#tsunami: part two

[mischiefbuckley]

“People who love each other are always connected by an invisible string made of love” Carla reads to Christopher through a video call as him and Eddie are cuddled up in his bed and she continues reading to them as the scene pans back to Christopher and Eddie as they are both now asleep and Carla continues reading, “As they slept, they started dreaming of all the invisible strings they had, and all the strings their friends have, and their friends have, until everyone in the world was connected by invisible strings.”

We learn in “Eddie Begins” that Eddie had offers from both Chicago and LA, but he ultimately decided to go to LA and join the LAFD and again with getting offers from station 6 and station 118 and he goes with station 118. Again this has a lot to do with what Eddie thought was best, but we can only assume again he most likely chose LA since he already had family there and wanted a support system as he didn’t want to be around his parents, but still wanted to be around family as he continues to raise Christopher as a single father and now navigating starting a probationary year as a firefighter in a new city

Okay back to the episode like right at the end of the episode we finally get revealed who Buck has been talking to this entire time, which he started seeing Dr. Copeland for personal reasons and the line that’s most interesting about this now with the knowledge that they were suppose to make Buddie canon in season 4, but Fox shut it down is “Hey Dr. Copeland. I’m going good. I’ve actually been — been thinking a lot about what you said in our last session and how I hide my true feelings from others. I’m starting to think you might be right.”

I think again with having this mention of invisible stings connecting people together it really is amazing how intertwined Buck and Eddie are even from the beginning like yes Buck didn’t like Eddie for one millisecond, but pulling a grenade out of a leg in the back of an ambulance had them saying they have each others backs and when then as we progress through season 2 and learn that Eddie is a single father, Buck inserts himself in and helps Eddie out like reaching out to Carla and making sure Eddie got the help he needed for Christopher and even with him going out with them to see Santa and taking Christopher to the zoo and the whole pier day prior to the tsunami, we see Buck and Eddie become a little family unit and always being there for one another no matter what and then we get the lawsuit and it all goes to shit for one episode, but again back on track with them being there for each other and always just being present for one another as work partners and as partners outside of work

And even now with the background knowledge with watching season 4 in a different lense and specifically the shooting arc like again having Buck be all confused about his feelings towards Abby right at the end of season 3 when he sees her at the train derailment call and he sees her again to meet up and try to get some closer, but he ultimately doesn’t get the answers he wants and he continues to feel this constant abandonment from people that claim to love him, but again leave him at the end, so he decides to go to therapy.

When doing therapy now as a personal choice and not something being required by the department or anything connected to the department, Buck starts sharing everything from the past few years and I’m assuming he keeps mentioning Eddie this and Eddie that and Eddie’s son Christopher and how integral he is with the Diaz family and Dr. Copeland most likely probably makes him put two and two together and realize what his true feelings are for Eddie, but he doesn’t want to destroy that relationship he has in his life, so when the shooting occurs Buck is at a lost for words and again with not sharing how he honestly feels towards Eddie and he doesn’t even know what’s going to happen to Eddie

We see Buck go under the fire engine after he had been injured by a fire engine and suffered a pulmonary embolism and blood clots and he almost lost his leg to the fire engine go ahead and he went underneath an engine that had caused him so much damage to pull Eddie from the street where he is bleeding out and picks him up and carries him and picks him up and he gets him into the 133 engine as Captain Mehta calls out that Firefighter Diaz has been shot to dispatch. We see Buck push the paramedic out of the way and he takes care of Eddie and keeps telling Eddie to “stay with me” as they are on way to the hospital. Again you see Buck all confused and trying to keep it together as best as he can as he sees his best friend bleeding out and as he has his blood splattered all over him and Eddie seeing this as he is aware of his surroundings now that he is inside of the fire engine he asks Buck, “Are you okay?” like this man is bleeding out and has a bullet in his chest and he is still as concerned and worried about Buck as much as Buck is worried about him in that moment. When one of them is injured on a call they are always there for each other and worried sick about the other until they finally reach the hospital. When Buck had the fire engine pinning his leg down, we have Eddie holding his hand as he screams out in pain over his leg, when we have Eddie trapped after the well collapsed we have Buck clawing his way through wet mud to try and reach out for him, in the fire at the hand sanitizer factory, Eddie is the first one to reach Buck after he had been trapped and had fire surrounding him on all sides, and the shooting we have Buck taking control of the situation as he is covered in his best friend’s blood and is trying to keep it together while they get him to the hospital as quickly as they can and he literally pushes the paramedic out of the way so he can help him out because he can’t just stand back and watch anyone else help out Eddie because he blames himself for Eddie getting shot and we see this guilty eat at him throughout the following episode up until Eddie wakes up in the hospital and does his own confession of love in a way of saying that he trusts and loves Buck so much that he put him in his will to look after his son if something ever happened to Eddie, like Eddie really contacted his lawyer to change his will to make sure Buck was in it

Like it’s the fact that Buck had to taste his best friend’s blood before anything else and even when they finally get him to the hospital he needs to go and share the news with Christopher. We see him have his breakdown as he is telling Christopher that Eddie won’t be home and we see the moment where Buck breaks down and starts crying while Christopher hugs him and it’s a very sweet and emotional moment for both of them as Christopher is trying to be there for Buck and Buck is being there for Christopher, but they both don’t know how Eddie will turn out since he was rushed into surgery and even we see as him and Taylor have an argument in his apartment and he doesn’t run after her, but as soon as he gets the phone call from Ana saying that Eddie’s awake like immediately after Taylor leaves his apartment he rushes over to the hospital and again proving time and time again that his main priority and the most important person in his life will always be Eddie and Eddie one ups Buck in that sense by proving to him and committing to him that he will always be an important person not only to him, but to his son as well by going out of his way to contact his lawyer and having him put Buck in the will. And even Buck mentions to him that didn’t he need his permission and Eddie says that his lawyer had told him that Buck could refuse, and Buck is immediately like along the lines of you know I wouldn’t again drawing to the fact that they are and will always be important to each other no matter what. And again he draws attention to Buck and makes him realize that he should not be saying negative things and saying that he should have been shot with the simple “Evan” because again we know that Buck doesn’t like being called Evan it reminds him of his parents and the way he was raised, but this was an important conversation they were having so to call Buck’s attention and make him realize how important the conversation they were going to have is he calls him Evan

[megarywrites]

Worked out the chapter titles for part one of book one today. Love that for me.

[vase-of-lilies]

Levels of Intimacy-Phase One; Part Two

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Warnings: Use of a needle, use of a sedative, graphic depictions of a Tsunami, deep talks about power, being vulnerable, locking gloves and control collar (for containing powers), minor character(s) death, nightmares, PTSD, Wanda comforting the reader🥺, feelings of drowning, (if there are other things, please let me know!)

A/n: Heres Part Two! Hope you enjoy:) Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Translations: majhen= Little one

With a glass of water in front of you along with a bowl green jello cubes, Steve, Bucky, Tony, Bruce, Natasha all stand at the end of your bed. Immediately feeling overwhelmed, you subconsciously reach for Wandas hand and she happily lets you hold it. “This is the team, Love.”

Thats Tony Stark, as you know, that’s Steve whom you met when you arrived, Bucky you healed his hand, Bruce is the doctor helping you at the moment, and lastly this is Natasha, she acts all tough but she’s a cinnamon roll once you get to know her.” You shyly wave at the Avengers at the end of your bed, and you ask the question that has been burning holes in your mind. “S-so, can you help me?”

Wanda nods with a hopeful smile and so does the rest of the team. Steve is the first one to speak.“Not all of us know what you can do, do you think you could show us what you can do with the water?”

He seemed to be treating you like a baby, but you knew he was just as scared as you were. Dealing with an element of the world both you and Steve live on is something that could be detrimental if not addressed in a calm way. With a small nod, you hesitantly let go of Wandas hand. Sitting up, you can feel a wave of slight relief as you take in what a safe space this is and you begin to perform what you felt was right.

As you concentrated, you maneuvered your hands to shape a small imaginary ball. Harnessing your energy in everything you have, you eyes begin to glow a light blue and the water starts to bubble. Once it starts to bubble, you were able to move your hands up just an inch and the water followed. A sphere of water now stood above the empty glass, and you moved your fingers to make small designs with the water, sending swirls around in a circle and carefully landing it back in the water. Physically, this was pretty draining but, emotionally? That was a whole other level.

The team gasped at your performance, and your eyes went back to their original color, the light blue fading with the visuals of water in the air. Bruce was on the left side of the bed jotting down notes on his clip board, Tony was in shock as was Natasha. Steve, Bucky and Wanda, they were just proud. They were honored to have someone with this power with them and with your healing abilities you could be one of the most powerful of the team, and that was important.

“Great, how about healing? You can do it on Bucky again if you’d like? Maybe try something a little bigger?” Steve suggested, and you nodded back at him giving him a silent “Ok.” Bucky makes his way to the bed and he shows a deep gash on his side. You gasped yourself at the blood soaked bandages and you softly ghosted your fingers over the gauze. “What happened?” You whispered to the super-soldier, expecting to hear the worst.

“Oh, it was really nothing. Nothing poisonous, so that’s gotta be somethin’ good.” He responds. You look up at him, and sigh as you see the other scrapes and bruises along his forehead and neck. Turning your attention back to the large gash on his abdomen, you focused your energy into good thoughts. Your hands began to glow a light purple, a tingling in Bucky’s abdomen starting to form as the power coming from inside of you patches his muscles, arteries and blood vessels back together and leaving no trace of a scar as you removed your hands from his stomach.

Once again the teams gasps fill the room and they softly clap at the “show” they were getting from you. You wanted to speak up, but the positive praise that you are getting from the team felt like nothing you have ever felt before. It made you happy to feel validated, and wanted by someone. Wanda knew that feeling too, especially after she lost her brother. As you look to the right, you smile softly as you meet the eyes of the Scarlet witch, a grin of her own painting her lips as well. “You’ll be a great add on to the team, Y/n. We will help you through it all, I promise.” Wanda gently takes your hand again, squeezing it softly so you know she is always there.

“Do I have to do performances like this often?” You joke, trying to play off your concern as something humorous. Wanda shakes her head to your relief and she replies “This was just for testing and seeing what you are able to do. I can’t promise there won’t be more tests, but you will never be doing this just for fun.” She smiles as she looks at the rest of the people in the room. “Right… everyone?” Everyone nods and mumbles their agreements and softly grin with Wanda as the rest of the super heroes leave the room.

