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guiltyasdave · 3 months ago

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one of me is cute, but two though?

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant!f!reader

word count: ~2.5k

summary: Your cat-like mutation gives your life some cat-like qualities... like going through heats.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair but no visual descriptions beyond that, cat-like mannerisms, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, alternating pov, established relationship, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, talk of a potential pregnancy, a smidge of angst because of who i am as a person

a/n: i wrote this as a sequel to help me hold onto you, but it can be read as a standalone. i'm just in love with cat!reader, what can i say.

huge shoutout to @sizzlingcloudmentality who doesn't even like logan like that, but still patiently listens to me ramble about him nonstop. you're an angel <3

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates :)

Usually, on your days alone, you lounge around in the living room. Sun spills through the large windows, illuminating the space and drawing patterns of light and shadow over the hardwood floor.

More often than not, Logan comes home to find you curled up on the carpet, dozing in the sun’s warmth, barely awake and slowly moving with its shine as it travels across the room. Your skin glowing, soft breaths purring from your chest.

He likes to sit down next to you, watching you twitch with the sound of his footsteps. Sleep tends to pull you back under when he reaches out to gently ruffle your hair. He likes to wait until you roll over, bumping into the solid mass of his body.

Tries to stifle a laugh when you blink your eyes slowly, cocking your head in confusion at the unexpected obstacle in your way. Watches the recognition sinking in and a smile slowly spreading across your face as you sit up. Catches you when you nestle into his waiting arms, a Hey, baby murmured against your lips before they connect with his.

Nothing is more peaceful than the feeling of your body against him, to be able to run his fingertips over your soft skin while you bury your head in the crook of his neck. It settles in his chest like a weight, an anchor of warmth. The security that you’re his, that you’re safe, right there with him.

He loves these late afternoons, soaking up the last rays of sunlight with you. Relishing in your slow, unhurried movements, in the way you press yourself against him, in your bright smile between kisses.

Today is not a usual day. You had been restless as soon as you woke up, your whole body yearning for Logan in a way that is bordering on painful. Your skin is burning, a faintly feverish sensation simmering inside of you, steadily growing as the hours tick by.

By the time you hear Logan’s car pull up out front, your whole core is aflame with need. The air is thick with the scent of you, so much of you and so little of him. You’ve spent most of the day pacing the cabin, burying your nose in his clothes, curling up on his side of the bed, letting the scent that’s permeating his pillow cloud your senses. It had brought you a brief sense of relief, only for the aching need inside of you to come back with renewed force mere seconds later.

His nostrils flare when he opens the door, a growl emitting from his chest. You lunge yourself at him without a second thought, legs wrapping around his midst and holding on tight. The steady, blissfully warm embrace of his arms soothes the worst ache instantly. His eyes find yours, pools of darkness reflecting between you. Your breath is going fast, small pants fanning against his lips as you grind on him, desperate for more, more, more.

Logan holds you with ease, the thought of his biceps bulging sending another wave of arousal through you.

“Is it time again?” he asks, the deep rumble of his voice traveling straight to your core, stoking the flames.

You nod, breathlessly, a small mewl escaping when he teasingly bucks his hips into you.

“Poor kitten.” One hand soothingly scratches the soft skin behind your ears, drinking in the blissful expression on your face that you respond with. “Let’s go take care of you.”

“Please.” It comes out in a whiny plea, one that pulls at his heartstrings. One that fills him with the instinctual urge to protect you, to give you whatever you need to ban that desperation from your voice. It mixes with his own arousal that’s clawing up his chest, a beast that he can barely contain with how eagerly you welcome it, how you ask for it.

He keeps you in his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom in long strides. Every time you get jostled by his steps and your core bumps into the growing bulge underneath his jeans, you whine against his neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, ripping holes through the flannel and sending delicious pinpricks of pain through him.

He shushes you gently, tipping your head back up to kiss you again. You respond with hunger, your teeth catching on his bottom lip, demanding more.

“I’ve waited all day,” you complain, pouting at him between kisses. “Wanted you so badly.”

He hums, heart clenching at your expression while his cock twitches at the desperate need dripping from your every movement. “I know, baby. I’m here now, don’t worry.”

Kicking the bedroom door shut without looking, he turns around and pushes you against the dark wood. Trapped between the door and the press of his hips, you whine, hands working almost frantically to take off his flannel. Logan leans back a fraction, letting you push the fabric down his arms. The scratch of your nails against his bare skin has goosebumps following in its wake. You’re not drawing blood, yet. He can’t wait for when you do.

The heat of him is all engulfing, wrapping you up like a blanket. Finally he’s here, close enough to taste, to smell, his skin burning almost as hot as your own under your fingertips. You need him, not satisfied until it feels like your bodies are molding into one.

Urgent fingers drag over fabric, frantically tugging at hems, only disturbed by hungry kisses and panting into each other’s mouths. Ultimately, his bare torso is pressed against yours, muscles rippling under his skin and your fingertips. You lick a generous stripe from his shoulder over his neck, affectionately nipping at his skin, before you find his mouth once more.

Another groan erupts from his chest, vibrating against your tongue, before he moves you once more. Effortlessly carrying you over to the bed and dropping you onto the sheets, shamelessly staring as your tits bounce with the movement.

His hands toy with his obnoxiously large belt buckle, your eyes zeroing in on the action as you’re kicking your own pants off. A moan escapes you when he finally pushes his jeans down, taking his underwear in the same motion, his cock springing free before your hungry eyes. It’s a sight that you’ll never get used to. Huge, just like the rest of him.

He’s back onto you in the blink of an eye, so fast and yet not fast enough with how desperately you need him. He captures your lips once more while his fingers slide down your body. Stopping briefly to toy with your nipples, but quickly moving on until he’s right at your entrance, collecting your slick and rubbing a fingertip over your clit. It’s featherlight, so good and yet not nearly enough. You need all of him, full force, not holding back, smothering every atom of you the way only he’s able to.

“Logan, don’t tease.”

Your voice breaks over the last syllable, desperation painting your tone.

He chuckles out a sorry, so clearly not sorry at all, loving you like this, all needy and pliant for him. Just waiting for the wild, animalistic side of you to emerge, the side that doesn’t plead and just takes.

“What do you need, kitten?”

Still rubbing soft circles into your clit and greedily drinking in the sight of your writhing, Logan’s other hand possessively curls around your chin, his thumb caressing the corner of your mouth. Tipping your face up, he meets your eyes, your pupils blown so wide that they seem entirely black.

“Need you to fill me up, it hurts so bad, please.” You’re grinding against him, desperate to be closer, to feel every inch of his skin, to finally get him inside of you.

He allows himself a cheeky grin, one that you’re not sure if you want to kiss or slap off his face. “Yeah?” He’s so close, his voice a quiet rasp against your lips. “Want me to pump you full, huh? Give you a whole litter?”

A violent shiver runs through your whole body at his words, your eyes rolling back into your head and your hips bucking up from the mattress. Mewls of please fall from your lips as you reach for him, your grip digging into his waist so forcefully that this time, your fingernails leave deep, red scratches on his skin.

The pain of it surges through him, flaring up and dying back down as his skin stitches itself back together. He can’t help bucking into you, mirroring your movement. He loves when you turn into this version of yourself, all wild animal, feral to get what you want.

He can’t deny you a moment longer, not when you bare your teeth at him in a snarl, lost in the haze of your heat. He flips you over like a doll, husks a laugh at your surprised squeal that morphs into a moan when he pulls your hips up harshly, putting you on all fours. A loud hiss escapes him when his cock rubs against your folds. You’re incredibly wet, your slick already sticking to your upper thighs and coating him within seconds.

“My poor baby,” he coos, a hand soothingly rubbing over the feverishly hot skin of your backside. It turns into a groan when you only arch your back further, your thighs splaying wider apart. You’re putting yourself on full display for him, all needy, all his for the taking. All his.

Sinking in slowly, finally, he grits his teeth to keep from thrusting too harshly into your tight heat. He knows how sensitive you are in your current state, wants to give you time to adjust, to get used to the stretch. It’s not what you want, obviously, as you push your hips back against him, fucking yourself open on his cock. You’re gasping, breaths punching from your lungs, but your movements don’t falter. He meets you with a tentative thrust, chest swelling at the high moan it elicits from you.

“You still want more, huh kitten?”

You’d scoff at his teasing, at the ridiculous nickname, if he didn’t make you feel so fucking good right now. The tension, the emptiness that had been aching deep inside of you all day, finally subsides. A different kind of warmth is building inside your body, slowly spreading through you. Not the burning need that had been eating you up, but deep bliss that is blossoming from your core, now that your body finally gets what it’s been craving.

Reaching back blindly, your fingers wrap around one of his wrists where his hand is gripping your flesh. You don’t have to tell him what you want, he lets go to intertwine his fingers with yours instantly. You feel so safe, so connected to him like this. He bends down, presses kisses into your neck, nips at the skin playfully.

“Logan… Please,” you whine, desperate for him to hit that spot inside of you that only he seems to be able to reach. “Please, just—”

“I know.” It’s whispered into your skin, sealed with another kiss, before he straightens back up.

One hand finds your neck in an iron grip and pushes your upper body down into the mattress. His thrusts become deeper, slowing down each time he bottoms out and grinding into you, until you can feel him against your cervix. It’s exactly what you wanted, exactly what your body is asking for. You’re gushing, soaking the both of you with your wetness, your pussy clenching around him in an attempt to pull him in even deeper.

