#they lit a part of forest on fire once

[confusedskykid]

If my sky kid were released upon the ancestors full force I think they’d be a public enemy and wildly known as

“DONT LET THAT ONE IN-“

Why?

Well where do I start—

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (2)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Bucky is a dick; Bucky has issues; mentions of murder, fire, death, knives, dead parents, sexism; prejudices; attitude

Author’s Note: Here is the second part already. Thank you for all those lovely comments!! Hope you enjoy! ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Once again, you follow Barnes through the woods, wondering if this is what you are destined to do now for the rest of your life.

You’ve been walking the whole day. Through the same forest. With the same mountain of a man in front of you. It’s almost about to get dark again.

Leaves whisper around you, birds cry in the distance and you try - you try so hard - to find some sense of peace in those sounds since it really is the first time you get to listen to this so near, but it still doesn’t match the dreams you have imagined for so long.

The hem of your gown is tattered, stained with mud, and torn by thorns. The embroidery that once shimmered in candlelight is dulled. The fabric used to be so soft against your skin, but it feels abrasive now, like sandpaper scraping against a wound.

You want nothing more than to rip it off.

But you can’t.

This gown, as ruined as it is, is all you have left of who you were. A princess. A daughter of a king and Queen. A girl who once walked polished marble floors, who dined beneath chandeliers that glimmered brightly.

This gown is your last tether to that life, and you hate it for it as much as you need it.

Your feet are still aching and you stumble a few times in trying to keep up with Barnes's fast pace again.

The soles are raw and blistered.

But your senses seemed to have dulled enough to not care about that at the moment.

Your stomach growls.

It might be the fourth time now in however many minutes.

Barnes hears it. You know he does, because he sighs - an exhale so sharp and pointed, he might have used his whetstone to sharpen more than his blade.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t offer a single word.

His broad shoulders remain squared and rigid.

The last meal you had was at the banquet - if you can even call it a meal. You barely ate, too consumed by the intensity of the watchful eyes of men who saw you as anything but a person. Your skin still crawls at the memory of those gazes.

You try and stretch your limbs out a little. They are still sore and weak from the night before, from the contorted position you were forced to sleep in because of the cold wind.

The ground had been unkind, its hard surface pressing against your ribs and hips, you might believe you have bruises.

When you woke up this morning, the fire was burning. It had been cold when you fell asleep.

You don’t know when Barnes lit it. You don’t know why. He didn’t say a word to you when you stirred, didn’t even look at you beyond a cursory glance.

He simply tossed you a get ready to move before turning his back and tending to his blade. Did he sharpen this stupid thing the whole night?

Part of you wanted to thank him for the fire. But the larger part bristled at the thought. And who is to say he put it on for you? So, you said nothing, stood, and got ready to move on.

You glance at Barnes’s back. The muscles beneath his worn brown armor shift with each step. You find yourself looking at his back quite often.

The trees grow denser. The air is damp and earthy and you are sure the scent of moss and decaying leaves won’t leave your hair any time soon.

Barnes stops suddenly. His head tilts to the side faintly as if listening to something beyond your comprehension.

As before, you nearly collide with him, too lost in your thoughts to notice his abrupt halt.

He turns to look at you then. His blue eyes piercing and assessing. There is something in his gaze you don’t know what to make of. Not kindness, not really. But it is not the coldness or indifference you’ve come to expect either.

With his eyes on you, he jerks his chin to a fallen log nearby.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, his voice low but carrying something that makes you do just that.

Obeying, you sink down onto the rough surface with a gratitude you don’t voice.

He unslings his pack and begins rummaging through it, pulling out a small pouch of dried meat and another of what looks like nuts.

He tosses them to you without ceremony, then pulls out a flask and takes a long swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Eat,” he orders, his tone as brusque as you came to know.

The food is unappealing as it is necessary, but you don’t complain. The dried meat is tough, each bite requiring an effort that makes your jaw ache, but the saltiness is oddly satisfying.

The nuts are bland, their texture chalky, but they fill the emptiness in your stomach, if only temporarily.

You chew slowly, hoping to maintain the grace you’ve been taught your whole life despite living a different now all of a sudden.

Barnes is watching you. You are aware of his gaze but choose to ignore it. Perhaps there is something critical in his eyes and he is asking himself why the hell he agreed to take you with him. Or perhaps he is simply keeping track of your pace, ensuring you eat enough to keep up.

But something doesn’t sit right.

You glance at his pack, then back at him.

He is perched on the edge of a moss-covered stone, arms resting on his knees, and he is no longer looking at you, head tilted slightly downward, lost in thought as it looks like.

The flask rests by his side, but he makes no move toward the food he just handed you, or gets himself something from his pack.

You haven’t seen him eat anything since you met him. Maybe he ate something this morning when you were still asleep but that too is many hours ago now.

The food sits heavily in your stomach and you swallow hard. You prepare yourself to break the silence. Or, rather, you build up some courage to talk to him.

“Why don’t you eat?”

His head lifts, piercing blue eyes snapping to yours with an intensity that makes you flinch. There is irritation there, the faintest flicker of exasperation, but no answer.

He looks away just as quickly, his jaw tight. “I’m fine,” he says curtly, as if the matter is settled.

Your fingers curl around the pouch of nuts, frown tugging down your brows.

You are tired. Tired of all this. Tired of the silence, of the questions you don’t get answers to, feeling so unwelcome in the presence of this man you didn’t even want to have anything to do with. Tired of you being brushed off all the time.

“You have been walking all day, same as me. You need to eat.”

He exhales a vexed breath, shoulders rising and falling tensely with the effort of keeping himself calm. “I said I’m fine. Eat your food.”

But you don’t let it go. You reach into the pouch, pull out a handful of nuts, and hold them out to him. “Here,” you say softly, hoping your hand stays steady enough so he won’t notice your nerves playing with you.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His gaze falls to the offering in your hand, then back to your face. Something unreadable passes through his expression, too fleeting to make out. Then his lips press into a hard line. “Keep it,” he bites out, roughly. “You’ll need it more.”

You don’t lower your hand. “Why won’t you just take it?”

His patience snaps like a brittle branch.

He lets out a frustrated groan that might have been a growl, raking a hand through his dark hair. “Because I’ve got nothing else,” he snaps, his voice louder than you’ve heard it before. He looks away after his little outburst, his jaw working almost painfully hard.

It hits you harder than you expect. You glance at his pack, at the threadbare state of his clothes, the patches on his jacket that tell of years and tear.

He’s been rationing - not just food, but everything. He doesn’t have more. But he gave you the rest of the food he had, and he has been doing so without a word, without complaint. The thought makes your throat tighten.

You are silent for a moment, but an idea sparks in your mind.

Slowly, you reach for the clasp at your neck. You had almost forgotten it was still there. Your necklace. The delicate thing of gold with a single, small ruby at its center. One of the few remnants of your old life. The one you had been living just yesterday.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo it and hold it out to him. “Take this,” you say quietly.

His head jerks towards you, his expression shifting to confusion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“You can sell it,” you explain, trying to push down your nerves. “Get food. Supplies. Something.”

His brows draw together, gaze moving from the necklace to your face and back again. “Spare me your pity.” His words are gruff, almost angry. But there is a hint of something else. He is genuinely bewildered by your gesture.

“It is not pity,” you insist, trying to hold his gaze. “You… You’re keeping me alive. It is the least I can do,” you add a little hesitantly.

The muscles in his face tighten and loosen as he stares at the chain in your hand with an expression you haven’t seen before. It might be the softest he has looked since you met him.

He doesn’t move to take it, but he doesn’t refuse outright either. You seem to have gotten him off guard for a moment. He looks away for a while, gaze fixed on some distant point in the forest. For a long moment, the only sound is the rustling of leaves in the wind.

His voice, when it comes, is somewhat thick, quieter, and low, almost grudging. “Keep it. For now.”

You hesitate. But with a small sigh, you lower your hand, grasping the necklace tighter again so it won’t slip through your hands to the forest floor.

There is a tension in the air. It seems to bend it. Making you hold your breath as you avoid looking at him again.

He won’t look at you either but there is something in his posture that has changed. It is a shift in the way he holds himself. As if he is no longer preparing for the next hit.

You tuck the necklace safely into the folds of your gown since you sure as the devil won’t ask the man to put it back on you.

The silence stretches on. But it feels lighter somehow. Unspoken words easing just enough to let you breathe.

Yet the food in front of you feels uncomfortable now. Each bite you have taken feels like a theft - from him, from his dwindling resources.

You glance back at him, still perched on the moss-covered stone, his expression unreadable as he stares at the forest floor.

He’s been silent before, more so than not, but something about his stillness now makes your heart feel heavy.

Without thinking, you nudge the remaining food toward him, standing up swiftly, needing the act to be completed before doubt can settle. “Here,” you say, voice as resolute as it would go. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

His eyes are fixed on you in an instant again, narrowing warningly. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, his voice low but biting, like the crack of a branch beneath too much weight. “You’re still hungry. Eat.”

“I’m fine,” you counter, echoing his earlier words with a stubbornness that surprises even you. Your heart is pounding. Your hands are getting clammy at the way he looks at you, but you force yourself not to back down.

You have never been good at pushing back against people, not like this, but something about your new situation makes you dive in your heels. After all, you’ve also never been without your parents to this extent, or without a home, a ceiling atop your head.

You feel like, you can allow yourself a little attitude. And when you have to find out that he has been sharpening his knives in that almost passive-aggressive manner just to kill you, well, then you will go down as the princess you are.

He sits there stiffly, clearly aggravated, but you turn away before he can argue further, deciding to continue your trek, following the narrow path that winds deeper into the trees.

Behind you, you hear him exhale, though it sounds more annoyed than angry. A muttered curse follows you and you almost can’t suppress the smile that tried to make its way onto your face.

His heavier footsteps follow, quickly closing in and he strides in front of you again, sighing once more. There still lingers a little displeasure at the whole situation but it sounds softer. And you might have heard it turn into a suppressed and breathless laugh for a second.

Amusement.

The path is uneven, strewn with roots that twist gnarled across the ground of the earth. You keep your eyes on the ground, not wanting to snap your ankle and become an even bigger burden.

Walking this path is tiring you out, considering the fact that you have been on your feet the whole day without getting a good night's sleep.

You don’t know how long you keep going, but it is completely dark again and Barnes's back is only illuminated by the moonlight barely sinking through the trees.

Your mind has been on edge ever since yesterday, so full of questions about yourself and the mystery surrounding this man.

They churn ceaselessly, those questions, clawing at the walls of your mind, making you almost wince. Each question is a stone dropped into a bottomless well, the echo spiraling down, down, down - never reaching an answer, only silence.

Your mind is as twisted as the tunnels you had escaped from and it only makes your head hurt so much more.

You are exhausted beyond belief.

Even your usually straight spine is turned into a question mark.

The part of the forest you are walking on is relatively straight but you feel like you are walking uphill. Through air turned to syrup.

The longer you walk, the more the world in your mind slows - not with peace, but with the sluggish drag of overuse.

Ahead of you, Barnes moves with the same annoying purpose as always, his tall, dark frame cutting a path through the thick forest.

You wonder if he is as unaffected as he seems, if his endurance is as unshakable as the armor he wears.

“Barnes.”

Oh, no.

You didn’t know your mind is that far gone already to let your mouth have a mind on its own.

The man in front of you freezes for a fraction of a second.

You should not have used his name. Not so directly. So you keep on talking, pressing the words out quickly but with a hesitation you are sure he hears.

“Perhaps we should find somewhere to rest soon.”

Barnes continues to walk in front of you, but you see the slight shift. His shoulders are still tense but in a slightly different way. He seems to contemplate something.

It takes a while for him to answer and when he does, his voice sounds almost hoarse. Rough. “It’s Bucky,”he mutters.

“What?”

A pause. A sigh. Another pause. “My name. Call me Bucky.” There is no warmth in his tone, but there’s something else - a reluctant offering, perhaps, or the faintest dent in his hard armor.

You blink, surprised. That is not what you had expected. And you are unsure whether to acknowledge it or stay silent. Your fingers fidget with the fabric of your gown as you search for the right response. You nod, more than for yourself than for him, and steady your voice. “Okay. Bucky.”

He doesn’t respond. His gaze is firmly fixed ahead, but now there definitely is a change in his posture. It’s not quite softness, not an invitation, but it is something - subtle and fleeting. His fingers twitch at his sides.

You barely manage to suppress a yawn when you notice his stride falter.

He glances back.

That’s the first time he’s done that. He never looked back at you while wandering through the woods, never even hinted that he needed to confirm your presence.

You have grown accustomed to the idea that he just knew you were there, trailing behind like a load he can’t shake.

But now, his head turns slightly and those deep eyes find yours.

The moment is so startling, that you almost trip, your foot catching on a root.

His gaze rakes over you, studying, but giving nothing away. There’s no gentleness there, no sympathy, but neither is there judgment.

His attention makes your skin prickle and your neck heat up.

He seems to focus on your trembling limbs, the way your shoulders sag.

He sees all of it, and for a brief second, you think you catch a glimmer of something. Again, it is gone so fast but you know it was there.

As quickly as it began, it’s over. He briskly turns around, the glance seemingly nothing more than an instinctual check.

“We’ll settle down soon,” he announces. His voice gives nothing away. There is no acknowledgment of the toll the journey has taken on you, but it’s enough.

Relief floods your chest, filling your lungs with something sweeter than oxygen, intertwining with the residual tension his gaze had created.

****

“Where are you taking me?”

Sitting a few inches away from you, Bucky lets out a sigh. It’s long and drawn out, but surprisingly not as sharp as you had expected. It sounds tired.

“What did I tell you about askin’ me questions?” He doesn’t say it like a question. His tone is dismissive. He sounds annoyed.

Your chest tightens. Your breaths are shallow.

Each exhale aches with want - wanting resolution, wanting action, wanting answers, wanting something to crack.

He didn’t say anything to you since announcing that you would settle down soon. True to his word, he actually stopped not long after.

But he basically ignored you. He didn’t even order you to go to sleep.

He just shrugged off his pack and sat by the base of a large tree - one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. You watched him as he pulled out his dagger and began to clean his nails with the casualness of someone who doesn’t feel the need to explain himself.

And again, you hated him for it.

In fact, something starts to burn inside of you. A fire, burning low and smoldering, its smoke wafting into every corner of your mind and clouding your senses.

Each thought is a spark, feeding the flame.

It burns like your home has. Like your parents have. Like your old life has.

And the only remains left will be the ash, piling high, darkening everything, dirtying your title.

Your fingers tighten on your legs, having wrapped them around you in your seated position to try and make yourself warmer.

Nails dig into your gown, hurting your skin through the fabric.

“I deserve to know.”

That makes him pause. He looks up then. His blue eyes look dark in the dead of night. He fixes you with the kind of stare that makes you want to take a step back, though you don’t move. “Do you?” he asks with a low voice. Dangerous. “Do you deserve to know? You think this is a negotiation, princess?”

The title sounds like acrid on his tongue.

Like it burned in his throat on its way up and he needed to spit it out.

You crack.

“Yes!” you spit it out the same way he did your title. “I do deserve to know. Because in case you have not noticed, I’ve lost everything. My home is gone, my parents are gone, and I am here, in the middle of a forest, with you! I know you did not ask for this but neither did I. People have been making decisions for me my whole life. They don’t ask me what I think, what I need, or what I want. And believe me, this-”your hands point at your surroundings and him “-is not what I want. So, yes, I think I deserve to know where you are taking me.”

Each sentence feels heavy. It’s like carrying a stone all the way up a hill to the edge of a cliff, only to see it tumble soundlessly into a void.

Silence follows.

Blood pounds in your ears. It pounds like a ticking clock. The clock that might count the remaining seconds of your life.

Bucky stares at you with an unreadable expression.

His dagger is still in his hand. The blade catches the light of the moon for a second and you almost flinch as he lowers it.

The smirk you have seen before - the one that twists at the corners of his mouth in a taunt - is absent now. His expression makes you uneasy.

“You’re right,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual but no less hard. “You didn’t ask for this.”

His words are a concession, but his tone doesn’t make them feel like one. There is no apology in his tone, no softening in his gaze. He tucks the dagger back into his belt and leans closer. Even with the distance and your sitting positions, he towers over you. His shadow falls long against the forest floor.

“But here’s the thing,” he continues, voice colder than the night air. “Nobody will ever care for what you ask for. Nobody will ever care if you deserve better, or fairer, or easier. Life takes what it takes, and it leaves you with what’s left. Right now, that’s me.”

The space between you seems to shrink with every word he basically throws at you. Or maybe that’s just the force of them, pressing against your ribs, your shoulders, your head, your legs. Until you feel trapped.

“You want to know where I’m taking you? Fine. I’m taking you somewhere safe. That’s it. That’s all you need to know. Because if you start askin’ for more, you’re going to be disappointed.”

You push against the walls of your own limit, only to feel them close tighter. The space shrinks. Tighter. Tighter. Until you can no longer remember the purpose of breathing.

He takes his time to watch you. His gaze is like the steel of his blade - sharpened to perfection.

His eyes burn through you but without warmth.

Frost creeps across your skin, freezing you in place, though you refrain from tightening your arms around yourself.

Your pulse is in chaos, each beat shaking your composure, thudding loud, and reverberating in your ears.

You feel exposed. In your entirety. He might as well see through your skin, through your bones that seem to shrink under his stare, right to the tender places inside you, that you’ve worked so hard to protect.

“You think you’ve got it bad, huh?” Bucky sneers. “You lost your palace, your shiny crown, the cushy life of being waited on hand and foot? Poor little princess. Maybe that’ll teach you how to be thankful for simply being alive.”

Your hands tighten around your legs.

“So you think you can just shove me through the mud without a single explanation, without even the slightest bit of humanity-”

“Humanity?” His laugh is short, cruel, and humorless. “You think humanity is what’s gonna keep you breathin’ out here? You think I’ve got the time or the patience to coddle a girl who’s never had to survive a day in her life? Save the sob story, princess. It doesn’t change a bloody thing.”

He stands up then. His tall frame looks menacing in the way he stands above you. His gaze is so blank. So uncaring.

“You see, your Highness - your palace is ash, your parents are dead, your title means nothin’, and the only reason you’re here right now, instead of lying face down in a ditch with a blade in your back, is because of me.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you ground out, voice shaking but resolute. You rise to your feet yourself but still have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “Do you believe being born in a palace means living a perfect life? Do you believe you are the only one who suffers? That I’ve never felt trapped, or powerless, or suffocated because of the decisions all the others are making for me my whole life? I did not choose this life. I did not choose to have every moment of it dictated by someone else. To be looked at like I’m nothing more than a symbol. A prize. A pawn.”

It’s like speaking into a canyon. Your words echo back to you, hollow and distorted. Meaningless. Because they never reach anything. They only repeat themselves to you.

“You think your crown made you a pawn?” Bucky scoffs. “Your crown was the only thing keeping you alive-”

“I thought that was you-”

“-Out here, you’re nothing,” he continues firmly as if you never even talked, but his eyes flash. “Just another girl who doesn’t know how to survive. And if you keep wastin’ time whining about what you’ve lost, you’re gonna lose a hell of a lot more.”

“I’ve already lost everything!” you cry, your voice breaking, your hands trembling. The words just barrel out of your throat, rushing and violent, without pause for precision. “All that’s left for me is a man who treats me like I’m worth less than the dirt under his boots. I did not ask for you. I did not ask for any of this. So stop acting like I am the one who is supposed to be thankful. You are here because you were ordered to be. Don’t act like you’re my hero.”

He steps closer to you. His shadow falls darker than the night around you, covering you in its entirety. His eyes blaze with an intensity that borders on feral. He doesn’t take them off you for a second.

The tension he radiates crackles against your skin. Your instincts scream at you to move away from him, to cower and hide, to shield yourself, to run into the woods, and never look back. But you are rooted into place.

“Oh, but you should be grateful.” His voice burns itself into the air. “You think bandits in these woods are gonna stop and bow because you’re wearing a filthy gown and calling yourself royalty? You think anyone out here gives a damn about who you are or what you’ve lost? Or whatever dreams you have about what you deserve? No one’s coming to save you, your Highness. They’re all too busy tearin’ apart what’s left of your kingdom. All that matters now is keepin’ that pretty head atop your shoulders. And the only person able to keep it that way is me. So, yeah, you’re damn right you owe me. Every. Single. Breath.”

Your lips part but no words come out.

You don’t know if the ground gives way beneath you. But it feels like it might have. It crumbles and tumbles and falls into itself. You reach and you reach and you reach and there is nothing but air to meet you. But even as you fall, you will still be grasping, will still be fighting, until the very end.

Beneath the fury in his words, there is something else - a bitterness, a weariness that feels older than you can fathom.

It carries a weight. A gravity that demands not just your attention, but your surrender.

“You think you can survive without me? You think you’d last a day?”

Your skin flushes with color, cheeks burning crimson at the fire of fury that scorches your throat, making it feel raw and blistering. Making your next words sound rough as they come out.

“Maybe I wouldn’t. But at least I would die knowing I wasn’t at the mercy of a man who looks at me like I am already dead.”

Something shifts in his eyes for a second. His lips press into a line so thin, it might be a boundary you seemingly are about to cross. His eyes turn cold again. So cold. And yet, they feel alive. Piercing. Penetrating you with his unrelenting focus.

“I didn’t grow up in a palace,” he spits out. “And you know what that taught me? That the world doesn’t care about your sob stories. It doesn’t care if you’re a princess or a pauper. The only thing that matters is who’s still standin’ at the end of the day. And the only reason you are is because I’ve decided to keep you that way.”

You grit your teeth. Your body is holding a scream too big to let out.

“Oh so now I am supposed to grovel at your feet, is that it? Thank you, great and noble Barnes, for dragging me through hell without caring a damn bit if I even live or die. Should I kiss your boots while I’m at it?”

“Watch your tone,” he warns, his voice low and taut. “You’ve got no idea what it takes to survive out here, and you’ve got no idea how close you’ve come to being just another body on the road.”

“Then maybe you should have just left me,” you try to yell, but it sounds fractured, snapping and curling back on itself. “Maybe you should have left me to burn just like my parents did. Why didn’t you leave me behind? Why did you agree to this and drag me out here like some burden you can barely stand to deal with?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous, but you don’t stop.

“What did my mother-”

“Don’t,” he seethes lowly.

“You swore to her-”

“Shut up,” he shouts, voice rising for the first time. “That has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me? She was my mother!”

His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, his hands are gripping and releasing nothing, just the air that holds all the tension - akin to a hunter assessing its talons before plunging them into its victim.

You try not to shrink but your space feels diminished.

His shoulders are stone, drawn up and braced. He seems to thrum with energy. His eyes draw into a narrow, tightening at the corners.

“All you need to know,” he says, his voice dropping to a low, almost growling tone, “is that I’ll take you somewhere safe and make sure your head stays in place. So unless you want to lose it, you’ll keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand.”

You stare at him. The heat of all that’s been said burns in the air between you but you still feel colder than ever. A shiver creeps up your spine, muscles releasing with a shudder.

The breaths that fall from your lips are too shallow, as if the atmosphere is being pulled away, claimed by his intensity.

A thousand retorts claw at your throat, but none of them make it out.

You feel it draining out of you. The energy. The fire that burned hot, but now leaks away. Leaving your limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Your chest feels hollow.

Your heartbeat slows, not peacefully, but with a kind of aching fatigue.

Your hands fall open, fingers slackening.

Your jaw loosens, leaving your mouth slightly open. Making room for the words you were ready to speak to flee, leaving only silence for you to stand in.

But even standing in front of him feels precarious. The earth beneath your feet might tilt at any moment and your body would lack the will to catch itself. And you know Bucky wouldn’t dare to even lift a single finger for you.

It is a surrender not of choice but of inevitability.

Because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t try to. He doesn’t care to.

“Now go to sleep,” he says so flatly as if nothing even happened. “We move tomorrow at dawn.”

“Silence just feeds the rage, a calm that screams with hurt, and there I was, trapped in the quiet, my mind a chaotic storm of pain. Every word I swallowed felt like a match, lighting up the ashes of my frustration, until the heat inside me became too much to hold back.”

