#deep sea quilt

[elvneedleworks]

Pulled out this beast again! I’m maybe 1/3 of the way through quilting this monster!!

[samimarkart]

Blackwater Dive prints available now here! I appreciate any monetary support this month to offset submission fees I paid this week for multiple art opportunities! keep your fingers crossed for me, hopefully you’ll be seeing some art of mine out in the Chicago area again soon :)

take 20% off with code RZXZHAU on my inprnt this month

[bevanne46]

Deep Blue Sea Quilt Tutorial

[targaryenimagines]

Twin Flames

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8,219

Summary: With your due date drawing nearer, you begin to wonder what sort of life you’re going to be bringing into the world; dealing with your constantly fluctuating emotions is easier than facing the thoughts that grace your mind during the midnight hours. You should have known it’d only be a matter of time before your dragon became aware.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, grief, self worth issues, allusions to sex, and descriptions of labor/childbirth (non-graphic).

Notes: This shifted around from what I had initially planned, but I can’t say that I’m upset with how it turned out! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you all! Thank you to @justyourwritter69 for the wonderful inspiration — it may not be exactly what you had been thinking of, but I hope you like it all the same!

Series Masterlist

Warm palms run up the sides of your heaving body — still coiled tightly from the last shockwaves of ecstasy passing through — pulling you ever closer, even as a light laugh is hidden in the crook of your neck, the large grin stretched across your wife’s lips being more than apparent when she nuzzles the sweaty expanse of skin.

“I have to admit,” Daenerys pants, pressing one last lingering kiss to the underside of your jaw, before pulling back to peer down at you: silvery-gold hair acting as a curtain, cutting off the rest of the world entirely. “You might be starting to wear me out, dearest one.”

You arch a brow, legs opening to allow for Daenerys to comfortably settle once more between them; the heat radiating from her back, when you stroke a gentle finger down the length of her spine, offering a sense of comfort that no quilt ever could. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility,” you tease, a lightness to your tone that caused Daenerys’ own smile to grow that much more. “In fact, I believe it was you who kept me up all night in Meereen. Because, and I quote, you wanted to watch the sun set and rise while being inside of me.” A huff of laughter falls from your lips. “Where has that woman gone to?”

Violet eyes roll skyward, but the open fondness within her gaze, and the bone-deep adoration etched across her face, never wavers in the slightest. “She’s still here, ñuha perzys. Very much so.” As if to prove her point, Daenerys ruts softly against you; letting you feel the extent of the influence you had upon her body. “But I can’t do all of the things I wish to do to you. Not when you’re carrying such precious cargo.”

A brilliant grin stretches across your face at the reminder — even as one of Daenerys’ palms slides from its place on your hip to the growing swell of your abdomen.

Precious cargo, you muse, taking in the sight of your Khaleesi’s peaceful expression. Your twins.

It had come as quite a shock to you when you discovered that you could potentially be having twins from the Palace Healer; a wave of complex emotions crashing over you as Daenerys had puffed up at the thought. It’s a trait you couldn’t help but admire in your wife. You had only ever seen her truly shaken a few times in your long relationship, even when she was the young would-be conqueror trying to find her way in the world, she rarely ever allowed herself to fall.

So, while you were swept into the tide of varying emotions, Daenerys stood as a sturdy rock beside you, preening with pride and jubilation at the fact that she’d soon have two more children to love, to adore, to protect.

In a manner she wasn’t able to before. A thought that had caused a spike of pain to lance through your heart, squeezing at your lungs to stifle the air that your two children would never be able to breathe again; Viserion and Rhaegal were never far from your mind. The golden gleam of the sun hitting the Narrow Sea reminded you of the warmth within Viserion’s aureate gaze, the pristine white of your wedding dress reminiscent of his beautiful scales. Whereas the changing seasons, from the cold winter months to the tentative grasp of spring, brought with it the memory of Rhaegal’s emerald-hued wings stretched across you in a protective embrace, the rumbling of thunder on the horizon, as a summer storm rolled in, bringing back the resounding echoes of his fiery roar to the forefront of your memory.

You knew, deep within your heart, that as long as their memory lived on within you, within Daenerys, and the people that they had graced with their presence, they’d never be truly gone.

Even though you wanted nothing more than for them to be here: to see three shadows flying over King’s Landing, to hear their roars echo along with Drogon’s, to feel the warmth of their bond within your very soul.

Their absence, as your pregnancy delved into the final months, became more apparent with each passing moment. You wished, more than anything, that you could share the kindling of new life with your darling Prūmia and Bāne; knowing that Drogon, your Mīsio, would find comfort from them as well. Instead, he now carried the burden of being an elder brother completely alone.

What was once three, is now only one…

The dragon is supposed to have three heads, but what do you do when two have been ripped away?

If you couldn’t protect Viserion and Rhaegal, mystical beasts from the oldest tales of Westeros, descendants of the mighty creatures of Old Valyria, then how would you ever be able to do so for your twins?

How could you be a proper mother when you’ve already failed so greatly?

“Where have you gone in that beautiful head of yours?” The gentle question pulls you from your torrential thoughts, unfocused eyes snapping to look into a calming violet gaze. At the sight a small smile quirks Daenerys’ lips, but you can detect the worry glimmering just beneath the surface. “There you are.”

You muster up a small smile, knowing that it was lackluster by the way Daenerys' frown seems to grow. "Here I am," you joke. "I was just lost in my thoughts, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried."

"I will always worry about you," Daenerys replies. "As long as my enemies walk this world, and something can cause harm to you, then I will continue to be worried. That's what you do for the people you love."

"Really?" Silken skin meets your fingertips as you gently trace a line from high cheekbones, down to a sharp jawline, to full lips, and back again. "I wasn't aware I ranked so highly on your list of priorities, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes narrow at the blatant teasing. "I don't have a list of priorities." You almost laugh at the petulant pout that overtakes your wife's face. "It's true, beloved."

"I don't think that's true, Daenerys." You begin to count on your fingers. "You have the Seven Kingdoms. You have your armies. You have the whole mess with the Stark's. You have--"

Soft lips do a great job at shutting you up, an expert tongue acting in a great supporting role to make you boneless beneath the commanding form of your wife, as nimble fingers curl through the strands of your still sex-mussed hair. "Nothing," she whispers hotly against your mouth, warm breath still mingling with your own. "Will ever be more important than you. The Iron Throne means nothing to me if I don't have you by my side while I rule. My armies mean nothing if I do not have you to defend. This right here?" Daenerys rubs her nose against your own, smoothing a hand down the swell of your belly. "Our family that you've blessed me with, our son that's been ravenously waiting for his little siblings, is all that I could ever want. Nothing will ever be more of a priority to me than my family."

You allow your Khaleesi to hold you close for a moment, at peace within her strong embrace, but soon the need to rile her up once more overtakes you. "All of those things you just mentioned are priorities to you?" Daenerys hums in agreement, having shifted over onto her back to allow you a better position to rest upon her chest, slender fingers now gently carding through your hair to untangle some of the strands. "Wouldn't you call that a list, Khaleesi?"

Daenerys' answering chuckle rumbles through her beneath your ear, her fingers never halting in their soothing motion, as she pulls you impossibly closer to her lithe form. "No, I wouldn't call it a list. A list makes it sound militaristic, cold, unfeeling, and that's the exact opposite of how I feel." She peers down at you through dark lashes, full lips quirked in adoration. "I call it the very reason for my next breath, the reason that my heart will continue beating, and the sole purpose that I'll never lose my fire to continue fighting for a better future."

Silence falls then — both being soothed by the company of the other; you by the steady beat of Dany's heart beneath your ear and Daenerys by the heat of your body curled against her own. You could even feel yourself beginning to fall asleep, something you're hoping will last till morning, before a need fills you once more. This time, instead of being one to tease your dragon, it's one to reaffirm that her adoration, her love, was more than reciprocated.

"You're everything to me, Dany," you sigh, nuzzling into warm skin. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

"And you, my dearest flame, are the big house with the red door and the lemon tree." Her arms tighten around you, her last words whispered against the crown of your head as you drift off into sleep. "I'm no longer lost when I look back. You helped me accept my past, embrace my present, and look forward to my future."

It’s only hours later, when your wife is nestled closely to you, a lithe arm wrapped around your abdomen in a protective embrace, that you finally give up on your battle to find sleep. You had hoped, as you had the many nights prior, that Daenerys would tire you out to the point that you could fall into dreamless sleep from sheer exhaustion; something that typically worked.

But no one, not even your dragon, could maintain that level of vigor at night coupled with being Queen of Westeros during the day; although she made a valiant effort, certainly better than anyone else could hope to accomplish.

Refraining from making too much noise, even if it was to just sigh, you slowly edge your way from underneath your dragon's arm — something that's a lot easier in theory, even if you had been doing it more and more recently as sleep continued to elude you — almost panicking when Daenerys tightened her hold, grumbling something against the nape of your neck, before she slackened once more.

Slipping from the bed, after ensuring that Daenerys had truly fallen back asleep, you carefully maneuver around the room, slipping on a discarded tunic that you vaguely recall Daenerys wearing upon entering your shared chambers after dinner — having quickly shed her clothing to take a much-needed bath after the arduous day.

Following your usual route, you find yourself standing on the overhanging balcony that let you see King's Landing in its entirety as well as the harbor twinkling softly in the night. It's on nights like this, when the moon is bright and the stars are twinkling, that you have the most trouble falling asleep. On stormy, or simply overcast, nights you didn't ache deep within your bones, but when the world unveiled itself in its natural state of beauty?

It's like having shards of glass travel down your throat every time you took a breath. Memories of nights underneath a different starry sky, in arid deserts and ancient cities, wherein Viserion and Rhaegal danced across the sky like they were trying to join the very stars themselves — always testing to see who could fly higher.

Looking up now, at the stars shining so brilliantly, you can't help but wonder if they were up there now? If they had finally made it in their pursuit to see who could make it to the top. You wonder if Viserion had saved a special spot for Rhaegal... You wonder if he was currently saving spots for you all...

Tears blur your vision, distorting the sky into a hazy blob of black and silver, and you hope, that wherever they may be now, that they were happy. That they were safe and loved in a way they always deserved to be treated.

Could they see you now?

Could they hear the way your heart cried out for them?

Did they know how much you missed them?

Did they know how much you love them still? How much you will always love them?

Did they know how much darker the world had become since their light was taken away?

"What are you doing out here, ñuha perzys?"

No, your mind cries out. Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to wake up?

"Beloved?"

You hesitated in turning to look at her, knowing that the moment you did you'd be caught, but the longer you waited, the longer you stalled, the more Daenerys would become agitated, her protective instincts flaring into life. There's no way for you to get out of this... Not without the conversation you've been desperately trying to avoid.

So, with a soft sigh, you turn to face the love of your life; being met with the adorably disgruntled form of Daenerys Targaryen: clad in only a rumpled robe that had been thrown across a vanity due to her haste to have you hours before.

"Dany."

Daenerys rarely had to ask you what was plaguing your mind when it became like this — her ability to read you like a book coming in handy — and, for a brief moment, you're glad that you won't have to explain it to her. Explain to her how much of a failure you felt like you were. How your fears of becoming a mother were amplified because you had failed so spectacularly before.

Violet eyes observe you for another moment, darkening with an untold emotion, before something seems to shift inside of her.

"Do you blame me?" The question is uttered softly, on a hesitant breath, that is the complete opposite of your veracious wife. "Do you?"

You shake your head. "Blame you for what, Dany?"

Please don't know, please don't know, please--

"Viserion and Rhaegal."

The mention of their names, coupled with the latent thoughts still swirling within the dark recesses of your mind, causes you to flinch, arms instinctively tightening around yourself in a protective hold. An action that Daenerys must have taken as a positive answer to her question; if the almost injured look that's now openly expressed across her beautiful face is anything to go by.

"We've had this discussion before, Daenerys," you murmur, not wishing to rehash harsh words and reopen still barely healed wounds. "I don't blame you for Viserion. Not anymore."

Daenerys winces at the reminder of what had occurred in Dragonstone all those moons ago. "But you did." It's not a question. There's no need for pleasant lies when in the face of your soulmate. "Who's to say that you don't again? I wouldn't blame you if you did. It was my fault to listen to my advisors instead of my instincts. It was my fault to agree to send Jon Snow beyond the Wall with Jorah. It was my decision to go after them completely alone. It was my own stupidity that led me to turn my back on everything that I learned, everything that I had become in order to get to where I am now." She steps closer to you, unshed tears causing violet eyes to shimmer like untouched amethysts in the argent light of the moon. "It was all because of me that Viserion was struck down in an icy hellscape. Where he was forced to become enslaved to that thing. It was because of me that our son, our youngest child, had his fire drowned by ice."

Your eyes shutter shut at the memories her words invoke. Flashes of icy blue eyes where there should have been gentle gold viciously cycle within your head as you try to forget the brokenly shattered form of your son that you had found after the Battle of Winterfell.

"Not to mention Rhaegal," Daenerys continues, angry spite, all of it directed at herself, hardening her tone. "If I had paid more attention, if I had kept him closer to me, if I had been more cognizant that Euron would have been lurking in the waters below, then he would still be with us. You wouldn't have had to watch as he fell from the sky, you wouldn't have been bathed red by specks of his blood, you wouldn't have had to use milk of the poppy or dreamwine in order to fall asleep because you had such bad nightmares. You wouldn't have suffered if it wasn't for me. Our children would still be alive if it wasn't for me."

Even if some of what she said held merit — others being beliefs you had held onto just to inflict pain onto her; not unlike the pain you had felt when dealing with the unending grief — you refused to let her drown within her pain, refuse to let Daenerys' light get snuffed out. Not when she had been your steady rock for so long, your guiding light to bring you home, the only reason you had been able to pull yourself from the dark abyss their deaths had caused.

"No," you rebuke, tone firm. "I don't blame you, Daenerys. The Night King killed Viserion. The Night King is the reason our beautiful boy was trapped in an unending purgatory instead of the peaceful death he deserved. Rhaegal—" Pausing, lips pressed into a thin line, you take a shuddering breath before pressing on. "We didn't see Euron's fleet either. We were all aware of the potential risks he posed, but none of us took the proper precautions. Rhaegal, what happened to him, and what occurred afterwards, wasn't solely on you, Dany. You were foolish, I won't pretend that you weren't, but you were trying to make too many people happy, trying so hard to be the ruler that they all wanted you to be, instead of being the queen you were always meant to be. You got lost, Dany, and while the price we paid was high, and I don't think the pain will ever fully disappear, I'm just happy you were able to find yourself in some manner in the end." You step closer to your darling dragon, pressing a reverent hand to a flushed cheek. "So, no, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I don't blame you for the deaths of our children."

Daenerys simply stares at you for a moment, her gaze almost inscrutable, but you can see the light beginning to return, even as her lips downturn slightly. "Then why do you blame yourself?"

No answer is forthcoming even as a thousand more spring to mind.

How could I not be? I didn't speak up; I saw what was happening and didn't do anything. I wasn't the partner you deserved, Daenerys, not like the one you have been to me and, because of that, because I couldn't find it within myself to just fucking speak up, our sons were killed...

How could I not be responsible when I still remember the sounds of Viserion's distorted roar and Rhaegal's scream of agony?

How could I not be when I'm still haunted by their faces every damn day?

You know that you couldn't say any of those things — Daenerys would probably blow a fuse — but the look within your wife's gaze let you know that she wasn't going to let you off the hook quite yet.

"I don't know," you admit, shoulders slumping as you turn from her inquisitive stare. "I don't know. Are you happy?"

The warm presence of your wife settles before you, standing closer than she had since the entire discussion had begun. "Of course, I'm not happy. You're in pain." Slender fingers gently grasping your face to turn your head to look at her. "It's something I will never enjoy seeing, but I want you understand me when I say this." Daenerys' eyes sharpen, violet pools burning with an inner fire that bespoke of her bloodline. "You need to stop wondering what might have been. It's something I couldn't stop doing, something that I still struggle with on occasion, but it will only make it so that you miss what's happening now. Viserion and Rhaegal are gone, which is something that will never leave us, but to only carry the darkness around with us would be a disservice to the light they had brought into our lives. They're gone, but they'll never be forgotten, because we won't let that happen. So, please, don't blame yourself any longer for something you can't change. Not if you won't let me share that blame alongside you." She steps closer, always drawn like a moth to a flame when you're near. "I promised to protect you from everything when I took you as my wife, to love and hold you through any storm that may come, to weather any battle that'll mean you'll be okay. Even if that means contending with the beasts that lurk within your beautiful mind. I know it's hard, my beloved, but I can't stand not knowing when you're in pain. Not if there's something I can do about. So, please, don't shut me out even if you think you're protecting me by doing so."

You nod, heart twisting at her soulful plea. "I'll try."

Even if you don't know how you'll accomplish it...

"That's all I'll ever ask for."

There's a moment of silence — wherein only the world dares intertwine within the moment you were now sharing with your dragon — before Dany gently smiles at you, love and adoration etching themselves across her face in an open mural of her devotion towards you.

“Come back to bed.” Daenerys reaches out for you, her hands slightly chilled by the night air when your own slots perfectly in place. “You know how I hate the emptiness when you're not there.”

Fighting the urge to smile, you follow your wife back from the balcony into the spacious bedchamber you’ve made into your haven, and you're not surprised in the slightest when Daenerys flops down onto her back, arms wide open in a silent invitation for you to take your rightful place between them.

This time, when you fell into your dragon's embrace, the warmth of your bed surrounding you, though never standing a chance against the heat of your wife, you knew, in that moment, that you'd finally be able to sleep.

Even if it took a while for your mind to finally catch up with what your body needed.

You’re not sure when you had fallen asleep, but suddenly awakening, standing on a sunlit coast that was all too familiar, with the sound of sea birds and crashing waves surrounding you, gave you the impression that you had at some point.

Either that or you were finally going insane.

Turning in place, you take in the sights, the smells, and the sounds of a world that you hadn’t believed you’d ever return to; even if Essos was simply across the Narrow Sea, you don’t think you’d ever be able to see it the same way again. Not after everything that’s happened.

Still, even now, you couldn’t deny that the sight of the Great Pyramid, far off into the distance, didn’t elicit some bone-deep reaction within you. Memories of easier times flickering through your mind — even as the faces of the ones you lost threaten to overwhelm you — allowing for a small smile to stretch across your lips.

A smile that turns into a full blown grin the moment you crane your neck to look at the azure sky and see two familiar shapes circling overhead; Viserion and Rhaegal. Their wings beat rhythmically, creating a soft, soothing sound that echoes across the peaceful landscape as they begin to descend. The sight of them, at the ease in which they danced upon the wind, and around the other, brings a tug of longing to your heart; wishing, more than anything, that this wasn’t a dream. That you’d be able to see it when you awakened.

Landing with a soft thump, a small spray of golden sand showering over your feet, their massive forms tower over you, but you weren’t intimidated for a moment; not when they radiated an aura of warmth and familiarity.

Viserion approaches first, cream colored scales shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight, causing the golden accents to almost appear like flames, and nudges you gently with his snout, a gesture of recognition and affection. Pressing a hand to his cheek, almost crying at the feeling of his sun-soaked pebbled scales, you look into his gleaming golden eyes, a feeling of absolution settling over you as you realize that the icy blue wouldn’t be the last color you witnessed any longer.

Rhaegal, not to be outdone by his younger brother, soon approaches; emerald scales gleam like precious gems as the bronze hues brings with it the thought of your countless hours laying in a field watching him dip and dive in the wind. Tears, that had been gathering from the moment you saw your sons in the air, begin to fall down your cheeks, a sob being stifled in your throat, as you press your hands into both of their cheeks; wanting to be reassured that they were actually there. That they wouldn’t just vanish and leave you bereft once more.

“I miss you both so much,” you whisper, throat still tight from the efforts of keeping your sobs at bay. Their soft croons in response, large heads nuzzling closer to the warmth you provided, nearly being your undoing. “I’m sorry that I failed you. That I wasn’t able to protect you.”

They both let loose short rumbles in response; clearly not agreeing with your evaluation of your past deeds. Rhaegal nudges you with his head, forcing you to take a step back, as he and Viserion seem to have a silent conversation with the other. A sight that brings a small furrow to your brow, but you're not able to say, or do, anything before the world seems to tilt on its axis and everything blurs together. Your stomach lurching at the suddenness of solid ground, and a miasma of colors, as everything seems to settle once more.

Well... almost settled, you think, casting a quick glance to the world around you; noting, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that your sons were nowhere to be found, but that wasn't the only thing that had captured your attention.

Gone were the shrieking of the gulls, the warmth of the sand beneath your feet, the almost sweet scent upon the wind; now you stood at the precipice of a cliff you hadn’t been to since Daenerys had claimed King’s Landing — a place that’d forever haunt you.

Dragonstone…

The air is unusually still, carrying an otherworldly scent of sea salt and dragon fire. The sky above is a swirling canvas of deep purples and oranges, with stars twinkling faintly through the wisps of clouds; an almost dizzying shift from the golden sunlight, crystalline skies, and a warm ocean breeze.

Beneath your feet, waves crash against the rocks with an unparalleled intensity, sending sprays of foam into the air. You didn’t have to look behind you to know that the ancient castle was looming; towers reaching towards the sky as if to grasp what the owners had lost in the years since the dragons vanished.

Twin thumps, and rush of air that ruffles your hair, is all the warning you receive that your sons had arrived.

“Why are we here?”

You didn’t have the heart, or the strength of will, to ask all of the other questions plaguing your mind: Is this my punishment for failing you both? To be forever trapped in the place that I had last seen you? Happy. Whole. Together.

