#submerged forest

[goodmorningglow]

[agirlnamedbone]

Insley Smullen

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

-

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in. 

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time. 

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor. 

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket. 

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill. 

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway. 

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged. 

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away. 

And then it lingers. 

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside. 

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head. 

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss. 

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.  

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what. 

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night. 

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again. 

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.” 

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate. 

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking. 

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years. 

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you. 

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been. 

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get. 

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near. 

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting. 

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle. 

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone. 

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs. 

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound. 

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off. 

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake. 

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake. 

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall. 

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him. 

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked. 

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid. 

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.  

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.  

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you. 

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out. 

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else. 

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken. 

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs. 

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft. 

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for. 

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss. 

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest. 

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it. 

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants. 

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you. 

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming. 

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

[l0velysmut]

can you write about inexperienced neteyam having sex for the first time and hes a whimpering moaning mess?

neteyam x fem!na’vi!reader

contains: poorly written short smut, aged up!neteyam, inexperienced neteyam, virginity loss, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie.

wc: 740 unedited

You and Neteyam lay in the mossy bed on the ground of the forest. The light was dim, and the breeze was chilling but both of your bodies were heated and needy so nothing about the environment around you mattered at that moment.

“Are you sure?” He stares at you, holding his cock in his hand and slowly dragging it up and down your slit before pressing it to your entrance when you nod your head.

“Use your words, sevin.” He says in a low voice.

“I’m sure. I want this, Neteyam. I want you. I need you.” Your words and the way they came out in such a desperate tone was enough to make him cum all over your pussy, but he tried to calm his breathing before slowly pushing the tip in because he didn’t want to embarrass himself.

He sighed out in pleasure as your cunt engulfs his tip, clenching around it. His eyes are closed as he leans down and presses his forehead to your shoulder, feeling your hands snake into his braids.

Your hips bucked against him in a way to tell him to push in deeper, and when he did, he could’ve sworn he was seeing stars. This new feeling was so overwhelming to the point where Neteyam was getting dizzy. His mind was baffled at how good this felt; he always imagined how you felt when he would jerk off to the thought of you, but the real thing is so much more then he was expecting.

“Oh my- Fuck…” He whimpers when he finally bottoms out, his ears falling flat against his head once he realizes how pathetic he must’ve sounded. You giggle softly, stroking his hair as you clench around him to stimulate him a bit.

He feels his cheeks get awfully hot and hides his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply and not being able to lift himself off.

“You can move, Neteyam.” You tell him softly.

“I know, just.. Just give me a second. It’s- You- Shit. You just feel really fucking good.” He stutters out shakily. You could feel his cock twitch inside of you, making you hum in pleasure.

He inhaled your scent deeply before drawing his hips back then pushing back into you, his cock passionately submerged in your wet heat that sang out for him with each sloppy thrust.

You moaned and he lifted his head to look at you which was a mistake because the second he saw your face contorted with pleasure, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his length spurted out long and thick streams of cum into you. He whined and whimpered into your skin, holding onto you for dear life as intense waves of euphoria crashed over him.

“Oh, great mother. Forgive me. I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ He began to ramble, but you grabbed his cheeks and kissed him on the lips. He melted into the kiss, pushing his body further against you which caused his cock to push further into you. You could feel his warm cum inside of you, and you clenched around him which made him moan into the kiss.

“It’s okay. It’s your first time; I was kinda expecting you to finish fast.” You tell him and he looks away in embarrassment, but you tilt his chin up to look at you. “If you’re able to handle it, maybe I could get on top and we could keep going?”

Your suggestion nearly made him cum inside you again, and he nodded quickly, cock twitching inside you. You smiled and flipped the two of you over, his calloused hands resting on the plush on your hips, squeezing as if telling you to move.

“If it’s too much, just tell me, okay?” You say, and he nods, mumbling a small ‘okay’ before you began to roll your hips.

He sighed out, wanting to savor this moment and live in it forever. He dreaded the moment you lifted yourself up and off of his cock, so he pushed you down onto him the best he could whilst supporting your hips to bounce up and down his length.

This was it. This was the feeling he’s been needing for so long. Something to take his mind off of all the responsibilities that stressed him out, something to use as a stress reliever. And, thank Eywa he had you now.

[spacebarbarianweird]

Fever

Summary: During your post-game adventures, you get sick and Astarion takes care of you.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @tragedybunny for being an amazing beta!

It's bone-chilling cold. So close to the Spine of the World, the snow and winds prove as merciless as demons from the Abyss. Tears freeze on your cheeks. Even Astarion, wrapped in his fur cape, shivers; the cold seeping into his undead body. He starves. The dark forest is silent, with no animals around to prey on.

"Astarion," you muffle through the thick scarf, "take a small sip, I beg you."

"No," he refuses yet again, unwilling to risk your life. Hunger and cold torment him, but he stands on his feet. Meanwhile, you, a fragile mortal, teeter on the verge of death in this frozen forest. Your back aches despite Astarion carrying most of the load. Your feet are numb as if submerged in icy water, and your throat burns with pain.

Astarion grabs your hand and lets you lean back on him. The nearest village is still miles away, and there's no chance you'll make it till sunrise. Nights are long, dark, and unforgiving. You need to set up the camp; it might be warmer in daylight.

But Astarion desperately holds on to his sanity, which he might lose if he doesn't feed soon.

"Astarion, please. We need to put up the tent. Sunrise is soon. I will just lay by the fire, and you can eat."

"We still have time, darling, and save your energy," he grits his teeth. The starving monster within him looks at you through Astarion's kind crimson eyes.

"Astarion, take my blood!"

He doesn't reply, leading the way through dark woods. If only there was an animal, even a rat. Looking up, you see the dark skies filled with prickly stars.

"What is it, my sweet?"

Suddenly, you realize you haven't been cold because of the snow and winds. You are cold from within. Your heart, lungs, and bones are freezing, much like what Astarion feels every moment since he died. "Oh, fuck!"

You realize you now lie in the snow, unable to move, as the air in your throat burns with ice.

"Wake up, gods damn you!" Astarion's voice is desperate, betraying that he' is scared to death.

You hear the loud thump when his travel sack drops in the snow. Then he works on your belts, releasing your burden. A moment later, and you rest in his hands.

"Love, I need you to stay awake. You hear me?"

But you can't say anything. The cold rips through your muscles, turning into ice, and you lose consciousness, drowning in cold, dark waters.

So cold, so cold. It's a freezing grip of death on your heart, killing you. You think of Astarion, imagining him beside your lifeless body.

… You hear muffled talking and open your eyes. You aren't dead, that's for sure, but there is complete darkness around you.

And you lie under something weighty.

You try to move but can't, your. whole body shivers. You are almost naked, tucked in animal fur like some barbarian child.

The smell wood and herbs comes to you. And fire.

Then you remember the sun. And how Astarion carried you in his hands. Horror pierces your mind along with cold.

He is dead. He didn't make it till sunrise. It burnt him; he is gone. And the village people probably found you alone in the snow and brought you here.

While you think, you realize there are people in the room. Two people, to be precise.

"It's a freezing fever," the female voice says. "You two would have been complete idiots if you'd decided to put up a camp. She would have been dead by now."

"But now—is she ok?"

Astarion.

You have never felt so much joy in your life. He is alive and here, beside you. You can't comprehend how much strength he had to pull to make it with you in his hands by sunrise.

"She needs to take the potion. And then sleep in warmth."

You feel the familiar weight beside you. Then, two hands get you out of the blankets and make you sit up. Your head is spinning, and you shiver, though you notice sweat on the healer's face.

Astarion smiles at you and brings the bottle with the potion to your lips.

"Drink, love," he says.

"The taste is nasty," the healer shrugs. "Make her drink every last drop."

The potion is genuinely awful, burning your mouth. You start slipping away again, and Astarion tucks you in thick blankets.

"And people say vampires are soulless creatures. They should meet you two.”

When the healer leaves, Astarion lies beside you over the blanket. You wish to hug him but are afraid of his cold skin.

"Are you hungry?" you ask.

You hear a chuckle. "You are at death's door, and you ask about me? "Take mine," you insist.

"Tav, darling, I ain't taking a tiny drop from you until you fully recover. There is prey in the woods. I will find it."

You want to say something else, but the freezing hand of the sickness grips your throat. You feel like you’re naked on ice, in the howling wind.

"Love?"

"It's still… cold…"

Astarion sighs and stands up. You want to cry, to beg him to stay, but you can't say anything as he leaves the room, closing the thick wooden door.

You feel like crying, alone, and freezing. The healer curses, "You, idiot, stay inside!"

You hide under the blanket in the fetal position, trying to save warmth. However, it's difficult since the core of your suffering is still within. What if you are dying? And you are dying all alone in this village without a name in the middle of nowhere.

It's been years since you left Baldur's Gate together, and you can't fall asleep without him by your side. Astarion is safety. Astarion is protection. Whatever enemy is out there to threaten your life and freedom, Astarion is always there with his fangs and daggers. He doesn't sleep—only meditates a bit—and he is your guardian when you are most vulnerable.

But now you are alone. Your mind grasps consciousness with the last bits of strength you have. The thick blankets don't let you move, and you lie like you’re in your very own coffin of ice. It's been a long time since you were left alone, but you know it's still dark outside. And then you realize you aren't alone anymore.

Astarion crawls under the blankets and covers your body with himself, placing his head on your chest. He smells like blood, the hunt, and forest. He has already pulled off all his clothes, and you feel his skin against yours, unexpectedly flaming hot.

You can only wonder how much blood he has drunk. Sure, his body gets warm after feeding, and the more living blood he takes, the more alive he seems. But this is different. You can't see him, but you are somehow sure his skin has temporarily returned to its natural living color.

You wrap your hands around him and stroke the scars. Astarion groans and adjusts himself a bit.

"I've been hunting," he says, sounding drunk. "The healer told me there is a bear attacking villagers, starved and angry. I found and drained it."

"You shouldn't have risked it."

"I wanted you to be warm. I know how it feels to have a freezing grip on the heart. It hurts. All the time."

You press him tighter and kiss his forehead.

With him in your hands, you finally fall asleep. You have a strange dream—a summer day in the beautiful mountains.

And there is Astarion beside you. He smiles, exposing his face to the sunshine. You want to tell him to hide, to run away. But he opens his eyes, and you stare at him in disbelief.

They are green, not red.

… When you wake up, you feel hot. Sweat runs down your back, and the blankets suffocate you. You get out of them like a kitten squeezed by its mother.

"Hello, my sweet. You are so adorable with this bed hair," Astarion sits on the floor with a needle and a thread. You recognize his own shirt in his hands.

"How awful do I look?"

"You look like someone who finally got better. But I suppose you could scare away some kids in that village. Maybe I should tell them you are also a vampire. Food or bath?" he asks.

"Food. I am dying of hunger."

"My sweet, don't tell me about hunger." He mockingly kisses you. He returns soon with a soup bowl. You try to take the plate in your trembling hands, but Astarion forces you to sit still like a baby and starts spoon-feeding you.

"Good girl," he chuckles. "The healer said it would take you weeks to recover, and you made it in three days."

"And you have been here?"

"Don't offend me with such questions."

"Oh, don't be angry."

With a full stomach, you feel much better and lie back on the bed, letting your body fully recover. Astarion studies your face as if seeing it for the first time. Then he lies beside you, allowing you to place your head on his chest. His skin is cold again, but it feels more like him.

"What is on your mind, Astarion?" you ask.

"I want to stay," he says. "Not exactly here, but I can't live like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Living on the road. I can't do that anymore. You obviously can't either. I... listen… I've never had a home. Never had a place to call my own. I want one. I want one with you."

"Didn't you tell me it would be tediously boring?" you inquire. "I wanted to see what life has to offer beyond the city walls." "Astarion, it will be dangerous. No one would want a—"

You bite your tongue. "Sorry."

"Dealing with a nosey neighbor doesn't sound more dangerous than getting some weird sickness in the middle of nowhere. Besides, we can prove to people it's better to have a vampire of their own rather than be threatened by some unhinged vampire lord.”

"Astarion, I am afraid for you. People hate vampires!"

"And I am afraid for you."

You are both silent. You turn to him and nuzzle his collarbone. He wraps his hands around you. Vague memories return, and you suddenly realize you heard the voices while in fever.

"Don't die. Please, don't die. I need you."

A scared voice of a healer. "You are a vampire!"

"Please help her. I won't come inside. I will stay in the woods. Please, please, help her! She is mortal; she is dying!"

You remember being carried to the bed and a strong smell of herbs. "How did you two end up together?", asked the healer.

"She saved me. From myself. Showed me I have a chance to be something different from what I was turned into. Tell me what I can do. Do you need herbs? Ingredients? I will bring you anything."

And then the face of the healer standing above you. She came to check on you in Astarion's absence, and the feverish mind remembered that.

"You are a lucky to have him, girl."

You caress Astarion's cheek. "Would staying in one place make you happy?"

He nods.

"Then, me too." --

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire

[lake-lady]

[jakexneytiri]

Neteyam and reader go on date night and mistakenly leave uncle Lo’ak in charge? Imagine

i love thisssss yes. i’m not feeling the best so i hope this is okay :’)

⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰

“do you have to leave? can’t you just stay here?” se’ayl asks, hugging her father’s leg.

neteyam kneels, taking her hands in his. “we’ll be back before you know it. promise you’ll be good for uncle lo’ak?”

“i promise.” se’ayl mumbles, as neteyam kisses her forehead.

“why do you have to go out to kiss? you kiss in front of us all the time!” txonuk says, flying his ikran toy around your marui.

neteyam shoots him a look before speaking aloud.

“my love, are you read-” the last word dies in the back of his throat, tail swishing eagerly as he takes your appearance in.

“yes! sorry, i’m ready. nima wanted to help take my braids out, so it took a little longer than i’d anticipated.” you smile, holding nima on your hip. “isn’t that right, nima?”

“mama pweeeettyy.” she giggles, resting a tiny hand on your cheek.

“thank you, little love.” you smile as you kiss the top of her head, setting her down gently.

neteyam holds his arms out for you, wrapping you in a warm embrace before taking a step back. “wow. spin for me, mama.”

you give your mate a small twirl before his arms are around you again, unable to keep them off of you. “you’re so beautiful. how did i get so lucky?” he whispers against your neck as lo’ak rolls his eyes.

“you two should go, cause i guarantee no one in this marui wants to see that.”

you and neteyam both laugh, going to hug and kiss your children goodbye for the evening.

“behave for uncle lo’ak!” you say as neteyam holds the flap of your marui open for you.

“and uncle lo’ak should also behave.” neteyam states sternly.