- Jaelyn Young

Part three

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Seeing Serena again

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Gossip Girl spoilers, mentions of cheating and betrayal, Serena get a damn grip

~~~

"Is breakfast almost ready, Patty?"

"Almost, Mr. (L/N). We'll have everything set and ready in a few minutes."

The smell of freshly cooked pancakes wafted through the air, merging with the vanilla-scented candles the maids always lit around the penthouse to appease his mother. He raised his cup of coffee to his lips and carefully drank the hot liquid, the tip of his tongue still tingling from drinking it too quickly. His eyes roamed over the view as he watched the city come to life with the rising sun. 

The elevator dinging echoed into the room and his brows furrowed at the sound, his head craning over his shoulder to look at the equally confused maid. "Is my mother expecting guests?" He asked and set his coffee at the table, but Patty shook her head firmly.

"No, sir, I don't believe so. Her meetings start at 1:30."

Humming softly, (Y/N) slipped his hands into the soft pockets of his pajama pants and strode out of the dining room, his ears faintly picking up murmuring from one of the servants greeting their guest.

He failed to think of anyone who'd be visiting them at such an early hour unless it was a work emergency and his mother hadn't been picking up her phone. Besides, he'd long ditched the one person he often drove to school with. 

He rounded the corner and halted, instinctively shaking in a sharp inhale at the sight of the tall blonde standing in front of the shiny elevator doors. She smiled at one of the maids and dismissed her offer of taking her coat or providing her with a drink with a small shake of her head, the smile remaining on her face until she noticed his frozen figure. Her lips parted with surprise before spreading into a sheepish line. She always looked so damn sheepish.

"Hey, (Y/N)." Serena greeted softly, the heels of her boots clicking against the tile as she crossed the room toward him. His eyes flickered toward the grand stairs behind her leading up to the bedrooms and his chest constricted. This wasn't good. Not in the slightest. "It's... it's good to see you." She said and lifted her arms for a hug.

"Don't."

Had it been any time in the past couple of years, he would've happily sank into her embrace and lifted her into his arms for a kiss, savoring her gleeful laughter while she swung her legs around him. The hurt that flashed over her features would've made his chest heavy with guilt and an eagerness to remedy it through any means, but instead of the warmth and love he once felt spread through his body like a forest fire at the sight of her.. he felt nothing but bitter resentment.

He couldn't even bear to look at her, to gaze into the striking blue eyes that he had so often complimented or her golden hair that always seemed to effortlessly fall over her shoulders no matter what she did. 

"I.." Serena's arms fell to her sides and she frowned, her eyes lowering to stare at the floor like a scolded child. "I know I messed up. I shouldn't have left without telling you where I was going-"

"No, no," (Y/N) scoffed and took a step back from the blonde, the smell of her perfume alone making him sick to his stomach. Warm and sweet with notes of cinnamon and orange blossom, everything he once associated with her. He recognized it immediately; how could he not when it was the same one he gifted her for their anniversary? The delighted gasp she'd released when she smelled it for the first time rang in his ears. "I don't care that you went to boarding school, Serena, or that you needed to get away from life here."

Serena's brows twitched and began to slowly crease, her blatant confusion only adding to the nausea forming in the pit of his stomach. Irritation struck him like a lightning bolt, sudden and consuming. How could she possibly look so lost? So innocent? As if she were being accused of a crime she hadn't committed. "I thought you were mad because.. because I left without saying anything. I mean, it's been a year and-"

"I don't give a shit about that, Serena." She blinked, still confused. He wanted to strangle her. "Nate Archibald, Serena. You fucked Nate Archibald, my best friend, behind my back and then ran away like a coward because you love running away from your problems."

Serena flinched and staggered backward as if she'd been struck, her eyes widening into near saucers and breath rapidly escaping her lungs. Betrayal flashed in her eyes. "He- He told you?" Disbelief caked her shaky words.

He gave a bitter, short laugh despite the emotions welling up in his chest. "No, he didn't. I had to learn what the two of you did through Chuck Bass. Do you know what it's like having to look that sleazebag in the eye while he tells you your girlfriend of three years fucked the guy you've known since diapers because he loves making people miserable? It was humiliating."

"I'm so sorry." She exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingertips flew to her mouth which soon began to quiver while her eyes glistened with incoming tears that almost made his eyes roll. He didn't have time for her pity party, didn't have space for it in his life anymore. He didn't have space for her. Her voice cracked when she spoke, "I- We- I was drunk and we didn't know what we were doing. I swear it meant nothing. I would never hurt you-"

"But you did, Serena. Don't pretend you're innocent or that you made a mistake-"

"It was a mistake!"

"Oh, right, his dick just happened to slip inside you, right?"

Serena gaped at him. "(Y/N)!"

Her high-pitched voice bounced off the walls, drenched in pure shock. Her mouth moved with silent words, leaving her looking like a fish out of water gasping for air. It wasn't often Serena was left speechless, that was something he attributed to her mother more than anything. Serena had a real talent for rendering her mother silent with a few accusatory sneers. The hint of exhaustion on Lily's face whenever she gazed at her daughter finally made sense to (Y/N). 

"I'm sorry, okay? I-.. I really, really, am." Her shoulders drooped with a sigh and she took three steps toward him, her tote bag swinging and lightly hitting her thigh with each movement. She reached out and gently placed her hand over his arm, her eyes watching him pleadingly. "I was going to tell you, I promise, I... I just needed time to get myself together. I know I messed up. I should've never drunk as much as I did and I definitely shouldn't have slept with Nate. Please... forgive me." 

Serena always had a magnetic air about her, something wild and untameable and enigmatic that drew everyone to her the moment she stepped into a room. The way she unapologetically carried herself, acted like herself, and not like the other girls at school who plastered on fake smiles for everyone, was the reason he'd asked her out to begin with. And yet, listening to her now, he kicked himself for believing she was any different, that she was just as loyal as Blair Waldorf was. 

"I missed you," Serena added, trailing her hand up his arm and shoulder to cup the side of his neck. "I just want things to go back to how they were between us." 

He frowned and moved away from her, out of reach from her coaxing touch. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to walk in here after what you did and try to pretend like it wasn't a big deal. You didn't accidentally spill something on my favorite sweater or break an expensive vase, Serena. You cheated on me with my best friend... after everything I've done for you." 

"(Y/N)-"

"Serena?" 

His eyes shot up toward the staircase and locked on the figure slowly descending it, her footsteps quiet and barely audible. Serena's head whirled around toward the familiar voice and her mouth opened, whatever words she wanted to say jumbling in her throat as Blair continued to cautiously approach them.

She sported his button-up, the one he'd worn to dinner the previous day and the very one she'd nearly torn off his body in her hungry neediness. The implications dawned on Serena and she snapped her head back toward him with bulging eyes.

"I thought I heard a familiar voice." Blair smiled, not a particularly nice one, and she stepped off the staircase to stride across the room.

She passed by Serena with the hint of a scowl, her eyes narrowing and raking over Serena's figure in discontentment. Her lip curled with disgust at the sight of her worn tote bag and her head shook disapprovingly, her messy brown waves shaking and bouncing off her round cheeks. His arm instinctively extended toward Blair and she settled into his side like a piece slotting into a puzzle. He met Serena's gaze as he kissed the top of her head, feeling her nuzzle into him further. 

"Blair, I-... does- does Nate know you're here?" Serena swallowed.

Blair scowled, offended. "What I do is none of Nate's business anymore. Didn't you hear? Nate and I broke up after (Y/N) told me what you did. I always knew you were a whore, I just didn't think you'd do that to (Y/N) or me. It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. I'm better off without him, and you for that matter."

Blair's words were biting, filled with venom and heat, but (Y/N) couldn't find it within himself to be upset. Nobody else had seen the way her unbothered façade shattered at the news, the way she stuttered through tears as she tried to find any excuse to justify Nate's actions until all she could do was curl up in his arms and sob over the boy she'd poured her heart into.

He'd felt guilty then, for breaking a girl he once believed was a stone wall, a girl he once judged for her cruelty. It wasn't until he helped her pick up the pieces Nate left behind that he caught sight of the girl underneath the ruthless ice queen everyone knew her as. Blair was sensitive, sweet, easily humored, and held a strong urge to please and protect those she cared about. The more time he spent with her, the more his heart began to flutter with a familiar emotion. 

It wasn't until a rainy night when she'd stopped by unprompted to gift him a designer jacket she'd seen while window-shopping that he fully realized the extent of his feelings and, after a kiss by the fireplace and whispered confessions, she agreed to be his girlfriend. The look on Nate's face, and the satisfaction on Blair's, when he saw them at school made the heartache and sleepless nights worth it.

"Guys-"

Blair raised her hand to stop the blonde. "I think it's time for you to go, Serena. We don't want you here."

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: I just want to thank you all for the love, support, and wonderful messages you’ve been sending me because of this series. Summary: You’ll never survive if you don’t learn to depend on yourself. But this world is harsher and crueler than you’re prepared for. Still, you can’t let that hold you back, you need to try and live without Cooper.

He shot up at the sound of a gunshot. It echoed through the trees, closer than he was comfortable with. Instinctively, he reached out to shake her awake, prepared to tell her to grab her shit and run. His hand hit nothing but air and he sighed when he remembered the way she’d stalked off. 

He threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way towards her. He couldn’t see much until he rounded the tree, her bag was gone and so was she. Another shot rang out through the forest. He sighed and made his way back towards the fire. He grabbed a lit stick and used it to illuminate the forest floor to get a better look at the footprints around the area. 

As far as he could tell no one else had passed through here while he’d been sleeping. So where the fuck was she? Another shot went off followed by the sound of her scream. “Fuck,” he ripped the gun out of his holster and followed the tracks as best he could. 

The closer he got, the more it sounded like two wild animals fighting. She was cussing up a storm, screaming at whoever was trying to grab her. He still hadn’t managed to get a good luck at where she was. It seemed darker in this section of the forest, like it was purposefully trying to keep him from her. 

There was the thud of a body hitting the ground and then someone was running. He could hear them trampling through the undergrowth going right past him. Someone was whimpering in pain and he instantly thought of her on the ground bleeding out. Without much aim he shot in the general direction of whoever had run off, he heard a yelp but they didn’t stop. 

“You alright sweetheart?” He heard more than saw anything as she scrambled to her feet and ran off into the forest. “It’s only me!” He gave her a minute to realize she’d run from the wrong person before he figured that she knew exactly who she was running from. She must have still been pissed at him for what he'd said earlier. Rolling his eyes he tracked her limping gait through the steps in the mud. 

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” you whimpered, teeth digging painfully into your lip while you peeled your clothes away from the wound on your side. You slowed down, unable to stay on your feet with how quickly the blood was oozing out of the hole near your ribs. You slumped over, letting yourself fall against a tree and stripped off the top half of your clothes. 

Your fingers pressed weakly against the hole and you let out a choked sob. Dammit, hurt like a fucking bitch. With shaking hands you dug blindly through the bag at your side. You’d lost most of your supplies in the fight but you were hoping the stimpak Cooper had given you earlier was still in here. 

You weren’t sure exactly how these worked but he’d told you it would heal nearly everything. Though, he’d said if a wound was bad enough even a stimpak couldn’t bring you back from the edge. You were praying that this would work, but after the past few days you didn’t have much faith in your luck.

The injector shook in your hands and you knew if you didn’t use it soon you weren’t going to make it. Taking in a deep breath you slid the needle into the skin, as close to the wound as you could get it. You could feel holes on your back and front, you were grateful at least that you didn’t have to worry about trying to dig a bullet out. 

You pressed down and let yourself sink back against the tree as medicine rushed through you. You ripped the injector once it felt like you’d gotten everything. 

With nothing to occupy them your hands fell limply to the ground. You needed to get up, try and reorient yourself and make it to Filly. But you were so tired. You barely noticed the way the wound continued to pulse, the slow dribble of blood leaking onto your hands. All you could see were the stars, so many more than you were used to. 

With no one left to pollute them, they were boundless. You let out a weak sigh and your eyes drifted shut. You thought of Cooper before it all went black. The way he was before, the way you were before. 

It was too dark to really track much but he was sure he was getting close. He could hear her whimpering in pain and figured she’d slow down soon enough. She shuffled around like a wounded animal, graceless and stumbling. 

He tried and justified this to himself, he needed her to deal with Ma June. Honestly, though, he knew he didn’t. He could just give up, set up camp again and wait for morning to come. She’s the one who decided she didn’t need him anymore. No fucking reason to keep going after her. She’d dug her own grave, it was time to let her lie in it. 

Still, he kept going. He ignored the nagging voice that pushed him to stop and turn back around. He pushed anything down that wasn’t useful in the moment. 

She should stop soon, she was just putting herself in more danger by continuing on like this. But, he figured she was pissed off and just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of needing his help. She had always been stubborn to a fault, he guesses even that hasn’t changed. 

Though, if she wanted to make it out here she was going to need tougher skin. It didn’t matter if what he said was true or not. You can’t afford attachments out here.

The sooner she learned that the better. 

There was a loud cry of pain and then he heard the sound of her keeling over against a tree. He grinned, ready to pounce on the opportunity to get on her about being so fucking stupid. “See, this is why you shouldn’t run!” He called out. 

Something lit up the path ahead and he ducked behind a tree instinctively. He peered around the trunk and marked the direction the torches were coming from. They weren’t close enough to be a problem, not yet at least. If he was lucky it would just be some travelers. He might even be able to get some supplies off of them. If he wasn’t, it would be raiders. 

Seeing as she seemed to be his own personal jinx, he figured they only had a few minutes until the raiders were on them. She wouldn’t be much use to him bleeding out. He strode over to her curled up form, she had a hand wrapped around her stomach and in the dark he could barely make out the blue of her uniform. “Come on, let’s go.” He nudged her with his boot but she didn’t move. She didn’t even make a sound. “Come on,” he tried again, kicking harder this time while he watched the torchlight get closer. 

Angry, he knelt down and rolled her over. But the face staring up at him wasn’t hers, it was some fucking raider. Must have been whoever she was fighting with. Shit, that meant he’d shot her. Cooper rubbed his forehead in irritation. Nothing could ever be easy with her could it?

Footsteps sounded closer and Cooper knew his time had run out. Whoever this woman on the ground belonged to had come to collect. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

Cooper’s hand moved to his holster and he looked up at them, a grin on his face, “Gentlemen.”

“Grab her legs. Come on, hurry up, don’t have all day!” Hands wrapped around your ankles and you jolted awake. You kicked out, eyes blind to anything but the memory of the raiders from before. The old woman at your feet jumped away from your weak attack and frowned down at you. 

“Well, shit, she’s alive.”

An old man walked out from behind you. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He crouched down, groaning as his knees cracked in protest. He leaned towards you and you flinched back, eyes wide as you watched him reach out to you. His hand hovered your face and you braced yourself for an attack. He only poked you, though, frowning when you winced away from the prodding of your bruises. “I’ll be damned, she is.”

The old woman sighed and threw a bag over her shoulders. You watched in horror as she tucked a pack of surgical tools into the pocket of her large skirt. Were these people about to carve into you?

What the fuck was wrong with this goddamn place?

The old man held out his arm and she limped over to him, taking it and walking away from you. You glanced around, still confused on what the hell was going on. “Hey!” You croaked. Your hand wrapped around your waist, prodding the wound. You were shocked to find it healed over, only a dull ache left in its place. “Hey!” You shouted again. 

The woman turned around and glared at you. “What?” She screeched and you winced at the way it echoed through the trees. 

“Where’s Filly?”

She shared a look with the old man and they both stared at you like you were crazy. “Right behind you,” they walked off without another word, seeming sorely disappointed that they hadn’t been able to dig into you. 

You groped blindly through the dirt and grass around you until your fingers felt the handle of your bag. You curled your hand into a weak fist and tugged it towards you. You felt completely drained. But you couldn’t stay here, not unless you wanted to be turned into someone’s next meal. 

You groaned and forced yourself to your feet, head swimming with pain and nausea. You zipped your suit back up and winced at how it stuck to your skin. Your blood still hadn’t dried completely, you looked down and grimaced at the crimson stains covering you. No wonder it hadn’t dried, it looked like someone had dunked a bucket of red paint over you. How the hell were you still standing? 

You’re not sure what’s worse right now, that you’re not surprised you got shot or that you can’t figure out whether he shot you on purpose or not. 

He’d made it clear what exactly you were to him. A hole to fill, as he’d so eloquently told you. And you’re pretty sure you’d made it clear that you weren’t interested in filling that role for him ever again. At least you hoped you did, last night was an adrenaline fueled blur and you weren’t positive you were remembering everything properly. 

You can barely recall that raider jumping you, you just know you’d shot your gun off and made a run for it. The bullet hole hadn’t even caught up to you until you were about half a mile away. Maybe Cooper had shot you on purpose. It’s not like you contributed much and you doubted he really needed your help in Filly. 

Made you wonder why he bothered keeping you around for as long as he did. 

You could hear it now, Filly, you’re not sure how you didn’t before. You couldn’t see it yet, but you could hear people calling out their wares and haggling about prices. You hurried as much as you could, one leg dragging behind you slightly. You’re not sure when that got hurt, but you could barely work your right hip properly. 

Little houses were popping up around you. They were sparse and resembled shacks more than anything, but it was just another sign that you’re one step closer to not having to worry about getting shot at every five minutes. 

In front of one of the nicer homes was a clothesline. You slowly approached, eyes on the clean clothes that were beckoning you closer. You kept your hand on the handle of your gun just in case the owner of the home spotted you. What you really didn’t need was getting killed over a shirt. 

You glanced around, not seeing anyone watching you. Your gaze went back to the clothes and you frowned. If there was one thing Cooper taught you it was that no one asked in this world, they took. You ripped the clothes off the line and ducked behind a tree to change. 

Even with the blood still caked onto your skin, you felt cleaner than you had the whole time you’d been up here. Getting rid of that ridiculous suit was good for a few things. You’d blend in better with the people here in a tank top and ratty old brown pants. And you almost felt like you were getting rid of the memories attached to that suit.

It was as close as you could get without grating your skin off at least. 

You dumped your old outfit behind the house and near their clothesline. A transaction of sorts. They could have your blood soaked clothes and you could have their clean ones. Not a fair trade, but better than anything else they’d find up here. 

It didn’t take long to find the entrance to Filly, once you did you found yourself nearly cowering at the sight of all the people bustling through. Sure, it wasn’t a lot compared to California. But you’d been traveling with no one but Cooper for the past week through a barren desert. Not counting the raiders as human, you’d almost forgotten that other people existed. 

A man jumped at you and shoved a skewer of meat in your face. “Dogmeat, get your dogmeat!” You grimaced and backed away from him. So, not as civilized as you’d hoped, but you’d take what you could get. 

The biggest one nodded towards him, “Grab him.”

He grinned and shook his head, “I wouldn’t.”

The boy on the far left had his head blown off before he could even try and charge at him. He ripped the shotgun off his back and shot the other two in quick succession. He didn’t bother with them, seeing if they lived or died. He kicked at the woman at his feet again and she winced in pain. 

“The woman you fought. Where is she?”

She shook her head and curled further into herself. He sighed and grabbed her chin, wrenching it up to his and letting her get a good look at his disfigured face. She tried to shrink away from him but he tsked and shook her so hard he could hear what few remaining teeth she had rattle. 

“I don’t know,” she cried out, batting uselessly at his hands. 

“I really think you do.”

He reached down, groping over her torso and digging his fingers into the bullet hole on her side. She cried out in agony, writhing like an animal caught in a snare. “Filly, she was heading for Filly!”

He grinned and dropped her to the ground, her head thudding loudly against the large tree root. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

She looked up at him in fear, “You’ll let me go?”

He tilted his head, looking her over and taking in the sight of blood on her clothes. “Well, you did attack my friend,” he lifted his gun and she cowered away from him. “I don’t take well to others damaging what’s mine.”

Her brain splattered against the trunk and he stepped over her twitching body to follow the light he noticed further down the forest. He didn’t often find himself exploring these woods at night, he figured he was close enough to Filly but he needed her to confirm it. 

For a moment he lets himself doubt that she was really abandoning him in the middle of the night. Maybe she’d gotten up for a piss and been caught off guard. He dismisses the idea when he remembers that she’d taken her bag with her when she’d gone. 

He doesn’t let himself linger on it too long, pissed off that it’s bothering him at all. 

He’d seen the hope starting to form in her eyes when she’d look at him. She was getting a little loose with what she was calling him too. A little while longer together and he’s sure he’d be hearing his name again. Saying what he had was a favor to them both. Better to cut that off before anything came of it. 

Stupid fucking girl, he shouldn’t even be thinking about this anymore. He shouldn’t be looking for her, either. The confirmation that she’d left him was enough. Their time together was done, it should have ended a long time ago. He’s pretty sure he liked it better when he just thought she was a two-timing slut. 

Hate was easier than whatever the fuck this was. 

He spotted smoke through the trees and then the raiders camp. They were laughing at something and ripping into a roast that looked suspiciously like a human leg. He pulled his gun out and snuck behind them. He just needed a distraction, he’d be over this once he helped himself to their meals and their bedrolls. 

“What?” 

“Caps,” the girl’s voice was distorted by whatever metal oddity she had connected to her throat. She glanced at you, completely uninterested once she’d realized you didn’t have any payment for her. Not that you really understood the payment required. 

Who’d decided bottle caps were a good currency? 

“Well, do you know where I could get them?” She nodded towards a building adjacent to her stall and you frowned. 

The store she pointed to you clearly advertised, WE BUY TEETH. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Or,” you glanced at her with hope, “you go to that alley over there and get on your knees. You could probably get five caps off someone if you suck good enough.”

You glared at her and started walking away from her stall in anger. “I’d get more for my fucking teeth!” You shouted over your shoulder. She shrugged and went back to fiddling with the metal tools on her table. 

You stood in the middle of the marketplace, desperately trying to figure out where you should go. You almost missed Cooper right now, he might be a dick but at least he understood how this place worked. 

You felt an intense ache of betrayal and longing and immediately dismissed any thoughts of Cooper. He could go and get himself shot for all you cared. You loved him, and would have loved him no matter how he looked. It didn’t matter that he was changed, disfigured, you didn’t give a shit about any of that. You just wanted him. And all he cared about was having a pretty body warming his bed. 

You would do this without him. 

You glared against the bright sunlight, scanning each storefront and trying to find something that could help you. You’d already tried to talk to Ma June but she hadn’t been as pleasant as you had been hoping. She wasn’t looking for workers and apparently not charity cases either. 

You didn’t think you were a charity case but apparently having all your fingers and teeth made you an outsider here. You needed to get out of this sun, you didn’t want these clothes to start stinking with sweat so soon. You were trying to keep them as clean as possible for as long as you could. 

You spotted the bar and decided to try your luck there. Maybe you could be a waitress or something. If they still had whores they had to at least have servers here. 

Right?

Maybe you were a fucking charity case. You shook off the thought and ducked inside. You were never going to get far on your own if you kept doubting yourself. You might be a bit naive to how this world works but you’re a fast learner, you’ll catch on soon enough. 

You still wished someone was here to help you. 

He sat down on a log, ripping a piece of meat off the skewer and sinking back into his seat. He ate his food and picked at his teeth, bored while he surveyed the damage he’d done to the camp. She wasn’t exactly a heavy conversationalist, but at least she was something. 

It was startling just how quiet and still the night felt without her sitting across the fire with him. He loathed to admit it, but her company had at least provided him with some entertainment if nothing else. Now everything felt too quiet, too lonely. 

He sighed and shook his head, this was stupid. Two hundred years he’s been on his own. A few nights with her wasn’t going to change who he was. It wasn’t going to fix him and magically turn him into her Prince Charming again. 

Unbidden he thought of her face when he’d grabbed her from those raiders in the old neighborhood. It’s the first time anyone’s ever looked relieved to see him since he’d changed. He’d had to pry her off of him and even then she seemed like she barely wanted to let him go. 

He hadn’t made anyone feel safe in a very long time and he worried a bit for her sanity if she thought he was trustworthy. He was only doing more harm trying to go after her. But something in him couldn’t let go. It was like the love you used to share had been warped alongside him. 

He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting their hands on her. She was his to fuck with and torment, anyone else would push too much. He felt confident, despite tonight’s incident, that he knew how to poke her without going too far. 

Once he was full he shoved a freshly killed raider off their bedroll and settled down to sleep. He figured he’d have better luck recognizing where he was once the sun came up. 

The next morning he went through the raiders’ pockets and bags, lucky enough to find some Radaway among their junk. Maybe he was right, maybe she was a bad luck charm. Maybe he was being stupid last night, thinking about what they used to be. There’s no point in dwelling in the past, he can never go back to that and neither can she. 

Still, he could leave her alone. Give her a chance to make it on her own without him there to torment her. 

He considered it for about two seconds before he dismissed the thought. You’d both had a deal and she had rescinded on that deal. He didn’t take to kindly to people screwing him over, he’d just have to teach her not to fuck with him. 

He tossed his bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the raider’s camp. He had a better idea of where he was now. It wouldn’t be much further until he reached Filly and found her again. He was intent on making sure she stayed with him this time. 

He’d leash her if he had to. 

“There’s nothing I could do for a few caps?”