“So, are you ready to become an Avenger?”

~~~~~~~

The waves crashed against the beach as you sat on the sand in your favorite swimming suit. The sun sending warm rays against your body and the water cooling your toes. Your mother and father, being the flirts that they are, bask in each others touches as they hold hands as they watch you. Giving them a small wave, they happily wave back. It was perfect being where you and you parents belonged. Nothing could take this felling away.

Well, maybe something could…

Once you looked back down to your feet, the water was gone. Your gaze moved up but you still didn’t see the water. One more time you lifted your head to see no water. The final look was strait out to the horizon. At this point all of the screams and loud sirens around you had died out, the only thing you were able to focus on was the wave starting to grow bigger and bigger as it grew closer and closer. Your parents grabbed you by the arms and pulled you away from your spot, leaving behind anything you had left. You didn’t have enough money at the time to buy a car, but everything you needed was with in walking distance from home and that was all you needed. Except this time.

The crashing of the water as it hit the shore was something you would usually love to hear, but in an instant just like this, nothing could be even more terrifying. Your father was the first to say something as you ran up the street. “Guppy!! Run, and don’t stop running!” Your father shouted making your head turn back around. A gasp left your mouth as you saw that your father and mother had stopped running. They were elderly, but they could run and you knew that. “No! Im not leaving you!” You began to run back, but people were trampling over you to get to higher ground, making you lose your footing and falling back.

“It’s our time, guppy, it’s time to say goodbye.” The wind around you flew stronger and you listened to your fathers last wish. With one last small wave goodbye, you turned around and ran. The rush of adrenaline kept you running for as long as you possibly could as the water became closer to shore. Then, that was when the water hit the first building. Oh god… the screaming, the fighting, the cries of pain filled your ears. But something told you to keep moving and to keep running- no, no it wasn’t something, it was someone telling you to keep running.

Of course you ignored that feeling. You began to help other people up the large hills and onto ladders going up other tall buildings. You even carried a dog or two up with you. It was worth your time and it was worth your energy to save these people and keep them safe. It was life or death for a city of people and the one thing you wanted to do was save everyone in sight. Once you saw the people who needed the most help, you lost your breath as the large wave crashed down onto you. The gallons and gallons of salt water filling your system and making you think the worst thoughts. ‘Im gonna die. Im gonna die.’

However, there was a response to your words. ‘Swim, guppy. Swim.” It was your father’s voice and from what you could see there was only one way up and that was to the light. The oxygen fills your lungs as you reach the surface of the crashing waves as it surges through out the city where you live. For miles the water spreads, and spreads and spreads and soon after mother nature had enough, she finally let the storm calm down. “Y/n, wake up. Wake up Y/n!” A voice calls out to you, a voice you did not recognize. Or at least not heard much of it. You shook, no were you shaking? No, someone was shaking you.

“Y/n! Wake up!!” The voice yells, and you awaken from your dream. Shooting up from your laid down position in the hospital bed you look around at everyone. Looks of worry cross their faces and confusion covers yours. You look down at your hands which are now entrapped in some type of glove or paw. And around your neck was a collar of some type. Both of these things were locked, and you were even more confused. “Wh-whats happening? Why am I- why am I like this? Will these hurt me?” You ask, more frightened of the things you don’t know than the people around you.

“They’re just to keep everyone and yourself safe. You aren’t in trouble and you aren’t going to get hurt…” Wanda whispered to you, softly stroking your hair as tears roll down the skin of your cheeks. “Hey, it’s ok. It’s ok. We’re gonna figure this out. Ok? These are just to keep your power contained, and this is to keep you from hurting yourself if you do end up using your powers in your sleep.” She explains, trying to calm you down as you scratch at the articles of clothing around your hands and neck. “Pl-pl-please th-the wave its coming. It-it’s growing b-bigger!” You whimper, trying to see out the window only to see that the blinds were closed. “Y/n, please stop this. You’re safe!” Wanda softly argues back.

“Bruce…” Wanda heeds, and Bruce comes over with a sedative. This time a stronger one to not do so much damage in your dreams. A whimper left your throat as the small needle went into your arm, trying to pull away from the sharp sting. Not having too many good experiences with needles. Wanda was happy to be here for you, and loved to help you even when you were being difficult. She knew it would be a process but was more than willing to lend her assistance. Something brought you to her and she believed that with all of her heart. “Just sleep majhen, I’ve got you.” She whispers, stroking your hair away from your face and giving your temple a soft kiss of her lips. “Shh, shh, shh, rest majhen… rest…”

Wandas voice soon faded as you head fell back against the pillow again. As your eyes fluttered closed, the sound of a Sokovian lullaby filled your ears. The beautiful tune sang by Wanda herself from above you. It was a calming, and almost freeing feeling that soared through your body as you slept. Wanda smiled as the sound features from your face glowed with beauty. It was something only a woman or man with love in their eyes could see. Something clicked in her though, and she felt your mind unlock itself. Sending her power through to your mind she began to go through your memories to gather more information about you, for Fury.

She didn’t want to interrupt the beautiful dream you were having of a beautiful beach day with the blue water surrounding your vision. A smile painted her lips once she saw how beautiful your family was, and how kind your parents were. Their tragic death will never be forgotten, but the one thing that will always be remembered was their love for each other and most of all you. You stir in your sleep, Wanda becoming too caught up in your mind that she was noticed by your subconscious. As she exited your mind, she watched you sleep for a couple hours. Wondering how you survived that horrid accident and how many years you went living alone and silent.

[poundfooolish]

I have been on a binge reading so much bullshit about the trojan war and odyssey and myths and historicity and doing EVERYTHING IN MY POWER to absorb the stories without actually reading them.

I have to finish Ghosts of the Tsunami first but WHEN I DO-

[crescentmp3]

also hi i live

[jules-9-7-1]

First thank you for catching the episode 3 pattern.

Second, I did not know the shipwreck is 3 episodes.

A pattern I recently realized is the trauma related to water and almost drowning.

Buck & Christopher during tsunami

Eddie during dirt tunnel collapse after it was flooded (storm was happening)

Buck stuck by lightning during downpour

Maddie with her trauma with accidently dropping her baby and later almost killing herself by ocean

NOW with Buck's true parents in danger of a titanic like death,

Buck is NOT liking water

I might have already missed it but has anyone put together a edit of scenes with the

"GET IN THE WATER" song?

the shipwreck will last 3 episodes. buddienation how are we feeling about that knowing what happens every third episode of the season regarding buddie + chris as a family.

[streetlamp-amber]

first kicks

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 1.9k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: family fluff, pregnancy NOTES: i wanted to write more batfam fluff this time with jason included. very sorry if jason is ooc, most of my knowledge of him comes from fics lol

Rainy Sunday afternoons at Wayne Manor were usually spent with you and your sons in the living room, occupying the big U-shaped sectional sofa. Sometimes Bruce would join you three, resting his feet on the coffee table as he worked on his laptop. Today was one of those days.

You were helping Dick do some research on the internet for a science school project that was due next week while Jason laid on his stomach on the other side of the couch, reading a Where’s Waldo? book by himself. Your husband sat in the other corner of the couch, doing some research on the latest villain terrorising Gotham. You didn’t mind if the work he was doing was for Batman, as long as he spent some time with the family outside of the cave, you were satisfied. Especially since the Wayne clan was about to expand in a little more than four months. Plus, with your belly growing bigger as the weeks went by, it was becoming harder for you to do some tasks around the house. Tasks that you didn’t want to ask Alfred for help with since it was your husband’s job to be at your beck and call through the pregnancy. Bruce obviously didn’t mind and loved helping you, he just sometimes tended to get lost in his Batman work for long periods of time.

The television was playing in the background, a football game between two teams that you didn’t really care about was taking place but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t work well without some sort of background noise and this was doing the job.

”So Dick, have you chosen which natural disaster to base your research project on?” Bruce asked your eldest while closing his laptop and joining him on his other side, making the twelve year old squished between his parents.

”We’ve narrowed it down to three: the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and Hurricane Katrina,” Dick answered, clicking on different tabs of each of the natural disasters as he named them. “I want to do my research on a popular one so I can easily find all the information I need.”

”Smart, isn’t he?” You smirked at Bruce as you mindlessly threaded your fingers in Dick’s dark hair who continued scrolling on the internet.

“Never thought otherwise,” your husband said, mirroring your grin. “Jay, have you found all the Waldos yet?” He leaned forward to ask Jason.

“I’m almost done,” the six year old easily dismissed Bruce, not even bothering to tear his eyes away from the pages.

“It’s best not to bother him when he’s searching for Waldo,” you informed your husband in a low volume.

Bruce nodded his head in understanding and redirected his attention back on Dick. “So, how are you gonna make your choice, chum? You could write them down on three pieces of paper and do a draw,” he suggested, leaning his arm on the back of the couch behind Dick, his fingers playing with the neck of your tshirt.

“Dad, I don’t need to write it down on some paper,” Dick sighed, a little annoyed. “You can do that on the internet now.”

“You can?” Bruce asked, surprised. Your husband was really tech savvy when it came down to work related to Batman, but silly, random stuff like a drawing roulette was not part of his internet knowledge.

You leaned your head on your left hand that was propped on the back of the couch and soothingly rubbed your round belly with the other. You watched with a soft smile Dick showing Bruce how to generate a random picking wheel to spin on the internet. Moments like these were the ones you cherished the most, domesticity wasn’t always the norm around here when you had two vigilantes living under your roof so you always tried to savour them whenever they happened.

The calmness in you was interrupted when you felt movement under your right hand.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, eyes round like saucers as you looked down at your bump and raised up the hem of your shirt to make sure what you felt was right.

“What?” Bruce immediately turned his attention to you. “What is it? Is something wrong? Are you alright?”

“I think the baby just kicked,”you said, raising your head to meet his eyes.

“The baby just kicked?” He repeated in disbelief.

You shook your head ‘yes’ just as you felt more movement. “The baby kicked again.”

Bruce rapidly stood up to sit by your side while Dick discarded his laptop before placing a hand on your belly and Jason left his book to climb on your husband’s lap to be closer to you. All had a hand on your stomach, staring at it expectantly, waiting for another kick.

“I don’t know if the baby’s gonna kick again,” you told them.

“Well that’s just not fair,” Jason whined.

“We just need to be patient,” Bruce said. “I’m sure the baby will do it again.”

And sure enough he was right. 

“Oh my God! I felt it! I felt the baby kick!” Dick exclaimed, though he kept the volume of his voice to a low level as if he would scare the baby away if he screamed.

“I wanna feel it too!” Jason cried.

“Here Jay, put your hand there,” you told your youngest as you gently grabbed his wrist and moved his hand to a different area of your belly, closer to Dick’s hand.

“Maybe if we keep talking, the baby will kick again,” Dick suggested.

“That’s true, babies can hear us from inside the mother’s belly,” Bruce agreed with him.

“They can?” Jason looked at you quizzically.

You chuckled at his confused face as you brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Yeah they can, it’s not completely soundproof in there,” you answered him.

“That’s why Dad is always talking to your belly?” Dick asked.

You fully laughed at this. “Yes, that’s why Dad talks to the belly. You can too if you wanna.”

“We can?” Dick perked up then leaned closer to your bump. “Hi baby, I’m Dick. Your big brother,” he said.

Jason also leaned forward. “And I’m Jason, I’m also gonna be your big brother.”

“Yeah but I’m the big big brother, I’m the oldest,” Dick argued.

“But I’m gonna be a big brother too!”

“Boys,” Bruce intervened. “No arguing around your mother. The baby will hear enough of that when it joins our lives, let it have its peace while it’s in the womb.”

A series of kicks started at that moment, making Dick and Jason gasp in surprise at the movements they felt under their hands. Bruce turned to you and the two of you shared a look full of love.

“That’s our baby,” he said to you, almost in a whisper, while Dick and Jason continued marvelling at the fact they could feel their sibling.

“That's our baby,” you repeated in confirmation. Nothing could've erased the smiles on both of your lips.

“I love you,” Bruce said against your forehead before leaving a soft kiss there and pulling away to share a short peck on the lips with you.

“Ew! Gross!” Jason interrupted your moment. Your sons weren’t the biggest fans of you and Bruce’s displays of affection for each other.

You giggled at the boys’ antics but still took a second to say “I love you” back to your husband.

“Someone should get Alfred so we can share this moment with him,” you suggested to the kids.

“Not it!”

“Not it!”

Jason and Dick quickly shouted, the former being the fastest to say it.

Dick groaned before he stood up from the couch and jogged out of the living room. The faster he would find Alfred, the faster he would be back next to you. “Alfred! The baby is kicking for the first time!” Dick called through the manor for your butler.

“He knows he doesn’t need to scream, right?” Bruce asked you. “Alfred can hear the boys break something all the way from the other side of the house.”

“Oh, let him be. He’s just very excited about the baby kicking,” you lightly reprimanded him with the corner of your mouth pulling up in a smirk.

You detached your gaze from your husband down to Jason who now had both of his small hands on your belly, his mouth in the shape of an ‘O’ and his eyes round with wonder in them.

“This is so cool,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Looks like you’re gonna have some competition Jay, that baby sure is kicking a lot,” Bruce jokingly commented as the kicking didn’t stop.

You chuckled as you remembered all the times you’d stop by the gym room to find Jason relentlessly kicking at Bruce’s punching bag. For a six year old, he already had so much anger pent up inside his little body and it worried you sometimes. But ever since Bruce brought him back to the Manor, Jay had been getting better. The amount of vases thrown at the wall had drastically decreased since then, both to yours and Alfred’s reliefs, and he instead would run to the gym room and let out his anger on the punching bag when needed.

“I can’t wait to play fight with you,” Jason whispered loudly to your belly with a smile.

“No,” you immediately said.

“Best you stick to play fighting with Dick for a couple more years, buddy,” Bruce told your son.

Jason pouted. “But he's always pulling some acrobatic shit–”

“Language!” You scolded him.

“But Ma! Dad and Dick say it all the time!” Jason cried out defensively. “That’s not fair,” he retracted his hands from your belly to cross his arms over his chest.

“Well Dad and Dick, and you too apparently, will not be saying words like that around the baby,” you warned. “Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Jason mumbled.

“Capiche?” You repeated, now glaring at your husband.

“Hey, I’ve really been refraining on the bad words ever since Dick joined us,” Bruce argued but you raised your eyebrows in a way that said this wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “Capiche,” Bruce sighed out, knowing he wasn't going to win this fight.

“Master Dick, slow down a little. There’s no need for running,” you heard Alfred’s voice approaching down the hall.

“But Alfred, the baby is kicking!” Dick reiterated.

Your oldest ran in the living room, his hand firmly holding Alfred’s who tried to keep up behind him.

“I heard you the first ten times, Master Dick, the baby will still be there no matter how fast we get there,” Alfred argued.

“Yeah but it might stop kicking,” Dick said and the two sat on the couch to your unoccupied left.

“Don’t worry chum, the baby’s still kicking,” Bruce told him while looking fondly at your belly.

“Please Alfred, feel the baby,” you said to your butler with an inviting smile, grabbing his hand that rested on his knee and gently squeezing it. “We want you to be part of this moment too.”

Alfred’s hand joined the others on your bump and the old man smiled at you and Bruce as he felt the tiny bumps moving around under your skin. “This is sensational.”

“Isn’t it?” You smiled back at him, content to have everyone you wanted to share your baby’s first kicks with.

Your little family of five (soon-to-be six) remained on the couch until the baby grew tired and stopped kicking, much to Dick and Jason’s dismay. Alfred went back to his tasks, the boys to their laptop and book, and Bruce wrapped his arm around your shoulder as you cuddled next to him, watching over your children and just enjoying the normalcy of this Sunday afternoon.

Domesticity used to be rare at the Wayne Manor, but not anymore. And you, for one, were very happy about it.

[gloomwitchwrites]

