of a trust fund kid. 

“He doesn’t look it.” 

“That’s a mean thing to say," Santiago says as if he's scolding you, but he's smiling at you as he says it.

He leans back in, even closer to you, until his lips are close to your ear so that you can hear him perfectly clear over the mayhem in the background. "He's my best friend over there. It's only right he gets to meet my best friend over here. Be nice to him."

The first time Frankie meets you, he's nervous.

It feels momentous somehow. Like the sighting of the mythical Chupacabra in the wild. A legendary creature told only in hushed whispers around bonfires, but no one has ever seen.

He knows who you are, seen your name on the military packets you send Santiago. Caught snippets of the letters written in your neat handwriting. On the very rare odd occasion, he's even managed to convince Santiago to share some of the chocolate and snacks you send him (for a hefty price).

Santiago doesn't talk about you much. But he doesn't have to say it in words for Frankie to understand that you're important to him.

It's clear from the way his smile goes soft when he reads your letters in his bunkbed. The way he'll unfailingly waste his time on leave to argue with local vendors over the price of ugly postcards to send to you. The way he hoards you like a secret, far out of bounds, like he doesn't want his life and world in the army to taint you.

So when Santiago invites him over tonight, knowing you'll be there. Frankie knows it's important.

He feels like a fiance about to meet his potential in law for the first time. The desperation to make a good impression. That nervous fluttering in his stomach where he's not sure if it's because he has food poisoning or if the beer here in Florida is just that bad. Except, of course, Santiago is not his boyfriend and you're definitely not Santiago's mother.

So far he's probably not doing a very good job at making a first impression.

Santiago being Santiago, had foregone introductions, and so Frankie never even really got to say hi or tell you his name. In the midst of the crowd, he'd somehow ended up being seated in the far end of the room. Away from you. Away from Santiago, sitting next to a couple he doesn't know who have been trying to jam their tongues into each other's throat like there'll be oil if they drill down deep enough.

Out of nowhere, he hears Santiago calls for him, but when he looks up, Santiago is in deep conversation with you.

He sees you observing him from across the room. Sharp eyes pinned on his form like you're trying to figure out what his deal is. The kind of look a shopkeeper of a bodega around the corner would have on a potential shoplifter.

And shit, that means the two of you are talking about him, doesn't it?

His skin prickles and stings under his t-shirt, and he grips hard around the neck of the beer bottle, trying to force himself to take another sip to look busy.

"Oi Fish!" Santiago shouts from the other end of the room, and this time Frankie's sure of it, Santiago is actually talking to him and not just about him.

Frankie looks up to see Santiago gesture at the door, signalling it's time to leave as he stands up and grabs your jacket. Frankie gets up in a haste with a murmured bye on his way out, but he doesn't think it makes much of a difference, the couple next to him is still busy playing whack-a-mole into each other's throats.

He joins the two of you in the cramped hallway. It's dark and smells musty of beer and sweat.

You're a little bit worse for wear at this point, swaying on your step and you're only three steps in when your shoe catches on the lump of the carpet and jolt forward seconds from landing on your face.

His reflexes react before his mind does. Arm flying out to catch you by the waist. Even through the cotton of your shirt, your skin feels warm against his palm.

You're looking up at him with wide eyes, face inches from his. Sharp and piercing, they're intimidating somehow, like if he looks long enough into them you'll find out everything there is about him and yet he can't look away.

"Oh, thanks," you say.

You're still staring up at him, and shit, he's been standing still all this time, not moving... still holding onto you hasn't he?

"You can let go Fish, I got her," Santiago says next to you. Hand already placed on the small of your back and Frankie can feel his arm brush up against him.

The small touch from Santiago is all it takes to send a shock through his spine, and his hand flinches away like it scalds him.

In that brief second, his eyes catches yours again, your head tips to the side, eyes curious. He follows your gaze, to see you observing his hand, before your eyes flicker towards Santiago's arm looped around your waist.

Maybe he's just paranoid. Maybe it's all the nervous energy in him. But something in your eyes seems to change. Recognition, and Frankie feels a cold grip around his spine, like he's burning in a firepit and freezing to death on a snow covered mountain all at once.

"Everything okay, Fish?" Santiago asks.

All Frankie can do is nod dumbly, as he forces himself to take a step forward to keep up with you two. "Where we going?"

"Grabbing food. There's an amazing Cubano place nearby." Santiago answers as he pushes open the door to the outside. "They also serve Yuca fries that this one is obsessed with", he continues as he nods towards you. "You love that stuff too right Frank?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Frankie takes in the cooling air of the outside trying to calm down his nerves and the sudden spike of adrenaline that seems to refuse to leave his system.

"See! You two have things in common already, you'll be best friends in no time," Santiago chimes.

You laugh brightly at that.