He growls above you, his other hand wrapping around your hip to steady you. To hold you right where he wants you, as he speeds up, and makes you take it. You’re trying to push back against him, to meet his movements, but he’s heavy against you, each thrust pushing you forward before his bruising grip pulls you back into him.

You cry out his name again and again, the only word on your mind right now, your whole world reduced to this moment, to him and you. The only other sounds are the wet slap of his skin against yours, and his growls behind you, growing louder with every thrust. Evidence of how the line between man and beast is blurring, how his need is becoming just as animalistic as your own.

He’s filling you so perfectly, your slick walls stretched around his length, like they were made to take him. Heat, pulsing inside of you, igniting you, blazing through your veins. It has never been like this with anyone else. You’re tightening around him, the fire brightening further, until it’s about to consume you.

“Logan,” you whimper, knuckles tightening with your grip on the bed sheets. “I’m gonna—”

He pulls you up instantly, one arm wrapping around you, holding you against his sweat-slicked chest. Nuzzling into your neck, the scratch of his beard almost too much for your already overwhelmed senses, while his hand’s snaking down to your clit, swiping through the mess of your arousal.

“Give it to me, kitten, come on.” You feel it reverberating where his chest is pressed into your back, feel his breath hot against your skin.

He’s everywhere, all-encompassing, as the tension in your core pulls impossibly tighter. One more thrust, the angle different than before, and it snaps. You shatter with a scream, your nails sinking into his arm, your whole body trembling while your walls pulse around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

His own roar is dampened by the skin of your neck against his mouth as he grinds himself deeper, coating your insides with his release. Your hormones spike in reaction, pushing your own orgasm to new heights, until you’re nothing but pure bliss, almost boneless in his arms.

He holds you tightly, lets the aftershocks slowly subside while he whispers praises in your ear. How good you feel, how well you take him, how you were made for him. How much he loves you.

Never letting go of his hold on you, he slowly starts moving. Gently maneuvers you until you’re wrapped in blankets and his arms. A kiss on your forehead, another whisper of I love you.

“Do you think it’s gonna work this time?”

Your voice is quiet, muffled against his chest where your head rests. He traces your face gently with a fingertip, watches you lean into the touch.

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe.”

It’s bittersweet, imagining a family with you. You age slower, but not as slowly as him. God only knows how things would be for a child of yours.

“Picture it, though.” You beam up at him, your eyes shining so brightly that he has no choice but to smile back. “A tiny version of me. Or you.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a reblog or a comment. it absolutely makes my day every time and i'd love to know your thoughts!

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett smut #janas fics #wolverine fanfiction

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liliacamethyst · 2 years ago

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Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara (Part II)

Sequel to Web of Secrets

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.

Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.

You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”

“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.

“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.

The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.

Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.

And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.

So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.

As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.

You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.

Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”

But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.

He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.

“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.

“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”

“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.

The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.

You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.

“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.

“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.

You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.

You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.

"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.

Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.

As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.

Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.

You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.

In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.

"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.

"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”

He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.

"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."

He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.

"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."

"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.

You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."

“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.

“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”

“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”

“To be forgotten,” you whisper.

He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.” He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.

Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.

Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.

He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates.

Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.

But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.

But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."

"I know," he replies curtly.

Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"

“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.

There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.

Lyla, for once, remains silent.

3 months later…

Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.

For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.

The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.

The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.

He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.

Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.

In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.

As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.

His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.

“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.

“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.

“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.

“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.

Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."

"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.

“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.

“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.

“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.

“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.

The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.

You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”

She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."

You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.

"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.

You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.

"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.

You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."

Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."

You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.

"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"

Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.

"Strange how?" you prod.

"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.

"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.

"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”

Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.

“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.

You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.

Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.

You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”

4 months later…

Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.

“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.

“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.

Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.

“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.

“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”

You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.

You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."

Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”

“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.

“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.

“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.

You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.

Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.

As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.

Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"

Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."

“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”

With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.

1 year later...

One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.

At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.

Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 19-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.

Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;

Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.

“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.

Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”

Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.

Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.

“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”

You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.

In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.

“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.

“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.

Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.

Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.

“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.

Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.

Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.

Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.

Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.

Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”

Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."

Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.

"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."

Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?”

Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."

Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”

Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.

Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.

You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.

"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.

“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.

Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.

Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”

Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”

Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.

As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.

The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.

Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”

Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”

Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.

Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.

Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.

The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.

“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”

Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.

“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”

Part III "Web of Shadow and Light"

a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.

Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM

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hotwings0203 · 1 year ago

Text

Needed to get possessive alpha bakugo off my chest, ill prolly write a sequel to this tmrw cuz i got some ideas

Tw: noncon, omegaverse

thinking about childhood possessive bakugo who's pined for his omega since she joined the pack Time after time again since you were kids he'd always tried to get close to you, using a number of strange to threatening courting techniques. It was benign at first when you both were young, with him jumping up the large apple tree to get you the juiciest fruit you could never seem to reach, but when you two grew older and played together with the rest of the pack, his efforts seemed more...possessive.

He'd always single you out and force you to be on his team, following up with growling at you whenever you'd run more than a few paces in front of away from him. His sleek gold and black coat would brush up against you constantly, as if only touching you would satiate his desire for your proximity. Bloodred eyes would glare at you when you'd shyly back away at dinnertime, opting to sit away from his intense gaze.

Not like he'd let you get that far.

When it would come time for bathing with your sisters, somehow, everytime you'd be out of the loop and would end up being forced to wash yourself on your own in the cold water.

Little did you know your sisters were not-so-kindly encouraged to not communicate their congregation to you by a certain fiery alpha.

And so when everyone was by the fire, barking out laughter and telling stories of their weekly hunt, you'd sulk to the riverside by yourself, clutching your towel over your shivering body as youd sink closer in the shallow water.

You wanted to get it done as fast as possible so you could join your pack in merry-making, haphazardly scraping dirt off your paws and washing the crevices between your ears.

But as soon as you take a step towards the lush bank, you hear a heavy splash behind you.

You whip around, ears drawn back immeditaley after seeing the alpha who shamelessly follows you around like he's already claimed you.

"W-whatre you doing here? Everyone's by the..fire..." you trail off unsurely as his spiked-up wet mane shakes in laughter. His lack of concern for the reprimands he'll undoubtedly recieve for being this physically close to you send faint warning alarms at the back of your head. Usually he glowers at you and turns tail, but this is new.

"I thought the pack leaders told you to leave me alone," your lip wobbles as your tone borders on fear and indignation. Your brothers had always kept you safe from him, snarling and hiding you behind their tall legs whenever he was around. Bakugo never seemed to give up though, his own flashing teeth and sick grin mirroring their own worry pulled back from their lips.

"Yeah? But you're here though."

You swallow hard and hope he doesn't hear your whimper as you splash backwards towards the bank, but his low grumble of pleasure upon smelling your sweet fear-omones says otherwise. It proves to him that you're not as immune as your other brothers swear you are to protect yourself against him, theyre actually worried for a reason.

They know you'd never stand a chance against him.

And his muscles do ripple amid the water as he steadily stalks towards you, leering as he licks his canines and trains his eyes on your feeble form.

It seems like as fast as you flail backwards towards unseen safety, he advances twice as fast, and within seconds your back hits a hard and scratchy surface.

Bakugo chuckles a humorless laugh as you've nestled yourself in a nice, private corner away from the mainland where everyone can see you. You've backed both of you into an enormous concaved treetrunk, one that circles around 10ft and only one opening...

which you've trapped yourself in.

The roots of various plants that have grown inside this hollowed out trunk provide little cushion as you whimper and try to desperatley climb the walls.

"When are you gonna give up?"

His voice is low, raspy with mixed want and bitterness.

"S-stop, stay away from me or I'll call for h-"

"When are you gonna realize you can't escape me?" He harshly whispers right at your ear as he lunges toward you, causing you to squeal with terror.

He nips your soft ear and inhales your neck, craning his own to get a good look at the sensitive unclaimed part of your neck.

His hands grip your sides and mold the squishy parts as though they were dough, his greediness increasing exponentially as he lowers his drooling mouth to your ear and laves his wet tongue over the planes of your neck and shoulder.

You begin to shake and sob, never having been dealt with him actually touching you and being a victim to his lust. You've taken the protection of your brothers for granted, and oh how you wish you could softly howl out if you had the courage to ask for help.

But the blonde's presence itself is enough of a threat to your life and safety, that much being made clear as his hands grow claws, no doubt his physical appearance shifting from being so riled up. Your skin prick and cuts as his nails jab harder into you, his hands roaming up and down your back, feeling your hips and ghosting over the swell of your ass as well as chest.

You writhe against him which unbeknownst to you, pushes your naked chest out against his own shredded pecs, your pebbled nipples grazing his toned skin and practically making his eyes roll back in efforts not to pin you down and take you like his bitch.

"I just wanted to wash," your voice comes out pleading, and meek. You have no idea how he'll react to you being aggressive and defensive against his assault even if you had the courage to speak out against him.

"And I want to claim you as my omega," he growls directly in your ear, causing you to whine again and cower your head beneath his hounding mouth. "But I guess we'll both have to wait for what we want, huh?"

He knows you know.

You have to know.