could you do one about all the members of 141 if the reader is super sensitive during sex, squeaks and squirms, cries but she likes it she’s just very responsive

Sensitivity during sex is subjective as everyone is different in that regard. So, here is my little offering to you, anon.

Content & Warnings: unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), dirty talk, missionary, established relationship, teasing, overstimulation, cowgirl, mirror sex, vaginal fingering

John “Soap” MacTavish: Soap is a bit of a tease. (wc: 374) Kyle “Gaz” Garrick: Kyle talks you through it. (wc: 457) John Price: Wants you to watch. (wc: 404) Simon “Ghost” Riley: Simon pins you down. (wc: 391)

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is a tease.

“How’s that feel, love?” he croons with a mischievous smile.

You whimper. Gasp. His hands upon your skin are simply too much.

Without an answer, Johnny goes down on one elbow, changing the position. He’s not even thrusting anymore, simply holding himself inside you, keeping your legs spread wide over his large, muscled thighs.

“Can’t use your words?” he mocks lightly as the tips of his fingers tenderly graze over a hardened nipple.

At the same time, he sinks a bit further, thighs spreading slightly, pushing your legs even wider. You’re unable to do much but writhe and wiggle beneath him. He always does this. Always teases. He loves how sensitive you are, and how your body comes alive beneath him. All the little sounds you make, all the sharp shakes and shivers, only motivate Johnny to draw forth more.

“What will happen if I touch you here, hm?” he asks, his hand dipping between your bodies. When Johnny says “here,” he runs his finger around the place your bodies meet.

Your cry is loud, and it only becomes louder when he trails upward to circle your clit. His name is there, on the very tip of your tongue, but each touch is a zap, stealing your voice.

But this touching and teasing isn’t cruel. You love every second. It only makes the end that much more electric.

“And here, love? What would happen?” he murmurs.

While still moving over your clit, Johnny leans forward, his tongue circling and then sucking your nipple into his mouth. Your body immediately contracts, every muscle tensing then relaxing. A little shiver rattles up through your spine and out to the edges of your limbs. It causes you to squirm, the sensitivity nearly overwhelming.

But there is nowhere for you to go. You are not only pinned to the bed by Johnny’s upper body but by his cock.

Johnny releases your nipple, his mouth forming a smug smile. “Suppose you need some relief, yeah?”

You curl into him, fingers digging into his skin. Johnny brushes your hair out of your face, and that too makes you tremble.

“Lie back,” he soothes, and you melt, molding to the bed as he flattens himself above you.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle talks you through it.

“That’s it. You’re doing so well.”

“That’s my girl. Look at you.”

Kyle delicately guides your legs toward your chest. You’re bent at the knees, trembling, breathing coming fast and heavy. Every touch of his is like a brand against the skin. It is an overwhelming tsunami.

“Kyle,” you beg. “Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Maybe for it all to end even though you crave the sensation.

“Gotta control that wiggling love.”

“I—I can’t,” you whimper, thighs trembling as he puts you into position.

Kyle parts your pussy with his fingers and you cry out. He tuts and then inserts two fingers. Your hips instantly buck and your back arches, wanting to escape from him.

“No no. None of that, love.” Kyle lightly presses down on your stomach, holding you still as he curls his fingers up and drags them, repeating the motion.

Again, you cry out, and then tears sting your cheeks as you claw at the bedding.

“Control your squirming and I’ll give you what you want.”

“You’re awful,” you whimper, every muscle in your body twitching, wanting to move.

“Do what I say, love. Know you can.” You inhale and Kyle chuckles softly. “That’s it. Good. Exhale. Again.”

He has you repeat the process until the muscles in your limbs calm.

Kyle’s hands retreat, and then he reclines beside you, rotating onto his back. His hand palms the base of his cock, stroking gently.

“Get on top, love. Hands on my chest. You control the pace.”

With a gentle tremble, you swing one leg over Kyle’s thighs, straddling him. You do as he instructs, placing your hands on his chest and angling your hips. He guides himself to your entrance, the head of his cock pushing in, stretching you wide, the sensation shooting up your spin and as well as to the tips of your toes.

“I know you can take it. Fuck, love. That’s it. Good.”

You slowly slide down on him, groaning loudly, nails digging into his chest as you impale yourself on him.

“Oh—fuck.” Kyle’s hands are on your thighs, running up and down them in a caress.

It takes every bit of your concentration to focus on the rhythm of your hips. You’re overly sensitive, and this position reaches deep, hitting that sweet spot every time you come down on him.

“Kyle,” you beg, but it’s without meaning. You just need to talk, to say something, to verbalize your need in whatever way you’re able.

His answer is a groan. “That’s it. Fuck, love. You feel amazing.”

Slowly, your eyelids open, and you’re greeted with a beautiful sight.

“Don’t fucking stop,” he says, one hand sliding between your breasts.

John Price

“Look at yourself, love.”

You are unable to move. Unable to squirm.

John has you spread wide over his thighs like a sacrificial offering. His knees are bent toward the ceiling and just parted enough that you cannot move your legs while draped in his lap. He’s got you impaled on his cock, and he is downright fucking smug about it.

While the motion of your legs is useless, you also don’t have your arms. John has them propped above your head because he doesn’t want you touching him or himself. His own muscles forearms snake up and over your upper arms. It allows you no control, but allows John everything. He can touch your breasts like this. He can touch your clit, your neck, and whatever else he wants.

John rocks and rolls his hips, dick appearing and then disappearing back into your pussy. All you can do is flex your hips a bit but it isn’t enough. You are completely trapped. At his mercy. And the sensitivity is overwhelming.

Without any control, you have to submit to John, and while you love it, it only rockets every ripple of pleasure that much higher.

“See what I have to do,” he murmurs into your ear. “You can’t stop moving.”

Tears bloom in the corners of your eyes like tiny dewdrops. You are far too sensitive for this. John is pushing you into overstimulation.

John nips at your earlobe and you gasp. “Look,” he prompts.

The closet door is open. Not by much, but enough that the mirror that hands on the inside faces the bed. Within, you see yourself, and John. You see how splayed out you are, how needy and pathetic you look in his arms.

“Look,” he says again. “Want you to watch.”

It takes all your effort to focus. Every time John rock his hips upward, his brush of skin against you is fire. It causes everything in you to react and jump. But you cannot writhe. Cannot move.

And that only makes you more frustratingly coiled with untamed need.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, eyelids heavy as you gaze upon the spot where your bodies meet, and how much your body stretches to accommodate him. You can see how your chest heaves, the tightness building and overwhelming your senses.

“Now you see what I see,” murmurs John as his hand delves downward to give you some relief.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Quit your squirming.”

“Then don’t be cruel,” you moan, nearly jumping out of Simon’s arms when he sharply thrusts upward.

Simon’s teeth nip at your throat and this time your body jerks, almost sending you out of his lap.

“Stay still,” he growls, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“You know how sensitive I am.”

“I do. Fucking love it.”

Simon wraps his arms around your waist. It’s an embrace, and yet there is power behind it, the muscles there tensing with anticipation. You inhale, and your exhalation is stolen from you.

Simon twists, and you go with him, rolling onto your back.

You squeak loudly only to be pinned against the bed. “Simon—”

He crushes his lips to yours, his tongue delving for your taste. The only sound you make is a whimper. “But sometimes,” murmurs Simon against your lips. Your squirming gets in the way.”

Using his body weight, Simon drives in at a harsh angle, hitting that sweet spot deep inside. That vibration of pleasure ripples outward, and your body reacts as it always does. But you cannot writhe and wiggle. Simon is too heavy, and he knows this, which is why he’s pinned you.

“Oh—fuck. Simon. Plea—. Please.”

“Please what?” laughs Simon softly before moving inside of you again.

The only reply you can make is a strained moan.

Simon grins, completely smug. “Tuck in, love. I’ll give you something to squirm about.”

Simon wraps your wrists up in one hand, pinning them above your head. He starts to thrust in earnest, his free hand holding the side of your throat. He watches on as tears come to your eyes. Your body wants to move, to buck and arch against him, but you are completely trapped.

Simon leans in, kisses the spots on your cheeks stained with tears. The only thing you can move are the bottoms of your legs. You wrap your ankles over his bulging calves and cling.

Every stroke and brush of his skin against yours is a roaring fire, rocketing you toward overstimulation. Words fall from your lips but they are elusive, just white noise in your ears. You know that you’re crying, that you’re speaking to him, that you’re attempting to move.

But Simon is relentless, claiming every inch of your body like he always does.

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[heich0e]

the itadori house always smells faintly of clean laundry.

it's not because the two boys who live there are particularly diligent about staying on top of their housework—the towering pile of recyclables in the corner of the kitchen is proof enough of that—but it's because the first time yuuji had tried to do his own laundry, he used way too much detergent. the ensuing tsunami of soap suds had flooded nearly half-way across the tiny apartment—coating the floors, the baseboards, and anything else in its path, in a slippery (though pleasantly fragranced) froth that took DAYS for the two brothers to clean up. it must have sunk in to the floorboards, or there must still be traces of it lingering in nooks and crannies that they couldn't reach, because even now, years after the catastrophe, the scent still lingers.

even though the mere mention of the incident still makes a vein of irritation throb in sukuna's forehead, and makes yuuji hang his head in shame, you don't mind the smell. it's familiar after all these years. it reminds you of this place.

you burrow your face down into the cushion of the living room sofa. it's raining today, and a bit humid, so the scent of detergent is particularly strong.

you're nearly asleep when a voice interrupts your quiet moment of relaxation.

"i should start charging you rent, y'know."

you don't open your eyes, even once you hear the words that come from above you. even without looking, you can picture the scene: sukuna leaning over the back of the sofa that you're sprawled across, his weight resting on his elbows as he peers down at you with his usual scowl. it's not the same scowl he shows to everyone else—the one that makes people shrink back under his gaze—this is a softer version of the same expression, dulled by familiarity. if you were more optimistic you might even say it was blunted by affection.

"stop pretending to sleep, kid." you feel his hand grasp your hip, shaking you lightly. "i know you're faking."

you feel a smile threatening to pull at your lips so you turn your face towards the pillow—the one you bought for the sofa, since the itadori brothers' idea of home decor is limited to creased posters for old mafia movies nobody's ever heard of and women with their tits out taped to the wall—and you burrow down to hide your expression from view.

"you're such a nuisance," sukuna groans, and then you feel the sofa dip. you figure he's pulled himself over the back of it now, based on how you feel him kneeling overtop of you with your legs straddled between his own. you're on your belly, but you can feel him rest back on his haunches, trapping your feet underneath him as he sits. "can't you nap at your own house?"

"too tired," you finally rasp out, daring to peek at him over your shoulder.

"and i'm not?" he scoffs, lifting his hand and pushing his hair back from his face. he's still half-dressed in his work uniform—a pair of slacks from the security company he's been working at part-time for the past few weeks, and a white t-shirt that he usually wears underneath the short sleeved button down that matches the trousers. "i just worked a double—been up since 4."

he does look tired, now that you have the chance to look at him. his hair is a bit dishevelled and he's got dark circles under his eyes. sukuna always looks a bit exhausted—and has since grandpa passed away and he took on the responsibility of raising yuuji. but it's particularly noticeable right now.

"and i can't even come home and take a nap on my own couch because there's a freeloader here."

you bite the inside of your cheek, wiggling around a bit underneath him so you can lay on your back.

"charge me rent then," you parry back to his complaint, and he cocks an eyebrow at your challenge. "i want a bed though. s'only fair."

"we'll get bunkbeds for yuuji's room, then," sukuna quips.

"don't wanna bunk with yuuji," you counter again, "he snores."

sukuna pauses, staring down at you. he leans forward slowly, his hands pressing into the couch cushion on either side of your waist as he dips towards you. "only one other bedroom in this place, y'know—"

you do know. it's why you said it.

"—and i have no plans to give up my bed."

sukuna is close to you now. too close, in any other circumstance, but this is one entirely of your own creation. a circumstance that feels more like an inevitability than anything, given the tension that's been crackling between the two of you lately, ever since he rescued you that night at the bar.

"didn't ask you to give it up," you say quietly, your eyes flickering across his features until they eventually settle on his lips.

sukuna makes a little noise in the back of his throat, close to annoyance, but not quite. distinctly tortured in nature.

"you really, really are a nuisance, y'know that?"

his hands are on your hips now. not like when he'd shaken you awake—this touch is greedier, needier than that passing graze. his fingertips slip up underneath the hem of your shirt until they brush against your bare skin, and the contact makes your body flush with heat.

"yuuji's gonna be back from class soon," you murmur softly, your gaze flickering back up to sukuna's heavy-lidded eyes. his nose twitches a little in annoyance, knowing you're right.

sukuna backs away a little, his hands slipping back out from underneath your shirt.

you sit up and catch his wrist in your hand, and his eyes widen in surprise. your faces are close together now—so close you can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath. he stole a pack from you a few days ago, and clearly he's still chewing it.

you can't smell the laundry detergent anymore.

"i didn't tell you to stop," you remark lightly, leaning back so you're splayed out against the sofa once more. you stare up at him, waiting for him to process what you've said—watching the thoughts play out across his uncharacteristically shocked face. "i just meant that you should hurry up and do it already."

[flawseer]

Your thoughts on the wof characters have been really interesting and I'd love to hear your take on Starflight (your assignment of him being the 'designated sufferer' of arc one is both hilarious and tragically accurate). I've always liked him, cowardly though he is he still acts when he really needs to and the dynamic between him and Tsunami is super fun (the whole outwardly combative but inwardly just wishing to be as strong/as smart as the other).

I like Starflight and I relate to him a lot, as a fellow chronic worrier who annoys his friends with constant blathering about stuff only I find interesting, and often finding myself paralyzed in the face of decisions.

It’s funny how the story puts forward a black dragon, which in media are usually portrayed as mysterious, ambiguously malevolent harbingers of doom, and makes him into this adorable dork.

He’s also the plot’s chew toy, which I am at times less enthusiastic about. Especially when jokes are made at the expense of his misfortune.

Wings of Night and Sea

Starflight’s and Tsunami’s friendship is very engaging because, in a sense, both of them complete each other. For each, emulating the other serves as their last resort when faced with a personal crisis. Whenever Tsunami encounters a situation she cannot overcome with her usual blunt and direct approach, she asks herself how Starflight would resolve the situation. When Starflight becomes overwhelmed and too scared to move, his mind conjures an image of the strongest, bravest, most unstoppable thing he knows, which is Tsunami. Though either would be reluctant to openly admit it to each other, they both rely on each other’s strengths to cover their own weaknesses.

Through this you get the sense that, while their opposite personalities annoy each other to no end—if you locked both of them in a room for three hours, they’d be strangling each other when you open the door again—at their core they have only the deepest respect for each other. It becomes especially apparent when you realize that both of their stories in their respective books have them compare themselves to the other unfavorably.

If these two ever did a DBZ-style fusion dance, the result would likely be one of the most capable and balanced characters in their series.

Starflight's misfortune

CW: Discussion of blindness

One thing I have noticed (and have alluded to a lot in previous posts) is that the plot really likes to kick Starflight in the teeth. His own story arc puts him through the wringer, but he is not even safe in the two arcs past that, where he is largely out of focus. Most of the things that happen to him in arc 1 seem to occur for the sake of the story, but past that... it sometimes feels to me like the world has it in for this guy.

I started writing a list of every bad thing that happens to Starflight over all three arcs, but it got way too long, so now I’m just going to talk about a few select things instead.

One thing that stands out to me is that every other protagonist in arc 1 gets a specific moment. That kind of scene where they enter their tribe’s biome for the first time or connect with a particular part of their culture/physiology, and are overcome with a sudden burst of euphoria or deep resonance with their own nature. Clay gets it when he submerges himself in mud for the first time and then later again when he finds his siblings, Tsunami when she sees and smells the ocean, Glory when she’s in the rainforest and feels the sun, and Sunny when they go through the magic tunnel and end up in the desert. Starflight is the only arc 1 protagonist who doesn’t get a moment like this; when he enters his tribe’s home for the first time it’s a giant craphole that makes him feel upset. It only gets worse from there.