"Yes," you say, and your head tips towards Frankie, eyes observant. But there's a warm and knowing smile on your face that makes the anxious knot gnawing in his stomach ease somehow. "I think Frankie and I have a lot in common."

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[eirual-32]

Before the Birds Sang - Legolas x Reader

A.N.: As of now, it is a one shot imagine, but it could turn into a short series if you desire. Also, there might be some mistakes and I’m sorry for that but English isn’t my first language. Hope you enjoy! I really like this one :)

Legolas x Human Reader

Summary: On a certain evening when loneliness creeps in, Legolas is there to silently comfort you. Between the two of you, so many feelings are uncovered but also left unsaid.  

fluff, slight angst, hair braiding, hidden feelings

Reader isn’t aware of the meaning behind hair braiding for elves (love, courting…)

Warnings: none

Words: 1 884

So much time had already passed since you had left your dear home. Of course, you did miss it. In your dreams, you were reminded of what made it your own: the modest but charming garden your mother was constantly occupied embellishing, the cherry blossom trees you could observe from your room’s window gently swaying with the wind flying over the valley, the numerous birds that would wake you from a peaceful sleep when you had left your shutters open for the night…

These souvenirs, the little pieces of home still residing in your mind, brought you comfort and hope that, somehow, you would come back alive to your mother. It was a dangerous adventure and death was constantly near, but you had no regrets. Indeed, the quest you had embarked on served a crucial purpose in which the faith of Middle-earth was at stake. Consequently, being a part of the Fellowship was an honor and you had come to appreciate each one of the members accompanying you. They all were great company and having them by your side eased your growing homesickness. However, late at night, when the time had come to slip into slumber, the loneliness crawled back in with an enhanced heaviness.

This is the state you now found yourself in, lying on your back on a thin layer of ferns while staring at the stars as if they would help you find the rest your body so desperately craved, but couldn’t give in to. You clung onto the thin blanket barely protecting you from the coldness of the night as you once more forcefully shut your eyes, sighing in desperation.

Your sigh must have been louder than you had wished since a worried voice quickly followed, “Are you not able to sleep Y/N?” You swiftly turned your head to the side to find Legolas, the elf on the Fellowship who had quickly creeped its way into your heart, sitting a few feet away against a log surrounding the campfire that had been put out before nightfall. As always, he was up late, not needing to sleep much.

You were unsure whether it was merely your human nature’s reaction to the refined beauty of elves, but Legolas had fascinated you from the moment your eyes had met his gentle ones all these months ago. Since then, you had been able to slightly put aside the odd feelings that had invaded your being the first time you encountered him and a lovely friendship blossomed between the two of you. Legolas was never one to judge you and you truly felt like you could be your true self around him. He was an ellon of a few words, but an attentive listener. Therefore, you were allowed to share and relieve yourself of the fears you had regarding this journey thanks to him. Secretly, he held an extra special place in your heart.

It is the reason why, as he now searched your eyes questioning what was bothering, you felt your chest flutter and you averted your gaze to instead look back at the dark sky saying, “It is nothing new Legolas. I merely am frightened of what’s to come. You know how much I worry I will never come home to my mother.” You paused as you fought back the tears lingering in your eyes.

You heard Legolas shuffle closer and sit close to your head still resting on the ground. His comforting presence calmed you and you continued, “I am all she has left. I can’t help feeling guilty to have left her.” You sniffed slightly and closed your eyes.

For a few minutes, you both fell in a comfortable silence during which all that could be heard was the slow breaths you both let out, the faint snores of your companions sleeping nearby and the wind whistling through the countless trees surrounding you.

Your shut eyes softly opened back when a delicate hand started cautiously caressing your long hair dispersed around your head. His gentle motions started at the top of your head and ended where your neck began, just behind your right ear. His touch was so light you could have believed the breeze was the one stroking your skin and strands of your hair.

As you relished in the feeling of his rare touch on you, you tempted a look at Legolas. Still sitting, his eyes were now fixed right in front of him, mindlessly surveying the woods. From this angle, observing him from below, you could see how the moon reflected on the smooth skin covering his face making it glitter subtly. As usual, strands of his snow-colored hair were neatly braided back revealing his beautifully shaped ears and his perfectly sculpted jawline. While your eyes continued to trail over his face, you couldn’t help feeling as if you were staring at an otherworldly being which technically, he was. His mere existence felt magical. Indeed, Legolas was an elf, but deep down, you knew he felt like more than that to you.

Legolas must have sensed your gaze on him because, in their inspection, your eyes finally reached his again but now, they weren’t fixed on the trees before him anymore. You were now staring directly in his soft eyes looking down at you as they seemed to silently try to read you. Slowly, a kind smile illuminated his face. Color stained your cheeks as you detected a hint of mischievousness in his expression at having caught you admiring him.