Viserion’s warm head bumps against your side, a small croon bubbling from deep within his throat; it was a sound he always used to make when he wished to go flying, or wanted you to scratch just a bit to the left, or simply because he wished for you attention, for your love.

You laugh wetly, fighting a losing battle in keeping your tears at bay. “I know you dragons are beasts that'll never be fully understood, but I’d like a straight answer at least once.”

None was forthcoming — not from Viserion, whose gentle gaze never wavered from where he had curled his neck around your body, nor from Rhaegal, who had decided to rest on the opposite side, bracketing you within their warmth, keeping you from the cold, harsh wind of the surf — but, in that moment, you realized all you needed to know.

It's a realization that barely registered before Viserion confirms it for you, pressing a warm snout against the clothed area of your abdomen — a place that had once been flat, now round with the promise of new life — and you feel your twins instantly react to his presence. A fact that causes Viserion to snort happily and for Rhaegal to finally raise his head to nuzzle closer; a position that you had been in numerous times before, wedged between your youngest boys while Drogon was off with Daenerys. The bittersweet twang that this moment causes makes you want to never leave, to never get up from the warmth that they had always provided.

Knowing, that when you woke up, you'd be without them once more.

Memories of the last time you had been on this cliff, watching the sun cast a miasma of colors across the Westerosi sky, as Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers worked on the sands far below, assault you in a vicious attack; echoes of Viserion's playful chortling as Rhaegal snarled in response to his brother's continued insistence to steal some of his food. A squabble the two had grown accustomed to having — one you had grown used to overseeing — that never escalated past the first few nips; wherein you'd finally step in and give Viserion the rest of whatever you had on hand.

You remember, with sharp clarity, the way the sun had cast an almost angelic aura within Viserion's kind eyes and the way in which it brought out the darker green hues within Rhaegal's hide.

You remember the serenity you had felt watching Drogon dip and weave across the bay, leaning up against Viserion's warm side with Rhaegal's large head nestled close to your lap.

You remember the sounds of raised voices, that you had previously ignored when they graced your ears through the whistling wind, growing closer; Tyrion's exasperation and Daenerys' calm nonchalance finally keying you into the severity of what was occurring.

You remember your own objections being raised when Daenerys had told you her plan — worry and fear nearly choking you. For her. For your children. For what it could mean for her men if something were to happen. For the future that you weren't ready to live without her in.

You remember the gentle kiss and promise that she had bestowed on you before mounting Drogon: "I will be back soon. You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

You remember the warmth of Viserion's cheek as you caressed his pebbled scales, the way your hair blew back when Rhaegal huffed as you leant to kiss his nose, and the amused look within Drogon's crimson gaze when you scratched under his chin.

You remember the heavy feeling in your chest nearly crushing you as you watched all three, along with your Khaleesi, disappear into the horizon.

And, above it all, you remember the look within violet eyes upon Daenerys' return, her pleading words when you looked out into the bay expecting to see three forms but instead saw only two, the distance that had grown between you as you dealt with your grief, the pain that kept you up at night, the regret that hung over you for not speaking up, and that same weight bearing down onto you.

You can't even bear to look out towards the open water now where Rhaegal had fallen, where his emerald scales had been stained forever crimson, and the sounds of his cries still haunted your dreams; your darling boy, your Bāne, always so hotheaded, disappearing beneath frothing water... Simply gone before you could even blink.

Both gone before you could...

The sudden realization of why you're here, why Viserion and Rhaegal were nestled so close to you, finally clicked into place and, with that realization, your tears finally cascaded down your cheeks.

"To say goodbye." You look down into their eyes, one set gold and the other bronze, as tears continue to fall from your own. "That's why I'm here. You're letting me say goodbye."

Twin rumbles meet your declaration, large heads pushing closer as they gently nuzzle your growing stomach. A sight that you would do anything to see in real life — knowing, with everything you had, that they would have made the best big brothers. Smoothing a hand down Rhaegal's jaw, and then shifting to Viserion, you lean closer and allow yourself to be fully wrapped in their embrace.

"I wish that I could go back and hold you both a bit longer. Give you a bit more of the fish I had stolen from the kitchen. Stayed a little bit longer snuggled into your side as I read. I wish that I could get all those little moments back and hold them tightly, so I'd never lose them, never lose you." Rhaegal nudges your shoulder, causing a watery chuckle to escape from your lips. "But, above anything, I wish that I had been able to show you both how much I loved you as fiercely, and as loyally, as you loved me, because I would have died to protect you. I would have gladly sacrificed myself so you both could live."

Shifting back, you look at your darling boys, never letting your hands stray too far from the warmth of their scales. "I want you to know how much I love you, how much I will always love you, and that you'll never be far from my heart. No matter how much time passes, I will never forget either of you. I will never forget the moments we made together and the love you freely gave me. I will never forget what you both have done for me." You lightly place a kiss on both of their snouts. "Goodbye, my darling boys, for the next time I see you, I won't be leaving your sides ever again."

Viserion and Rhaegal press closer, their wings stretching out further to eclipse the very sky above you; casting the diluted light into a fractured array of bronze and gold coloring. The sight bringing you peace as the beginnings of the world starts to blur at the edge of your vision.

And, even as everything fades into grey around you — the twin gazes, one gold and the other bronze, act as a beacon of light to where you were meant to go.

Rain hammers against tall windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the grand tapestries on the walls within the royal bedchamber; the air heavy with the scent of salt and sea, mingling with the sweet incense burned by the attending septas.

You don’t know what had caused you to feel the sudden urge to travel to Dragonstone, remnants of a hazy memory being your only clue; as you rarely left King’s Landing since the news of the impending heirs became public knowledge. Daenerys hadn’t been happy about the potential trip — the way in which she had grit her teeth almost made you believe she was about to spit fire — but something in your eyes must have given her the impression that you weren’t going to back down.

Her acceptance didn’t mean it was an easy trip — with Daenerys’ constant hovering, Drogon snapping at anyone that got too close, and Grey Worm almost stabbing three maids that had suddenly appeared to help you out of the days outfit, being the lightest of the events that had occurred — but the sight of the ancient castle, with its dark spires reaching out to seemingly conquer the sky itself, brought with it a wave of relief that nearly keeled you over; the pressure within your heart clicking into place, making everything right once more.

Everything had gone smoothly for the first five days of your spontaneous vacation, but things had almost imploded when Daenerys had been told, via a raven, her presence was needed in King’s Landing due to a few of the minor noble families stirring up trouble with the visiting dignitaries from Essos. You knew that your wife didn’t wish to leave you, not so late into your pregnancy, nor did your son, but escalating drama within King’s Landing — one Daenerys wanted you far away from — compelled her to shift from doting wife to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

She had left the next morning, with a searing kiss pressed to your lips, arms wrapped tight around your form, and a whispered vow seemingly imprinted into your skin: “I will be back within the next two days, I swear it. Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.”

Which means it was only right that you’d go into labor on the end of the second day; a raging storm, the likes that hadn’t been seen since your darling wife had been born, crashing over Dragonstone.

“Daenerys still isn’t here?” You gasp, a strangled groan escaping you at the same time. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Grey Worm stands by your side, his sharp features etched with concern. “No, Your Grace, but I know she’ll arrive soon. Even with this weather I’m certain the raven will have reached her by now. For the moment, until Her Majesty can be here, I implore you to focus on yourself.” His rough hand clutch yours, offering what little warmth and reassurance he can. “I’ll be by your side until then.”

The maester, with his wispy beard and trembling hands, no doubt aware of what would happen to him if something were to go wrong, moves between your legs, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “Push now, gently,” he instructs, his soft tone a sharp contrast to the tempestuous night.

You follow his guidance, clutching at Grey Worm’s proffered hand, summoning every ounce of strength left within your body.

The ancient stones of Dragonstone seem to tremble in response to each clap of thunder, as if the very castle shared in your agony. Yet, amidst the roaring winds and pain — a single strike of clarity, not unlike the lightning streaking through the sky, hits you; a profound sense of determination racing through your haggard form, burrowing deep within your heart, to bring life into this world, despite the raging storm and the absence of your wife.

Gritting your teeth, an agonized cry tears itself from deep within your chest, as you push once more, only faintly hearing the guiding words of the maester.

And, just as another streak of lightning illuminated the sky, Daenerys stormed into the room, her presence commanding and urgent; violet eyes burning with residual fury at being held up, and silvery-gold hair slightly disheveled, betraying the haste in which she had arrived to Dragonstone.

Where she is, Drogon is sure to quickly follow, you think, warmth spreading through you at the sight of your wife and the knowledge your son was home. And, just as the thought crosses your mind, a familiar shadow casts itself over the room, thundering wing-beats being easily discernible from the crackling lightning. No matter how tired he may have been from his long journey, Drogon would stay outside until you brought the twins into this world; a thought that brings a wave of affection for your eldest crashing through you.

“I’m here,” Daenerys announced, voice strained in apology but her relief was palpable as she made her way to your side; taking the spot that Grey Worm had quickly vacated. Pressing a kiss to the hand clasped in hers, Daenerys brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your overheated forehead. “I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted nothing more than to be back by your side the moment I left it.”

You’re only able to offer her a strained smile in response, another wave of pain shooting through you as the maester continues guiding the process along.

Daenerys, easily taking note of your state, turns wild eyes to the gathered servants. “How is she? How far along are we?” The strained quality of her voice, coupled with the vice grip she has upon your hand, gives you an easy understanding of where your wife’s mind had went; to the night of her own birth in this very castle — a night where Daenerys Targaryen was borne but Rhaella Targaryen ceased to exist. “Has there been any issues?”

“No, Your Majesty.” A midwife helpfully supplies, her presence near the bed signifying that you’d hopefully bringing one of your twins into the world soon. “Everything has gone well. Her Majesty has been doing well. There’s no cause for alarm.”

Daenerys, while still stiff, seemed to accept the response, her attention swiftly falling to you solely. “I’m right here, my beloved. I’m not going anywhere.”

Time seems to stretch into an eternity — you’re barely able to discern Daenerys gentle hold, and soothing words, from the maester that was still acting as a guiding light — and the pain is almost stifling until, with one final push, the first of your twins enters the world.

Exhausted, yet elated at the same time, you watch, through bleary eyes, as a midwife quickly takes the babe into her arms to clean, only giving you the barest glimpse of a tiny form before disappearing into the swarm of moving bodies.

But, however much your body may rebel at the thought, the labor wasn’t over yet; another wave of pain crashing over you, ensured that you understood that fact. With every bit of strength you had left in your body, while sweat beaded your brow, and your wife stayed steadily by your side, you give one final push and feel as your second child comes into the world; the same process quickly taking place as the babe was swept away to be seen to.

Twin cries soon fill the chamber in a harmonious display of new life — cutting through the fog that had fallen over your mind — a sound that brings tears to your eyes and a lightness to your chest, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“Boys! You’ve had two beautiful boys, Your Majesty!” A portly midwife bustles towards you, a delicately small form cradled against her clothed chest. “Perfectly healthy.”

Your son is soon placed on your chest, skin to skin, and he’s soon joined by his brother; both babes swaddled but giving you a perfect view to see their beautiful faces. Looking up at your dragon, you can’t help the tears that stream down your face when you notice her own glistening upon porcelain skin.

“Two handsome princes,” you murmur, gently tracing a line down a chubby cheek. “I can’t believe we’re mothers, Dany.” Your eyes meet the violet gaze of your wife, happiness shared between you like the love that has bonded you for years. “After all this time, I can’t believe that I’m actually here.”

“I never wish to be anywhere else,” Daenerys replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, smoothing a hand down your back. “I would do it all over again, go through all the pain and heart ache, if it meant that I could end up right back here with you, with our children.”

Angling your head, you huff out a light chuckle, taking note that Drogon had taken his leave to, no doubt, rest on the cliff side until he was allowed to meet his siblings in person; something you were excited to do, but your new position also allows you to get a better look at your Khaleesi for the first time; your brow furrowing in concern instantly.

“I thought I was supposed to be the only one covered in blood.” You tug at the crimson stained fabric of her ornate tunic. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m more than fine, dearest one,” Daenerys soothes, calmly smoothing a wild strand of hair back behind your ear. “I simply honored the promise I made to you upon my departure.”

Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.

Your eyes flutter shut, arms tightening ever-so-slightly around the twins. “Who did you kill, Dany?” Violet eyes, filled with open amusement, are the first thing you see when you collect yourself. “It wasn’t anyone that’d cause a war, is it?”

“As if any of the nobleman would dare test me,” she scoffs, clearly affronted at the mere insinuation. “I made it abundantly clear how foolish it’d be to keep me from arriving back at your side promptly, something that most of those imbeciles seemed to take as a challenge. A feat that became even more imbecilic when I had received the raven stating that you had gone into labor.”

“How many?”

“I don’t see why that would matter—”

“How many, Daenerys?” You interrupt, the sharpness within your gaze causing your wife to halt mid-sentence. “Don’t you dare lie to me either, I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Daenerys huffs. “A little over two dozen, I’d wager.” Her eyes roll skyward, as if she still couldn’t believe the audacity of the people who had stood between her and her family. “However, as I was saying, I don’t see why that would matter. I did tell them to not get in my way, especially since I was already in a horrid mood having to deal with their foolishness to begin with, not to mention leaving your side, I simply ran out of the patience that had already been in short supply.”

“I don’t even wish to imagine what you would have done if you had missed the birth of our sons.”

Your wife tilts her head. “I would have killed them all, of course. Keeping me from you is a sin upon itself, but keeping me away so you go through something like this alone? Wherein anything could have happened to you?” Daenerys shakes her head at the mere notion. “There wouldn��t be any mercy left in my heart; for there can never be any remnants if someone dares affect you due to their actions.”

Despite yourself, and still wanting to know the finer details about who exactly she had killed, and what sort of mess you could expect upon your return to King’s Landing, you couldn’t help the affection that courses through your veins; Daenerys, for everything that she was, and everything she used to be, had always loved you. More than you think you deserve, in all honesty, but the clear dedication she had for you was never more apparent than in this moment.

So, for her, for everything that she has done, and will continue to do, in the name for her love towards you, you decide to drop the conversation for the moment. This wasn’t a time to get into a petty squabble with your wife; not when your sons slumbered peacefully against your chest.

Daenerys, clearly on the same wave of thought, runs a slender finger across the wisps of silvery-gold hair peeking out from underneath the cloth of the twin closest to her. “What shall we call them, ñuha perzys?”

You pause, ruminating over the variety of choices; Old Valyrian was an obvious choice, something strong to showcase the roots that your sons now held to the ancient world, but what names stuck out the most?

Suddenly, as if hit by a bolt of lightning, you realize the only choice of what they could be.

“I have the perfect names in mind, Dany.” Whispers of a phantom dream wisp through your mind, echoing deep within your heart and soul, your smile turning soft as you gently stroke the soft cheeks of your twins. “If you’ll allow me the honor of bestowing them?”

Daenerys’ beautiful smile in return, violet eyes glassy with unshed tears, is all you needed to see to understand that she was more than willing to grant you whatever you wished.

“I think I’ve always known. It’s just something I haven’t been able to see until now.” You lean against your wife, nestled safely underneath her arm, forever seeking the warmth she so effortlessly provided, as you spoke to the room at large: the surrounding midwives, a wizened maester, various servants, and your most loyal guards, all standing at attention. “I’d like you all to meet Prince Rhaegon and Prince Viseryn of House Targaryen.”

And, if you allowed yourself to believe, to listen close enough, through the crashing of the waves and the rage of the wind, as well as the cheering of the people within the room, you could just make out the twin sounds of answering roars from across the Narrow Sea.

[wishing-on-a-staranise]

Ch 2: The teenage hobby of making out.

(s.h. x gn!reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

Summary: Hopper’s getting mad that his kids are kissing boys.

Word count: 7.7k

Warnings: use of (y/n); no pronouns used (gn!reader); Suggestive (sexy ice cream consumption); steamy but no smut; boner alert; hopper being a cockblock; arguing; reader is jealous of Eleven; hopper makes a 'your wife' joke (its canon); daddy issues?

A/n: this is the closest i think ive gotten to writing smut so far lol i struggled so much

Anyway ive been having the big bad no good awful time lately and feel like doing literally nothing but i really pushed myself to finish this guy so have this and also I think it's high time we get readyyy for desi!reader!!!! She will be arriving soon hopefully!!!

masterlist

...

‘You don’t tug on superman’s cape, you don’t spit into the wind.’

Hopper’s record player blares. Your eyes fling open at the intruding loud tone of at this point what you know to be Jim’s favourite song.

‘You don’t pull the mask off an old lone ranger and you don’t mess around with Jim.’ The faceless crowd chants through the speakers. Quite swell headed of himself when you really think about it. 

Your face scrunches, a yawn leaves you when you stretch under the quilt. The sheets beside you ruffle, and when you turn it is your sister, rousing from her sleep as well, Mr. Arnold, the teddy bear, in her arms. She lets out a frustrated groan at the loud song, before pulling her blanket over her head. 

You snort at that because you’re sure it's impossible to fall asleep with that playing right outside the room. This is not the first time that Jim has used this really effective strategy to annoy you and your sister out of your slumber.

You lay there for a second before finally getting up to get started with the morning, knowing full well Hopper won’t be quietening it down unless both of you were out of bed and having breakfast. It also isn't like you had neighbours to complain about the noise.

By the time you come out of the bathroom, Eleven is once again stirring awake. She stretches both her arms above her head again and lets out a deep sigh.

"Morning, El.”

She mumbles something that sounds like ‘morning’, her tone a lot less peppy than yours. she once again decides she wants to be back asleep, rolling over and burying herself in the sheets again. “I think… I hate that song now”, you hear her grumble under the mass of the comforter.

“Yeah, that happens when you are forced to listen to something a billion times. What's weird is he does have other records but he really loves the song with his name in it”, you laugh both at your sister’s and Hopper’s antics.

You sit back on the bed with an ‘oof’, looking at where she lies beside you. “Okay, kid, let's get outta bed”, you say knowing full well that the noise isn't going to stop unless you both step out of the room. “c’mon El”, you sigh, shaking her a little by her shoulders. "Don't you have to go meet Dustin today?"

El’s eyes shoot open, she looks up at you with wide eyes as if she'd forgotten about her plans. She throws the blanket and the soft toy off of her and jogs away to her room.

You chuckle to yourself at her excitement, reaching under the quilt to look for Mr. Arnold. You pull him out, brushing the messy fur around his beady eyes before putting him neatly with the rest of the pillows and get out of the room yourself.

You head out into the kitchen, the smell of roasted coffee hitting you immediately. Jim has always been notorious for having his coffee extra strong, no cream, no sugar. you remember trying it once and pledged to never do that again, not being accustomed to that taste. 

There's a box of cereal on the kitchen counter, you fix yourself a bowl and put some in another bowl for Eleven. You then head to the couch where Hopper is reading a newspaper and sipping the bitter and brown beverage, "morning" you say quietly— shouting was not needed since he had turned the player off when he noticed both you and Eleven were awake. 

"Morning kid", he greeted from behind the newspaper, not really bothering to look up.

"You have to find a better way to wake us up."

He chuckles to himself, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" he jostles the flimsy paper.

You roll your eyes which he doesn’t notice. That’s the usual with him. He doesn’t ever seem to notice you. And for the most part, you’re used to it. Somewhere between adopting you and now, things changed. Not to be mistaken, he is the closest thing you have to a father and you know he does love you but some part of this relationship feels… hollow now. Like you’re not getting enough, he’s not willing to give you enough. 

In silence, you swirl your spoon around in the floating cereal while Hopper takes a big sip of his coffee. You think to finally tell him about Steve.

Just when you were contemplating when to speak up about it, Eleven comes out of her room, still wearing the same clothes, "Morning Hop", she greets brightly.

He looks up, "Morning kiddo", he smiles before his gaze moves back to his newspaper.

“There's a bowl for you on the kitchen counter”, you let the girl know. She smiles and pours herself some milk into it.

"Hey, Hop?", The super powered girl calls out. He hums through a mouthful of soggy cereal as he looks up from the newspaper. "Can you take me to Will's?” she says while walking over to the couch where he was sitting, "Dustin is coming back today. We're surprising him"

"Oh, okay kid. We'll just leave in a bit", he sets down the papers and downs all of the cereal. He goes into his room. By the time you and Eleven are done with your breakfast, Hopper comes out, clad in his uniform. 

"Hey y/n any groceries you want me to get? Going to the Market today", he asked while putting his shoes on.

"Yeah, it's on the fridge"

The man went over to the fridge door and took the list off of it. He took a second to read the contents of the list before muttering out the last one, "icecream, again?"

"I like ice cream. We ran out", you shrugged.

"I bought a tub this sunday."

“I really like ice cream”

“seriously? this is getting more ridiculous than El’s eggo obsession–”

“hey!” she interjects. 

“and weren’t you expanding your horizons? How’d that combo work out last night?” He looks between you and Eleven.

"It was…", she pauses, looking for a suitable word, "disgusting.” she says with the straightest face before going to her room to get changed and to put on her shoes, you assume.

“I… can't say that I disagree”

“Look kid, I'm not getting you ice cream so often, okay? Anything else?"

“...Nope that's… that’s it. Just the list.”

“‘Kay,” he shoves the paper in the pocket of his shirt. He glances over at the room that Eleven is in before clearing his throat. “Hey, do you uh…”, he looks back you, voice softer than it was just a second ago, “wanna talk about it?”

“About..?” 