“yea yea yea we’ll be fine. see ya!” he says, closing the marui flap in your faces. you hear the giggles coming from your children inside.

neteyam suddenly sweeps you off your feet, as he begins carrying you through the forest.

“teyam, what are you doing? i can walk!” you say, squirming out of his arms, only for his grip to tighten.

“i want to carry you.” he simply states, continuing to walk.

you lean in closer, whispering in his ear as you say “i can walk perfectly fine now. i’m not so sure i will be able to later tonight.”

he hums just below your ear, smirking against your skin “i will carry you then, too.”

your heartbeat picks up after that, giggling as you reach the designated spot for your date night.

a small spring, shoulder deep, that has a tiny, peaceful waterfall flowing on the other side. it radiates with bioluminescence this time of night.

neteyam sets you down gently, quickly fiddling with the strings of his loincloth. tossing it aside, he slowly wades into the water, until he’s submerged up to his shoulders.

you take in the glorious view of your naked mate, not moving to remove your own garments just yet.

“aren’t you joining me?” he questions, a smirk forming on his lips.

“maybe in a bit. i’m enjoying the view.” you bite your lip as your eyes never leave your mates broad shoulders, the only part of him you could see at the moment.

“don’t make me come and get you.” he playfully growls, the noise sending heat straight to your core.

“maybe i want you to come and get me.” you say simply, your arousal already soaking through your loincloth.

he smirks, wasting no time getting out of the water. in a few steps, he’s reached you. your arms stretch above your head as he removes your feathers in one swift movement. he’s quick in working the strings of your loincloth, tossing it next to his on the soft moss.

“you’re so beautiful. and you even took your braids out for our date?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “my pretty flower, i love you so-”

you crush your lips to his, unable to resist him any longer. he deepens the kiss, bending down slightly to grab the backs of your thighs. you wrap your legs around his waist, as he carefully brings you into the water with him.

—

“uhh, uncle lo’ak? dad doesn’t let us eat fruits after dinner.” tsantu motions to txonuk and nima, who are happily eating yovo fruits.

“that’s because your dad doesn’t let you have fun. he’s boring! and that’s why i’m here.” lo’ak confidently states.

“aren’t we going to get in trouble?” tsantu asks, glancing over at txonuk and nima.

“all right, listen. it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, okay? your dad will understand.” lo’ak gives tsantu a pat on the head.

“oooh i like that saying!” txonuk shouts with his mouth full of fruit.

“now, who wants to use war paint like real warriors?” lo’ak asks, holding up a pod of orange paint.

—

“do you think they’re asleep?” you mumble against your mate’s chest, as he carries you back to your marui.

“they better be. or i will never let lo’ak watch them again.”

you laugh, patting neteyam’s chest softly. “let’s just see what we’re walking into here.”

heading inside, you immediately spot discarded yovo fruit peels scattered throughout your marui. the boys’ bows are strewn across the floor, along with their toys. tsantu and nima are laying beside each other, holding hands. se’ayl is laying next to nima, curled up on her own. there are little orange handprints plastered all over their tiny bodies.

txonuk is laying down a few feet away, right next to lo’ak, who’s also out cold. lo’ak is laying on his stomach, drool running down his chin, cheek pressed against the woven floor. they both have matching orange war paint that covers their bodies as well.

you’re the first to speak. “okay yes, the marui is a disaster right now. but at least the kids are asleep!”

“he’s never watching them again.” neteyam pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a loud sigh.

“let’s get some rest, and we can discuss what happened with him in the morning, okay?” you ask, resting both hands on your mate’s cheeks.

neteyam sighs, pulling your hands away to kiss each of them gently. “all right, my love.”

you settle in beside your children, laying on top of your mates chest. “you know,” you begin to whisper. “i enjoyed myself tonight, and it looks like the kids did too.”

“as did i. but i’m asking my parents to watch the children next time.” he says, wrapping his arms around you.

“mmmmm.” you snuggle into his chest. “we’ll figure it out tomorrow. goodnight, i love you.”

“goodnight beautiful. i love you more.” he places a gentle kiss to your forehead, before resting his cheek against the top of your head for the night.

[greenishghostey]

Peppermint Haze

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ content MDNI, bath sex, p in v, unprotected sex, handjob, hair pulling, fluffy smut, established relationship, Eddie getting to chill out, dirty talk, creampie, soapy boobs, winter themed porn, lots of grinding, this is really just mushy fluffy porn so yeh

Word Count: 3,361

Author’s Notes: Please pretend that bath sex is not a logistical nightmare and that bubble baths aren’t terrible for vaginal health. The cosy, comfy vibes were too good to pass up so here we are :))) DO NOT REPOST OR EDIT MY WORK

///

Hawkins always got indescribably cold by the middle of November. Snow would pile up on tree branches and sidewalks - becoming less of a Christmas card backdrop and more of a slushy inconvenience.  

That was definitely the case at Forest Hills Trailer Park. The dirt track roads were frozen solid and covered in a thick layer of powder and wintery mush. A lot of the park’s residents took turns digging out sections of the roads since everyone still had to get to work. Winter wouldn’t stop the likes of Wayne Munson from making it to his Friday night shift. 

Eddie and Wayne had been shovelling out Patty, their hippy elderly, neighbour’s grey hatchback when you showed up at their trailer. Friday night was date night, and the shitty weather meant it would be an evening in Eddie’s trailer. 

Both you and Eddie had planned an extremely relaxing night since the week had been hell for you both. Eddie had been working late at the craft store because the holiday rush was beginning - he‘d kept you updated on his projects that mainly consisted of measuring fabric and lifting all of the heavy boxes. You had been dealing with an influx of school kids at the library - rushing to get books for their last-minute assignments and begging you for help finding specific titles. So, a little indulgent date was much needed for the pair of you. 

Gloria, one of your coworkers, had gifted you with a small Christmas “spa” hamper as a thank you for all your hard work. It consisted of peppermint bath oil, vanilla body wash that doubled as bubble bath, and a cocoa butter lotion. It was all super nice stuff which made you feel a little bad for only having Christmas cards to give to your colleagues. However, the festive kit led to you and Eddie agreeing on your main date night activity. 

A really really long bath. He was the one to suggest the idea after you gushed over the gift - the suggestion was mostly innocent, surprisingly. Honestly, you both just wanted to be all cosy and gross in the privacy of his home. 

That’s how you found yourself submerged in an amazing soapy bath that smelled like heaven. Only your face was poking out from the bubbles as you breathed deeply - floating and listening to the muffled sounds of Eddie rummaging around his room for tapes. He said he’d made a tape, especially for the evening, making you melt even further into the minty bliss. Your sinuses were going to be so clear after this. 

Eddie barged into the steamy bathroom in his usual loud, sort of clumsy way. The tile floor was more slippery than he’d anticipated so he had nearly crashed into the room. You poked your head up and gave him a little wave from the bubbles - hair soaked and a touch of foamy stubble on your jaw. 

Once your sleepy eyes focused on him properly, you saw that he was butt naked while fiddling with his stereo on the counter. 

You leaned on your forearms on the edge of the bath. “I don’t tell you enough how nice your butt is.” You sighed, smiling up at him when he glanced at you.

“I’d say it’s a little better than “nice”, at least “premium goods” status.” Eddie huffed jokingly, now slapping his stereo in an attempt to get the tape deck to stay closed. He was a firm believer in if you smacked technology around a little and showed it who’s boss then it would work. “Babe, you’re objectifying me while I’m trying to set a romantic mood, all for you.” He shot you an exaggerated pinch glare over his shoulder. 

In reality, he really liked when you ogled him and made him feel hot. “This is a small bathroom and your ass is right at my eye level. Get over it, dude.” You smirked, sinking back into the warm water. 

“-I bet you say that to all the boys,” purred the voice from the stereo. Damn, Eddie knew how to set a weird, but really good mood. Meat Loaf wasn’t exactly his usual music choice, but he knew you loved a good ballad. 

“Hey hey! See? A few loving taps and viola, she sings.” Eddie grinned, turning to you with a flourish of his arms, “kinda like you.” He sniggered as you splashed some water at him. 

“Hurry up and get “the goods” in the water. I’ll give you a head massage.” You sighed, letting your body sink back into the water. 

Eddie laughed again, softly, and dipped his foot in the water - testing the temperature so it wouldn’t burn his balls. He slowly sank down, the warm water being a stark contrast to the chilly trailer outside the bathroom. 

“By all means, take your time there.” You chirped, forming a bubble beard while you watched him. Eddie was so pretty in the steamy, honey light. A small sheen of sweat painted his chest, and he couldn’t hold back a giggle when he saw your foamy facial hair. 

“Once I’m balls deep, I’ll be all good. Don’t rush me.”

You snorted, “not the first time I’ve heard that.” 

“Give me like… ten minutes and you might be so lucky, sweetheart.” Eddie winked, finally sitting down fully in the bath with a deep, satisfied groan. The sound shooting down your spine and fuelling the budding ache between your thighs. “I’m a fucking genius for this idea. God.” Another groan faded into a purr. 

“You’ve really outdone yourself. Using my work present for your benefit. What a gentleman.” You sniggered, hiding behind the suds when he lightly kicked your leg. 

“Let me soak in peace, woman.” He grumbled, trying to hide his sleepy smile and failing. 

You watched Eddie quietly and full of adoration. His eyes were closed and his face had relaxed significantly, any harsh lines or fatigue melted away with the steam from the bath. Eddie allowed himself to slide fully into the water, soaking his wild curls and pushing his bangs out of his face. He started working his calloused fingertips into his scalp. You watched, unblinking, as his large brown eyes rolled back into his skull and he sighed. 

Eddie had said he needed ten minutes but you weren’t going to be able to wait that long. 

You wiped away your soap beard. As much as Eddie adored you being a goof with him, you knew when it was time to get serious. Both of you knew where the night was heading, so you may as well speed things up a little. The cosy air and the melodic cries of Meat Loaf were perfect. 

“Eds? C’mere. Said I’d give you a head massage, and I’m a lady of my word.” You stated, giggling as he quickly started to twist himself around, making the porcelain squeak. 

Eddie situated himself between your legs and rested his wet hair on your chest. The bastard even started twiddling his thumbs while he waited for you to start, “I’m ready when you are.” He shot you a bright, toothy smile, swaying a little to really drive home his oh-so-innocent intentions. Eddie was always such a tease. 

You gathered some of the vanilla and peppermint-scented foam and started lightly massaging Eddie’s scalp. Your blunt fingernails slightly scratched him as an added luxury, but mostly because you wanted to make him feel extra special. Eddie’s hair was such an integral part of him. Not only was it for his own self-expression, but he fucking loved when you played with it and pulled it just enough that a shot of pain coursed through him. 

“That good?” You whispered, one of your hands wandering down his chest to caress his spider and demon head tattoos. The spider was your favourite. One time when he had picked up from a party after getting too drunk, you’d named it Edith, and kissed her goodnight. Eddie had damn near melted under you when you did that. You were just too sweet to him sometimes. 

“I’d even go as far to say it’s nice.” Eddie breathed. The feeling of you rubbing his hair and scalp was the greatest high he could ever experience. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pretending to be annoyed. “Change your tune and I’ll keep this hand going lower?” You breathed into his ear, your wandering hand now grazing the wispy dark hair on his belly. 

“See, I don’t think you’re gonna stop either way.” Eddie groaned. He started nuzzling his head against your tits, leaving a few small pecks between them. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while later.” He sang. 

“Aw, aren’t you just my best guy.” 

“Would hope that I’m your only guy - oh f-fuck.”

You finally traced your hand down Eddie’s thick cock. He twitched under your touch, your pruned fingertips dancing along the prominent veins on the underside of his shaft. Eddie’s pleased whining and soft panting showed you that he wanted you to wrap a hand around him and drive him crazy. But your goal was lower. 

Your warm hand caressed and massaged his balls as he let out a surprised moan. “God. Harder.” 

The pressure of your hand increased as you rolled his heavy sack in your hand. “You’ve been saving these for me, haven’t you?” you purred, Eddie having shifted to starting mouthing at your hard nipples. “Neglecting your balls when you're jerking off because they’re all for me, yeah?” 

“They need a woman’s touch, what can I say - shit, yeah, don’t stop.” Eddie groaned, almost shouting. Your hand that had been massaging his scalp was now slowly pumping at his cock. All teasing, soft touches - you knew it wasn’t enough for him. Eddie liked to be handled with an intimate roughness that only you could give him. 

Eddie’s large hands were moving everywhere. Massaging your legs, squeezing your arms and running up your neck blindly. The distinct warmth and softness of your body were addictive to him. You were the first person to let him touch you everywhere - no grimacing, no catch. Just encouragement and admiration. Said admiration came in the form of a low moan when Eddie’s fingers caught on a piece of your hair and tugged. 

“Babe, babe. We gotta stop or I’ll blow my load too fast.” Eddie huffed, pushing himself up and back to his original position across from you. He held out his arms wide, gesturing excitedly for you to come to him. 

You really loved how excited he still got when it came to you. In any scenario, he was always happy that it was you. 

Eddie grabbed your ass as you straddled him. Reaching up to bring you into a hungry, wet kiss. His mouth was restless. Lightly chapped lips pressed to yours, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, tongue massaging yours just enough to drive you crazy - he always drove you crazy. 

The flushed, hard head of Eddie’s cock rubbed against your clit as your hips wiggled in his lap. “Fu-fuck yes.” Eddie groaned, pulling you down on him more. Your warm-up was one of his favourite parts. “You want your cock? You gotta wait, sweetheart. I’ve barely gotten my hands on you yet.”

You whimpered, hips still grinding with more impatience. “But you're all wet and warm.” 

“And now I’ve got to get you like that,” Eddie chuckled with a smirk. “Do me a favour. Get some of the bubbles and play with your pretty tits for me?” 

“You just wanna see soapy boobs.” You quipped, already gathering large handfuls of foam in your palms. The mint and vanilla scent had weakened, but it was still comforting. 

“I do. Now, get to it.” 

Eddie had moved one of his rough hands down to your aching cunt. Pinching your clit between two fingers, and rubbing it with his thumb. 

God, yes. You could feel yourself becoming slick under Eddie’s touch. Your clit slipped under his calloused thumb as your wet hard nipples rolled between your fingers. Both of you released any and all noises that felt right. The needy moans and heavy pants harmonised with the lapping of the bath water. Eddie loved watching you play with your tits for him, applying just the right amount of grip to the soft mounds to make you whimper and hiss. 

Such pretty, sensitive tits were a heaven he wasn’t sure he deserved, so he was going to make sure they were looked after. 