Then there is the big one; the misfortune that happens to him at the end of his book. I struggle to talk about this because... uh... How do I put this?

I opened this post by saying I relate to Starflight on a personal level. I wouldn’t consider myself as studious or well-read as him, so it’s not a direct comparison, but I do like to draw, write and dabble in visual artistry. This is a major part of my life; how I define myself as a person and what I think makes me “me”. The thing about this though is that all of this is tied up into one thing: my sense of sight.

It follows then that what ends up happening to Starflight is the realization of the one thing I fear the most. Thinking about the possibility of losing ones sight is deeply, personally horrifying to me. It messes me up internally just to consider it happening to me.

This, the subject of becoming blind, is a very difficult topic for any story to properly engage with. There are many pitfalls you can fall into and come off as insensitive, or ignorant. The way Wings of Fire deals with this subject is to... well... it doesn’t really. Starflight is blinded and then the story skips over most of his reaction to it because the next POV character gets separated from the group while they sort it out.

In a way, this is a good thing. I don’t know how this series—which often rushes through these really uncomfortable, harrowing events—would be able to show a realistic reaction to this development. Like, losing ones sight would be a horrifying prospect for anyone, but for Starflight especially this completely uproots not only his entire life, but his sense of identity. Everything he likes doing, everything he is and wants to be in life is rendered virtually impossible by this.

Consider who Starflight is. He is a thinker, and a worrier who is always inside his own head. He dreads and fears, he seeks out worst case scenarios, I daresay he is inclined towards pessimism. Whenever his neuroticism gets him too stressed, or emotional, or worried, he has one immediate response: bury his nose in a scroll. When he arrives in a new place, he usually asks where the scrolls are at. When he is under threat of being abducted or attacked, his first instinct is to go grab his scrolls to keep them safe. Like with me and drawing, reading is how he unwinds, how he balances himself. It is what keeps him sane and functional through dealing with adversity (and he's Starflight, so he deals with a lot of adversity).

Then this happens to him, and suddenly the one thing that makes this poor, battered boy happy, the one thing that never hurts him, is taken away forever. If I was in his place, if I learned I was suddenly blind, I would fall apart. I would cry, then scream, then cry AND scream and probably flail around in a panic. Clay would have to hold me down and restrain me so I don’t end up falling off the platform in a frenzied fit. Or worse.

So yeah, I get why the plot had to look away. Seeing this happen to Starflight—him going through this kind of anguish and then sinking into quiet despair as his world crumbles around him—would have been heartbreaking. In the end, we go on Sunny’s solo adventure and when she returns Starflight is already conveniently past the screaming fit phase and has adjusted to his new life circumstances—enough to talk and joke as if nothing happened. He then goes on to dedicate himself to bringing the wonders of literature to other blind dragons, which is a noble goal and good trajectory for his character—even if it’s a bit abrupt and I would have liked to SEE him do that instead of just being told.

Anyway.

This next one isn’t as notable because it doesn’t happen TO him, but I want to point it out to back up my claim that Starflight Ls can and will happen even in story arcs that have very little to do with him. In book 6 Moonwatcher and Darkstalker have a conversation where they discuss the concept of Nightwing powers and how they relate to the moons. The story very pointedly draws attention to the fact that Starflight nearly was born under three full moons and would have become the most powerful Nightwing of his generation if his inept caretakers had not decided to hatch him underground. While I don’t think getting these powers would have been good for Starflight in the long run, it is a bit sad considering he spent most of his childhood thinking he was born wrong because he didn’t have powers, and then Morrowseer further gaslit him about it throughout the arc.

And then we don't talk about what happens in arc 3. I am not the right person to discuss it.

My take on Starflight

I was asked to give my take on the character, so...

I already went into how I think he’s very introspective and prone to worrying. I see him as an introvert, which is something he has in common with Glory, and contrast him with Sunny, Clay, and especially Tsunami. He enjoys reading but also other activities where he gets to use his brain. He likes puzzles; I imagine he got very excited when they had to figure out the murder plot in book 2, or when he caught Blister in a lie. If he had a computer it would be full of adventure and puzzle games, and he’d hog the resident DS to play the Professor Layton series all the time.

When they found the academy, it is implied he teaches a literacy course and gives out writing assignments. That is right up his alley, but I’ve always felt he also has strong math/natural science teacher vibes. There should logically be a numbers class at that school and I can’t imagine any other character who would be more suited to teach it.

If I were asked where I would make changes to his story, I guess I would nix the part where he and Fatespeaker hook up in book 5. I have nothing against their relationship, it’s actually grown a lot on me over time. But I never liked how it started. Starflight gets rejected by Sunny and then immediately hooks up with Fatespeaker. This is really undignified for her because it takes their potentially intriguing romantic relationship and turns her into Starflight’s “rebound chick”. You really need to give yourself some time to move on from your previous attraction; rushing like this creates doomed relationships.

The original story implies that about half a year passes between the end of arc 1 and the start of arc 2. I like to pretend this gap is actually a bit longer, by like 2 or 3 years. It gives the old protagonists a bit more time to settle into the roles they’ll occupy during the next arc, and makes it more plausible to me that they could build and outfit an entire school, write the curriculum, designate roles, etc..

In that time, with things being more calm now, Starflight has opportunity to get lost in his own thoughts again. It turns out, now that the dangers of the war are no longer distracting him, he finds it difficult to cope with his blindness and sinks into a depression.

While this happens, Fatespeaker is there with him. She sees his condition worsening by the day, but refuses to give up on him. She reads to him; they talk, and they bond. Though serious self-searching and hard work, together they manage to pull out of the darkness eventually. This is how their relationship starts, and it’s also how Starflight gets the idea to invent the dragon-equivalent of braille.

Somewhere during that time, I also imagine Glory has Tamarin escorted to Jade Mountain so she can help Starflight adjust to his new situation and learn how to navigate his life without needing to rely on others. Perhaps this is what motivates Tamarin to attend the academy later.

What else is there to say? Hmm...

I think Starflight is really fond of hard candy. Jawbreakers are his favorite especially. Though given how prone to misfortune he is in the story, I’m hesitant to put him in proximity of anything with a name like that.

[1800titz]

WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.” 

Tiger has perfected the art of edging. 

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action. 

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.” 

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious. 

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.” 

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty. 

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind. 

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets. 

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over. 

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth. 

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up. 

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.” 

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely.  A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her. 

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed. 

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in. 

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap. 

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole. 

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper. 

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins. 

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets. 

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off. 

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons. 

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that. 

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears. 

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums. 

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out. 

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars. 

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam. 

“…We’ll make it fit.” 

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat. 

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit. 

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand. 

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge. 

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?” 

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs. 

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch. 

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure. 

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?” 

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states. 

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood. 

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises. 

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.” 

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth. 

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him. 

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.” 

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas. 

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her. 

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.” 

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog. 

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face. 

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.” 

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail. 

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?” 

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid. 

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits. 

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds. 

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.” 

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud. 

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage. 

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile. 

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable. 

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous. 

“Hello.” 

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind. 

“…Hello.”   

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting. 

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis. 

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine. 

He ducks his chin and laughs. 

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering. 

“I’m all sticky.” 

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further. 

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders. 

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether. 

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest. 

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.” 

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper. 

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?” 

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 7)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Quick Notes:

You, the reader who is an artist, and had become Alastor's sweetheart, have just died.

Alastor is about to find out.

Part 7:

The sound of a singular gunshot rang clearly in the night that had been so peacefully quiet up until that moment in time.

Alastor, with the engagement ring in his pocket, who had been peacefully reading a novel within the confines of your shared home, nearly ripped his book in half upon hearing the sound of a gunshot in these woods.

The forest around here was part of his private property, anyone who dared to trespass or hunt in his neck of the woods was shot on sight. Many people ignored the plentiful and very obvious warning signs, so it wasn't his fault so many people ended up becoming your and his meals. Everyone else just thought the law didn't apply to them, straight-up criminals. In his eyes, they all deserved it.

Thinking it was just another nuisance, a "tsk" left Alastor's mouth as he grabbed his shotgun and headed into the woods.

After a few minutes of walking, he finally caught sight of the transgressors. Two men that he, unfortunately, recognized right away as the men from the bar who liked to push his buttons by harassing you.

The seething rage pooled in his core, bubbling up into his chest. This was his chance to get rid of those nuisances once and for all.

They would trouble his darling no more.

For him to get into a better position to take the men out, he crouched down and quietly circled around them like a hunter playing with his prey.

After circling around to position himself behind the men, what he wasn't expecting to see was the most nightmarish sight he's ever seen.

His beloved sweetheart, soon to be betrothed, all disheveled and tied up against a blood-splattered tree with a bullet lodged in the middle of their forehead.

Your eyes were lifeless. There was no doubt about it, the love of his life was dead.

Alastor didn't need to even think before pulling the trigger on the men, shooting one after the other, over and over, even after their bodies had hit the ground.

He. Was. Enraged.

By the time Alastor was done with them, they looked like Swiss cheese, barely strung together.

Alastor's breath was heavy, his chest heaving, near hyperventilating, his eyes were enlarged and his mind was focused on one thing. You.

His beautiful love, he couldn't bear to see you in this state.

In his oddly manic and shocked state, he untied you from the tree and took your body back to your shared home in the woods not too far from here.

For a few moments, his rage was replaced by sorrow and mourning as he buried you in the backyard. As fucked up as he was in the head sometimes, he would rather die than think about eating you. You were sacred to him.

As he laid you down into the ground, he embraced you once last time and took the ring out of his pocket. He placed the ring onto your ring finger and kissed the top of your hand, "In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, dear."

After you were buried, the rage returned like a vicious tsunami. Oh he wasn't done with revenge just yet.

Every single man or woman that ever mistreated you or offended you, was put on his list.

This night was the catalyst that gave birth to the serial killer known as the "Bayou Killer".

Alastor stopped visiting Mimzy's bar since your death, with his sole focus and dedication in life going to hunting down those that had harmed you in life. After all, they deserved it, you were like an angel to him.

But what Alastor didn't stop doing, was broadcasting his radio show. So many of his connections were made because of his show, so it was a valuable resource to keep active, to use to his advantage.

Alastor continued living his life like this until every single name was crossed off his list.

It was then that it was time for his luck to run out.

Right upon the killing the very last person on the list, was Alastor also shot right square in the forehead.

Before his consciousness faded into black, all he could hear was the muffled panic of a stranger who seemed to be apologizing for mistaking him for some sort of animal.

All Alastor could do was chuckle at the irony of the whole situation, the maniacal laughter was the type that only a madman could produce- before everything went dark and he died.

He thought he would never see you again, because surely, his beloved sweetheart would end up in heaven right?

The answer to this would remain a mystery for many decades to come as Alastor descended into Hell and became who is now widely known in Hell as "The Radio Demon".

-> Part 8

[mirandasidefics]

Autumn Leaves

(Late Submission for @erisweekofficial Prompt: Bonds/Bargains 👑)

Pairing(s): Eris x Archeron Sister! Reader  

Summary: Eris never anticipated to find his Mate in a former human. 

Word Count: 3.1K

Warning(s): Mention of traumatic childbirth, mentions of Beron (he’s a trigger all on his own these days). 

Author’s Note: BASED ON THIS REQUEST. I felt that this scenario fit perfectly with the prompt of Bonds/Bargains for Eris Week. I hope that this fits well with what you had wanted anon! I know the request specifically asked for Reader to be the youngest, but I felt that it would be a bit more inclusive to leave the birth order more ambiguous for those that maybe don’t relate to being the youngest sibling. My brain wasn’t functioning enough to allow me to write an understandable dance scene, so…sorry that it's not as descriptive as I would have preferred. I also didn’t go back to review any of the events that occurred in ACOWAR or ACOSF, so if it’s not exactly canon compliant just ignore that. Also, Lucien was at the Hewn City solstice ball for this because I said so. 

Special thanks to @hardcoremarvelfan for beta reading and coming up with the title for this. Also, there will very likely be a part 2.

dividers by @/tsunami-of-tears ACOTAR Masterlist

The first time Eris saw the Made female he was immediately intrigued. She was quiet and stoic, much like the two sisters she accompanied for the High Lord’s meeting. Her eyes, the same shade as her sisters, appeared cold as she took in the room. It was clear she was observing more than she let on, gaze trained forward yet keenly aware of every single one of the High Lords and their various entourages. It was apparent to Eris that she saw more than her sisters, perhaps even more than his brother’s mate who was rumored to have been gifted the powers of a Seer by the Cauldron. He could feel the power that radiated off this fourth sister and couldn’t help but wonder what gifts she may have been granted. 