Have to have known how badly he wants you, wants to hear your voice ring high with laughter like you do teasing your sisters, wants to hear your playful growls as you wrestle with your brothers who let you win just to see you swish your tail with prowess. He wants to feel you rest your head on his chest, wants to see you look up at him with security and ease, knowing that he's there to protect and love you.

But how can he explain that, with years of nothing but threatening looks and yards of distance between you two?

If it brings you familiarity and perhaps ease of seeing him as you've always thought to have known him, as a brute with nothing on his mind apart from taking you like an animal and conquering you, then he'll save the monologuing for later.

"After all," he heaves in the darkness of the seclusion, voicing his thoughts, "your birthday's coming up, right? You'll be of age to be claimed."

He thrusts his knee in between your trembling legs, pushing your shoulders down while following with his head and never letting his mouth rise above your unclaimed mark. You gasp as he begins grinding his knee in circles against your hooded clit, bouncing you lightly to evoke whatever sweet noises he can from your pursed lips.

You choke and sputter, suddenly grasping around his neck for leverage as you try to pull yourself up, but you're no match for him as it only serves to prove his point and enrage him from your constant rejection.

You can lie to him all you want, but your body never will.

"And trust me, little girl, when that cunt ripens for me to take, when that neck fucking sings for me to lay my mark-"

Your voice cracks into a howl as he takes one of his hands and squeezes the fat of your tit while the other spanks your jiggling ass on his knee, feeling whiplash from the onslaught of sensations.

"-I can promise you, there's no running. There's no cowering behind your brother's legs like some fucking baby, there's no using your sisters as an excuse to turn your face away from me."

Bakugo presses you tight against the wall, smothering you chest-to-chest with him and using the confined space to rut his naked erection against your thigh, his hips snapping forward and chasing years of needed release in your presence.

"I'll tie you down on my bed, face down ass-up and breed you as my bitch. I'll take you bent over and wrapped around me against every surface and floor of our secluded cave."

You blubber as you can feel yourself coming to a high, the water splashing obnoxiously at your humping against each other. In an effort to keep your pride, you try as hard as you can to grit your teeth and delay your orgasm, but he seems to catch on pretty quick.

"And then," he drops your tit and uses both hands to pry your asscheeks apart, impaling you impossibly closer down on the hard bone of his knee, your clit grating deliciously as his leg vibrates and flexes from moving you back and forth, up and down, any direction he can get your teeth to latch onto your lip and pussy clench on nothing.

"Then, you won't have to hide that pretty voice anymore. I'll get those years of silence back in exchange for your screams for help."

At this, he hugs you flush against the wall and himself as you shake from your orgasm, the water rippling at your reaction.

"So if I were you, I'd be grateful for any solitude from now on. Because you won't be getting it anymore."

#mha #bnha #tw: noncon #bnha yandere #mha yandere #yandere bakugo #yandere #bakugo #mha bakugo #bnha bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugo #tw omegaverse #omegaverse #alpha bakugou #alpha katsuki

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redheadspark · 7 months ago

Text

Here (Part Two)

Summary - Azriel stays by his mate's side, not knowing his family is rallying behind him to find out who attempting to kill his mate

Warnings - Mostly Angst

A/N - Part of the Ocean Eyes Series. I posted this as a sequel of Part One, which got insanely reactions! I am so glad you guys liked Part One and I hope you like Part Two!

Part Three Found Here

"What's the plan, Rhys?"

"I'm focusing more on my cousin's health and her life in the balance than dealing with her attacker."

"That's not where my head is,"

"Enlighten me then, Cassian,"

Cassian rolled his shoulders and eyed his High Lord as Rhysand was perched at his desk in his office, the sun setting over the rolling hills outside the River House, and the cooler air was blown onto the office with ease. Cassian leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and his head reeling with questions and scenarios that he wanted to figure out immediately. But Rhysand was remaining calm, too calm for the Illyrian Army Commander's liking. He considered the wounded Illryian who was asleep upstairs, his friend's mate, his family. Someone tried to hurt his family and take away his family, and Cassian was fuming from the inside out.

But he was also a changed Illyrian, just as Rhysand and Azriel were. They were all fathers now: Rhysand with Nyx, Azriel with Alec, and Cassian with his daughter Rose. His daughter, sweet and yet fiery Rose was a splitting image of her mother but had his infectious and playful heart. They all had offspring to protect and think about, no more rash decisions and acting out on a limb. The children had to come first, and Cassian was not willing to do anything that would bring his family harm. Azriel never did that himself, yet that led to Alec almost being killed as a toddler and Azriel's mate now in a bed upstairs hanging between life and death. Nesta would never let Cassian do anything like that, not just for Rose but for Nesta too.

Cassian was the one who found you first, sprawled on the forest floor bleeding from your wing and the arrow still hanging out of your wing. You both were out in the outline border of Velaris, Cassian getting a hunch that there were rogue beings there making their way across the border into Velaris territory. You on the other hand were meeting with some of the farmers and shopkeepers that lived in the cottages there to check on them and talk business in contributing to the Community Center.

Maybe it was fate that he was there and come enough to hear your scream out, but he knew your scream far too well from knowing you since you both were younglings. He flew towards the wail you let out, his heart hitting against his chest far too hard and thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Everything slowed down for him as he gathered you in his arms, you were out cold and the poison already working in your blood. He had to act quickly, time was of the essence, and your time was about to be snuffed out if he didn't get you help in time.

"The marks on the arrow," Cassian stated, reflecting on the arrow that was piercing your wing and sicking out so harshly that it sickened him to rethink it again, "We need to know where they came from so we get a hunch as to who did this,"

"I already have a big hunch, and I got in contact with the very High Lord that I'm thinking," Rhysand hummed, his cooldemeanor was hiding the anger he had. Cassian raised a brow at him as Rhysand rang his thumb over his fingers back and forth, a tactic he would use when he was thinking deeply, "High Lord Beron has been notified and is coming tonight,"

"What?" Cassian asked in shock, standing up stiffly and no longer leaning against the wall.

"He knows the utmost importance of this since it does involve my cousin…my fucking family," Rhysand said the last part in a low tone, not a growl but close enough, "We are going to meet at the Townhouse since I know both yourself and Nesta would rather not have the High Lord of Autumn Court in your home,"

Cassian snorted, then gave him a questioning look, "Does Elaine and Lucien know what happened?"

"Feyre reached out and told them to stay at their home here in Velaris for the time being. In fact, I don't want any of the Inner Circle going anywhere outside of Velaris until this is resolved once and for all. We either stay in our homes or at The House of Wind until I say so," Rhysand explained as his violet eyes looked out the window to see the last images of the sun still in the sky before it hid into the horizon.

"Is that an order?" Cassian asked, Rhysand’s eyes shot back to his Commander. Cassian, though tamer than he used to be when he was younger, was still reckless at heart at times. Something inside of him wanted him to find whoever did this and bring them pain. You were family to him, meeting him through Rhysand when he was a boy and considered him a brother of yours. His rational side was teetering to be pushed aside, and he was fine with it.

"I don't want another member of my family hurt, Cass. I consider you family, long before you became my brother-in-law. You need to think of your wife and daughter and that they need you," Rhysand explained to Cassian, seeing Cassian's eyes soften from the mention of Nesta and Rose, "We need to be smart about this, not reckless. I want you with me when we meet with High Lord Beron,"

Cassian hummed, knowing that Rhysand was right when it came to being reckless. He then gestured his head over to the doors that lead out of the office, "What about Azriel?"

"I don't want him anywhere else but with his wife, she's his priority now. And besides, I would rather not leave Azriel alone in the room with High Lord Beron. That's if Beron, or Autumn Court for that matter, did have something to do with this. He is not in the right frame of mind to be anywhere else,"

Cassian knew he was right about that too. The rage Azriel must be feeling at this moment, not knowing who in factharmed and attempted to kill his mate, must have been explosive. Cassian himself has been Azriel in such a way before, the anger that would fester deep down and be unlashed by either his shadows or his Truth Tellers. Cassian and strength behind him, but Azriel had something deeper.

Something more menacing.

"Alec is also staying here until his mother is well again, though he still doesn't know what precisely happened," Rhysand explained as he got up from his chair and walked around the desk to stand near Cassian with his arms folded in front of him, "I don't want Alec anywhere else but here, he's my nephew and he needs to be protected now more than ever. We all do, but epically him: someone is hunting his mother and father, and I won't let him become an orphan under my roof,"

"None of us want that, Rhys," Cassian reasoned with Rhysand, "He's secure and protected here with you and Feyre, and he's safe with his father, the safest he’ll ever be,”

"Which is why we need to be smart. For now, let's just focus on this meeting with Beron and making sure my cousin is comfortable and safe while she heals and come back to full health," Rhysand stated, then pausing as he gave Cassian a more cornered look, "How is Alec and Azriel now?"

"Alec's okay, he just misses his mother. As for Azriel…it's hard for him," Cassian confessed. Rhysand hummed and rubbed his eyes, already thinking of the next steps that were to come. The meeting tonight would be far too important, life-changing, and yet his cousin was still in the back of his mind and her health was his main concern.

All he could do now was hold onto his Inner Circle, his family, so close in hopes they wouldn't slip away.

"Alright, buddy. Time for bed, okay?"

"Ok, daddy,"

Azriel softly smiled as he watched his son hop into the massive bed he was going to sleep in, the guest room that wasacross from where you were still sleeping and still healing. He left the door slightly open, being able to see you from where he was in Alec's guest room as Alec was settling into his bed.