“I could think of something darlin’,” a man hollered at you from across the makeshift bar. The building was in pretty good shape, though the alcohol looked questionable. The owner seemed nice enough, a wrinkled old man whose hands shook too hard for him to pour a drink without spilling it. 

“Don’t need any help.” The old man muttered under his breath, tottering over to the other side of the room to pour another cup. He ended up knocking it into the man’s lap and cussing as the alcohol poured across the floor. 

“Right,” you muttered. You let your head fall in your hands, rubbing your face in frustration while you tried to think of what to do. You’d made a deal with yourself that if you couldn’t find work by the end of the day, you would sell your teeth. 

You were hoping it wouldn’t come to that, but with the way your stomach was rumbling and how everyone seemed to keep turning you away it was seeming more and more likely. You slumped over the bar, trying to think of a solution or another idea. 

You’d been propositioned by enough men to know you could make plenty of caps in the back alley behind the bar. But everytime you even remotely considered it, you felt yourself shrinking up. Your adrenaline would spike like you were readying yourself for a fight. 

You figured it would be a while before you could even safely consider that. “You seem a might rundown, hun.”

You didn’t bother lifting your head. You knew it was the man who’d been staring at you since you walked in. You could smell him even with your head down. You did your best to ignore him but he didn’t seem to take too kindly to that. 

“Hey,” he shoved at your shoulder and the impact was enough to force your head up. “Are you fucking deaf?”

”No,” you muttered through gritted teeth. Your hand hovered behind your back, itching for the gun tucked in your pants. “I’m not fucking interested.”

He lifted his hand and muttered, “Bitch,” a loud smack followed and echoed through the bar. Your head whipped to the side so hard you worried it might fly off. You clutched your cheek, spitting blood onto the wood of the counter. 

Your hand was already on your gun when you heard the sound of a hammer being pulled back. “Oh,” you turned, shocked to find Cooper standing behind the man. His gun was leveled with the man’s face and he shook his head in disappointment. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

Men stood up from their tables and drew their guns, pointing all of them at Cooper. You’d seen the signs with the anti-ghoul symbols but you didn’t think they’d really follow through. Apparently it was the only law they obeyed around here. 

Cooper smiled as the men cocked their guns, eyes alight with a challenge. Then they landed on you and he frowned again. He raised his hands in surrender and tucked his gun back in his holster. He darted forward and grabbed you. He yanked you into his chest and you stumbled over your feet, scowling at him. He leaned next to your ear, gravelly voice sending chills down your back, “We’re leaving.”

He didn’t leave you much choice, dragging you despite the way you tried to fight against him. “The lady stays,” the man who’d hit you ordered. His friends took a step forward, blocking Cooper from the exit. He chuckled and glanced over at the man. 

“That was a mistake, friend.” Before you knew what was happening he was shoving you to the ground and shots were going off. Not willing to get shot again, you crawled on all fours towards the door. The sound of bullets whizzing over your head had you ducking every now and again, trying to protect yourself as much as you could. 

You could hear Cooper taunting them, and after every remark another body would hit the floor. You yelped and jumped back when one fell in front of you. A bullet embedded itself in the floor beside you, the wood splintering and exploding upward, just barely missing your face. 

You crawled over the dead bodies and threw yourself out the door, trying to outrun the sound of gunfire. But it was too late. The rest of Filly had heard the fight and those that were stupid enough to stay were starting to draw the fight out into the marketplace.

It was almost like a game, ducking under bullets and the spray of blood. Whatever Cooper was shooting them with was making them light up like the Fourth of July. By the time you’d managed to hide yourself behind a building, you looked like you’d been hosed down with blood. So much for keeping the clothes clean. 

Your head thudded against the side of the building and you clenched your eyes shut, breathing heavily through your open mouth. You could feel your heart pounding against your chest. But you didn’t feel like you were going to have a heart attack this time, maybe you were starting to adapt to all this. 

Feet scrambled across the sand and someone threw themselves down next to you. You tensed and opened your eyes, you didn’t relax much when you realized it was Cooper. He grinned at you and glanced over his shoulder, checking no one had seen him. 

The other’s didn’t seem to care that the man that had started the fight was no longer a part of it. You’re pretty sure they just needed an excuse to shoot each other. Cooper popped his gun open and reloaded the chamber. 

He glanced at your blood soaked form and scoffed, “You look like you’re doing well.”

You refused to look at him, “Yeah, no thanks to you.”

He didn’t take well to the way you were avoiding him. He darted forward, fingers digging into your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Sweetheart, who left who?”

You ripped your face out of his hand and glared at him. “Don’t try and pretend like you didn’t leave me a long time before I woke up. You wrote me off copper. You assumed the worst about me and you gave up.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something when a noise behind you interrupted him. He gave you a long look and got to his feet. “If you’re not here when I come back, I’ll shoot you. Understand me?”

You looked at him for a long moment, body tensed with rage before you nodded your head. “Understood.”

SERIES TAGLIST: @pixelatedprofilepic @o0mellowdramatic0o @bisasterbisexual @julianmarie @v3nix @coolrobloxkid28 @sunnexaltation @fiftyshadesofokay @ktdragonborn @ambivertdreamer @one-of-thewalkingdead @hellolettuce444 @ghcstvibess @qardasngan @foreverwing223 @leo4242564 @1-800shootmeplease @awkwardly-bucky @fallout-girl219 @the-faceless-bride @milk-ducts @dramaticpandabear @ladiadia @rockerchick05 @raviolisenpai @cupid-club @alastorsw1f3 @sarapaprikas-blog @sgt-barnesveins @weakling-grace

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lovelybluebirdie]

The pale chef

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion attempts to cook for you, but things don’t go as planned.

Word Count: 1,7k

A/N: I got the idea that Astarion naturally struggles with preparing food, so I had to write some fluff about it! Hope you enjoy :)

[ AO3 ]

Astarion stirred the pot in concentration, holding a wooden spoon in his hand and wondering what exactly he was doing here. 

This whole endeavour resulted from your constant need to be nice to him, he thought with a sigh – apparently it made him want to be nice as well. 

It started the other day when you mentioned how you would kill for a mushroom soup. At first he thought nothing of it, but for some reason the idea stuck to his head, so Astarion decided to roam the forest and gather some mushrooms. Unfortunately it turned out rather quickly that he lacked essential knowledge on the matter, so he had to consult Gale of all people. 

Putting his pride aside, he asked through gritted teeth which ones were edible and which to avoid, since he had no desire to poison you by accident. Due to Gale being Gale, the wizard not only lectured him on different kinds of fungi, he had also given a detailed instruction on the soup’s recipe.

Astarion chuckled at the absurdity of the scene. He had never thought that one day he'd voluntarily prepare food for another person – and yet he found himself bending over the hearth and mixing different ingredients, hoping for the best.

He even wore an apron borrowed from said wizard, therefore he was more than glad that his companions had left for a supply run, while you were waiting in your shared tent so he could attempt this little surprise in solitude.

Gale's voice echoed in his mind: Chop the mushrooms, add them to the broth, stir until thickened, season with salt and pepper and sprinkle a few herbs on top – that’s it! Absolutely foolproof, even for someone who prefers to appease their hunger solely with blood.

The mushrooms had been the easiest part. His dexterous fingers cut them into perfectly bite-sized pieces, but Astarion bloody forgot how long the meal should rest on the fire.

Suddenly a burning smell lingered in the air, and he sensed in horror that the soup was boiling over.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the pot with haste and put it away from the heat.

Well, he thought as he gazed at the bubbling mass, that probably meant it was done.

With utmost care not to spill more of his precious loot, he grabbed a ladle and filled a large portion for you. If he already took the effort for such a novelty, you should at least get your belly full.

Astarion slipped out of the apron and made his way back to you. He assumed you were already growing impatient, as this entire affair had consumed far more time than he had anticipated.

“Hello, darling,” he purred when entering your tent, skilfully balancing the bowl in his hand. 

“Finally! I thought you'd kept me waiting all night – wait, what's that?” You put the book you were reading aside and eyed the dish in his hands.

“I’m not quite sure myself, but according to Gale's recipe it should resemble a mushroom soup.”

Your eyes lit up. “Hold on – you prepared this for me? You know that’s my favourite, right?”

“I suppose I do.” Astarion offered you the soup with a coy smile. “Although you should remember that I’m not particularly versed in the culinary arts, so it might be best to treat this with caution.”

You took the bowl from his slender fingers. “Hah, let me be the judge of that! Besides, it was about damn time you returned the favour of feeding me for once, hm?”

“I couldn’t try it myself for obvious reasons, but I doubt that this could compete with your delicious blood,” Astarion replied jokingly and sat next to you, curiously watching as you sniffed the soup.

“Smells not bad…” you affirmed while blowing on the steaming broth resting on your spoon. “Now comes the delicate part – the taste test.”

The spoon disappeared in your mouth, and suddenly your face twisted into a grimace. You swallowed hard, a cough forcing its way through your pressed lips.

Astarion couldn’t help but snort over your clumsy attempt to keep the soup inside. “So – I sense I failed you miserably?”

“What? No – I mean, it’s not… terrible,” you stuttered. “It’s… Well – did you let it burn by chance?”

“Maybe.” He dragged out the syllables dramatically and shrugged. “Be honest, my dead heart surely can take it – shall we save this mess for Scratch and the owlbear?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed with widened eyes. “I’m not hesitant to share, but not something you specially made for me. Also, some things tend to get better once you get used to the flavour, you know.” 

Before Astarion could intervene, you put another spoon to your mouth and eagerly gulped it down, followed by a second and a third. 

“There’s certainly room for improvement,” you eventually muttered with full cheeks, “but it’s not that bad.”

“I’m afraid you’re a poor liar, my love.” Astarion gently grasped your wrist to prevent you from taking another mouthful. “So please let me stop you right there, before you seriously upset your gut. I’m sure we can get you something more nutritious for the evening.” Then he took the spoon from your hand and put the bowl aside.

“If you insist,” you said with fondness in your eyes while wiping soup from the corner of your mouth. “But honestly – thank you, Astarion. This was… unexpectedly sweet.”

Heat rose to his ears as he rested his hand on your stomach, starting to draw circles. “Well, let's just hope my failed culinary attempt won't kill you tonight.”

“I guess in that case Lae’zel would avenge me, so you’d better start preparing yourself.”

“Mh… You think she’d stake me?” Astarion questioned and continued to caress your belly.

“Who knows what her creativity will lead to in the end. Knowing Lae’zel, she’d probably come up with something worse,” you pondered while tapping your chin. “But I guess you wouldn't let your preferred blood supply die that easily after all, would you?”

“Oh, don't sell yourself so short,” Astarion countered in feigned bewilderment. “You know that you mean way more to me than that.”

“Is that so?”

“Well, you also keep me warm at night, sparing me the coin for a thicker blanket. You know how expensive those things can get.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his response. “And if you had to give a genuine answer this time?”

Astarion clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I thought my sentiments were rather obvious by now.”

“And yet I don't seem to tire of hearing your appreciation for me,” you teased.

“Getting greedy now, aren’t we? Fine, you're ... quite decent. Despite your constant need to do something heroic, of course.”

You poked his shoulder and turned away with an exaggerated pout.

Astarion chuckled, before he cleared his throat. “Alright – perhaps you’re more than that.” 

He drew you in his arms and breathed against your cheek. “One might also say you're the first person I truly came to care about. Deeply.”

Your lips brushed over his contours, searching for his own until you kissed him tenderly. “See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Astarion rested a peck on your forehead and embraced you closer, a pleasant flutter spreading in his chest. 

You were right, he thought as his lips curled into an affectionate smile – with you, everything seemed surprisingly easy these days.

*

The next morning Astarion woke to a rumbling. He opened his eyes and could only make out your silhouette as you hastily rushed outside, leaving the flap of your tent wide open.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in concern and immediately got up to follow you.

“Don't worry, I’m fine,” you huffed under your breath.

Astarion knelt beside you in the grass and frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I said… it’s alright…” You gagged between your words. “But perhaps the soup… Ugh–”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Astarion said softly, when he noticed that you were still wearing his shirt from the other night. “And for the love of the gods – please be careful not to stain my clothes.”

“That's what you’re most concerned about right now?”

“No, of course not! But – That’s my favourite,” Astarion mumbled while he reached for your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“FANGS, what did you do to her?!” Karlach’s voice erupted like a thunderstorm from the other side of the camp as she spotted the two of you.

“Nothing – I only prepared some soup for her last night!”

“Shadowheart! Hurry up, we need you – Astarion poisoned our leader!” Karlach was already marching in the cleric's direction.

“What – no!” You both spoke almost simultaneously, causing you to laugh.

“I seem to have a sensible stomach,” you managed to add before retching again.

Astarion turned serious as he rested his hand on your back. “I'm terribly sorry, my love. That wasn’t meant to happen at all.”

You offered a weak smirk. “I know, and I appreciate the thought. Besides, that means your next dish can only improve.”

Astarion gazed at you in disbelief. “You’d consider letting me cook again after this entire debacle? Those mushrooms must have gone to your beautiful head.”

“Well, on second thought–” You couldn't finish your sentence as your stomach’s content finally emptied onto the grass.

Astarion felt a twist at his ribcage seeing you like this. “We’d better make sure I haven’t actually poisoned you, shall we? – SHADOWHEART! Get yourself over here – now!” 

“I'M ON MY WAY!” Shadowheart shouted from afar.

“I think the worst is already over–” you began to explain, when another voice cut you off.

“Tsk’va! What is going on?” Lae’zel poked her head from her tent, obviously annoyed by the sudden tumult.

“Please, don’t let her stake me,” Astarion whispered and continued to stroke your back.

“Be glad that I love you, otherwise I’d probably let her get away with it this time,” you replied mischievously.

Astarion’s chest filled with warmth as he grasped for your hand. “My sweet, I truly am.” Then he bowed his head to place a kiss on your hair. “And I love you too. So much in fact, that I might consider forgiving you for ruining my shirt.”

You squeezed his hand and grinned. “Prick.”

Astarion returned your grin before his expression turned soft. “But honestly, I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

Next time he would surprise you with something less nauseating, he thought as his fingers entwined with yours – a safe choice like bringing another stray to your camp, or a nice perfume perhaps.

Masterlist

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

This picks up right after the previous part 5. Enjoy :)

“Come home with me, y/n.”

The question barely met your ears, whispered in a half-awake stupor. The pad of Khargaad’s thumb rubbed soft circles into your shoulder-blade.

“What do you mean? We’re already here-“

“I mean home, y/n. My homeland.”

You sat up, looking down at him through his long eyelashes. It was a ridiculous thought, to leave this place right now. To leave this place anytime.

“Khargaad,” you reached down to curl your finger around one of his chestnut ringlets, “I can’t just… take a vacation-“

“I didn’t say anything about coming back.”

He sounded more awake now. More sure. The silence hung stale between the two of you, the only disruption being the night sounds of the forest outside his tent. What could you possibly say? An unpleasant feeling began to well in the pit of your stomach, your face betrayed your feelings.

The chains which bound you to this place were wrought by the abandonment of your father. And this included your drive to protect your mother.

“You think I would just abandon her?” Your voice was harsh and accusatory. It jostled him into an upright position. It was the exact opposite. The feelings that burned inside of him for you were because of the exact opposite. Your passion, loyalty, and spirit lit a fire in his soul. It truly made him feel unwell that he had not made this clear to you.

“Do you know the courage I had to muster, that first day I leaned in through your shop window.”

You crossed your arms, “Don’t ignore my question-“

“You were so sharp with me… you were like nothing I ever expected. I was struck… literally and metaphorically.” He huffed a small chuckle and rubbed his temple, “And then that other day, you walked right up to me and those two idiots. Like you didn’t have a fear in the world. Like it was nothing.”

His cheeks were red, but he swiveled his body to face you straight on. “You walk with fists curled but mind open. You wouldn’t abandon someone you love.”

Khargaad’s eyes practically glimmered in their unbroken gaze at your features. Your own gaze softened, “So what do you mean then? Are you saying that… me and my mother leave with you?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward and nuzzled his face into the crook of your bare neck, “it’s been a few years now, came out here to hunt and make a lot of coin. It’s always felt like I’ve been waiting… or looking for something.” His ivory tusks nudged into your jaw as he peppered little kisses along your neck.

This was all so overwhelming. What really was keeping you here, if not your mother? Khargaad sensed your unease.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now. You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry to put this all on you at once.”

You sighed, lying back down into his plush pillows and furs, “I’m exhausted.” There was that familiar feeling of the world on your shoulders, teetering dangerously close to crashing down.

“Of Course.” He laid next to you, not pulling you close sensing you needed space. His instinct is correct, but you find yourself inching your open palm to him so that he can trace slow circles into the sensitive skin.

Here I am 4 WHOLE MONTHS later with an update🩶 Had a pretty major surgery between then and now, with work and school. Had to step away but I’m back :)

@reads-stuff-quietly @loo-looland @sluttygirl123 @beaniebaneenie @blushycadaver @sunndust @whyiamadegenerate @the-attic-of-porcelain @freakyotaku059-blog @youknowits-derea @thoughts-of-bear-undercovers @allthecraftandthings @gruffle1 @kennedyabraxas123 @queenies1x1 @jellyslimesofficial @jasminedragoon @rangoismyname @the-queen-of-sorrows @the-dumber-scaramouche @heddaloddafun @swimmingrascalbatdragon @hellodollstuff @wingedghostpepper @pistachioinfernal @honeybaegle @sammehshark @dij-ology @forgemotherkestrel @wafflefries786 @sadsilver @shellyyyyy0000 @thecreativeblueberry-blog @lovingbadguys

[deadhands69]

A New End: Warped

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Spoilers: UA Summer Camp through Kamino Ward  Contains: gn/eventual afab reader, canon typical violence, cussing, eventual smut in the series

previous - this is part 2 - next [series masterlist]

|\/\/\| warped |/\/\/|

The next few days blurred together without much distinction. The league had all busied themselves with the planning of the next mission: going into the forest where the UA summer camp is held to kidnap a student and send hero society a message. Having attended UA, your intel was potentially useful for a moment before you all discovered they'd moved locations. With the inside source only being able to divulge the new destination the day before. it became necessary to create many variations of the plan to ensure at least one would work.  

Initially, you thought the frenzy the headquarters had turned into would make for a fast-paced week for you. Sadly, you were wrong.

Considering your quirk, your job is to hang out through the meetings and not get in the way. It's becoming boring, really. At first, you played a game on your phone but Shigaraki has since taken that away. Claiming you're “not here to be distracted.” He'd have a point, but you know that's not how your visions work. Everyone in this room knows you don’t have much experience in these things, so your voice goes largely unnoticed. You consider faking a premonition, but with the potential results and doubt that could cast on your quirk, you think better of it.

People come and go, some you’ve never met before. A few of them are so terrifying, you have to remind yourself you’re on the same side now. They aren’t a threat. Well, you don’t think they are at least.

The usual crew are around sporadically, but at this point most have other assignments taking them away. You miss the days Toga and Spinner would talk to you, seeming to take you more seriously than the rest of the group. Kurogiri doesn’t seem to mind lingering on call, warping people here and there as needed. Otherwise, you’re mostly stuck with Shigaraki now.

Being in a room with him fourteen hours a day has been interesting, to say the least. You've learned a lot. 

For starters, he works obsessively. You once thought he was content with working lightly and playing video games all day. Now that he has a purpose, there's been a fire lit underneath him that no one can put out. He starts early and finishes when he's so exhausted he couldn't possibly continue to think straight. No details of the mission go ignored, his ability to care for himself is completely out the window though. He didn’t change clothes for two days straight, until the morning of the third day when Kurogiri warped him into the shower and he had to. 

You've also learned that his eating habits are interesting. He hasn't had a home cooked meal this whole week, relying on takeout and instant ramen packets to sustain himself. Not noticing he's hungry until he begins to get light headed and has to eat. In his defense, he hasn't taken more than a five minute break either so this may be contextual. You're not sure yet. After day two, you started bringing him food whenever you're preparing yourself something. He eats like a picky kid, leaving anything too healthy or weirdly textured on the plate. Even if he's not eating it all, you'll call it a win. His moods have improved slightly with the more consistent blood sugar. 

He's still not the easiest to deal with though. 

After opening up to him, running from security, and hiding together you thought he’d be warmer. If anything, he seems even more determined to keep a distance from you. Never sitting too close. Not making direct eye contact. He even moved his chair to create more of a buffer when you sat next to him. Since he’s giving you no indication the two of you formed a friendship when you spent time together, you’re trying to do the same. Trying not to bring up your shared experience. Ignoring the way the light hits his eyes, making them glow as he peers out through layers of hair and fingers. 

Having now seen his face up close, you can't unsee how beautiful he is. It's the same features hidden beneath his hand mask, but the way your brain puts them together is different. He removes the hands to eat when it’s just the two of you, giving you a better view. Maybe that’s the only indication you’ll get that he’s more comfortable in your presence. It’s so minute though that you worry you’re just reading too far into everything, trying to find what you want. 

You try not to stare.

At his face.

At his hands.

Remembering how he brought an entire building down effortlessly with one touch. The way his pale skin stretches over the bones, you wish you could hold them. It scares you but it also-

“[l/n]?” his more gruff than usual voice shocks you back to the reality, “are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” you mumble, “just tired.”

“Kurogiri, make more coffee before everyone shows up,” Shigaraki looks back at you, eyes burning. It’s the first time he’s looked at you directly in days, “you need to be alert.”

You take in the moment, finally having an excuse to stare at his face. He takes off the hand, briefly, to sip whatever he’s drinking before everyone shows up. Admiring every freckle, line, and scar. It leaves you feeling like you’ve been transported back to the Victorian era, giddy over ankles. Since when have you been so desperate to look at someone’s face? 

“Fuck, you really are tired,” he grumbles while putting Father back over his face (you also learned that the hands have names. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.)

The others arrive and the meeting starts more promptly than usual. Everything about the plan feels off in a way you can’t pinpoint. It’s probably just because of your own experiences at UA. Watching everyone plan around a summer training camp you’d attended brought up your own bad memories. You worked to push them away for the sake of the mission, glad you won’t need to actually be there.

It feels like you’ve done nothing but push down your feelings lately.

People arrive and leave through the warp gate, landing themselves somewhere along the cliffs above the forest. Each making their own commentary. Dabi keeping everyone on task, being the leader in Shigaraki’s absence since he’s still not fully recovered. Toga complaining about the equipment she has to wear. Magne makes a comment to you, thanking you for taking a few nights off for the mission.

Oh.

You blush, assuming people would have dropped their assumptions of where you go at night after the bet ended. Looks like it didn’t end though.

You glance at Shigaraki and he shrugs, he never told anyone. Maybe he’s ashamed of spending time with  you. The feeling hits sharp in your chest, but you won’t push it.

After seeing everyone off, the three of you settle down a bit but keep an eye on your phones. Not much excitement tonight, but you’re getting consistent texts from the group chat as the others meet them at the location. 

Everything’s going according to plan.

Kurogiri and Shigaraki are still talking in the bar when you turn in for the night. You try to enjoy the quiet. For the first time in a week, sleeping soundly through the night and late into the morning.

The day trickles by slowly. On paper, it should be relaxing. Even those on the ground of the mission are having a leisurely day. The consistent updates are reassuring, it should be fine.

Even so, you still can’t shake this feeling of dread. The feeling has persisted through the morning even if you aren’t anywhere near the training camp. It feels like something bad is coming, but the decisions that would trigger your quirk are still in progress. So, once more, you’re stuck waiting. The anticipation is nauseating. 

You’re sitting at the dining room table, occasionally sipping the coffee Kurogiri placed in front of you. After making a breakfast that neither of you have touched, he’s been busying himself with cleaning. None of it seems necessary, just something to do to pass the time. Shigaraki came out of his room eventually too. Barely looking at you, staring at his phone instead. It reminds you of your first days with the league, before the others showed up and filled the space with life. Interestingly, you haven’t known them for too long nor would you consider yourself close with anyone, but you miss having them around.

The day drones on.

It’s not hard to find tasks to busy yourself with throughout the day, but eventually you end up in the bar again two seats from Shigaraki while Kurogiri continues to wipe an already spotless counter.

The plan was, everyone keeps you updated as they make decisions. In reality, no one checks in with you all night. The lack of responsiveness from the estranged group brings tension to an all time high.

Be it stress or just not paying attention, Shigaraki decays a glass, sending ice and shards across the bar. It sends a thrill through you, although you’re not sure why. You try not to think about it, but can’t help but stare longingly at his hands. 

Fuck, you need to touch grass.

After a long, tense evening the others finally request a warp gate, returning with a student. Immediately, you feel rushed. Like something in your life has been knocked out of place but without the visions to accompany your foreboding, you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

You mention this to Shigaraki but he doesn't know what to do with that information and tells you it’s probably just nerves after everything. Suggests you go for a walk or something to clear your head.

Everyone recaps the evening over a few drinks. A handful of the league members you’d never met were apprehended, but overall the mission is deemed a success. You try to celebrate with everyone else, pretending it all feels fine.

Days go by and the weird feeling only increases. Everyone’s back but the mood has shifted from earlier in the summer; it’s more tense now.

As for the UA student, no progress has been made. You’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve been shoved into the room with him, waiting for your quirk to activate. In your brief interaction with Bakugo (who’s name you just learned,) it seems very unlikely he'll join the league. However, with the mental block you have against UA and not knowing this person at all - your quirk isn't giving you any information you couldn't infer. Shigaraki seems convinced it will work though so you let him keep trying, wondering if he bothered to think up a backup plan in case this doesn't work out. 

From your bedroom. you hear a faint knock on the door of the hideout. Immediately you fall back onto your bed with a vision. The feeling you’ve had all week intensifies and suddenly you’re running, fleeing, stuck. Clips of the commotion flash through your brain then it’s over. 