“That nightmare I’m assuming you had last night.”

“... there's– there isn't anything to talk about”

“Yes there is”, he barely gets the words out of his mouth when you sigh, frustrated before getting off the couch and moving towards the kitchen. 

“C’mon kid,”, he follows behind you, “you haven't been telling me anything recently, and Owens told me–”, you groan at the name, “don't interrupt me– Owens told me that you refuse to share anything with him either.”

“I don't tell anything because there is nothing to tell. And honestly,” you put your bowl in the sink, “I don't want to talk about stupid feelings with a stupid old man”

“You think I haven't been hearing you scuttering ‘round in your room trying to fall asleep? So don't bullshit me but there is a lot to tell. He recommended these weekly check ups because they will help. I mean– look at El, she barely struggles with the night terrors or–”

“You just have to compare me to her, don’t you?”

“Owens will call saturday and you better tell him everything”, he commands with his nostrils flared.

You roll your eyes away from him, crossing your arms.

“Do you hear me? Hey! look at me when I’m talking to you”, he uses that stern voice again, the one that means ‘you better listen or else’. You aren’t sure what the ‘or else’ ever is yet you always listen when he uses that voice. You look at him, reluctantly so, “Good. now… I'm getting late. Why don't you get rid of that attitude and stop being such a brat" he shoves his wallet in his back pocket, calling out Eleven's name and she comes out wearing a navy-blue t-shirt that seemed a little too big for her, and she casts you a concerned look.

You let out a frustrated huff as soon as the door shuts close behind them. You run your fingers over your face, your head hurting again after that argument.

You then head to put the rest of the bowls in the sink and the milk in the fridge, but that's when you notice it. The Eleven's drawing— of you, Hopper and herself— that was initially stuck to the fridge door with a magnet, was now on the floor— along with the other magnets. You tried to put them back on nevertheless they fell again. You were frustrated as it is, it only made you angrier when they didn't stick. In your rage you shove them in the nearest drawer, it closes with a loud thud.

You weren't sure how this entire thing had managed to get you so mad. You wanted to rip your hair out, break all the bowls, burn the stupid phone so Owens never calls, shatter hopper's favourite coffee mug, tear apart every drawing Eleven has made of you all together. But you don't. You just stand there, trying your best to keep it at bay– the anger, the tears, both. And god, you needed to catch your breath, you needed some water.

You grab a glass of water from the tap. As it fills, you latch open the window above the sink. The window and the glass of water had become a part of your routine to calm yourself down. A compulsion at this point because if you didn't do it, everything felt off.

You guzzle down the thing, the liquid cooling you. You force yourself to close your eyes, breathing in, holding it and then breathing out– just like Hopper had taught you. Although it brings down your anger, it doesn't exactly calm you down. You blame it on the lack of wind today.

You don't keep your eyes closed for too long though. You close the window and head to your room. You don't bother with anything else, planning on hiding under the sheets for the rest of the day. It is then that you hear a knock on your bedroom window.

You look up from the mess of wrinkled sheets and you are met with the beautiful smile of your boyfriend. He gives you a little wave with a bouquet of flowers and holds up a takeaway cup from scoops ahoy. A smile automatically forms itself on your face as you walk over to the window and open it so he could climb in.

He lets himself in in a rather not ninja way, your hands flying to steady him. you take in his clothes– his scoops ahoy outfit, the colours suit him, his favourite watch snug around his wrist, the shorts fitting him perfectly, his floppy hair resting softly against his forehead— he looks beautiful to say the least. 

"Morning your highness!", He spoke up with a rich English accent– gesturing wildly with the bouquet, "Flowers picked by yours truly! Ice cream scooped, once again, by your beloved", he handed you the flowers— which you held close to your chest while showcasing a huge grin. "And guess what? New flavour! You have to try it, babe."

You adjust the crooked name tag on his shirt, "I was just leaving for work but decided to take a little detour. Hope you don't mind me coming."

"Of course I don't— it's just, if you came like two minutes earlier, Hop would've caught you."

"Close call", he wipes the imaginary sweat off of his temple, making you giggle a little.

"You look very pretty," you say before you even realise.

"I'm supposed to be a manly man! you calling me pretty and beautiful isn't helping with that", he complains only half-heartedly because he loves hearing you call him those things. No one has ever complimented him in such a way, sure he has gotten compliments about his hair or his nether regions from girls but you telling him he's pretty and cute made butterflies flutter all over in a way he didn't think was possible.

"Well, that's too bad. You are pretty", he blushes all pink when you say it, "The prettiest ever", he smiled shyly as you came closer to him�� faces merely inches apart.

"Not too shabby yourself babe", he pecked the tip of your nose and then you go to put the flowers in a vase next to your bed.

“How did last night go?” he asks, following behind you.

“Hmm?”

“You were... going to tell your dad about us?”

“Oh.”

He purses his lips, “I'm guessing you didn't”

“I wanted to, I swear but then Mike Wheeler happened."

“‘Course he did”

“And then I almost did this morning too but then Jim and I had a fight, like right now..”

“Fight, about what?”

You quickly shake your head, “.. doesn't matter. I’m sorry”

“Hey, its okay. How ‘bout this okay, you.. try again. okay? whenever feels right-- no rush" you nod slowly. the boy flashes you a grin before speaking up again, "now, gimme a little kiss"

"No."

"No? why no?" he pouts.

"’Cause I want to have ice cream first", you declare, booping his nose.

He lets out a playful scoff, “is that all I am to you? I stole this just for you yesterday and I don’t even get a kiss?" he is all theatrical as he holds is palm on his chest to show just how scandalized he feels.

“Stole it?”

“Nah", he clicks his tongue as a no, shaking his head, "we get free ice cream.”

Your brows fly up at the information, “Woah, really? hmm, I need to work there.”

“Will you? Please do. My coworker pretty much hates me–”

While he is rambling, you try to snatch the cup from his hand, but before you could do so he pulls his hand away. "Ah ah ah, you gotta give me the password first to get the ice cream babe"

"What?" you ask, brows knotted together.

"Not the password", He says in a monotonous voice.

"Steve c'mon–"

"Not the password."

"Just give it to me, Steve", you try reaching for it again– to no avail.

"Not the password."

"Stevieee", you're practically draped over him, yet he somehow manages to keep the cup right out of your reach.

"Not the password", he smirks, laughing a little.

You sigh, you had to play it his way to get what you want. You give a quick kiss on his cheek– more so a peck. "Hm, warmer...", he hums, "but still not the password."

You groan all frustrated, knowing full well what he wanted. and you had no other choice than to give in. You tilt your face so your lips meet his and when you pull back, awaiting his response. He finally says, "You got it", before lowering his hand.

Steve then goes into character– sitting you down on the edge of your bed, he takes out his hat from his pocket that said 'ahoy' on it and puts it on top of your head.

He greets you how he would welcome any other customer, you giggle at his theatrical antics. "Now, since you are one rather good looking sailor, I'll let you set sail on this ocean of flavor with me with this amazing scoop of our new invention!!'

The treat is a little melted— blame it on the summer heat. tasting phenomenal, surely to be your new favourite. As Steve watches you relish the delicious flavour, he notices that the runny liquidy ice cream has managed to drip around the corner of your mouth and lower lip.

"Oh babe, you've got a–" His thumb swipes over your lower lip— eye contact unbreaking— Smearing the liquid much more than actually wiping it. He does it unreasonably slow.

"There", he pulls his arm back, and without looking at the residual ice cream on his thumb he licks it– gaze still unwavering. "Delicious", he murmured. Heat creeps up your neck and spreads through your cheeks. You both knew what Steve was doing although you'd be lying if you said that it wasn't working.

Having expected for you to be absolutely flustered, Steve is surprised when instead your features morph into a mischievous smile, "right? You wanna try some?"

"Uh, sure", he hesitates.

You go to feed him the drippy ice cream with the spoon only to 'accidentally' smudge it at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you've got a—"

"Oh, very funny babe—" Before Steve could finish, your lips were attached to the corner of his mouth. Your tongue darts out to lick at the liquid— the movements agonisingly slow. It is then that Steve forgets how to function. He doesn't reciprocate your kisses, being sure he'd forgotten how to kiss. This was the first time you'd initiated a kiss, or made a move on him and now he didn't know how to react. 

When you pull away, his eyes remain closed for a bit longer. But when they finally do flutter open, instead of the same mischievous sly smirk, he is met with your wide eyes. You blink as if unsure of what you had done, Steve sees you gulp before you get up and leave the room.

Steve was stuck, he realises. His mind has forgotten how to work for however long that lasted. Maybe it was minutes or maybe it was only just a few seconds– to him it felt like hours though. Blood rushed to his cheeks and other parts of his body.

He paid it no mind though and quickly got up to find you. His situation will go away, right now he needed to make sure that you were alright. He went out of the room and sees you by the kitchen— throwing away the empty cup— your back turned towards him.

You don't look up when he stands beside you, he calls out your name and you shyly turn to sneak a look at him, rubbing your own arm anxiously, “S– sorry that was weird right?”

“Uh– n– no! It wasn't", he assures, shaking his head, "It just… um, I wasn't expecting it. It was– It wasn't weird.” he waits, hoping you'd say something but when you don't, he speaks up, "That was like the– the hottest thing ever– what you did back there."

“It wasn't... too much? It felt like it was too much.”

“Too much? I have a boner right now, respectfully, of course.”

Your eyes widen, and just when they were about to trail down– “don't look down!” You hold your breath, trying your best to muster all your power to maintain eye contact with him, but your gaze betrays you for just a second as it snaps down to his groin before jumping back to his eyes. Your face becomes so warm, palms clammy.

“W-what do I do?”

“No–nothing? It’ll go away”, he barely manages to stammer out, turning his body towards the kitchen counter so you don't see it, eyes roaming everywhere but towards you. 

Steve in high school never would have faced such issues, king steve never would have been so clumsy and embarrassed in front of someone he liked. The old Steve wouldn't get this damn red and awkward. But he does, he isn't the old Steve afterall.

He feels your hand on his shoulder, urging him to look your way. When he does, his eyes meet your unsure gaze-- you were looking at his lips. He himself can't help but trace the contour of your face, from your eyes to your nose, to the swoop of your cupid's bow to finally your lips.

It is you who leans in. This kiss was different than any you have had before. It grows deeper. And suddenly, its all tongue and teeth. Steve has never kissed you like this before. Its hands over your body, fingers creeping under your t-shirt. And its unusual. A good unusual. One you could get used to.

“Steve?" you breathe out when you pull apart.

“Y– yeah?”

“I’m sure. What I said yesterday, I’m sure.”

“Wait– you’re not just saying that ‘cause I–’

“No. I– I mean it.” You let out a giggle. The giggle which he was sure could end and fix all his fears and nightmares. The giggle that made his heart flutter and stomach do summersaults. You were sure to be the death of him. 

His grip around your waist tightens as he rests his forehead against yours, warm noses touching. "When.. uh– when does Hopper come back?"

"5:30," you huffed out, once again leaning in and he once again pulled back to be just out of your reach.

"One last question, El isn't home, is she?"

"No, no. She– she's with– friends. Won't come back till four."

"Good, wouldn't want them to come in on this", he almost growls before latching your lips together. And then you're kissing him. It is messy, but he loves every single second of it. His hands go to hold your jaw and yours to his cheeks, pulling in closer– deepening the kiss. At this point you'd both forgotten to breathe, too intoxicated on each other. But soon, both your lungs start to burn off the lack of oxygen and you both pull apart.

Your breaths were jagged, foreheads still touching. You gasp into his mouth. Your lips move in tandem as Steve pushes you between himself and the counter. The edge of the counter digs into your thighs. His hands travel to right below your ass, ready to lift you up onto the counter. But before he could do so, you pull him by the collar of his sailor outfit towards your room— lips never stopping contact. Steve takes the hint and gently pushes you against the door of your room, fumbling for the door knob.

You grab a fistful of his hair, he lets out a moan into your mouth. He finally manages to open the door, and you immediately pull him in. Steve tries to steady you both while tightening his hold on your hips, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. 

You pull him towards the bed. He finally pulls away to take off his shirt only to latch his lips back to yours. He is hovering over you, lips never not touching, hands roaming each other's bodies. You slightly pull away, your digits fumbling for the cassette player's buttons next to your bed. The button clicks and Asia’s ‘heat of the moment’ starts playing. The both of you laugh because it was the mixtape that you and Steve had made a couple months ago.

…

Hopper had just reached the Byer's when he realises that he had forgotten his hat in the heat of the argument with you. He frowns upon the thought of the argument, he regrets shouting, he was worried about you and maybe he shouldn't have gotten that mad.

He waves over at Eleven, watching behind her to make sure she gets inside. He starts the engine and heads back to the cabin to retrieve his hat and perhaps make amends with you.

When he gets there, you don't open the door. You were possibly still mad at him, he thinks when he lets himself in, he could hear the song blaring from your room. He takes a peek in through the cracked open door.

Through the few inch wide door gap, he sees you and Steve Harrington. A shirtless Steve Harrington on top of you. The boy kissing you. And you kissing him back.

Through the kisses, his lips trail along your jaw and down your throat landing on your collarbone— pulling a moan out of you. "God, you're– fuck", Hopper barely hears the boy mumble. The man's nostrils flare as he sees his hands go back to the little sliver of skin exposed between your shirt and your shorts, fingers playing with the hem of the shirt.

"HEY!"

Steve immediately pulls away and yelps when you accidentally yank his hair. You both look up towards the source of the sound and there stood Jim Hopper, eyes wide with seething anger. 

“HOPPER?--”

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Hopper", You yelp out, speedily turning the player off while Steve fumbles to hide his integrity behind a pillow. Both Steve and Hopper were bright red. You were sure to go deaf to the loud beating of your heart.

"What in the fuck are you doing with my kid, Harrington?", You were sure Hopper's face would burst into flames any second now.

Steve eyes bounce frantically between you and hopper, he stammers, "I— Hopper—"

"That's fucking sir to you, Harrington."

"Sir, I—"

You hold your hands up, hoping to calm Hopper down after he found you in such a compromising position, "It's– its not what it looks like Hop—"

"So you're telling me that you two weren't about to–"

"Hop—", you try interrupting him but he interjects you by turning to Steve, pointing his finger at the poor boy while simultaneously squaring up on him. "I'm gonna have a serious fucking talk with your father, Harrington."

He walks backwards, incredibly intimidated, "But, sir—"

"Cover your goddamn tits and wait for me outside, Harrington." Steve gulps, silently nodding– knowing well enough that talking back was going to be fruitless so he leaves the room, the door shutting behind him.

You try speaking up again, "Hopper, listen–"

"No, you listen", he scolds with gritted teeth and flared nostrils, "You are fucking grounded. You can live your stupid paranoid fantasy and stay safe and stuck in this cabin”

“Hop–”

"And that means no tv–"

"Dad–"

"No radio or cassettes, no more phone, no more tv– ", he said as he unplugs the radio player and pulls out the cassette box from under your bed and throws the tapes around in anger "what else are you hiding from me, huh?”

"Nothing, hopper–"

He notices the box pushed further back under your bed and pulls it out— filled to the brim with Steve related stuff. your graduation caps, polaroids, mixtapes, books that had flowers pressed between their pages, beer bottle caps from when you had gotten drunk for the first time– all on the floor for display; the entire thing doing nothing to calm the raging man down. "Hopper, stop–"

"No more fucking dating", he picks up the mixtapes and books, throwing them with immense fury and rage. He pulls out polaroids of you and Steve and crumbles it up.

"NO!!--"

"And NO MORE FUCKING STEVE HARRINGTON", he smashed the now empty box against the floor, "D'YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?" he was shouting now, full on shouting— and it scared you. For the first time, Hopper scared you. The same guy who had saved you, protected you. The first person with whom you felt safe, ever. 

Tears spring up in the corner of your eyes. you duck your chin into your chest, squinting them shut.

“Asked you a fucking question.”

You try to even your breaths before answering, "No."

"What'd you say?", Words dripping in fury.

"I said, no."

"Why? You love that stupid idiot or something?"

The question scares you because you don't have an answer. You wrack your brain, looking for an answer but still…. your brain pulls up a slide that was nothing but a blank screen.

Do you love him?

You like him. You love being with him. He is your best friend, your only friend. But do you love him? how would you know? You do not know. 

“He’s my friend. He’s my only friend, Jim”

"Cut the bullshit, y/n", Hopper spoke as he noticed the tears springing up in your eyes and right now he was too damn angry to regret it.

Either of you don't hear the sound of the door shutting over your own heartbeat. you finally speak up, "You're bullshit."

"What?"

"You see El and Mike everyday, they're always kissing. But you see me with Steve one time–"

"The one time I see you two, you are fornicating— El and Mike don't do that."

"I'm a fucking adult, Hopper"

"You're a goddamn teenager is what you are!"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do this stuff when you were a teenager, Hopper. You’re being an asshole!”

“Maybe you shouldn't have hid things from me y/n and I'm not being an asshole, I'm giving you a reality check. and if you think you’re such an adult then stop fucking hiding in this cabin from the world and feeding you little paranoid fantasy”

Both your chests rise and fall, face warm with aggravation, “Oh, don't look at me like I’m some monster", Hopper shakes his head at you, exasperated. you don't say anything, instead you get up to leave the room, "… where do you think you are going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Aww, where are you gonna go, to your boyfriend?”

"You know what? That's a great idea, Jim. I’ll go and never come back again, I'll live with Steve or I’ll live in that stupid trailer. I've done it before and I'll do it again", you say with absolute resentment, all gritted teeth and red eyes. "I’ll leave", you sniffled, "Cuz you sure as hell don't want me here."

"Sure, kid, go 'head", he said through flared nostrils and a mock smile.

You raise your volume too before, "You won't have to fucking pretend to care for me anymore, you can take care of El all you want now", you pause for a beat before murmuring, "Clearly you like her more."

"..What–"

"Don't play dumb", your voice shakes as you speak, "it took you years to even consider adopting me, but you took El in in a heartbeat. El’s the one you care about Hopper– just fucking admit it, she's the one that gets hugs, she's the one that gets all the love and affection, she’s always mattered more to you, she's the one who matters to you because she's the one who reminds you of your dead daughter"

You said that. You said that. And the truth was that you meant it. Sure, you regret it, knowing how much it affected Jim. But it seemed only fair in your rageful brain to do the same.

Hopper is frozen, he swallows a lump in his throat. He looks at you hunched over the mess he'd made, your eyes red, watery and enraged.

You see him take a deep breath; it almost seems like he was about to say something. Maybe he'll apologise, you think, maybe you will too. Instead, he turned, his body lingering for a second too long near the door, and you pray that he says something– anything so you could take it all back. He lets out the breath he had been holding and shut the door behind him. A few seconds later you hear the cabin's door slamming. He left. 

…

At the station, Jim was having his lunch– donuts, which Flo had bought for everyone in the light of her birthday. Powell and Callaghan were discussing something, Flo has given Jim some paperwork– he isn’t sure about what though. His mind was too busy playing your argument on repeat.  

El’s the one you care about, Hopper. 

She’s the one who matters to you.

Because she’s the one who reminds you of your dead daughter.

“Chief?” Jim realises that he had been staring at the files that Flo had given him. 

“You okay, boss?”

“Uh, yeah— I’m peachy Callaghan”, Hopper gets up from his chair picking up another donut, “exactly how your wife was last night.”

Powell and the rest of the workers let out a guffaw while Flo looks at Jim with disapproving eyes and Callaghan looks like a kicked dog. Jim picked up his keys, headed towards the exit.

“Where are you going Jim?”, Flo demands behind him.

“Gotta take care of something, Flo”, he picks up his hat and puts it atop his head, “Hold the fort down for me while I’m gone?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Thanks, Flo”, he muttered, flashing a fake grin. Hopper shoves the donut in his mouth and went out the door and into his car. He drives through the empty streets of the local market, one hand tight around the steering wheel and the other holding the crumpled up shopping list you’d made. Joyce would know how to deal with both your and El’s situation, he thinks to himself as he stopped in front of Melvald’s general store, she was actually good at the whole parenting thing, afterall. 

When Jim steps into the empty store, he is met with Joyce putting up a sale sign. “Hey”, her head turned at the sound of the bell ringing.

“Hey, You busy?”

“You’re our first customer, so..” There is a beat. Hopper’s fingers fumble with the edge of his hat. “What now?”

Hopper vents about everything that happened between you two to Joyce while picking up all the groceries you had written in the list. “And its not just y/n, El too— she and Mike are kissing, like constantly and the other day— she just…. slams the door, right in my face. and– and y/n just doesn't wanna tell me anything and every time I try to talk, it just turns into an argument. and this last one just really went to shit”, Joyce hums as she rings up all of Jim’s groceries.

“Y’know, those smug sons of bitches, Steve and Mike. They’re corrupting them, I’m telling you.”, he shakes his head, “This has never happened before. And I’m just gonna lose it. I mean, I’m gonna lose it, Joyce–”

“Just take it down, Hopper”, Joyce speaks with a calm tone as she packed up the groceries.

“I want– I need to get rid of them."

“'rid of them'? you sound like you're going to murder them. and didn’t you already tell Steve and y/n that they can’t see each other anymore?”

“But El—”

“Hopper, that is not your decision to make”

“You don’t get it Joyce, El and mike– it’s constant. It is constant. And y/n's been hiding this thing from me for months probably! Months!”, Joyce huffs at Hopper’s anger, “Okay? That is not good or normal, that isn’t healthy”

“What you did to y/n and Steve isn’t healthy either”, Joyce pushes Hopper’s grocery bag on the counter towards him, “Besides, you can’t just force them apart.” She leaves the checkout counter and moves to an aisle and starts putting sale tags on the items, still continuing the conversation. “I mean, y/n’s right— they’re not little kids anymore, Hop.” The woman explains with knitted brows while the man picks up a random thing from the aisle nearest to him and starts playing catch with himself like a bored toddler.