“Someone’s having fun,” Eddie chirped, picking up the pace of his massage to your clit. God, he was evil. How were you going to hold a conversation under this level of pleasure? 

“Woman’s touch, right?” You moaned and ground harder onto his hand, catching the hot tip of his cock at the entrance of your weepy cunt. Eddie whimpered and his smirk melted into a delirious smile. 

The grinding, the moaning and the messy kissing continued for some time. Both of you basked in the intimate little world you had created in the steamy, trailer bathroom. There was nothing but time for relaxation and ecstasy - the night was still young and outside was just so cold, it was too horrible to think about. 

Eddie had started to angle his hips and yours so that the head of his swollen cock prodded your hole. When your movements synced up perfectly, his tip slipped into you - providing a delicious tease. 

Large hands were now groping and spreading your ass cheeks. The occasional short, sharp slap joined in. “Can I fuck you? Please. I know we got time, but I need it.” Eddie panted, his eyes laser-focused on your soapy tits that were in his eye line. “Promise you won’t be walking for the rest of the night. Fuck, rest of the weekend if you let me.” 

Now that was a tempting offer. “If you get to be inside my pussy now, then you won’t be leaving any time soon.” You smirked, playing with his soaking hair and twirling it around your fingers. 

Eddie didn’t respond to you. He lifted your hips up, thumbs massaging your love handles and slammed you back down onto his cock. Your gasp fizzled into mewling as Eddie started moving to grind into your sweet spot. He really wasted no time when it came to making you feel incredible.

“Aw, there she is.” He teased, one hand running up your back to tangle in your hair. “You were getting a little mouthy there. But I’m gonna help you turn that brain off, isn’t that right?” 

“Mhmm, please.” The sensations coursing through your sweating body were exactly what you needed. Big hands tugging lightly on your wet hair, Eddie’s fat cock fucking into your g-spot and his growling breath tickling your chest. You needed to stop thinking for at least a little while. You needed Eddie. 

Eddie needed you - maybe even a bit more than air at that moment. The embrace of your hot, spongey walls always had him reeling. You allowed him to see you in a vulnerable light, and he did the same. It was like a small weight off his shoulders that he hadn’t fully noticed was there. 

“This pussy - my pussy. F-fucking god. Lean back for me, I wanna see you, pretty girl.” Eddie had started to work you on his cock, thrusting slowly and so deep into your cunt. 

You gripped the rim of the bathtub and leaned back, an amazing tension forming in your thighs. “Want - sh-shit - more, Eds.” 

“Fuck yeah, I’ll give you everything, baby.” A thumb started flicking your puffy clit again and Eddie grinned up at you. “Uh-huh? Taking such a big cock so well, like a good girl.” Christ, he was almost too good at speaking absolute filth. 

“Can - can you cum in me? Please. Please, oh my fucking god.” 

The entire image of you on top of him set his blood on fire. Tousled, wet hair. Soap-dripping tits. Heavy-lidded eyes trained on where he was fucking you down onto his cock. You sparked something almost animalistic in him, and now you wanted him to empty his balls inside your cunt. 

Huff. Huff. Groan. Eddie couldn’t find the words to respond to you. So, he fucked you harder, causing desperate pleasure to pulse through both of you. He tugged your head back and began sucking along the column of your throat. 

“Gonna fill up my gorgeous girl. God, your pussy’s gonna be so fucking messy.” Eddie was essentially delirious by that point. The only thoughts in his head were fucking you, cumming in you and suggesting that bath sex became a regular thing. The vanilla-scented stuff had you smelling like some fancy dessert, the poor guy was losing his mind. 

You wanted to be messy. Eddie was pounding into you so well that your mind was calm and blank. The bathroom could be swimming with sudsy water and you wouldn’t even know. 

“Oh fuck, fuck,” you squealed. “Want to be full all night. Need it, Eddie. You need it too. Uh-huh?” 

“That’s right, babe. Always so smart for me.” His voice sounded far away, but in the best way possible. Eddie had a single goal in his sight and the tightness in his balls felt so fucking amazing. 

The way you begged always short-circuited Eddie’s brain. You were so lovely, so amazing. Hearing you say his name in your hoarse, needy tone made his cock twitch violently. 

Your cunt clung to his thick cock, trying to milk him dry and chase your own orgasm. Your release washed over you in a pulse of heat and electricity - momentarily making your body go limp from the euphoria. It didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop until Eddie did. His cock was splitting you open roughly as he used your sopping hole to cum inside. 

“I’m gonna fucking cum.” He groaned, his jaw hanging slack. “Can you say my name, babe? Tell me who’s gonna fill you up.” 

“Eddie - you, Eds.” A fucked out whimper is all you could manage. But it worked just as well, if not better. 

Eddie came deep inside your slick cunt with a deep scream and a slurred string of curse words. Panting and water lapping were suddenly the only sounds in the green-tiled room. It was a sticky but not unpleasant atmosphere. You loved it. 

You had collapsed onto Eddie’s chest as he ran a weak hand through your hair. “I feel all tingly.” You sighed. 

“Like good or bad? Swear my jizz isn’t radioactive or anything.” Eddie snorted, his voice sounding sleepy. Christ, he was almost too warm, but like hell was he moving from his current position. 

“I meant good tingly, like romantic tingly. Way to ruin the post-sex mood.” You huffed, flicking one of his nipples until he let out a little shriek. 

“Okay, okay, easy there.” Eddie splashed some water up into your face. He was lucky he was so cute. “That was an incredibly romantic start to the night, in my humble opinion.” 

You hummed in agreement as you lifted yourself off of Eddie’s softened cock, settling back to straddling his thighs. Bath or not, you were getting your post-sex cuddles. 

“Want to be full all night. Need it, Eddie.” Eddie whined, mimicking your high-pitched moans as best he could. As much as you hated when he teased you like that, the impression was actually pretty solid. “That’s what you said. That’s love right there.” 

“And I was being entirely honest.” You replied. “Bear my horny little soul to you and look where it gets me? Bullied.” The next few seconds moved by quickly. One second, Eddie was fixing you with an eye roll, and the next he was pouring foamy water over your head. “Dick!” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll blow dry your hair before round 2.” Eddie grinned, moving close to you and pressing a kiss to your now dripping face. 

“I want some of that conditioner stuff you use in your hair too.” Demands would have to be made as a form of repayment after your boyfriend tried to waterboard you. “The one that smells like coconuts.” 

“I’ll braid your hair too, how does that sound?” 

[tatumrileyslover]

My Little Bluebell

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Lucy Gray Baird Headcannons ˚୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Pairings: Lucy Gray Baird x GN!Reader

Word count: 0.6k

Warnings: all fluffy, adorable Lucy Gray, my one true love, I’d seriously marry this girl, mini scenario at the end :)

a/n: I’m actually so obsessed with Lucy Gray Baird, I think it’s a trend, little me was in love with Katniss, big me is in love with Lucy Gray… some things never change.

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉᵗ ᵃᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵗᵇᵒˢᵃˢ ᵗᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ

ㅤ ೀ she’s literally the sweetest girl ever. you’re sick, she’ll show up at your house with a cup of hot soup that Barb Azure made that afternoon and a fresh hand-picked bouquet of flowers

ㅤ ೀ calls you “my little bluebell” since you remind her of spring. She said Maude Ivory would always spout stories of soulmates whenever she saw a patch of bluebells growing in the forest

ㅤ ೀ since your good at sewing, you’d help patch up any holes in any Covey members outfits. embroidering new designs into sleeves of shirts and dress hems to make them more colourful

ㅤ ೀ Lucy Gray is always showing off your designs, you had embroidered a few flowers onto her dress for a performance at the Hob. The covey had finished their performance on stage, they began giving their thanks and as you glanced at her she was giving your her signature smile. She quickly dipped her mouth back down to the mic, “and I’d like to give a special thanks to my little bluebell, who made my dress all nice and pretty just for tonight,”

ㅤ ೀ she loves making you blush, which is why she loves showing you off whenever she can, gal loves showering you in compliments

ㅤ ೀ her love language is definitely words of affirmation and physical touch, she is always holding your hand, like she barely ever let’s go, she’s clingy af

ㅤ ೀ you’re alway the first to hear her new songs, she respects your opinion more than anything

ㅤ ೀ she definitely uses your dates as inspiration for her songs

ㅤ ೀ she definitely uses you as her muse, you’ve definitely been down at the hob listening to the Covey performing a new song and just sat there like “wait why does this sound so familiar”

ㅤ ೀ you’d help her learn to swim (in my hc she’s a bad swimmer) she hang off your back, arms around your neck and legs wrapped across your torso to stop herself from drowning

“Now don’t you dare let me go, bluebell,” Lucy Gray stood waist deep in water. Her hands clasped tightly onto your own. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at your girlfriends hesitation.

“Lucy Gray, you’ll be fine, I’ve got you. Darling, I’ve been swimming since before I could walk.” Lucy Gray raised her eyebrows at the statement, hesitant to step away from the floor beneath her feet.

Clenching her jaw, before rolling her eyes, “you’re too charming,” she breathed out stepping closer to the edge. Instead of slowly lowering herself down softly, she plopped of the edge, submerging herself in the water.

“Lucy!” Quickly pulling her out of the water, you felt her hands wrap around your neck, legs hooking around your waist, fully supporting herself . She gasped as she came out of the water, before bursting into laughter at the look on your face. Her fingers found their way into your wet hair, wrapping her finger around it, gazing softly into your eyes.

Her free hand caressed your cheek, slowly pulling you towards her lips. Her body pressed flush against your own, the laughter that had filled the air now replaced with the soft sounds of the water around you.

Time seemed to slow as your lips met in a gentle yet passionate kiss. Lucy Gray's touch was tender yet filled with a spark, and the world around you faded away. The water's embrace, the surrounding nature, and the warmth shared between you two created a perfect moment suspended in time.

As you pulled back, Lucy Gray's eyes sparkled with affection, and a content smile graced her lips.

“Now, remember this bluebell, if I sink, you're sinking right alongside me.”

[azaleaniath]

could you do a Ao’nung x Fem! sully reader? The idea is that the fem reader has some type of rough personality especially towards Ao’nung. But Ao’nung knows she’s secretly the softest person ever. Also aged up smut with Top Ao’nung? :)

I’m sorry if this sounded bad it’s my first request ever 😭

Hello anon! Thanks for the request 💙 didn't wanna go all in on nsfw but it's still spicyyy And no this wasn't bad at all! 😊

~ AO'NUNG X FEM! SULLY! READER ~

Tough lover

includes: teasing, fingering, denial, touching, cursing, insulting, enemies to lovers, flirting, aged up to 18 for legal reasons

NSFW, MINORS DNI, 18+

1.7k words

______________________

Ao'nung watched as you practiced your swimming skills in a secluded bay not too far from the village. He didn't even try to hide his stare at all. Of course you felt his eyes on your back constantly and it lead your stomach to develop a weird feeling. No matter how hard you tried to focus, knowing that Ao'nung watched every movement and every breath twisted your mind completely.

You tried to calm your senses to try to dive again, but as soon as you were submerged below the surface your arms completely lost track of themselves and you immediately kicked your way back up.

It was frustrating, even more because Ao'nung watched. You glared over to where he stood but he was nowhere to be seen anymore. 'Finally' you thought to yourself and exhaled in relief. Before you could take another breath you felt something wrap around your ankle and pull you under the water surface again.

Shrieking in surprise and panic you quickly returned to the surface all shivering as you tried to free yourself from the grip.

Soon, Ao'nung rose out of the water right next to you, chuckling at the face you made after you coughed out the water in your throat.

"You're still making no progress, huh, forest girl?" he grinned, immediately earning a punch against his chest from you.

"One day I'll feed you to my ikran and watch it slowly devouring you, fish lip."

Ao'nung only chuckled at your threat, knowing that your tough facade was nothing but a setup. He just knew that you had a soft core behind all these platings you had caved yourself into.

"Still feisty, are you, y/n?"

"At least I'm not ugly."

"That makes two of us." Ao'nung teased with his brows arching at his own words.

"What do you want?" you groaned annoyed, rolling your eyes at the sight of his visage.

Before he answered he grabbed you by your waist and and pulled you closer, guiding you into the deeper water. His touch made your heart flutter, but you only frowned at the touch.

"I'm only helping you."

You tried to free yourself from his touch to get back to the shore.

"I don't need your help!"

He wasn't surprised at your harsh voice, as if he wasn't used to that already. Over the last few months he had figured out he didn't hate you. No, quite the opposite. Ao'nung liked you. A lot.

But showing his love meant teasing, teasing and more teasing. Not just you, but all of your siblings suffered from this.

He wasn't someone to pick you pretty flowers or take you out to eat with him, he showed his feelings by trying to break through your wall, and damn it, was he eager to do so.

With squinted eyes you protested against him. "Fuck off! Let me go you little shit! Get your disgusting fish fins off me, i don't want you to touch me! Neteyam will beat the shit out of you when I tell him--"

"y/n?" he asked with his sly grin. His voice so close to your ear made you shiver.

"Open your eyes."

For some odd reason you did what he asked of you and caught your own arms tightly wrapped around his neck because you still couldn't swim properly. His hands floated in the water and held you and him over the surface with slow circling motions. You hadn't even noticed how you wrapped your own legs around his hips and he had let go of your body.

You blushed heavily as you realized how tight you wrapped your limbs around this man, but he simply chuckled at your reaction.

"Getting touchy after all, forest girl?"

"Shut up and bring me back right now!"

Ao'nung patted your head with one hand, guiding it up to look at him, and you did. There was a certain gleam in his eyes, making him seem somewhat unpredictable. His face was only a few inches away from yours.

"And what if I don't?" he teased, resting his hand on your thigh. You hiccuped at his touch, turning your face away. He was not meant to see how embarrassed you were.

"Come on, stop pretending you hate me. I know you don't."

You didn't answer.

"Shall I prove it to you?"

"Ao'nung get me back-" your voice fell silent as you felt his warm lips against your neck, trailing down to your collarbone.

Unintentionally whimpering you bit your lower lip, hoping he hadn't heard, but his chuckle said something else.

You were melting under his touch, unable to maintain your hateful expression. Physical contact between you two was nothing new, but it usually consisted of much more unpleasant punches, bites, kicks and hair or tail pulling.

Your legs shaked as his lips captured the soft skin of your neck before passionately dragging his tongue over the few marks he had left.

Without even intending to do so, your legs wrapped around his hips tighter while you bit onto your lower lip.

It was as if he took control of your body.

Both of his hands traveled from your thighs up to your hips, shivering at the touch.

"Let me go!" you protested again, even if you were aware of the fact that he did not hold you at all.

He withdrew his hands for a while and his grin only grew bigger.