“I didn’t order a pizza,” Spinner says, “I’ll go ask [y/n].”

“No!” you scream, rushing into the bar. 

But it’s too late.

A flash of blue and red smashes through the front door followed by what you can only describe as tree limbs. Suddenly, you’re all tangled in the mess of branches with nowhere to go. Your heart jumps out of your chest. There’s nothing you can do from here.

You sit hoping for an escape. For Kurogiri to warp in help. For Dabi to burn whatever quirk is holding you down. But no help comes. 

Spinner begs All Might to reconsider but Shigaraki only taunts him. Refusing to answer his questions.

You’ve almost given up hope when black clouds of smoke form around you and strange creatures come out. You recall some talks of nomu in the past but this is your first time seeing them. The view is short-lived, you feel someone grab your arm and shove you through the warp gate.

You feel the cold, hard ground beneath you. The person you assume is Shigaraki's sensei addresses you all but your head is still spinning from the warp. Premonitions come flooding in, so quickly you can barely latch on to any of them. There's barely time to adjust before you're being thrown back into the rubble. Everything goes dark again. For a moment, it's calm. Then the pain hits. Likely concussed, you lay back in a daze. Your head aches. You know you should feel panic now but it's not coming.

Another warp gate opens behind the group and you're all being sucked in by some outside force. Confused, you try to fight it before Shigaraki shoves you through behind him. Some small part of your brain knows it's utilitarian but you can't help but latch onto the feeling of his three fingers pressing into the space just below your collar bone and shoulder. At least he cares enough to keep you alive. You give in to it, letting yourself plunge into the gate.

Everything goes black as you fall into the darkness.

next chapter - a new end masterlist - bnha masterlist

sorry this one is taking so long to update, i have to be in the right headspace to write it and i want to get it right. i really wanted to write something where the reader loves the parts of Tomura that are hard for others to accept. which means it gets weird at times (even weirder in a few chapters when the smut starts up.)

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer @eliankm, @quintessences0posts,

Part 14: To sneak

Part 15: To linger

The crack of thunder jolted you awake, the sound so loud and sudden it seemed to shake the entire hunter’s hut. For a moment, you lay there in confusion, your heart hammering in your chest as the remnants of sleep clung to you. The storm outside raged with a ferocity that made you feel small—a deafening cacophony of thunder, howling wind, and rain pounding against the woven walls.

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you instinctively, his large hands resting on your waist through the blanket as he pulled you closer into his warmth. He didn’t wake; his breathing remained steady, his face peaceful despite the chaos outside. Your head rested against his chest, the steady rise and fall of it grounding you in the storm’s fury. His warmth seeped through the blanket draped over you, enveloping you like a cocoon.

You tilted your head slightly, watching the glow of the dying fire. The embers flickered weakly, casting faint orange shadows on the walls with each flash of lightning that lit up the night sky. The storm was alive, untamed, and utterly relentless. The wind howled through the cracks in the hut’s walls, carrying with it the chill of the night and the wild energy of the forest.

Despite the comforting weight of Neteyam’s arms, you couldn’t ignore the coldness still clinging to your skin. Your bra and panties, though drying slowly under the heat of the blanket and his bodyheat, were still cool against your body. Your wet clothes lay abandoned near the firepit where you’d left them earlier, a soggy reminder of the evening’s reckless adventure.

Carefully, you pried yourself out of Neteyam’s embrace. His arms resisted at first, tightening slightly as though unwilling to let you go even in his sleep, but he relaxed after a moment, letting out a quiet sigh. You glanced at him as you slipped free, your heart softening at the sight of his peaceful face. His head was tilted slightly to the side, resting against the hut’s wall, his full lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply.

The cold hit you immediately as you left the warmth of his body, and you shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you walked toward the firepit. The embers were faint now, barely enough to give off any heat. You reached for the small pile of dried wood stacked in the corner of the hut, adding a few pieces to the pit. Your fingers worked quickly, stoking the embers until the flames flickered to life once more, casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

You sat back on your heels, holding your hands out toward the fire. The warmth began to seep into your skin, chasing away the lingering chill. Your clothes lay in a crumpled heap nearby, and you shifted them closer to the fire, draping the shirt and pants across a makeshift rack to dry. Hopefully, by morning, they’d be warm and ready to wear again.

For a moment, you simply sat there, watching the flames dance and listening to the storm outside. The thunder was less frequent now, the lightning casting fleeting shadows on the hut’s walls. The storm seemed to be losing some of its earlier ferocity, though the rain still fell in steady sheets, its rhythmic patter oddly soothing.

Finally, you turned your gaze back to Neteyam. He hadn’t moved, still leaning against the wall with his long legs crossed under him as he sit on the old pelts. You felt a pang in your chest as you looked at him, a mix of awe and affection that left you breathless. How could someone so strong, so tied to this wild and dangerous world, also be so gentle? So patient? Even in sleep, he looked impossibly beautiful—his braids spilling over his broad shoulders, the soft glow of his bioluminescent freckles catches your eye, standing out like tiny stars against his deep blue skin.

You shuffle back to him, the blanket dragging along the floor as you settle between his legs again. His warmth envelops you immediately, and you sigh, leaning back against his chest. His arms move instinctively, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. Even asleep, his hold is protective, as though the storm could snatch you away at any moment.

You glance up at him, his face peaceful in the dim firelight. Finally, you think, your lips curving into a soft smile. He’s sleeping. Truly sleeping. It’s a rare sight—Neteyam never seems to rest long enough for the weariness to leave his eyes. He carries so much, far more than he lets on. Between his responsibilities in the village and his nightly visits to the lab, you’ve seen the weight of it on his shoulders, even if he denies it. He always brushes off your concern with a quiet smile and a soft word, but you know better. He’s been tired.

But now, for the first time in what feels like weeks, he’s at peace. His lips slightly parted, move faintly with his steady breaths. The glow of his freckles softens the strong lines of his face, and the faint light of the fire casts delicate shadows across his features. You reach out hesitantly, your fingers brushing against the loose strands of his braids. The texture is smooth beneath your fingertips, and you resist the urge to run your hand through them.

Your gaze lingers on him, drinking in every detail—the soft curve of his jaw, the subtle flutter of his closed eyelids, the rise and fall of his chest. There’s a vulnerability in him now that he never shows when he’s awake, a quiet openness that makes your chest ache. How is it possible to feel this much for someone? You wondered what he was dreaming about, if he ever dreamed of you the way you dreamed of him. He doesn’t stir, but his grip on you tightens slightly, his fingers splaying against your waist as if to keep you close.

The storm rages on outside, the wind howling and the rain pelting the roof, but inside the hut, everything feels still. Safe. You close your eyes, leaning into his hold and letting the rhythm of his breathing lull you into a quiet calm.  The memory of the Tree of Voices came rushing back—the feeling of standing there, surrounded by the pulsing energy of the place, and hearing Neteyam’s words echo in your mind. You are my prayer answered. The weight of those words still lingered, filling you with a quiet, overwhelming sense of belonging.

You felt the faintest stir beneath your touch, and your breath caught as his lips curved into a soft, sleepy smile. Before you could pull away, his head dipped slightly, his nose brushing against your temple behind the edge of your mask.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough from slumber.

Your heart swelled, and you closed your eyes again, leaning into him as a quiet smile tugged at your lips. The storm outside was still raging, but here, in his arms, you felt untouchable. Safe. Loved.

With his warmth surrounding you and the steady sound of his breathing lulling you, you let yourself drift back into sleep, your last thought a quiet prayer of gratitude for the man who held you so completely.

The soft glow of morning filtered through the small cracks in the hut, casting faint streaks of light across the woven walls. The storm had passed, leaving behind the gentle hum of Pandora's forest waking up. You stirred, the warmth of Neteyam’s body behind you grounding you in the half-asleep haze that lingered. But it wasn’t the light or the distant sounds of chirping creatures that fully roused you—it was the soft press of lips against the curve of your neck.

You blinked your eyes open slowly, the sensation pulling you into wakefulness. His warm breath fanned over your skin, and you felt his lips trail languidly along the sensitive dip of your neck. He wasn’t in a hurry, each kiss deliberate, his nose brushing lightly against your hair as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“Neteyam,” you murmured, your voice still husky from sleep, but it was barely a whisper, more like an exhale.

“Shh,” he replied softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your ear. “Let me hold you.” His lips curved into a smile against your skin, and you felt the faintest pressure of his teeth grazing your neck before he kissed you again, this time just below your ear.

His arms, strong and steady, tightened around your waist through the thin blanket, and you couldn’t help but relax against him, the warmth of his embrace and the tenderness of his touch lulling you into a state of bliss. He was so careful, so deliberate, as if he were memorizing the shape of you.

One of his hands slipped beneath the blanket, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. His touch was impossibly gentle, his palm resting there for a moment as though marveling at the softness of you. You shivered under his hand, not from cold, but from the delicate intimacy of it.

His hand moved lower, his thumb brushing over the curve of your hip before skimming the skin of your thigh. His touch was unhurried, exploratory, and you could feel the quiet awe in every movement. He had seen your hands, touched your face, but this was different. Your body, your thighs—he was discovering parts of you he hadn’t touched before, and you could feel his marvel in the way his thumb lingered on the softness of your body.

“Your skin,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your neck. “So soft. Like nothing I’ve ever felt.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you bit your lip harder, trying to keep your breathing steady. His thumb grazed the sensitive skin of your thigh again, and you couldn’t suppress the small, trembling sigh that escaped you. You felt his lips curve into another smile against your neck, and you knew he had heard it.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion as his hand continued its slow, mesmerizing exploration. “Every part of you... it’s perfect.”

He must have felt the tension in your body, the way you trembled beneath his touch, because his hand stilled for a moment before resuming its exploration. His thumb traced gentle lines along your inner thigh, the sensation both soothing and maddening in its deliberate slowness.

His golden eyes flicked up to yours briefly, curiosity and wonder etched into his features. “So soft here,” he said, his voice filled with quiet awe as his thumb continued its lazy path. “Even softer than I imagined.”

Your hands gripped the edges of the blanket tightly, trying to contain the quiet sighs and hitched breaths that threatened to give you away. But it was impossible to ignore the way his touch ignited a fire beneath your skin, each movement sending a ripple of heat through your body.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for him.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, your breath hitching as your eyes locked. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile, and the intensity of his golden stare made your heart race. Slowly and consciously you took a few deep breaths, then sucked in the last big sip of breath and reached for the edge of the mask then pulled it off your head with a quick but purposeful gesture.

Neteyam’s eyes widened slightly, his gaze flicking to your mouth as you leaned in. His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss, the warmth of his mouth sending a rush of heat through you. The kiss was unhurried, filled with a quiet intimacy that made your chest ache. You could feel the soft rumble of his contented hum as he kissed you back, his hand tightening slightly on your thigh.

The lack of air burned faintly in your lungs, but you didn’t care. For those brief moments, nothing else mattered but the feel of his lips against yours, the way his hand cupped the side of your face, and the quiet connection you shared.

The lack of air made your chest tighten, a sharp reminder of your limits. Reluctantly, you pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you quickly lowered your mask back into place. The familiar hiss of air filled your ears, and you couldn’t help but laugh, a bright, carefree sound that echoed in the quiet hut. You looked up at him, and the stunned expression on his face made you laugh—light and breathless, your heart full.

Neteyam blinked, then grinned, his ears twitching as his tail flicked behind him. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

You laughed again, leaning your forehead against his chest as the sound filled the small hut. “I think we’re even now,” you teased, your voice muffled against him.

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you, his chest rumbling with a soft laugh of his own. “If this is what surprises with you are like, I hope there are many more to come,” he murmured, his lips pressing another gentle kiss to your temple.

And as you sat there, wrapped in his embrace with the morning light streaming in, you couldn’t help but feel that there was nowhere else in the world you’d rather be. You couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of you, your chest feeling impossibly light despite the weight of his arms around you.

As the world around you came back into focus, you shifted slightly, your thoughts drifting to the pile of dry clothes near the firepit. “I should get dressed,” you murmured, leaning slightly away from him.

Neteyam hummed softly in acknowledgment, his golden eyes watched you. He loosened his arms reluctantly, letting you slip from his lap and stand. The blanket slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You hesitated for a brief moment, your cheeks warming at the thought of him watching you, but then you decided—no, you wouldn’t shy away this time.

You stood tall and walked toward the firepit, each step deliberate. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat you still felt from Neteyam’s gaze. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching you, but curiosity got the better of you. As you bent to pick up your clothes, you glanced back over your shoulder, catching him sitting cross-legged, his posture relaxed yet intent. His golden eyes tracked your every movement, glowing faintly in the dim light.

“You’re staring,” you teased, squinting at him with a playful smile.

He tilted his head, his lips quirking into an amused smirk. “You always stare at me,” he shot back smoothly, his tail giving a slow, deliberate flick behind him.

Your cheeks flushed, and you turned back to your clothes quickly. “That’s different,” you mumbled, fumbling with the hem of your top. “You’re almost naked all the time—it’s hard not to stare.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted it. „When you only wear that… loincloth.”

Neteyam chuckled, the sound low and rich, and you could feel his gaze still on you. “Ah so you admit,” he said, the amusement in his voice unmistakable. “But if you wore what the Na’vi women wear...” He trailed off, and you felt the weight of his words hanging in the air.

Curious, you turned to face him, your top still in your hands. “What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes darkening as they roamed over you. “If you wore the clothing of my people, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

You froze, heat flooding your cheeks as his meaning sank in. He didn’t have to spell to you to know what he meant. Na’vi women’s clothing was strikingly different from human attire—beaded tops or bare chests adorned only with intricate necklaces, the woven loincloth barely covering the essentials and hanging low on the hips and left the legs bare. The thought of wearing something like that, of leaving your chest bare except for a few strategically placed decorations, made your entire face heat. It made your skin prickle with both embarrassment and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Neteyam,” you muttered, your voice flustered as you turned away from him, hastily pulling your top over your head. Your hands were shaky as you reached for your shorts, your heart pounding in your chest. His gaze felt like a physical touch, and you couldn’t shake the sensation that you were utterly exposed to him.

Neteyam chuckled, the sound low and rich as he leaned forward slightly, his arms draped casually over his knees. “I’m just saying,” he said, his voice full of teasing warmth. “It would be... distracting.”

Your hands fumbled with the waistband of your shorts as you avoided looking at him, your cheeks still burning. “You’re the one who brought it up,” you shot back, though the waver in your voice betrayed your embarrassment.

He laughed again, the sound making your stomach flutter despite your flustered state. “You’re cute when you’re shy,” he said softly, his tone shifting to something more tender.

You glanced at him briefly, his golden eyes still watching you with that same unrelenting focus, and you couldn’t help but smile despite yourself. “And you’re insufferable,” you replied, though there was no real bite to your words. As you buckled your belt, you hesitated, glancing back at him with a teasing smile, despite the warmth still lingering on your cheeks. “But maybe you should make me that outfit if you want to see me in it so badly.” you said, trying to gain the upper hand.

The effect was immediate. Neteyam’s eyes darkened further, the playful glint giving way to something far more intense. His posture shifted subtly, his lean frame exuding a quiet, predatory energy as he watched you. He leaned forward more, his elbows digging into his knees, his golden eyes locked onto yours with a possessive glint that sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you felt frozen under his gaze, your breath hitching as the weight of his attention pressed against you. This wasn’t the teasing Neteyam you were used to—this was something primal, something that made you feel small and utterly his. Your fingers tightened around your belt buckle, and you quickly looked away, heat rising to your face as you struggled to compose yourself.

When you dared to glance back, the possessive look was gone, replaced by his usual soft. amused smile. He tilted his head slightly, his tail flicking lazily behind him as if nothing had happened. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said lightly, his voice warm, as though he hadn’t just stolen the breath from your lungs moments ago.

You turned back to the dark firepit, your heart racing. For the first time, you felt truly vulnerable under his gaze—not because of your bare skin, but because of the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And despite your flustered state, you couldn’t deny the way your heart leapt at the thought.

You finished lacing your boots, your heart still racing from the intensity of Neteyam’s gaze just moments ago. The warmth of his gaze lingered even after the moment passed, and as you took a step closer to him, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of confidence despite the faint flush still warming your cheeks. He was still sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching you approach with that same calm, confident expression that sent your pulse skittering.

You took a step closer to him, stopping just in front of where he sat. “You're having fun seeing how I react, right?” you asked, a teasing edge to your voice.

His lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “Maybe,” he said, his tone light but his gaze unwavering. “It’s hard not to enjoy when you’re so... expressive.”

Without hesitation, you circled your arms around his shoulders, leaning down until the thin glass of your mask pressed gently against his forehead. The height difference disappeared when he was sitting like this, making you feel closer than ever. Your face was still slightly flushed from earlier, but you closed your eyes, grounding yourself in his warmth, his scent, his presence. Your fingers found the long braids at the back of his head, gently brushing through them as your thumbs caressed his scalp. His eyes softened, a quiet rumble of contentment vibrating in his chest as he leaned into your touch.

Neteyam’s hands were slow to move but deliberate, his larger palms gliding up your thighs, sending a shiver through you as his thumbs brushed against your bare skin. They stopped at your waist, his fingers splaying gently just above the hem of your shorts. His thumbs began a lazy, circular caress, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from sighing at the sensation.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, “sometimes I hate you a little bit.”

Neteyam opened his eyes, meeting yours with a mock-innocent expression that made you want to simultaneously laugh and smack him. “Hate me?” he echoed, his tone dripping with faux hurt. “What have I done to deserve such cruel words?”

“Yes,” you said with a soft laugh, your fingers still playing with his braids. “Because you always do this—make me feel completely flustered, and you enjoy every second of it.”

His smirk deepened, and without another word, he dipped his head forward. His lips brushed against your uncovered collarbone, slow and deliberate, as though savoring the moment. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a jolt through you, and your knees wavered slightly, threatening to buckle beneath you. You close your eyes tightly, biting your bottom lip to keep yourself steady, but it’s a losing battle.

His hands steadied you, his thumbs still caressing your waist as he chuckled softly against your skin. “I like this side of you,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety whisper.

You felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as his lips lingered. The sensation of his mouth against your skin was electrifying, and your hands tightened slightly in his braids. “Neteyam...” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his golden eyes warm and teasing. “Yes?” he asked, the word a playful hum.

You shook your head with a laugh, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “We should head back,” you said, your voice steadier now. “I still need time to dig my own grave in front of the outpost. Norm is going to kill me.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched toward your words, a grin spreading across his face. He chuckled, the sound low and rich as he dipped his head. “Dig your grave?” he echoed, amusement lacing his tone. “Perhaps I should say my goodbyes now.”

He pressed another lingering kiss to your skin, this time closer to your other collarbone. You gasped softly, stepping back with a squeak as his hands reluctantly released you.

“You’re evil,” you said, laughing as you took another step away, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I sleep one night in your arms, and you’re already this bold, mister.”

He leaned back, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched you with a satisfied grin. “Bold?” he repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’d say... comfortable.”

You shook your head, laughing as you turned and walked toward the hut’s entrance. You pushed aside the flap of the hut and stepped to the edge, only to freeze in place. “Whoa—what the fuck?” you blurted, gripping the wooden frame for support. “Were we this high up all night? Jesus Christ...” You leaned slightly to peer over the edge, your stomach lurching as you took in the dizzying height.

Neteyam’s laugh rumbled behind you as he rose gracefully to his feet. “When you sat on the back of my ikran, you weren’t afraid of heights,” he said, stepping closer.

You glanced back at him with a squint, your knuckles white as you clung to the hut’s edge. “Yeah, because you held me,” you shot back, your tone full of pointed exasperation. “Big difference.”

He stepped past you effortlessly, his movements as fluid as water. Without hesitation, he walked onto the thick branch outside the hut, his bare feet finding purchase on the damp bark with ease and his tail swaying for balance. You watched in awe as he balanced there, his tall frame steady and confident against the backdrop of the forest canopy. He tilted his head back slightly and let out a high-pitched note, the sound carrying through the trees with an elegance that seemed second nature to him.

Moments later, his ikran appeared, its massive wings slicing through the air as it landed gracefully at the far end of the branch. Neteyam turned back to you, his golden eyes soft as they met yours. He extended a hand toward you, his smile warm and inviting.

“Come,” he said simply, his voice steady and reassuring. “Trust me.”

You hesitated, your grip tightening on the doorway as you glanced at the branch. “You make it look too easy,” you muttered under your breath, your heart hammering in your chest. But when your eyes met his, the warmth and trust in his gaze gave you the courage to let go of the doorframe and take the first step.

He didn’t look away, his hand steady and waiting as he watched your every movement. The morning sun cast a golden glow over him, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the quiet strength in his stance. For a moment, you felt as though he wasn’t just calling you to the ikran—but to him, to everything he represented, to the world he had already begun to open to you. The trust you felt in that moment was absolute, and as your fingers laced with his, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Neteyam’s ikran landed with a powerful yet graceful sweep of its wings, the forest clearing giving way to the familiar sight of the outpost. The sun was just beginning to rise higher, its golden rays casting long shadows on the damp ground. As the creature settled, you clung to Neteyam’s strong arms, and he carefully helped you down from the saddle. Your feet touched the earth, and you wobbled slightly, still a little unsteady from the flight and the emotional whirlwind of the night before.

Neteyam’s hand lingered on your waist, steadying you, his golden eyes warm as they searched your face. “You’re back safe,” he said softly, his tail flicking contentedly behind him.

“Thank you,” you murmured as you smiled up at him, feeling a pang of guilt that this sweet moment would soon end and when you glanced up at him, his golden eyes sparkled with amusement.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone.

“Of course, I’m nervous,” you replied, craning your neck to glance back at him. “Norm is going to kill me. And Kate? She’ll resurrect me just to kill me again.” You looked down to the damp grass and then back to him. „You should go,” you said, stepping back slightly and smoothing your hair self-consciously. “I’m sure your father has been dying to give you a lecture. Good luck. Maybe your ears won’t fall off.”

Neteyam snorted, clearly amused. “I think I’ll survive,” he said, his tone light. “But thank you for the encouragement.”

You were about to respond when the airgate of the outpost hissed open, and Kate stormed out, her hands planted firmly on her hips, the mask on her face glinted in the sunshine. Her sharp eyes zeroed in on you, and your heart sank. Oh no. “You!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the quiet morning.

“Kate, I can explain—” you began, but she didn’t let you finish.

“Explain? You better have one hell of an explanation,” she snapped, pointing a finger at you. “Do you have any idea how terrified we were when we couldn’t find you this morning? We checked your room, the lab, everywhere! And then Norm—” She broke off, throwing her hands in the air. “Norm was ready to send out a search party! No note, no message, nothing!”

You hesitated, glancing up at Neteyam for support, but he remained quiet, his expression neutral. Taking a deep breath, you decided to tell the truth—or at least part of it. “I was with Neteyam,” you said quickly, your words tumbling out before you could second-guess them. “There was a storm, and we ended up staying in a hunter’s hut.”

Kate’s mouth fell open, her expression shifting from frustration to shock. For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at you as though you’d grown a second head. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face—a grin so smug and knowing that you felt your cheeks heat instantly.

“Oh,” Kate said, drawing out the word with a tone that made your stomach flip. “You were with him all night, huh?”

“It’s not what it sounds like!” you protested, your voice rising slightly. “We were stuck in the storm—it was pouring rain—and there was this hut in the middle of nowhere, so we just... stayed there. That’s it!”

Even as the words left your mouth, you cringed. Saying it out loud only made it sound worse, and you could practically feel the weight of Kate’s teasing grin.

“Uh-huh,” Kate said, her tone dripping with amusement. “A hut in the middle of nowhere, with Neteyam, all night. Sounds totally innocent.”

Neteyam’s snort of laughter didn’t help your rapidly spiraling embarrassment. You shot him a glare, which only seemed to amuse him more, especially when his tail swished and slapped lightly against your thigh, as if to tease you further. You swatted at it halfheartedly, your face burning as you struggled to explain.

He raised a hand to cover his mouth, looking off to the side as though inspecting the treetops, but you didn’t miss the way his shoulders shook with barely contained laughter and you resisted the urge to kick him. He wasn’t helping, especially when his tail flicked again, brushing your thigh like he couldn’t resist teasing you further.

You groaned, your face burning as you turned back to Kate. “It wasn’t like that, okay? I swear!”

Kate, meanwhile, looked like she was having the time of her life. She clapped her hands together, her grin so wide it was almost cartoonish. “Well,” she said, stepping back toward the airgate with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I guess I’ll leave you to it. Good luck with Norm, by the way. He’s furious.”