His voice was then heard again, “I thought I was helping you falling asleep. Alas, I appear to rather be a distraction to you,” he stated as his playful smirk grew even more. You lowered your eyes briefly, embarrassment creeping in, but quickly lifted them again as you heard him giggle softly.

A newfound fondness towards him filled your body at the sound of his laugh and at the realization of the subtle closeness of the moment. This time, you maintained his gaze until your eyes fluttered close when his hand that had stilled itself on your temple began stroking your hair smoothly once more.

“You like it?” he nearly whispered. You smiled softly and nodded. You opened your eyes again to find Legolas gently reciprocating your grin.

“You haven’t slept much lately Y/N. You need to rest, mellon nin. A long journey still lies ahead of us,” he said. You hummed in response as an idea crossed your mind.

Without overanalyzing it, you asked, “Would you braid my hair like elves do?” Legolas’ hand halted in its movements and if you hadn’t been gazing intensely in his eyes, you would have missed an unknown expression that subtly flashed in them. However, he quickly regained his composure as his hand resumed its path in your hair.

Since he wasn’t responding, you grew unsure of your request. Thankfully, he relieved you of your uncertainty by muttering, “Would it help you fall asleep afterwards?”

“Yes, it would. Your touch is so soothing. It has already helped put to rest all that was haunting me earlier,” you replied quietly, a grateful glint in your eyes.

Legolas scanned your features as if hesitating, but then requested for you to sit up. He delicately covered your shoulders with your blanket and tugged your forearm lightly to guide you further back in front of his crossed legs. He began by brushing his elegant fingers through your hair, untangling the knots that had formed during the day. You closed your eyes once again enjoying how his gentle touch made you feel. Afterwards, he parted your hair and took two strands he pulled together and skillfully braided into a single braid in the back. Your closed eyelids became heavier at each second that passed.  

Then, he leaned a bit closer to be able to braid the hair right above your ears, starting on your right side. A shiver ran through your body as you sensed his warm exhale on your ear and neck. Shortly after, your heart rate accelerated when you felt a tremble in his breath as if he was nervous. That is when you discerned the intimacy of the moment you were sharing. You could not recall having shared such a tender act with anyone other than your mother and the idea of you making the ellon behind you anxious filled you with feelings you were not familiar with.  

Unexpectedly, now working on the last braid, near your left hear, Legolas softly said, “Regarding what you said to me earlier about your mother and you fearing to never come back to her, I of course can’t assure you that nothing will happen to you since the dangers ahead are unknown, but…” He paused completing your hairstyle and delicately turning you around so you could sit while facing him. For a few seconds, his gaze lovingly swept over your hair and your face halting at your eyes. Finally, he finished his sentence, intently diving his gaze into yours, “I promise that I will look after you and do everything in my power for you to return home unarmed.”

At his words, you felt a soothing warmth invading your stomach and you smiled at him, again admiring his majestic beauty. His right hand still resting on your shoulder now raised itself to lightly take a hold of your cheek. His index brushed your skin tenderly and you leaned into his hand as you grasped his wrist gently. As you stared at one another, a certain tension weighed on the both of you in which so much was left unsaid. Your breaths fanning on the other’s face, a sense of surprise seized you when you became aware of your proximity as you knew Legolas was never one for physical touch, but here you were.

“Bain,” he whispered. “You look beautiful,” he completed while releasing a breath. You stared startled, heart beating furiously. What shocked you even more is when Legolas leaned in to lay his lips on your cheek in a soft kiss and then did the same on your forehead. The skin his mouth had touched was tingling and your body craved for him to lean in again. However, you stayed put, even as the ellon’s eyes briefly drifted to your lips before looking back into yours, pink now tinting his cheeks.

That’s when he put his hands on both your shoulders and leaned back,“It is time for you to rest now, ok?” he said in a low voice which broke the spell you had both fell in while you shyly had explored the other with your sight and touch.

“Yes.” You nodded. “Thank you again Legolas. For everything.” You smiled and he lightly bowed his head, his gentle eyes never leaving yours.

He stood up, leaving you yearning for his touch again as the emplacements on your skin he had been in contact with grew cold. Nevertheless, your insides were burning as you stared at the elf regaining his earlier spot near the campfire. You lay back down on the ground, glancing once more at Legolas who was now observing you from afar, a sparkle in his eyes, before your eyelids who had grown heavy shut one final time and you were transported back home, in dreams, to the birds singing melodically outside your window.

A.N.: If you desire a second part, I will write one :).

[cosmic-whispers]

The Building Bonds (Kisses: Part 1) - Azriel x Reader

Summary: A series of one-shots highlighting significant kisses throughout your relationship with Azriel. Part 1 aka The Cheek Kiss.  (Part 2) (Part 3)

Warnings: None, just fluffy goodness

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: This little mini-series was inspired by valentine's day coming up! The idea was to post the last part on the 14th, but I don’t think I’ll be able to hit that goal. I have very limited writing time, but I guess we will see! I hope you all enjoy!