"You're the one clinging onto me."

Ashamed of your own actions you tried to hide your face, pushing it against his shoulder. A deep chuckle rumbled through his body, you could feel the bass of his voice sending vibrations through you as well.

"You know", he started, resting his hands on your thighs again, "I think I like having you so close. Without you punching me and all of that. And I'm sure if you're honest to yourself, you do too."

"How would you know?!" you hissed, to which he only clicked his tongue in amusement. Ao'nungs thumbs caressed your inner thighs, forcing a few more whimpers out of you.

"You should hear yourself. These sweet noises that you make, as if your body is begging for me to touch you. You can stop playing though now, let me explore your weak side."

His hand slowly but surely found its way in between your thighs, rubbing against your clothed core.

With wide eyes you opened your mouth, telling him to stop, not to touch you, to leave you alone, but nothing came out. Your breath hitched while he massaged your most sensitive area, irregularly inhaling and exhaling.

"See? You're not even stopping me. I knew that deep down you're not as cold-hearted as you'd like to be. You like me, don't you?"

You felt ashamed. He could just make your thick walls crumble in seconds. How was that even possible? Usually you'd be the toughest in his presence specifically, but all of that was gone now.

Since you did not protest he pushed the fabric of your loincloth aside and kept stroking your folds. He could sense your arousal. Hear it, smell it, but also feel it.

Your teeth met his skin as he slipped a finger between your folds, teasingly circling over the bundle of nerves thst made you whine against his shoulder.

He lifted your chin from his shoulder to watch your expression twist in pleasure as his middle finger teased your opening to relax, and as much as you fought against it internally, you soon did.

"Oh, you should see your pretty face when I" he paused, only to push his middle finger into you while his thumb continued to cirle over your clit, "do this."

In shame you breathed out his name, bucking your hips against his hand.

He hummed, carefully observing your visage while his finger curled inside of you.

"Have you ever touched yourself like this? You feel amazing around my fingers." He mumbled, eyes focused on yours as they rolled back.

"I wonder if that pretty little face of yours could look any sweeter." You couldn't look into his eyes. You were too ashamed. All this time you had made sure to keep your guard up, not expecting he could actually break it down that simple.

Another finger was soon inserted inside of your tight core, making you squirm at his touch.

"You're so cute when you look like this."

His other hand easily slipped under the loosely woven top that covered your chest barely and in no time he found your nipples, twisting them between two fingers.

It was too much. His pumping fingers inside of you while he stimulated your clit and your breasts, you couldn't take it for too long and he could feel it. Your walls squeezed his fingers as if your body wished for them to stay in there. Your head fell forward against his shoulders as you clawed your arms around him, hips bucking against his touch. Ao'nung enjoyed these lust filled moans that spilled out of your mouth over and over again, motivating him to put some more pressure onto your clit.

It was the last bit that you needed to cum around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand until all of his movements came to an end. He slowly pulled out of your hot core and brought both hands to your waist.

"who could have guessed? The tough forest freak, sounding so sweet and lovely" the chief's son teased, snaking both arms around your waist to that you could let go of him and rest in his arms, still shivering. A good while passed like this. It was just you and him out there, all pressed against one another. How could you ever look into his eyes again now that he knew that you had a weakness for him?

"I'll hold you, y/n." he whispered into your ear gently, wanting you to relax your limbs. His voice seemed do gentle and pure right now. Your legs slowly let go of him just like your arms. They only held onto his neck lightly anymore while you floated in his embrace.

"I don't rememeber us ever being this close without trying to kill each other" Ao'nung huffed. For the first time in a long while you finally managed to get some words out as well.

"Your chances of me killing you are higher than ever. I swear I'll feed you to my ikran." But instead of fighting against him, something deep in your stomach told you to just snuggle against him and trust him with holding you over the water surface.

"I love you too, my sweet little forest girl."

Taglist: @luvlykrispy @zatarias-pandora @vviolaswrld @yeosxxx @lilgurlbeoncrack @philiasoul @itszzmoon @simp4ff @itsnotme02 @et-j-art

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n Part four! I know I said no stories till the end of the week but my class got delayed and I dreamed of this so... here we are. This is a bit of a roller coaster.

warning: nightmares, injuries, past trauma, mean people.

Not proofread just yet

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Azriel was walking through the forest. Thick snow heavy on his boots. Yet the sound of it was soothing. Azriel always loved winter. There was just something so beautiful about it. Or maybe it was the cold that spoke to him. But then it only showed that something so lethal could also be beautiful. Delicate. And that in itself gave the spymaster hope that he too wasn't a lost cause. If someone managed to love winter as much as he did, they would learn to love him as well.

"Boo", the sound made Azriel flinch slightly. He was too lost in his own mind to notice that he was indeed no longer alone. Axel stood in front of him, a cheeky grin on his face. The spymaster pressed a hand to his chest dramatically and said, "Nearly gave me a heart attack". The boy fell into fits of laughter, too distracted to notice Azriel reaching for him before he playfully pulled the boy into his arms.

"Don't get the mittens wet, you two", your voice broke through the laughter. Gentle and soft. Guiding. Azriel looked up. Here in the middle of a forest clearing, you looked like an actual angel. He imagined that was what men in war called for. That's what an angel of mercy looked like. Had to... A snowball hit Azriel right in the chest. The little mischievous youngling was already racing through the piles of snow. His little feat of little help. The broken wings barely managed to lift his body, even a tiny bit.

Azriel chased after him. The silent forest was beating with screeches. "I want to join! I want to join!", Zofie's voice rang out too. She was nestled in your arms. All bundled up in knitted layers. Her tiny button nose was already rosy. She was too tinny for the snow. The storm must have been wild last night. It was more than clear that she would submerge in the white blanket, at least up to her armpits. Azriel quickly snatched Axel off his feet, pulling him up with one hand. There was no doubt that his tummy would be hurting from this extensive laughter.

"Want to sit on my shoulder?", Azriel suggested, his attention now fully occupied by the little girl. Her curious eyes gleamed. "You can tell me if the river over there is frozen over. I can't see myself", that was a white lie. Azriel knew it was. His shadows had scanned the place. But he wanted to make her feel special, so he wasn't all that surprised when she scrambled to get out of your hands and onto Azriel's broad shoulder. She felt like a little feather in his arms.

"It's frozen", Zofie muttered. "I want to look as well", Axel scrambled for Azriel's side, pulling up. "Kids, Azriel is not a climbing tree", yet your voice didn't seem to reach them. You stepped closer to them, your foot sliding down the rock that must have been under you. Azriel was quick to steady your step. "Careful, love", he muttered under his breath. You smiled lovingly at him right as you reached the very edge of the river.

Azriel stepped first. Testing the ice before he reached out a hand for the kids. The two of them were way too occupied as they held onto one another, giggling, their feet slippery beneath them. Azriel held both of your hands as you steadied yourself. Big smile on your face as you opened to say something, but all that came out of your mouth was blood, your body lunging forward as an aero pierced your heart. Azriel caught your body right as the white material of your dress pooled with your blood, turning crimson. "No", was all he managed to mutter. "Y/N, hey... hey, love", his vision grew blurry. Your big eyes staring at him.

Thudding filled his ears. Then came the sound of crackling. Chipping ice hitting the snow. Azriel's head leaped sideways. He caught a glimpse of the two kids' fists hitting the ice. "No", he shouted. Your body slipped out of his arms as he scrambled to get up. Only to lock eyes with them as the ice gave in beneath them, and both of their bodies sank into the icy river. Azriel let out a deadly roar as he hurdled toward the crack, dipping himself into the water.

"No", the spymaster shot up with a jolt, his body covered in sweat, hair sticking to his face. For the first time, he hated the darkness that surrounded him. With one swift movement, Azriel jumped out of bed. His heart was beating so fast that he was sure he was going to puke all over himself. "They're fine", he muttered to himself, "It's fine". Yet his feet were already moving. His body carried on its own as he vaulted through the stairs. Fist pounding on the door while Azriel leaned against the doorframe.

He nearly fell to his knees when your smaller body appeared. Messy hair - clear evidence that you have been in a deep sleep. "Azriel", you mumbled as you scanned the male in front of you. His heavy breathing was so loud that you barely heard yourself. "Are you okay?", the spymaster whispered, his eyes looking all over you. So mortified. Shaking. "Well, besides the fact that you just woke me...", you tried to lighten the mood, but it seemed like his mind was moving a step forward. Azriel peered over your shoulder and asked, "Axel and Zofie?". You stepped aside to give him a clearer view of what was behind you. The room was dim, but the fireplace cast enough light to see the two kids nestled in between the sheets. "They're...", you started, but cut yourself off quickly. "Is everything okay?", you reframed your words.

That seemed to snap something within Azriel. He ran a hand through his damp hair and said with a deep breath, "Yeah, sorry, sorry, I...", he shook his head, almost in disbelief, that he had even come all the way here. As if his mind had only grasped onto reality just now. "Hey...", you moved to reach for his palm. Your hand was much smaller than his, but they fit snuggly against one another. Azriel just looked at you. Soaking in your soft gaze, the feeling of your skin. Your hand was indeed warm. And soft. Those two things alone seemed to settle him. You let him take a couple of calmer inhales before stepping out of the room. "Come", you beckoned him.

He just watched you move around the kitchen. The silky nightgown flowed with every move. Light goosebumps on your skin. The lower levels seemed to get colder at night. Azriel was still burning up from his nightmare, so he didn't seem to feel the chill, but you did, and a part of Azriel felt guilty that he had nothing to offer. He was... shirtless. That made his cheeks heat even more. His muscles flexed, but he tried to calm himself down. Azriel didn't want to gawk. He wasn't that kind of man, but the silk, your body beneath it... And all you were doing was making a cup of tea for him. He shifted in his seat. Eyes burning holes in your back. You felt his gaze too, grateful that your back was turned to him. You caught the strap of your nightgown slipping off your shoulder as you reached for the honey, cursing silently before turning back to the spymaster. Eyes meeting his in an instant.

"Drink", you handed him the cup, his fingerprints brushing over yours. "Poison?", he asked, your lips curving upwards, "The strongest kind". Azriel held your gaze firmly before he slowly nodded his head, "Hum, you licked the spoon, though". You crooked your head with a sigh, "Well, shit, huh. Guess we both are doomed now". Azriel let out a chuckle that matched yours before his eyes settled back on you. You were right beside him. Even with him sitting down, you still had to tilt your head up slightly.

"What?", you asked after a light smirk curled his lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?", you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. "You cursed", his words took you by surprise before you snorted slightly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "I'm not an angel", you cackled quietly. But Azriel didn't find it funny. You look like one, he thought. But he couldn't bring himself to say that.

"Sorry, yeah, an assassin,", he said in a serious voice, narrowing his eyes. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh as well. "You can be funny, you know", you told him, Azriel's eyes grew big. "Is that a compliment?", he said in a teasing manner. "Hmmm", you tapped your finger on your chin a couple of times, "No, an observation". Azriel took a sip of the tea before looking back at you. "Keeping tabs on me?", and you could swear his voice sounded deeper, even more velvety than before. Something shivered deep within you. "Most definitely", you said firmly.

Your eyes locked once again. Only now did you realize how close you'd been standing. You could feel the heat of his body radiating. You bit your lip without thinking, and Azriel let out a low growl. Darkness flowed through his eyes. His magic rippled beneath his skin. Your hand reached for him. Your fingers glowed slightly as you brushed them over his chest. It felt like there was no oxygen in the room for a moment. But you equally felt as if you were floating. Azriel leaned closer. You could feel his breath against your skin. Yet another shiver ran down you. You were inches away. There was so little space between you. You sucked in a breath. Something creaked in the distance, making you both jump apart. You quickly tucked your hair behind your ears. Azriel let out a cough. "It's getting late", "The kids upstairs", you both said at the same time, nodding. Eyes everywhere, but on each other.

You brushed a hand over your face before plastering a big smile for Zofie, who was nervously twisting the side of her skirt between her fingers. You knew that the moment the music filled the room, she would loosen up and grow into her body, but now she was fighting her fear of being around others. Past terrors eating at her. "Hey", the feeling of a warm palm on your shoulder made you turn to the side. Your cheeks instantly grew crimson as you saw Azriel standing there. His hair was messy, and from the bags under his eyes, you were almost sure that he too got little sleep last night. You couldn't help but wonder if the same thing kept him up for the rest of the night. You didn't say anything; you just scooted to the side to give him more space. His eyes instantly moved to look for Zofie; that alone made your heart swell. Azriel waved her way, and she instantly dropped her head, her long hair covering her face, but you could see a little smile on her face from where you sat. "She's been asking about you", you said softly, pulling Azriel's attention back to you. "Has she?", the tinge of hope in his voice was evident. You hummed, "That cookie was surely made with love." Azriel stayed quiet, but you knew that your words hit the spot.

You two watched Zofie in silence, besides a laugh here and there when she lost herself in the sound of music just a bit too much. Her wild hair, accompanied by a bright pink too-too, made her quite a character. Azriel went back and forth between watching Zofie and you. His hand inched closer to yours. Your gaze caught the subtle action. "About last night...", Azriel said quietly. You were about to turn to him when the voice from another direction caught your full attention instead. "Y/N," it was Padme. The look on her face made all the blood drain from her body. You stood up quickly, "What is it?". She rarely got down to the communal levels; work kept her in the upper tower. So the fact that she was here had to mean that something bad must have happened. And all she said was one word, but that was enough to make you sway. "Axel", she muttered. You felt a hand steady you from the back. The world blurred for a moment, and then you took off running.

The healer level was laced with a thick smell of herbs and brews. That didn't help the dizziness that pulled at you. You must have looked like a mad woman, the way you barged in. Your eyes were wild as you scanned the healing pods. "What happened", you breathed out. Trying. Hoping that someone would give you the answer. Any answer. But no one said anything. Did you even speak the words aloud? You took a deep breath. "What happened?", you asked firmly.

One of the healers waves you over from across the room; the door to the last pod was open, and you assumed that was where Axel was. "He tried to fly over the wall", the female said once you were close enough to her. "Axel", you nearly shrieked at the image of that. He couldn't. There was no way. His wings were too weak. "He made it to the second floor", she continued, but you raised your palm, silencing the healer. You could imagine the rest yourself.

You pushed past her, slipping into the room. Axel was covered in bruises. The deformed wings were all scratched up, lying on his side loosely. Bile rose in your throat. You swayed slightly, only to be met with a strong wall of muscle behind you. "We cleaned up the bruises in the front but not the wings,", the healer said quietly. You knew their help was minimal when it came to that. In this case, at least. "I've got this, thank you", you said as professionally as you could, your nails digging into the warm muscular arms that were the reason why you still stood on your own two feet. "I'll call you over if I need help", the healer nodded her head, stepping away.