“Kate—wait—” you tried, but she was already slipping back inside, the door hissing shut behind her. Her laughter echoed faintly through the walls, leaving you standing there, red-faced and mortified.

And with that, she disappeared through the airgate, leaving you standing there, mortified and red-faced. You turned back to Neteyam, your eyes narrowing as you caught sight of his grin.

“Don’t even start,” you warned, pointing a finger at him.

Neteyam’s quiet chuckle drew your attention, and you peeked at him. He was still grinning, his arms crossed as he watched you with an infuriating mix of amusement and affection. “You handled that well,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

“You’re not helping,” you grumbled, though a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. Despite the embarrassment, you couldn’t bring yourself to be truly mad at him—not when he looked at you like that, as if you were the most entertaining thing he’d seen all day.

His golden eyes sparkled with amusement, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “I didn’t say anything,” he said, his voice light with humor. Neteyam stepped closer, his towering form casting a shadow over you as he leaned down slightly, his expression softening. “Let them think what they want,” he said quietly, his tone laced with sincerity. “I don’t care what they say. I only care about you.”

The earnestness in his voice made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, you forgot about Kate, Norm, and the outpost entirely. You swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the warmth rising in your chest, and gave him a small, shy smile.

You looked at the outpost and then turned back to Neteyam, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you motioned for him to crouch down. He raised a curious eyebrow but obliged, lowering himself until his golden eyes were level with yours, his tail swaying lazily behind him on the tall grass as he waited for whatever you had planned.

Leaning closer, you tilted your head and fixed him with a mock glare. “I will avenge how smug you can be,” you declared, your voice filled with feigned annoyance.

Neteyam chuckled, clearly amused by your attempt to look intimidating. His lips curved into that insufferably charming grin that always managed to disarm you, and his ears flicked forward, betraying his curiosity. “Oh?” he teased, his deep voice rumbling. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Without warning, you reached out and tugged lightly on one of his long braids, a playful grin spreading across your face. “That’s what you get,” you added with a huff, turning on your heel as if to stalk away dramatically.

But you didn’t make it far. His hands moved like liquid, circling around your waist before you could take more than a single step. With one smooth motion, he pulled you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you as he chuckled low in his throat.

You couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of you, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Neteyam!” you exclaimed, trying and failing to sound exasperated as his warmth surrounded you completely. “Let me go!”

“No,” he said simply, his tone teasing as he buried his face against the curve of your neck. “Not when I’ve caught you so easily.” His arm tightened slightly, keeping you close, and he dipped his head, his lips brushing against your ear. “You shouldn’t start a game you can’t win, ma yawne,” he murmured, his tone teasing but full of affection.

You tilted your head back, leaning against him as your laughter subsided. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reached up and unhooked your mask, pulling it away from your face. The sudden rush of unfiltered air against your face made your lungs tighten, but you ignored it, turning in his arms to face him.

Before he could say a word, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was both soft and urgent. His initial surprise melted almost instantly, and he responded with a tenderness that made your chest ache. The moment was brief but filled with quiet intensity, his large hands settling gently on your waist as he held you steady.

When you broke away, you quickly slipped your mask back into place, inhaling deeply as the filtered air filled your lungs. You glanced up at him, your cheeks flushed, and saw the way his gaze lingered on you, soft yet smoldering.

You laughed, stepping out of his embrace and turning to face him fully. “You should go,” you said, your tone light but firm. “I want my love back in one piece.”

He raised an eyebrow at your choice of words, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Your love?” he repeated, his voice teasing.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the warmth that spread across your cheeks. “Yes, my love,” you said, crossing your arms. You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. “If you survive this,” you said, stepping closer and placing a hand lightly on his chest where is his heart, “I might have something for you.”

His eyebrows rose, his amusement quickly giving way to intrigue. “Something?” he repeated, his voice dropping slightly.

You smirked, stepping back and turning toward the airgate. “Only if you survive, you’ll find out,” you said over your shoulder, your tone teasing as you walked away, leaving him standing there with a curious, almost eager expression.

Behind you, Neteyam’s low chuckle followed, the sound warm and rich. “I’ll hold you to that.” he called after you, his voice filled with affection and something else—something that made your cheeks flush.

You waved him off with a laugh, turning back toward the airgate as he watched you with a lingering, affectionate gaze. “Go,” you urged, glancing over your shoulder with a grin. “And good luck, mighty warrior.”

Neteyam chuckled, stepping back toward his ikran with a graceful ease that only he could manage. “Until later, ma yawne,” he called, his voice warm and steady.

You watched as he mounted his ikran, his every movement fluid and confident. As he took off into the sky, your heart swelled with a mix of affection and anticipation, already counting down the moments until you’d see him again.

As you walked into the outpost and put your mask back on the wall, your boots echoed softly on the metallic floor, but the moment you stepped into the main area, you froze. Standing dead center with his arms crossed and a furious scowl was Norm, his face a mixture of disappointment and frustration. His glasses had slid slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he looked every inch the disapproving mentor you had been dreading.

“Well, well...” he began, his voice dripping with exasperation as his sharp eyes locked onto you. “Look who decided to grace us with their presence this beautiful day.”

You froze mid-step glancing around, you saw that almost the entire xenobotany team had gathered in the main lab. Kate, Brian, and even Max were there, clearly waiting for the show. Judging by their barely suppressed grins, they were thoroughly entertained by the fact that Norm looked like he was about to combust.

“Uh, hi, Norm,” you said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck as you avoided his piercing gaze.

“Hi?” he repeated, his voice raising an octave as he took a step closer, his hands now on his hips. “That’s all you have to say? Hi? Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how reckless—how stupid—that was? Do you know how close I was to declaring a Code Red?”

You shrank under his furious stare, glancing toward the others for support. Kate was biting her lip, clearly holding back laughter, and Brian wasn’t even trying to hide his amused grin. You were on your own.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to respond. “I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t,” he said, his tone exasperated as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any idea what kind of morning we’ve had? Do you? I’ll tell you,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “I spent the last three hours wondering if I’d have to report to the RDA that we lost one of our best scientists because she decided it was a good idea to sneak out into the forest in the middle of a storm!”

You cringed. “Norm, I—”

“No,” he snapped, pointing at you. “Do you know how that report would look? Huh? ‘Dear RDA, we regret to inform you that Dr. Genius over here decided to take an unauthorized stroll into Pandora’s wilds during a category five storm and didn’t come back.’ How would I even write that? ‘Oops, sorry, she got eaten by a thanator’? Or maybe, ‘tragically struck by lightning’? Or better yet, ‘simply vanished into the night, never to be seen again’! Oh, sorry, we lost one of our key xenobotanists because she decided to wander off into the forest during a storm!’” He huffed, pacing now. “And not just any forest—Pandora’s forest! A planet where literally everything is trying to kill you! How would I explain to your family back on Earth that you just... died?”

“Norm, I—”

“No,” he interrupted, spinning to face you again. “You don’t get to talk right now. I want to know what the actual fuck you were thinking! What, you saw some glowing flowers out there and thought, ‘Oh, this is a great time for a late-night stroll’?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and you winced as he threw his hands up again. “And a storm! A storm, for Eywa’s sake! Do you know how many people have died in those storms when they first came her to Pandora?”

“Well,” Kate finally said, breaking the silence with a wicked grin, “I mean... she was with Neteyam all night.”

The room went dead silent. Norm blinked at her, his arms falling to his sides. “What?” he said, his voice flat, like he hadn’t quite processed the words.

You froze, your face instantly heating up at the implication of his words. “Norm, it’s not what you think—”

Kate, of course, couldn’t resist. “Oh, I don’t know. It sounds like exactly what I think,” she said with a sly grin, her eyebrows waggling suggestively.

“Kate, shut up,” you hissed, your face now a bright shade of red.

Norm looked between the two of you, his eyes narrowing. “Wait… what is she talking about?” he asked suspiciously.

Kate burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, Norm. She was gone all night. You really think she was out there alone?” Her grin widened as she added, “She was with Neteyam.”

You froze, your embarrassment skyrocketing as every pair of eyes in the room turned to you. “Kate, I swear to Eywa, shut up!” you snapped, grabbing the nearest object—a test tube—and lobbing it at her. She ducked easily, laughing as the tube bounced harmlessly off the counter behind her.

Norm blinked, his frustration briefly replaced by disbelief. “Wait… are you serious? Neteyam?” He looked at your face, and the second he saw the way your cheeks burned crimson, his jaw dropped. “Oh, my god. You’re blushing. You’re actually blushing. I don’t believe this.”

“I’m not blushing!” you lied, your voice rising as you crossed your arms defensively.

“Yeah, sure,” Brian muttered under his breath, earning another glare from you. Brian, ever the instigator, chimed in from his perch. “She’s got guts, I’ll give her that. Though I think Norm aged a decade in the last twelve hours.”

Max, sipping his coffee leisurely, grinned over the rim of his mug. “Pretty sure he had to take an extra blood pressure pill this morning.”

Norm threw his hands in the air, pacing now as he muttered to himself. “This is too much. I’m too old for this. I’m not a babysitter. I’m not equipped to deal with—whatever this is.”

Taking a deep breath, you decided to take control of the situation before it spiraled any further. “Look,” you said firmly, addressing the room. “Yes, I was with Neteyam. He wanted to show me the Tree of Voices.”

“The Tree of—” Norm froze mid-sentence, blinking at you in disbelief. “The Tree of Voices? You’re telling me Neteyam wanted to show you one of the most sacred sites on Pandora? The place his people have guarded fiercely for the last twenty years?”

You nodded hesitantly, feeling every pair of eyes in the room boring into you. “Yes?” you said weakly. “And then the storm hit, so we had to find shelter. We stayed in a hunter’s hut until morning.”

Kate’s grin returned, though this time it was more subdued. “Wow,” she said, her tone almost impressed. “Didn’t think the Omaticaya would let a human anywhere near that place. Let alone... you.”

You glared at her, but before you could respond, Norm let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what to say to this,” he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed. Or worse.”

“I know,” you said quietly, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry, Norm. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

He waved a hand dismissively, his frustration simmering down into resignation. “Just... don’t do it again, okay? I can’t handle another morning like this.”

Before you could respond, Kate and Brian stood up, brushing off her hands. “Well, I’ll leave you to deal with Norm’s wrath,” she said cheerfully as they heading toward the door. “Good luck, though. He’s still pretty mad.”

You watched them go, a mix of relief and annoyance bubbling in your chest. “I hate her sometimes,” you muttered under your breath.

Max chuckled, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Welcome back,” he said with a grin.

You rolled your eyes, but despite the embarrassment, a small smile tugged at your lips. As much as you wanted to throttle Kate, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in the chaos. You were home.

Neteyam landed gracefully in the center of the Omaticaya village, his ikran screeching softly before settling its wings. His muscles ached from the long flight, but his mind was still occupied with the events of the night before—the way you had looked beneath the Tree of Voices, the way your warmth had felt against him, the way your lips had clung to his in that desperate kiss before you put your mask back on. He could still hear your laughter ringing in his ears, still see the way your face had flushed when he teased you.

But before he could even take a proper breath, a familiar voice cut through the morning bustle of the village.

“There you are, finally,” Kiri’s voice rang out, sharp with both irritation and relief. She stood near the central fire pit, her arms crossed, her tail flicking with barely-contained exasperation. “Where the hell have you been?”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he prepared himself for the inevitable interrogation. “It is... a long story,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, a long story? You mean the one where you vanished all night without telling anyone?” Kiri pressed, stepping closer. “Do you know how mad Dad is? He’s been losing his mind since dawn.”

Neteyam sighed, already feeling the weight of his father’s wrath settling on his shoulders. “I can imagine.”

“Imagine?” Kiri scoffed. “No, I have to imagine, because I actually had no idea where you were. Unlike Lo’ak here, who for some reason—” she shot a glare to the approaching figure of their younger brother “—decided to cover for you with the dumbest excuse I have ever heard.”

Lo’ak strolled up casually, arms swinging at his sides, his expression filled with smug amusement. “You're welcome, by the way.”

Neteyam raised an eyebrow. “Cover for me?”

Lo’ak smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, big bro, you owe me one. Dad was this close to sending a search party after you, and guess who took the heat instead?”

Neteyam’s ears twitched slightly in surprise. “What did you tell him?”

Lo’ak grinned, his tail swaying proudly. “Told him you went out hunting. For Tuk. She apparently needed some rare bird feathers or something.”

Kiri made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “That was your excuse? Bird feathers? Lo’ak, that is the worst cover story I have ever heard.”

“Hey,” Lo’ak shrugged, “Dad bought it.”

Kiri rolled her eyes. “No, he didn’t. He still doesn’t believe it. He just hasn’t had the chance to properly rip Neteyam apart yet.”

Neteyam pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the headache forming. “Great.” He exhaled and straightened, his expression turning more serious. Neteyam hesitated for a moment, his golden eyes flicking between his siblings. He knew they would find out sooner or later, and he trusted them more than anyone else. With a deep breath, he finally said, “I was with her.”

Lo’ak blinked, confused. “Her? Who—oh.” His eyes widened as realization dawned. “Wait, you mean her? The human?”

Neteyam nodded, his expression steady but unrepentant. “I took her to the Tree of Voices.”

Kiri’s jaw dropped. “The Tree of Voices?” she repeated, her voice rising slightly in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what Father would say if he found out? Or worse—what Mother would say?”

Lo’ak let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Bro, if Mom finds out, you’re dead. Like, actually dead. She’d probably skin you alive. You’re not even trying to keep a low profile anymore, are you?”

“I know,” Neteyam said calmly, though his tone carried a hint of defiance. “But I wanted her to see it.”

Kiri threw her hands up in exasperation. “Neteyam, Mother barely tolerates the scientists who visits us. She only allows them because she knows they mean no harm and because Father vouches for them. But bringing one of them to the Tree of Voices? That is crossing a line.”

“She’s not just a scientist,” Neteyam said firmly, his voice steady as he met Kiri’s gaze. “At least not for me…”

Lo’ak chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Bro, if Mom finds out you spent the night with a human—”

“Nothing happened.” Neteyam shot him a sharp look, but the slight flush that crept up his neck didn’t go unnoticed.

Kiri raised a brow, unimpressed. “Still. Mom will bring hellfire if she finds out.” She sighed, shaking her head before eyeing him a little closer. “But at least you look like you finally slept.”

Neteyam frowned. “What?” the slight flick of his tail and the way his ears dipped gave him away.

Kiri’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “You’ve looked like absolute shit for weeks.”she added, her voice lightening.

Lo’ak snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the tree. “Yeah, you were starting to look like an overworked ikran trainer. What, did she sing you a lullaby or something?”

Neteyam rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched upward in a faint smile. “I didn’t realize my appearance was such a topic of discussion.”

“It is when it’s that bad,” Kiri shot back, grinning. “But seriously, you should be careful. If Mom finds out—”

“She won’t,” Neteyam interrupted, his tone firm but calm. “I’ll handle it.”

Kiri shook her head, a mix of exasperation and fondness on her face. “You’re impossible. Just try not to give Father a heart attack, okay? He’s already pacing around like a trapped nantang.”

Neteyam nodded, his expression resolute. “I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry.”

Lo’ak gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press further. Instead, he smirked and said, “Good luck, bro. You’re gonna need it.”

As Neteyam turned to leave, Kiri’s voice stopped him. “Hey,” she called, her tone softening. When he looked back, she offered him a small, genuine smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you look happier. Just... don’t screw it up.”

Neteyam’s gaze softened, and he nodded. “Thanks, Kiri.”

With that, he turned and headed toward the center of the village, bracing himself for the storm that awaited him. But even as he prepared for his father’s inevitable lecture, he couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of contentment. For the first time in weeks, he felt... steady. Grounded. And it was all because of you.

The walk to his family’s kelku felt heavier than usual. Neteyam’s steps were measured, his shoulders squared, though a faint tension ran through his frame. He’d faced countless challenges before, but there was something uniquely daunting about walking into a lecture from his father. Jake Sully might have been born human, but his authority as olo’eyktan carried the weight of Eywa herself.

As he approached the entrance, Neteyam could already sense his father’s presence inside. The faint shift of movement, the deliberate pacing—Jake was waiting for him. Bracing himself, Neteyam ducked into the kelku, the familiar space feeling more oppressive than comforting at that moment.

Sure enough, Jake was standing near the center, his arms crossed, his expression stern. His amber eyes locked onto Neteyam the moment he stepped inside, and the weight of his disappointment was almost palpable.

“Finally,” Jake began, his voice low and steady, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “You want to tell me where the hell you were all night?”

Neteyam kept his posture calm, though his heart raced beneath the surface. “I was at the Tree of Voices,” he said evenly, the lie slipping out as smoothly as he could manage. “I needed to connect with Eywa.”

Jake’s brows furrowed, his ears twitching slightly as he stared at his son, clearly weighing the truth of his words. “The Tree of Voices,” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “And you couldn’t tell anyone? Not me, not your mother, no one? You just disappeared.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. “I didn’t want to disturb anyone,” he said. “It was... personal.”

Jake let out a sharp breath, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Personal,” he echoed, his tone laced with disbelief. “Neteyam, you can’t just go off like that. You’ve got responsibilities. People look to you. If something had happened—”

“Nothing happened,” Neteyam interrupted, his voice firmer now. “I was careful. And I was where Eywa’s presence is strongest. I needed clarity.”

Jake’s gaze narrowed, his arms tightening across his chest. “Clarity,” he said flatly. “You know, you’re starting to sound more and more like your mother when she’s trying to avoid answering my questions.”

Neteyam’s lips twitched into a faint smile at that, but he quickly schooled his expression. “I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I was at the Tree of Voices. That’s it.”

For a moment, Jake just stared at him, his jaw working as though he was biting back another lecture. Then he sighed, his shoulders loosening just slightly. “You know you scared the hell out of me, right?” he said, his voice quieter now. “And your Mother. We thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “You can’t just disappear like that, son.”

Neteyam nodded, his expression earnest. “I understand,” he said.

Jake studied him for a long moment, his sharp gaze searching for any cracks in his story. Neteyam held his ground, his expression calm and composed, though he could feel his father’s scrutiny like a physical weight.

Finally, Jake let out a short, resigned sigh. “And what about the feathers?” he asked, his tone sharp again. “Lo’ak said you were out hunting for Tuk. That true?”

Neteyam stiffened, his ears twitching slightly—a subtle but telling reaction. Jake’s eyes narrowed, and a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Oh,” he said, dragging the word out. “So he lied to me.”

Neteyam didn’t respond, but the slight shift in his posture was all the confirmation Jake needed. He shook his head, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “Damn kids.”

“Well,” Jake said, his voice dry as he uncrossed his arms and gestured toward the exit, “you can bet Lo’ak’s going to get an earful for that. But right now, you’d better get your act together. You’re not a kid anymore, Neteyam. You can’t afford to make mistakes like this.”

Neteyam inclined his head, his expression respectful but distant. “I understand, sir,” he said quietly.

Jake gave him a long, searching look before nodding. “Good,” he said simply. Then, with a slight wave of his hand, he dismissed him. “Now get out of here. I’ve got enough headaches without dealing with you and Lo’ak’s crap all day.”

Neteyam turned to leave, his steps measured and steady, but the tension in his shoulders only eased slightly once he was outside. The lecture had gone about as well as he could have hoped, but the weight of his lie sat heavy in his chest.

Still, as he thought of the way she had smiled at him that morning, the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her kiss—he knew he’d do it all over again.

Part 16: To want

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— colder than my heart, if you can imagine

SUMMARY : you and soldier boy can’t seem to get along, but it may be because of something deeper than hatred or jealousy. 

PAIRING : soldier boy (ben) x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Payback

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), soldier boy cloak-hating, dirty talk

WORD COUNT : 2.3k

A/N : title from a day to remember’s song. this fills the square rivals AU on my @jacklesversebingo card. I know, no smut in the presence of soldier boy?! what?!! xx 

This was it.

This was where he belonged. Soldier Boy. In the field. Well, it was a forest.

But this was home to him. 

The sound of weapons firing, bullets hitting trees and leaves and dirt. Soldiers on both sides and his team were shouting in every direction. 

Thick smoke clouded his vision, coppery blood and gunpowder invaded his nose, and stale sweat filled the air to make it all better. 

He inhaled deeply as a group of poorly-armoured men headed in his direction, their guns were immediately pointed at him. He smirked and counted them in his head as he drew his gun from its holster with impressive speed.

Faster than he could pull the trigger, though, he watched you drop down from the sky like the fucking Devil getting cast out of Heaven. A loud boom shook the ground, the trees shook, dirt rose and shot outwards, and all the smoke ran from you. 

Your cloak snapped at him mockingly and he clenched his jaw, nearly broke his gun in half as you stole the fucking spotlight again.

There you fucking were, a neon sign that begged to be shot at. 

Ice cold sheets travelled in front of you as soon as you hit the ground, your knees bent in what he could only imagine was your graceful pose. 

Arrogant little shit.

The ice searched for warm bodies, freezing everyone in icy cocoons within fifty metres while you stood there in your brightly lit, colour changing suit, and your stupid fucking cape.

He’d heard of you. 

Winter’s Wrath. 

Unstable. Literally. As expected, with a name like that. 

He watched you jump upwards, three times the length of your body before you smashed back down and every pillar of ice that was once a person, shattered into nothing. The ice quickly melted in the summer of South America, as if those glacial shards could do so only with your permission. 

“I had that,” he grunted, stomping forward to get in front of your face. Your dark grey cloak was lit by delicate, fine wires of light that changed colour: red to orange to yellow to green to blue to violet, and finally to pink before going right back. 

“I’m just here to help,” you assured him softly. 

Your eyes met his, but it was like he was only a ghost to you. Your gaze was distant at first, then you blinked once in confusion, and finally focused on him. He realised quickly, you were just watching the lights of your armour change and brighten his face. 

Yup. There was something wrong with you in the head, at least that’s what the other Supes said about you. 

“Stay out of my way,” he warned, his voice nearly a deep growl as he stood in your personal space. You considered his words with a blank face and he huffed out a breath of irritation when you stared at him for a good minute. Then, he stepped away and walked forward to rendezvous with his team. 

He heard the soft press of your feet against mud and the quiet ruffle of your cloak before he heard the gentleness of your unused voice. 

“Can’t,” you said more playfully, “I’m part of your team for this mission.” 

It’s like you knew he wanted anything but that. Someone that would outshine, outperform, and outdo him. He hated it. Everyone was already terrified of you. But he especially hated the colourful lights that followed you and the stupid sound of your cloak whipping your armour as you walked. 

“Got a problem with that, Ben?” You asked when you started to match his pace. He stopped to answer and expected you to do so, too, to listen to him like everyone else always did. Instead, you continued to walk forward while he remained behind you. He growled softly when you passed him and told him, “talk to Stan Edgar.”

He couldn't wait for them to put you back on ice. Preserved. Asleep. Like you always ended up after being awake any longer than a month.

For whatever reason.

“For three years, the CIA and the DEA have been trying to bring down Victor Santiago,” you heard over your ear piece. 

You spaced out as you admired the green of the Ecuadorian forest. A smile tugged at your lips as you breathed in the fresh air of untouched atmosphere, petrichor, wood. Leaves kissed each other, branches bent to touch their companions with quiet creaks, and animals sang their songs of peace and joy. 

Finally away from the city. 

“Santiago got his hands on sensitive Vought information. You’re here to keep Vought’s secrets safe from whatever Santiago has planned. Push into the forest, find his base, and take him out.”

It didn’t take long for you to remember that you weren’t actually alone. 

“It’s so fucking hot,” Tessa complained, mostly to her twin brother. 

“And all this fuckin’ leather doesn’t make it better,” Tommy agreed. You heard him stretch the leather away from his body and snap back at his skin when he got enough fresh air in. 

You rolled your eyes at them and instantly smelt the irritating stench of cigarettes from Soldier Boy. He made his way next to you and took a deep long drag that turned the butt of the cigarette red before releasing the smoke from his lungs in front of him like a damned smoke grenade went off. 

Leave it to the assholes in Payback to ruin what would have otherwise been a great time. 

“All right, fuckheads,” Soldier Boy started, walking a few feet in front of you as he adjusted his shield. “You know what to fuckin’ do and don’t forget…” He turned around and locked eyes with you—even pointed accusingly at you. “…Victor’s mine.” 

You bit your lip to hide your smug smirk, but settled for a fake cough as ideas to ruin his day swarmed through your mind. 

He ventured deep into the forest with Payback spread out to cover more land. 

He could still hear the buzz of Swatto’s wings on his left and caught glimpses of the Crimson Countess a few feet away to his right. 

But most importantly, you were off elsewhere, somewhere he couldn’t see. 

He didn’t want to see you or even feel the coldness of your existence near him. 

He’d had enough of the way everyone seemed to be drawn to you because of your abilities. His team, Stan Edgar, other Supes, and people who wrote articles about you—practically worshipped you. 

He could always control his team and keep them beneath him, within the shadow of the name he built for himself through Vought. But you were impossible to tame, like a blizzard. You froze everyone so they could only stare in awe at you, even himself. And he hated every second that you captivated him, caught up in your powerful presence. 

But it was inevitable. You were inevitable.

No matter how big the forest was, he’d converge with you one way or another as you and his team made it to Victor’s compound around the same time.

But you made sure it was clear that you were there first. 

He felt the ground shake and a gust of cold wind bit his cheeks when he entered to find the enemy forces that you came across completely frozen.