The City of Starlight was indeed a wonder to behold. It truly did take your breath away. Enormous mountains surrounded the city, sharp peaks piercing into the sky, and the long Sidra River winded through, the water sparkling like sapphires and sprinkled with many large and small ships. The city was lively; the white marble and sandstone buildings provided shelter, merriment, and protection to its citizens. You found it almost impossible to believe that you were there, but the pleasant scent of salt in the air reminded you that you were not in a dream. 

You turned back from the large window in the House of Wind and faced your companion. 

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Eloise whispered to you. The healers from the other courts kept to themselves, and you both did the same. “It’s nothing like I expected it to be.”

Being born in the Day Court, you had never had much need for travel. Your home was known for the beauty of its mountainous planes, challenging the beauty of the city before you. The beaches of Day even rivaled the perfect waters of Adriata. From a very young age, you trained with the healers, learning everything you could about your special magic, and had never stepped foot on lands that were not in Day. Eloise was the same age, traveling where you traveled and learning what you learned, and the two of you quickly became best friends. 

“It seems almost too good to be true,” you said, glancing back out the window. 

“Don’t be so gloomy (Y/N/N),” she said, wrapping an arm around you. “If anyone saw you, they’d think you came here against your will.”

“As I recall, you practically did bring me here against my will,” you responded, raising your eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes and threw her dark hair over her shoulder. “Oh, please, don’t act as if I dragged you here under threat. You’re smart enough to realize what a great opportunity this is.”

You were considered a highly skilled healer, but you knew that you still had so much to learn and had been looking for an apprenticeship. When Helion initially approached you, mentioning that the Night Court was looking to build relations and wanted to offer healing apprenticeships to healers from other courts, you had hardly believed him. If you had not been in utter shock at seeing your High Lord and having him speak directly to you, you might have laughed in his face. 

Being in the highest schooling level, Eloise had immediately volunteered, but you had been more hesitant. You did not know this court, and the cruel rumors spread about it were not favorable at all. You were comfortable in your home. You knew what to expect every day, and it scared you to take a chance. But the heckling from Eloise eventually broke you down and you had volunteered as well, lucky enough to have priority over the younger healers. 

You knew an opportunity to train under the famed healers of this court would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience and you knew that you could not give up the opportunity. And yet…while able to recognize this, you still felt homesick and uncomfortable surrounded by strangers. 

After a few more minutes, the door to the large drawing room opened and the High Lord of the Night Court came in, along with an elderly woman who you assumed was a healer based on her clothing and another Illyrian warrior. 

Rhysand smiled at the group. He was a stunning male, his smile making you a bit dizzy. He also seemed quite smug, and you were sure that he knew the effect he had on every female and male in the room. “Welcome! We are so excited to host you here and to share the knowledge we have about healing,” he said. “This is Madja, our head healer. She will be in charge of your curriculum and will assess each of you individually to see where your weaknesses lie and determine the best training for you.”

You glanced at the elderly woman and she reminded you of the Day Court head healer–focused and serious, yet kind. 

As Madja took over and began explaining your new roles and how housing would work, you could not help but glance at their third companion. The Illyrian male was massive, muscles cording every inch of him. His dark, membranous wings were spread large, and dark shadows swarmed around him, nearly concealing him completely from you. 

He glanced at you, hazel eyes piercing into yours, and you felt heat immediately rush to your cheeks and the sight of his perfect face. 

What was in the water here?

You quickly glanced away, embarrassed at being caught staring, and your eyes found Rhysand’s lavender gaze. He smirked, and you had the stark realization that the daemati probably read your mind. 

You built up the iron walls of your mind, shutting him out. 

“Azriel,” the high lord said, motioning to the warrior in the room, “and Cassian, my other brother, have also offered self-defense lessons if any of you are interested.” 

You dared another glance at him, and your eyes met his again. And while he was imposing and intimidating, the soft look in his eyes made your anxiety relax. You looked back to Rhysand as he finished explaining the details of your stay, but you could still feel Azriel’s eyes lingering on the side of your face.  

Azriel glanced back at you as Rhysand left. Madja began approaching the other healers one by one, and the others began mingling amongst themselves. 

You were absolutely stunning, and he could not take his eyes off you. Your eyes were captivating, and the second they met his own, his heart inexplicably clenched tight in his chest. Your posture was reserved, your arms wrapping around you protectively as you glanced at your friend. You smiled softly at her, the curve of your lips and the crinkles by your eyes making your face come alive with emotion. He was mesmerized with you, and his shadows were no better. One of them managed to escape his hold, swarming undetected over you and reporting back to him 

“Anxious, homesick,” it whispered to him. 