Alec was only told that his mother was sick, severely sick, and he was not able to see her. Of course, it confused him at first, not understanding that he wasn't able to see his own mother since he had seen her sick before, but he knew better than to question his father. Seeing Azriel looking worn down and defeated made Alec worry all the more.

But Feyre was a step ahead, making sure he was well fed at dinnertime and kept him busy with his cousin Nyx until it was time for him to go to bed. Still, his mother was in the back of his mind, wondering what was it that made his mother so sick. He missed his mother, hugging her and hearing her voice telling him goodnight. Azriel tried his best to be present with Alec, but his son caught onto something that was hidden from him.

Perhaps a trait he inherited from his father.

"Alec, I know this is different from what we're used to," Azriel explained to Alec, who was watching his father with his wide blue eyes as he was snuggled under the soft sheets of the bed, "But you are being such a trooper for going with the flow of it all. I promise you that things are going to go back to normal soon, okay? As soon as momma is all better, we'll go back to our house and things will be back to the way they were,"

"Is it going to be forever?" Alec asked tentatively as he searched his father's tired eyes. Azriel felt a twinge of pain that his son was still kept in the dark, so speak, when it came to what truly happened to his mother. The last thing Azriel ever wanted to do was to lie to his son like this, to have that trust broken at any moment.

"No, not forever, baby," He reassured Alec as he pushed the inky black hair out of his son's blue eyes, "This is not forever, I swear to you. You believe me?"

"Yes, Daddy," Alec replied, Azriel smiled at his son and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. He was about to leave his son to sleep, and as Azriel eased himself up from the bed, Alec spoke up again in a gentler tone. So gentle, that it sounded like the curtains were swaying in his room from the night breeze.

"Daddy, is momma gonna be okay?"

Azriel could have cried then, seeing his son watch him for an answer. Azriel never wanted this for his family, the fear of losing someone he loved and another person he loved was filled with fear and worry. Alec was only four years old, far too young for something like this to happen in his life. Nothing could prepare him for this: consoling his son and hoping that his wife would pull through.

Alec needed his mother, Azriel knew that deep down. There was no greater bond than Alec's bond with his mother, it was thick and filled with so much happiness and love. Inwardly, Azriel wanted that himself with his mother, and he did have that in the blink of a moment when he was young. To see his mate give that same love to his son was beyond rewarding.

Now his son, looking at his father with worry in his young eyes, was asking about his mother.

"Yeah…yeah she's gonna be okay," he reassured Alec. He had to give Alec hope, the hope that his mother would be herself again. Although he had very little hope, he would at least give some of that hope to his son. He leaned down and kissed his son one more time, "Get some sleep, okay? I'm gonna check on momma and come back to you, I love you,"

"I love you too, Daddy," Alec replied, then curled into the bed under the sheets as Azriel moved away. He felt like he needed to be in two places at once: with Alec and with you. Although you were sleeping and till healing, Alec needed you and needed your warmth. Azriel wished he could change it all, make you all better so you can hold your son. Yet as he watched Alec fall asleep, facing the window with a look of peace on his face, Azriel could breathe a bit easier.

He kept the door into the guest room open slightly, mostly in case Alec needed him as he walked silently across the hall into the room where you were in. Still asleep, facing the empty chair where Azriel was perched for the past few hours, the moon shining into your room to cast a bluish light along your still wounded wings. Azriel could even see the moonlight shine through the thin membrane of your wings, showing the veins and the damage from the Ash Arrow.

But the way you were snuggled against the body pillow, head against the soft pillow, and your long hair draped over your shoulder, you looked more peaceful than you did earlier when Azriel found you. Azriel sat down on the chair, taking in a long breath as he held his hands together in his lap and watched you. Your deep breathing, the softness that was now slowly coming back along your skin and your cheeks thanks to the medicine from Madja.

"I might be talking to myself here, but I hope you can hear me," Azriel said aloud in the room, his voice sounding a bit raw as he watched you in earnest, "But I need you to pull through and get better. I….I don't think I can do this without you. I won't have the strength to, no matter how hard I'll have to try. I need you, our son needs you. He needs his momma, and I…I don't wanna do this alone and without you."

He might have sounded silly since he was talking alone in the room, but then again he needed to get it off his chest. Bottling up all his fear that he's had for the past few hours, would have suffocated him. The only person he was ever safe to unload his feelings, to be open and exposed therapeutically, was the one who was asleep in front of him and unable to be fully present with him.

"I'm sorry I failed you and couldn't protect you," Azriel admitted, sinking a bit in his chair as he was fiddling with his fingers, Clutching them together tightly and refusing to let them go, "I promised you when we were mated that I would protect you, keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. I broke that promise, and I know I can never repair that,"

He thought that if you were awake, you would reprimand him for being hard on himself. Azriel could even hear it clearly in his mind, your kind voice scolding him for being immensely harsh towards himself. You've always helped him out of his moods and insecurities, including what he does and how he takes care of others around him. Azriel thought back to a talk that he had with you when Alec was still a young infant, he was voicing his worry about taking care of his family and if he was doing enough.

He needed you to bring him back to the light, and not have him hide in the darkness.

Azriel reached out and took your hands in his own, feeling the coolness of your skin and yet how soft they were. Healways loved your soft hands, a soothing balm against his calloused and scarred skin. He leaned down and kissed the back of your hand, his lips along your skin had you shift in your sleep and hum.

"Sleep and come back to me, come back to us. Your son and I need you more than anything, so I need you to get your strength and open those eyes for me when you're ready. I'm here when you wake up, I promise. I love you more than life itself, more than my own life, and if I could trade mine for yours then I would in a heartbeat. Just gather your strength, we'll be here waiting for you," Azriel proclaimed to you and your sleeping form. He did speak the truth: he would trade his life for yours since at times he felt you had more good for the world than he ever did.

Azriel cannot picture a world without you, without any of your beautiful traits or your tender heart.

Azriel heard it, almost like a whisper, as he was dead asleep with Alec cradled in his arms in the spare guest room. His arms were tucked around his son, who was snuggled against his father and snoring softly. It was so soft, like a breeze, which didn't disturb the Spymaster at first.

But it was also distinct, not the sound of the curtains fluttering next to the bed or the very soft ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle. This was a shutter of a whisper, and it was calling his name.

Azriel…..Azriel….

His shadows hummed, licking along Azriel's arms as he stirred a bit in his sleep. Alec was thankfully a deep sleeper and stayed in slumber, even though his father was feeling the sensation not just with his shadows but in his mind. It was a familiar voice, so familiar that maybe it was a trick of the mind as Azriel took in a long breath. But he heard it again, a pinch louder and his name being called out as if the source was so far away. Fighting through a fog that was thick and almost recognizable.

Azriel…Azriel…

Azriel was still asleep, but it was becoming more alert as the voice was getting a bit louder now in his mind. It was no longer a dream, it was something else, something familiar to him. So familiar like coming through the front door of the small little cottage where he lived, or flying amongst the cloud with his wings stretched. Even the familiar touch of your lips against his own made him feel safe.

But he finally heard it, and his eyes shot open on high alert.

Azriel….I'm here…

It was you, your voice, speaking through the bond.

You were awake.

To Be Continued….

A/N - Part three?!?! Let me know if you want a part three!

Tagging - @valeridarkness @impossibelle @acourtofbatboydreams @prettylittlewrites @fxckmiup @sizzlingstarlightsky @iluvyewman-blog @masbt1218 @a-courtof-azriel @homeslices @zanzie @topaz125

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cressidagrey · 4 months ago

Text

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 16

Summary:

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings:

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Making Out, Discussion of Sex, some very "human" ideas of sexuality, a quote from Bridgerton and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

"Sweetheart, she'll love you," Azriel assured his mate. Again.

He wasn't sure what it was about but the idea of visiting his mother for dinner had thrown Eira into a tizzy.

He had reasoned that he would rather not get another lecture from his mother about not keeping her updated on his life choices…and well…he didn’t want to tell her about their engagement in a letter. So dinner it was. Esmeray had seemed delighted when he had suggested it in his last letter.

He wasn’t worried about his mother disliking Eira at all. She had already adored her the first time they had met, so really…there was nothing that Eira needed to be worried about.

“How can you be sure that she’ll like me?” Eira asked again, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “She’s your mother and you are still her baby…” He held back a snort. 540 years later and yes, he supposed he still was her baby, but his mother knew that he could take care of himself. “Maybe she'll hate me…”

"You already met her, and she loved you," Azriel said drily. “I am pretty sure, she’s already preferring you over me,” he said, only half joking. Eira stared at him wide-eyed.

“But what if she…” He was trying really hard not to laugh at the expression on her face. Eira looked almost desperate, almost bordering on panic, her grey eyes wide with worry.

"She’ll love you,” Azriel Assured her again, in a gentle voice. “I promise you, my mother will love you. She’s utterly delighted that I found my mate. You could be half kelpie and she would still love you.“

Eira let out a low exhale, and he could practically see the anxiety and nervousness in her eyes as if she were imagining the worst-case scenarios.

"But what if... what if she doesn’t?" she repeated.

He could hear the worry in her words, and he knew that underneath the surface, there was blubbering something else. Something far older and deeper.