“They’re teenagers Hopper”, Joyce huffs, “If you order them around like a cop, then they’re going to rebel. It's just— what they do.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Let them do whatever they want?”, Jim tosses the box up again.

“No, I didn’t say that”, she sighs, snatching the box midair while shooting a chastising look towards the tall man, “I think you should talk to them.”

“No. no, ‘cause talking doesn’t work–”

“Not yelling. Not ordering”, she gestures with the tag gun, “But talk to them” The woman turns to put the box back where it belonged while muttering with a shrug, “y'know like a heart-to-heart.”

“A heart-to-heart?” Hopper questions, confused, “what’s that?”

“You sit them down, you talk to them. Like you’re their friend”, Joyce explains while the man leans against a wall rather dramatically as if he was five-year-old listening to a lecture about the theory of relativity, “if you talk to them like you’re on their level, then they really start to listen. And then– you know, you can start to create some boundaries”

“Boundaries”, Jim repeats.

“Yeah, but Hop— it's really important that no matter how they respond,” she pauses for emphasis, “You stay calm. You cannot lose your temper”

The uniform clad man rolls his eyes; however, he hid it quickly before Joyce could notice and taps his fingers awkwardly against the wall, “uh, maybe, you could do it for me?”, he requests as if asking Joyce if he could do his homework

“No.”

“Yeah you could. You could come over after work. Yes?”

“No. it only works if it comes from you. Besides you're the one who yelled at y/n. So, you're the one who will apologize.”, She punctuated her sentence by putting a tag on Hopper's shirt. “But…", She trailed off.

“But?”, Jim echoes.

“Maybe I can help you…”, she picks up a notepad from the counter, “find the right words.”

��

You have locked yourself in your room, not planning on seeing anyone. It's what you deserve anyway. Its probably for the better. The lights are turned off, the only source of light in the pitch darkness is spilling through the tiny gap of your slightly open door. You've hidden yourself under the blanket, the bed a mess from tossing and turning.

You hear muffled sounds of Jim reciting something in a monotonous tone from the room next to you. “...important to establish these boundaries...”, His muttering sounding like he had a cigarette between his teeth, “....we can create an environment where.... we feel comfortable, trusted and open….”, you hear him pause, “to share our feelings”. He pauses again and you turn around in your sheets, burying your head under the quilt not planning to hear any more of it. Because if you did you’d cry, whether of jealousy or hurt or regret or guilt, you did not know, you just knew that you would cry.

After some time you then heard the thump of his feet from his room. They stopped in front of your door for a few seconds and you think for just a second that maybe he will knock, maybe you both will fix this, but then they started moving again, moving further from your door and finally stopping in front of El’s door. He knocks. “Hey”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you guys, a minute?”, he asks. You couldn't hear the rest of the conversation as it was muffled by the walls and door. But you filled in the gaps— hopper was trying to talk to Eleven and Mike, possibly about the previous night. He was trying for Eleven. Not for you. For Eleven.

Then Hopper abruptly left with Mike— something about the boy's nanna. You knew that definitely wasn't the truth. For once, you felt bad for Mike.

...

"Y/n?", Eleven cracked the door open. You were lying in your bed, back facing the door. Eleven approached the foot of the bed. "Are you okay?", with knitted brows, she asks, eyes trying to adjust to the dark room.

"I just feel a little sleepy, El", she did not need to know about your fight with Hopper. She did not need to see that ugliness.

"Do you want to watch romcom?"

"You do that"

"And you?"

"I'm not in the mood, El. Kinda tired. I'll be fine, I think I just need sleep.”

The short haired girl nodded rather half-heartedly and left. A few seconds later, the door opened again, you didn't turn to see who it was. 

“Do you want ice cream? Hopper brought some”, It was Eleven again.

“... No, I'm alright”, you don't bother looking up.

"Y/n?", you feel her palm on your shoulder before you turn around hoping the dark room hid your red eyes. "I've kept your food here”, she tells you.

You give a faint smile at the girl's kindness. She closed the door behind herself, leaving.

After eating your food, you fall headfirst into the pillows and there lied Mr. Arnold. You held the bear flush against your chest. Maybe the soft toy could help you fix this too. It smelled like Eleven, you smiled at the thought of your sister and you hated the fact that you were jealous of her. She was the kindest, strongest and most adorable kid— and you'd talked to Hopper about her like you resented her. She was your sister, you loved her.

The bear also smelled like Steve. You missed him, you wondered what he was doing. You told yourself to call the boy after Hopper leaves the next morning. You are curled up in your bed, exhaustion overtaking you. Your eyelids grew droopy and soon you were drifting into sleep.

…

You’re in your room, grey and sterile. your headache had dulled out for the most part, although your eyes still felt too dry. Your Papa had come to check in on you. He said that you were getting better and that you could go back to lessons and the rainbow room from the next day.

The entire week you were like this he didn't bring up why you are hurt. You reckon he was disappointed. You don't bring it up either, just glad that you didn't have to wear the collar because you were hurt.

When the doctor gave you medicine with the injection, Papa held your hand, his other hand brushing over your shaved head to comfort you.

"Good job, Seven."

When the doctor leaves, you finally speak up, "Papa?", he looks at you, "are you angry... at me?"

"For what?"

"For what happened that day."

"No, Seven. I'm not. I am proud of you and the extent of your powers”, your heart swells at the praise, "now we just have to hone in on it. Get better at it. Do you understand?"

You nod silently. He clears his throat before getting up from beside your bed. He buttons his grey blazer, "now, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" you nod once again.

He is about to reach for the door when you speak up again, “Papa?”

“Yes, seven?”

“Where is my mother?”

He turns around, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent, “What?” he walks back up to you.

“I was reading a book in the rainbow room", you explain, " The child in it had a papa and a mama. Why don't I have a mama?”

“Not everyone does, Seven", he answers curtly, “Your mother died when she gave birth to you” he says before once again turning to leave the room.

“You're lying”, he stops and turns and is met with your knitted brows, “I can tell you're lying.”

You see him purse his lips for a second before he speaks up, ”Well, your powers have never been reliable, have they? Your mother is dead.”

“Did I kill her? like I did with that man and the child.”

”yes. Get some rest. Lessons start again tomorrow, Seven."

“Yes Papa”, he is out the door before you even say the entire thing.

…

Hopper doesn’t know what the hell he is doing. He just knows one thing and that is that heart-to-hearts are not his thing. Not anymore anyway. He used to be better at this, at emotions. 

Ever since sarah… he’s felt like this. This empty chasm, this darkness. A black hole. That sucks in everything that is good, warm and bright. Everything he loves, everything he cares for, he swallows it all if it gets too close. It happened after sarah. And for a really long time, Jim decided to never let anyone in– which included you. Your younger self had tried, to win him over, to let his walls down but he hadnt let up. But then last year… Eleven managed to break down those walls, and just like he always does, he swallowed her whole. Enough that she had compared him to that psychotic man who called himself your papa, enough that she had decided to leave. And now he was doing it again, with you. 

Hopper fucking sucks at feelings, not because he doesn't feel but maybe because he doesn't want anyone else to know that he does. The folded-up paper in his hand makes it really fucking clear. And though his palm is slightly sweaty, he blames it on the summer. 

He hates that he shouted at you, multiple times.

Look at me when I’m talking to you.

That is what he had said back then, that is what he had said today. And he saw that same look on you, that deer-in-the-headlight look, the same one he saw on you when he first saw you at the police station. And he immediately regretted it. He and his inflated ego are to blame when he didn't apologize. But he will now, he is going to apologize. He is going to talk things out– have a heart-to-heart. You’re his kid dammit and you fucking deserve it.

Alright hopper, you got this. Just do what Joyce told you and they'll listen to you. 

He stops at your doorstep first, knuckles lifted to knock but then he hears Eleven giggling, and he glances over to her room. Mike is still here, he thinks. Let’s just deal with them first, lets get the easier conversation over with and then he’ll talk to you– he’ll tell you everything, he'll listen to you. 

But then he goes to Eleven’s room and asks if he could talk to them, and he tries he really does try but as it turns out the easier conversation still wasn’t easy at all. Hopper can't help but repeat history.

He has always felt cursed. Cursed to ruin everything as he tends to always end up doing. And in his anger he ends up blackmailing mike to stay away from his daughter.

When hopper came back, Eleven asked him if Mike's nanna (bless her) was okay. "Uh, yeah– she'll be fine kid– pretty sure it was a false alarm." He had lied through his teeth, but he doesn't take it back.

He doesn't take it back. he never goes to your room. he doesn't talk it out. So much for a heart-to-heart.

...

[missterious-figure]

So iv been reading up on the vampire sirens boys & it kinda inspired this one take I thought would make an interesting 'what if story.

In this case, rather then it b moder day it b the past. & y/n just got the unfortunate pleasure of being the new sacrifice to the water monsters that been killing the fisherman.

Y/n has lived a life already experiencing the cruelty of their own human kind so being a sacrifice wasn't unexpected to them. So after being tied up and left by the water they show no fear to their fate.

Sun & moon then fined their easy meal & become enamored by y/ns lack of reaction too them. What's more, once they start to feed they find y/n taists good. Like really good.

So instead of just devouring the outright. The 2 desided to take y/n home to be they special snack. As result they take grate care of y/n in exchange for their blood & maybe a little more.

You knew this day would come. It had only been a matter of time.

You could barely keep your head up as you looked on longly at the serene ocean. It lay out before you like an endless grey quilt. Sometimes a wave would quietly lap at the bottom of the log you were strung up on, teasing you with a small bubbly laugh as it fled back to the sea. All you could do was watch, your arms tied behind the large wooden beam and your legs kept still with another equally tight rope. Not like you going to try and escape. You were far to sore. Having been pummeled with several rocks and numerous bare fists by your own village.

Over what? A birthmark on your face? Your people saw it fit to beat you and hang you up at the beach all because of a dark, cresent marking harmlessly resting above your brow? Apparently so. When you had been born, your birthmark was instantly called out as a sign of evil. Growing up, things got worse. Elders cursed at you, people your own age avoided you like wildfire, even your own parents shunned and neglected you. Things would only get wrong from there. Two monsters decided to call your bay home a couple months ago. They had taken many of the fisherman before the town realized what was going on.

And who did the people blame? You. Your marking was what brought them here, the elders were sure of it. Though you don't know what the monsters looked like, those who did claim to have seen them said that the beasts had cresent faces on large black bodies. Of course they did. You personally didn't believe that, but what you believed didn't matter. You were promptly taken by a mod of angry villages to the beach and now you're here, blooded and bruised and tied to a log.

The sound of deep, gurgling chuckles broke the silence of the calm beach. You lifted your head back up, not having known when you had let it droop. Two large, black creatures were silently wading towards you from the water, the only thing that gave them way was their own laughter. They had freakishly long, thick necks, spindly clawed hands attached to strong arms, which were longer than their legs. You blinked. Both had cresents on the left sides of their faces. One had a plain white cresent. The other had a yellow cresent with strange orangish triangle protrusions on the same side. What do you know? They do have cresent faces... You thought to yourself, almost smiling because of the cruel irony.

You watch as they come forward, stopping right in front of you. They were so tall that they could look you in the eye even while slouching. You stare at them, feeling nothing as they bare their teeth in wide ugly smiles.

"A free meal?"

"Already hung up and almost ready to eat."

"Yes, almost."

The white faced one brought it's wretched, glimmering teeth inches from your nose. It slowly opened it's mouth, red and purple smoke spewing out. You didn't even try to fight, breathing in the thick blanket. The beast waited eagerly for you to do something. For something to happen. But nothing did. You didn't feel anything happen, anyway. Frustrated, it huffed more of the colorful fog onto your face. Again, nothing happened. It tried over and over, even having it's companion billow blue and white smoke at you at the same time. Desperate for a quick death, and ignoring their strange attics, you raised your pleading eyes to the monsters.

"P-please... Just end me."

Your words barely came out as a choked whisper, catching the both creatures of guard for a second. You obviously weren't reacting the way they intended you to. Though they hadn't prepared you the way they liked, you were still a meal, and if you died, there was no chance of that meal being warm at all.

"Well, maybe we can use other ways of making our food hot-"

Growling, the yellow faced one lounged forward and sunk it's teeth into your soft neck. Blood splattered on your torn clothes and dripped into the rising tide. But you didn't even flinch. It quickly retracted it's fangs and turned to the white faced one, as if haven proved a point.

"It's too unresponsive. If it can take a bite and not give a damn, than anything else you do will just be a waste of energy and time."

It continued an a more teasing note.

"And besides, Moon. I'm hungry. And it tastes delicious."

It licked it's lips, trying to get another taste. It hummed hungry.

"Quite delicious~"

It's counter part leaned forward and bit at the other side of your neck. It's face lit up at the taste of your blood.

"That is delicious, Sun"

Like two calves, the beasts latched on to your neck and sucked greedily at your wounds. Finally. You could feel yourself slipping away. But just before you fell into death's welcoming embrace, the monsters retracted from you. You grunted, unable to talk or see much. Whispers were being shared between the creatures, but you couldn't really hear them. You waited, aching for the pain to be over. For them to make the final move or blow. But it didn't come. Instead, your ropes were cut and you were dragged into the ocean, resting on one of their backs. You hoped they'd drown you, but they kept you above the surface as they whisked you away to who knows where. You were struggling to stay conscious, and it was only soon you fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

Much to your disappointment, it wasn't an endless sleep like you had been hoping. Your eyes slowly opened and there you were, laying sandwiched between your giant sleeping kidnappers. You huffed, still drowsy and upset at fact that these killing machines hadn't even done what they were supposed to do. Had they taken pity on you? Well, if so, you were going to piss them off so much they'd kill you on the spot. You watched their bodies quietly fall and rise as they slept. Without much thought, you bit the one on your right with no hesitation.

Your teeth did absolutely no damage, but the beast woke regardless. It was the white faced one, Moon, as you saw it's head shot up in surprise. Taking a moment to process what happened, it seemed more amused than upset. That made you very unhappy, and you tried even harder to tear at it's flesh. You cursed at it between your clenched teeth.

"Why didn't you end me?!"

You didn't know when, but little tears had started falling down you cheeks. After a lot of pointless tugging, your jaws slowly began to release and slipped off the beasts skin. You curled up into a tight ball.

"I just wanted it to be over..."

The yellow faced one, Sun, had just been woken up because the commotion, yawning as it looked at your curled position. He then looked to his companion. Though they had no real sympathy for you, they decided to tell you "the good news." Still laying with it's back to you, Sun, leaned his face all the way down to your side.

"Oh, come now. You are going to help us."

"Yes. We will feed you, and keep you here."

You finally peeked at them.

"And you're going to take my blood?"

"Yes~ Aren't you smart?

"Your blood is so uniquely delicious, and if we had kill you we wouldn't have anymore."

You had nothing to live for, nowhere to go. You really didn't care what they did to you. You didn't move, but the way your body lost it's tension told them all they needed to know. Good! Now they had their own little snack for after hunts. You lived there for long time in those deep dark sea caves that reeked of death and decay, surviving solely off the food Sun and Moon brought you.

-And that's all I have! Hope you enjoyed!

[theblueflower05]

Tizin(Entangled)| Part Three

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

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

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

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

<Part Two(previous)

>Part Four(next)

Series Masterlist

It’s never over,

My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder.

It’s never over,

All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

- Lover, You should come over. Jeff Buckley

Last Time:

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A clear symbol of his acceptance of your courtship.

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

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

Many things had happened at once.

Ronal’s outraged hiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bold outsider.

Silly Omega.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam has found his home-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all so right.

It's bone deep.

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

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

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

He’s obsessed with you.

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

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

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

Neteyam thinks that maybe he’s going crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How had he gone all of those years without this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When he kisses you it's all tongue.

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

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

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

Neteyam just watches you hurry around your mauri.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ronal had made her distaste for him known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He appreciates it- but feels no less guilty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Be a good boy today, won't you?”

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It is.

Simple.

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

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

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

…but he wants to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that thought is maddening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, just hot”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Neteyam cant even deny it.

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

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

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

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

But.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not really you he’s speaking to.

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

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

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

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

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

An obvious claim

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam can hear your fearful gasp from behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

He knows the feeling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then take me on a ride, Forest boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pathfinder to Devil Dog, comming in, over”

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

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

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

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

“Stay safe. Keep in contact”

“Roger that”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s easy to distract you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well enough, his parents are close with mine”

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

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

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

“Neteyam” You sigh, but he keeps going.

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

“Neteyam, please”

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

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

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

Instead you droop with shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh baby,” He whispers the English endearment,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing could prepare him for the reality.

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

You and Neteyam blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think I’m going into heat”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…He still cant keeps his hands to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just whines and clenches down on your dainty fingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam’s eyes almost fall out of his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next time we get to see her rut!

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

[freesia-writes]

Ch 44: Full Circle

Master List ~~ Previous Chapter ~~ WC: 2.5k

Last chapter, friends. 🥹💕

This is a song that my husband and I love, and it’s so pretty, but the lyrics aren’t quite what I was going for this chapter, just the longevity of love. 😊 Death Cab For Cutie - I Will Follow You Into The Dark +Lyrics (youtube.com)

. 

A number of months later…

"The balmy sea breeze ruffled the tablecloth and made the string lights dance merrily above the jovial scene below as the clinking of silverware on plates punctuated the steady hubbub of conversation that rose and fell with the emotion of what was being shared. Some overly-optimistic sea birds hovered above on a swell, fastidiously watching for any dropped crumbs before swooping gracefully into another updraft. The setting was the same, the voices and faces different, but a shared sense of gratitude and contentment prevailed over all."

“I know,” Wrecker said dramatically, gesturing broadly with the drumstick of meat he was holding. “Right after I finish my porch, he comes up with this.”

“You cannot assume that his timing was intentional–” Tech protested fruitlessly.

“I’ll sit on your porch for you so someone can enjoy it while you're out working,” Echo interrupted, flashing a grin at Tech to release him from the increasing indignation Wrecker was goading out of him. “It’ll be great. I’ll put one of Hunter’s dusty old quilts over these creaky old legs and just watch the birds fly from tree to tree.”

“Your prosthetics are hardly creaky–” Tech returned, having gotten no more than two words out in a side conversation with Phee before being lured back in by his brothers. “Nevermind,” he said, more slowly now. “I see the caricature you are attempting to paint.”

“Paint? Oh, that sounds good. I’ll paint on the porch too,” Echo continued, undaunted. The Zygerrian beside Crosshair was smiling broadly at the interchange, his distinctive leonine face relaxed into inquisitive openness. Finally, he spoke up.

“You can paint?” His sibilant tone caught Echo’s attention, and he pointed an unthreatening scomp in his direction. 

“Anyone can paint, Ky’tal. Might look like kark, but–”

“Language, Echo!” Omega teased, giggling from her seat beside Breslin. His eyes sparkled with unspeakable depths of affection as he met her playful gaze for a moment before flashing a rude hand signal in her direction, much to her delight. Echo looked at Hunter, who was staring at him with an entirely flat affect, and opted to return to the main conversation. 

“Anyway,” he said, taking a leisurely sip from his wooden cup. “If you and Crosshair want to come paint on my porch, you’re welcome anytime.”

“It’s not your porch!!” Wrecker laughed, smacking the table with a bit too much gusto and causing a few utensils to clatter off their plates. Lyra jumped, her hand quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment – she still wasn’t unfazed by Wrecker’s jubilant outbursts. Hunter’s hand found her leg, giving her knee a soft squeeze, and she covered his fingers with her own, casting him a grateful smile. 

“Well it sounds like it’s my porch now…” Echo was relentless, and as the two of them dissolved into pointless arguing, Ky’tal shifted his gaze back to Crosshair. 

“What do you think? Want to paint the sunset?” He chuckled at the faintest of blushes that tinted Crosshair’s cheeks, then quickly rearranged his features into seriousness as the sniper fixed him with an entirely harmless glare. “Or perhaps we should paint guns instead…”

“Now wouldn’t that be just precious…” Phee interjected as Crosshair snorted, relaxing into his mirth and allowing the warmth in his eyes to show. “We can hang them all over our walls. Right, Brown Eyes?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hmm. Well, I tried,” she sighed, shrugging and offering a belabored sigh of solidarity. Ky’tal laughed, a rich, deep sound, and draped his arm across the back of Crosshair’s chair. Hunter kept his mouth in a straight line to restrain his smile as he watched his brother’s shoulders relax a few inches.

“...a good find in a relatively abandoned sector,” Phee was saying, continuing her conversation with Tech.

“Allow me to gather some supplemental information and we can leave in two days, if that is acceptable?” he offered, trying and failing to hide the spark in his eye that always appeared at the opportunity for exploration and discovery. 

“Sounds good. I’ll prep the ship and update MEL’s interface,” she nodded, patting the back of his hand. 

“More pirate adventures?” Hunter asked, watching Tech’s eyebrows lower a bit as he regarded him from behind his spectacles. 

“It is not piracy,” he objected. “It is–”

“Liberation of ancient wonders,” chorused half the table.

“We know,” Omega added with a grin.

“If you’re looking for some more ‘respectable’ work, you can expand your module for the Defense Training Academy,” Echo interjected. “There are a handful that seem to be particularly interested in that field, and the more well-rounded they all are, the better.” 