Madja approached your friend, and Azriel decided to speak to you. He was always reserved and introverted, preferring to lurk in the shadows and observe. But something about you drew him near, and he knew he had to speak with you before he lost his chance. A small, unexplainable hope blossomed in his chest as he drew near, but he was quick to bury it deep, afraid of the possibility of getting his heart broken. He walked in your direction slowly, making his steps deliberately audible, and you turned towards him, a small smile gracing your face. Your enticing scent wafted toward him, and he moved closer to you, desperate for another hint of your enticing aroma. 

“Hello, I’m Azriel,” he said, smiling softly at you. 

You glanced down shyly, and he could not help but think about how adorable and tiny you were compared to him. 

You looked back up at him and gave him a timid smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Azriel. I’m (Y/N).”

Fuck. Even your voice entranced him. 

“How are you liking Velaris?” he asked.

“We haven’t had much time to explore the city, but it is very beautiful,” you said. 

“It’s my favorite place in the world,” he admitted. “I’ve traveled to all courts and beyond; nothing has ever compared to its beauty.”

A small smirk began growing on your face, and he was intrigued at the playful mischief dancing in your eyes. Surprise gripped him for a moment, and he wanted to rectify his previous statement immediately. Perhaps something has compared to the beauty of his city. 

“I suppose…” you trailed, “I mean, it’s not the Day Court, but I suppose it will do for now.”

He could not stop his chuckle, and his smile grew. “That’s not very gracious of you.”

“You’re right. I should be obsequious, fawning over my wonderful hosts. Do you think the High Lord will grant me special favors if I grovel?” you asked. What an impudent, wonderful girl. 

“Depends. What special favors do you seek?”

“I think I’d quite like a library,” you said, smiling. 

“Well, I can guarantee that your library will be spectacular,” he answered. 

“Guarantee? Are you a betting male, Azriel? I’m quite difficult to impress,” you teased, catching him by surprise once more. Azriel had read you all wrong. Despite your initially shy nature, you were quick-witted, funny, and intelligent. 

“The libraries in Velaris are wonderful,” he defended, pretending to be offended. 

“You realize Helion’s libraries are the most renowned in Prythian, right?” 

“Sound like unsubstantiated claims to me. Perhaps you can let me prove it to you.” You raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to continue. “I can show you the library here at the House of Wind,” he offered. A sudden fluttering erupted in his stomach, and he held onto the hope that you would say yes. 

“Maybe you can show us all of Velaris.” He turned to see your friend walking towards them, the smirk on her face directed straight towards you. 

“No, that’s not necessary, Azriel. You must be very busy and I don’t wish to burden you. We can take the tour with everyone else,” you said, staring pointedly at your friend. 

“I’m Eloise; it’s a pleasure Shadowsinger,” she said, smiling at him as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He nodded at her in greeting and moved his gaze back to you. 

“It really is no burden at all, (Y/N). I’d be delighted to show you around,” he said. 

“See? He would be delighted. You can come to pick us up at the dorms on Saturday morning,” Eloise said. You were going to speak further before Madja called your name, and you excused yourself. 

Eloise smirked at him, a knowing look on her face. He felt heat rush to his cheeks and ears but kept his expression stoic. 

“So, these training classes…” 

----------

The days leading to the weekend went by entirely too quickly. Your days were kept busy with healing lessons, shifts at the infirmary, and more studying when you returned to your shared dorm with Eloise. She had taken up on the offer to train with Azriel and Cassian and had been begging you to go with her. 

“Please, it’s so much fun! And you get to see Azriel,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“Eloise! He was just being nice that day; it doesn’t mean anything. Besides, I know nothing about fighting. I’ll just embarrass myself in front of him.”

“Sounds like excuses to me. I don’t know anything either, but no one makes me feel less than. And I'm learning so much! Did you know that there are Valkyries here? We get to train with them! Just imagine training with fabled warriors of the past…” she said dreamily. Eloise was always much more adventurous than you, and you envied her sometimes. The most exciting things to ever happen in your life were because of her, and you knew that her insane ideas turned into the best memories. 

“Please? I get lonely without you,” she pouted. "I'll do all your laundry for a month!"

“Fine, I’ll tag along next week,” you gave in, and she squealed. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten that you practically forced Azriel to give us a tour of the city tomorrow.”

“Oh, please! He would have offered it himself if I hadn’t suggested it.”

As you fell asleep that night, your stomach filling with butterflies and excitement of seeing Azriel in the morning, you could not help but think of what Eloise said, and hope began growing in your heart. You dreamed of comforting shadows and a large pair of wings.