The second time he saw her was at the end of the battle with Hybern on the edge of the Spring and Summer Court border. Her eyes appeared distant as if she was separated from her body and the gore that surrounded her. But his answer regarding her gift had been answered as a circle of ice forged spears surrounded her. At least a dozen bodies were skewered while she stood stock still in the center of the circle. He had been compelled to approach her, but his brother got to her first, asking if she was okay and if she had seen his mate. After a single nod and a pointed finger towards a series of tents Lucien gently guided her away from the carnage she wrought. 

The third time he saw her was at the solstice ball in the Hewn City over a year later. Dressed in a drab black gown clearly intended to prevent her from sticking out. However, it wouldn’t have mattered if she was dressed down or in the most lavish of gowns. Eris’ eyes were instantly drawn to her as soon as she processed along with the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. His youngest brother was by her side as an escort. As she approached the dias with her family, her eyes found his own, and Eris felt the world tilt on its axis. It took all of his mental will power to remain upright at the realization of what she was to him. Mate. 

Eris couldn’t remove his eyes from the female as Rhysand made his speech. Nor could he remove them when the music started and various Fae in attendance began to dance. He followed every one of her steps as she was escorted towards the dance floor, a beautiful smile spread wide across plush pink lips. He was vaguely aware of Rhysand's approach, his introduction to the High Lady’s sister. The only one that was dressed to be admired by the eyes of others. Nesta, he believed it was. But Eris wasn’t interested in the female that stood before him. He held up a hand, instantly silencing the High Lord, and simply pointed to the sister on the dance floor. 

“What is her name?” He asked, the light russet gaze never faltering. Eris could feel the tension in Nesta’s shoulders as she followed his gesture. Rhysand, always one to never give away his thoughts, supplied her name. Eris repeated it, the name tasting like honeyed wine in his mouth. Nesta attempted to redirect the conversation and offered Eris a dance, but the Autumn Heir ignored her. 

“Any bargains that you wish to make will be offered by her,” Eris’ voice was smooth as his eyes finally met purple. “Shall I introduce myself or will you make the introduction for me?” Rhysand turned his head towards the direction where Lucien spun her around as the two waltzed. His youngest brother’s head whipped in their direction, before he halted his dance and brought her over for a formal introduction. As expected, the female politely accepted Eris’ invitation for a dance. 

That first dance was all it took for Eris to know he didn’t want to be separated from her moving forward. Her demeanor was so different from what he had observed when he was only able to watch her from afar. He danced with only her for the remainder of the celebration and found himself completely enraptured by her. While he could tell that she wasn’t as strong a dancer as her sister, whom he caught out of the corner of his eye, it didn’t deter his conviction of only wanting to be by her side. Conversation flowed freely and easily as they danced. She was sharp witted, with a penchant for dry sarcasm. Her wry smile and her laugh ignited something deep within. 

Eris always had a drive to protect those he cared for, such as his Mother and Lucien, but the desire to keep her safe was stronger than anything he had experienced before. He couldn’t leave her in the Night Court, even if most of her time was spent in a city far safer than the one in which they danced. However, she couldn’t exactly join him in the Autumn lest he run the risk of her becoming one of Beron’s targets to keep Eris in line. For the first time in decades, Eris didn’t know what to do. 

“Is everything alright my Lord?” Her voice was filled with nothing but genuine gentle concern. His eyes refocused from their far away haze, taking in her sharp features. Features that were so indicative of the High Fae. Looking at her one would never guess that she used to be human. 

“Eris,” He corrected. “Please.” 

“Is everything alright, Eris?” Her cheeks flushed with the slightest tinge of pink. His own heart stirred at her reaction to the use of his name. Their dance had come to a halt, and he hadn’t even realized the musicians were taking a break. 

“Yes,” He cleared his throat. “Just a bit lost in thought.” She nodded her head, taking a slight step back from his hold on her waist. Eris had to refrain from the desire to pull her back towards his chest. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” She took a look towards her sisters. All three were huddled against the edge of the dance floor. Nesta and Feyre’s sharp steel gazes attempted to pierce through the mask that Eris held in place. While the other, whose name he had sadly forgotten, had a glazed over look. Upon focusing, he noticed that the brown was nearly obscured by milky white. He heard the female in front of him gasp, her eyes trained on the Seer. Her head whipped back towards him, giving a slight nod.  

“I hope that we are able to count on your discretion about the Trove,” Her speech was rushed and she gathered the bottom of her skirts. “I’m certain that the High Lord will provide support to any claim you have to being the Heir.” With a quick second bow in parting she turned to rush over to her sisters. 

Before she got too far, Eris grasped her elbow and asked, “Would you come visit me? In Autumn?” She blinked at him. Almost as if she was surprised by his desire to see her again. 

“I must get to my sister,” She glanced back across the hall, at the High Lady trying to gain the attention of the Seer who was clearly lost in a vision. 

“I understand,” He released his grip and nodded solemnly. “I will write to you.” She blinked again. What he wouldn’t give to know what that beautiful mind was processing. She gave him a curt nod, before she quickly made her way across the hall. 

Eris couldn’t even last a week before sending his first letter. Again he asked if she would be interested in visiting his home court. She provided no answer or any acknowledgement of his question. Of course this didn’t deter Eris as they continued to exchange letters. With each one he would make his offer, enticing her with descriptions of celebrations and various traditions. He would tell her about his Hounds and his Mother. Yet she continued to not provide an answer to his offer. This same pattern went on for three months before Eris had enough of the tip-toeing around the subject. He was determined to get an answer, even if it was “No”. 

Eris arrived at what he assumed was Rhysand’s townhouse as the High Lord had instructed in his brief correspondence with the Autumn Heir.  He tapped the back of his knuckles on the large oak door. A few brief moments drifted by with no response. No movement could be heard from inside either. He peered his head towards the large bay window at the front, but the curtains were drawn shut. 

His heartbeat began to quicken with each passing moment as there continued to be no response. Eris was wholly unfamiliar with the city. He had no clue where to even begin looking for his mate. He was under the impression that he was at least expected by Rhysand. So why was no one here? 

Eris turned, prepared to winnow to the Hewn City in the hopes that Keir may have knowledge of where the High Lord could be, despite how unlikely that prospect was. Instead, he came face to face with an ethereal looking female. Skin and hair dark as shadows. A billowy white dress hugged her frame, yet appeared as if it was floating in a barrier of invisible water. It took him a minute to recognize her as one of Rhysand’s half wraith servants from Under the Mountain. 

“They are all at the High Lord and Lady’s home,” The female began to explain without preamble. “If you would follow me.” She turned, not bothering to ensure that the Autumn Lord followed. When the pair approached the near ostentatiously large home near the riverfront, screams could be heard from inside. If his heart hadn’t already been on the verge of an attack it surely was now. The half-wraith opened the front entrance, beckoning Eris to follow. 

No sooner as he stepped inside did his mate come surrying down the main staircase of the foyer. A pile of blood stained sheets spilling over her arms. Her eyes were rimmed in scarlet. Stepping onto the bottom landing she finally looked up, taking notice of the male. 

“Eris,” Her voice was no more than a whisper. Her lower lip wobbled, teeth sinking into it to prevent the tremble. Eris didn’t bother with formality, taking quick strides to meet her. As he reached her side, she dropped the pile of fabric and allowed her arms to encircle his waist. Her body shook with her sobs as her finger dug into his shoulders. 

“Feyre went into labor unexpectedly,” She cried into the elaborate brocade of his tunic. “The babe…his wings…” She couldn’t get her thoughts out in a coherent manner without the sobs overtaking her completely. “ They’re dying, Eris.” She wailed upon hearing her own words spoken aloud. He pulled her in tighter to his chest, his other hand gently rubbing in soothing circles along her shoulders. Eris had no words that could provide her with any sort of comfort, making him feel as if he was already failing her as her Mate. All the male could do was hold her and hope that she didn’t feel as alone in her grief if the High Lady of the Night Court somehow didn’t survive.  

Suddenly, Elain called out to her sister from the top of the staircase, “Come quick! Nesta she…” The warm brown eyes of the middle sister swam with unshed tears, a smile graced her features as well. Eris’ shoulders relaxed as the female's expression could only be an indication of good news. His mate quickly detached herself from his hold, racing back towards where the family convened. 

As soon as the two were out of sight, Eris looked around the foyer. He quickly found a small bench and sat down. He had never felt more awkward in his life. While he had developed a correspondence with this particular sister, he wasn’t exactly part of the family just yet. 

Eris sat in the hall, waiting for what felt like hours for his mate to return. Once she did, she escorted him into a large sitting room. 

“They’re going to live,” She smiled, sitting down in a chair across from him. She smoothed out her skirt, tucking in a corner that had somehow ended up with blood spatter staining the material. Eris merely hummed in acknowledgment. He didn’t know what to do with himself now that they had a moment alone like this. He had planned this elaborate greeting and proposal for her to come and visit, not giving her the room to ignore the request. However, that all went right out the proverbial window. His hands straightened the fabric of his shirt, then went to remove a non-existent strand of hair from his trousers, before finally resting on his lap. 

“You’re fidgeting,” She pointed out. Her smile grew as she suppressed a giggle. He was happy to see that her mood had lifted so quickly. It made the reason for his visit appear less strange, inappropriate even given the intensity of the events that occurred. She gently placed one of her hands over his. Her delicate fingers soothing and calming the rolling fire that he didn’t even notice had built up within himself. He allowed himself to grasp her hand in return, interlacing their digits. The sensation of fire against ice erupted throughout his being. Opposite yet still a perfect complement of powers. Eris couldn’t help but wonder what they would be able to achieve together. 

“Eris,” Her voice pulled him from his thoughts, his deep hues meeting her own cool gaze. “I’m happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” He swallowed, suddenly realizing that his actions were a bit sudden and perhaps not as well thought out as he intended. His arrival without notice to her would be unexpected. He only informed Rhysand that he needed to speak to Archeron female, but never explained why. 

“I,” He began, voice cracking. His pale features flushed and he was reminded of his younger days when his voice hovered between childhood and deeper timber of maturity. The female before him suppressed another giggle behind her unclasped hand. 

“I’m here because you consistently ignore a very specific question,” His gaze was steady, exuding what he hoped would be seen as confidence and not the uncertainty he felt. “I’ve come to ask one final time. If you say no, I will not burden you with asking ever again.” 

“Eris,” She pulled her hand away, eyes now unable to meet his own. 

“I acknowledge that Autumn is not always considered the most beautiful, what with the decay that can accompany the season in the mortal lands, so if you don’t like it-”

“Why would I not like the place where my mate lives?” Her perfect brows furrowed as she looked at him. Eris was at a loss for words. 

“When…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. However, it appeared that he didn’t need to as her response was a perfect correlation to what was on his mind.  

“Since the Winter Solstice,” She said. “When you first asked me to come visit.” It was Eris’ turn to blink in stunned silence. She had given no indication of being aware of who he was to her. Then again, he also hadn’t explicitly made their bond known. Perhaps he was wrong in thinking that his actions were obvious. 

“It’s not that I’m afraid that I won’t like it there,” She went on. “I’m actually afraid that I would not want to leave. But I simply can’t abandon my sisters.” She lowered her head, averting her gaze from the embarrassment. However, Eris understood the desire to be with her siblings. The same desire to ensure the well-being and safety of his younger brothers was one of his reasons for not abandoning the Autumn court. For enduring the cruelty of his Father for nearly 5 centuries. 

“I would never ask that you do,” He assured. “In fact, I wouldn’t want you to call the Autumn Court home just yet anyway. Not while my father still breathes.”

“I’m not afraid-”

“I am,” Eris admitted quietly. “I can’t risk anything happening to you.” He meant it, and was surprised at how easily the truth slipped from him. But it was just the two of them at this moment. He didn’t have to hide behind that mask when with her. He tucked a strand of (h/c) hair behind the perfectly pointed arch of her ear. He watched a shiver run through her as his flesh met hers. 

“There are some places where I can keep you safe,” He explained, all of his thoughts spewing forth as his mind raced to prove that he could keep her safe enough for short visits. “Places where my Father doesn’t have the loyalty of the subjects, but they are loyal to me. I have a cabin, just along the borders of Summer and Winter. Close enough for you to run across either should the need arise. I’d prefer Summer, there is a temple not far from the border where you could claim sanctuary until Rhysand or one of the brutes could get you.”

“Eris…” 

“Please,” He implored. “I do not wish to scare you away or force you to come. But I cannot stay separated from you much longer. My brother is the one with the endless amounts of patients when it truly matters.”  She laughed, the melodic and soft sound made him feel light. 

“How often can we meet?” She inquired. Her bright blue eyes lit with anticipation of when they could have their time. 

“I can secure a few days away every month,” He explained, almost more to himself than her as he considered the variety of excuses he would need to utilize. “Maybe up to a week at most. The time of month would need to vary as well. Any semblance of a pattern would tip my Father off. He’s just paranoid enough to assume that I’d be planning some type of conspiracy against him.” Of course, his Father’s fears were not without reason. Eris was indeed planning to usurp the High Lord. Someday. 

“Alright then,” She beamed. “I will come and visit. Every month so long as it is safe and as long as I am able to return to my sisters.” Eris felt the corners of his mouth lift up, and soon she mirrored the expression. His heart flipped, and he had to clear his throat to regain control of his senses. 

“Then I shall send word when everything is ready.” He stood, preparing to leave when she clasped his hand again. 

“Stay for a while Eris,” Her voice was soothing, making it feel like she wasn’t giving him a command. Even if she had, he would have gladly done anything she bid of him. He knew in that instant he would do anything for her. 

General Tag list: @loving-and-dreaming @samslulumelon

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 9

Summary: 

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

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

Warnings: 

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

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, Eira has no idea how to deal with her sister, Azriel kills two Mountain Lions that try to kill him first, Rhys and Cassian are very amused and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

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

He had known it was going to come. In the end, he was surprised that it took Mor that long.

Azriel was in his room at the House of Wind, working on some of the never-ending piles of paperwork when it happened. It started with a soft knock on the door, quiet and hesitant. And then without waiting for a response, the door pushed open, revealing Mor on the other side, her expression solemn.

His eyebrows rose.

“Can we…Can we talk, Az?” She asked, her voice shaky. Azriel's eyes swept over her quickly, taking in her expression- the way her face was so solemn, the worry clear in her eyes.

Azriel was suddenly filled with the strange, almost certain knowledge that he would not enjoy this conversation. "Of course," he said quietly.

Mor stepped into his room and then her eyes caught at the Wall, at “Azriel’s obsessive chart of Eira’s life”, a grin overtaking her features.

He grimaced faintly at the sight of the notes. He knew how it sounded, how it looked. Obsessive was a good word for it, though Azriel would have preferred the word organized in this specific instance.

"Ignore that," he said drily as she approached it.

Mor ignored his words and stepped even closer, her eyes skimming over some of the different notes and observations.

"Did you make a timeline of everything you know about her life?" She sounded somewhere between amused and baffled, and Azriel just let out an annoyed breath.

"It's the most organized way of making sure I have all the facts in order," he protested, rising slowly to his feet.

The timeline had been an impulse more than anything, but it had ended up being a good way of making sure he didn't miss anything important. Anything he needed to know, or should know, to be a good mate to her...and he knew how it looked.

"Did you have to highlight the important facts?" Mor asked, and Azriel scowled.

"Yes. It saves time."

She just rolled her eyes and turned to face him. "You do realize how stalkerish this looks, right?"