“That would be enjoyable,” Tech answered, perking up again quickly. 

“Yeah. It’s been great getting more of our brothers here, where they can live their own lives and pursue what they want instead of being puppets,” Echo said.

“They do seem to thrive in their autonomy," Tech agreed. " "You’ve created an excellent opportunity for them to continue in their desired purposes while also allowing ample rest and rejuvenation.”

“Well thanks,” Echo said, a touch of surprise in his voice at the rather effusive praise. 

“Have you showed them the new armory yet?” Lyra ventured. Hunter chuckled, giving her a wink before turning to Echo for his response. 

“Armory??” Wrecker interrupted. “Where?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Echo feigned innocence. “Well… Lyra had an entire room of long-range communication equipment as well as a ridiculous amount of weaponry, remember? Apparently she’s not going to need it for her gardening and baking or whatever she does… So she passed it on to me for the DTA.”

“What! I’ve gotta see this…” Wrecker’s face was alight with glee, and he rubbed his hands together as though he couldn’t wait to get them on the goods. 

“You can look, but no touching,” Echo teased. 

“I would also like to inspect the communicators,” Tech added, index finger in the air.

"Sounds like getting conned by a pirate worked out in the end..." Crosshair's comment slithered across the table, and Lyra laughed, meeting his gaze with the tiniest flash of a smirk.

"Listen... He was very persuasive..." she began, but gave up quickly at the chortles that broke out. "Alright, I know... Silly mistake. But hey -- if you all think it's so funny, I can take back my arsenal."

Wrecker gasped loudly, and whether it was feigned or genuine, it was difficult to tell. Hunter laughed, resting his arm across the back of Lyra's chair and giving her opposite shoulder a little squeeze.

"Okay, Wreck. You can keep the goods," Hunter grinned.

"Oh, now they're yours to give?" Lyra teased, beaming as Hunter's eyebrows climbed up his forehead in surprise and admiration, and he lifted both hands in temporary surrender.

"Alright, alright... I guess I'm just--"

"The snack. The eye candy. The trophy..." Lyra interrupted, trailing off at the end as she wasn't sure what word to use there.

"Hunter is the trophy?" Crosshair mused, peering across Ky'tal's broad chest to peer at her again.

"Hey. Eat your peas," Lyra returned, earning a guffaw of delight from a few of the group. Hunter shook his head, eyes on the plate before him but mind far away as he marveled at the depth of her personality that had been gradually unfolding in the safe, steady comfort they continued to build.

"Yeah, Crosshair," Omega joined in. "Got to get your vitamins!"

"It's true," Tech interjected, a touch of mirth on his solemn face. "Peas are a fantastic legume made up of complex carbohydrates and quite a variety of vitamins and minerals. They also offer a significant amount of fiber, which can be helpful with digestive issues--"

"Ohhhh, so that's what's up his--"

"I wasn't finished!" Tech was unstoppable, brimming with the incredible nutritional breakdown that he was far too eager to share. "While often considered vegetables, they are obviously not, as I previously identified them as legumes. But they do stand out from vegetables with their high protein content--"

"You've got to be kidding me," Crosshair muttered.

"Furthermore," Tech continued, "They are rich in polyphenol antioxidants, which--"

"Okay, Tech," Hunter stepped in. "Why don't you save that kind of talk for the bedroom?"

"Peas and polyphenols?" Phee said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "We might need to leave right now..."

"I'm losing my appetite," Echo muttered.

"Alright, alright," Phee grinned. "You give us something better to talk about, then." And off they went.

“Hey, thanks again for all your help at the cottage.” Lyra turned to Wrecker, offering a warm smile as the group's conversation continued without them. “I can’t believe how easy that seemed for you. You’re incredibly strong!” Wrecker blushed and grinned bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aw, it was nothin…” 

“Are you kidding?” Lyra continued. “To combine two rooms, maintain the structural integrity, AND make it look even better than before? It’s a huge gift. Really. Thank you.” Her face was earnest, voice sincere, and she rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment to convey the depth of her appreciation. 

“I’m strong too…” Hunter muttered, shooting her a roguish grin behind lowered brows. She laughed, leaning toward him instead and resting her head on his shoulder before looking up at him with unabashed admiration. 

“So strong,” she purred, only partially teasing. 

“Ha! I could throw you from the docks to the Archium!” Wrecker snorted.

“That is a physical impossibility, Wrecker,” came Tech’s taunt from the other end of the table, but Wrecker ignored him. 

“Besides… How are those office ladies doin?” Wrecker asked, waggling his eyebrows at Lyra as Hunter rolled his eyes with a groan.

“Oh, you left quite an impression,” she smirked. Hunter had brought a large crate of steaks, sausages, and roasts to the school for the end-of-term staff party with Lyra proudly on his arm. He’d given them one last opportunity to get all of their innuendos and flirtation out of their system.

A few of them had taken him up on it, but when they’d laid eyes on Wrecker carrying the huge crate on one shoulder with a single arm around it, Hunter had been instantly forgotten. They’d mobbed the large clone like gaja birds on a pile of mantell mix, squawking and fawning over how massive his muscles were and how wonderful his charitable generosity was, and Hunter’s allure seemed to vanish as quickly as the selection of meat.

His undecipherable mutter about their fickleness had been quickly quelled by the shock of Lyra grabbing both his arms and kissing him firmly, and when she’d released him, she hadn’t been able to stifle her giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his face. 

“Guess I’ll have to make deliveries more often then, eh?” Wrecker grinned. 

“Well you can find your own stuff to deliver now,” Hunter muttered with a harmless scowl.

“I’m sure they’ll find plenty of ways I could help out,” came Wrecker’s playful jab, resulting in a sigh from his brother. 

“Do you want their attention?” Lyra said, poking Hunter in the side so unexpectedly that he jerked in his chair and turned his joke of a scowl onto her. 

“No…” he said, softening as she reached up to stroke the backs of her fingers along his cheek.

“Maybe I’ll just have to keep finding ways to show you…” she drifted off, casting a surreptitious glance around the table, too embarrassed to finish her sentence. He leaned in, nudging her cheek with his nose. 

“Hmm? Go on… You were saying?”

She turned to nestle her face against his, whispering something in his ear that made him press his lips together tightly in a barely-restrained smile, but he couldn’t hide the faint redness that colored his cheeks. He pulled back to look at her, equal parts desire and love on his face, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pushing his plate away. 

“I think we’re gonna call it a night,” he announced, winking at Lyra, who dropped her head to hide her own blushing grin. “As Tech would say, we’re going to tackle a new endeavor together.”

A cacophony of responses broke out, everything from “gross!” to “oh yeah!” as Hunter pulled Lyra to her feet, ignoring the hoots and taunts as they made for the door.

They began their stroll down the familiar path, weaving through the homes of the island, and when they came to a flat, grassy knoll that overlooked the sea, they came to a halt. Lyra’s questioning glance was mollified as she watched him gazing far into the distance, both present and far away in his thoughts, and she leaned into his side, snuggling her arm through his and resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

He sighed contently, as though years of stress and turmoil were gently being washed away by the sea. Wave after wave settled his shoulders more and more, and he was struck by a sudden flashback of his encounter with a native Xyloan upon their arrival to the island. "Fragmented," she had said, assessing him with a keen eye that saw much more than just the surface, and she'd left him with some rather cryptic words: But even shattered shards find smoothing and settling in the steadiness of the sea.

A bit of mirth touched the memory as he remembered Tech’s delight at the “astonishing alliteration” when he’d shared the details of the encounter, and he continued watching the waves in silence, Lyra leaning lightly against him in quiet solidarity. He hadn’t understood it then, but now the sentiment seemed to settle into his soul, a comfortable, familiar weight that grounded and reassured. The sea was never still; it was constantly shifting with the winds and tides, and yet it was consistent, dependable, beautiful. With a steady roll between sand and stone, it softened the edges of even the sharpest fragments of glass, pieces that had been broken by the abrasive relentlessness of life.

Like him. 

And yet, throughout a process that seemed arbitrary or tumultuous at times, something was being formed. Something with a new purpose. Something to be treasured. 

A light breeze caressed him, brushing tendrils of hair out of his face and providing a cool contrast to the balmy rays of the setting sun. He closed his eyes. Inhaled a deep, cleansing breath. Let it out slowly through his mouth. Then opened his eyes with a relaxed smile. 

He turned toward Lyra, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and regarding her fondly. She said nothing, simply gazed at him with radiant affection, and moved her arm to rest around his waist. He pressed his lips to her hair in a long, lingering kiss, murmuring gratitude and love before pulling away. 

Perhaps he could allow himself to settle into a new purpose. Perhaps he could allow himself to be treasured. Perhaps he could rest in the deep sense of reassurance that invited him to be at peace. 

Their eyes met again, and with a simple, small nod from each of them that spoke volumes, they continued on their way, hand in hand. 

Hunter found himself looking forward to the future, whatever it held, knowing that he was where he was supposed to be. Beyond the shadow of a doubt.

.

A little animation from one of my favorite artists, @thattoothpick, that I thought of when writing this:

. The End.

Previous Chapter ~ Master List

.

Y'ALL. It has been SUCH a treat sharing this with you after working on it for months. 🥹 THANK YOU for all the reblogs, comments, delight, and enjoyment along the way.

If you enjoyed this, I have two other full-length fics: a Howzer x OC and a Tech x OC. Both are PG-13 and similar to this one. I also have a full-length spicy Crosshair x Reader over on @spicy-clones.

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[crumbledcastle28]

Sebastian Sallow: Metallic Blood, Lacewing Flies, and Frostbitten Air

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x fem!ravenclaw!reader (she/her; afab) (house is only mentioned twice)

Summary: Sebastian has pushed it too far and can think of no other remedy than you.

Excerpt: "Do you honestly think I would not be able to answer Ravenclaw's precious riddle?" he questioned. You scoffed, reaching to your left to turn on your yellow-toned lamp resting on your bedside table, and Sebastian's body stiffened. You faced him, eyes widening, and hands coming over your once again wide open mouth. A gash - so deep, red, and bloody that the skin was separated in two- stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to the bone of his jawline was the first thing you noticed. The second was the smile he still adorned. "I lied," he laughed humorlessly, still smiling as blood trickled into his mouth. "I got Amit to tell me the answer months ago."

Warnings: small mention of death, swearing, blood, detailed descriptions of stitching, crying, kissing, so much flirting, AGED UP CHARACTERS.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N; Here we are again. Thank you to @peterwandaparker @ithinkweallsing @intheshadowofthegame @pasukiyo and @slythering-snake-boys for the love on my previous fic. I hope you all enjoy :)

My Writing

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(pic from pinterest)

There was no solace like sleep.

Drifting away in a sea of covers and quilts, the pillow wrapped in your arms your only anchor to the conscious world. Hours go by in fractions of seconds; zeal coats your body and mind at the feeling of its promise. Your frigid hands and tired eyes cured by the touch of a blanket and the warping of a mattress against the curve of your spine. A stage to dream, not to think. Not to feel. Not to worry. Only to coast.

You were ripped from its precipice by a hand as cold as death.

You pulled away from it, your mind too sunken into your slumber to even conceptualize that it was real, until it pulled at you again. As light as a feather, and equally as apprehensive.

You hummed softly, blinking yourself awake, eyes watered with so much fatigue that everything was a blur. You shut your eyes harshly and opened them once more, vision now clear enough to make out the silhouette in front of you.

Or rather, the man in front of you.

Fortunately, you could recognize him by the depth of his breaths alone.

"Sebastian!" you shouted, sitting up completely in the darkness, still wrapped in the sheets of your bed.

"Shhh," he replied, pressing the palm of his right hand against your mouth, and the palm of his left against your cheek. His touch was firm, not rough.

You mumbled something against his skin as he scanned the vacant room, ensuring no being had managed to hear him. You attempted to speak again, and he finally let go of his hold.

"What are you doing here?" you said, managing to somehow whisper and yell at the same time.

"I -" he began, his breath coming through his mouth becoming slower and slower, " - I needed you."

You were grateful for the darkness overwhelming the room. Your mouth opened like a hog. You quickly shut it.

"How in Merlin's name did you even get in here?"

You could see the smirk on his face, even through the night.

"Do you honestly think I would not be able to answer Ravenclaw's precious riddle?" he questioned.

You scoffed, reaching to your left to turn on your yellow-toned lamp resting on your bedside table, and Sebastian's body stiffened.

You faced him, eyes widening, and hands coming over your once again wide open mouth.

A gash - so deep, red, and bloody that the skin was separated in two- stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to the bone of his jawline was the first thing you noticed. The second was the smile he still adorned.

"I lied," he laughed humorlessly, still smiling as blood trickled into his mouth. "I got Amit to tell me the answer months ago."

Your hands still cupped your mouth at the sight of his gaping wound, so fresh blood was still pouring down his neck, as you took a shaky breath in. Your hands dropped from your mouth as his smile slowly dissipated into a wince.

"Seb," you whispered.

"I told you," he replied, bloodshot eyes piercing into yours. "I needed you - need you."

You quickly snapped out of your shock and forced yourself to focus, all remnants of drowsiness replaced with its viger, and stood up. You made your way around your bed and opened the second drawer of your bedside table, pulling out a dusty first-aid. Sebastian allowed his full weight to be seated onto your bed, the frame of it squeaking.

"You're lucky every other Ravenclaw went home for the holidays," you said, dusting off the kit and opening it. You took out what you needed - multiple towels, a needle, a vile of previously boiled water, and string.

Sebastian hummed in agreement. "And I'm lucky you didn't."

You smiled, bringing your supplies over to your bed. You propped him up against the bed frame, and you sat before him, legs crossed. "I suppose you are."

You took his chin into your hands and moved his face around in the light, taking a good look at his injury. The skin was completely sliced, and a bruise was already beginning to form around his eye. His eyes fluttered, obviously trying to mask the pain.

"Magic won't work on this," you said, opening the vial of water and dousing a towel with it. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he responded, and you pressed the towel against the wound. He hissed, balling your sheets up into his fist. The towel quickly became stained with red.

"What happened?" you asked, attempting to distract him in any way you could.

"What do you think?" he responded quickly. "He didn't want me there."

"He" meaning his Uncle Solomon. You hummed, your way of coaxing him to continue.

"I arrived in Feldcroft this morning and went to our house immediately, and Anne was ecstatic," he said, and you removed the towel, satisfied with the wound's cleanliness. You began to thread your needle. "I haven't seen her that happy in months."

You smiled, the image of her smiling filling you with a crackling joy.

Sebastian smiled at your smile.

"She brought me inside, hugging me so hard I could hardly breathe," he continued, and you lined up your needle. He saw it from the corner of his eye, and his body paralyzed with fear. His breath halted, and so did yours.

"I'll be as quick as I can," you whispered, looking him in the eye.

"I know," he replied, but his eyes shut and his face winced, preparing himself for the pain. For some reason, it was that image that finally sunk the situation into your brain. How hurt Sebastian was, both physically and emotionally, and how desperate he was to just get this over with. You felt helpless, tears beginning to culminate into your eyes. You didn't want to be the cause of that look on his face, but you had to be, and you hated yourself for it.

You were all he had.

And it was with that realization that you couldn't help yourself. You kissed his cheek, just to the right of his wound, breathing in his usual musk of fresh pears, butterscotch, and clean linen. This scent was now clouded, however, with the pungent aromas of metallic blood, lacewing flies, and frost-bitten air. His skin was soft against your lips, despite it all, but you did not allow yourself the time to memorize it. Instead, you pulled away, hoping he could understand everything you meant with the kiss. I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I've got you now. You're safe.

You lined up your needle once again, not allowing yourself to see whatever reaction he had to the gesture, and stuck it through the skin, beginning to stitch.

The whimper he released cracked your heart in two.

"Keep talking," you said to him, focusing as best you could. "Just keep talking."

He caught his breath, swallowed harshly, and continued, his voice strained and husked. "She brought me into the kitchen, showing me the meal she prepared. I told her how - how proud of her I was. She thanked me for coming and then brought me to the ta - table, mumbling something about how ha - happy she was to celebrate the holidays as a family."

You had made it to just below his cheek bone, your body sweating and his shaking. Tears still ran from your eyes.

He swallowed again, exhaling deeply. "She set it all up, made sure I was comfortable, and we waited for Solomon. She asked me about - about school. How I was doing. Ho - how you were doing."

You would be lying if you said your focus did not waver.

"I told her everything was great," he continued, hissing once again as you tightened an especially separated piece of skin.

"Over halfway done," you mumbled, and he nodded.

"Finally he showed up, not hi - hiding his shock at my presence at all," Sebastian said. "And we started eating. Everything was perfect. The snow was falling through the window, Anne was happy, I was happy, it was like something out of a novel."

You waited for the catch.

"Until I fucked it up. Like always."

You almost grabbed his hand. Almost.

"I mentioned some of the research I've been doing to - to help Anne," he said, "and Solomon lost it. Yelled that I had to go and ruin the holidays with my obsession with Anne's condition. He ye - yelled so loud that he..."

Sebastian paused, and you paused with him.

"...he made Anne flinch," he said through gritted teeth, "and so I lost it too. I don't even remember what I said."

You looked at him for a moment, this broken boy in your bed, and scoured your brain for any string of words that could make him feel better. Everything you came up with felt immeasurable to his anguish.

So, you finished the final section of stitching quicker than you thought you ever could, not ignoring how Sebastian did not even flinch, and cut the thread. You then placed a fresh, cold-water soaked towel into his wound, attempting to calm it down.

Your eyes never left his, which were now staring off into the distance, haunted.

"Seb," you whispered, trying your best to cradle him with your voice, "then what?"

He sighed. "It's blurry. I know I stormed out, I don't remember what direction I took. Next thing I knew, Ranrok's loyalists were surrounding me, and I..."

He breathed deeply.

"...I killed them all."

You nodded, gently wiping at his wound before removing the towel completely. He turned to look at you, his gaze a mix of fire and pain.

"And I got this during the fight. A moment I wasn't looking," he said.

You nodded again and placed the dirty towels and needle onto a third clean one, and placed that onto the wooden floor of the common room. You looked at your hands in the glowing light - coated in blood, some even dripping down your wrists, a few droplets finding their way onto your sleep shirt.

You looked back up at him, his eyes on your hands as well.

"How's it feel?" you asked him, and his eyes snapped back up into yours.

"Better," he mumbled, wiping at his nose. The wound was yellow, ugly, and swollen, but it was closed. Soon enough, Wiggenweld would work on it, and it would be healed completely. You didn't need to tell him that. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

You nodded, resting your sticky hands in your lap. "Thank you for being honest with me."

He nodded back, and the two of you sat like that for some time. Neither knowing what to say, but neither wanting the other to leave.

You broke the silence, sliding off the bed and standing up. "Get some rest, Sebastian. You need it."

He looked up at you, eyes caramelized from the yellow lamps and tears, and stood up in front of you. The look upon on his face was a mix of seemingly every emotion, and he licked his lips. You looked up at him and smiled faintly before leaning down to move the blood-soaked towels out of the way.

He stopped you, sliding his palms over your cheekbones, and kissed your lips.

You wished you could say you hesitated, pulled away in shock, or stopped him, asking if this was something he truly wanted or if it was a way to separate from his own brain, but no.

You all but fucking melted.

His lips were like velvet, caressing against your own like a moth to a flame, unable to get enough, not caring if it burned. And yet, he was delicate with the rest of his body - his hands on your face slowly making their way down to your waist. He was a magnet for you, pulling you in like a song. It did not take you long to place your own hands onto his robes and pull the material between your fingers, pulling him closer, closer, closer. He tasted of roast and cinnamon, likely from the dinner he had mentioned.

You whined as he tipped your head back suddenly, allowing him more access to cartograph your mouth. Merlin, he kissed and kissed and kissed you - breathing into your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip, never letting go.

You didn't want him to.

His hands were in your hair now, massaging your scalp with his nails, sending chills down your spine. Your hands moved to his tie, making it nearly impossible for him to pull away.

He found a way.

You chased after his lips with your own, but he held you back, breathing a laugh against your mouth. You opened your eyes.

His freckles were a piece of fucking art up close.

"Y/N," he whispered against your mouth, centimeters away. "Y/N."

"What?"

"We've got to work on your aim."

You smiled, knowing he was referring to your quick taste of his skin from earlier. "Oh, 'we' do?"

He smiled wide enough to show his dimples, stretching the stitches, eyes darting from your left eye, to your right, to your mouth. "Yes."

"So that's why you kissed me?" you questioned, mouths still nearly touching. "So we could 'work on my aim?'"

His face suddenly turned sincere. "No," he said. "No it wasn't."

You smiled, eyes glowing in victory.

He pulled you back to his mouth, but as you closed your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your hands on his chest, and pulled away with a gasp.

"What?" he said, suddenly panic-stricken, removing his hands from your body instantly. "I'm sorry, what did I -"

"Your robes," you said, pointing at his chest, and he looked down.

His white shirt, tie, and collar of his robe were stained pink, fingerprints visible even in the grim lighting you were standing in. His mouth opened, but before long, he met your gaze with a smile.

"Sebastian I - you're smiling?"

He laughed, genuinely laughed. "Yes, I'm smiling," he said, still laughing.

"But I've just stained your things!" you said, unable to not laugh with him. "I am so sorry, Seb. I'll wash them, I swear -"

"Trust me, Y/N, this is not the first time I have gotten blood on my clothing," he said as he walked closer to you once more and pecked your lips. "But it is by far my favorite time."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again, and again, and again, the both of you smiling into the kisses so big you could barely even bring your lips together. You hummed contentedly, as did he.