He knew you were doing it on purpose, leaving their fully frozen bodies untouched for him to finish off. He wasn’t going to play that game with you.

He ignored the call for his name and the red sphere from Crimson Countess that shattered the bodies when Ben hurried to catch up with you instead. 

He joined you when you came to an entrance where the guard stood, he could feel you start up again. The coldness of you beat down the heat of him, an ice pack to a swollen joint. He might literally become nothing if you climbed your way up above him.

You left the guard beaten, out of his mind in pain, and focused your attention on freezing the door until it burst open. He shot the guard carelessly between the eyes, his fiery gaze burned into you, but you were unphased.

You turned to face him, your lashes fluttering prettily at him. Smug. Challenging.

If he didn’t hate you, he might’ve liked the way you looked at him. 

But you left him standing at the entrance, looking over your shoulder with a tiny smile on your lips as you came near to a new, massive space with shipping containers and an infantry of what were most-likely henchmen.

There you went again.

Delicate. Elegant. But so irritatingly powerful. 

You took most of them out with the wrathful frost of your abilities. A fresh skiff of snow fell to the ground, on his armour, on his warm skin. He felt the shiver run up his spine but he ignored it to keep up with you. 

That’s when his team finally caught up and it gave you a chance to leave the remaining henchmen to Payback. It was still a race to you, the childish game you were playing annoyed him, but it provoked him into playing along to prove he was the best. He ignored his struggling team and stayed a step behind you as you made it to an old elevator where a small group of goons attempted to escape.

He grunted as he was shot at and punched. He staved off a few attacks with his shield, he punched at whoever got in his way, stabbed at whoever tried to stab him first, and finally was able to reload his gun while he watched you hold the elevator in place.

He joined you once he killed the last few henchmen and helped you drag the elevator all the way down. The thick wires creaked and snapped and blazed at the force of his pull. 

Your laughter distracted him momentarily. Your hood fell back and your soft hair swept over your flushed face when you leaned down towards the three men. You dragged the two of them out by their ankles with a playful grin.

Their attempts to shoot you were futile, the bullets fell from your body like rubber hitting metal. You still kicked away their weapons and pressed your boot into one of the men’s neck. Ben killed the other two as you began questioning the squirming, fearful man.

“Where’s Victor?” You loosened the force of your foot on his neck and the man gripped the bottom of your boot for a proper breath. 

“Come on, fuckface,” Ben urged impatiently, “answer the lady or you’ll end up like these guys.” The man hesitated and considered you and then him. You looked indifferent and cold and Ben looked furious and hotheaded. 

The man conceded with a vehement nod. “T-There's a base underneath.. That's w-where you'll find V-Victor.” 

Ben watched you release him entirely and you went to help the man up, but Ben shot him—casually. The man’s fingers grazed yours and he flopped back down in a pool of his brains and blood. 

You turned to glare at him.

“Yeah?” Ben rolled his eyes at you. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“He gave us the information,” he shrugged, then made his way to the elevator with you close behind him for the first time since the mission started. 

“It’s not gonna be an easy path leading up to Victor, Ben,” you berated him. He rolled his eyes at you again and pounded the button on the wall with a fist to take you both to the lowest level. “He could’ve made it easier for us.”

“Well, since it bothers you so much, I give less of a fuck than I did before.” You scoffed at him and your jaw clenched. He smirked at your reaction and reloaded his gun to be fully prepared for the next fight. “I don’t think we’ve ever been together in such a small space for this long before,” he pointed out hotly and stepped closer. 

He really didn’t like you, but damn you were hot. Your ass looked so damned tight in your irritatingly light-y suit. He really wanted a piece of you, maybe, especially because you frustrated him. 

Your eyes narrowed at his tone. You looked up at him boredly. “That's because I don’t like you.”

“No?” 

“Yeah, no.” 

“I could make you cum like all your ice went through a fuckin’ heatwave.” He watched your eyes drift away as you pondered his words, your cheeks suddenly frosted with pink. He bit his lip at your reaction.

But the elevator shook as it stopped, landing on the floor where Victor would be. And you were out of there before he could add more to his offer. 

You continued to push through more loyal soldiers, making your way deeper inside. He helped you navigate several hallways and eliminate more enemies. You both split up again, but you always ended up at a nexus point, a hallway that led to a dead end up ahead.

He watched you go into a hallway across from him, but when he emerged from his, you didn’t meet him at the centre. 

He knew you must have found Victor. 

He swore angrily under his breath and stomped into the hallway you’d disappeared into. The lights flickered above him, there was a frozen path you’d created leading into the room he assumed you were in. 

He didn’t expect it, but you kept Victor practically untouched—he just didn’t know why. His feet frozen to the ground, there were no weapons near him. You were sitting on top of a desk, a frozen dagger began melting with warm blood in the head of Victor’s right-hand-man.

He looked away from them, away from Victor with a patch of ice over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his voice. You bit your lip and gazed up at him seductively when he contemplated you with wary eyes.

“Truce?” 

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[kusanagihaku]

i will turn into clouds sanguine 

⭢ lyca and mc, 1.2k

q is for qilin. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3

The front door of Obscuary creaks open under your touch. 

Rui must have left it unlocked for you after you texted him earlier today about leaving paperwork for some new missions – you step inside and let the heavy door groan closed behind you. You make a left turn into where you told Rui you’d leave the files…

…only to come face to face with Lyca and a huge, huge canvas. 

You blink. Woah. 

It lays flat on the Obscuary dining table, long and white and half-covered in fine, black pen strokes. If you had to guess, it’d be Lyca’s height when propped upright, with a width double that. 

“You’re here,” Lyca says. He flicks a glance at your shoes. “Did you get lost?” 

You flush. You did make a wrong turn or two in the forest but… you made it, didn’t you? “Um. No.”  

Lyca sniffs, frowning. “You smell like the soil from Rui’s garden. That’s not on the way in.” 

“…maybe?” You can’t help the sheepish grin that breaks onto your face, and are rewarded with Lyca’s triumphant snort. “Anyway, what’s this?” 

Lyca glances back down at the corner of the canvas he’s bent over. “Rui asked me to draw something we could hang in the bar. He promised he would buy me paints if I did it, so I did.” 

You walk closer to the canvas to get a better look. The fine lines coalesce into four large shapes under the dim dining room light, vaguely reminiscent of mythical creatures you might have read about once upon a time. “What are these?” 

Lyca points to his left. There is a small book propped open beside the pen he has just set down – comparing the yellowed page to his canvas, you realise he must have been using it as a reference for most of the details. “The idiot grandpa gave me this book and told me to do this. It was the only thing he suggested that Rui agreed to.” 

You wince; you don’t want to imagine what else Ed suggested to Rui. You turn your attention back to the tangle of black strokes on the white surface. 

Nearest to you is a completed tortoise, mouth open and claws pointed and sharp. It is seated atop a stone, and is angled to face a phoenix floating down from the top left. The phoenix, despite being only rendered in swift, short lines, is striking – its wings are outstretched and its glare fierce. Hidden under the furrow of its eyes is a desperate sort of determination you had no idea could be captured in pen. 

In the top right corner, snaking down from a hastily sketched set of clouds is a majestic beast, teeth bared and horns like fire. Scales slick off its back in flames, and its claws extend towards the foreground. It is lit in part by the warmth of the overhead light, but in part by the soft moonlight streaming in through a nearby window; the silver of moonlight makes the creature almost glow. 

You let out a low whistle, impressed. “Is that a dragon?” 

Lyca nods. “They’re supposed to be the four is- es- suspicious beasts.” 

You pause for a moment. “…auspicious?” 

Lyca scrunches his nose. “Yeah. Anyway, Ed says Rui is supposed to be the dragon.” 

You wrack your brain for mentions of the Four Auspicious Beasts – you know you studied something similar for a class two or three months back. “Isn’t it supposed to symbolise power or strength, or something like that?” 

“Yeah.” Lyca scratches the back of his neck. “Rui has the most power out of all of us. Given his curse and all.” 

You half-smile. Once upon a time you’d have said Ed was the strongest in Obscuary – knowing him now and thinking about the dynamics of the house, it makes more sense that their harried and lively vice-captain would be their dragon. 

“What about the tortoise?” 

Lyca frowns, as if it is obvious. He picks up his pen. “It’s that moth-eaten Casanova, of course. Slow and can’t do anything but make gross jokes.” 

Well. You can’t refute that.

“Also, he said it was supposed to represent longevity and stability,” Lyca adds, adding a few pen strokes, “and he’s supposed to live forever, so.” 

You look carefully at what Lyca is sketching. It is half-complete, details on its face yet to be finished. “Is that you?” 

He nods. “Rui said this was a…” he squints back at the tiny reference book, “a Qilin.” 

Makes sense. From what you remember, the qilin symbolised righteousness and integrity, both qualities Lyca possesses in bounds. 

You hum, watching his hands work. “Did you know that qilin are said to be so gentle and respectful of life they don’t step on blades of grass?” 

Lyca looks up at you, briefly. “I step on grass.”

It pulls a laugh out of you. “Yeah, well, but you’re still one of the most respectful ghouls I know.” 

You feel Lyca straighten a little at that, almost like he’s holding back a beam. He lets out a small huff. “Well. That’s what Suba told me to do.” 

If his tail was out it’d be wagging. You bite back a smile. “That’s good!” 

A silence lapses over the both of you for a few minutes as you watch his pen glide across the canvas. Your eyes wander back, again, to the eyes of the phoenix. 

Come to think of it, aren’t there only three occupants in Obscuary? You know that the set needs all four to be complete, but if Rui was the dragon, Ed the tortoise and Lyca the qilin, who was the phoenix? 

“Lyca, who’s that supposed to be then? Since there are only three of you.” 

Lyca slides a glance at you, brows furrowed as if he cannot fathom why you would be asking. “Isn’t it obvious? That’s you.” 

You blink. 

He taps the back of his pen on the reference book. The little taps are heavy on the lump growing in your throat. “The old man said phoenixes mean rebirth. After you’re cured, you’re gonna have your second life, right?”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he has never had a doubt that you’d be cured, that whatever response you might have had swells in your lungs and stays there. 

The weight of his conviction sinks into the surface of your mind. You know the Mortkranken ghouls have been working overtime for you, you know the Hotarubi ghouls have been poring over dusty old tomes for more information, you know the rest of the ghouls have been working on your curse in their own ways and yet… 

And yet some part of you has never dared to hope for the success of a cure. 

You swallow. 

But here they are, holding a torch you have never dared to light – you will break your curse before the year is up. You will be cured. You will get to return to normal, life irrevocably changed by your time at Darkwick and bound to the ghouls that you’ve helped and been helped by, for better or for worse. You will get to live. 

Your nose burns. 

Lyca looks at you curiously. 

“Nothing,” you say, quickly. You cough to cover up the thick in your voice. “The fact that you’d accept me into Obscuary… that’s really nice to hear.” 

Lyca snorts. “Of course you’ll be with us. Where else would you be?” 

You grin. It comes out watery, probably, but you don’t care. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[thyras]

→ of yearning & longing

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 4.9k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → just LOTS of yearning and longing (y'all are probably sick of that by now), angst

SUMMARY → as fate draws you both ever closer, you can't help but feel the aching of centuries apart and what they have done to you.

AUTHORS NOTE → there is a sneaky celebrimbor x reader in this just cause ya know you do not spend five centuries hanging out closely and not have some non-platonic thoughts at times. i may be going on a little hiatus with this for a little teeny bit due to school starting this week. i have lots of homework and will not have time to devote to this, i have a plan for the whole story but i just need the time to execute it and that may be a couple of weeks. outside life calls.

PARTS → masterlist

“Is that really where you came from?” The little voice chimed, trembling with wonder. Her luminous eyes, wide as the moonrise over the woods, looked up at you as though you carried the secrets of the stars in your gaze. Her delicate hands clutched the hem of your robe’s sleeve, and in that touch, you could feel her burgeoning curiosity—a flame that, with care, would burn for centuries.

Your fingers traced the edge of an ancient, weathered page, its texture rough yet familiar, like the bark of the trees you once wandered among. The book felt alive in your hands, a relic of a bygone era, steeped in the whispers of the past. You had carried it through fire and shadow, across the tumultuous escape from Beleriand, a treasure nestled beside your husband’s intricate designs and other tokens of a life left behind. This book, though—it was more than mere parchment and ink. It was a fragment of your soul.

The illuminated script told of your people’s beginnings: the Moriquendi’s deep bond with the earth, their whispers shared with the roots of ancient oaks and the flowing rivers. It recounted the tale of Thingol and Melian, whose love was like a song woven into the fabric of Arda itself. It painted a picture of the grand realms of Beleriand—Doriath’s shadowy, enchanted forests; Gondolin’s shining spires hidden amidst the mountains; Laureandor, golden and resplendent under the eternal sun. Every page sang with memory, each word resonating with the cadence of forgotten voices.

“I came from the earth itself,” you murmured, your voice soft but rich, like the hum of wind over a meadow. “Awoke when Eru sang me into being.”

The little girl’s lips parted, her breath catching as she turned the words over in her mind. Her brow furrowed, and her tiny fingers fluttered in the air as she counted, her thoughts as transparent as the clear forest streams. “But that would make you…” she paused, consulting her fingers again, “over five thousand years old.”

A smile spread across your lips, slow and indulgent, tinged with the mischief of centuries. “A lady does not reveal her age, little one,” you said, tilting your head with mock severity. “It is very impolite.”

Her eyes widened, and her small voice rushed to apologize, faltering with earnestness. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Before she could finish, you placed a hand gently atop her head, the warmth of your touch silencing her in an instant. The faint scent of the forests clung to her hair, and it brought memories of younger days. Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to her brow, a benediction as ancient as you were.

“There is no need to apologize,” you said, your tone tender, carrying the weight of countless ages. “I have lived many lives, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, and passed through the shadowed woods of Middle-earth. Yet, it is my purpose to pass on what I know, as I was created to be a keeper of memory and a weaver of stories.”

Her wonder deepened, her small face lit by an unearthly glow as if your words had planted stars in her heart. The weight of the book in your hands seemed lighter now, for in her awe, you saw the continuation of the tale, the promise of futures yet to be written.

“Telling wild stories to young ears again?”

The familiar voice carried a hint of amusement, smooth as silver ringing against stone. You turned your head, and there he was—Lord Celebrimbor. His soft brown hair caught the light as he approached, and a genial smile touched his lips. His presence was steady and reassuring, and your own lips curved into a fond smile at the sight of your old friend.

“They are not wild stories,” you retorted, a playful edge sharpening your tone. “They are histories, Celebrimbor.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and continued his leisurely approach until he stood beside you. His eyes flicked down to the little girl perched beside you on the stone bench. She had been listening with the rapt attention only the young possessed, her small fingers clasped tightly in her lap.

“May I borrow her for a while?” he asked, his voice gentle but carrying a trace of mirth.

The little girl hesitated only briefly before nodding. She turned to you, her eyes luminous with hope and longing. “Can we continue tomorrow?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at her eagerness. “Same time,” you promised, inclining your head.

That was all she needed. With a delighted grin, she slid off the bench and ran, her fair hair catching in the soft breeze, flowing like a stream of gold as she disappeared down the path toward the town. You watched her go, warmth flooding your heart, an ache sweet and bittersweet settling in your chest.

All you had ever wanted was a family of your own—a child to hold, to nurture, to guide with the wisdom and love you carried in your light. Yet, unlike Melian and Thingol, such a blessing had never come to pass for you and Mairon. It was understandable. The shadow that lingered on the edges of his soul was not a burden that would be easily tempered. Still, in all the centuries and ages that had passed, the absence of that dream was a hollow place in your heart, a place no other joy could truly fill.

Even if the possibility of his darker nature manifesting more strongly in a child had weighed on your mind, you knew it wouldn’t have swayed your desire. You would have loved them fiercely, shielding them with your light and guiding them toward a brighter path. To nurture, to cherish, to offer a soul unyielding warmth—that was the essence of who you were.

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your reverie, his tone soft with understanding. “You’re still thinking of it, aren’t you?”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his perceptiveness, but his gaze held no judgment. Only the quiet companionship of someone who had shared lifetimes and understood the burdens carried through them.

“It is a thought that never truly leaves me,” you admitted, your fingers brushing absently over the ancient book still resting on your lap.

He nodded, his expression solemn but kind. “Perhaps, in some way, you already have what you seek. In the little moments, the stories shared, the light you give to others.”

Your lips twitched upward in a bittersweet smile. “Perhaps,” you murmured, though in your heart, you knew the longing would always remain.

For now, you let it rest, soothed by the lingering warmth of the little girl’s trust. It was enough, if only for today.

“Elrond has returned with news from the Dwarves,” Celebrimbor announced, with a gentle smile.

You rose smoothly from the bench, the ancient book pressed to your chest as though safeguarding its secrets. The weight of it was comforting, a tether to times long past. Without hesitation, you moved to step alongside him, your robes swaying with each deliberate stride.

Together, you walked, the rhythm of your footsteps falling into an easy harmony, as if the centuries of shared purpose had been etched into the very earth beneath you. You hoped Elrond had brought good news, because the project was dangerously behind schedule. And there was only so much time left.

With each sway of the ship, Halbrand let the movements cradle him, like a lullaby he could not quite hear. He tried to lose himself in it, to let the rhythm of the waves wash away the heaviness in his chest. Yet his mind wandered relentlessly, tugging him back to places he could not escape. Memories, sharp and vivid as the stars reflected on dark waters, flared to life—pulling, aching, longing.

The burn of this mortal form was sharper, more immediate than the last. Where once he had armored himself against emotion, now they coursed through him unchecked, raw and consuming. He ached for you. For the touch of your hands, the solace of your voice, the brilliance of your mind. His soul felt unmoored without you, a drifting fragment searching for its other half.

When he had awakened in this new life, the frost-laden air of winter biting his skin, his first thought had been of you. He had reached out across the unseen threads of the world, yearning to feel even the faintest echo of your presence. He had scoured the vastness of Arda with his mind and heart, desperate for a whisper, a glimmer, a trace of you among the living. But there had been nothing. The silence was deafening.

The thought of your absence had carved an emptiness into him. You, who were among the first to walk this land, who carried the songs of creation in your very being. It was possible—heartbreaking, unbearable, but possible—that you had faded into the earth itself, surrendered to your grief for him. The thought sent shards of pain through him, sharper than any blade.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and his strength returned, faint signs began to emerge, like footprints in the snow. In dreams, he found you. Glimpses of your face, your eyes—those luminous, eternal eyes—would appear to him, soft and shining, filled with the golden light of Laureandor’s unending dawns.

In these dreams, you were radiant as you had been in the days of your joy. He would see you wandering among the gardens of that sacred city, the eternal sunrise painting your skin in hues of warmth. He would reach for you, yearning to touch the softness of your shoulders, to trace his fingers along your arms, to hold you as he had in those golden days. He would try, so desperately, to drink in the memory of your scent—jasmine, lilac, and the faint sweetness of raspberries—an essence burned into his soul as deeply as your name.

But it never came to pass. Before you could even acknowledge that he was searching for you—and you almost had, on more than one occasion—the shadows of Morgoth’s curse would rise, relentless and cruel. They dragged you away from him, shrouding your presence in darkness and sending him back into his own mind. Each time, the pain surged through him like a tidal wave, dropping him to his knees in the prison of his thoughts. He would cry out, his voice raw, begging to touch you, to hold you, to feel even the faintest trace of your light once more.

It was not until he had regained moderate strength, his resolve steeled against the ever-looming shadow, that he managed to push past it and reach you again. This time, the veil parted, and he saw you.

The scene unfolded like a long-lost dream: you, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, your beauty ethereal and untouched by the years. You sat at your dressing table, a brush gliding through your hair with deliberate, graceful strokes, and your lips parted slightly as you hummed a melody. It was a song he knew well—one you had sung in the golden days of Laureandor, when life felt eternal and untainted. He had heard it many times, lying in bed and watching you with quiet reverence, soaking in the warmth of your presence, your radiance.

“Mori?” His voice trembled as it left him, his shadows quaking around the edges of your sanctuary, a fragile boundary between worlds. Yet you did not turn. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment met his call.

Moments passed, heavy and laden with hope and despair, until your movements stilled. The brush in your hand hovered above the table, and your gaze fell to the small jewelry box resting there. Your fingers reached out, trembling ever so slightly as they hovered over the box’s delicate clasp, hesitating as though the act of opening it would summon something too painful to bear.

He stepped closer, his presence behind you a silent echo of who he had been. As you unclasped the box, the faint creak of its hinges seemed to reverberate through the room, a sound both tender and haunting. Inside, nestled in the velvet lining, lay a chain and a ring—the very ones he had forged for you.

The sight of them hit him like a blow, a torrent of emotions flooding through him. The memories surged—of molten metal and careful hands, of pouring himself into the craft, shaping his love and devotion into something tangible. He had made the chain and blue jewel to rest lightly against your skin, the ring to shine as brightly as the Two Great Lamps that they were forged under, unknowing of why he yearned to craft a marvel. All when he was your Mairon. Your sweet Mairon.

He reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered just behind your shoulder, yearning to touch you, to reclaim even a fragment of what they had once shared. But the shadows still lingered, cruelly mocking him, as if to remind him that he could watch, he could ache, but he could not hold you—not yet.

You slammed the jewelry box closed and turned away, the sharp snap echoing through the room. The pain of your mark flared again, forcing you to retreat from the part of him that had once been poured so fully into that ring and chain. The sight of your reaction caused his anger to flare, a shadowy frustration that burned hotter as his eyes drifted to your wrist. The mark there pulsed with darkness, black tendrils crawling like living veins up your skin, a visible reminder of Morgoth’s curse.

But then, in a moment that stole his breath, your hand rose instinctively to the golden chain around your neck. Your fingers brushed over the crimson jewel nestled against your skin, caressing it softly. As if in answer, the darkness on your wrist began to fade, the tendrils retreating as though repelled by the warmth emanating from the chain.

His chain.

It seemed to bring you no pain, even in the face of the shadows. Unlike the jewelry in the box, this piece of his work had not been tainted. He realized with awe that the elven hands that had enhanced it in its making had infused it with a power greater than he had imagined. It radiated warmth, a steady comfort amidst the storm of darkness and shadow that plagued you both.

He remembered the night it was placed around his own neck, a gift for a moment of unity and love. He had been hesitant, even fearful, as the chain hovered above him. He had known its nature—that it would burn him if his soul was not pure of light. The stone would have seared his skin and marked his darkened fingers if the darkness in him had prevailed.

But that had not happened.

In your presence, beneath your unwavering light, he had bathed in something he had thought lost to him. The darkness had been pushed back, retreating into the recesses of his being. For that fleeting time, he had become whole again. He had become your Mairon.

You had turned his heart pure, if only for a moment. And in that moment, his whole being had prospered, the shadows receding as the brilliance of your love and light filled the void within him. Even now, the memory of that time was a beacon in his mind, a reminder of who he had been and who he might yet become.

He had pulled away from your mind, granting you a brief moment of solace. But his absence was only temporary. He returned, filling your mind with his deepest, most desperate desires. Shadows crept in again, curling around you as he reached out, hoping—aching—that you might welcome him this time. Welcome him with your warmth. With your light.

“Nightmares again?”

The voice pulled him abruptly from his reverie. Halbrand’s gaze shifted to Diarmid, whose head had lifted from his makeshift pillow, the dim glow of the ship’s lantern casting shadows across his weathered face. The old man’s eyes were sharp, even in the low light, watching him with a curious, almost knowing expression.

Halbrand hesitated. His instinct was to keep his thoughts buried, locked away where no one could reach them. Yet, there was something about Diarmid’s persistent, uninvited concern that made resistance seem futile. The old man had a knack for prying, for picking at the seams of Halbrand’s carefully guarded silence. At times, it irritated him to no end.

But tonight? Tonight, he found himself willing to entertain it.

“Something like that,” Halbrand said at last, his voice low and rough, as though the shadows in his mind lingered still. He leaned back against the ship’s support the cool air brushing against his skin, though it did little to quell the heat of the turmoil within.

Diarmid’s brow furrowed slightly, his curiosity sharpening. “Dreams, then? Or memories?”

Halbrand’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Does it matter?”

The old man shrugged, sitting up more, but his gaze remained unwavering. “Only if you think it does.”

Halbrand said nothing, his eyes drifting around the cargo hold. The waves lapped against the hull, their rhythm both soothing and relentless, much like the memories that refused to leave him. He could still feel the ghost of you in his mind, the ache of what he’d shown you, the fragile hope that you might yet answer his call.

He exhaled slowly before speaking. “I’ve done evil,” Halbrand admitted, his voice low and rough, his gaze fixed on the shifting shadows of the night instead of the old man beside him.

“All of us have done things we care not to admit,” Diarmid replied, his tone laced with a quiet understanding.

Halbrand chuckled bitterly to himself. If he only knew. His mind drifted back to you, to the weight of his greatest sin: the evil he had cast like a shadow over your life. Even now, he could feel the heaviness of your hairpiece tucked into the waistband of his pants, the cold metal pressing against his skin. It was a token he could not part with, tarnished by time and freezing temperatures, yet priceless beyond measure.

He had gone back for it, braving danger and decay to retrieve a piece of you. To him, it was a relic—a tangible fragment of the happiest memory he possessed. He clutched it like a lifeline, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could bask in the light of that moment once more. But that light was gone, and the darkness of his choices had set a path that could not be undone.

His plan, even now delayed, was in motion. And with every passing day, he drew closer to you.

“That trinket you carry,” Diarmid’s voice cut into his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “A family heirloom? Or perhaps a token of a lost love?”