None of the Archeron Sisters ever really talked about their mother, but Azriel had been able to…patch a picture together of a woman for whom her daughters had been nothing but…nothing but pawns to marry off to the highest bidder.

Eira had felt lacking for a maternal figure once. She didn’t want a repeat of that, couldn’t have a repeat of that.

All he wanted to do was comfort her, to hold her, whisper reassurances in her ears.

“She will,” Azriel said again, taking her hands in his. “And I promise, I won’t leave your side. At all. The whole night. It’ll be fine, sweetheart.” He gave her hands a gentle squeeze, trying to reassure her, to help her calm down, even though she was practically quaking in front of him.

She let out a soft exhale, her hands trembling in his, and he could hear her heart racing far faster than it should be.

"Eira...it’ll be fine,” he repeated. “It’ll be just fine.”

Eira let out another exhale, her breath shuddering as her anxiety got the better of her, and he knew that this would go on for hours if he didn’t do something about it if he didn’t get her to calm down. Azriel let out a low, soft sigh, looking at her, her breathing quick and shallow, her skin pale, anxiety clear in her eyes.

He was going to have to use a different tactic.

"Come here, Sweetheart,” he said, using the nickname deliberately. Sweetheart. It tended to make her fluster, and he could see its effect on her. Her pale skin flushed, her cheeks turned a beautiful pink, and her breath caught in her chest, making her breathing a bit less ragged and desperate. She stepped closer to him and he leaned down to press his lips to hers. She sighed into the kiss, a hand curling into the jacket he wore.

He deepened the kiss slightly, gently running the tip of his tongue against her lower lip, and he could feel her hand's fist against his jacket, a low hum of pleasure escaping her as he pulled her against him, letting her feel the heat of his body against hers, letting her feel the hard planes of his chest, hoping the sensation would soothe her.

He brought a hand up to the side of her face, his palm cradling her cheek, her skin smooth and warm beneath his touch, and she exhaled against him, the sound soft and quiet. He knew that his tactic had worked. Her breathing had slowed, her skin wasn’t as pale as it had been a moment prior, and the sound of her racing heart had finally quieted…

And her scent had gone heavy with arousal. He could smell it on her. He wished he could bath in her scent...in that thick and heavy sweetness.

Gods, she smelled divine, the scent of her desire making him practically lightheaded. Something hot and delicious coiled in him, a need to touch her, to taste her, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from giving in to the impulse…

He let his hand run down from her face, trailing his fingers along the line of her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin, and she shivered beneath his touch, a soft gasp escaping her. He smirked, his breath coming faster at her response, and he let his fingers trail lower, tracing the sensitive skin of her collarbone, feeling the gooseflesh as her skin reacted to his touch.

She leaned towards him, her body yearning, practically begging to be touched, but he couldn’t. Not right now, not when he could smell the arousal in her scent, not when he was so close to losing control, and he had to remind himself that they were still in the hallway of the River House, that she had been nervous just a few breaths ago, that they had somewhere they had to be tonight...

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, his voice a low growl as he spoke. “Another time,” he promised, and he would keep that promise. She let out a low whimper at his words, a shiver passing through her body at his tone, and he could practically feel the effect his simple word had on her.

"Another time?" she asked, her voice shaky.

“Another time,” he repeated, low and firm, and he had to force himself to pull away slightly, taking a step back from her, to give her some space, to give himself a moment to recover from her scent, her body, her response.

"We have a dinner to attend, sweetheart," he told her quietly. "Are you dressed warm enough? Illyria is rather cold this time of the year."

She nodded, her face still flushed, her skin still warm, and he could still smell the desire in her scent.

"Yes, I got a cloak as well," Eira said quickly, and just seconds later the shadows wrapped her in a dark cloak, only to then wrap the fur shrug around her as well.

His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her wrapped up in that pelt, a soft, possessive satisfaction coursing through him at the sight of the fur shrug wrapped around him, a clear announcement to the world that she was his.

He offered her his arms and wrapped her in shadows. It was easy enough to winnow them both to Rosehall, to throw them through the wards he had placed on his mother's cottage centuries ago.

They rematerialized just in front of the cottage, and Azriel had a moment to take in the building in front of him. The cottage was the same, warm firelight in the windows, the front porch with just as many plants as his mother had always had. It was so, familiar, so unchanged that it felt like no time had passed since he’d last seen the cottage.

The door opened but instead of his mother standing in the doorway, it was Garvan. One of his mother’s oldest friends. Also, one of the first inhabitants of Rosehall as it was now, a haven for displaced Illyrians.

“Ah, Azriel!” Garvan greeted him brightly, his mouth pulling into a smile, crooking the scars that covered one half of his face completely. There was only one sole wing that limply laid at his side and he used a cane to get around, but all of that had never stopped him from being an optimist. “Your mother has been waiting for you.”

Azriel smiled in greeting, something warm and light and fond at the sight of Garvan, a familiar sense of affection welling up in him at the sight of the older man. "Garvan," Azriel greeted him, "It's good to see you."

“Likewise,” Garvan said, his smile widening, his good wing fanning slightly in greeting. “And who is your lovely lady?” His gaze went to Eira, who hovered just behind Azrael, her grey eyes taking in the sight of Garvan and the cottage.

"This is Eira," Azriel introduced her, his hand instinctively wrapping around her again, pulling her closer to him. "Eira, that's Garvan."

Garvan nodded in greeting, his smile turning soft as he looked at her, and Azriel could practically hear the questions the older male was asking in his mind, but instead, he said, "Don’t keep Esmeray waiting."

He gave Garvan a quick nod, and the man stepped aside, moving out of the doorway so Azriel and Eira could step into the cottage, into the warmth of his mother's home…

The first thing he noticed was the fire burning in the fireplace, flames dancing behind the grate, casting the entire room in a warm, orange light, and the second thing he noticed was the sight of his mother, standing in the little clearing between the kitchen and the living room.

There was a smile on her face as she took him in, grey eyes bright with warmth and affection, and he felt a sudden lump in his throat at the sight of her. She looked so young, her long black hair unbound, tumbling over her back like a river of ebony, her skin still smooth and lovely. Of course, she looked so young. She had been half a child when she had had him. Not that she had a choice in that matter.

"Azriel!" she greeted him, her excitement apparent. "Did you decide to finally honour me with your presence once again?" And there was her dry humour, as his mother came to hug him tightly. "At least this time you brought your mate, properly," she muttered under her breath, already yanking Eira into a surprising hug, squashing the flowers, Eira had insisted they bring along to his mother.

"Eira, so lovely to see you again. You look...less traumatised," his mother said drily.

Azriel let out an amused breath at his mother's bluntness, and he could see a wave of panic pass over Eira's face at the unexpected hug. But his mate managed a nervous laugh a moment later, "I do feel less traumatised," Eira said with another laugh. "I…We…We brought you flowers," Eira said quietly, thrusting a bouquet of dahlias in his mother's direction.

"How thoughtful of you," his mother said, her voice warm as she took the flowers from Eira, "And dahlias as well. My favourite. Though I imagine Azriel didn’t tell you that, did he?"

Eira's eyes widened slightly, and Azriel had a feeling that she had no idea his mother's favourite flowers were dahlias, she had picked them purely on instinct.

She looked up and waved them both in further. "Come take a seat. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes."

"Can I help with anything?" Eira asked immediately, and Azriel couldn't stop the soft smirk that tugged at his lips, the sense of affection in his chest warming as he heard the question. His mother let out a soft laugh, taking the question in stride.

"Not the slightest need," Esmeray told her, a kind smile on her face. "Azriel, however, can make himself useful and bring us some wine."

"I...uh, I don't drink," Eira blurted out. "Alcohol and I...really don't get on," she said with a grimace.

His mother looked at Eira considering, her eyes looking over her thoughtfully before nodding. "Fair enough," Esmeray said, not looking the slightest bit offended. "No wine then."

Azriel let out a small sigh of relief at that, feeling how Eira relaxed next to him slightly as well, and he saw the hint of a twinkle in his mother's eyes as she said, "Azriel can make us tea instead then."

"Sounds perfect," Azriel said, rolling his eyes. It was almost too easy, the sense of familiarity and comfort as he sat in his mother's cottage, and he found himself loving the moment, the way Eira slotted in so perfectly with his mother, no awkwardness between them. No, instead his mother had already pulled Eira into a conversation as she began to arrange the flowers into a vase, and Azriel left them to it, going into the kitchen to make the tea.

He found himself listening in on the conversation going on in the living room. He could still hear Eira's nervous tone, but even that was slowly disappearing, replaced by a relaxedness instead. By the time he went back to the living room, a tray with a pot of tea and a handful of teacups in his hands, Eira was laughing softly about something his mother said.

"And tell me, has the kitten gotten used to her new home?" his mother asked.

"She has," Eira confirmed, and Azriel put the tray down on the low table, taking a seat next to Eira, close enough to brush his leg against hers, just to feel that sense of connection, that closeness. "She has gotten quite comfortable in fact," Eira continued, a small smile tugging at her lips as she spoke. "Especially sitting on Azriel's lap."

"Snow is the most spoiled cat on this side of the ocean," Azriel agreed with a laugh.

Esmeray smiled in satisfaction, a twinkle in her eyes as she said, "Good. She seemed to be awfully taken with you so when Azriel asked for her for your birthday, I couldn't refuse."