"It isn't stalking," he said, folding his arms. It was just...a very detailed timeline of her life, highlighting all the information and knowledge that he needed to make sure he was the best mate he could be.

It wasn't stalking .

Mor just looked at him steadily for a few seconds, her face a mixture of concern and incredulity.

"Right," she said finally. "Because having a timeline of a female's entire life, with every piece of important information marked in different colours, obviously has nothing at all to do with stalking."

Azriel made a low grumble but didn't disagree. He had never denied the...obsessive part of the information he had gathered on her.

"Call it what you will," he grumbled. "I just...like being prepared. I like...making sure I know important information."

Mor's expression softened then, and she stepped towards him, her eyes flickering over his face, studying his expression.

"I get that," she murmured. "But can I ask you something?"

Azriel shrugged, his eyes watching her carefully. This conversation wasn't going the way he'd expected, and that almost made him more nervous.

"Ask away," he said quietly, his voice a little stiff. 

She stopped right in front of him, sighing softly and looking at him steadily. "Are you in love with her?"

The question was blunt and came out of nowhere. It took him completely by surprise, and it took him several seconds to gather his thoughts sufficiently to answer.

He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts together. "I..." He paused, his mind still reeling from the shock of the question. “She’s my mate,” he finally said. “I didn’t treat her how I should have treated her. None of us have. And I am working on getting to know her, finding out why the cauldron thinks we work well together. I enjoy the time we spent together. I adore her.”

Mor's eyes flickered over his face, studying his expression as he spoke, watching his reaction to her question. A long moment passed as she studied him.

"That's not an answer," she said softly. "You didn't actually answer my question."

“I am falling in love,” Azriel said quietly. “More and more with every evening we spent together, with every conversation we have, with everything I learn about her.”

Mor stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. And then-

"Are you happy?"

The question was quiet, almost whispered.

Azriel smiled faintly, looking at her. "Never been happier," he answered honestly.

Mor let out a breath, and she closed her eyes for a moment, looking like it was a relief to know the answer to her question. "Good," she said quietly, opening her eyes, and he could see the relief in her gaze. "That's...good."

“But that’s not why you are here,” Azriel said quietly.

Her expression darkened then, and she shifted on her feet, her eyes darting away, looking...uncomfortable. Her hesitation was enough to set off alarm bells in his head.

"What?" he asked, his voice tight. " What is this about, Mor?"

”I…I owe you a long overdue apology,” Mor said quietly.

He went still, shock flooding through him as he stared at her. For a few seconds, he was completely stunned. “You...” Azriel mumbled faintly. “You...want to apologize?”

”Yes. I owe Cassian one as well…for using him as my buffer for five whole centuries but I owe you one for…leading you on.”

He stared at her in stunned silence for a long few seconds- just processing the words, the implication of her words, her confession. He had...always known, always suspected, that Mor hadn’t returned his feelings, that she couldn’t return his feelings and was just using him, but hearing her say it- admitting it- stung all the same.

He stared at her in stunned silence for a long few seconds- just processing the words, the implication of her words, her confession. He inhaled deeply, trying to keep his control and his expression neutral.

"Why now?" he whispered, his voice a little strangled. "Why...why are you apologizing now? After all these years?"

"Because I messed up," Mor admitted weakly. "Because I...Rhys had a talk with me. I can't even remember the last time I saw him that angry outside of wartime, Az. And I realised that I...I need to do better ."

Azriel's breath hitched faintly at her words, his eyes closing briefly. He had...suspected that Rhys had talked to her- but he hadn't known that she had been on the receiving end of a truly furious High Lord. Which was a shock in itself, but it was a welcome shock. Mor wasn't his...but she was still one of his friends, and he just wanted her to be happy.

"You are only the first one in line I owe an apology to," Mor said weakly. "I owe one to Cassian too. And to Eira."

"We all owe Eira an apology," Azriel said tightly. "We fucked up. We are trying to fix it, but it will take years for her to even start getting over what we did. We are her family. We should have done better."

Mor's expression darkened, and she exhaled slowly. She looked...ashamed almost, her eyes flickering towards his wall. The wall was covered in notes about Eira and her life.

"We should have," she admitted quietly, a little bit choked. "We should have...done so much better, should have been better...and we're going to have to work very hard to fix it. But don't change the topic, Azriel," she said pointedly. "I should have treated you much better as well."

He exhaled slowly, his entire chest tightening further at her words.

"It's...it's fine, Mor," he murmured quietly, trying to convince himself as much as her. "It's...you...you don't owe me an apology. You never did-"

“Yes, I do,” she interrupted, her voice a little harsh as she cut him off mid-sentence. “Az, I…I have been a terrible friend for 500 years. I made sure to keep you as a backup plan, knowing that you were in love with me, and I never even gave you the slightest bit of respect, or affection, despite everything you have done for me...despite everything you do, every day, for all of us.”

Her voice was becoming a little strangled as she spoke, a hint of a pleading tone entering her words as she continued to speak.

“You’ve been one of the most loyal males I’ve ever met, and you…you deserved more than what I gave you. I led you on for centuries. I…I used you-”

His chest felt tight, almost aching at her words, and it was so hard to just stand there, listening to her as she admitted everything he had known for centuries. But it stung just the same to hear her say it out loud. To hear her say she had been leading him on - using him- for centuries.

He took a slow, deep breath, looking away from her, trying to get his emotions back under some measure of control. "Why?" he asked finally, his voice hoarse. "Why...why did you...do it? Why…why lead me on, if you knew you were never going to return my feelings?"

Mor inhaled shakily, her own voice soft now, sounding like she was struggling with her own emotion.

“Because I’m a coward,” Mor admitted softly, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I’ve always been a coward…and I was scared. I was scared of losing the way my life was, the...the way we were. I was...a coward...and I was selfish. And…I hurt you because of it. I’m sorry, Az.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, the words ripping at him and easing the tightness in his chest at the same time.

His heart was still thudding, a strange mixture of a thousand emotions flickering through him. There was still pain, and a hint of anger, and a little bit of longing- but there was guilt, too. Some of this...some of it was on him.

“I wasn’t exactly perfect either,” he said quietly.

Mor laughed then, a soft, choked, sad laugh.

“You are the most loyal person I have ever met, Az. The most selfless, devoted person I have ever known.” She paused, looking at him steadily. “You are a far better person than you have any right to be. You deserve so much better than what you got- and I am deeply ashamed for all the pain I caused you.” She sighed. "I could never be what you wanted or what you needed...But I think...I think Eira could be that for you. If you give her a chance," she said quietly.

Azriel stared at her in silence for a moment, the thought of Eira filling his mind. He thought of her…of his mate, of the quiet, gentle female- how she smiled, and laughed, how she blushed- and how she loved. How she was so kind and caring, and so very...honest.

And how much he wanted- needed- to spend the rest of his immortal life with her.

"I want to," he admitted quietly, his voice almost a little hoarse. "I...I really do."

Mor smiled faintly, a flash of something flashing across her face. Pride, and sadness, and hope all at once.

“Good,” she said quietly. “Good…because I think you two could be so, so, happy, Az. And you both deserve that happiness. And I am...so, so, sorry it took me this long to see it. So be happy, Az. Be happy."

It was more of a closure than he ever thought he would have.  It was. Mor's apology, her confession…

It was a final nail in the coffin, a confirmation of what he had long suspected. He was finally starting to get over the centuries-long obsession- and closure seemed to be the final piece he had still been lacking.

And so, when he did get to see Eira that evening...when the two of them took a slow walk along the Sidra, her hand curled into the crook of his elbow and she told him about her day in that quiet, gentle way of hers... a part of him relaxed.

A tiny piece of himself relaxed. The tension he hadn’t realised he had been carrying for centuries faded.

He was still working on getting to know her, still getting over what had happened in his past, with Mor. But he felt lighter in an odd way. Freer than he had been for centuries .

This was who he wanted, he thought. Eira wasn’t just his mate, or the female for whom the cauldron had made him, she was perfect .

She was quiet and gentle, and so very soft-spoken. She made him smile, and he loved how soft her hand felt, her small and slender fingers curled into the crook in his elbow, her slim, slender frame moving alongside his so very comfortably.

She knew how to make him laugh without trying. How to set his heart racing, and how to make him feel completely at peace all at the same time.

Everything about her felt like perfection- like she had been crafted just for him. In some ways, she had been. The cauldron had decided that she and he would be perfect together, but he was realising now how much the cauldron had been right.

And that he got this with Eira…it was a fucking privilege. She had every right to turn him down and to find herself a male who didn’t behave utterly idiotically and didn’t see what was right in front of him until it was already too late.

"What are your birthday wishes this year?" he asked Eira as they continued their slow walk, taking in the sights and scents of Velairs. 

He had an idea…but if she wanted something else…

Eira was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she mused on the question. And when she spoke- her voice was even softer than usual. Filled with an odd sort of hesitance."You don't need to get me anything," she said softly. "Just...just be there."

His heart stuttered faintly at the words, and he turned to look at her, his eyes flickering over her face as he took a moment to process her answer. He had expected her to say something else, to ask for something from him. But her answer...it was so simple, so...so honest it made something in his chest ache.

"I'll be there," he promised her. "But I more thought along the lines of something you could unwrap.

Her cheeks blazed with colour and for one moment he didn't understand what that was about before he did.

Something she could unwrap.

The words hit him with the force of a wrecking ball, his imagination immediately going to something...less than innocent. He had not meant the comment to come out that way- but the words had come out, and judging by the way her cheeks were burning, his mate had got the exact same implication out of his words that he had.

She inhaled sharply, her cheeks burning brighter now as her eyes widened.

“A book or embroiders floss or...or...or something," he finished feebly, struggling to keep his words - and thoughts - in check.

Get a hold of yourself, Azriel scolded himself silently.

It was not proper to have these sorts of...ideas...about his mate. He was supposed to be wooing her- getting to know her - not imagining the things her request had inadvertently made him think of.

But...but he still hadn't been able to push the image out of his head now that it was there. Her, laying on his bed- his bed- and-...

He forced himself to change the subject. To think of something else. Anything else.

And then he was doused in cold water at Eira's next words: "Are you angry at Elain?"

He was startled, her words yanking his mind away from the thoughts that had been running rampant and forcing him back to reality.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding a little strained as he came back to the present moment

She is worried about you at Elain's wedding, Master, his shadows whispered.

Azriel went still as he slowly replayed the words in his head.

She was...worried about Elain's wedding? Worried about him?

Why? he demanded.

Because she thinks you could see her and want her and not your mate, The shadows hissed back. We told her you could never want The Seer again.

He was rendered quite speechless by the words. She...thought he could…

Azriel was frozen in place, his mind working furiously as he struggled to process the words, to wrap his head around them.

She...She was worried ? About him? Because she was afraid he would still feel something- anything - for Elain? Did Eira honestly think that he could ever want Elain again after what she did?!

It was...insane, but the very idea that she might have been worrying about him - that she had been concerned about his reaction at the wedding - was oddly touching, as well as completely stupid.

Did she honestly think he would have wanted Elain even after finding her? After knowing she was his mate?

Eira was worried. Worried he would look at Elain and want her instead. She was sweet, kind, and gentle...and yet she was so very insecure. She didn't think herself to be worthy of being his mate- which was the most ridiculous thing possible.

And Azriel knew that he hadn't made any of it any better.

He wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and shower her with reassurances, but he had no idea how to convince her he would never, ever, want anyone else.

Eira was...so perfect, so sweet and soft and gentle- And she didn't think she was enough.

She didn't think that he could want her, because of Elain of all people.

It made his chest ache, the way she felt about herself, about her place in his life, and the fact he had done nothing to make her think he cared. He had not made her feel wanted. Wanted by him.

She had no reason to be worried; no reason to be insecure. And yet she was, and it broke his heart to realise that some of that insecurity had to do with him. He had failed to set her mind at ease, to convince her that there was no one in this entire world that he could want but her.

He hadn't done anywhere near a good enough job of convincing her that she was the only one for him. He hadn't done a good job at all to soothe her worries, to make her feel better about herself. To make her feel...loved.

He had not shown her how much he valued her, his sweet, beautiful mate, and he had done nothing to convince her that she was the only one for him.

"You really think that I will ever be able to look at Elain with anything other than hatred, ever again?" he asked her quietly. "After what she did ? After what she tried to take from us?"

Her eyes widened faintly, a hint of surprise on her face as his words sunk in.

She looked stunned, and a little ashamed, before something else flickered across her face. Hope, or something like hope, and relief. Relieved that the idea he might have still...wanted Elain to be his mate was so laughable to him.

"I am livid," he said, his voice strangely calm. "What she tried to take from us...what she tried to deny us...I will never forgive her for that."

He paused for a moment, his own words sinking in as he felt them.

Angry.

The word echoed in his mind, but it didn't seem to cover the depth of the emotions inside him.

He had always wanted a family. Had always wanted children. Had wanted what he himself had never had as a child. He had wanted to have a mate, and a family, and everything that came with having a mate and a family.

Centuries of watching others find that kind of happiness while knowing that the chances of it happening for him were so slim…

So many years of being so very alone, and wishing for something that he was starting to think wouldn’t ever happen to him. And after having finally found it- he was pissed that someone had tried to take it from him.

And there was guilt, too, if he was being honest with himself. Guilt for having been so stupid, foolish enough to fall prey to Elain's manipulations, to let himself be played like a puppet by her words and subtle tricks.

He had been so blind, letting himself be fooled by her for so many months, and in the end, it was only the miracle of the cauldron's intervention...the very thing Elain had been trying to prevent, in order to hurt him...that had led him to his mate.

And now…

He was angry and guilty and a dozen other things all at once.

Eira was staring at him, a mixture of stunned surprise and shame on her face, and a wave of realisation swept over him. "You do not ever, ever need to worry about my feelings for Elain again," he pledged. "I swear to you."

Her shoulders sagged faintly, a wave of something like pure relief washing over her face, and a flash of shame and embarrassment flickered in her eyes.

She looked a little sheepish as if her insecurity was something to be ashamed of, and he knew that he needed to say more. Needed to reassure her that her fears, her own insecurity, were a mistake and that she had been worrying over nothing.

"Elain…" Azriel began slowly, drawing a breath to steady his own emotions. "She...she was someone I found...physically attractive. She is beautiful and charming. But that is as far as my feelings for her ever went. That is all she ever was - all she will ever be to me. Elain is also one of the ugliest people I ever met, driven by jealousy and envy. She tried to keep her vision from becoming reality. For no other reason but her own jealousy. She hurt you, Eira. She hurt you and she tried to take our children from us."

He paused then, a flash of rage filling his veins as he thought about everything Elain had done.

Trying to stop him and Eira from mating...trying to deny them their children...

Trying to cause Eira such pain, to the point of tears, and for what?

Jealousy.

She had hurt his mate because she had been jealous.

Trying to stop her vision from coming true...she hadn't just been hoping that his and Eira's mating wouldn't happen. She has been actively trying to prevent it. She had manipulated and played him like a fool, letting him believe that she cared for him, all the while…

All the while, she had been plotting, trying to push him away from his mate, trying to cause problems between them...

And he had just...let her. He hadn't even realised what was happening, so wrapped up in her words and her lies.