You rose early the following morning, refreshed and excited for the day. You knew Azriel was a very busy male, and you felt giddy that he was taking the time to show you around the city. You dressed in a casual green dress, braiding your hair back and away from your face. You felt comfortable and confident, and although there was a possibility that this would fizzle out and turn into nothing more than a fond memory like all the other times, you held out hope for a chance. 

You made your way into the living room of your small quarters just as there was a knock on the door. 

Your heart jumped, and a smile spread on your face. You made your way to the door, opened it, and found Azriel leaning on the doorframe. He smiled gently when he saw you, and you answered with a smile of your own. 

“Good morning Azriel,” you said, your mind blank for a moment at how handsome the Illyrian before you was. His eyes, his face, his wings… You felt heat rush up your chest and quickly turned back inside, unable to stare at him in those Cauldron-cursed leathers any longer. 

“Please, come in. I’m going to see if Eloise is ready.”

You found her in the living room, still in her pajamas and wrapped tightly in a blanket. You froze for a moment and knew exactly what your best friend was plotting. 

“Good morning, my lovely (Y/N/N). And you, Azriel. It seems as if I woke up a bit under the weather. I think I’m going to sit this one out, but you two go on without me.”

“How strange, you were perfectly healthy yesterday,” you said, looking pointedly at her. 

She forced a slight cough and you rolled your eyes at her. “Well, you know how these things are. They get you out of nowhere.”

“I’ll heal you,” you insisted. 

“No, no, don’t you worry about me. It’s nothing that some rest and a good cup of tea won’t help with. You two have fun,” she said, winking conspicuously at you, making the heat on your face intensify and you were afraid to look in the Shadowsinger’s direction. A hand, highlighted in blue light from his siphon, appeared before you. 

“Shall we?”

You looked back at him, his hazel eyes shining brightly in amusement. You took his hand, the ridges of his scars like valleys and canyons. He hesitated for a moment, staring down at your joined hands. 

“I hope you feel better, Eloise,” he said and led you out the door. 

The sun was bright in the sky, and a light breeze swept across your skin. You looked over at Azriel and found his gaze already on you. 

“Are you hungry? I figured we could take a walk and have breakfast after,” he said. 

“Yes, that sounds great.”

He took you through the Rainbow atop a hill, a brightly colored part of the city filled with the strumming of musicians' instruments, paint strokes on artists' canvases, and twirls of the street performers. The edge of the river flooded the air with a salty breeze, and you found yourself falling in love with the merriment before you. Azriel even pointed out the sculpture garden to you and promised to bring you exploring soon. That had made your heart jump, and if he noticed, he did not say anything. 

He brought you to a quaint, small breakfast cafe. If you had not been paying attention, you might have missed it completely. 

The older woman behind the counter glanced up, and her face completely lit up when she spotted Azriel. She smiled wide and rushed to the front of the store, bringing his large frame into a warm hug. 

“Azriel! It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed. 

“You too, Melva. I apologize I haven’t been around for a while, I’ve been incredibly busy,” he said, returning the hug and smiling gently at her. You watched the exchange with a growing smile, and your heart warmed at how much affection this woman showed him. 

“Oh, and who is this?” she said, smiling at you.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said, reaching a hand out to shake, but she waved it off and pulled you into a hug. 

“Any friend of Azriel’s is a friend of mine,” she said. “Come, sit and I will get started on your food,” she said and led you to a cafe table for two. There were several other patrons scattered throughout, but she sat you far away from them to maintain privacy. 

“Same as always, Malva,” Azriel said, smiling at her, and she handed you a menu. 

“Of course. I’ll bring you both some water. Take your time going through the menu, darling,” she said to you and walked away. 

You looked up at him and smiled. “So, come here often?” you asked. 

His cheeks darkened and he smiled sheepishly. Despite all the rumors you’ve heard of the feared beast that was supposed to be the Shadowsinger before you, the only word you could think of to describe him was adorable. 

“What gave it away?”

“I’m quite observant.”

“Perhaps you should work as one of my spies,” he teased and you laughed. 

“I discovered this place nearly a century ago. Kept coming because the food was so good, and Melva forced her way into becoming like a crazy aunt to me. When her mate died, I promised myself I would come here as often as I could and check up on her, make sure she’s doing alright,” he said. 

“That’s very sweet of you, Azriel,” you said, your heart warming at the male in front of you. You were so fucked.  

After a hearty breakfast, you made your way to Azriel’s favorite bookstore. The building was enormous, multiple floors filled with shelves and piles of book after book. An enormous spiral staircase filled the center of the building leading to hallways upon hallways and the unmistakable scent of the earthy pages carried through the air. 

“Wow, this is so beautiful,” you said. 

The two of you made your way through the sections, searching for your next read.

“What’s your favorite book?” he asked you. 

“Crimson Nights,” you said. The classic read had been a haunting horror tale, filled with murder, cults, and witches and you had loved every second of it. 

He looked surprised for a moment. “A horror?”