Azriel smiled at that, unable to keep the fond, warm feeling those words gave him, the small wave of gratitude that went through him at his mother's actions. Snow had been the perfect gift, and clearly one that Esmeray had approved of as well.

"She does follow Eira everywhere," he said, and it wasn’t the least bit of an exaggeration. The little white ball of fur would never hesitate to demand Eira's attention, rubbing her face against her whenever possible.

"She's a demanding creature," Eira said with a soft, fond laugh. "She will sit on my lap and demand my attention until I give in." Azriel smiled as she spoke, the words so true. The way Snow could turn into a demanding little monster that would sit on Eira's lap for hours and demand her attention until she caved and started giving the cat head scratches... was adorable to see...

"Sounds like a cat," Azriel's mother agreed with a laugh, a warm expression on her face as she watched them. But there was a hint of something else in her expression as well, something almost…knowing, and Azriel had a feeling that his mother was seeing more than she was letting on. She was watching them, not just a little, but intently...

And then her eyes caught on Eira's hand, wrapped around the teacup, her ring on full display.

Azriel watched as his mother's gaze went to Eira's ring, watched as a slight twitch in her face revealed that she noticed it instantly. Esmeray’s eyes narrowed, her expression growing sharp, and Azriel had a feeling that he was holding his breath as he waited, as it felt like everything hinged on what his mother's response would be...

"Didn't I tell you to write me letters if anything life-changing happened in your life?" his mother asked him, her voice dry.

"I did," he said, the words sounding weak, and he heard his mother let out an exasperated huff at his answer.

"Azriel, writing letters to me once every decade does not count as writing letters when things happen in your life," Esmeralda all but chided him, her tone as unimpressed as her expression, and Azriel had a feeling her critical gaze would be focused on him if it wasn't for the fact that she was still eyeing Eira's hand with her ring. "You could have at least given me a forewarning!" his mother continued to chastise him. "Just a heads up would have been enough! I would have gotten out the champagne!"

"And leave the element of surprise out of the picture?" Azriel asked with an attempt at a charming smile, and he saw his mother roll her eyes at him in response.

"I can see you still haven't lost your penchant for dramatics, son," his mother said with a slight huff, but he saw the smile that threatened to pull at her lips, that hinted at her amusement at his words, and he knew the lecture was more for show than anything. "Tell me, Eira has my son at least asked you properly?!"

Eira's eyes widened slightly at the question, and Azriel could see the hint of nervousness flit over her face momentarily before he saw her face brighten a moment later, a small, giddy smile pulling at her lips. "He did. It was very romantic," she confirmed.

Azriel's mother let out another huff at that, shaking her head slightly even as a clear wave of satisfaction rolled over her expression. "At least my son has some basic manners," she said, and Azriel rolled his eyes, even as he felt a wave of relief at his mother's reaction. "You are making some progress, son. Thank you for taking pity on him though, Eira."

Eira snorted out a laugh, a hand covering her face. "I wouldn't call it a pity," Eira managed to bring out between giggles, and Azriel's head snapped in her direction and for a small moment it was almost too much, the sheer warmth twisting in his chest...

And his mother outright grinned in response, clearly delighted by Eira's words.

"Maybe not pity," Esmeray agreed, grinning widely. "But, at the very least, you have chosen to put up with his... oddities. Congratulations to you for that, Eira." Her tone was dry as she spoke, but there was no mistaking the hint of real approval underneath, the affection for Eira shining through.

Azriel let out a huff, rolling his eyes, despite the warm, fond affection still twisting in his chest. "Hey," he protested, without any real heat, his words falling on deaf ears as both of the women simply ignored his protest.

"Now, have you already set a date for the wedding?" his mother said briskly.

Azriel felt a wave of panic rush through him at the question, his eyes widening as he took in the hopeful, expectant look in his mother's eyes, and he was suddenly reminded of all the wedding plans they hadn't made yet. "Uh…" was all he managed to say, words failing him temporarily.

"Sometime after Winter Solstice at the Temple on the grounds of Rhys and Feyre's estate," Eira saved him.

Esmeray's eyes went from Azriel's to Eira’s and her entire face brightened immediately. Clearly, the answer had been exactly the sort of thing his mother had been hoping for, and she looked practically delighted, her eyes almost shining. "What a lovely location to have a wedding," she said with a soft, pleased hum. , and Azriel almost felt like blushing under her clear approval, feeling a mixture of flustered and fond. Esmeray looked over to Eira a moment later, a small, sly smile on her face as she leaned forward slightly as if to tell a secret. "And what about the dress?" she asked, and Azriel knew, even without looking, that her expression was full of clear delighted expectation as she spoke.

"Oh, I am making that myself," Eira answered easily like that was absolutely normal to do. Like Feyre and Rhys hadn’t both offered up every tailor Velaris had to offer, but Eira had refused it all. She wanted to make her own.

If the expression on his mother's face had been bright before, it was positively radiant now, Esmeray, eyes shining with an almost childish delight. "Are you?" she said, her voice filled with pleased disbelief. "You are a seamstress?"

Just like she was, just like Rhys' mother had been.

"I'm self-taught," Eira confirmed with a short, soft laugh, and Azriel found himself taking in her profile, the fond affection in his chest twisting even harder, even stronger, at the way his mother's eyes practically lit up at her words, Esmeray's face positively glowing in response.

They didn't really need him after that anymore, swapping ideas and tips, and Eira asking his mother question after question about Illyrian clothing and customs and Esmeray happily answering. And Azriel...well, he was just happy that the two most important females in his life got along so very well.

***

"Why is it green?" Nesta asked her, pursing her lips.

"Because it's my first attempt," Eira said quickly. "I figured if I hate it, at least I didn't use the good fabric," she said with a shrug. "It's still wearable, so I didn’t waste any fabric and I can figure out if I want to change anything..." She stared at the dress in the mirror, mustering it. Granted it looked nothing like a wedding dress right now. It was green cotton, and she stared at the long sleeves that covered her from shoulder to wrist, the neckline that dipped just low enough…

“And you are sure you want to make it yourself?” Feyre asked. “We can still go to a tailor and have it made, so you don’t have all the stress.”

Not that there was so much stress. The wedding had come together quickly, with a single 2-hour-long meeting about setting a date a few days after Winter Solstice and them telling the florists the flowers they wanted, snowdrops, the one thing Azriel seemed to have an opinion about it and that pretty much had been it.

Granted, they were invited less than a dozen people, with just the inner circle and Azriel’s mother in attendance, but that suited Eira and Azriel just fine.

Quite frankly, both of them would rather spend their time furnishing their house than plan a huge wedding and invite people they had nothing to do with.

Though granted, of them all, the shadows were definitely having much fun terrorizing the workers at the house and showing up constantly with one thing or another that they bought. Eira was kinda worried about what they were going to do once the house was inhabitable and they didn’t need 3 more carpets from Sangravah like the shadows had bought her the day before.

"No," Eira said firmly, the thought of wearing someone else's wedding dress making uneasiness twist in her stomach, her own skin itching at the thought. "I want to make it myself," she said, and she could practically feel Feyre looking her over, studying her expression…

“Maybe widen the skirt a little,” Feyre suggested as she nodded. “It’s your wedding. If there is ever an occasion to go over the top, that probably is it.”

Eira pursed her lips as she looked at the skirt, eyeing the way the fabric fell over her legs, and she had to admit, Feyre was right. "You think it's too narrow?" she asked, and she saw Feyre shrug in her mirror.

"Whatever you'll make will be beautiful," Nesta assured her. "Besides, you could wear a potato sack and Azriel would still want to take it off at the end of the night," she said with a grin.

She swallowed at that, fingers fiddling with the hem at one of the sleeves.

And that...that the other thing that was making her feel...nervous. The wedding...she wasn't nervous about it. She wanted Azriel as her husband. She wanted to marry him.

But the wedding night...

"He would," Feyre agreed with a laugh, and Eira felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

"Please tell me you aren't still worried that he doesn't want you like that," her younger sister teased her. “He looks at you like he wants to devour you."

She could nearly feel the icy fear that shot through her at that.

Devour her? Devour her? What did that even mean?!

"N-no," she said quickly, the word coming out fast as her cheeks burned. "I'm not." she swallowed hard, the thought of being devoured running through her head, and a wave of nervous fear rushed through her...

It wasn't that she didn't want to be...close to him. She...did. She wanted the press of his body against hers, that warm, heavyweight. She liked his kisses.

But...the idea of Azriel devouring her... She shouldn't be wanting this. She shouldn't be... a wife was supposed to do her duty. That's what it was about. And she shouldn't get a sense of enjoyment out of it. She shouldn't wonder how...sharing a bed with him would feel. She should...

She should simply go through with her duties, like a good, dutiful wife. Nothing else mattered, and she tried to remember that. Tried to remember what a wife was supposed to do...

But it didn't change how...how she felt. She didn't have the words for it, didn't understand this tangled, hot mess of thoughts in her head, this want that didn't make sense...

"What's wrong?" Feyre asked, and Eira jumped slightly as if she had been snapped out of a trance. She was still looking at herself in the mirror, and she realised that Feyre was studying her, watching her with a look that bordered on knowing.

"Wrong?" Her voice sounded high-pitched, slightly strangled, and Eira swallowed. "What could be wrong?" She asked, forcing herself to sound calm, trying to ignore the tangled mess inside her chest, the way her heart was beating too hard, too fast.