"I hate her," he said quietly, his voice almost a growl. "I hate her. I hate her for what she did to you. For what she tried to take from us. The only reason why she isn't dead right now, why I didn't slaughter her the moment I found out, Eira, is the fact that she is your sister," he spat out.

Shock rippled across Eira's face, her mouth falling open in surprise at the venom he spoke with.

He meant every word of it too, his hatred for Elain burning in his veins.

The only reason Elain was still alive was because Eira would have been devastated if he killed her. It was the only thing that had stopped him from taking her head, the knowledge that it would hurt his mate if he did.

"If anybody else, anybody else at all, had laid their hands on my mate or on my children, I would have killed them. Damn the consequences," he hissed. "So yes, Eira. I am angry at Elain," he said evenly. "And you do not ever need to worry about my feeling for her ever again."

Eira stared at him, grey-blue eyes wide.

And Eira was watching him silently as he slowly calmed himself down, her face still stunned, but...somehow more relaxed than she had been moments ago.

As if she had needed to hear him say it as much as he had needed to say it. To know for sure that he was telling the truth - to hear him say he hated her sister, and hear him say he could never, ever look at Elain the way he looked at her.

She reached out for him, one small, soft hand against his cheek. There was no disgust on her face. If anything...there was pride there.

"Anybody else lays a hand on our children...you'll kill them," she said, her voice even. "Do not hesitate. Do not for one moment think that I do not want you to do it, that I will hate you for it, that I will judge you for it."

He stilled, stunned a little by her words.

He had been expecting...something. Discomfort, shame, or disgust at his hatred for her sister.

Instead, there was...pride, and...approval.

She...she wanted to know that he would kill for their children.

That he would kill for her, and wouldn't hesitate to do it.

The realisation sent a shiver down his spine.

Nobody had ever approved of his penchant for violence before.

Nobody had ever seemed...happy, to know how far he would be willing to go to protect his own.

And Eira - his sweet, gentle, shy, kind mate - was looking at him like it was a good thing that he would hunt down and kill for his own.

"You..." he started, stunned, as he struggled to find the words to say. "You... don't mind that I...hate her," he said slowly. "You...don't care if I kill people. To protect you - and our children."

She shook her head, the hint of a smile crossing her features.

She was...pleased. She looked....proud, that his protective instincts - his ruthless fury - would extend to her. To his mate. To protect her and their children, and anything else he considered to be under his care.

"Anyone who threatens us, you can kill," she said simply. "I will never condemn you for it. Never."

See Master, you should have let us kill The Seer, the shadows sniped.

He wrapped her in his arms, the tight coils of tension in his stomach relaxing a little as he held her tightly against his chest.

"I’ll make mistakes, as I have before. I’ll say the wrong things. I’ll probably even make you cry at some point. But I will never want anyone but you. Not Elain. Just you," he pledged in a whisper. She exhaled, her shoulders unfurling. The right thing. He had said the right thing. This...this right here, the feel of her in his arms, the sound of her steady breathing against his chest, and the soft smell of snowdrops that clung to her...this was all he needed.

His mate. Her, here, in his arms.

Just Eira.

***

Eira wasn’t allowed into the kitchen. It should probably amuse her that the twin wraiths that she called friends had thrown her out. Cerridwen and Nuala had told her that they were going to be busy with birthday preparations the whole day and that Eira wasn’t allowed to enter or she was going to destroy the surprise. 

She didn’t even want to know what the surprise was. 

So instead, she spent her day amusing Nyx in the morning before Feyre took him to a painting lesson, had her lesson with Rhys, and then disappeared into her own room to continue her sewing. 

The shadows were very helpful these days. No need for her to pin anything, they did that. They also marked the hemline on all the dresses and helped organize her embroidery floss by wrapping it around little wooden floss keys that fit into a storage container just for that. 

Another one of those things that had just suddenly appeared in her room. She hadn’t asked questions.

Today, she put the last few stitches into a gown she had made. Quite frankly…it was lovely. One of her better work if she said so herself.  

Layers upon layers of tulle and silk…overlaid and embroidered, sparkling in the afternoon sun.  She stitched the last button on the back of it and then closed it on her mannequin, stepping back to look at her work. 

It was…beautiful. 

It was then, that the shadows came rushing around, draping the shawl she had made out of one of the pelts Azriel had given her over the gown…. dropping a pair of matching shoes on the floor next to the dress.

The gown and slippers, and a delicate-looking, silver-threaded bag, the shawl made out of the fur of a mountain lion…something that even in Prythian was so utterly expensive that people didn’t just simply buy it. 

It...it was beautiful.

It wasn't just a gown. It was an ensemble.

It was perfect. She wanted to see herself. The image was something she ached to see. Imagined herself twirling in a cloud of glitter and lace, hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders and… Gods, she wanted to wear it.

There was a sudden knock at the door. The Morrigan , the shadows supplied, sounding...she didn't even have words to explain how they sounded.

Mor? What did she want from her?

Eira's heart skipped, and she quickly turned towards the door.

“Come in!” Eira called, fiddling with a thin tulle wrap she had originally made to go along with the gown. It was the one piece where she had figured that if she was careful enough and kept the lightning between her fingers very steady…she could burn the edges of the fabric and seal them. No more need for hemming on these tissue-thin fabrics. No need for a mental breakdown.

At least the lightning at her fingertips was useful for something . 

Still, Eira didn't understand what Mor wanted with her. She hadn't spoken to the other woman in a while, and...well, honestly Eira wasn't quite sure what Mor thought of her. Or wanted with her in the first place. 

"I ...I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time," Mor asked as she stepped into her room, taking in the gown still on the mannequin. "Or am I interrupting anything?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Eira assured her. Her work had been finished, and she had been waiting the past hour anyway for Azriel to arrive, so no, she wasn't in the middle of anything important. "...Did you...need something?"

"I wanted to apologise," Mor said quietly. "What I said to you...during that dinner...that you were pretty much useless as far as cauldron made went..." she shuddered as she recounted the words. "It was...out of line. I meant it as a joke, but it wasn't funny."

Eira stilled, stunned into silence for a moment as Mor apologized. It...she hadn't really been expecting an apology for those words, for that comment that Mor had said so dismissively that night…

As far as cauldron-made goes, she is pretty much useless.

It had hurt her. Of course, it had. But she had buried it deep down, where...deep down with everything else that had been said.

But...here she was. Mor was actually, genuinely apologizing.

"I -," Eira started, still stunned. She didn't really know what to say in response - how could she, had she really been expecting Mor to truly apologize for something she had said what felt like ages ago?

Something that might have been dismissed as a throwaway, joking comment, but...it still hurt. Still left her feeling like...like it was true

"Please," Mor said quietly, cutting across Eira’s thoughts. "Please don’t try and claim you weren't hurt. I know I said something awful. I was...I was being thoughtless. And stupid. And...I’m sorry."

Eira bit the inside of her cheek, unable to help the flash of surprise that went over her face.

She...didn't know how to react to Mor apologizing. She was supposed to...accept the apology, of course. But it felt...strange, to actually hear it.

And Mor....she really was sorry. Eira could see it in her face - see that she truly regretted the callous words.

"I...I was hurt," Eira answered honestly after a moment, and she saw a brief wince pass over Mor's face in response. "But...but I..."

No. She shouldn't say it, shouldn't admit that she had already shoved the words away. That she was...used to this. Used to being dismissed, pushed aside, and thought of as useless.

That this was normal for her. It was a little pathetic like that.

It stung, but...she was so used to it, the sting... it had been a familiar sensation.

But...no, Mor looked so contrite, and so...hurt, and all Eira could do was swallow the words.

"I...I accept your apology," Eira managed, and it was the truth. Mor had admitted that it had been wrong, had apologized, and...it was more than she had ever gotten from most people in her life. 

And now the Morrigan looked relieved, as if she had truly thought that there was a chance Eira would have refused to accept the apology."I - thank you," Mor said quietly and then gave her an almost shy little smile. "The dress looks lovely, by the way," she said, her gaze running over the gown clinging to the mannequin.

Eira glanced back at the gown, running a gentle hand over the fabric.

She had worked so hard on it, and...it really had turned out rather lovely.

"Ah - thank you," she murmured back, quietly touched at the praise from the other woman.

Maybe they could all…move on.

Eira returned her shy little smile, and her heart felt...lighter, all of a sudden.

Mor...she had apologized, and they were…moving on.

And when her birthday dawned the next morning…the fact that Elain wasn’t there, wouldn’t be there…it was alright.

Feyre had sent a gift, and Eira had added the hair ribbons she had made months ago to it. 

It was all she allowed herself to think about her twin sister that day. 

The surprise ended up being a raspberry and chocolate cake, and there were far more gifts on the table than she had ever expected, and a few that even made her cry as she opened them - Cassian and Rhys, as it turned out, weren’t completely hopeless with gifts.

A whole stack of books from Nesta, everything from embroidery to romance novels that she was sure to make her blush…To her incredible surprise, sheet music from Cassian. Human sheet music for her harp. She had been playing by ear and memory but with that…she wouldn’t need to anymore. 

Lengths of fabric and ribbons from Feyre, supplies for her craft, and even the incredible spun gold and silver she used for embroidery only sparingly, because getting it was horribly expensive… a glossy, dark wooden sewing box on legs from Rhysand, that she could pull out. 

It was beautiful.

"It should be used," Rhys told her quietly. "It used to be my mother's. But I think she would much rather have it be used than quietly languish away."

The gift rendered her speechless for a moment.

Rhys...had given her a family heirloom, of sorts - a sewing box that had belonged to his own mother. Because....he thought that it should be used.

Not only was it beautiful, but the simple act of giving it...it was a gesture that spoke volumes. Eira traced a hand over the polished surface of the box, running trembling fingertips over the intricate designs that had been carved into the wood.

"You should keep it in the family," she protested. He should keep it...maybe if Feyre and him ever had a daughter…

"It will be in the family. You are family," Rhys said with a smile, and for a moment, she wondered if she would cry.

He considered her family, and - it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes to hear him say that. "We are all family here, Eira," he assured her, giving her a wink as he added. "And I think my mother would much prefer for the box to be well and truly filled with supplies. So...I expect it to be covered in threads and needles and other things by the time this year is over."

She gave a little watery laugh at his words, as she nodded.

His mother...Rhys’ mother...she would want it to be filled to the brim, wouldn’t she?

She would want the box to be used, not to languish quietly the same way it had for who knew how long.

“I promise you, I will fill every spare inch of it,” Eira vowed. 

"Good," Rhys said, looking quite satisfied as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "Now open the gift from Mor. I'm afraid Cassian and I had to supervise to make sure she didn't get you something truly appalling."

She laughed wetly but did unwrap Mor's gift, which turned out to be a very innocent handbag, that she actually quite liked. But even with all of these gifts unwrapped, a small pile of wrapping paper behind her...there still was a mountain left.

"From whom are the rest of the gifts?" Mor wondered.

“Oh, I have an idea,” Azriel said darkly.

It made her jump, when the shadows gleefully announced Happy Birthday!

Eira's head snapped sideways, blinking in the direction of where they were flickering around Azriel.

For a moment, Eira felt a little bewildered, as she took in the massive pile of gifts that were left, and turned, looking back at Azriel. The sheer number of the gifts...and she could tell, from the looks on the other's faces, that they weren’t expecting the amount either.

She glanced back at Azriel and the shadows as they flickered and twined around him, nearly gleefully. "What..." she managed weakly. "What are all of these...?"

Gifts! they said proudly. We got you gifts too!

She froze, and then her jaw dropped.

But - there were...there were so many, and the shadows...they had gotten her gifts, the same way everybody else had and -

She took in the huge pile of them, her eyes wide as her heart gave a pang at the sheer size of the little mountain.

They hadn’t just gotten her a single gift.

They had....gotten her dozens.

"I see that," she said weakly. "Are you sure you needed to buy that many?"

They seemed a mixture of offended and insulted that she would even question their decision, which...she probably should have expected, given that they had been rather...intense about the gifts. Of course, they would take offence to her not wanting gifts.

Azriel rolled his eyes a bit at the response, and chuckled. "They were very...specific about the amount, sweetheart," he murmured dryly. "I stopped them after this, they wanted to get even more," he admitted with a sigh.

"Of course they did," she said faintly, her eyes wide as she looked at the pile again.

Of course, they wanted even more than this.

They had been adamant about this, and...and… There had to almost be two dozen wrapped packages, maybe more.

"Well, unwrap them!" Nesta demanded.

She knew better than to argue with her oldest sister, so she did. 

Eira didn’t know what was more shocking…the three boxes of jewellery she gained, one of them with a necklace that featured sapphires the size of chicken eggs…Or maybe the four new dresses, all of them more expensive and luxurious than she had ever imagined.

Or the entire chest of craft supplies –thread, fabric of all colors, needles to match, scissors, pins, needles, beads, sequins, and other little decorations that almost had her head swimming just looking at.

As it was, she was rendered so speechless that even Nesta seemed rather...shocked at the jewellery, eyeing one of the bracelets that were nearly as thick as Eira’s wrist and made of thick, solid white gold.

"Bloody hell..." Cassian mumbled, as Eira unwrapped box after box, and it felt like the pile just kept on going.

Some of it was practical - new scissors, new thimbles, the sort of things that were...necessary. Other pieces...the jewellery, the dresses, the sheer amount of craft supplies... had her feeling a little stunned.

"How often do they play the lottery again?" she asked Azriel weakly, making him laugh when she finally unwrapped the last piece.

"They had 500 years, to amass a fortune," he said drily. "And never really anybody to spend it on."

She couldn’t help but laugh too, as he reminded her of that very relevant fact.

500 years...and they had never had someone they wanted to spend on.

"Thank you," she told them earnestly. "But next year, you could just buy me...one or two things and not...three dozen."

They pouted, but...she was pretty sure she could actually convince them to not get quite as many gifts next year. Just...not so many.

She was sure she would have plenty left over for the following hundred years after all.

"It does make my gift maybe pale in comparison," Azriel said drily, as he carefully lifted a box onto her lap. "Happy Birthday, Eira."

She huffed at him. "Don't be silly, I know I’m going to love whatever you give me," she assured him quietly, as she carefully peeled away the wrapping paper.

A moment later, she jumped in surprise at the little mrrrp that came from the box.

She froze, her heart leaping into her throat, and she was about to ask what had just made that little noise when she suddenly heard a soft purring sound.

For a moment, she just...stared down at the box, before glancing up at Azriel for confirmation.

"She missed you," he just said softly. "My mother felt like it was very unfair to keep her when she seemed to have picked her person already."

Her eyes went wide, as it sank in what was in the box.

Azriel’s mother’s kitten. The white one that she hadn’t seen since it had clung to her so desperately For a moment, she just...sat there, speechless, before she looked up at Azriel, eyes wide.

She reached down, and gently lifted the fluffy white ball of fur from the box, holding it carefully in her hands.

The kitten... looked up at her with those wide blue eyes and mewed again.

And then it...climbed into her lap, curling up, and purring contentedly.

She was nearly shaking as she gently stroked its soft fur.

The little kitten...it was even more beautiful than she remembered, its fur as soft as the silk of one of her new dresses. It nuzzled itself against her, and then its little eyes slowly drifted shut as it began to fall asleep. She...she didn’t know what to say, still stroking the soft, soft fur as the little ball of fluff in her lap purred itself to sleep.

She...loved it.

And the fact that it fell asleep so easily in her lap as if Eira was the only option it would ever accept… made her tear up a bit.

She turned in her chair to face Azriel, still stroking the little kitten in her lap.

"I..." her voice caught in her throat, overcome with emotion as she continued to stroke the impossibly soft fur. "I love...I love her," she managed the tears that had threatened to fall now running down her cheeks.

Azriel chuckled a little, before reaching out to brush a few of the tears away with his thumb.

"I know you do," he murmured softly, and gently stroked the little kitten's ears, which flicked away at the touch, even as she continued to sleep.

Eira sat there for a moment in silence, just...stroking the little white ball of fluff in her lap.