You inched closer to the bed. "I'll turn you on your stomach, okay?", you asked Axel softly. He barely showed any emotion, silent tears streaming down his face. You knew he endured worse pain. The night you dragged him out of that cellar... Your hands trembled at the cries that echoed.

"Let me", Azriel stepped up, reaching for Axel. You knew he was here. That he was with you. You felt Azriel right beside you up here, but it felt as if your brain had only caught up to the fact that it was his warmth that comforted you all this time. Now that he was away from you, the cold that nipped at your skin seemed almost unbearable.

Axel's face changed once he saw Azriel. A hiccup slipped past his lips, and you had to turn your head to the side to hide the tears that fell down your cheeks. "Hey, I've got you", Azriel muttered, both of his hands gripping Axel's as he kneeled at the top of a bed the boy was resting on. "I'm sorry, I'm...", Axel crocked out, trying to move his bruised body. "Why did you do it, bud?", Azriel might not understand and know most of the things yet but to make a flight like that... No youngling could do that; their bodies simply lacked strength. Another choked-out sob slipped past Axel's lips before he spoke up again, "They were making fun. Said I was... I was deformed", those words ripped out a chunk of Azriel's soul. In flashes, Azriel saw himself within the boy. He was eager to show that his will wasn't broken and that he had the spark within to be just like the others.

Azriel opened his mouth, but you quickly cut him off. "Let's look over your wings, okay? We'll figure out the rest later", you muttered, brushing away Axel's damp hair. You met Azriel's eyes briefly before all of his attention was back on the boy, who held onto him for dear life. You plunged deep within yourself. Searching for that familiar thread of light. You let our palms drown in the white light, coating the beaten wings and forming a cast over the mangled boning. Axel winced. "You're doing better than most soldiers in a war camp, bud", Azriel was quick to reassure him. His cold shadows brushed over Axel's forehead and neck, trying to keep the fever at bay and hold the boy conscious for as long as possible. "It hurts", he wept through gritted teeth. "Y/N will make it better", Azriel muttered, his eyes drifting to your hands, which by now had both of the scattered wing tissue glowings. Your body was shivering; it was no doubt taking a toll on your body too. Azriel was quick to calculate the leap he would have to make if you were to pass out. Keeping some of his shadows alert so they would notice the change in your breathing. "Hang in there, okay? This will be over soon," those were the last words Azriel told Axel before the boy limped completely. The tiny hands that held onto his palm so firmly fell loose. But Azriel didn't let go. He was not going to leave him. Wasn't going to let him feel alone and helpless ever again. He felt like he owed it to Axel and to the young version of himself too.

The candles were burning low. Azriel had lost count of how many times he had replaced them by now. He had bumped into Padme. The female didn't fully introduce herself, but Azriel had a feeling that she was an important figure here. She had wanted to talk to you, but you were barely a shell of a living creature by then, and something within Azriel protested against letting anyone else talk to you. Not now. So Padme talked to him. Gave him an image of what had happened.

The flying lesson the Illyrian children had. The fact that Axel watched it from the sidelines. Unfit to fly until the healing process had finished. "Kids can be vicious", she said with a voice so ancient that Azriel's bones shrieked, "But our Axel is different". Those words left a bitter taste in Azriel's mouth. "He's special, not flawed", the spymaster said roughly, and the woman sent him a pleased look. As if he had passed a test he didn't even know he was having. The rest of that conversation was hazy. Azriel was running on too much adrenaline himself.

He carefully opened the door to the healing pod. He did not want to wake any of you up, especially if you had finally fallen asleep. But you were just in the spot where Azriel had left you last. Axel's head was on your lap, your fingers slowly brushing through the boy's hair. Your eyes were empty as you looked down at him. "I brought some food", Azriel whispered, making you snap your head up. You were drained. He might not know much about the magic you possessed, but whatever you had done had taken its toll on you. "He just dozed off", you muttered quietly, turning your attention back on Axel. "It's for you", Azriel said, setting the tray on the little table. "I'm not hungry", you said bluntly. "Y/N", Azriel breathed out. He had seen denial and anger eating up at his soldiers. Had seen it eating up at Rhys when he had to let go of Feyre.

"I'll watch over him", you said stubbornly. "You need to rest", Azriel tried to reason, but all he was met with was a shake of your head. "I'm resting", you said, pointing at the bed you were sitting on. "Y/N", the spymaster said softly, way softer than he usually liked to use his voice. "He's in pain. I need to help," you said, Azriel looked down at the palms that you kept tucked away beneath the boy's wings. This whole time? You've been summoning magic this whole time. Worry laced Azriel's whole body.

"Y/N," he said, way more firmly this time. The way he spoke, your name had finally broken something deep within you. "If I fall asleep...", your voice died down. Bottom lip quivering. "Y/N, come here, love", Azriel pulled at your wrist, mindful of the boy resting against you, until you were up on your feet. He brought you closer. Your final undoing was the moment his arms wrapped around you.

"I'm failing them. I keep failing them", a sob slipped past your lips, your hands taking fistfuls of his shirt. "No, you are not", Azriel said firmly, "I've been here long enough to see how much you love them. And they need just that, sweetheart. They need love". You let your tears flow freely at that. All the emotions were pouring out of you. Azriel didn't budge, holding onto you just as firmly. "I'm so scared", you hiccuped finally, with no strength to keep your walls up any longer.

"I know", Azriel muttered. "I'm so scared", you pressed your face into his chest, and Azriel moved to brush his fingers through your hair, "I know, but you don't have to be. I'm here now. I'll keep watch over you all". And there was no doubt in his words. There was no doubt in your soul. You knew he wasn't lying. You could feel it. "Foreign soldier", you muttered after a while, Azriel chuckled slightly. Brushing a strand of hair away from your face, "I need to find a sword like Axel drew", he stated, making the corners of your lips turn upwards slightly. You closed your eyes, letting the world flow through you. Allowing yourself to stop for a minute while Azriel held you. Until your eyes snapped open and you pushed back slightly, "Zofie...", you muttered.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the lake

lilac, chapter five

a/n: this chapter made me scream so much... both for horny reasons AND for emotional reasons...

summary: “oh my god,” you hastily spun around, droplets dancing down your spine as you turned it towards the familiar logger, “how long have you been standing there?”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, swimming in a lake, unintentional flashing, crying

word count: 2688

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There are those comforting places that you go to in your mind when you try to fall asleep. Sometimes it’s a fantasy land from a novel, but for you, it had always been this forest. 

It was frankly kind of incredible how well you still remembered everything from the winding paths to the specific swaying trees. 

Tilting your chin up, you tried to catch sight of the birds you heard chirping to each other and whistled right back at them, just as you did as a child, the action purely pavlovian, causing you to smile after realising you’d done it. 

Glancing back down at the trail ahead of you, your grin only grew as you realised what the towering tree you were now nearing was. 

There was this legend around the parts of Dunbrook saying that if you and your sweetheart carved your initials into the thick trunk of this exact tree, whose branches had a wingspan so wide that some came down to kiss the wide lake it grew adjacent to, then you’d stay together forever in perfect happiness. 

Now was it true? Probably not. But that fact hadn’t squashed your childish wish of doing it one day. 

Pressing your palm against the grand trunk, you traced a few of the scratched letters and hearts scattered about. Exhaling slowly, you felt the warm rays of the sun, streaming through the treetops above, kiss your exposed skin that poked out from the breezy dress you wore. 

Giving the bark one last little tap as a goodbye, you then bent down and plucked one of the white flowers that sprang out of the mossy forest floor, rolling it only briefly between your fingers before sliding it into your hair, right over your left ear. 

You didn’t get much further before the glistening surface of the lake became too entrancing to resist and the next thing you knew, you’d tossed all of your clothing over a low-hanging branch and jumped in. 

Giggles bubbled out of you as you swam through the mild water, swiftly twirling onto your back in order to float, peering up at the clouds as a nostalgic melody tickled your memory, coaxing you to gently hum it to the skies above. 

Though suddenly, a clatter found your ears, startling your relaxed form enough to whirl to a stance in order to find the source. 

A few logs rolled across the bank, down towards the water, though in following their trail, your hands quickly shot up to cover your chest, as you spotted the person who had dropped them. 

“Oh my god,” you hastily spun around, droplets dancing down your spine as you turned it towards the familiar logger, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, fuck, I–…” you heard Pete curse, “I swear I wasn’t looking.”

Utterly mortified, you shrieked, “what are you even doing out here in the middle of the forest?”

“I live here, uhm, right over there,” you briefly glanced over your shoulder to see him stiffly gesturing to the previously undetected log cabin not too far from the water, his eyes firmly averted and boring holes into the leaves looming above. 

“Oh, fuck my life…” escaped your lungs like a muffled cry, before you peeked back at his flustered visage to shout, “can you turn around? Please?”

“Uh, yeah,” he obliged instantly, “of course,” turning his broad back to your partly submerged form.

The water sloshed around your legs as you made your way to shore, the branch where your outfit was draped over, as if it was a clothesline, curled much closer to his figure than you’d realised. 

“I’m really sorry,” you uttered as you hurried to tug your dress back over your head, “I didn’t know you lived here,” though the linen quickly darkened as it began to cling to the wetness of your skin, “I just used to come up here as a kid and back then no one lived in there,” cheeks aflame, you promptly decided to keep your arms tangled over your chest as you glanced down to discover your pebbly nipples poke clean through the now much sheerer fabric. 

“Please do not apologise, ma'am,” he cautiously turned back around, never looking at you directly as he sighed, head hazily shaking atop his shoulders, “I should have–, I’m sorry…” a desperate offer then forced its way out of his lungs, “do you want a towel? Please let me give you a towel.”

“Uhm,” you blinked, toes curling into the damp moss, “a-alright, thank you.”

“It’s just, uh,” gaze ever averted, his broad palm awkwardly tapped the top of his thigh before pointing towards his home, “inside, so…”

“Yeah…” you nodded your burning features, swiftly following his long stride as he marched up to the hut, mastering all the steps in one leap as he hurried up onto the worn porch in order to nearly rip the front door off its hinges.

Frozen just shy past the threshold, you watched as Pete determinedly darted to fetch the offered item from the bathroom, leaving your eyes to explore the interior till he returned. 

It was oddly comforting in its haphazard decor. Kinda like a vacation home you nearly never visited, everything was mismatched and simply there for the functionality of it all, yet from the raw log walls to the rays of light streaming in through the small window over the round, steel sink in the kitchenette, it all sent a warm flutter throughout your belly, evening out a bit of the frantic nerves that were jostling around in there. 

“Here,” his return managed to startle you slightly, your eyes haven been glued in the opposite direction as he came back holding out a navy towel for you to grasp. 

“Thank you,” you finally uncrossed your arms and seized the terrycloth material, offering him a sheepish smile in return. 

Leaning back against the humble kitchen counter, Pete’s eyes raked across the woodgrain of the ceiling, surely counting all of the spiral eyes that dotted where branches used to be, while you gently patted the towel over your dripping form. 

Stepping further into the quaint cabin, you bashfully found yourself asking, “so, you live here?” earning a low grunt in confirmation as you carefully took a look around, “it’s nice, cosy…” the additional words came out in a tone that made you cringe lightly to yourself.

As you finished squeezing your hair lightly in the towel, the stout bookcase, settled to the right between the sofa and the unlit fireplace, caught your wandering eye. Draping the cloth around your shoulders like a blanket, you crouched down before the hardbacks, a breathy giggle uncontrollably bubbled out of your form as you spotted the unexpected titles that filled up his collection.

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just–,” you glanced back at Pete’s cocked head and clasped your hand over your lips, “I don’t know what I imagined your bookshelf to look like, but I definitely didn’t peg you as a lover of the classics.” 

“Hmm,” he simply hummed, the rumble too neutral for you to decipher the unspoken meaning within it. 

Turning your vision back to the novels, you ran a finger over the spine of a tattered copy of Persuasion, “kinda didn’t imagine you being a reader at all…” 

Bottom lip captured in between your teeth as you rose back up to your feet, virtually feeling the rugged man’s stare fixed on the back of your head before you heard his low timbre break the silence, “do you want a cup of coffee?” you turned to meet his gaze, “it’s not like the stuff at the inn, but it’s something.”

Taken slightly aback, a faint smile bloomed on your lips, “I’d love some,” and you pulled out one of the wobbly chairs at the small dining table. Your eyes followed his brawny form as he snatched up the thermos that already stood on the counter, hooking his fingers in the handles of two of the mugs that hung on the wall before he sat down opposite you, pouring out the dark beverage into your cup before his own, “thank you,” you wrapped your fingers around the enamel mug, the warmth radiating straight into your bones. 

Lowering the cup after taking a sip, you stared down into the murky liquid, the embarrassment still stinging in your belly as you counted the faint coffee suds settled on the surface. 

Snapping you out of your trance, Pete’s broad palm suddenly came into view, his fingers swiftly reaching out for the hair dangling by your chin. Bewilderment fogging up your features, you nearly reeled back, before his fleeting touch faltered, briefly presenting to you the forgotten white flower that you’d previously stuck behind your ear in order to soothe your slight panic.

A giggle then bubbled out of you as he placed the small floret down between the two of you in the middle of the table. Blinking up at him only seemed to make it worse, “I’m sorry, I just–,” your hands clasped your face even though you knew you’d never be able to hide your mortified flush no matter how hard you tried, “I was about to say that I feel like you’ve seen me naked, but that’s exactly what happened, so…” a laugh shook throughout your belly, “you know, it wasn’t even really my idea, or well, the swimming part was, but not the spending my day out here, that was my dad’s. He thought I needed a break, so here I am, accidentally flashing you…” 

His restless forefinger glided over the smooth surface as he held his steaming mug, “if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t really see anything.”  

Your eyes twitched, unsure if you were to believe him, “it does, a bit…” though still appreciating the gesture.

Casting your glance out the window, you watched a moment as the birch branches swayed in the wind, the rigidity porch in plain view as you spotted a forgotten mug on a long wooden bench, surely one that once contained the same beverage you sipped on now. 

“Can I ask you something?” you heard Pete enquire after a few moments had passed.

“Of course.”

Carefully, he took a second to gather the courage needed to ask you cautiously, “are you okay?”

Chuckling lightly, you rolled your eyes, “yes, I’m alright. I’m sorry to tell you, Pete, but you’re not the first ever human being to see me naked,” you waited for him to mirror your laugh, but his expression only stayed as gloom as before. 

“I wasn’t–…” he exhaled deeply before repeating, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you glanced back at him, your eyes wandering over the hint of age speckled throughout his beard.