“You seem surprised,” you teased.

“You seem way too sweet to love something that dark,” he teased right back. 

You felt heat rush to your face and turned quickly to the shelf next to you, picking out a random book to occupy your hands with something. 

“That’s my favorite book,” he said. You glanced down at the tome in your hand, surprised. The Archer. 

“What a coincidence,” you marveled. “I've never read it. What’s it about?”

“It’s about a warrior who struggles with his guilt and self-worth,” he said. He looked a bit embarrassed for a moment. “It’s a bit on the nose, I suppose, but it’s excellent.”

“I’ll give it a chance,” you said, smiling at him. "I hope he does realize his self-worth by the end."

He smiled bashfully and changed the subject. “I own the Second Edition,” he said proudly. You could tell by his tone and the look on his face that he treasured his collection. 

“Just the Second?” you teased, looking back at him with a smirk. 

“It’s not easy finding a First Edition,” he defended. “There were only 10 copies made.”

“I’ll overlook it this time,” you said, keeping the book in your hands and continuing to explore. 

You left the bookstore with three new books and an extra one for Eloise. Despite her little trick that morning, you could not help but feel grateful that you were able to spend the time getting to know Azriel better. You both walked past a busy crowd, and his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers. You told yourself it was just so that you didn’t get lost in the crowd, but your heart began racing once you realized he did not let your hand go until he reached the front door of your dorm. 

“Thank you so much for today, Azriel,” you smiled at him. “I had a lot of fun.”

“It was my pleasure, sweetness,” he said. The new nickname made your heart jump, and you shifted your eyes away from him. 

He squeezed your hand, and you looked back up at him. He took a step closer to you and smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

You nodded and turned back to enter your apartment, a happy smile on your face, and your heart felt full and excited. You didn’t even mind the knowing smirk on your best friend’s face. 

-----------

Despite having to wake up at an unholy hour on Monday morning to be able to make it on time for training, you were excited. You had spent practically the entire rest of your weekend gushing about Azriel to Eloise. You didn’t want to get your hopes up only to end up with a broken heart, but you felt connected to him and hoped that he felt the same way. 

Once you made it to the training field, you looked around for him. There was another Illyrian warrior you had never met speaking to a group of females, and you assumed this was Cassian. They all turned to look your way as you walked into the training room. 

“Good morning Eloise,” he said. 

“Good morning, everyone,” she responded and gestured to you. “This is my best friend, (Y/N). She’s going to be joining us for training!”

Cassian’s eyes lit up as he looked at you. “Oh, so you’re (Y/N)!” he exclaimed and smiled widely at you. You were confused for a moment, and a tall, beautiful female cut in quickly. 

“Eloise talks about you all the time,” she said. “I’m Nesta. That’s Gwyn and Emorie.” 

The other two females waved at you, and you waved back, smiling shyly at them. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m excited to learn some self-defense. But, I must warn you, I don’t really know anything about it, so you might have your work cut out for you.”

The mischievous grin that spread on Cassian’s face caused a trickle of fear to travel through you. “Excellent. Let’s get started then.”

As you got into position to learn stretches, you looked around for your Spymaster. Eloise seemed to have the same thought as you did.  

“Where is Azriel today?” she asked. 

“Out on a mission,” Cassian said, showing you where to position your foot to get the deepest stretch in your hamstring. 

Your stomach tightened, and worry began to cloud your mind. The burning from the stretch in your leg was non-existent for that brief moment of panic. “Is everything all right? Is he safe?” 

Cassian looked at you with a curious expression, and you wondered if you had been too obvious in your interest for his friend. “He’ll be alright. Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said. “It’s actually kind of a good thing. His birthday is coming up in two weeks and this gives us ample time to plan a surprise birthday party. You should come!”

“To the party?”

“Yes, he’ll love to see you there,” he said and winked at you. 

You felt heat rush to your face and were glad to have an excuse to look away from him when he asked you to switch legs.

“I know I just met him, but Azriel doesn't seem like the type to have wild parties where half the city is invited,” you commented, sinking deeper into the stretch and wincing at the burn. 

“I’m not inviting half the city. I’m inviting you,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “And you, too, Eloise.”

“We will be there!” she answered, also sending a wink your way.

You rolled your eyes and turned your focus back to the workout you were doing, but you couldn't help but feel grateful to your best friend. All the good things recently in your life were thanks to her. You had thought that you would feel homesick and lonely, but thanks to her intervention, you met Azriel, and Velaris was beginning to feel almost like home.  

--------

The morning of Azriel’s party, you were awakened entirely too early by your trouble-making best friend. She insisted on getting up early to do your hair and makeup, and you had to remind her that it was a small get-together, not a grand ball. She didn’t seem to pay you any mind, rambling about how this was the first time you went to do something fun that did not involve healing or training. 