"I don't know," Feyre said, a hint of teasing in her voice as she spoke. "Why don't you tell me? You look like you're having a crisis."

"I'm not," Eira protested, and the words sounded false even to her own ears. And Feyre was looking at her, her sharp, observant eyes studying her intently, a faint frown on her face as she watched her...

"Are you worried about the wedding night?" Feyre asked suddenly, and the words hit her like a punch. The air was punched out of her lungs as Feyre spoke, and she found herself staring at Feyre's expression, her eyes wide.

"No!" she protested too quickly, her voice coming out in a high-pitched, strangled tone, high enough that she was sure both Feyre and Nesta were able to hear the lie in her words.

Feyre eyed her, that little frown not leaving her face, the knowing look in her eyes clearly not convinced.

"You are," she said, and there was a hint of amusement in her voice as if Feyre was having the time of her life watching her fumble, watching her try to deny the fact that she was dreading the wedding night. "You are worried about the wedding night," Feyre repeated, the hint of teasing in her voice making Eira's cheeks heat up even further…

"I'm not," she protested again, but the words sounded even weaker than the first time, even more fake than before. And Feyre's eyes were still on her, studying her, and Eira was sure Feyre knew, she was sure Feyre could see it written all over her face...

"Don't worry, Azriel has 500 years of practice," Nesta said drily.

She didn't...she didn't want to know what kind of 'practice' Nesta was referring to. Her heart began to race in her chest at the thought, and her face was burning, and she could still feel Feyre's eyes on her...

"You will be fine," Feyre assured her gently, and Eira could hear the hint of amusement in her voice. She could see the hint of a smirk pull at her lips, and as if to add insult to injury, Nesta let out a snort of laughter beside her.

"I-I know," Eira said quickly, and she was horrified to realise that her voice nearly trembled at the words. She could hear the way her pulse was pounding in her ears, could hear Feyre's voice echo in her head... 500 years of practice...

"Then what's the matter?" Feyre asked her, still that hint of amused teasing in her voice, and the urge to tell Feyre to shut up almost overwhelmed her. Instead, she clenched her teeth and forced her expression to remain neutral...

"There isn't anything the matter," she protested firmly, but her voice still trembled slightly, and Eira could see Feyre raise her eyebrows at her, clearly not convinced. She could feel Nesta's gaze on her on her side, and she knew that she saw right through her lie as well...

"Really," Feyre said, her voice sceptical, drawing out the word. "You're not at all worried about the wedding night, even after Nesta just told you that Azriel had 500 years to practice...whatever it is he likes to do between the sheets?" Feyre teased, a smirk pulling at her lips, and Eira felt her cheeks flush a darker red...

"No- I- That doesn't matter-!" she protested quickly, and she didn't want to know what Azriel had been practising, how many years worth of experience he had, how many females he had bedded, and it didn't make a single difference- Right?

"Then why are you so nervous?" Feyre asked her, her voice still dripping with amused teasing. "You have nothing to be worried about. All you have to do is marry an incredibly handsome male who is absolutely mad at you and who can't keep his hands off of you. Whatever is there to be nervous about?"

Heat shot through her entire body at Feyre's words, and her heart was nearly beating out of her chest. Eira didn't have the words. Didn't have the words to explain the twisted mess of nerves and anxiety and...excitement...in her stomach at Feyre's words, at the thought of Azriel's hands on her…

Didn't have the words to explain...that she had no clue what even happened between a wife and a husband.

"Have you ever...done it before?" Feyre asked suddenly, the question making a wave of heat shoot into her cheeks at the bluntness of the question. But before she had the chance to answer, Feyre added, "And don't lie to me," her eyes narrowed as she spoke.

"Of course not!" Eira exclaimed. When should she…when should she have had any man?

She heard Nesta's soft chuckle at her side, and for a moment, Eira wondered if Feyre was about to give a teasing response, but her younger sister suddenly got quiet. There was a moment of silence as she studied her, and her face was suddenly...serious.

"Have you ever...kissed him?" Feyre inquired, and Eira went stock still.

"Of course I-" Her protesting voice cracked slightly, and a moment later, Feyre's eyes widened. Even Nesta started looking at her in surprise, and Eira swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her voice even. "O-of course I have," she continued. "Why...why would you even ask that...?"

She saw Feyre's look of surprise grow even wider still, and the way her gaze flicked to Nesta's, who was looking at her just as stunned. "Why...?" Feyre asked, and her voice was filled with both disbelief and amusement. "Just...how often have you kissed him?"

The question made another wave of heat shoot up her neck, and Eira swallowed again, forcing herself not to let her anxiety show. "I-" she said, faltering. "I-I don't know," The words sounded even weaker than she had thought was possible, and she could hear both Feyre and Nesta hum in response.

"Come on, think," Feyre instructed, still studying her with that look of disbelief on her face.

"A dozen times? Maybe?"

"A dozen times?" Feyre repeated, her voice filled with amused disbelief, and the sound made Eira's cheeks burn even hotter. "That's it? You have kissed your fiancé a dozen times?"

"Is that...is that not enough?" Eira heard herself ask, the words making both Feyre and Nesta raise their eyebrows further, and she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole at the looks on their faces.

"Not enough?" Feyre repeated a hint of laughter in her tone. "Eira, you're getting married. If anything, it's...not nearly enough, to say the least," she quipped, and that...that made her flush with heat again.

"Are you telling me...you have never gone further than that?" Feyre inquired a moment later, and Eira's whole face burned with an intense heat.

"I-what does-what does it matter?" She stuttered, the words stumbling over her tongue and her heart nearly exploding.

"...You do know what...how sex works, right?" Nesta asked her, her voice even. "Like the mechanics. You..."

"Of course, I know the mechanics!" She exclaimed, and a moment later, she realised that the protest had come a little too quickly, sounding a little too defensive. The look on Nesta's face made her feel as if she might as well have admitted that she didn't know.

"You do?" Feyre asked, and Eira wasn't sure how she was able to continue to look at them, with how furiously her cheeks were burning.

"Y-yes," she affirmed, the word coming out almost like a whisper.

"Well," Feyre said, a smirk pulling at her lips, "care to elaborate on what you know, Eira?"

Eira felt like all the air had been pulled out of her lungs at the question, the panic inside her chest suddenly exploding. "I...I..." She stuttered, her mind frozen, going completely blank. Say something say something say something a panicked little voice in her head shouted, but she didn't have the faintest idea as to what to say. Her heart was beating like a drum, her face burning like someone had lit it on fire, and all she could do was gape at Feyre...

"You...don't know," Feyre said with a mixture of disbelief and amusement in her voice. "You...you have no idea how males and females even work." Eira could practically feel Nesta's gaze on her, and judging by the look on Feyre's face, Nesta's was not the only disbelieving look directed at her.

"Of course...of course I know, I-" Her voice cracked slightly at the words, and she knew she was starting to sound ridiculous, knew that if Azriel was here, he would be looking at her with something akin to disbelief on his face at how completely idiotic she was being… "It's not proper to talk about this," she whispered, her voice weak.

"Not proper?" Feyre repeated a note of disbelief in her voice. "Eira, you are getting married. Talking about this...it comes with the territory." Eira felt as if a wave of cold had washed over her, and when she met Feyre's gaze, she saw something like...was that...pity in her eyes?

"Have you...not talked to Azriel about this at all?" Feyre inquired, and even pity sounded better than the disbelief mixed with...with horror that had crept into her voice.

"I wasn't aware that there was anything we needed to talk about," Eira said weakly. "I'll lay back and think of my duty and somehow babies come out of that as a result."

She wasn't sure what reaction she had expected from Feyre at her words, but for her younger sister to nearly fall off the bed in shock hadn't been among them. "You...you thought that-" Feyre gasped out, her voice strangled by a mixture of shock and...and disbelief.

"What...what else was I supposed to think?" Eira heard herself protest weakly, and she was horrified to realise that tears pricked at her eyes. Something about Feyre's pitying look made her insides twist, and the way her lips were parted in shock made an ugly feeling twist in her stomach...

"Well...for once, the most basic of information on how a baby is made." Feyre finally managed to get out, her voice still sounding absolutely shocked, and when Eira chanced a look over at Nesta, she nearly wanted to crawl under a rock. The look on Nesta's face could only be described as horrified disbelief, mirroring what was on Feyre's face so perfectly it was almost uncanny...

"Maybe we should call Madja," Nesta suggested drily.

"We absolutely do not need to call Madja," Eira protested quickly, and the thought of having to explain this...this mortification to a healer of Madja's experience made her want to die.

"We should," Feyre suddenly spoke up, and a note of determination had crept into her voice. "The fact that you're getting married and going to sleep in a bed with a male and you had no clue what actually...how the entire thing even works - you should have been told long before this."

Eira's heart immediately went into overdrive. "No," she protested firmly, her voice rising, "I swear to the cauldron, if I don't even know how it works I definitely don't want to have to have Madja explain it to me!"

Another wave of heat shot through her body at the thought, and Eira almost wanted to cover her ears and pretend this entire, mortifying conversation wasn't even happening. "Maybe Azriel then," Feyre suggested, and Eira could have sworn she heard Nesta snort out a laugh in response.

"Azriel?" Eira repeated, her voice high. "You want me to...ask my fiance to explain how babies are made?"