“I just, uh,” he uttered warily, “I noticed some things.”

“Things?” the tightness of your furrowed brows dissolved as you watched him vigilantly gesture to your arms, exactly where your bruises had healed not too long before, “oh… o-oh…” your voice shook slightly as the realisation settled in, “uhm… did you tell anyone else?” you heard your paranoid words filled the air, “did you tell my dad?”

“No,” his head gently shook from side to side, eyes gingerly glued to your reaction. 

“Can you maybe not tell him?” you felt your bottom lip tremble, “I never told him about it or even him before and I just don’t want him to–…” if you’d been standing up then you might have tumbled over from how your head spun, “since he never knew, it kinda feels like, every once and a while, like it never even happened to begin with. Even if it’s just for a second, I can pretend that I’m just a kid again, with my dad and that I never had to grow up and be with–…”

Tilting his head in an attempt to catch your rattled vision, he promised, “I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you,” like a dam, the tears came flooding out, “fuck, I’m sorry,” every nerve across your skin felt utterly raw, each little hair standing up in alarm, “I don’t know why I’m crying…”

“It’s okay,” you struggled to meet his gentle glance, “have you not talked to anyone about it?”

“No… it always felt weird to tell my dad about the people that I dated and then when it turned into something more, something else, then, I don’t know, I just couldn’t… and I didn’t really have anyone else in the city… or I guess I did once, but Preston,” you sucked in a painful breath as you pushed through, continuing to share, “he didn’t really like them, so at some point, I stopped talking to them all together…”

Tears collided with the wooden tabletop, leaving little sombre stains in its wake, you heard the man sitting across from you offer carefully, “if you want someone, a friend, to talk to, then know that I’m always here.” 

“Really?” you blinked up at him, raising a shaking hand to wipe your cheek. 

“Yeah,” he exhaled solemnly, looking back at you in a manner that caught you off guard by how, for a lack of better words, safe it made you feel, even amidst all the chaos.  

“Thank you,” you sobbed, “you know, he wasn’t like that to begin with, he genuinely wasn’t, I really don’t want you to think that I just have a thing for abusive assholes. He was charming. Did everything a girl could dream of for her first love. I think I genuinely loved him, he was perfect and it happened so slowly, gradually over such a long time that I didn’t even really notice that he had changed, or maybe just dropped the façade, till he was holding me down, cutting off my air supply, just because he had a bad day at the office… I even tried to break up with him a few times, but it never worked… last time I tried I ended up with a ring on my finger…”

“Does he know that you’re here?” 

“No, don’t think so. I was so hungry for a fresh start back when I first met him that I barely told him about where I grew up, just that it was in a tiny mountain town and that my dad owned an inn… I mean, not that he ever really cared about that kind of stuff… guess I was a bit embarrassed about where I came from in comparison to him. He grew up on the upper east side, had always been used to having servants and that kind of stuff around him and I very much didn’t… I remember thinking he was like a prince back when I met him. I just couldn’t believe he loved me. But he sure did, does… he was set on me, wanted nothing more than to mould me into his perfect little–…” 

Your voice broke as you caught Pete's woeful eye, “I’m really sorry that you had to meet him,” he uttered genuinely. 

Tears welling up in your eyes once more, it took you a bit before you managed to say, “yeah, me too,” forcing your eyes up towards the ceiling, you attempted to compose the uncontrollable sobs that rumbled out of your lungs, “I really hate that game of what if this thing didn’t happen or what if I learnt this lesson earlier. It never fixes anything, never makes it better. All it can do is make you even more depressed, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he breathed distantly as you wiped the corner of the towel draped over your form across your glistening cheeks, “I know exactly what you mean…” 

Bloodshot eyes, though foggy, still managed to notice the shift in his features as Pete stared down his half-empty mug of coffee, “hey,” you reached out to lightly rest your hand over where his lied on the table, “I’m really sorry too.”

Eyes flickering up to meet yours, a light crease formed between his dark brows, “for what?”

“For whatever happened to make you look at me the way that you are right now… whatever it is, I’m really sorry…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[avesque]

can i please request a drabble with i pushed everyone away because they weren’t you + neteyam? thanks.

of all the girls — neteyam

INCLUDES best friends to lovers. angst to fluff. 0.7k words.

NOTE i need him so bad. you can request a prompt of your own here! (also the great war part i might come out this thursday/friday. i promise i see those asking to be tagged, i will not forget u here is a big kith mwa) OH AND HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY i love you!

neteyam finds you all alone by the docks with your feet submerged in the water. it’s a quiet afternoon and the others are out and about with tsireya and other metkayina kids.

he finds his palms sweaty the second he settles beside you.

you don’t bother to look at him. it makes his heart squeeze painfully as your gaze stays fixed ahead, over the reefs and the horizon that he thinks you’ve mentally reached home.

you cut him off just as he’s about to break the quiet.

“why’d you leave?”

to others, it might sound nonchalant. but neteyam has known you for more than a decade; can read you like that back of his hand. there’s a bite to your tone that makes his heart climb up his throat.

you place your palms behind you and lean back but you do not look at him.

“you left,” he says. “i followed you.”

“no shit,” you scoff. it makes him wince. you always did hang a lot around lo’ak.

he swallows his nervousness.

“listen—”

you’re quick to rise to your feet. “well, i need to go.”

neteyam calls your name.

“i don’t want to hear it.” your tone is cold, biting. if he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re leaving behind snow rather than the sand you’re kicking off as you walk away hastily.

he follows you just as he has for the past twelve years. always behind you, always watching. waiting.

he snatches your arms once he’s caught up and something spears through his heart when he finds tears brimming in your lash line.

“no,” you seethe, wriggling free from his hold. “you leave me alone. go back to ayrona since you like her that much, huh?”

neteyam heaves a deep sigh, latching on to your arm again. gentler, this time. softer. consoling.

“no.”

you scoff again. the metkayina girl had shown interest in neteyam ever since you got here, always there, always lingering. it makes your skin itch, your blood boil. you’ve been watching them all this time, how she seems to enjoy those breathing lessons with neteyam. remembering it makes you want to scream.

but ayrona wasn’t the only one. back in the forest, before you had to flee, you heard other girls’ names tied with neteyam’s from hearsay. you did not have the heart to ask him about it, afraid that the confirmation will break your heart more.

ayrona is just the final straw.

but this is wrong. the lone tear that cascades down your cheek is a burning shame. neteyam is not yours.

at times, you feel like you may stand a chance, against all these other girls and against all odds. you’ve been toeing that line between friends and something more, touches lingering more than they should have, gazes softer and sweeter than most. but nothing has come of it.

you fear what you thought could have been was just a miscalculation on your part.

neteyam holds your cheek so delicately, thumbing away the salt on your cheek.

“oh, y/n.” his voice is honey; says your name like a prayer. you close your eyes, clumped eyelashes still spilling tears. “ayrona—” your stomach plummets, “—is a friend. just like tsireya.”

you sniffle, shaking your head and leaning away from his hold. but neteyam is quick, placing his other hand on your chest, right where your heart is.

“you,” he breathes, “are so much more.”

he rests his forehead on yours and he pulls you close.

“do you want to know why i told rey’nin to stop?”

rey’nin was the omatikaya girl who, despite the people’s disapproving stares, had pursued him.

“the others too,” he adds and proceeds to enumerate the girls who have shown interest in him. something warm lands on your cheek and you belatedly realize neteyam has placed a kiss there before he’s pulling away.

nimble fingers glide over your eyelids and your eyes flutter open to see gold staring right back.

“i pushed everyone away because they weren’t you.” he says your name again, this time, like a promise. “you are the only one my heart beats for. i see you. i always have.”

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter One - Damn Mailbox

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Relocating to the small town of Knife’s Edge in hopes of leaving your old life behind and starting brand new solves all of your problems, right? Wrong. It only creates more and one of them may live right next door. Side effects may include blaring music at 3AM, a scowling neighbor, and one too many shots of tequila on several occasions. (That The Bourbon will not be comping.)

A/N: I'm super excited to start this lil series, I've had this idea for a little while and I can never resist writing total opposites, it's just so fun to explore their dynamic when they want to reject each other so bad. Also a lot of this fic is inspired by Smoke Signals by Phoebe Bridgers (hence the name). As always I would love your feedback and any comments y’all have 🙂 OH and finally...the hugest largest biggest thank you to @uglypastels for beta reading and proof reading and all that good stuff, it was SO appreciated and really helped smooth things out ILY Z YOU'RE SO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO 💜

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Morning dew was like an old friend, someone you hadn’t paid attention to since childhood but felt so familiar with, so…safe.  Maybe it was a little too ridiculous to find security in a few dew drops but arriving in a new town with a population of less than five hundred would have that effect.  Twists and turns of windy roads unknown, trees larger than any house, and barely any infrastructure would all frazzle anyone not accustomed to its elements.  Normally you wouldn’t get car sick but these roads were a beast you’d never encountered before in your life, stomach threatening to send back your lunch of tuna on white bread and a bag of Doritos.  You refused to let bile even trace your tongue so with just enough self control, you swallowed any sickness down and pushed forward.  Now you were hunched over in the driver’s seat, the door open as you sucked in the fresh mountain air, perfect lengthy blades of grass grazing the bottom of the door.  Just before you, up the driveway made up of damp dirt, was home.  A home you were a stranger to at the moment but hoped to at least become acquaintances with.  Lower expectations created less disappointment.  If you dive in head first, you can only guarantee yourself vulnerability and pain, slow and steady was the only pace.

It’s not permanent; you are just figuring things out.

It’s what you kept preaching to yourself during the altitude change, where flatter land transformed into large mountains, the tallest peaks coated in white.  Where your ears popped and your brain felt pressure.  And then shortly after, you were submerged deep into the forests, far from home, where you knew there was no going back for quite some time.  It was a trial run although it didn’t feel that way when the moving truck packed with your life pulled up just minutes after you, delivering every piece of your life to some cabin in a secluded town that was nearly invisible on any map.  Temporary was starting to feel foreign when everything felt more set in stone.

You’d think a town called ‘Knife’s Edge’ would steer you away and maybe that was the intent when it was first named; to ward off newcomers who had no business being out in the woods.  But it only intrigued you.  From what you could find out in a few tourism magazines, Knife’s Edge was not somewhere you went for a getaway, not according to the locals who were a tight knit community where everyone knew everyone.  The economy relied on the small businesses down in The Village, on Main Street which according to your calculations was about five miles down the road and around the lake then up.  That was the extent of knowledge you’d had on your new home and yes, maybe you should have gathered more information before daring to even place a down payment on some random cabin in the woods but when a new start calls, you either answer the phone or stare at it until nothing happens.  The cabin was either yours if you paid the down payment or it would’ve been torn down and sold to the neighbor for more land which would’ve sent you on your way again, on a wild goose chase for a new place that you could fit into.  Not that you were too sure that you’d even fit in here.  But it seemed too obvious that this was where you were meant to be when the realtor advised that it was yours at a low down payment, a steal.  So you’d try to make it work.

The moving truck’s door startled you, slamming against the top as two men got to work, unloading all your belongings.  You figured this was your cue to exit your beat-up sedan to unlock the front door–wide-paneled and made of a beautiful dark oak.  The crunch of pebbles and dirt alerted the movers to your presence where you let them know you were going to open up so they could begin their tedious process, one of them grumbling something incoherent in response.  As you approached even closer, there were knicks and dents decorating the surface of the door but it seemed to add to the essence.  The wooden steps creaked underneath your weight and upon glancing around the porch, you found two well built rocking chairs that the previous owner must have left behind.  Other than that, there were pine needles and other debris from the surrounding nature caked in the corners, some scattered along the rest of the floor that would need to be swept up but it wasn’t an urgent task in comparison to actually setting up your bed and other necessities.

The lock was stubborn as you twisted the key but with one more persistent shove and turn, it clicked and you were able to push your way in, the hinges painfully squeaking as you made a mental note to pick up some WD40.  The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and maybe a half hearted spritz of air freshener.  Or maybe it was drenched in air freshener but it did little to nothing to cover up the smell of an old abandoned cabin; you weren’t sure.  It was a modest size, the kitchen off to the right, tucked into the corner with a small island in the center.  The living room was the first room you walked into from the front, the floorplan more open than you’d expected.  A little to the left was a narrow hallway with shutter doors lining both sides, you assumed one side had to be the laundry.  The door at the end had to be the bedroom and the door just before you embark into the hall had to be the bathroom but you had no time to explore right now.

Morning light trickled in through the kitchen window just above the stove, creating a beautiful hue against the wood paneling of the walls which you only noticed as you came back in, setting a box that was labeled ‘kitchen’ on the counter before rushing back out to retrieve more of your belongings.  It was too early to be doing such strenuous work but that's what you get for securing a slot with the moving company first thing in the morning.  In hindsight, you didn’t realize you were signing yourself up to meet said moving truck at 6:00 AM but in your defense, you’d never done this before. 

By 7:00 AM the truck was fully unloaded and on its way out and with it went the grumpy movers, more than likely unsatisfied with the fact that they’d have to trek back down the mountain.  You graciously offered them an extra twenty bucks which they gladly took but still appeared crabby nonetheless.  Now for the part you had been dreading the most: unpacking each box and putting everything in its respective place.  But first, you wanted to take it all in.  You were right; the laundry was on the left side of the hall behind the shutter door and on the other side was a closet.  The bedroom was settled right where you had guessed, at the end of the hall and rather than being empty, it now held your bed and mattress, sheets still yet to be found among the boxes labeled ‘bedroom’ in thick sharpie.  The wallpaper was something you could do without but maybe you’d find time to peel it off later and replace it with something more to your taste.  Currently the bedroom walls were lined with floral designs and pale blue stripes and if you could be honest, the design was a bit too busy for your liking.  But it was a roof over your head for a good price so complaining was out of the equation.

At the opposite end of the hall, just off the living room was the bathroom, sporting a less off putting wallpaper of faded yellow and white vertical stripes.  You first ensured your hygiene essentials were in place, toothbrush and toothpaste in a glass on the sink, towels on the rack, and soaps set up in the shower including shampoo, conditioner, and bar of Dove.  Having these accessible was a priority, cleanliness being one of the most important factors of your daily routine.  

Clothes were next and you’d forgotten a box in your trunk of your most worn items of clothing that you could pick through until you were fully settled.  Lazily carrying yourself back to the driveway where your maroon sedan sat on top of the copper-toned dirt, you do a double take when you realize your mailbox was taken out, wood splintering out of the ground as the poor box lays among the grass at the edge of the street.  From what you could remember, it was fully intact when you first drove up so you’re forced to conclude that the movers you’d tipped generously must have run it over and not given it a second thought.