"Sebastian," you whispered against his mouth, and he kissed you again, practically groaning.

"Merlin do that again," he asked, and you smirked.

"Sebastian," you said, and he kissed you harder than he had all night.

"Yes?" he responded.

"You need to sleep. You need to heal."

"I need you," he said, and you kissed him one final time.

"Go to your common room, take a shower, get some sleep," you said to him, eyes dancing across his gash, despite the mind-numbing image of Sebastian Sallow with swollen lips and flushed cheeks you had before you.

You didn't want him to go, but he had to.

He nodded, knowing you were right, but still not removing his hands from you.

"And after you do all that," you continued, "you come and find me. To make sure you are healing properly, of course."

Merlin, if only you could have captured the look on his face that he met you with and kept it in your pocket for the rest of your days. He nodded and pressed one final kiss to your own cheek. You smiled.

"Of course," he said sarcastically against your skin. "Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

You nodded, and with one final smile, he walked past you to exit the common room. You rubbed your lips together, wondering if you were somehow in a dream the entire time.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, and you turned around to face him. He had made it to the door to the bedroom, one hand on the handle as he spoke.

"I kissed you because I have been in love with you since the day you bested me in our duel."

He left you with only the echo of the door closing behind him, and the realization that no, this was not a dream. Not at all.

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@leahkenobi

[heich0e]

THE WITCH'S SONG - part two knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood/gore, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST

For as long as you can remember, you have always risen with the sun.

It’s a habit so deeply constitutional that you've never bothered to question that part of your own nature—the breaking light cresting over the horizon each day, perfectly in time with the first flutter of your eyelids.

Your bedsheets are gentle against your skin as you rouse from your slumber. They're buttery soft, perfectly worn-in from the many nights of rest you’ve found under their cover, and the scent of fresh air still clings to them from an afternoon spent hanging on your clothesline a few days prior. You nestle your cheek into the downy embrace of your pillow, breathing in deeply to savour those lingering notes of summer breeze. You let the breath fill every corner of your chest as you inhale, feeling the way your ribs rise to make room for it, and then you let it out again in a warm rush. You repeat the cycle a few times more, and slowly take in the first moments of your day as your eyes adjust to the early morning light.

With your your arm crooked at your elbow, your hand sweeps lazily around beneath your pillow. You search blindly for a moment, unhurried but sure, and then your fingers brush against something solid and cool hidden away under the feathery mass. You wrap your fingers around the object and draw it out, holding it up above your face to appraise it.

It’s a pair of silver scissors, with a sprig of dried lavender fastened to them beneath a thrice-knotted length of thin white twine.

Outside your window, the milky indigo sky provides very little light. The distant sun is still only a sliver of light peeking out over the eastward sea, but what little glow the new dawn provides catches in the scissors's polished silver surface. You see the distorted image of your own eye, just a glimpse reflected along the narrow blade, staring back.

Sleep does not come to you peacefully, and it hasn’t for a long time. It seems to fight you, tooth and nail, each night, but the battle is ever-changing. Sometimes sleep evades you completely, leaving you to toss and turn restlessly until the moon disappears and the day starts anew. Other nights, slumber overtakes you quickly, but its true violence strikes when you’re left at your most vulnerable—nightmares whose claws sink themselves so deep into you, you can still feel their phantom pain long after you tear yourself awake in a cold, trembling sweat.

Your fingers tighten around the scissors in your grip—still cool to the touch, as though your body heat cannot warm them.

The scissors are a simple charm to keep away terrors that might creep in while you sleep. Just like them, the collection of carefully crafted and curated trinkets that surround your room—dried flowers, jagged crystals, hand drawn sigils inked upon slips of silk and parchment—are all kept in an effort to rest peacefully. To ward away anything that may prevent it.

You didn’t always have so many.

You didn’t always need them.

These items are tacked to your walls, line your windowsills, and hang from the tall posters of your bed—each and every one a remedy originating from a carefully documented entry in your mother’s grimoire. The massive tome rests presently at the foot of your bed, tangled in your quilt. You often fall asleep—as you had the night prior—poring over the parchment pages, bound in strong leather tanned a deep midnight blue, filled with a familiar sloping script that makes your heart ache. Her life’s work and story, her own magic and every piece of knowledge ever shared with her, is contained within those precious pages.

It’s one of the last parts of her that remains.

Thankfully your mother's charms served you well throughout the night, as you feel relatively well rested as you rise from your bed—pulling a housecoat on atop your poplin nightdress and stretching your arms up over your head to welcome the day. You tug your quilt up to meet your pillows, tucking it in neatly at the corners, and then you close the heavy cover of the grimoire that rests at the mattress’s edge. You let your fingers trace lightly over the embossing on the cover as you appreciate it, and then you slip it safely into the trunk at the end of your bed where it belongs.

You’re a little surprised that your visitor from the night before hadn’t caused more of a disturbance to your sleep, already so capricious, particularly given the terrible sense of foreboding that had been hanging over your cottage in the days leading up to his arrival—like a heavy, briny fog rolls in from the sea. You choose not to question good fortune, at least not so early in the day—shaking your head as if willing the unwelcome thought away—and you set about your usual morning routine as though nothing in the width of the world is different than it has been any day prior.

You wash, prepare a light meal, and dress yourself in simple attire suitable for a day’s labour, all before the sun has fully risen from the cradle of the horizon. You plan to work in the garden again today, tending to your plants with the meticulous care they require. You aim to start early in hopes of completing the task before the hottest part of the day makes the work less pleasant—the air at dusk the night before had smelled so sweet, a faithful harbinger of a sunny day ahead.

The grass still glimmers with dew as you step outside your cottage, breathing in the clean, crisp air. Across your property, the sun is just about to creep up over the sea, though there’s a lilac brume that cloaks it—a gentle shroud that lets you see her shape without straining your eyes. You keep your feet bare as you tread towards the garden, listening to distant birdsong, and the blades of dew-damp grass kiss against your soles with every step.

You pause at the break in the wall that surrounds your cottage, the threshold between your garden and your home, and take a deep breath in. The wind kisses your cheek as a breeze rushes past, and the plants rustle around you as if bidding you good morning. On your exhale, you breathe the greeting back.

The light continues to rise in the sky as you labour, soon burning off the gossamer mist that tends to linger early in the morning until the day is bright and warm and fully underway. You shuck the knitted sweater you’d worn out at dawn as the temperature climbs with the sun, and eventually cuff your trousers at the ankles too, but you pay little attention to the heat of the day as you go about making sure your plants are watered, pruned, and any that require special attention are given what they need.

You sing softly while you work.

Witches have long sung songs while they toiled, or gathered together, or just as a means to pass the time. It's a cherished tradition among your kind, and you were taught when you were very young that a witch’s song is a sacred, honoured thing—her voice a gift and a powerful tool.

You don’t sing as much as you ought to, nor as loudly. Perhaps, not least of all, because there’s no one there for you to sing to save for your budding rows of plants. Some of y our earliest memories, the ones hazy at the edges as they’ve been eaten away by time, are of your mother singing in her own garden at the house that you were born in.

Why do you sing to them, mother?

On the edge of a northern breeze, you can hear your own voice—higher, lighter, happier than what it grew to be. You squint up into the midday sun as you reflect.

So they can remember us, Button.

Button.

She called you that because you were always losing yours when you were young; returning to the little cabin you called home at the end of the day with dirty knees, pockets full of shiny rocks, a handful of berries to share with her before dinner, and with one less button on your dress than you’d set off into the woods with that morning.

You remember her impossibly soft hands patting over your head, your arms, your legs, as she appraised you for any bumps or bruises. You remember her breathy laugh as you told her your scrapes and nettle stings didn’t even hurt. You remember her gentle eyes, always sparkling like she was telling you a secret.

Don’t you like when I sing to you? Doesn’t it make you happy?

Your little ribbon-haired head couldn’t have been quicker to nod if you’d tried—your answer to her question came immediate and fervent. Your mother's voice was your most favourite thing.

Well, it makes the plants happy, too—and that happiness will help them grow. Their roots will dig down deep into the earth, and they’ll take all our stories that I sing to them there, too.

You recall the childhood fantasy of each word of your mother’s song spelled out in sprawling, knobbly roots, hidden underground, being kept safe by the earth.

Your eyes flutter shut, blocking out the sun and trapping in the fleeting memory.

The songs she sang to you, the stories that she told, the grimoire in the truck at the end of your bed. Those are all that you have left of her now. You keep them safe just like the soil covered up the roots.

Since time immemorial, song has been used to pass tradition from one generation of witches to the next—the legends of your people, the same ones you recite now as you snip the reedy leaves away from your precious plants, were all taught to you in verse and chorus.

Men flock to the melody of the witch’s song like moth to flame. To hear it is to be bewitched by it. Your mother warned you of such a thing, in the same way all young witches are, and of what might happen should your song be overheard.

The history of man calls the witches temptresses, because of their own weakness to their song. Sirens. Man-eaters. That’s how they choose to remember it in their own egocentric folklore; the witch's song is a weapon used to ensnare them, and nothing more. They hide their own antecedent failings by laying blame, and burning any testament that remembers it otherwise.

You've known one truth as long as you've known anything: men are gluttonous, self-serving beasts. They see the world solely as it relates to themselves. They'll take anything in which they see beauty. And they'll immortalize their story, inked in your kind's blood, only as seen through their own eyes.

But the witch’s song was never meant for man.

You pause, your eyes still tightly closed, with your face turned up towards the sun.

Miya Osamu is standing at the forest’s edge.

You know he’s there even without opening your eyes, but when you eventually do, your sight immediately catches on the glint of the polished sword hilt at his waist.

He’s come armed today.

It’s noon on the day following his unceremonious arrival—the one where you had warned him, at risk of his own life, not ever to return. You know it’s noon, or very near to it, because the sun sits at its highest point in the clear midday sky as he emerges from the thicket of the wild, towering woods at the edge of your property.

For a moment upon seeing him, you wonder if you ought to flee—if you should seek shelter on the other side of the little rock wall you know he cannot cross. Instead, you hold your ground, still resting in the dirt of your garden—the knees of your twill pants stained with grass and soil, with grime caked beneath your fingernails.

You will not run from him.

He approaches you slowly, with careful steps as not to tread upon any one of your still-budding plants. You don’t bother watching him draw nearer.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve to come back.” You sink your spade into the earth at the base of a plant that’s showing signs of rot. Its your final task in the garden for the day: you plan to cut it out at the root, take it back into the greenhouse, and try and salvage at least a few slips for propagation.

Your only hope now is that any affliction hasn’t spread beneath the soil.

“I’m not here to prove my nerve,” he says to you, pausing a few paces away between a patch of rosemary and another of oregano. His voice is clear and sure like the blue sky overhead. “I’m here to help Atsumu.”

You place the uprooted plant into a small tin pail beside you, prodding into the soft edges of the hole you’ve dug to excavate it for any signs of further blight. You see none, thankfully.

But rot’s a tricky thing. Sometimes it's in plain sight, and others it hides where the light can't reach it.

“I don’t care why you’re here,” you tell him, setting aside your spade and meeting his eyes as you drag the back of your wrist against your perspiring brow. “And I don’t care about your brother.”

The knight looks worse than he had the day before when he showed up in your workshed, but you’re not surprised by that fact. He spent the night in the woods, that much you’re certain of—not least of all because the nearest village is too far for him to have travelled their and back by midday. His hair is unkempt, his clothing rumpled like it’s been slept in, and the shadows under his eyes are darker, more severe than they had been the night prior—though perhaps their stark contrast is just more evident in the light of day.

At his waist, Osamu’s hand rests lightly upon on the hilt of his sword, but it seems more instinctive than threatening given the way his fingers are slack. There’s a frustrated furrow in his brow that deepens in the wake of your words, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Yer the only one who can help him.”

“No, I’m the only witch your king hasn’t culled,” you parry. “There’s a difference.”

Osamu’s lips pull into a thin line. “So you admit it.”

You blink.

You suppose this is the first time you’ve confirmed his accusation. The first time you’ve admitted to your truth. It wasn't so much a slip of the tongue as it was an inevitability.

“It does me little good to say anything otherwise,” you respond, unshaken by his observation. “You need me to be a witch. As you’ve made clear: your brother’s fate relies on it. The help you hope for me to provide to you is all that’s keeping that sword in its sheath.”

The knight’s fingers curl loosely around the hilt of his weapon at your mention of it, as though becoming conscious for the first time of its weight against his hip.

But it’s not strictly true, what you’ve said, and you both know it.

There’s one other option Osamu has available to him—one other cure to heal what ails his beloved brother—and it very much requires the use of his sword.

Witches have been driven to near extinction now—every coven you’ve ever known to inhabit this kingdom wiped out in their entirety—with little more to prove they ever existed but your own fleeting memory of them.

The only pieces of them worth saving were their hearts.

There’s a reason why witches have forever been hunted for them—a reason why the king’s knights would cleave them out before their bodies were burned. The hearts of your kind have long been coveted by men for the residual magic that they hold. Even when a witch dies, her heart will keep beating, though only for a short while, and to possess a witch’s heart while it still beats—however faintly—will bring luck to the one who possesses it. It can cure any ailment, or end any drought, or even turn the tides of a battle.

Those hearts and the promises that they assured were worth more to glory hungry men than the lives of the witches they rightfully belonged to.

You feel a white hot flash of anger roll through the pit of your stomach like a violent tide at the thought of it, digging your fingers deep into the soil below you to find comfort. You stare up at the man above you, no different from any of the rest of them, and your eyes narrow resentfully. You clutch dirt by the fistful.

“All the hearts the crown has ripped from witches over the past two hundred odd years, and to what end?” you ask him, disdain dripping thick and venomous from every word. “The fortune of a trophied heart is fleeting, their power fades with every passing beat until eventually the pulse stops altogether. Your king knew that, and he chose to pillage them regardless. That old bastard was born with the world in his hand, yet he hoarded those spoils for himself—wasted them—only to die, like all mortal men do, and leave the rest of you behind to suffer for it.”

“Hold yer tongue,” Osamu warns you sharply, his lip curling in time with his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword in a white-knuckled grip. “How dare ya speak ill of the late king.”

“Why defend a man who left his country in ruins?” you goad him further, twisting the knife you’ve managed to wedge between the plates of his composure’s already straining armour. “A man who stripped his kingdom of its greatest resource—of the lives dedicated to the keeping of this land—and left his infant son to take a throne he drove into the ground with his greed. A son I’m sure has grown into just as pitiful a ruler as his father.”

The knight’s sword glints in the sunlight as it’s quickly drawn. The sound of the finely honed blade scraping against the sheath is almost pleasant; surprisingly delicate in its own way, even in its violence.

You kneel beneath Osamu in the glare of the all-seeing sun, the point of his blade held level at your throat.

“Don’t say another word against King Shinsuke,” the man hisses, and much like the first time you mentioned his brother by name, it seems you’ve struck a tender nerve.

You don’t flinch, but your eyes do flicker down towards the garden beds.

A tense moment passes with his steady sword resting just beneath your chin.

“You’re stepping on my spearmint.”

Osamu’s gaze follows yours down to his feet in surprise, to where his left boot treads upon a small mint plant. He inches his foot back slightly, almost without thinking, after you point it out. Some of the outer leaves are bruised, but you’re fairly certain the plant will still survive.

A breeze rolls in from the east, rushing through the blades of grass and rows of plants until it lifts the sleeve of your shirt as it passes like a kiss from the sea. You find it comforting. Reassuring.

Osamu speaks again.

“I could just take it, y’know.”

You don’t need him to clarify what it he speaks of.

What’s strange to you isn't the threat he utters, but rather that the words were spoken so quietly they were very nearly lost in the passing breeze. Part of you can’t help but wonder if he knows he uttered them aloud at all, or if they were merely one final fervent encouragement to steel his own resolve. You look up at him, and see his eyes are burning with insistence—wild in their hopelessness.

His expression is grave, remorseful almost. “I’ve got no other choice.”

Ah.

The final fraying morality of a desperate man.

“Good luck,” you say to him. You still meet his gaze without flinching. His sword is still pointed at your throat. “You’ll have to find it first.”

Confusion flashes behind those frantic grey eyes, and then creeps in the horrified realization.

At the tree line in the distance, a raven takes off from the highest bough of an old oak tree with a piercing caw.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, but his voice is tight and unconvincing—almost like you can hear the bile creeping up his throat. You wonder if he’s saying it in hopes of persuading you or himself.

You lift your shoulders in a dispassionate shrug, reaching up towards the neckline of your blouse. “Would you like to check?”

It’s quiet for a moment as you wait for a reply you know will never come.

Behind the knight’s own rigid shoulders, the soaring raven swoops down into the treetops out of sight.

“You cut it out yourself,” he finally breathes, your finger pausing where it’s looped underneath your collar. His expression clearly conveys the disgust he feels at the very premise.

You drop your hand, swiping your dirty fingers on the thighs of your trousers in a lazy attempt to clean them.

“I thought I ought to beat a man like you to it.”

The knight before you looks like he might be physically ill, a sallow hue overtaking his skin that wasn’t there a moment prior. You’re not sure you entirely blame him for the revulsion, considering what he must be thinking—considering the vile things he must be picturing in his mind. The image of you harvesting your heart from the cavern of your chest; the idea of you holding it—beating and bloody and hot to the touch—in your own hand.

Your gaze hardens with renewed contempt.

“I watched my people be massacred for their hearts," you tell him. "I watched knights just like you drag them in front of crowds, tie them onto stakes, and burn them for a spectacle. An immolation that the king—the one whose precious memory you stand here and defend with that sword—presided over like a jubilee,” your voice threatens to waver, but you keep it even as you stand. Osamu’s blade follows you as you lift yourself up to your feet—but his wrist is limper now than it was when he first drew it. Weakened. You swallow back the bitter taste creeping up your throat. “If not for my mother, I would undoubtedly have been among those lost, and I swore to myself that if it was the last thing I did—the only thing I ever did—I would never let my own heart suffer the same fate.”

Osamu lowers his arm to his side, his blade withdrawn.

You meet each other, eye to eye, but there’s no doubt now who stands as victor.

“Kill me if you want to,—” you tell him, your tone indifferent to the very challenge you make on your own life.

From deep in the forest, you hear the raven’s caw once more—the shrill cry of a predator catching its prey. The knight’s head turns slightly towards the sound, just the subtlest tilt of his face in the direction, but yours doesn't.

Your eyes don’t leave his.

“—What’s one more dead witch atop the grave of hundreds?”

He considers you for a moment in silence, and then slowly he sheaths his lowered weapon.

He turns his back to you, and your eyes trace the broad lines of his shoulders as he retreats in the direction of the forest from whence he’d appeared.

“I will not help you, no matter how many times you seek me here. If your brother's days are numbered as you say, save your efforts and return to him.”

Osamu pauses, a few furrows away from you in the lush green of your garden.

He's unnervingly still for a moment, still facing towards the forest, but then he turns to you once more.

His eyes are supplicating—no trace of the anger or the malice they’d held moments before. His voice is soft when he speaks again.

“I’ll give ya anythin’ you ask in exchange for yer help. Anythin’.”

You laugh, but the sound is acerbic like the taste clinging to your tongue. The chill in your voice stands in stark juxtaposition to the gentle warmth of the early summer day surrounding you.

“There’s nothing on earth that you could give me that could ever make up for the things your kingdom took away.”

Osamu’s face falls, but he nods almost imperceptibly. It catches you by surprise, that seeming resignation—acceptance—to the only answer you offer him.

Wordlessly, the knight turns and continues towards the trees.

He doesn’t tread on any of your sprouting crops as he departs.

[thetravelingtyper]

On The Same Page Pt 7 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

Simon spends the night over, you dream of the past, and share a sweet moment and news with the man...

Part 6, Part 8, Masterlist

Dessert passed without much fanfare and Sam stood for the dishes.

“It's getting late Pumpkin”

The name has you rolling your eyes but you stretch, popping your back as you listen to the sound of the rain. You turn to Simon who regards you calmly. His hair has dried and fluffed up, and you want to run your hands through it. Under your observation, Simon gives a small smile and you flush, turning away. The time was nearing 11 and you would need to be up to open the store on Friday. You stand out of your chair, turning to push it back in. Simon watches a moment before following, pushing his chair in before shuffling to your side.

You look up to him with a smile before moving to Sam and hugging him. Finishing up the plates he turns his head to place a kiss on yours before murmuring,

“Goodnight Buttercup,” He turns to Simon and nods.

Simon returns it as you return to him, a question in your reach.

“Ready for bed? It's not too late for the nail polish?” You ask it with a smirk, your hand going to Simon's arm. You get a humored huff at the joke,

“Sure.” 

Your lips quirk up and you turn to leave the kitchen and Simon follows, hand trailing to take yours. You squeeze his and lead him to his room. At the door, you part, opening the door to reveal a small but comfy room. It was intended to be an office but you and Sam each worked either in the kitchen together or in your rooms. There was a bed tucked into the corner and yet more bookshelves. In one corner next to the small bathroom were a few more cases of typewriters. 

“Typewriters?” He asks simply. You allow him to enter before you and you follow, approaching the corner and grabbing a case. 

“Yeah, most are rescued from around London. I work on them in my free time.” You open this case, a brown crackled leather. Inside you reveal an ultraportable, a smaller typewriter. You pull the machine out and set it on the quilt of the bed before inviting Simon to look. He finds an ivory keyed machine in a casing of grey plastic. His fingers skim over the keys finding the hammers responsive as they move with a light click. You smile at the machine fondly, thumbing the worn leather of the case before speaking,

“Smith-Corona Skyriter, it is from the 1960s. Reliable once I get a new ribbon in it. It had a few sticky keys but a little cleaning got that fixed.” 