Halbrand’s eyes darkened as they snapped to the old man, his glare sharp and unyielding. But then, to his own surprise, he spoke the truth.

“It was my wife’s,” he murmured softly, his voice a shadow of itself.

“Lost, then?” Diarmid asked, his expression solemn but kind.

Halbrand shrugged, the gesture dismissive, though the pain in his chest betrayed his indifference. “I am unsure.”

Diarmid nodded slowly. “Did she know of this evil that you had done?”

Halbrand’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. The truth of it was inescapable. You had known. You had always known. And despite that knowledge, you had remained devoted to him, loving him with a fierceness that sometimes bordered on blind faith. You had stood by him, willing to follow wherever he led, even when it cost you dearly.

To be worshipped by the one he loved—by you—had been a divine feeling. One that lingered even now, haunting him.

“Then do not dwell in what was,” Diarmid said after a moment, his voice calm and steady. “For all is forgiven to her.”

But Halbrand knew better. Forgiveness was a lie. He had burned your world down, not once but countless times over. He had tried to repent, to make amends for the ruin he had caused, but when the cost became clear—eternal separation, eternal damnation for the both of you—he had fled. He had run from the truth of what his true repentance required. Not able to accept the words of beings that had once hunted him down like an animal.

“Now you must find forgiveness in yourself,” Diarmid continued, breaking through the silence. “You are here, with the hope of seeing her once more, wherever she might be. All because you have chosen good on this day.”

“And what of tomorrow?” Halbrand asked, his voice heavy with the weight of his doubts.

“You choose it again,” Diarmid said simply. “And then the next day, and the day after that, until it is part of your nature.” A soft smile crossed the old man’s lips, his words as gentle as the first light of dawn.

Halbrand said nothing, his mind swimming with memories of what he had once been.

Mairon had been good. He had loved, deeply and without restraint. He had danced in the light, sung with his whole fëa, and devoted himself to the one who had been his guiding star. Day after day, he had chosen to be admirable, to be worthy of the love you gave so freely.

Sauron, though… Sauron was irredeemable in the eyes of all but one.

Yours.

You had clung to the hope that the light could penetrate the shadow once more. You had believed in him when no one else did, holding on to the belief that the spark of goodness within him still existed. And he had told you once, long ago, that his light was embedded in you, waiting to return to him when the darkness had faded.

But the darkness had never faded.

And now more than ever it crept even closer, begging to swallow him further.

Over the weeks, you had lingered in the hazy solace of your dreams, refusing to wake from the gentle caresses and whispered promises of your husband. His touch, his voice, his presence—it all felt so real in the quiet sanctuary of your slumber. You clung to him desperately, even as he faded, unwilling to release him to the waking world. For when you did, you knew you would wake to the cold emptiness of your bed, the hollow ache in your heart once more reminding you of the loneliness that consumed your days. The sunlight seemed dimmer now, as if mourning alongside you, its warmth unable to pierce the sorrow that wrapped itself around you. His words of patience echoed in your mind, but the longing you carried was shifting—slowly, insidiously—into grief once more. And the shadows whispered to you, their call growing ever louder.

“Everything well?”

Celebrimbor’s voice broke through your reverie, and you startled slightly before turning to him. He stood across the small forge, his keen eyes watching you with gentle concern. You offered him a cheerful smile, though it barely masked the weariness tugging at your features.

“Yes, of course, my lord,” you replied, trying to sound lighthearted.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I can tell when you’re lying, Thilwen.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly turned back to the parchment before you. The last bit of correspondence for the day was nearly finished, and you placed your quill back in the inkpot with careful precision. Blowing on the ink to dry, you focused intently, determined to ignore Celebrimbor’s prying gaze. Though he rarely ventured into matters of your personal life, he worried for you on occasion. He had seen the signs: your faraway stares, the way you flinched at the faintest creak of a door, the late-night strolls through the courtyard where you seemed to murmur to no one.

“I am fine—” you started, but Celebrimbor crossed the room in a few strides and placed his hand firmly on the parchment, cutting you off.

“Go,” he said, his voice gentle but resolute. “You look exhausted. I will finish this.”

“But—” you began to protest, but he shook his head.

“No buts. You’ve been working harder than ever, and I need your mind sharp once the forge is complete. We’ll have plenty of work ahead of us.” His expression softened as he added, “Rest, Thilwen. Truly rest.”

You hesitated for a moment, but the warmth of his concern and the firmness in his tone left no room for argument. But instead of rising you only sat back in your chair as you moved to rub your eyes, you wanted to rest more than anything but it would only make your grief and sorrow flourish.

“Thilwen?” Celebrimbor prompted with a raised brow.

“I can’t sleep,” you murmured, a shred of truth in the words. Celebrimbor moved to sit across from you. “I keep having dreams.” You paused, hesitating wether or not to even tell Celebrimbor, but he was one of your oldest friends and was always full of wisdom, even more than you. A child of Ilúvatar.

“Nightmares about your husband again?” Celebrimbor’s voice was careful, yet tinged with the barest hint of curiosity. It wasn’t entirely off the mark, though to call it a nightmare felt wrong. If one could call being driven to the edge by the ghostly caress of your husband’s touch a nightmare, then perhaps he was right. But that was none of Celebrimbor’s business.

“Some nights I see the white towers burning,” you began, your voice steady though your chest felt tight. “Others I see fellow elves—”

You didn’t have to finish. Celebrimbor’s hand reached across the small space between you and settled gently on your arm. His touch was soothing, an anchor in the storm of your words.

You weren’t lying. There were nights when your husband’s presence didn’t soften your dreams, when his whispers didn’t guide you into a fragile comfort. Instead, there were nights when the weight of old memories and distant faces overwhelmed you.

You saw them clearly—people you had loved, places you had walked—now all reduced to ruin. The brilliance of their existence snuffed out beneath the crushing weight of your husband’s oppressive hand. The burning white towers haunted you, their light extinguished by shadow, and the faces of those you cherished twisted with pain and betrayal.

Celebrimbor’s touch tightened slightly, grounding you. “You are not alone in this grief,” he said softly, his voice as steady as his presence. But in your heart, you knew your grief was far more complex than he could ever understand.

Because no one but you could love the hand that had wrought such destruction—and still long for it in the dark of night.

“It is alright; all is in the past. We have endured the darkest of days with our kin, and now we look to craft a brighter future,” Celebrimbor said, his voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. His hand gave your arm a gentle squeeze, a small gesture of comfort before his tone turned teasing. “But please, do go get some rest—you look awful, my dear.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound lightening the heaviness in your chest as you stood and pushed your chair neatly under the table. Stepping closer to him, you placed your hand on his cheek in a warm, familiar gesture. Celebrimbor’s smile softened at your touch, a warmth radiating from him that you had come to know so well over the centuries.

For five centuries, you had known his affection. Though it was unspoken and never crossed into anything beyond platonic, it was evident in the way he treated you. Others had noticed, whispering of how his gaze lingered on you longer than it did on anyone else, how his words carried a gentler tone when they were meant for you, and how his kindness toward you surpassed what he offered even his closest smiths.

But no matter what others said, Celebrimbor knew your heart belonged to another. He carried on with his immortal longing for greatness, his own ambitions burning brightly. Perhaps, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he held a quiet yearning for you as well. Yet, he had always respected the boundaries of your devotion, never once letting his affection compromise the steadfastness of your bond.

For your fëa sung for only one being.

The melody you shared with your husband was eternal, unshakable. It was a song that no other could replicate, a harmony woven in the light that existed between only the two of you. Even in his absence, even in grief so profound it threatened to consume you, you knew you would never betray that song. To do so would be to betray yourself.

“I will try to do so,” you said, letting your hand fall back to your side. You turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at him. “Good night, my lord.”

“Good night, my lady,” Celebrimbor replied with a small bow, his voice soft and reverent as you stepped out into the quiet night, carrying with you the weight of an unyielding love and the memories of what had been.

[livefromthedas]

That Time Flirting Accidentally Worked

By ClickClickBoom

(Also here on AAO3)

Chapter 2: The Pnemoix

Summary:

Rook Ingellvar, a dumpster fire amongst Mourn Watchers, manages to fall face-first into dating one Emmrich Volkarin.

Nice.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

It was a little hard at first, being surrounded by such opulence when Rook knew as well as anyone how sorely so many people were suffering in the same breath. Venatori had overrun the streets of Minrathos. Ancient artifacts of varying degrees of calamitous power were taking lives in Arlathan Forest, and the Antaam had an iron grip on the daily lives of citizens in Treviso. Never mind whatever brutish machinations the Evanuris were planning to unleash next.

But Navarra City stood strong, as bustling a lavish gem and the seat of their nation’s powerful elite as ever. Art and culture bejeweled the landscape in all directions. Even more so, the city dazzled at night, as bone-chillingly dark and cryptic as it was beautiful.

When questioned about their unusually quiet stroll from the Necropolis Eluvian to the threshold of the Pnemoix, from which, unsurprisingly, a line of patrons spilled out of the door patiently awaiting their reservations call, Rook admitted, a bit bashfully, her guilt over the genuine delight attempting to overtake the the degree of seriousness she knew their responsibilities entailed.

Compassionate as ever, Emmrich smiled. Gilded fingers gestured thoughtfully to usher her inside as the maitre d’ called for the reservation of one Emmrich Volkarin.

“My darling Rook,” the Senior Necromancer crooned at a volume meant solely for her, “If not for exactly this, whatever are we fighting for?”

——————-

The Pnemoix was Navarran pageantry at its finest. Part fine dining experience, part elaborate performance art, it was not entirely unlike stepping into a smaller, darker, more sensual version of the Fade. Spirits and the necromantic arts, live music and a whole host of finely dressed Navarran well-to-do’s mingled.

Rook, for once fully doe-eyed herself, couldn’t help but ogle the theatrics with an enraptured sort of joy, the small orchestra filling the space with notes as delicious as its menu. Wisps lit much of the venue alongside the palpable shimmer of magic that crackled in the air.

Emmrich had been grinning the whole while, clearly proud over just how breathless his company was over the experience.

“Wine for the both of us if you would, dear boy. Ah, and blood orange salad to start?” He shot Rook a glance, her favorite hometown appetizer still fresh in his mind.

Rook had smiled and nearly nodded to confirm as a menu was passed her way, when - - -

“…Professor?”

Emmrich’s brown eyes went wide in a rare moment of diffidence - Not for the first time where where Rook was concerned, she mused, thanks to a handful of less than subtle and a little more than crass flirts lobbed his way over the past many months - but his propriety was recovered as quickly as ever.

“Augustus Durchdenwald!” He declared with charming enthusiasm. The young man, who had momentarily frozen amidst passing Emmrich a menu and barely looked old enough to hold down a job, seemed to shake off some of the awkwardness of discovering his aging professor on a date by sheer will of the Senior Necromancer’s delight, “My dear boy, how are you? How has the semester treated you so far?”

“Oh… good, good. Thank you, ser,” The teenager managed, “I’ve been able to start field work a semester early, just this week.”

“Rook, darling, Augustus here was easily one of my top students just this past semester. Remarkably astute for such an early grade,” Emmrich boast.

Augustus went beet red and probably would have disappeared into his doublet if he could. It struck Rook in that moment that Emmrich seemed far more focused on assuring Rook herself felt comfortable in the situation than the young man squirming beneath such praise.

Rook stifled a chuckle, sounding not unlike the Professor as she afforded the boy a cordial nod, “Charmed.”

“The Shakshouka for me, if you would,” Emmrich was quick to order his meal, “Rook?”

“Navarran Curry,” Rook replied.

“Right,” Young Augustus scrambled to recollect his menus and gave a quick, courteous bow, “With you shortly. Good evening, Professor. Uh… Ma’am.”

The young master Durchdenwald disappeared as quickly has he’d stumbled onto the scene.

“Given the chance,” Rook teased, trying and failing to stifle a laugh in the moments that followed, “Do you think he’d have preferred death by a thousand cuts, or a public hanging over absolutely anything that just happened there?”

Emmrich’s eyes glistened with barely stifled bemusement of his own, “Dear boy. Let us hope his recovery is swift.”

His tone managed to be *just* serious enough to shatter Rook into a fit of laughter.

——————-

The crown jewel of the Pnemoix’s festivities for the evening was a sweeping gallery show featuring fine art - Mostly sculpture - that seemed to blur the lines between physical materials like glass and stone, and very real, raw magical energies. Built around the theme of dragon slaying and its integral importance within Navarran culture, each sculpture's energy illuminated its glass components like molten fire despite remaining cool to the touch, and its light undulated around the space like the auroras seen in the skies to the north.

Rook was enraptured with the display - She’d never experienced anything quite like it. It struck her that she spent so much time studying the ancient and the arcane of Navarra’s distant past, that she rarely bothered to poke her head up and see how creative minds chose to express their experiences today, and she mentioned as much to Emmrich.

“I had hoped you would enjoy it so,” Emmrich smiled, before adding with a sweet sort of seriousness, “If our journey together thus far has reminded me of anything, it is that one must remember to look up from time to time, my darling. There are boundless experiences to be had outside the comforts of solitude and books.”

“Professor Volkarin, did you just tell me *not* to read?” Rook couldn’t resist teasing.

“Oh, Never,” he assured, mischief glinting in his eyes. A warm gloved hand faell to the small of her back as he guided the pair of them along to the next luminous display of artistry, “Books tend to travel remarkably well, after all. Or so I’m remembering for the first time in a very long while, thanks to you.”

“This is a new leaf for me,” Rook grinned, wrinkling her nose in a way that she, only recently, realized made something about the spark in Volkarin’s eyes go just a hair shy of feral, “Rook Ingellvar - The *good influence.* I dare say the late headmaster would never believe it.”

At Emmrich’s raised eyebrow, she laughed, admitting, “I really did give that poor old man hell for a couple of years, there.”

“Your reputation did proceed you, if I recall,” he agreed, trying to look serious but once again failing just enough to bait a laugh from his lovely companion. “And it is remarkable, Rook. To see how far you’ve come.”

Rook went surprisingly somber at that, a tinge of shame worming its way into her typically unshakable confidence, “Emmrich, love… I’m less than a year off from what was essentially a soft banishment from the Necropolis. I’ve the destruction of two undead nobles on my record, and enough pissed off patrons to make sure it could take years - If I’m ever able to reintegrate into the order.”

“Yes, as you’ve told me,” Emmrich said evenly, “At length. And I maintain that between what you have explained to me in confidence, and based on the intuitive competency I’ve seen you display every step of the way thus far, that I have every belief you acted in a way best befitting the moment.” He slowed his pace to a stop, the pensive woman on his arm stilled with him, noting softly, “You are no longer a child struggling to find a place to be, my dear. Surely you see you are so much more.”

Rook found her hand fluttering to press warmly upon his chest. Something in his gaze just then made her suspect he’d needed to hear those very same words, once. Perhaps not that long ago.

It was unlikely to the point of absurdity that Emmrich would have dared kiss her in such a wildly public space - certainly not so soon, and not in a social gathering a stone’s throw from the Necropolis, where half a dozen patrons and the majority of the staff seemed to know him by name. But, quick and chaste, her tiptoes afforded her a kiss to his cheek before he ever saw it coming.

It was the first time Rook was quite certain that, despite the mottled light and deep shadows of their surroundings, she ever saw the Senior Necromancer blush.

Notes:

Shit, they're cute.

Also, Gallery shows making for a hot date is a hill I will gladly die on.

Thanks for reading, you beauties!

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Part 8

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

If things go according to plan, Eris and Y/N’s first official date could end in hot, steamy sex. Or, it could end in complete and utter chaos - because when do things ever go according to plan? Azriel almost has a good time, until he doesn’t. We also FINALLY meet Tamlin’s daughter.

Part 7 Part 7.5 Headcanon

Warnings: Alcohol, language, smutty content, assault with non-consensual kissing, breeding kink (kind of)

An evening breeze blew through Velaris sending a slight chill through the champagne golden silk dress I’d chosen for the evening. A caress of warmth rose up from the fingers I’d threaded through Eris’, heat continuing up my arm and throughout my body, counteracting the mild chill.

When he’d shown up to my door right on time, dressed in a deep forest green tailored suit with the top unbuttoned and a turtleneck that was - For one, so perfectly molded to his torso that I practically salivated as fantasies of licking his abs flashed through my mind. And two, conveniently matched my dress perfectly - I almost said “Fuck the date.” and jumped on him then and there.

He’d arrived carrying three things. A bouquet of hydrangeas for my mother, symbolizing gratitude for her grace with the current situation. Freesia bulbs for my little sister to add to her Sprite garden if she wished, a symbol of friendship. I realized the double meaning of it, to draw in sprites with wishes for friendship but also to symbolize their new budding friendship. My mother smiled softly as she realized it too.

For me, he’d brought a “Fire Poppy”, apparently native to his court. His hesitance to express the meaning of the flowers, told me enough. Fire. Passion. But the incredibly faint dust of pink on his freckled cheeks left me wondering if perhaps there was something more.

Father only appeared at the last moment to kiss my forehead and likely give a seething look toward Eris while doing so that warned, Just because I haven’t killed you yet doesn’t mean I won’t. Eris paid no mind.

And now here we were, walking through the streets of Velaris hand in hand. Eris’ focus remained intently upon me as I pointed out various shops that I would frequent. I pointed out one that I loved as a child and Azalea still adored. The window was decorated with paint splatters of primary colors that blended together into a rainbow mirroring the Sidra and inside floated hundreds of miniature fae lights imitating the skies of Night Court.

Eris paused as we stood before the shop. “Can we take a look inside?”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely perplexed by his interest in this shop of all the ones we’d wandered past.

“It’s a surprise.” He stated.

Because why would anything with Eris be anything but secretive?

Eris read my responding roll of the eyes for exactly what it was. “Surely you realize there is a difference between a surprise and a secret?”

I couldn’t help myself. “Many of your secrets have left me feeling quite surprised, Eris. Certainly you would realize that?”

He huffed a silent laugh leaving me on the street to go into the store. Set in my stubborn ways, I refused to let him win and stood outside waiting.

Eris was back by my side eight minutes later with a small canvas bag. I raised an eyebrow. “What’d you get?”

“Ah, if you wanted to know, you could have come in with me. Guess it’s my secret to keep.”

“Mother spare me. You are insufferable.” I muttered stepping ahead of him down the street. His long strides caught up with mine within a few steps.

He once again wound his fingers through mine. “You love it.”

And I hated that it was true.

“You’re not going to tell me what you got?”

“Just a gift for a friend.”

———————-

Eris had reserved a table at Sevenda’s where Sevenda herself eagerly greeted us. She ushered us to a private section of the restaurant, lit with candles and within earshot of a performing pianist. She’d kissed me on the cheek and given Eris a respectful bow of the head before bringing out a mouthwatering appetizer of some delectable cheese sauce she’d recently added to her menu.

The secluded setting of our table, incandescent glow flickering off the candles, and soft melody floating in from the piano, all flowed together into a very intimate setting. Strange that I had bared myself to this male so many times, and performed every sexual act imaginable with him, yet I’d never felt so exposed to him as I did in this very moment.

Eris checked his blazer, and gods… I only ever wanted to see him in fitted turtle necks or absolutely fucking nothing again. The male was delicious and his gaze…. He was greedily drinking me in as if he’d splay me out on the table itself and feast. There was no way he couldn’t smell the arousal pouring off of me. I sure as hell could smell his, and it was far more mouthwatering than any of the glorious spices wafting through the restaurant.

Before I could give in to my instincts, Eris’ low tone interrupted. “If you keep looking at me like that, Y/N, I’m not going to make it through this dinner.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to.”

He audibly groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Just as our mutual eye fucking grew so intense that I genuinely wondered if Eris really was about take me then and there, our waiter approached with a bottle of the Inner Circle’s favorite wine. “Compliments of the High Lord.” Making eye contact with Eris, the male suddenly seemed to remember who he was in the presence of as he uncomfortably cleared his throat, “of the Night Court.”

Eris paid no mind and thanked the waiter. Surprise crossed the males face as Eris took the bottle from him and poured our glasses himself.

When the waiter took our orders and returned to the kitchen, Eris’ gaze returned to me. His eyes again roving over my body but lingering on my face. He smirked when he realized I was flushing under his intense eyes. “Are you nervous, little Shadowsinger?” He asked. His tone predatory.

I took the opportunity to send a shadow to caress the shell of his ear, effectively shutting him up.

“Now that we’re alone,” I ran my foot up the length of his leg, stopping the journey just short of where I so desperately wanted to feel him. “How long have you had an an apartment here and why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Ahh yes, excellent talk for a first date.” Eris mused, raising the wine glass to his plush lips and taking a long, slow sip before continuing. “Perhaps, I wanted a place to see you without you having to travel through multiple courts to find me.”

“Do you not wish for me to come to the Autumn Keep any longer?”

Eris’ change in tone took me by surprise as it became stern, the voice of a High Lord and not the bedroom voice of my lover. “Don’t you dare think that for a second. There’s nothing mo-“

He stopped himself mid-sentence shifting uncomfortably. “I enjoy your presence in my keep, in my bed, Y/N. But I also like to have the opportunity to visit you in your home court.”

My heartbeat quickened at the power flowing off of him, the desire in his amber eyes.

“So, Rhys was totally fine with you having a place here, just to hook up with his niece?”

“Diplomacy, darling. It is far easier to have a place here for times that negotiations and other meetings run over. It also benefits him to be able to have eyes on a fellow High Lord, no? It was not a difficult matter to convince him.

And I was going to tell you, you just happened to pick up the hobby of drunkenly wandering the streets before I had the opportunity.”

“I was fine.”

I was not fine. He knew it. I knew it. I was borderline feral that night.

“It wasn’t you I was concerned about. It was the poor citizens running the other way, screaming of a rabid, shadow-creature roaming Velaris in search of its next meal.”

I smiled. “For the second time this evening, Eris Vanserra, you are insufferable.”

“And again, little one, you love it.”

I rolled my eyes and took a swig of wine.

————————

Eris

She was fucking captivating. Eris drunk in every detail of Y/N like she was the wine flowing from her glass.

She had to know she looked like a goddess. Had he told her? She could read him like a well-adored book at this point. She read every look he gave her without him needing to speak a word. I want you. You’re perfect. I need you. You’re more perfect than I ever dared dream. I would kiss the earth you walked on if you only asked.

Shit, could she read that all on his face? Should he tell her how damned gorgeous she was or would she give him that all-too-enticing look of “Spare me the compliments, High Lord, you can strip and ravish me once we’re alone.”

And gods, he was going to. He had plans for his little Shadowsinger tonight, plans involving carefully undressing her and pressing kisses to her silken skin, replacing each bit of fabric slipping off of her body with a press of his lips. Instead of burning that lovely little number that was hugging her mouth-watering curves, he would proudly display it in the Autumn Court’s archives. He was a romantic, after all.

Of course, before putting it behind glass for safe keeping, he’d be binding those pretty little wrists behind her back with said dress. He was also a deviant.

As for his plans after that? They were far too filthy to fantasize about at the table.

“Your aroma is rather fragrant.” Her teasing voice broke him from his thoughts.

“And you’re rather intoxicating. We make quite the pair, love.”

And there it was - the little blush she always tried so hard to hide from him.

If just the term “love” brought that to her face, what lovely shades of pink would her cheeks light up with if he laid it all out right now? If he told her how she’d fucking ruined him for anyone else? That to taste her was to taste the nectar of the gods? That he was so hopelessly in love with her that there was no crawling out of this pit of desire, and he’d sooner drown in his need for her than ever swim up for air.

The urge to do just that frightened him. Why did he think this date was a good idea? As far as his self control went, it was a terrible idea. And as far as he cared at this point, it was the best idea. He was here, in front of her, and nothing else mattered.

————————————

Eris had always thought himself better than the primitive beasts fae turned into when it came to their mates. But he truly realized how wrong he was when after dinner, Y/N had requested to walk very slowly along the river until her stomach wasn’t, as she so elegantly stated it, “bursting at the seams.”

Given that after the wonderful meal they’d devoured, he too was struggling, he obliged her, draping his suit’s jacket as well as his arm over her shoulders. She pressed a hand to her very, very, slightly bloated abdomen, in an effort of easing the discomfort. Such a simple gesture that should have meant absolutely nothing but….

An inferno blazed within him at the thought of her glowing with a round belly, the mating bond’s most primal instinct roaring at him to winnow her away immediately and fill her so utterly full of him that there would be no questioning of whose she was. His.

He prayed to the mother or whomever would listen that the breeze would blow the sickeningly strong scent of his arousal far away.

————————

Y/N

The gallery was packed. Unsurprisingly, anyone and everyone wanted to come out to brush elbows with the Inner Circle and who could blame them? Unlike the other courts of Prythian, Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre actually interacted with their people. Well, the people of Velaris at least. Feyre was respected as High Lady but she was revered as an artist. Proceeds from her own work went directly back into the arts district.

“Beautiful.” Eris mused approaching a work of art toward the back wall but keeping his eyes on me. I sipped the champagne an attendant handed me upon arrival, needing it to get through the rest of this evening.

Especially needing it to get through the work of art he was approaching.

“This.” Eris motioned toward the piece, “is stunning.”

“It’s not for sale. Just a work from one of Feyre’s students.”

The art, featuring darkness floating upward from the bottom and a blaze falling from the top, intertwining with licks and whirls of flame and shadow in the middle.

“Cost is of no concern to me, little one. I need it.”

A sing-song voice came from behind us. “It’s magnificent isn’t it?” Feyre asked.

“What can I do to acquire such a fine piece of art?”

“You’ll have to ask the artist.” She nodded toward me.

“Aww, come on my lovely niece. Think of all the supplies it could fund.”

“You’re a busybody.”

She only gave an airy laugh before disconnecting the mental bond and returning to the attendees.

“Wouldn’t it look lovely displayed for all of my court to see?”

My gut lurched and I wasn’t sure if it was from imposter syndrome or excitement.

“Fine.” I’ll make a deal with you, Eris Vanserra. He raised an eyebrow. “This art is very personal to me. And despite the fact that it is hanging in the gallery, I want it to be for your eyes only. Do you agree to hang it in your chambers?”

Eris gave a faux pout. “And not show my lovely lady’s art for all the world to admire?”