The half of the mailbox that rested on the ground was a lot heavier than it looked and you would’ve thought it was made of cement just by the weight.  You felt pathetic dragging it up the driveway, creating a prominent line in the dirt along the way.  A brief break in getting the damn thing up to your porch has you about half way up the driveway, glancing around at your surroundings, only to finally take into account that you had a neighbor relatively close by, a cabin similar to yours only a few hundred yards away except it was a darker wood and a red pickup sat idle in front of it.

You braced yourself, catching your breath to continue hauling the mailbox back until you can figure out how to repair it when your eyes catch on figure, a man making his way down the steps of the cabin you’d just been analyzing.  And you’re quick to shy away until you realize he’d already been looking at you, a cocky grin on his face as he slowly, almost tauntingly stepped off his porch.  The way he walked closer reminded you of a lion declaring its territory, especially with the mane of curls he had, shaggy and brunette.  He wasn’t close enough to allow you to examine any further; however, you caught the click of his tongue before he spoke.

“Gonna get splinters draggin’ wood around like that.”

It’s all he says, a toothpick between his teeth before he turns on his heel, combat boot digging into the soil and it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t offering assistance, he was simply picking up the hose connected to his spigot to rinse off his windshield which now that he’d drawn attention to it, was filthy with mud and leaves.  He wore a red and black flannel which reminded you of a lumberjack but this man just didn’t fit that description based on your short interaction with him.  Or rather his interaction with you.  Your first indication was that he had no facial hair; he was clean-shaven.  And his tight jeans that had black rips at the knees didn’t seem very suitable for a job that required a larger range of motion.

Without any further acknowledgement of your existence, he hopped in his truck and sped off around the bend without a care in the world.  He was a resident douchebag and you’d never even spoken a word to him.  You quickly realized you were still stood in the middle of the driveway with half a mailbox, grunting in protest as you lugged it the rest of the way up to the porch, leaning it against the railing for future contemplation on how to repair it or if you’d have to fork up money for a brand new one.  That was a problem for future you and though future you would be pissed at past you for putting the responsibility on her, you had other things to sort out such as unpacking the rest of the kitchen so you’d be able to actually use it to feed yourself.  And then of course you’d have to make your way into town a ways down the road to actually get groceries because not a crumb of anything edible was packed.  Aside from a bag of Chex Mix that sat in the passenger seat of your car that you’d picked up at a gas station.

–

Going overboard was an understatement when it came to how much you’d actually gotten done.  By 12:00 PM you almost had each room unpacked and put away, moving boxes discarded next to the front door to be thrown out later.  Your plan was to finish off the kitchen and then go into town.  Instead you finished the kitchen and moved from room to room with more motivation than you’d ever experienced in your life.  Maybe it was the adrenaline of living alone, no one else could tell you what to do or where to put things.  It was all up to you and maybe you were a little drunk off that power.  Regardless, you were now worn out and that energy didn’t last very long.  At least you had a freshly made bed for when you came back, that’s what you would reward yourself with. 

If you go grocery shopping then you can come back and nap.

There were still various projects to be done, items to be organized, and objects without a home but for the most part, you could sleep peacefully with the work you’d done today.  The floors were yet to be cleaned and the fridge still needed a good scrub down but that could wait until tonight after you properly refueled.  

Humming to some song you’d heard on the radio earlier, you make your way out the door, patting your pockets for your keys and wallet, both of which you had before locking up and heading for the car.  You rolled your eyes passing the mutilated mailbox, settling into the driver’s seat with an ache in your back from the grueling labor in the early hours of the morning.  Shifting into drive and then rapidly back to park, you remember that these roads are foreign to you and that you could easily get lost and possibly become a bear’s lunch with your luck.  With a tug, the glove box opens and reveals the map you had set in it before embarking on our journey.  The map that was mailed to you of the town didn’t seem very complicated.  But if you happened to make a wrong turn it could land you amongst some rocky cliffs which you thought better to stay away from.  So you carefully examined the route to town, what the people here seemed to call The Village Square.  You took the liberty of drawing your house on the map, a cute little doodle in blue gel pen and then proceeding to draw the rest of the route in the same blue so you’d always have it.

This was it.  A fresh start where no one knew your name.  This would be good for you.  At least that's what you kept trying to convince yourself.  

Goodbye someone else’s daughter and hello new self-made woman.

–

You weren’t lost.  You were just…exploring.

Okay, you were a little lost but the signs for The Village Square kept passing you by and yet you found yourself also passing the same exact pine trees–and you knew they were the same pine trees because every time you saw them you thought ‘hey that kinda looks like a dog’.  At some point it started to feel as if you were spawning in and out of some dimension until you finally turned into a lot directly behind one of the signs, sick of this game of hide and seek.  There were no signs for parking which is why you’d passed by so many times in the first place, and now it seemed like you were behind a restaurant of some kind.  This couldn’t be where everyone parked, right?  Anxiety was pooling in your stomach and before you could sike yourself out, you ultimately decided to park and walk from here.  You would only be a few minutes and hopefully you’d be able to muster up the courage to ask someone where to park from now on, even if it did make you seem like an idiot.

Leaves crunched under your sneakers, an obvious indication of the Fall season trickling one leaf at a time.  As if you were a wary animal, you cautiously walked around the building, finding that it was someplace called The Bourbon; the letters written out in neon red lights that weren’t yet illuminated, the open sign in the window dull signifying they were closed.  You let your eyes roam up and down the street, small businesses lined up all the way through and a few patrons, clearly with an agenda making their way along the sidewalks.  It was a cute place, nestled in a little valley.  Instead of plain old cement the sidewalks were cobblestone and overall it seemed to be a pedestrian oriented community with several cross walks and barely any traffic.  

From here you had no idea how to get to Marvin’s Grocery, which seemed to be one of the only produce stores around according to your map.  The others were a little more out of the way, your house conveniently only around five miles away from The Village Square.  The shops you passed as you attempted to gain a sense of direction were exquisite.  Mom-and-pop shops that either smelled of delicious baked goods or hunger-inducing aromas that filled your nostrils with savory goodness.  The smell would haunt you in the best way for days to come.  A candle shop piqued your interest, as well as a flower shop that bloomed so beautifully among the muted tones of the brick buildings around it.

Everything was so unlike what you were used to, back home things were more commercialized, built for quantity not quality.  Here it seemed to be the polar opposite which you could appreciate.  Corporations were the root of all evil and you had yet to see one single corporation among the several businesses you passed so far.  People seemed friendly but also confused by your presence, offering you a meaningful wave accompanied by a puzzled expression written on every face you encountered.  You were a stranger and it was becoming more apparent the deeper you found yourself in the square.  Some people whispered and you happened to snag onto a few words, mostly grasping ‘is she new?’.  In return, you graced them with a polite smile.  It wasn’t like you to initiate small talk or approach new friendships.  If they happened, they happened per the other party’s account, not yours, never one to try and stand out in the crowd only making this infinitely more uncomfortable for you, which was no one’s fault other than your own insecurity.

Eventually you were able to come face to face with the giant ‘Marvin’s Grocery’ sign which looked to be handpainted in big white letters outlined in black with a few cartoony carrots, a tomato, and a head of lettuce.  Wandering around for an extra ten minutes and refusing to ask for help certainly wasn’t ideal but it did familiarize you with the shops you would soon be buying from on the regular.  And it did give you a soft introduction to the small population of Knife’s Edge which despite the name, the people seemed lovely enough.

The store wasn’t the slightest bit crowded and it wasn’t very large either.  A mother and her two kids skimmed one of the aisles while an older man pondered over the produce, apples specifically.  Grabbing a cart, you begin gathering the items you had sorted out on a list in your head.  First bananas, grapes, and blueberries, you didn’t want to bother with too much produce as it went bad fast and you were only one person so those would do for now.  Then you moved on to pantry essentials, canned goods that you could stock up on and always have on hand.  Green beans, corn, peas, baked beans, even soups such as tomato, cream of mushroom, and the standard chicken noodle.

You’d built up a cart full in no time, and by then,  no one else was around so you noted that this time would be perfect to get your shopping done in the future so as to avoid as many people as possible.  The cashier was a woman, probably in her early sixties who seemed not all that intimidating which you were grateful for.  She smiles warmly and you appreciate the sentiment, grinning back at her as you place each item at the register. 

“You’re new.  But I bet you’ve already had an earful of that, haven’t you?”  She lightly teases.

You laugh softly, avoiding eye contact while still trying to remain well mannered, taking notice in small glances that the woman’s name tag reads Donnie in bold red letters as well as the ‘help wanted’ sign perched up against the window.  She seems friendly, a little rough around the edges though in the sense that she had several tattoos that disappeared into the rolled up sleeve of her blue crewneck sweater as well as a fire in her icy blue eyes.  You could already guess that she was quite the character.

“Don’t let them scare you off.”  Donnie carefully bags the eggs with a few more light items, her confidence radiating, as if she doesn’t even need to try, as if it just comes to her so naturally.  Something you could only wish for every once in a blue moon.  “We don’t get many newbies.  They’ll get it outta their system.”  Her voice is a tad scratchy but smooth otherwise, bringing a strange sense of comfort.

“Thank you.”  A mouse may as well have been louder than you but you tried and that’s what counts, right?  New people were not your thing but they would have to become your thing, moving to a place where no one knew you existed and all.  Or maybe you could fly under the radar?  It couldn’t hurt to become the mysterious outsider that spoke to no one although it wasn’t a very realistic ambition.

This was fucked.  You thought to yourself in the solitude of your brain.  Of course the second thoughts were coming now and not before you bought the damn property that tied you to this place.  Initially, the idea was a temporary situation far from home but the deeper you delved into this town, the more permanent it started to feel.  Not just anyone up and moved here and that was clear by the reaction you pulled from several onlookers.  And yet you moved here, bought that damn cabin with the money left to you from your father’s estate, and ultimately, left everything you knew in a manic state.  A mid life crisis in your early twenties.  

“Miss, your change.”  The woman broke through your thoughts and you must have shifted into autopilot, not even remembering handing her any money in the first place.

“S-sorry.”  You mutter, collecting the filthy coins in your palm, shoving them into the front pocket of your jeans which you knew would be a pain to dig out later but again, that was an issue for future you.  She hated your guts.

“No prob–”

It was abrupt, your exit but despite your rude departure, she called out “I’m Donnie!” and you never felt like a shittier person.  She was welcoming you to her home and you didn’t even have the decency to introduce yourself.  That’s how it looked at least, on the inside you were panicking and needed to isolate yourself immediately.  

You must have looked like a maniac carrying your groceries in a near sprint toward the direction of your car.  Everyone else seemed to move at such a mellow pace, not a single vein close to popping out of stress whereas you looked like you’d crumble under the slightest inconvenience.  Which you would if you didn’t get to the car fast enough.  A small misstep causing you to trip?  No chance, you wouldn’t show your face again for weeks.  Your groceries spilling all over the pavement because of said possible misstep?  You would consider moving all over again.

Thankfully the majority of the walk back to the little lot behind one of many businesses was blacked out, your heart practically pumping in your ear the whole time.  What you couldn’t black out from was the man-the same man from this morning smoking a cigarette as he stared at your car.  Fear drenched you; you couldn’t gauge his expression with his back to you but you could guess he wasn’t going to be smiling with the way he was lingering, shuffling his boots back and forth in contemplation.

Announcing yourself felt like the most daunting task in the world, humiliation melting into your skin like an uncomfortable burn.  Maybe some higher power heard your pathetic struggle because the crunch of your sneaker on a perfectly placed leaf called his attention to you, his head snapping in your direction instantly.

The urge to just run was strong but you maintained whatever cool was left within you, fingers waving at him weakly.

His expression was blank, unreadable.  He didn’t say a word as you slowly inched your way closer to the vehicle, only eyeing your every movement like a predator protecting his territory, much like he did that same morning.  The closer view of his face showcased his stoic yet soft features, eyes almost puppy dog-like but something glazed over them, a facade of some kind.  Something that overtook the puppy dog nature they were capable of and replaced them with a cruel glare.  The shape of his nose was endearing at least, rounded at the tip and tinted pink from the cold.

“You just park anywhere you want where you’re from?”  He asks, gesturing vaguely with a tip of his cigarette toward the car.  

Your shaky breath has him furrowing his brows at you, seemingly offended.  It’s not in your nature to offend people but you can’t seem to stop doing it, especially today whether you mean to or not.  But you definitely don’t think you mean to.

“N-no, ‘m sorry.”

“Sorry?”  He mocks, scoffing before inhaling a puff of smoke once more.

“I-I uh, I’m leaving.  It won’t happen again.”  You rush out, all the while forcing yourself not to cry.  “I just–I couldn’t find parking–I was driving around and—there was no–I couldn’t–”

“Don’t let it happen again.”  He warns, stern but easing up on his intense demeanor.

“Promise.”  You whisper, a tear betraying you and rolling down your cheek to which you quickly gather your grocery bags in one hand to swat away at your cheek.  It’s too late, he already saw.

No empathy is detected in his stare, not that you feel you deserve any.  It was just an observation.  “Now, get out of my lot.”  It’s a demand, a non-negotiable demand that if you were brave enough to argue, would probably have him towing your shitty little sedan.  

So you nod, blinking back the water works as best you could while tossing your groceries into the passenger seat, him watching the whole time.  With your seatbelt suddenly feeling like the most complicated thing in the world, you expect to look up and meet pure rage but instead your ears perk up at a few knocks on the window.  Rolling it down as fast as possible with the manual handle, the man stands towering over you, cigarette abandoned sometime in between you getting in the car and struggling to remember how a seatbelt works.  Did he have more choice words for you for illegally parking on what he deemed ‘his lot’?  You really didn’t want to stick around to find out but you had no choice.

“Left on Main.  Then right on Cherry.”  His dark eyes hinted at hues of warm honey but they were briskly dismissed by his cold attitude.

“What?”

“Next time.  So you don’t turn into my damn lot again.”  

You still didn’t know what he meant by ‘his lot’ and you didn’t have the backbone to ask.  You did however fully get the message that you were to never park here again and were now aware of which streets to search for to avoid it at all costs.  You’d memorize every detail of it if it meant you could steer clear of the apathetic man before you.  With a nervous nod, you were off, not once looking back just as he did that morning except he had more grit in his actions, you just came off as a scared church mouse.  You never even caught his name and you didn’t mind not knowing it at this rate seeing as he was all bite and bark for no good reason.