You say it with a knowing tone and Simon can tell you care a lot for the machine. He runs a final hand over it before handing it back to you. You slip it back into the case, closing it before setting the bag aside. You return to him then.

“Do you need anything else Simon?”

He shakes his head. 

“No thank you love, ‘his is fine.” 

With that you nod and move to leave the room before pausing, biting your lip. You then spin on your feet and call his name. Simon looks down at you and you move. Pushing up onto your tiptoes you press a small peck to this cheek, brushing against warm skin before turning and rushing out of the room with a soft good night simon your cheeks flushed. 

You quickly retreat to your room and close the door softly so as to not disturb Sam. Leaning against your door your heart races but you feel giddy. You smile to yourself before. You went into your bathroom and brushed your teeth before shutting your lights off and tucking yourself into bed. The sounds of the rain lured you into a deep and easy sleep.

The sounds of a river woke you in your sleep. Your eyes open to a tapestry of stars. You were on a hill overlooking your college city. Sam and you found it while biking one day and shortly made the space under an old oak tree your own. The light of a full moon lit your way as you stood on a spread quilt. Approaching the tree you grab a branch and hoist yourself up. Eternity passes as you climb, a breeze kicking up smells of the sea despite your distance, You feel at the stern of life, and you finally made it to the top before sitting on a sturdy branch, leaning back to watch the stars. 

Here the burden of the world was shouldered by wood and bark. You hear a yip and your fox dances through the air, past shooting stars and nebula. There are smaller cries and she is followed by her kits. One of them, smaller than the others, tumbles in the air and you reach out to catch the poor thing. 

Four black paws land on your palms as the little fox steadies itself. It shakes its fur and peers at you with new blue eyes that'll darken to a rich amber as it ages. The little fox watches you as you once again lean against the tree. The weight of the editing position gave way to the thrill of your newest publications. They had been a great success. But under the weight of your new work, you found yourself missing the fox and your old home. 

Your open palms come to rest on your stretched-out legs, but the kit, ever the explorer, hopped out of your hands and into your lap. It then curled up gave a yawn and fell asleep. Your heart melts and you run your hand gently through its soft fur. It sighs in contentment in its sleep. You sit against the tree for a timeless period, head swirling with the dance of the fox and the twinkling of stars. 

However, as dawn rises on the sky there is a call of your name at the base of the tree. You peer down expecting Sam but you find a different man. He looks up with brown eyes, they focus on you intently. He calls again,

“Come on Dove, it's time to leave this place.”

Your heart quickens in knowing but your mind pulls back, looking up instead, seeking the disappearing stars. The mother fox has stopped her dance and pads down to you. She looks at you, and you reach out a hand. She butts her head against your head before looking at her kit. The kit stirs, giving a sleepy yawn, shining eyes blinking away a sleepyness. However, it makes no move towards its mother, instead choosing to snuggle further into your lap. 

Laughter passes over the mother's eyes and she looks to you a moment before looking to the vanishing moon.

‘I'll be back’ she seems to say, licking at your palm before turning and joining her other children in the air. She gives you one final look,

‘Take care of him’

You nod and she and her other kits disappear with the last of the stars. The man calls you again and the fox kit hops up and into the air, waiting for you to follow. You look at it a little shocked and it steps simply further into the air before turning back to you with a little yip. It then descends to join the man, curling around his neck like a scarf. 

You stand, bracing yourself with the trunk of the tree. Uncertainty swells but looking down you meet his eyes and find something steadfast there. He is strong, you know then. His arms come out and he calls,

“Jump dove, I'll catch you.”

You trust him then, something in your heart swelling. You ready yourself, fears of publication, leaving home, and an uncertain future weigh you in the warm sunlight. But with the echo of stars behind your eyelids you take a breath and jump, easily falling into steady arms. 

Friday

You stir and awaken slowly to the sound of London awakening, you turn onto your side, hands dreamily reaching for the fox kit only to feel the ghost of fur as you finally wake up. You sigh into your pillow, curling yourself up for a second before stretching fully out. You sluggishly get out of bed. There is a soft knock at your door and you call out a gentle come in.

The door opens quietly and Simon steps into the room. You straighten up a little at his presence. He looks around your room, taking in the sense of just, you. Books stacked in assorted piles dot the room. Cream walls are spotted with posters, and in the corner on a crate sits a teal record player with records stored below. He looks at your desk finding the Corsair. He steps toward it and runs a hand over the worn plastic. You feel a warm comfort bubble in your chest at his observation. You don’t mind him in your space and that surprises you. You shake the thought aside and stand, turning to tuck your blanket back in before crossing the small space to join him.

“It’s mine from when I was a kid. I started writing back then,” You reach a hand to brush the machine,

“It, it felt wrong to leave it.” You stumble on your words for a moment, a wave of hurt surging in your chest. What had you left behind?

A hand covers yours over the keys then and your eyes flicker up to his. 

Honey and bourbon. Or?

He dips his head looking into your eyes, his hand on yours travels up your arm and you hold in a breath, afraid to break the moment. His hand ghosts over the sleeve of your shirt before reaching your shoulder, he then lifts it. You exhale, slowly, tension releasing from your shoulders before his hand returns to span over your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek. Unlike James, this touch is gentle, reverent even, an examination of a treasure before it can vanish into dust. But instead of grasping at emptiness, Simon finds you under his hand. 

Something, someone so unlike him. A person untarnished by the horrors he’s lived, hell, the things he’s committed. Finding you was a sanctuary. After coming in for that month he returned, hearing James threaten you awoke something nasty in him, claiming to be your partner, his heart quickening in the moment before he was pleased by your shocked admiration. Then getting caught in the rain, holding you close in the kitchen. But the feeling of your lips against his cheek was a ray of sun on his dark heart. 

Something in his chest wove around his heart when he thought of you. Your passion for writing and typewriters, baking yes, but working with others. You were warm and welcoming to everyone. Johnny about talked his ear off about you, and the Fox’s Den made him feel at home. Sam humored him. The man loved you like family.

The men passed into the hallway as you remained in the kitchen. As they entered the guest room Sam turned to him abruptly, green eyes focusing in on the taller man, evaluating. Simon returns the look, not in challenge but in understanding. He knew sibling protection all too well. 

Sam seems satisfied and then speaks,

“You're a good man Simon. Johnny talks a lot about you.” He starts, a hand running along the books on the nearest shelf absentmindedly. His eyes move to the typewriters, then back to the quiet man before him.

“I get the hunch you intend to stick around?”

Simon nods, something setting on his face at the vision of your smile in his head. 

Sam nods, humming and running a hand through his hair, the curls stretching before bouncing back into place. 

He then gives Simon a serious look, eyes sharp,

“Take care of her Simon, especially in these coming weeks. I don’t trust this.”

Simon speaks up, like a rumble of thunder from his chest, 

“Of course.” It's a strong affirmation, quick and quiet, and it brings a smile to Sam's face.

“We agree then.”

Simon’s mind returns to you, wide eyes looking into his. Your hands move on their own, one reaching to his free hand and the other skimming up his abdomen to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart. 

“Si” Your voice is soft and you offer him a shy smile.

Simon just admires you in the streaming sunlight, the rain clouds having turned away into mist. The air in the room stirs, and memories of strong arms around you wakes your writer's mind. You can see the fox kit yawn and tuck itself against Simon. The sound of the ever-present sea echos into the buzz of your ears. Then there is all but silence, and you feel like the last two people in the meaningless world, the blank landscape dawning around you with the new day was yours to create. Nothing else mattered you realized in his arms, you looked up back to him with a growing excitement, in your mind, you could sense the gathering of waves, wild like a storm but tamed by the safety of what life was offering. 

You grin at him and in your mind the fox kit awakens, pulling from Simon and dropping down to your typewriter, a ghost of an idea appearing. Price was right you realized. What had you lost but, your eyes softened, what had you gained? Your hand on Simon’s chest travels up, over his collarbone, and up his neck. He signs softly when your hand mirrors his on your own face, cupping his face and running fingers along a strong jawline. 

He murmurs your name in a sacred whisper, eyes, and hand dropping to meet yours. Stands of his hair brush against your forehead, his eyes rich and warm flicker to your lips but he makes no other movement choosing instead to cherish your warmth and the feel of you in his arms. Your heart quickens and something shifts in your chest. Determination perhaps, a rush of the moment but promise of something more has you leaning up and connecting your lips to his. He is caught by surprise before his eyes close and he leans further into the kiss. 

His thumb caresses your cheek sweetly before his hand trails to cradle your head. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss before he parts for a steadying breath his heart pounding in his chest. You look up at him with a lightly flushed face, not quite having expected to kiss the man but the honeyed chuckle he lets out pleases something in you. His hand squeezes yours before moving to the small of your back and pulling you close. 

You breathe out, head tucked against his chest for a moment before your alarm for 9 am finally sounds. You sigh and Simon fully releases you, allowing you to shut your phone off. You look back to him in question.

“Are you sticking around Si?” 

The syllable rolls naturally off your tongue, and Simon leans back against your desk in consideration. He pulls out his phone checking something. 

“I’ll need to run home love.” You nod at that as there is a knock at the door. Sam waits a moment before popping his head in with an easy good morning to Simon, a knowing smile on his face before his eyes find yours.

“Morning ladybug. Sofia is here, she came around 30 minutes ago seeking you.”

You stand a little straighter and sigh. You loved your manager dearly, especially after all that happened, but the woman tired you out sometimes. Besides the point of her not just calling but you understand that this must be a rush. Maybe she could answer some questions. 

Sam then turns to SImon.

“Your clothes are in a bag whenever you decide to head out.” With that Sam passes you a wink and heads back down to the bookstore. The smell of a quick breakfast drifts in through the open door. You look back to Simon,

“I still have your jacket-”

“Hold on to it for me.”

You blink in surprise but nod a little smile creeping onto your face. You move from your bedside and step towards Simon, his hands lifting in expectation, they move to your elbows before tracing to your back, you look up at him,

“Will you be back sometime today?” 

His fingers circle patterns into your skin absentmindedly and he hums.

“If I can.” It is simple but his eyes dip towards yours and you feel at peace here with him. You nod. He watches you relax in his arms, looking up to him with curious eyes tracing a scar that goes from his chin to his next. He doesn't feel self-conscious though, not anymore. You raise a hand to trace the scar softly. 

“Do they hurt anymore?”

“Not often, sometimes there's the ghost of a memory.”

You hum an affirmative before gazing into his eyes. They are sunlit into a light hazel, flecked with gold under the rays. You enjoy the moment a bit longer before you sigh.

“I should keep Sofia waiting, besides, you need to leave.”

He nods, then leans down to press a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go. He moves to the door,

“I’ll wait for you dove.”

You smile in appreciation and after he leaves change for the day. On a whim, you turn to your laptop and slip it into your backpack to take down to the store. You look to your corsair with a smile and turn to exit your room. 

Passing into the living room you find Simon sitting on his phone, his eyes raising to you when you pass into the kitchen. Sam had eaten a quick breakfast, the evidence of which was in the fridge. You grab a yogurt to take down. You look back to Simon when he enters. You grab another yogurt and some wrapped banana bread. You present these to Simon and you and he make quick work of them. 

After cleaning up you both gather your things and head for the door to the bookstore. Passing down the stairs you hear the voices of Sam and Sofia along with an English-accented voice you didn't recognize. You make it to the bottom of the stairs followed by Simon and see the three in the sitting area with a few scattered teacups that humors you. Sam’s look alerts the others and Sofia and another handsome man turns to regard you and Simon. 

Hazel eyes lift to you in warm but urgent expectation before shifting to regard the man behind you. Sofia was a woman in her mid-40s, with long black hair and a set of round glasses perched on her nose. She had taken more the place of an aunt while you were away from your parents, a close friendship cemented by long hours up late with tea and manuscripts. She also did double duty as your illustrator, and it was she who helped you paint all the foxes. 

The other set of brown eyes regarded you curiously before shooting to the tall man behind you.

“L.T.?” His accent told you he was a local, Simon tilts his head in regard,

“Kyle. It’s been a while.”

“It's been ages!”

Kyle shoots up as Simon moves forward and offers a hand out, Simon takes it as you follow, setting your stuff at the inside of the counter before joining the others. 

“Morning Sofia, sorry to keep you waiting,” You look to Kyle in consideration and he meets you with a wide smile. You return it happy with his nature, he offers his hand.

“Kyle Garrick.”

You return with your name and nod,

“Johnny’s told me about you! It’s nice to finally meet you!”

He grasps your hand in both of his and gives a cheeky wink, 

“Same love, Johnny would not stop talking about you.”

You laugh, Johnny was the equivalent of a golden retriever you thought. Kyle’s eyes move between you and Simon and you wonder what else Johnny may have said. But the curiosity passes when you see a bundle of documents in Sofia’s hand, you sigh at the look in her eyes. You pass Kyle and Simon and take the seat next to her. Kyle looks between the two of you before he returns to his seat as well. 

You look to Simon,

“Are you leaving Si?” 

He thought he needed to return home but nothing was pressing. He shifts, then mind made up he sets his bag next to your chair and takes a seat on a ottoman next to you, long legs spreading out. You offer him a pleased smile before turning back to Sofia. You find her eyes on Simon, a simmering curiosity, much like Kyle’s but with a more maternal feel. She pats your knee before going into an explanation.

“I am sorry about last night! I was in such a rush with that letter arriving! I spoke with Sam’s family, they were shocked with the notification that arrived yesterday as well.” She pulls out an official-looking document, the embossed paper making you roll your eyes. You take it and look over it. There was the general nonsense, the niceties, and such, but what got your interest was the communication of the development of a working relationship between the two publishers with the combined work of you and James. Your gut wrenches as you flip the page.

There you find a promotional tour schedule showcasing both you and James amongst some of the other authors. You scan the list and are relieved to find Sarah listed as well. You flip the page and there you find an advertisement for another formal event. Dread splinters through you and you want to burn the paper. The announcement was inviting international publishers to a gala here in London with you and James as some of the headline speakers. You didn't like the implications of the gala and the following formal dinner. Given what happened last time you don’t understand why they would want to pull you and White Owl into a stunt like this.

“I don't like this.” You speak it, your voice low and cautious, trepidation nipping at your fingertips as you pass the paper to Sam. He nods in agreement. Kyle’s eyes look between the two of you,

“Trouble?” He asks and you nod.

“Unfortunately so, I believe my ex-fiance is causing a ruckus again. He’s the reason I came here at all,” A hand presses to your knee and you find Simon regarding you,

“I've told Johnny the whole story but I can tell it again if you want to hear it?”

“Sure.”

Kyle affirms with a gentle tone, and you find yourself happy he was there. Simon on the other hand tenses and your hand reaches to his. His hand engulfs your knee easily, once your fingers brush over his he flips his palm up. You set your hand in his and he intertwines your fingers, brushing his thumb every so often over your knuckles as you begin to speak. 

You began from the beginning, moving to finish your master's, meeting Sam, and eventually getting into the publishing and editing business.

Fin - For information, this is a Smith Corona Corsair:

Taglist!

@ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost, @nexthyperfix, @feedthefandoms995

AN This was going to originally include you meeting James, but I figured all of the past stuff should be its own chapter!

[elvneedleworks]

[samimarkart]

available originals I would love to sell! please message me if interested in any of them, I’m more than happy to answer any questions you have about these! US shipping only

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Wild Uncharted Waters - Prince Eric X Female Reader

Title: Wild Uncharted Waters

Prince Eric X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Sir Grimsby, Eric's mother (Mentioned), Reader's mother (Mentioned), Reader's grandmother (Mentioned), Max the dog, crewmates (Mentioned), and Royal palace people (Mentioned)

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 4,651

Warnings: Reader has a mother, Reader has a grandmother, childhood friends to lovers, I have not seen the movie, maybe slight changes in storyline?, mentions of illness, teasing, taunting, flirting?, pinning, fire mentioned, Eric almost drowns, fireworks mentioned, confessions, anxiety, nervousness, embarrassment, wounds mentioned, a few song references, even though he had almost drowned Eric is always down for a race, slight angst, death mentioned very briefly, and a lot of fluff

The ocean waves crashed against the side of the small ship, erupting in white seafoam and bubbles as the vessel journeys through the dark, deep waters to the newest destination. You held onto the thick, coarse rope, leaning off the edge, and letting the fresh, salty sea air blow through your hair as your booted feet planted firmly against the wooden beam of the ship's railing. You were coursing through wild uncharted waters, on the day of the Prince's birthday: your best friend, Eric. Eric had been your friend ever since you were both little children. You lived in the village near the castle and met Eric after he was adopted into the royal family. 

You first met at the seaside, you remembered that day well and looked back upon it fondly; even after all these years. Your tiny feet in the wet, squishy sand, the surprisingly warm water lapping at your ankles, and the sound of a young boy laughing; giggling away, had gained your attention. You remembered turning, and seeing a small boy, no older than you at the time, with a flurry of raven black curls, barreling down the beach; a bright smile on his face. As a young child, you had never seen someone so excited to be at the beach. Then again, you guessed that the people in the village were used to the sights and beautiful smells of the seashore; you wondered if this boy had never seen the ocean before. Overall, it was nice. Seeing someone love the beach just as much as you.

Seeing that you were the only two children there, you both introduced yourselves and began playing with one another. And over the days and months, you two became great friends. Tossing rocks into the water to see who had the biggest splash, building lop-sided sand castles, and racing to the castle's kitchen; little Prince Eric always let you win. Even when Eric got his pup, Max, you both played with the dog, playing fetch until both you and the Prince were called home. And, as the years went on and on, the two of you got even closer.

No longer were you friends, but the most inseparable pair anyone had ever laid their eyes on. As young adults, when Eric was free to visit the village, he'd join you at the market, looking at fabrics, jewelry, and even homemade quilts. But, most of the time, just as you did as children, you would both spend time at the beach. You spent a lot of time there since it was both a place you and the Prince held so close to your hearts. The ocean breeze was calming, as were the sounds of the crashing waters against the harsh rocks. There, you both spoke of your day, life in general, and your dreams. There was hardly a time when you and Eric weren't by each other's side. Only when Eric was needed at the castle, his home away from the shore, for whatever princely duties, did you part.

And although both of your lives seemed to be full of sunshine and rainbows, that was far from the fact. You and Eric both had your fair share of hardships. He, Eric, wanted to be free of life inside the castle walls. Eric longed for adventure, sailing the beautiful seven seas, and filling his office with more treasure he had found along the way. And you, you wanted to get away from the village, similar to Eric. And like Eric, you wanted to go on daring adventures, go away to far-off places, and see the world. But, it was hard when you had to stay and take care of your ill grandmother. She was old and frail, and you had to watch over her when your mother had to go off to work. You loved your family deeply, but you wanted to chase that freedom that blew swiftly and sweetly in the salty sea air.

But, to add salt to the wound, you had a secret. You were in love. You were in love with your best friend. Originally, you were overjoyed. The amazing feeling of love overflowed throughout your entire body and soul as you realized that you were indeed in love with Eric. You loved when he ran a hand through his hair, trying to fix it when the wind blew against it, getting into his vision. You loved the ways his eyes lit up with deep fondness as he stared off at the sea or spoke about the newest treasure he had found. You loved his voice, beautiful and soft when he would hum or sing a song under his breath. He was entirely perfect.

Though, you had an inkling that the love you had for him was always there, simmering and sizzling below the surface. Though, as some time went on, you realized that your love could never be. He was a Prince, and you were just the daughter of a seamstress. It deeply saddened you, knowing that there was no chance that you could spend the rest of your days with the man you loved. But, you dreamed and you wished upon the great, shining stars in the sky that one day you and Eric could live happily ever after. Or at least, you could be in his life in any way, just being by his side is all you could ask for. But, you were selfish, and you often let your daydreams wander and think about the ‘what ifs.’ What if Eric felt the same about you? Maybe it was all your insecurities talking.

"Beautiful day, huh?" You heard the familiar soft voice, instantly allowing a smile to grace your features. 

Turning your gaze away from the blue sea, your eyes landed on the soft brown eyes of your Eric, "Yes," You sighed softly, "The perfect day for someone's birthday..." You lightly teased, watching with a certain admiration as the dimples of Eric's cheeks deepened and his smile grew.

The man before you nodded, looking briefly at the wooden floorboards of the ship before looking back up at you. He, too, had a dilemma. It wasn't the fact that his mother was probably worried that he went off sailing again when she begged him not to, nor was it the seemingly gray and gloomy-looking clouds that speckled the sky. No... Eric was completely enchanted by you. 

Looking up at you as you held on tightly to the rope, staring off at the sea; Eric stood simply in awe as the slowly setting sun gleamed against your soft skin. You looked stunningly beautiful, as always, the carefree smile that he adored on your face making him grin. You were truly breathtaking, a goddess among men; he could just stare at you forever. 

Really, it was only a matter of time before the two of you fell in love with one another, as said in the words of your mother. But, somehow, no matter how long you've known each other, you both were incredibly oblivious to each other's feelings. Even though you had a knack for telling what Eric was thinking, and Eric had a few tricks in finding out when you were lying, you both were totally clueless about each other's feelings. 

As if sensing the intensity of Eric's gaze, you turned your head once more. Tilting your head slightly to the side, you stared down at Eric, a small smile growing on your face. You couldn't help but admire the man before you, your eyes raking across his lean and sturdy figure; from his brown leather boots to the dark ruffled curls upon his head. He was truly a handsome sight.