"As opposed to having a healer explain, I have a feeling you might fare much better with your future husband," Feyre said, and there was a note of dry humour in her voice.

“Given that he’s the one with which you are going to do all the baby-making,” Nesta snorted. “Alternatively, we can explain things to you, but you are looking like you want to run away.”

"I'm not-" Her voice cracked, and her whole body trembled slightly. She knew by the looks on Feyre and Nesta's faces that there was no way she would be able to deny how utterly flustered she was. No way to deny how utterly humiliating this conversation was.

"Well we certainly can't send you to your wedding night not knowing a single thing," Feyre said firmly, and there was no hint of humour in her voice anymore. Her eyes were focused on her intently, studying her like a hawk, and Eira knew there was no way out. No way out of the mortifyingly awkward, horrifying, humiliating situation...

"I can...I can figure it out on my own," Eira protested weakly, and she heard Nesta snort out a laugh again.

"There's no escaping this," Nesta told her firmly, the hint of command in her voice. "We're going to talk about this, no matter how flustered and uncomfortable it makes you. It's much better that someone explains things to you than you go into your wedding night completely unprepared."

"How-how do you even..." Eira started quietly, and she hated the way her words were almost a whimper, hated the way her voice trembled slightly.

How do you even begin to explain this?

"Why don't you start by sitting down," Feyre suggested drily, her voice still firm.

Slowly, with trembling legs, Eira sat down on the bed, and she was unable to look at Feyre in the eyes.

"Good start," Feyre said, and there was a note of dry humour to her voice. "Now...take a deep breath, and relax."

Eira took a deep breath, trying to force her body to relax for once, and it took nearly every last ounce of her energy. She couldn't relax, not with the way she was trembling inside, shaking with a mixture of mortification, humiliation, and nervousness...

“Good advice for your wedding night as well,” Nesta said drily. “Relax. Sex is supposed to be fun.”

No, it wasn’t. It was her wifely duty and nothing more and the fact that she wanted more than simply kiss Azriel was already….

“Grandmama would kill us all,” Eira blurted out.

"Grandmama?" Feyre repeated, and if she was surprised by the sudden outburst, there was no hint of it in her voice. The sound of her grandmother's name was enough to make Eira instantly flinch, and even Nesta shot her a look from the side...

”Please tell me you don’t believe whatever utter bullshit she may have said to you,” Nesta seethed. “What did she tell you, Eira?”

“That whatever happens in a marriage is my wifely duty to carry?” Eira said weakly

"That's complete bullshit," Feyre protested at once. "Your so-called duty is not to simply lie back and do what's required of you. You're allowed to...to enjoy yourself. You do know that, right? Please tell me you know that..."

"I-I-" Eira tried to protest once more, and the words caught in her throat again. You're allowed to enjoy yourself...

The words repeated themselves in her mind, and something deep and hot stirred within her, heat shooting out through her veins, burning hotter than flames...

"Eira?" Feyre's voice was soft this time, with no hint of command or sternness in her voice anymore. "Please...please tell me you know that you don't simply have to lie back and let...let that happen. You are allowed to enjoy yourself...you know that, right?" She repeated, her eyes intent on her, studying her.

"I...I..." Her voice was little more than a whisper, her heart hammering so fast that she was surprised it hadn't beaten itself right out of her chest.

It was too much, too much to comprehend right now, to comprehend that she was allowed the enjoy what happened between a husband and a wife. You are allowed to enjoy yourself...

"You are allowed to have fun," Feyre said again, and there was a hint of determination in her voice. "You can enjoy yourself....and Azriel will do everything in his power to make sure you do..."

Another wave of heat shot through her body at Feyre's words, and her mind froze, her thoughts suddenly coming to a screeching halt. Enjoy herself...

Enjoy herself, with Azriel - Her heart slammed so hard against her ribs that she was surprised she didn't break all of them.

The image of Azriel flashed through her mind like lightning, and a wave of heat shot out from the very thought of him touching her, caressing her…

"Breathe," Nesta suddenly said, and Eira hadn't even realized she had started to forget to breathe.

"In and out," Feyre instructed, her voice still gentle. "Slow, deep breaths, Eira." Eira obeyed, and slowly, her heart rate started to return to some semblance of normal.

"Good," Feyre said at once. Now...if you allow it, I think it's time we explained some basic...anatomy."

The words made another wave of heat rush up her spine, and Eira let out a shaky breath. "A-anatomy...?" She repeated, her voice a strangled whisper.

"Basic male and female anatomy for starters," Feyre said, her voice still firm, even if she did take a more gentle tone than before. "The different...parts, as it were."

Another wave of heat shot to her cheeks at the matter-of-fact way Feyre spoke, and a moment later, something inside her crumbled, and collapsed.

"I...I have no clue what different parts you're even talking about," she mumbled, the confession burning on her tongue like hot coals...

"Not a single part?" Feyre inquired, and once more, there was no judgment, no condemnation in her voice.

Only an honest question, one that Eira knew she had to answer.

"No," she admitted after a moment. "I have not even the faintest idea..."

"You...you don't know anything about Azriel's anatomy?" This time, Feyre couldn't quite keep the surprise out of her voice, and an image of Azriel's bare chest flashed through Eira's mind without her even meaning to picture it.

A wave of heat shot up her spine at the thought, and Eira shook her head mutely. "No...I don't," she admitted, her voice strangled, and at the side, she swore she could hear Nesta snort out a breath as if this were something to laugh at. "We are going to need a...visual aid," Nesta announced before either Eira or Feyre could say another word.

“Shadows, could you make yourself useful and bring me the book from my nightstand? And then please leave us alone for the rest of the afternoon.”

There was a flutter of dark shadows in the corner of the room, and after a long moment, more shadows appeared again, one of them holding a single, slender book out for Nesta to take...

“What kind of book is that?” Feyre asked carefully.

Nesta snorted. “It’s a…sex book,” she admitted drily. “With the most adventurous positions you can imagine.”

Another wave of heat shot through Eira at Nesta's words, and for a moment, her thoughts stopped completely.

Positions? What kind of positions?!

"With pictures?" Feyre inquired, and the disbelief was more than obvious in her tone of voice.

"A lot of pictures," Nesta said, her voice still dripped with dry humour. "I don’t think there’s a single position the author hasn’t found a way to put into a drawing…”

"You...you really read that...that thing?" Eira was horrified to hear that her voice was strangled, the words coming out of her mouth in a high-pitched whine...

“Cassian and I get bored sometimes,” Nesta said with a shrug.

"You...you read that thing when you get bored ?" Eira asked, her voice strangled. Just the thought of Nesta and Cassian reading...reading those things, doing... position in the drawings…

"Sometimes the pictures give us... ideas," Nesta said drily, and once more, Eira could have sworn she heard someone chuckle. "Cassian is nothing if not adventurous."

"I don't...I don't need to know that," Eira protested, her face once more flushing a deep red at the thought of Cassian and Nesta together. Doing...what, she didn't even dare to imagine...

"No, probably not," Nesta said in something that sounded like agreement. "However, with the way you react to every mention of anything sexual, I think the pictures in this book might just give you a whole new understanding of the...mechanics."

Another wave of heat shot down Eira's back at the words, and once more, a shiver of nerves shot through her at the thought of...of the pictures. "Mechanics...what do you…I..." she started to babble.

"Calm down," Nesta instructed firmly, and her voice had a gentle, commanding note to it. "We need to get those pictures to make you...understand the anatomical differences between males and females, not to horrify you..."

"We're well past horrified at this point," Eira mumbled, but she nodded mutely nonetheless.

"Are you ready, then?" Feyre inquired gently, and Eira wasn't at all sure that she was.

"I..." Eira swallowed hard. "Yes," she choked out, even though she knew that the lie was more than obvious...

"All right then," Nesta said, her voice still oddly soothing, at least for her. "We're going to skip most of the pictures for now unless there's anything specific you want an explanation for, and explain some of the...parts that are important."

"Parts that are...what?" Eira echoed weakly, and the heat in her stomach felt like molten lava at this point.

"For now, we're going to stick to the basic, anatomical parts," Feyre instructed calmly. "So...let's start with a male, shall we?"

"All right," Eira mumbled, her eyes focused on the slender brown book that sat in Nesta's lap. It didn't look dangerous, but she knew that the things on those pages would most likely shock her to bits...

"Let's start with...the groin, or the...crotch, as some people call it," Feyre said, and Eira could see that she was having a hard time not laughing at the sheer mortification on her face.

"The...crotch..." Eira echoed, and every word coming out of her mouth made the redness on her face grow deeper as if she'd been standing in the freezing cold of Winter for days.

"The crotch," Feyre repeated, "or the genitalia, if you want the official term."

"The...genitalia..?" This time, her voice was so high-pitched, that it was near a squeak. Gods, the thought of Azriel's genitalia suddenly filled her mind like a dark, hot cloud, swirling over her...

“Here,” Nesta said drily, flicking open the book and shoving it towards Eira.

“That’s a cock. Or a prick. Or a penis or whatever else you want to call it.”

Eira glanced at the picture that was now open in the book, and what heat hadn’t already been in her face rushed up in flames.

It…it wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured when…when she’d thought of Azriel’s…parts…

“If you want to…make a baby,” Nesta said. “The male needs to insert his…prick into the female.”

"Insert...? Insert himself where?"

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #the prophecy #Looked to the sky

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