This place never felt so far from home.  Nowhere was home.  Your heart was in a sense homeless, lost and longing for the connections that these people had with each other that you couldn’t seem to tap into even if your life depended on it.  In all fairness, it had only been a few hours and you couldn’t gauge your success based on that but it was tugging on your brain like a parasite, eating away at your final optimistic thoughts.  

I don’t belong here.

I don’t fit in.

The drive ‘home’ was flooded with tears and muffled sobs into your now sticky sleeve, coated in snot and if anyone were to pass you along the way you would look psychotic with how your face scrunched up at every exhale, doing your best to keep yourself quiet despite being the only one in the car.  You were always doing your best.  Always to please others.  And it never worked.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645

[florencemtrash]

Brown Eyed Beauty — Lucien x Reader

Fond, childhood memories are few and far between for Lucien. But he's reminded of every good thing when he looks at you.

Author's note: DAMNIT! Brown eyes deserve to be treated with the same tender reverence as any other color. This one is for all the brown eyed beauties (and Lucien lovers) out there.

There was a hidden stream Eris had taken him fishing once, back when he was a stringy child with two eyes and soft hands.

“You’ll need to build up your strength and the calluses on your palms, then the fish won’t be able to slip out of your grasp so easily.” Eris told him, standing up to his knees in the gentle current, pant legs rolled up with the ends dripping. His body was slim as a reed, but strong, and on the cusp of adulthood. Pale bruises were scattered across a pale, freckled chest, purple, green, and yellow.

Lucien watched with bated breath as Eris tracked a shiny, silver-pink body darting between the rocks, his eyes untricked by the bending of sunlight as it dove into the water. 

There. 

Eris leaned down and dipped his hands into the stream with lightning swiftness. “Gotcha.” 

His hands broke the water. The salmon writhed, fighting with every gasping breath and splashing water onto Eris’s already soaking trousers.

“Here.” Eris stretched his arms out to where Lucien stood in the shallows. The salmon was giving up, the rhythm of its whipping body slowing. “It’s tired. Try holding it now.” 

Lucien held on for five seconds before the tail slapped him across the face, startling him so much he dropped the fish and its scaly, sleek body began to race downstream.

“No!” Lucien dove for it, red hair slipping under clear waters. The current was stronger than he expected, or maybe it was just that he was weaker than his brother. He felt something pulling downward, keeping him submerged.

His first response was to panic, to flail his arms and legs out uselessly. But then he stopped. It was peaceful down here, the water so clear that he could catch every grain of sand splashed over brick-brown rocks like stars. Tiny fishes, silky smooth with beady eyes, darted in and out of crevices. Light behaved differently underwater, fragmenting and casting lovely golden shapes on stones the color of fresh-pressed coffee. 

Here it was calm. Here was a place where Beron’s power couldn’t touch him. Here he was safe. 

A strong hand grasped the back of his shirt, hauling him up soaking and sputtering with a brackish taste sliding down his throat. 

The bruises on Eris’s cheekbones stood out on his pale skin, the fright in his eyes turning to anger. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Eris yelled and all but tossed his sopping body onto a yellowing patch of grass. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucien mumbled. He sat, shivering in the Autumn chill until Eris caught another salmon and assembled sticks in a neat circle of sand, lighting it with a snap of his slender fingers. 

“Tomorrow we’ll come back,” Eris promised as Lucien sank his teeth into the juicy, pink flesh. The skin was perfectly crisp and grease dribbled down his chin hot and slick. Eris wiped it away with a soft swatch of moss. “I’ll teach you to swim properly.” 

He didn’t seem to mind the descending cold, and for that Lucien was grateful. It meant he would get to keep Eris’s shirt until his was finished drying on the cracked log. 

But unbeknownst to them, Beron had come home earlier than anticipated with their other brothers. Eris was whipped ten times for leaving the Forest House unattended and Lucien was locked in his room for three days. They never went back to that stream — at least not together — and Lucien learned to swim on his own in less forgiving waters. 

Lucien still clung onto the memories of that day. Good memories from his childhood were far and few between. 

“You’re staring again.” You sighed contentedly and shifted in the little cradle of earth you’d claimed for youself. Yellowing, waist-high grasses swayed above you, occasionally bowing down with slender fingers to tickle your cheeks. A hundred yards away the Sidra tumbled over stones, rolled onto gray-sand beaches. The air tasted of salt and seaweed. Crisp, tangy, clear. 

“How did you know?” Lucien asked, and you could hear the gentle caress of his smile in the words.

You cracked open your eyes against the sun’s assault high in the midafternoon sky. Sure enough, Lucien was staring at you, golden eye whirring. You ran a languid finger down the bond, light and airy as a kiss. He braced his arms by your head, sinking down until his body was pressed flush against yours. 

You smiled. “I can feel it. It’s my special talent.”

“Oh?” Lucien chuckled.

“I’ve cultivated it over the years. A product of having a brute like you chase after me like a hound goes after a fox.” Not that you’d ever gone far. 

Scarlet strands of hair slipped out of the braid you’d arranged hours ago. They hung around his elegant, scarred face like liquid fire, casting a warm glow onto his already tanned skin. You tucked them back behind his sharp ears. Traced the curve of his bones until he was leaning into your touch.

“You wound me,” he murmured, kissing your palms. 

You blushed, feeling the brush of his full lips against your sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean it.” 

He smiled — a crooked, boyish smile. “I know.” 

He looked into your coffee eyes. The light bent differently when they touched your irises, curving around the bends like honey, cutting amber crescents at the edges of their rich color. You closed and opened them slowly, letting the light pour in like cream into coffee, swirling and setting them aflame. 

Lucien was back in that stream. The world was still. There was nothing that could hurt him. Just clarity, peace, and the riverbed glittering beneath him. 

“I love you, Y/n.”

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | one

Prologue | one | two |

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: PTSD, description of injuries, bad language, the King of hybern (jumpscare), if there is anything more, please let me know.

A/N: so here it is, the first part. I really hope you enjoy it and that you get to love Nimue just as much as I do. Any kind of support is greatly appreciated! 🥰

Standing in the middle of that enormous training ground, Nimue counted the scars on her hands one by one: first her left hand, tracing each one with her right thumb; then her right hand, tracing each one with her left thumb. It had become a ritual, something that anchored her back to the physical world, slowly pulling her away from her daydreams.

Once again, she felt the weight of her body on her own bones, on her own muscles. A couple of deep breaths, and with the short sword in her hand, she began the series of exercises again. The same series of exercises as yesterday, the day before, and for the last twenty years.

Twenty years in which Nimue had grown accustomed to her new life. New, because she knew she had always been there, inside the Cauldron, and against her will those hands had torn her away from her place, her home. She had ended up in Hybern, locked in a castle and with a princess title she didn't know where it came from, as she shared no genetic bond with the man who called himself her father, the King of Hybern.

The King of Hybern, who with the Cauldron in his hands and desperate to conceive a powerful heir, had submerged his poor and naive concubine in the poisonous water of the Cauldron. The woman, pregnant with the king's offspring and terrified of disobeying the cruel king's orders, obeyed.

Thus, the liquid of the Cauldron separated skin from muscle, muscle from tendon, tendon from bone, and the poor woman who screamed dissolved like salt in water. Before the eyes of the entire court, the King had burned one of his concubines alive, and in return, a young girl had emerged from the Cauldron. Nimue, The Radiant, the daughter of the king, created by the Cauldron.

Nimue knew all this because in the depths of her bones, and only when she let her guard down, she felt the despair of her mother when she was submerged. If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could feel her own muscles dissolving, melting, the bones crunching and bursting, the muffled screams, the life of the poor woman extinguishing.

That only filled her with rage. A rage that boiled inside her, in every fiber of her being. Sometimes she let it grow, let it spread through every drop of her blood, like poison disguised in wine: she shaped it to her liking, gave it the form she wanted. She shaped her rage into swords, laying waste to entire legions with her rage, burning entire forests with her rage...

One could only imagine that in the face of such destruction, her "father" would be angry. No one wanted a daughter who killed hundreds of soldiers every time she trained. However, the reaction was completely opposite: a smile, some congratulations, a pat on the back, a kiss on the forehead, a small hug...

Small displays of affection that Nimue drank as if she were dying of thirst. After all, he was her "father".

Children are meant to make their parents proud. Or that's what she told herself every night before falling asleep.

She stopped abruptly before finishing her last set of exercises and looked up.

Above her, in the corridor surrounding that enclosed training ground, courtiers of her father, guards, servants, people who stopped to admire her if they had the time, kept passing by. Sometimes they made comments about the natural grace with which her movements seemed to defy gravity itself. Every gesture of hers was fluid and harmonious, as if she were in perfect harmony with the universe around her. It was so, because after all, the world around her had come from the Cauldron. And she was the Cauldron.

Sometimes, however, they made comments about the monster the King had created. An aberration.

With a flick of her wrist, her weapon disappeared into the air, she spun around, and left that training ground. She walked through the halls of the Palace, navigating intersections and crossing doors until she reached the very center of her home. The great stone cavern where the throne was situated. Even before entering, she could hear the voice of the King, and without entering the room, she listened.

"My patience is running out, filthy rats. If you don't know how to do your job, I'll have you thrown to the nagas, and let them do whatever they please with you, you pack of useless scoundrels."

Nimue entered the cavern, her gaze forward and her chin high, those airs of superiority she knew belonged to her. She walked among those present, who made way for her, feeling the hairs on their necks stand at attention in the presence of the princess. With a determined step, she approached her father, who only raised and lowered his eyebrows in response.

"What's the problem, father?" Oh, that mask of innocent girl that many swallowed. She might even dare say that sometimes, the King himself took her for naive, for innocent. When she was anything but, far from it.

She carefully observed the situation: before her father, and kneeling before the steps of the throne, were four of the six spies she knew her father had designated in Prythian, specifically in the Night Court. Among them, two bodies completely mutilated, almost unrecognizable. However, Nimue recognized them as the other two spies that were missing. She lifted her head and let the smell of blood penetrate her nose, savoring it on her palate. That's when she noticed the slightest hint of cedar and mist. She frowned and looked at her father.

"It's nothing, my sweet child. I'm just dealing with these useless ones," the King turned sharply towards those men, who, under the scrutiny of father and daughter, only sank deeper into their shame. With their heads bowed to the ground, they trembled so much that Nimue could hear the chatter of their teeth. "Do your job and find out everything. Everything. And if you have to kill that petty High Lord, you will."

Nimue did everything to hide her smile. She knew those four useless men stood no chance against that High Lord her father spoke of. She knew, because in the Cauldron, she saw the shadow of Rhysand: a vast pit, as deep as the greatest of lakes, and as black as darkness itself, so dark that Nimue saw her own scarlet eyes reflected in it.

By the Mother, Nimue doubted if her own father, without the aid of the Cauldron, would be a match for that vast darkness that undulated within High Lord Rhysand.

The King raised his hand, and with a gesture, all those present in the throne room bowed respectfully and left the without a word.

Nimue turned, ready to leave, but the King pointed at her and shook his finger. With the same hand, he made a gesture, as if pulling on a leash.

A leash that Nimue had worn around her neck since she had been torn from the Cauldron, and whose end her father held, with an iron grip. It was invisible, but when she even thought about how happy it would make her to leave the confines of the Palace, to see the world, she felt its weight around her neck, as if the King was her executioner and the leash his axe.

"Yes, father?" Her tone, completely compliant, made a fleeting smile cross the King's face.

"You will fight for me in this war, won't you, my dear?" he asked, voice so poisonous she almost gagged. Nimue felt her blood boil, her rage consuming her. "You will fight for me and win for me. I will release you onto the battlefield and you will descend upon them like rain upon dry earth. You will sow the fields with their blood, because that's what I've made you for, my Radiant jewel."

The marks of her nails digging into her palms turned into wounds, and when her magic closed them, she clenched her fists again, reopening them.

"Yes, father. I will be your weapon."

She felt the leash loosen, and with a pleased smile on his face, her father gave her permission to leave.

When she was out of the King's sight, Nimue imagined the thousand ways she would slit that old, rotten man's throat.

Azriel let out a sigh, his own breath forming clouds in front of his face.

What was that pressure in his chest? Where was all that irrational rage coming from, burning his chest and taking his breath away?

His shadows swirled around his shoulders, buzzing and whispering to each other.

He did everything he could, searching in the depths of his being for the calm he needed at that moment.

Yes, rage, rage. We are furious.

Yes, that's it, furious.

Azriel clicked his tongue and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the incessant fluctuations of his shadows. He seemed like a horse shaking itself to get rid of the flies that tormented it so much.

"What's troubling you?" Cassian asked. A playful smile on his face while his gaze was fixed on some point in the city spread out before them. "It seems like your shadows are giving you a hard time."

"Never," Azriel replied without hesitation. He sighed again, rubbing his chest with one hand, right where that pressure seemed like it was about to pierce his body. "I feel like hitting something, someone. But it's not my desire, it feels strange."

Cassian burst into laughter as he leaned on the balcony rail. He closed his eyes for a moment, sinking into that brief moment of peace and enjoying the sunlight, before turning to look at his lifelong brother.

"I think we should call Madja. The spirit of Amren seems to have gotten into you and we'll have to get rid of it before you start giving us all dirty looks," he said, with a serious expression all of a sudden.

Azriel looked at him, raising an eyebrow and then sighing, ignoring the usual delusions of the Illyrian.

Both let the topic pass when they heard footsteps coming from inside the house. Cassian crossed the balcony threshold first, and while Azriel enjoyed a few last seconds of calm and sunshine before going back inside, he felt a pain in the palms of his hands. Stabbing, throbbing.

How strange, it had been a long time since the old scars on his hands had caused him sudden discomfort.

He would ask Madja for some ointment.

Because that's what it was, right?

As Cassian and Morrigan's voices echoed in the dining room, Azriel continued to prolong that moment of stability as much as he could. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice, about to take a step forward without looking at what lay beyond. So as long as he could, he would enjoy those rays of sunshine, that scent of home, those views of the city they were rebuilding after Hybern's attack, hearing his friends laugh, and knowing that this was his place.

He went over the plan day and night since he and his family had conceived it: arrive, enter, break the Cauldron, and get out of there before the King even realized that they had snuck in.

It was perfect. There were variables, of course, but for the hundreds of unforeseen events Azriel had imagined, hundreds of solutions had been devised. It was perfect, and he trusted the plan.

But he felt so out of sorts...

Rage, it consumes us. It burns us.

Rage, rage.

It wasn't him, it wasn't his rage. He felt his own skin, his body, filled with emotions that weren't his. Like a container of some chemical mixture about to explode.

By the Mother, maybe he had eaten something strange at yesterday's dinner. Or perhaps it was the wine afterward, or maybe the countless drinks that followed at Rita's...

Because that's what it was, right?