"Well," Eric began, voice slightly breathless before he cleared his throat, his eyes shifting slightly from the tingling of nerves that flowed through him, "I came to see if you'd be joining in the festivities, or staying up there?" He asked, only to watch as you hopped down from the railing, your boots landing on the wooden floorboards with a thud. 

Smiling up at him, you shrugged your shoulders, "I wouldn't dare miss out on it, Eric. After all, I heard there was going to be fireworks." You answered, following Eric as you headed to the other side of the ship where most of the crew were setting up for the party.

Eric mirrored your smile, looking down at you as he gently took your hand in his, "Thank you for being here beside me." His voice was gentle, yet sincere as his eyes locked with yours. You felt your cheeks heat up, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest, and your stomach twisting into knots as he gazed at you.

Shrugging your shoulders once again, you smiled sheepishly up at him, "Absolutely, Eric. Anything for you."

~~~

The fireworks lit up the sky in purples, reds, and blues, creating a brilliant display of bright colors. The loud booms of the explosions echoed throughout the sea and air, almost drowning out the cheers of the crowd on the deck. However, you were not paying any mind to the beautiful lights above, your eyes and mind were on the Prince on the deck, laughing and fooling around with his crewmates and friends. You watched as they hoisted Eric into the air, some singing a bright, cheerful tune as others drank away on their mead. You admired your best friend from above, his dog Max beside you, keeping you company; his warm fur grounding you. 

The sky was a dark blue, the sun had long since set and as the night continued, the sky slowly littered with stars. It had been a long, lovely day. Pushing off the railing, you wandered over to the side of the ship, taking your time to stare up at the sky, gazing at the twinkling stars as the firework show finally ended. The moon shone brightly, illuminating the waves below. You breathed in deeply, sighing contently before you heard the sound of boots against the stairs of the ship, not even bothering to turn; you knew who now stood beside you.

It was calming, looking up at the night sky with Eric. He said nothing, falling into the peaceful silence with you. Though, you began to feel jittery, almost nervous as you glanced over at him. The moonlight shone down upon him with white angelic rays, highlighting his beautiful side profile. Your heart swelled, loving every single aspect of him, whether it was the curve of his lips, or his dark eyelashes that fluttered against his cheekbones every time he blinked. 

"What did you wish for?" You asked abruptly, but yet softly, gaining the Prince's attention as he raised an eyebrow your way.

"What did I wish for?" He asked in return, only for you to nod your head before looking back at the sky before you. Eric took a moment to gaze at you, watching as the light of the lanterns on the ship cast soft shadows upon your form, giving you a certain glow. He let out a small breath, eyes and mind taking in the woman before him. Oh, how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. As if hearing his thoughts, you turned once more, meeting his gaze. You offered him a small smile, which he returned almost nervously. Placing one of his hands over yours, holding onto it, your touch anchored him. Caressing it gently with the soft pad of his thumb, he turned back to the sky, "I wish that tonight could last forever." He muttered softly, thoughtfully before turning to look down at you. "But I don't think I should've told you. Hearing that voicing your wishes out loud can cause them to never come true." He gave you a small charming smile, one that never failed to make your heart race.

You smiled, nodding as you slid a bit closer to the Prince, your shoulder brushing up against his arm. "Either way, your wish sounds wonderful."

Eric turned down to look at you once more, his eyes meeting yours, causing him to lose focus momentarily. His Adam's apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed thickly. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his eyes scanned your features, noting how you had gotten a new freckle upon the apple of your left cheek; probably from the almost constant sun no doubt, and the way that you slowly turned your hand you intertwined your fingers with his sent tingles throughout his arm. If Eric hadn't known any better, he would've thought he was about to confess his feelings for you. And maybe he was. Opening his mouth, Eric was just about to say your name, when there was a loud shout from the deck. 

"Fire!" A voice called from the deck, "Fire!"

Eric's eyes widened as he quickly made his way down the stairs, almost tripping over his feet. Some of the crew members were trying to put out the flames, but they weren't quick enough and before Eric knew it, the whole ship was engulfed in flames, burning the wooden deck and burning down to the bottom of the ship to the top of the masts. People screamed, shouted, and ran for the lifeboats, dropping them down into the dark depths of the ocean below. Eric cursed silently as he jumped into action; he quickly ran to the edge of the railing, ready to jump in when he heard a bark. 

Looking up and over to where he had previously been, he watched as Max became trapped, fire flickering and flaming around him. Eric rushed around fallen beams, climbing up the stairs and grabbing Max before tossing him into the water; carefully watching as Max made it to one of the lifeboats. Panic filled him just as the smoke filled his lungs, Eric looked around the burning ship, his eyes tearing up slightly as the flames grew higher and higher; where were you? 

"Eric!" He heard your voice, turning abruptly and tightly clutching the side of the ship to see you in one of the lifeboats. Eric felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly, seeing you safe, but, before he could try and do anything, a loud explosion knocked him against the beam; causing him to fall back into the water below. 

You leaned forward, the lifeboat wobbling slightly as you watched as Eric fell from the ship and into the water. Not seeing him rise to the surface, you threw yourself into the ocean, ignoring the cries from the crewmates. Holding your breath, the salt water burned your eyes as you swam further down, finally spotting Eric's silhouette. Pushing yourself further down, your legs and arms ached as you finally reached the unconscious Eric. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you used all of the rest of your strength to swim back up to the surface, your lungs begging and crying out for fresh air as you swam up and finally broke through the surface. 

You let out a large breath, coughing as you readjusted your hold on Eric, making sure his head was above the water as you looked around, the ship was far behind you and there were no lifeboats in sight. Trying not to panic, you could see the faint streetlights from the island only a bit away from you. Swimming with all your might, your body ran on the adrenaline that flowed through your blood, pushing the fear and anxiety away as you slowly but surely got to land.

The rising sun began to shine over you, warming your chilled skin as you dragged Eric towards the nearest beach. You stumbled upon the sand first, pulling Eric with you as you crawled onto the ground. Chest heaving with heavy breaths, you laid Eric onto the warm sand, raising your hand up to brush his wet curls from his face before checking his neck for a pulse. You let out a sigh of relief as you felt the soft thump beneath your fingertips, finally letting yourself rest and calm, knowing that Eric was alive and safe. 

Raising your hand, you placed it on Eric's cheek, wiping off the sand before you lightly tapped him, "Eric, Eric, can you hear me?" You asked, trying to wake him, watching in anticipation as his eyelids flickered and he lightly groaned. 

Slowly opening his eyes, he squinted them, taking in his surroundings before focusing them on the silhouette above him, "Y/N?" He asked, voice deep and hoarse as he blinked a few times before finally getting his vision back into focus; his brown eyes looking up into yours. 

You let out a breathy sigh, your hand still resting on his cheek, "Thank God you're okay. Well, minus the small cut on your head there, do you have a concussion?” You abruptly asked, seeing as his eyes seemed fine, you let out a sigh, “I… I don’t know what I - I thought I lost..." You stuttered and then trailed off, you couldn't finish that sentence, closing your eyes briefly and taking another breath, "I'm so glad that you're alright." You finished weakly, the front of your teeth coming out to pull at the corner of your bottom lip. Eric blinked again, trying to calm his soaring heart; he didn't know if his almost drowning was the cause of his racing heart, or you above him, your voice and touch so soothing and calming. 

His own lips parted slightly, his mouth dry as he tried to speak, "You saved me," He murmured, not caring about the slight twinge of pain that burned his throat, and how tired he felt, "Thank you, Y/N," His lips curved upward, his voice gentle as he spoke.

Your eyes closed, a soft smile crossing your lips as he moved his hand up to your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing through your wet hair. "It's no problem, Your Highness," You lightly teased before your voice softened, "I don't know what I'd do without you." Your words caused his heart to soar, a surge of emotions running through his veins like electricity.

"You're not hurt, are you?" Eric asked, his eyebrows raising slightly with concern as his eyes raked over your face for any cuts or bruises, but you just shook your head.

Opening your eyes, you could only smile, "No, no, I'm fine, Eric. Just a bit out of breath is all." A laugh escaped your lips, shaking your head lightly as you watched him, admiring the man in front of you.

He seemed almost relieved as he nodded, relaxing. "Good." He said before moving his hand, the backs of his fingers brushing against your cheek. "When I was on that ship, and I couldn't find you... I was scared," He added after a minute, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone gently. Your eyes drifted shut at the feeling of his touch, unable to stop yourself from leaning into his hand. His touch was so tender, so sweet. It sent shivers throughout your entire body as his hand continued to rub up and down your cheek; his touch sending little jolts through every cell in your body. "I was worried I'd never get to tell you how I feel." 

Eric felt his chest tighten again as he watched your eyes open, the same curiosity held in them that Eric admired, "What do you mean?" You then asked, voice no louder than a mutter as Eric moved to sit up before speaking; one hand propping himself up and the other falling from your cheek and onto his lap.

"I don't know how to explain this... Well... I don't really have a word for it... I just... Know that my feelings for you go beyond friendship. I've never felt this strongly for anyone in my life. All I ever think about is you..." Eric replied quietly, his hand holding himself up digging into the rough sand below him.

You blinked, your stomach erupting into butterflies at his confession, "Really? Are you sure you're not concussed?" You breathed out, your mind racing as the ocean waves crashed gently upon the shore behind you, merely inches from touching you; but at Eric nod, you let out a shallow breath, "That’s… Nice…" You began, swallowing thickly, "Because, uhm, I- I feel the same, ever since we were children," You whispered, flushing lightly as Eric's eyes instantly snapped up to meet yours. "I cannot get over you."

"Wait, what? Really?" Eric questioned, completely shocked that you felt the exact same way as he did. The surprise and absolute joy he was feeling seemed to distract him from his fatigue and possible pain. His eyes widening similar to yours as you nodded, feeling your cheeks burning; both your hearts pounding and racing.

"Yes, of course," You said softly, smiling sheepishly as you looked down, "But I wanted to make sure that I wasn't reading too much into things because I'm not an expert in romance or anything. But I'm pretty sure that you're the love of my life," You chuckled lightly, cringing lightly from your chosen words, your eyes glimmering. "No matter how sappy or cliche that sounds now that I've said it," You continued, feeling a bit nervous as you took in the expression on Eric's face.

Eric smiled widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and those adorable dimples on full show as his hands rested on his knees, "Oh no, that was very cheesy." He chuckled lightly before leaning forward a bit, his fingers coming up to brush the stray speckles of sand from your cheek and temple, your cheek tingling at the simple touch. "And I think you're right about the whole 'too sappy' thing too." His eyes flashed with amusement, his thumb running along your jawline, and leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in its place.

"You just love to tease me," You muttered, rolling your eyes slightly before shifting your gaze, a light flush appearing on your cheeks as you leaned into his touch once more.

"Maybe," Eric replied softly, reaching out to tuck your damp hair behind your ear. "May I... May I kiss you?" He asked, his eyes holding a hint of uncertainty and worry.

You looked back up at him, your hand slowly clenched around the sand at your fingertips, the course and dry sand softly scratching at your palm. Eric's brown eyes drew you in, the small specks of gold shining under the bright morning sun. You slowly nodded your head, your eyes flickering between his brown ones before they closed as you felt Eric lean closer toward you. Your heart pounded hard against your chest as you felt his warm breath fan across your face, his hand cupping your cheek once more as his lips brushed against yours in a sweet, fleeting kiss before going in and claiming your mouth with his in a passionate kiss.

Your lips parted slightly at the sensation, your hands quickly reaching up to tangle themselves into Eric's soft, black curls. The taste of salt lingered on your lips, causing his heart to race even faster as he held you in his arms. The two sat in bliss before you both pulled away, both your faces flushed as you looked at each other. Your heart goes a million miles a minute as you let out a carefree and joyful laugh, making Eric smile at the pure sound of it.

Eric couldn't help but sigh softly, his eyes narrowing lazily as he gazed at you, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck as your fingers gently raked through the hair there, sending chills down his spine and a warm feeling flowing through his veins. The warmth he felt was nothing compared to the one he felt when he was near you; the warmth you gave him made him feel safe and secure; you had such a calming effect on him. Like the open sea, you always had the ability to wash away the worries in his mind, to bring him peace and tranquility. 

Eric watched in a sort of awe, watching as the sun shined over you, lighting up your skin in a golden glow; the blue sky reflecting beautifully within your eyes as your long lashes fluttered against your cheeks. He knew that he loved you since the day he met you, that's for sure.

"Eric," You called to him, gaining his attention as you gestured to a few of the members of the castle coming down the stone and grassy walkway, all looking panicked as they rushed toward the beach where the two of you were sitting. Eric furrowed his brows in confusion, his eyes widening when he saw Sir Grimsby approaching, Max the dog in tow. He glanced between you and the others, noticing that they were all looking at the both of you, worry written across their features. 

"Your Highness! What happened?" Sir Grimsby asked, coming over to help the Prince up, "You've been gone all night, we heard about the ship sinking!"

Eric just smiled, albeit a bit bashfully as he turned and offered you his hand, helping you up from the sandy beach, your feet sinking slightly into the wet sand as he pulled you close to him, his hand intertwining with yours as he spoke, "Yes, well, Y/N saved me... So, we're all good." He spoke, giving you a glance as Max came bounding over, his sandy paws landing on your legs as you ran your fingers through his fur with a smile.

Sir Grimsby sighed deeply, running a hand down his face in exhaustion as he gestured for you and the Prince to follow, muttering to himself, "I swear, if he keeps being reckless like this-" He cut himself off as he realized that Eric was holding onto your hand. He cleared his throat and pointedly ignored Eric's gaze, as he led the two of you towards the castle.

"I don't think your mother's going to be too happy to hear about this." You whispered to him, causing Eric to chuckle softly as he squeezed your hand comfortingly.

"Probably not, but she'll get over it..." He answered with a slight shrug, "She can't keep me away from the ocean forever."

You nodded, slightly swinging your arms together as you spotted the castle before you, "We may have to take a break from sailing for a little while," You told him, a small teasing lilt to your tone.

Eric grinned playfully at the thought, "I wouldn't mind," He replied, "As long as I am with you," He trailed off, turning his head slightly toward you.

Your heart melted at his words, his gaze lingering on you as his lips curved into a gentle smile. "I'll be here beside you." You mumbled quietly, your own lips tugging into a smile as you squeezed his hand tightly in return.

Eric matched your smile, his eyes gazing down into yours as he raised your hand, pressing his lips gently to your knuckles as the world around you both slowly floated away, disappearing beneath the calm waves.

"Your Highness!" A voice yelled, pulling you and Eric out of your own little bubble, the Prince before you turned to the voice that called down to the both of you.

"Coming, Grimsby!" Eric called up to him before he turned to look back down at you. 

A small mischievous smirk graced your beautiful face, raising your other hand, gently pressing your finger upon his nose before letting go of his hand and walking backward towards the castle, "Last one to the kitchens is a rotten egg!"

Eric let out an amused huff, his own lips curling into a smirk before he ran up alongside you, unable to stop the laughter from flowing out of him as he let you win, just as he did when you were both children.

[geothewriter]

Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies: Chapter 21 - A Breath of Fresh Air

With a mutual realization sealed in a kiss, a moment of much-needed calm is deserved. But how long can it last?

---

Happy Halloween y'all!

With the completion of an angsty arc, we enter new territory. As an apology for all of the angst and sadness and uncomfortability, here are just over 6500 words of relative fluffiness. Of course, if you know me, it won't be ALL fluff ;)

On that note, if you're paying attention - storywise we've arrived at a particularly interesting arc. That's right. We're about to take a decidedly Southern direction very soon. Just how will that play out? Well, you'll just have to wait and see.

AS ALWAYS, SUCH a massive shoutout to aChillMango for her freaking spectacular editing on this chapter. <3

Now, without further delay, please enjoy a tidbit from Chapter 21 - A Breath of Fresh Air.

Warmth. A wonderful feeling of complete contentedness encompasses her. It spreads its arms, and embraces, and lulls, and loves. And that feeling is so incredibly calming. It is as though her every trouble has melted away, leaving only this perfect feeling of belonging.  Her eyes slide open, and the crackling pops of a fire greet her in the blues and whites of her home. A deep inhale of the warm air brings the sweet scent of ginseng and the mustiness of the hides that make up her bed. The whalebone tools and set of garments needing mending are lying where she left them. She just doesn’t remember when, but that doesn’t matter. She is warm, and safe, and content. Her eyes slide shut. She can afford to sleep a bit longer. She is still exhausted from the past few grueling days preparing for the solstice celebrations. Warmth. Warmth and oppressive humidity wrap around her like a hot bath. Her eyes flicker open to shades of red, gold, and black. A set of gauze-like curtains dances in a breeze that carries with it scents of moon-peach blossoms and the earliest ripe mangoes of the season. Several pelts adorn the floor, acting as rugs on the otherwise barren wooden surface. Her eyes lazily drift up, settling on the desk opposite the bed to where her whale-bone tools sit, awaiting her return to the quilt she’s been working on for the past…how long was it?  A pair of dao swords are displayed proudly on the wall next to several theater masks, and she decides to turn over, tossing some of the covers askew in the large overly comfortable bed. She could get used to this kind of comfort. It is the kind of opulence that she’s never truly had access to, and what a change. As her head lands on the opposite side of her pillow, the smell of campfires and sandalwood reaches her nose. The smell of his soap. His smile greets her, with a lazy “Good morning.” quick to follow.  A buoyant smile pulls at her cheeks and as she pushes her body forward to kiss him good morning, her lips meet only a cold rocky surface.  She startles awake, heart racing, and coated in a thin layer of sweat. “Oh.”  “Right.” “A dream…” “Just a dream…” “Oh. It was all…just a dream...”

Continue Reading on AO3.

[whumping-valentine]

Content: Ocean Whump, Bloodloss, Shipwreck aftermath

       The air was warm and the winds blew cold against the skin, carrying with it specks of sand and the smell of the salty seaside. Whumpee laid dazed on the shore, squishy wet sand seeping through their squeezing fingertips. The waves crashed against them, lapping them over and over, until they finally woke up, grains of sand uncomfortably covering their whole body. In their hair, clothes, and even eyes as they attempted to wipe them out.

       They painfully blinked their eyes open, sand and salt not doing them any favors. The skies were dark and cloudy with not a speck of light shining through them. The grey heavens rumbled with thunder, soon to storm. Though that didn’t make much sense. It already did rain, the sailor thought as memories returned. They were shipwrecked in a sudden seastorm, a bit too sudden if you ask them. Whatever, it didn’t matter. The only thing that did is the now; they were alive.

       They took a breath, and with shaking arms they pushed themself to their stumbling feet, feeling dizzy and lightheaded. Their head was pounding, keeping it low, their eyes squeezed shut as they held their hand to their forehead, limping across the beach in bare feet. They could feel raindrops begin to hit against them, so they opened their eyes and lifted their head. They jumped back in surprise, letting out a yelp. Directly in front of them stood a tall figure, wearing a cloak, face covered, pale knuckles clutching onto the wooden pole of a lantern they carried.

      The sailor furrowed their brow and blanked, wondering if it were some kind of hallucination. “Wha- who- who are yo—?”

       “You’re bleeding.” The figure said, cutting them off. Despite the lapping waves and falling rain, their voice sounded loud and isolated.

       “Wha- what? N-no I’m n—” The sailor refuted, but the figure used the stick end of the pole to pull back their black coat, revealing a large gash across their stomach.

       “There’s also a trail of blood behind you.” They said, and the sailor turned their head to look at the bloodsoaked shore, then back at the figure,  “You’re going to bleed out.”

Whumpee simply fell to their knees, too shocked at the sight of blood to process it. They fainted, and when they awoke a second time, they were laying on a firm, springy mattress, their wounds bandaged and soaked with blood. They moved, and winced at the pain in their abdomen, the shock wearing off as their body throbbed with various aches and pains.

"Careful now." The cloaked figure spoke, putting a hand to their chest as they pushed them back down, "Don't hurt yourself any further, you need to rest. You had a lot of nasty marks after that wreck. You're very lucky I was there."

"Where... where am I?"

"In my lighthouse. I'm the keeper here on these shores, and these shores have many stories to tell."

"All sailors, pirates, and lighthouse keepers have stories to tell. Such is the sea."

       “Mm, well I'm sure you have no stories like mine. Each storm here tells one. And they're much more than mere stories."

"How so?"

"The weather of this coast is caused by the merfolk. They rest in these waters, and can control the skies. They like to sink the ships of those who sail too deep into their turf. Like you."

       “Merfolk?” Whumpee scoffed, “Ah, great. My life is in the hands of a crazy lighthouse keeper.”

       “Lighthouse keeper, yes, but I’d think twice about calling me crazy.” They said as they proceeded to lay an old quilt overtop them. “For one, I ain’t crazy. For two, it’s as you said, your life is in my hands. I could leave you to bleed out on that shore if I really wanted to, it makes no difference to me. Though then again, I quite appreciate the company.”

       “Hmph. Well, thanks, I guess. No, just— thank you. I- I’m still a bit… dazed. That storm came out of nowhere.”

      “It’s as I said, sweet sailor. Merfolk don’t take too kindly to humans out here. They’re actually a kind of fairy, you know? Yeah. They ain't all what they appear to be. You can never be too careful out here. What’s your name, may I ask?”

       “Whumpee.” They whispered weakly, “What about you?”

       The lighthouse keeper pulled their mask down, and smiled, “Whumper.”