All day long, your thoughts trailed back to the gift waiting in your room. While you knew he would appreciate it, your stomach still rumbled nervously at how he would react. After spending time with the Shadowsinger, you knew he was entirely too considerate and too reserved to express outward dislike, so you knew that his reaction was not what was making you nervous. You wanted him to see that you cared for him and listened to him. You desperately hoped that he liked his gift. 

You wore a brand new blue dress–honoring Azriel’s siphons. It was flowy and pretty, little pieces of fabric twisted together to form small flowers on the skirt and the off-the-shoulder sleeves flattering your figure. You put some light makeup on and styled your hair down for the first time in a long time. 

Eloise squealed when she saw you. “You look so beautiful!” she said, bounding towards you and pulling you into a bear hug. 

“Thanks, El. You look very beautiful, too!”

“Oh, I know,” she said. Her black halter dress hugged her tall figure perfectly and the high bun she wore made her sharp features more prominent. “But you! Oh, he won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

You rolled your eyes at her and fixed her with a pointed stare. “Don’t start.”

“Fine, fine,” she said, waving a hand at you. “Let’s go!”

---------

When Azriel stepped into the townhouse after a long day of work, all he wanted to do was take a bath, read a book, and go to sleep. 

That was not to be.

His shadows informed him of the gathering of people attempting to hide in the dark. He heaved a sigh and was not able to control the smile that bloomed on his face. This Cauldron-cursed family would not leave him alone and he would not have it any other way.

As he stepped into the common room and the inhabitants yelled “Surprise!” right at him, he pretended to be shocked. 

“Happy birthday, brother!” Cassian yelled as he rushed towards him and tackled him in a bear hug. The male lifted Azriel off his feet, and he laughed. 

Looking around the room filled with his closest friends--his family, he was pleasantly surprised to find you. Cauldron end him, you were absolutely ravishing, the shade of blue of your dress perfectly matching his siphons, and as the rest of his family greeted him, he was distracted, his eyes unable to tear away from you for more than a few moments. 

Despite the party transpiring for over an hour, he had not had the chance to speak to you for more than a few moments. As soon as he approached you, someone else would come to drag him to a different conversation. Or you would be engrossed in a conversation with Nesta or Mor or Feyre. All he wanted was a moment to speak to you alone, but it seemed everyone in the room was intent on not letting that happen. 

“Time for gifts!” an intoxicated Mor yelled out, and everyone gathered around in a large circle in the room. 

Mor grabbed the first gift off the table that hosted them. 

“This one is from me!” He opened the gift bag and brought out an oral hygiene kit. He was confused for a moment and wondered if Mor was trying to subtly send him a message, but he smiled and nodded when she looked at him expectantly. 

“I’m so glad you like it! Alright, next gift!” She handed him a wrapped gift. 

“That one is from me,” your voice carried from across the room, and his eyes met yours. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said, but you waved him off. 

He carefully tore off the wrapping paper. It was a book. As he turned it over to read the cover, his hands froze, and his eyes widened in shock. He looked up at you, disbelieving, and all you did was smirk. He opened the front cover, mindful of the frail pages and edge, just to check, and there it was. A First Edition copy of his favorite book. All he could do for a few moments was stare at the book and then stare back at you. 

“(Y/N), this is…” he trailed off, speechless for one of the few times in his long life. 

“The best gift you’ve ever gotten? You’re welcome, Azriel,” you teased again. Despite your words, he could sense the nervousness in the shifting of your eyes and the biting of your lip. Why would you be nervous? This was the best gift he had ever received. He knew how difficult it was to find; he was afraid to ask what you had done to secure it. To gift it to him. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. Your smile turned shy at the intensity of his gaze, and he knew he was completely done for. He rose from his seat and approached you. He leaned far down to reach you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your warm body close to his. He let go after a few short moments, keenly aware of the looks and smirks directed his way from the rest of his family. Before he could step away, your sweet scent overwhelmed his senses, and he could not stop himself from leaning down and placing a gentle kiss on the soft skin of your cheek. You seemed shocked for a moment and looked up at him with wide, dazed eyes. He wished he could stare at you forever. 

“Wow…that good, huh?”

“Yes,” he repeated, the smile still etched on his face. He did not think he had ever smiled this much for anyone before, but it escaped him whenever you were near. He could not bring himself to mind. “It’s the best gift I’ve gotten.”

“Well, I wanted to do something nice for you,” you whispered. “I was very nervous when I first got here, but you became my friend and made me feel at home. Thank you, Azriel.”

His heart melted and filled with joy. “Anytime.” One of the shadows he had tightly reeled in escaped from his hold and danced around the skin of your wrist and you giggled.

The rest of the night was spent opening the rest of his gifts from his family, sharing memories, laughs, and drinks, and he spent it all by your side.

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