My heart raced as I quipped too quickly, not allowing the time to change my mind. “Perhaps I only want to be yours to admire.”

Eris visibly gaped at the statement and my heart sank. Had I read all of his adoration wrong? Was I going to humiliate myself just as I had two years ago when he’d left me on the dance floor and I swore I’d never let him have that power over me again?

He swallowed a lump in his throat. His voice breaking slightly. “And your payment terms?”

“Oh you’ll be paying out the ass for it.”

He grinned. “As one does for the finest things in life. I’ll take it.”

A beat of silence.

“And I’ll take you too, if you’ll have me.”

And with that he leaned in to kiss me, soft and hard, fervently and slowly, wanting more yet only needing this.

A throat cleared behind us as father interrupted. He looked to me and to the art behind me.

“I never realized….” He spoke softly as he took in the work.

I flushed, the work now feeling far too intimate under his gaze.

My father turned to Eris. “You’re purchasing this?”

Eris nodded. “A worthy investment, yes?”

My father remained tense but something in his eyes softened. “A very worthy investment.”

Father leaned in to kiss my forehead. “Enjoy your night sweetheart.”

It was at that moment Adish appeared, his Day Court friends Hem and Apollo in tow along with Nyx and a female I’d never seen before. Nyx looked in my direction with a wink as he saw the piece Eris and I stood before, before heading with the group for glasses of champagne.

Eris spoke, “I’m going to speak with Feyre regarding reservation of the piece before anyone else tries to snag it out from under me.”

“It’s not for sale, Eris. Nobody else would be able to purchase it.”

He pressed his warm lips into mine. “I won’t risk a good thing.”

I blushed, dismissing him.

Nursing my champagne, I perused the various pieces decorating the gallery walls when a female voice came from behind me. “If you wanted your father’s attention, there are better ways than whoring yourself to Autumn Court trash.”

I turned around to see the female Nyx had entered with. Her dark hair and blue eyes fooling nobody. Clever little shapeshifter.

“And I didn’t realize your father was in the habit of allowing females to leave his manor.”

She grinned. “Oh come on, he locked her in ONE time...or at least that’s what he tells me. He really can be an overbearing asshole sometimes.”

I laughed. “I missed you so much, you bitch. Nyx needs to stop hoarding you.”

“Please” she scoffed. “I don’t need Tamlin and Rhys’ melodrama to complicate things.”

“Ha, I’m sure Nyx filled you in on all of the drama in my world recently.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yes, I’ve been living vicariously through your escapades.”

She leaned in to hug me. “So” I took in the brown hair she’d chosen for the evening. “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

“Mmm, as enticing as that would be. I prefer your blonde hair and green eyes. It does something for me.”

“It does something for Nyx too.”

I pretended to vomit before Nyx stepped in. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend time with my lady before she decides to leave with you instead and I get stuck with the fireling.”

“He’s quite fun, Nyx. I’m sure you’d enjoy the ride.”

Nyx choked on his drink and whisked Layla away with him, leaving me to take in the art in peace.

A few more minutes passed and my shadows grew restless as if contemplating the same thing as me: Eris should be back by now.

Feyre had returned to the gallery with no Eris in sight. I searched, passing Adish and Apollo, my parents and Azalea, Rhys and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, even Amren, but no Eris.

Had he left? Did I scare him away?

No, his response was sincere. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, right?

I walked down a quiet hallway, stepping away from the crowd. “Eris?” I whispered into the quiet of the hall.

Two shadows returned with no information but another returned frantic. “Bad.” “Go.”

I hurried in the direction my shadows shot out, winding further and further down the hall.

My heart stopped. In front of me was the radiant, gorgeous Hemera, pressed up against my man. Lips crashing into his.

“Bad.” My shadow repeated. Whirling to show me something.

Eris saw me and his eyes blew wide, shaking his head.

Hemera turned, wicked grin contorting her gorgeous features into something cruel.

“Sorry, hon. He’s just so needy and so pretty. Can you blame me?”

Did this bitch really think I’d simper and turn away? Oh no. My shadows continued their whispers.

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

“Blade.”

“Bad.”

A sliver of silver caught the dim lights shining down upon them, a blade held to Eris’ neck.

Eris stared at me wide eyed as my shadows erupted into a frenzy around me in effort to distract the Day Court female.

She jolted and her blade knicked his neck and I felt a sudden spike of fear in my gut but the fear, it didn’t come from me. It was coming from…. Eris.

Holy shit.

Willing all of my power to the surface, my tone turned cold, dangerous. “I suggest you step away from my mate.”

The High Lord of the Autumn Court. Eris fucking Vanserra. My mate.

I gave a tug in return to his emotions. A gentle reminder that I had this under control and he instantly tugged back.

He knew. Holy shit, he had known.

I could be angry later, now I needed to save his ass.

A commotion came from behind me. Adish and Apollo rushing in. “What the-“ Adish started. “Sorry, friend.” Apollo spoke before the fucker cast a sedation spell on him.

Apollo towered over me. “You weren’t supposed to find them. For what it’s worth, you would have been a great friend.”

He moved, but I moved faster. Sending a blast of power knocking the male on his ass. My shadows binding him.

“You talk too much.” I spat.

Turning back to Hem and Eris she held him in front of her. “Don’t make me kill him.” She spoke. Now using him as a shield. With his front exposed, I could see the shackles around his wrists. “This could go much more easily if you let me leave here with him. Why do you want a cheating male? You deserve better than that.”

I needed time to assess. My shadows busy with Apollo. Fuck. This was bad.

I laughed. “I hardly call you forcing yourself upon him ‘cheating’, in fact most would call that ‘assault’. And I have no patience for those who force themselves upon others.”

Just then a flurry of shadows shot into the room, ripping Hem’s wrist and dagger from Eris’ throat. My father winnowed into the room. No, this wasn’t my father. This was the feared Shadowsinger, the infamous Spymaster of the Night Court. His tone promised death as he commanded Hem to step away from Eris. She fought his demand, shaking with fear as she remained in place. “Please, you don’t understand. My father is wrongfully imprisoned in HIS court.”

“And this is how you feel it best to approach?” Father stepped closer, a thick, violent air emanating from him. “I will ask you one final time to step away from the High Lord.”

Hemera knew she was no match as she dropped the knife stepping back away from Eris.

Eris ran to me, in an attempt to shield me from any fallout but there was no more danger as father’s shadows apprehended the female.

Rhys and Feyre raced into the room, Nesta and Cassian on their tail.

Rhys whispered to Feyre. “Let Elain know it’s handled.”

Feyre’s gaze went distant as she communicated to my mother.

Rhys commanded Apollo to remove the sedation spell from Adish as Cassian jerked the apprehended male off the ground.

Nesta’s eyes flared with silver as she stared down Hemera before apprehending her as well. My mother and sister rushed in as we followed Rhys down to the gallery basement toward an empty office where the two would be held until Helion arrived. Since they were denizens of his court, it was only right to determine the next steps with him.

As the group strode toward the office, Azalea began tugging at my sleeve. “Sissy.”

“Not now, Azzie.”

She gasped, her little legs trying to keep up. “Sissy, please.”

“Just a minute, Azzie”

I felt guilty for ignoring her but my mind was coming out of the adrenaline state it had been in and my heart racing with rage and shock as I processed the revelation that Eris was my mate. That he knew and didn’t tell me.

Ironic considering that I always found Aunt Feyre and Aunt Nesta to be overly dramatic for their reactions to finding out about their own mates.

They were good, loving males who had enough money to live in lavish comfort for all of their days, and were highly regarded among the people of Velaris. How terrible.

Yet here I was. Fuming. Humiliated. That this male, a gorgeous High Lord and a damn good one at that, with a far softer heart than he’d ever let the world see, courted me because I was his mate.

I thought he wanted me for me.

“Sissy-“ Azalea drew me from my thoughts once again. “What?” I finally asked, raising my voice. But it was too late as the door to the empty office was opened, only to unveil a half naked Nyx, trousers unlaced, his body pinning a no longer shifted Layla with the bottom of her dress hiked up, and breasts fully exposed.

Nyx gaped. Eyes wide and frantic. I sent my shadows out to shield them, my father’s following suit, my hand instantly covering Azalea’s eyes.

Layla only pulled her dress up over her tits as she let out a laugh. “Whoops, we thought this room was unused.”

“I tried to tell you.” Azalea’s little voice whispered.

Darkness erupted through the room as Rhys clenched his fists. “What the fuck?” He growled out to Nyx.

My father only grinned, not caring who saw the smug satisfaction on his face. Fully conveying the look of that’s how it feels, you pompous asshole. Get it now? How’s it feel to be humiliated in front of an audience by the unconventional partner your child has chosen to fuck.

Feyre only covered her mouth, stifling a giggle at the situation. Nesta and mother quietly giggling with her.

I used the distraction to remove the enchanted shackles that were still stifling Eris’ power and apparently his ability to speak.

Fury blazed within me, my restraint failing as I spat out my next words much louder than intended.

“How long, Eris?”

Guilt flooded his features, his head hanging low.

“How. Long? How long have you known that I’m your mate?”

My father choked. The shit-eating grin instantly fading from his face, jaw and fists clenching.

A pitiful sound escaped Eris. “Since the first night… in the alley.”

“Wow.” was all I could manage as the walls began closing in around me.

I stepped away but Eris grabbed my wrist. “Please, Y/N. Just hear me out.” his broken voice pleaded. I couldn’t think. I needed space. Needed to breathe.

“Mom.” I looked to my mother. “Can we go home?”

She gave an empathetic look to Eris. “Come on, Azalea.” She reached out a hand. “Sissy needs us.”

Azalea looked to Eris, letting out a “hmph” as she scrunched her nose and crossed her arms. “That was bad.” She scolded, little wings ruffling with each word.

His face crumpled further as his little friend glared at him with disdain, words failing as she stuck her tongue out and winnowed away with mother.

“I love you.” was the last thing I heard as I spirited away.

———————————————-

A/N: I have had so much fun writing this series! Part 9 will be the final chapter but I may eventually give our main character a name and add a few spin off chapters as well. If that would be of interested to you, let me know!

Tags:

ACOTAR list: @lilah-asteria

Eris list: @angiedsv

Series list: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Would you be open to writing another pota Caesar x human!reader? whatever you’re comfortable with, love your blog! :)

Hi, hi 👋🏻

Thank you so much for asking it and I'm also sorry it took me a hundred of years to answer your request!

But I got a little something and I hope you'll enjoy it! I might write a bit more about it, I don't know yet, but here we go!

Enjoy your reading!

Title: Under one sky

Pairing: (slightly implied) Caesar x human!reader

Warning: the kind of fluff which holds some melancholia.

Summarize: You long for a friend who looks at the same sky above you without knowing it

Words: 596 (a small one!)

Planet of the apes Masterlist.

It was a peaceful night. One of those rare nights when only the ambient sound of fireflies would stroke your ears in a restful lullaby. The little fire you'd lit to warm your body had long since gone out, but your mind had never wanted to sink into the arms of Morpheus. With your gaze glued to the glittering black immensity you could see between the shadows of the highest branches, you silently counted the stars.

It had been perhaps an hour or two since you'd given up trying to sleep, your head full of images of a past you'd been trying hard to reclaim. A past that had been snatched away from you overnight, and which had only collapsed, like a small stone triggering an avalanche.

You'd never been able to forget him, and ever since the day he'd never come to join you in the wooden shack at the back of your garden, he'd left a void embedded in the space where the childlike heart you'd once been was supposed to be. And you'd grown up with this space to be taken and never given to anyone else, yet how could you ever replace him? The only friend who had turned your dreary days into a ray of sunshine and thanks to whom you could now claim to have had a happy childhood.

You kept dragging that damaged heart of yours around with the sole certainty that you were living under the same starry sky as he was. It was perhaps the only thing that kept you looking for him, despite everything, despite the virus, despite the tiny chance of finding him in this forest, sharing the same sky became a warm comfort that stitched the ripples of your torn heart.

And you pictured him, somewhere, perhaps looking up at that same sky, wondering if he ever missed you, as much as you missed him, without knowing that Caesar was looking up at this very same sky, the same question venturing into the meanders of his thoughts. Thoughts preoccupied with the safety of his own people. A security he would have liked to be able to grant you, if only he'd been able to return to that little wooden hut. In that place where you had first found him in his younger days, when all he wanted was to find something to play with and amuse his childish heart.

Caesar wondered what had become of you. Had you survived? Perhaps he'd rather not answer that question, when the answer was surely no, as the virus was taking humanity in its wake. He gazed up at the cloudless black sky, where multitudes of stars shone freely, reminding him that today, apes were also free to build their lives in this part of the forest. The twinkling white stars watched over their brothers and sisters with black and brown fur as they evolved under their distant gazes.

Then, a star, brighter and stronger than the others, caught Caesar's eyes, and in a silent agreement, he wished to see it watch over you, wherever you were, since he could no longer do it himself. Were you thinking of him as much as he was thinking of you? Despite his constant worries, that face of the child you used to be always managed to find its way to him, and in front of that star, he hoped that the version of you he didn't know could see it too. And if you could, he hoped you'd know he was the one who'd sent it to watch over you.

[weepingchronicles]

yan!azula (atla) getting back reader 🙏🏻 (headcanons, or one shot please!)

yandere azula x airbender reader (part 2) platonic or romantic tw/cw: yandere, choking, death threats, verbal abuse, possessive behavior a/n: erm guys.. it's getting kinda scary  😰 😰 (part 1)

being with aang and the others was unlike anything you've ever experienced.

when you first met everyone you were scared- but they all welcomed you with open arms. katara emphasized with you, having her mother also die at the hands of the fire nation. sokka tried to flirt with you, which you were oblivious to, until aang and katara told him to knock it off. after that, you became like katara to him, like a younger sibling who'd he protect.

you were so naive to the world, never stepping foot outside of the fire nation before.

when aang had told you his story, how he was in a iceberg for 100 years and was the avatar, but more importantly one of the last airbenders- you could hardly believe it.

the more the gang told you their stories, the clear it became that the fire nation had took away your parents, your culture and your freedom. you knew azula was evil, but you still believed you had no other choice but follow her.

you told aang that you had no airbending ability, you thought you'd be discarded away, just for being useless

but aang did no such thing, just offering a smile and saying he's just glad he has someone from home.

and you did feel at home.

You woke up to shaking, and your eyes immediately lit up. For a minute, you were back in the palace. Azula waking you up so she could sleep beside you. It was when we were in our younger years and Azula would wake you up at odd hours of night, slipping with you under your blanket. You assumed it was because she had nightmares, you did too, but you never dared ask her about it, fearing you'd end up with a scar like Zuko's.

You woke up from your flashbacks and took in to the actual scene in front of you. It's Aang.

"What's wrong?" "It's someone. They're following, come on, we need to get onto Appa."

You all pack your sleeping bags and ride on Appa. It's still the middle of the night, and the cooling wind blowing past your hair is not making your exhaustion any better.

Finally you all spot a place to settle down, it's in a middle of a forest which will be hard for anyone to navigate through

You lay out your tents and sleeping bags again to finally rest. You find yourself somewhat missing Azula, when she would be nice for once and fall asleep beside each other until morning. You push back those thoughts, remembering how she treated you. If she really cared she'd let you go and be happy.

With all these thoughts swirling in your head, you don't notice yourself start falling asleep.

You feel a hand on your mouth causing you to snap your eyes open. There she is, Azula. It's only been a week and she's already found you. Your eyes look to where the rest of the gang were sleeping but instead they're gone!

"Aw, don't look so surprised. You really thought I wouldn't go looking for my favorite pet?" The nickname made you cringe and Azula removes her hand from over your mouth, but both her knees restrain your arms to the ground.

"Where's Aang, Katara and Sokka!?" You spit out, but you instantly regret when you see Azula's sly smirk turn to an expression of jealous rage.

"Really? I could kill you right now but you're more worried about your friends!?" Before you could reply, her hand slapped over your neck, squeezing around your throat. Perfect manicured nails dug into your flesh, practically leaching the breath you had left in your lungs out of you. Azula's eyes leaked of fiery rage, pure fuel and the truth is you've never seen her like this. She's dangerous, more dangerous than ever before but she is not as calculated. You knew that Mai and Ty Lee couldn't defeat the Avatar on their own so she must know that, but instead she came for you.

Still, your heart ached for your friends, the only true ones you've made all your life. You yourself felt a fire deep inside you, not as fiery as Azula's, but it was ignited when you first met Aang.

"Please.. don't hurt them." was all you could manage out before you start turning purple. Azula's face turned shocked, like she couldn't believe you care more about your friends than her. She dropped her claw-like grip on your throat, you let out a gasp of air before rolling to your side and coughing.

While you were coughing, Azula let go of your arms and stood. "(Y/N), they don't truly care for you. At least not like I do, look at what I have done for you! You really think a pesky water tribe girl, a non-bender and a 12 year old Avatar really care for you? Tell me, do you really think the Avatar would save you if you weren't from the Air Nation?"

You were on your side, refusing Azula to see your face. Was she right? It's true that Aang came for me because we are both air but Aang is a good person! He would definitely rescue me even if I were someone else.. right?

You felt Azula's hand cup your cheek and turn your gaze towards her. Her eyes now are half-lidded and the fire was just warmth now.

"(Y/N), please, come home now and we can forget about this. This is silly." She tucked a piece of hair away from your face, which would have been loving but all it made you feel was owned. Like you were a pet, something to leash and expect obedience from. You wanted to show her you were nothing like her, and she did not own you.

Without even thinking you smack her hand away, a surge of strength powering you as you stand up. You moved to shove away Azula but as you did so, a gust of wind flew her back more than 8 feet away from you.

What?

You look down at your hands and back at Azula wobblily getting up, pure shock but also confusion on her face.

You turn around, hearing a familiar girls voice calling you.

"Katara!" You yell, running back to her. "Come on, we have to go! This girl somehow took away my bending." The girl Katara was saying about sounded Ty Lee but you knew you had to get out before Azula fully recovers. You finally made it back with the others and flew away safely on Appa. You look down as fly away, Azula's form getting smaller and smaller by distance. Aang speaks, finally pulling you you of your daze.

"(Y/N), are you okay? How did you manage to fight off Azula?"

"I.. I don't know." The group looks at you with confusion but you're more confused than they are.

You were safe from Azula for now but you knew she'd be back for the Avatar, especially now since he wasn't the only Airbender..

And that's a wrap! Sorry it took so long, I got really busy and I couldn't figure out an ending I liked. Comment or request whether you'd like reader to fully escape Azula or not, or something completely different!

[helloalycia]

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 — 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍

masterlist / wattpad

summary: you think you're doing a good job at hiding your nightmares from your girlfriend, until one starts to feel awfully realistic.

warning/s: mentions of death, PTSD, murder, bombs and everything else that comes with writing a hunger games one-shot.

author's note: someone requested a comfort fic where reader experiences nightmares, so after a while, this was born! it’s only a short one but who doesn’t love some katniss 🥺

It was still difficult to adjust to my new life in District 13. I suppose I should've been grateful I had it – I was, but a massive part of me would always miss my true home in District 12.

Things weren't the same anymore, and though I was lucky to count myself as one of the minority who escaped the bombings, thanks to Gale and some miners who rescued all they could and led us to the forest, I still missed what I had.

My family weren't so lucky and the survivor's guilt was eating away at me. They were in town the day it happened, the day the bombs dropped from the sky in an instant, showering the whole district in a firework of horror. I didn't see them burn, but my brain still liked to conjure images of them all stuck in town, helpless, as they were engulfed in flames.

It was a lot, especially when it overwhelmed me, but I knew I had to push on. Though my family were gone, I still had Katniss and, in a way, she was my family too.

She hated District 13 as much as I did, but she made more of a point about it. After everything she endured in both Hunger Games, particularly the second one which was a whirlwind for her, she wasn't the same and I didn't expect her to be. But it meant I only worried for her more, no matter if it was something simple like her straying from the hyper-strict District 13 schedule we all received, or something heart wrenching like her suffering a panic attack, no doubt induced by her PTSD.

As the face of the rebellion, she had a lot on her plate and the last thing I wanted to worry her about were my own problems. Sometimes though, it got the better of me.

It was like any other nightmare I'd had about them, but this felt so much more real. I was stuck, as if my feet were cemented into the ground, and forced to watch the bombs rain down on District 12. My family were there – my parents and younger sister – but no matter how much I screamed at them to leave, they couldn't hear me. I wasn't sure whether my voice was stuck in my throat or being drowned out by the falling of bombs, but it was as if I were invisible to them.

The smoke was thick, swallowing up my screams and leaving my eyes watery. I couldn't see them, but I knew. They'd been stolen from me and the pain in my heart was immeasurable. Just like all my other nightmares of them, I couldn't save them here either.

I was usually quite good at hiding my sleepless nights, but this one felt so horribly realistic that it had me waking up with a start. My heart was racing so fast I thought it would jump from my chest, and as I blinked away the tears in my eyes, I realised it was only a dream.

"Y/N."

Katniss was hovering above me, her blue-grey eyes bright in the dimly lit room we shared, and it helped settle me slightly, the familiarity of her presence. She pulled me up gently before engulfing me in a hug, and I realised it was because I was trembling so much my bones were hurting, the aftermath of how tense I'd been. Even as she held me, it took me a moment to understand where I was, what my reality was.

We were in our shared room in the bowels of District 13's underground maze. It must've been the middle of the night or something, the two of us in bed. 

"It was just a dream," she murmured into my neck as her hand stroked my hair. "You're here. It's not real."

I swallowed thickly, fresh tears welling in my eyes as scenes of fire and death filled my mind once more. "It is. It happened. They're– they're gone."

She didn't know what I meant, not at first, but I saw it all perfectly clear, and my heart was crumbling as I accepted, over and over, that my family were truly gone. I'd never see them again.

My eyes screwed shut as I tried to regulate my breathing, following the steady rhythm of Katniss' as she held me close. Her hand rubbed soothing circles on my back, grounding me, and I eventually got to a point where I was no longer in fight or flight mode.

"I'm sorry," I breathed out, too quietly to be heard. I pulled back slightly, trying again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

Her hand cupped my cheek as she met my eyes. "Don't apologise."

All I could think was how exhausted she looked. Her own sleep wasn't great lately and events like this weren't helping with the million and one things she had to worry about. The guilt deepened as I looked away with uncertainty.

"Come here," she encouraged, lying back down and spreading out her arms.

I wasted no time in crawling back to my pillow, though this time straight into her arms. She held me close and I focused on the warmth she radiated, the steady beat of her heart, the feeling of her fingertips pressed to my back.

"Do you dream of them often?" she asked softly, lips brushing my hair.

I swallowed hard, hoping she'd let it go.

"Y/N...," she coaxed disapprovingly.

"It doesn't matter," I spoke, unwilling to escape the safe space between her neck and collarbone.

"It does," she insisted, sternly, before sighing when she realised how strong she was coming on. She fell quiet, and I hoped she would leave it be, but then she said, "I know what it's like. Seeing people you care about haunting you."

She'd lost so many – before the Games, during them and now. How she was still standing was beyond me.

"Sorry, I don't mean to bring up bad memories," I said with a frown, but she shook her head and pulled back slightly, facing me.

"Stop, don't say that," she said with glassy eyes. "Stop minimising your problems."

I gave her a knowing look, one that would usually work when I wasn't still shaken from a nightmare. "Katniss, I'll get over it."

She frowned. "You should've told me."

I scoffed quietly. "And then what? You can't do anything about it. It's just another thing to worry about and–"

"Shut up," she cut me off suddenly.

I sighed. "Katniss..."

"No," she said decisively. "What's the point in all of this? Any of it? If I can't be there for those I love?"

I didn't know what to say, but the way she was looking at me made my insides blossom with appreciation.

"It's all for you," she said with certainty, taking my hand and intertwining her fingers between us. "For my family. For everyone who's ever suffered at the Capitol's hand."

"I know," I said softly. "But–"

"But what?" she said, voice rising now, eyes darting between mine. When I didn't speak, she continued, "Fine, forget all that. But even if I wasn't the Mockingjay, even if this rebellion wasn't happening, Y/N, I'd want to be there for you as your girlfriend. I love you. I just want to help. So, you have to let me."

I hated that she was right. If the roles were reversed, I would have wanted the same. The way Katniss loved wasn't like anyone I'd ever met, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything else.

I nodded in response, unsure how to articulate what I was feeling as she watched me with adoration. She moved forward to hug me, so tightly that I should have complained, but I couldn't get enough.

We soon settled into one another, the covers pulled to our shoulders as I slotted myself back into the safe space in the crook of her neck. A quiet fell upon us, one I hated to break, but we were finally sharing and I was afraid that if I didn't say everything I felt, I'd go back to hiding it again.

"I can't lose you," I admitted.

"You won't."

I shook my head slightly. "You don't know that."

She knew I was right. With all the uncertainties of our predicament, and everything that came with being the face of the rebellion, it wasn't her choice. As capable as I knew she was, there was still the what ifs. Those were what haunted me.

"I sometimes dream about you," I whispered, too afraid to say it any louder because it felt so stupid to admit. "I dream you win. That this war against the Capitol is over. Snow is dead. They're not in control anymore. But you... you're not here. You're gone. You win, but the price is your life."

She didn't speak, patiently allowing me to finish, but her arms tightened around me comfortingly.

"It's selfish, I know," I admitted, hoping my tears weren't soaking her shirt, "but I'm not sure it would be worth it. Not if it meant losing you."

She didn't say anything at first, my words left lingering in the dark between us. But then: "I'm not planning on dying."

I closed my eyes, a helpless sigh escaping my lips. She wouldn't understand. I didn't expect her to.

"It would be worth it," she said considerately, fingers tangling in my hair. "It's hard to see that now, but it would be."

"I disagree," I said stubbornly.

"Well, you never agree with me anyway, do you?"

I sighed again, though a ghost of a smile was on my lips. She kissed the top of my head, her own smile present.

"It's my thing to work on, I know," I said after a pause.

"You're not alone," she reminded me.

"Neither are you," I retorted.

She exhaled gently. "I know."

We both fell quiet and I stayed in that position as she played with my hair, the silence stretching into a comfortable peace. It was easy to start drifting off once more, the sound of her heart acting as a lullaby.

"I love you," she whispered.

I mumbled it back, half asleep, and felt her lips press to my head again before she shuffled slightly to get more comfortable. My eyes were already closed, and I fell asleep soon enough, grateful for her presence.