Even in her sleep, the kitten had curled into a perfect little ball, and its soft purring...it was one of the most soothing sounds she had ever heard, she was pretty sure.

It was the best birthday she ever had

"Thank you," she told Azriel later that evening as she walked him to the door of the River House. It had quieted down, Nesta and Cassian disappearing to the House of Wind, where Azriel would follow, Rhys and Feyre upstairs with Nyx.

Azriel paused at the door, leaning against the frame, and a soft smile appeared on his face.

The white kitten was fast asleep in her arms, as she smiled up at him happily.

"You’re welcome, sweetheart," he whispered and reached out to brush a few strands of hair back from her face. "Did you get everything you wished for?" he asked her softly

She nodded at his question, as she stroked the soft, impossibly soft fur of the sleeping kitten in her arms. She had more than she had ever dreamed of asking for.

She had clothes, a treasure trove of fabric and thread and crafts supplies, that little ball of fluff in her arms...and she had Azriel.

“Everything, and more,” she whispered back. "Though there is one thing..."

He raised a brow, and his lips twitched faintly.

“One thing?” he echoed, his voice still soft, as she shifted the napping kitten a little in her arms. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

She shifted a little, as she leaned on the door frame herself, careful not to wake the little ball of fluff.

A faint blush appeared on her face. “Could...could I have a kiss?” she asked with a shy smile, her voice quiet.

The request made his eyes go wide, and darken...

And then he leaned down, closing the distance between them easily, the Shadows dancing around them as he bent his head down to gently kiss her.

She melted against him, her eyes drifting shut, and for a moment, she was pretty sure her heart nearly stopped.

One of his hands came up to cup her chin, gently tilting her head up just a bit, and her knees went weak.

He kissed her softly, gently, like she was the most priceless thing he had ever touched.

Her heart gave a little pang in her chest at that, his lips moving gently against hers, as he cradled her jaw in his hand, his calloused fingertips tracing against the skin of her throat.

“Happy Birthday, Eira.”

[pit-and-the-pen]

Don't Go

For day three of @acotar-omegaverse-week :All tied up 

Summary: Azriel helps you with your heat….maybe more than you expected. 

Warnings: smut (18+), alpha/omega dynamics, mating, knots, p in v sex, slightly rough, slight breeding kink, biting, cum eating

WC: 3.4k

divider by the lovely @tsunami-of-tears

18+ below the cut

You don’t know how you had lost track of the days. You normally kept a perfect record of your cycles, in a house full of alpha’s it was necessary to avoid any awkward situations. But here you were in the middle of a walk with Azriel when you felt that thin layer of sweat bead across your forehead. The way your skin suddenly felt too tight on your body let you know it had nothing to do with the summer sun and everything to do with the fact you had miscounted by a week. 

“Azriel.” You tried to whisper, pulling on the back of his shirt. He turned around and his eyes instantly went to your face, where you could feel the sweat starting to collect. “I need to go home. Now.” His eyes dilated as he caught your scent. The full wave of your heat washes over him as he faces you. He quickly nodded at you before pulling you tight against his chest and winnowing you both back to the river house. 

You were clinging to him so tightly that he had to pry your hands off of him to get you to lay down in your nest. Being very careful not to accidentally step in it. 

“Do you remember what we talked about last time?” 

His words floated through the air. You tried your best to remember what he was talking about. 

“Do you still want my shadows here?” He saved you the energy of having to remember. Now you want to sink into the ground. YOu had asked him at the end of your last heat if you could borrow his shadows. After Nesta had found you basically pawing at Azriel’s door during your last heat, you had the idea of them being around to keep you in check. A guard that wouldn’t be affected by an omega in heat. 

You nodded. Mortification quickly overrides the pain. 

“I need you to say it, my sweet omega.” And those words coming off of his tongue sent a hard cramp through you. Your core clenching around nothing. 

“Yes. Please.” You were forcing yourself to stay seated on the ground, to wrap a blanket tighter around yourself to keep from jumping Azriel. Those two words, my omega, had every part of your brain buzzing. But you were early enough in your heat to remind yourself that Azriel didn’t want you that way. His face when he had found your scent in the hallway last time was more than enough confirmation. 

“Alright. I’ll have the maids bring you some food and water. Okay?” He got up to walk out of your room, some of his shadows staying behind, already curling up around your body as you closed your eyes and tried to get the last little bit of lucid sleep you could get. 

----

Every second was torture. His shadows wrapped around your feet keeping you rooted in place when all you wanted was the male across the house. His shadows smelled like him and it did nothing to soothe your raging omega instincts. It’s not like you haven’t thought of Azriel like that before. That forest, smokey and downright mouthwatering smell that lingered on your skin for days after you would hug him. 

The shadows at least let you have your hands. Which were doing absolutely nothing to help the cramps wracking through your body. You currently have two fingers buried inside of yourself. Slick coated your thighs and the blankets underneath you, but it still wasn’t enough. YOu tried your best to muffle your moans and cries of Azriel’s name. A small part of you was ashamed for even thinking of him but it was impossible to think clearly with the black wisps curled around your ankles and torso. The weight felt wrong. Your body is crying out for a different weight, a warmer weight that wouldn’t be coming. Neither would you apparently. No matter how hard or fast you fucked yourself on your fingers, it still isn’t enough. Fuck it. You were about to crawl out of your nest and beg Azriel to help but the shadows wouldn’t let you move. Tears leaked out of your eyes as you struggled against them. 

Just when you were about to give up, you felt one of the shadows brush across your wrist. Settling around your skin in a way that pressed your hand further inside of yourself. Then the pressure was gone, letting your hand slip back out. It happened two more times before you realized what was happening. His shadows were helping you. And it worked for a little. That peak became a little bit closer to your grasp but it slipped away again. Your body all but screaming for Azriel. Having his shadows wasn’t a replacement for the real thing. 

You were writhing in pain less than an hour later. The shadows had let up enough to let you pad off to the bathroom, helping you draw the coldest bath the house would allow for. Again, it helped only for a moment before the water felt too heavy on your skin. You tried to get out, body feeling so weak that you just slumped back down into the half filled tub. Your arms were shaking with how badly your whole body was hurting. You could only pull your knees tight against your chest as sobs started to slip from your mouth. You rubbed at the gland on the side of your neck, itchy and tight. If you had any more energy you would have been shocked with how raised the skin was. But you could only sob harder as you scratched at your mating gland. 

A heat had never hurt this badly before. You had been alive for half a century, this was far from your first time alone. You couldn’t place just what exactly was different this time but something was. A small knock from your door had you flinching. 

“Sweetheart. It’s me.” Azriel’s voice called from the other side of the door. Your body almost buzzed in excitement before horror washed over you. His voice was tight. Signaling that he didn’t want to be here. Why was he here? It was then that you noted none of the familiar shadows were in the room. They must have gone to get him when you failed to get out of the tub. Something that had a small part of you preening. Alpha’ here to take care of us. That small voice in your head purred. But he wasn’t your alpha. Wanted nothing to do with you in that way. Another sob slipped past your lips that had him knocking on the door again. You didn’t answer. More content with sitting in the tub then having to face him. Another moment went by and you heard the door click open. 

The smell from his shadows had been bad but him standing in the doorway was a new level of hell. You tried to scramble to the other side of the giant tub, desperate to put any space between the two of you. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just going to help you get out. Is that okay?” He paused, hands outstretched towards you. You ran your eyes up and down his tall frame and tried to remember how to speak. You could only nod, not trusting your voice. Azriel picked up a towel that was on the ground and approached the tub. When he picked you up, he made sure that none of your skin touched. He was so repulsed by you that he didn’t even glance at your nakedness. You knew he didn’t feel that way about you but it hurt something inside of you to see him not even react. He was an alpha, he should at least have a little reaction to an omega in heat. Regardless of how he felt about you. 

You tried to blink back the tears but you were in too much pain to stop them. You just wanted to sleep. Just wanted to be wrapped in his arms. You felt the slight fan of air from his wings as they flapped anxiously behind him. He deposited you back into your nest, carefully wrapping the towel around you to keep you covered. You expected him to run out of the room after but he was lingering at the edge of your bed. Watching as you buried yourself into the blankets. 

“You don’t have to stay. Az. I know you don’t want to be here.” You sniffled, instantly kicking yourself for how pathetic you sounded. His wings twitched again. 

“What do you mean, princess?” 

“I know you don’t want to be here right now. So just go. Thank you for helping me”

He froze. And for the first time you looked at him. His eyebrows pulled together, making his forehead wrinkle slightly. His cheeks were slightly flushed and you continued looking down. You sucked in a breath as you realized he was rock hard. You couldn’t force your eyes to look away. Not even as he spoke. 

“I thought you didn’t want me.” His words were tight. “Until my shadows started telling me every detail. Reporting back to me how sweetly you were calling my name. They were telling me how good you smelled, how wet you were for me.” His voice dropped an octave and it had your skin flushing. You didn’t have a response. 

“Do you want me to help you, omega?” You had to be dreaming. You must have fallen asleep or maybe you hit your head while you were trying to get out of the tub and this was a hallucination. Either way, you knew it couldn’t be real. Azriel wasn’t here in your room, inches from your nest offering to help you with your heat. 

“Omega?” The word was sharper this time and had you answering before you could think. 

“Yes.” 

“Yes what?”

“Yes I want you to help me, alpha.” And he was all over you then. His lips caught yours and you could have sobbed in relief. His hands chased away the scorching heat that trailed over your skin. But did nothing to help the emptiness you felt between your legs. He nipped at your bottom lip, teeth digging in in a way that had your back arching off of the bed. His scarred hands snaked up to rest on your breast. A hand going up to squeeze your nipple. You moaned his name and he pulled away from you, panting. 

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you want me? Saw the word and I’ll walk away.” 

A twinge of panic rushed through you at the idea of him leaving. So you didn't answer, only reached out for the collar of his shirt and pulled him back to you. You flipped him onto his back and crawled into his lap. 

“Yes. Yes. I’ve wanted this for so long.” You were trailing kisses over his collarbone. You started undoing the buttons on his shirt, kissing each inch of newly exposed skin until he was pulling the shirt off the rest of the way. He lifted you with one hand as you helped him slide off his pants. Not caring where they ended up as you saw his cock smack against his abs. Your mouth watered at the sight, slick dripping down your leg. He was perfect. Thick and long, a slight curve. And at the base you could already see the thicker red skin of his knot. 

You didn’t waste any time before you took him in your hand, lifting your hips up to guide him to your entrance. 

“Need to stretch you out first.” He gritted, a hand on your hip stilling your motion. 

“No. Need you now. Want your knot, alpha.” You whined, your free hand trying to bat the hand on your hip away. You didn’t understand why he wasn’t letting you sink down. You felt so empty. So close to what you wanted and he wasn’t going to let you have it. 

“I’m yours.” He said as he locked eyes with you. His hand didn’t leave but the force behind it was gone. Letting you, finally, fill yourself up with him. Your brain had stopped working. All thoughts are gone from your mind except for how perfect he felt inside of you. You chased away the last of the cramps as you started to ride him. Rocking your hips back and forth against him. A string of curses and garbled versions of his name left your lips as he tangled a hand into your hair, pulling your head back. His tongue lightly swiped over your scent gland and you exploded around him. Your orgasm leaves you seeing stars. That didn’t stop either of you. In one motion he had you pushed onto your hands and knees. The impact cushioned by the plush blankets underneath you. His thrusts were ruthless. The room filled with the sound of your bodies colliding with each other. Slick was still leaking down your leg as he wrapped your hair around his hand, pulling your back against his chest. His free hand trailed between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit until you were bucking into him. His lips were all over your neck until they landed near your ear. 

“Look at how perfectly you take my cock. Think of how good you’ll take my knot.” You whined and he nipped at your earlobe. “Do you like the idea of that? Me filling you up until you're round with my kids?” 

“Yes. Fuck. Wanna be full of you alpha.” You screamed for him. You could already feel your second orgasm rushing toward you, having no moment to come down. You could feel the edges of his knot started to catch on each thrust. You were about to beg for more, for him to fuck you harder, but a sharp feeling on your neck had you freezing in place. Not the right side of your neck, not the one that would bind you two together. Not the side you wanted him to bite. 

“Mark me, alpha. Want you. Bite me. Please. Az. Please.” You babbled. Tears streaming down your face again, but this time because you wanted him so badly. He was right there but it wasn’t enough. You wanted him permanently. Wanted your scents to fill the room, wrapped together. 

“Want me to mark this pretty neck, sweet omega?” You shook your head, crying out your pleas. He growled, the sound rattling your body. 

“Fuck. Just a little longer. Gonna cum with me?” You would have done anything he said at this moment. His knot almost locking you in place now. He was close and you could only moan and whimper as you felt it stretching you with every thrust. A few more well timed pushes of his hips and you fell apart. Right at the same time you felt him filling you up. The same moment you felt his teeth latch into the right side of your neck. Your vision blurred as tears sprung in your eyes again. The feeling so perfect that you barreled straight into your third orgasm. His mouth was clamped onto your shoulder, tongue soothing the bleeding skin. He rocked his hips back and forth as much as the knot would allow. You swore you could feel him pushing his cum further into you. 

You reached back and pulled Azriel off of your neck, joining your lips. You could taste your blood on his lips but you didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything else as you pulled him closer to you, tried to turn your body towards him as much as your current position would allow for. 

The tow of you stayed like that until his knot went down. Until he was pulling out of you. You felt his cum drip down your leg and whimpered at the feeling of losing it. 

Azriel only kissed your forehead, kissed down the path the tears had left on your face. He kept kissing down past your collarbone, your chest, until strong hands were pushing you to lay down for him. He placed sucking kisses to your plush thighs, down your legs and back up. This time his tongue collecting the trails of slick that coated your thighs. All the way until he got to your dripping cunt. You were about to say something to him, about to plead for him to hurry up when he licked a long stripe through your folds. Your hands shot to the back of his head as his tongue darted into your opening. Pushing his cum back into you. 

“Alpha.” You cried out. Eyes screwed closed as you felt wave after wave of pleasure coarse through you. There was something else there, some new edge of desire that had you reeling. You could feel his own heightened emotions. Arousal leaked off of him as he reached down to stroke his cock. He moaned into your folds, making your back arch off of the bed as you started to ride his face. He took every thrust perfectly. Not missing a beat as you used him to get off. Loud noises of your slick filling the room as you ate you out like a man starved. It was eventually too much, you were teetering from the edge again and knew it wouldn’t be enough. You needed him inside you again.

You pulled him off of you, a motion that had him growling until you parted your legs for him. It took him no time at all to cage you in, arms on either side of your head. You wrapped your hand around his leaking cock and guided him to your entrance. He pushed in so slowly you were a writhing mess underneath him as he sheathed himself full inside of you. HIs own moans matching yours as he threw his head back. Eyes squeezed closed as he started to move again. You went to wrap your legs around his waist before he stopped you, wrapping a hand around your knee to push it up against your chest. You didn;t think it was possible for him to go deeper but as he threw your foot over your shoulder you swore your vision blacked out at the pleasure. You couldn’t move. Only take everything he gave you. Each punished thrust of his hips against yours and you mewling against him. He took his time, long strong thrusts that had you clenching around him. Your nails clawed at his back, searching for any purchase against the torturous pace he set. 

“Good omega. Being so good for me. Can you take my knot again?”  

Your voice was long gone, hoarse from the screams and cries of pleasure so you could only nod, could only dig your nails into him harder to show him your agreement. He grabbed your other knee and pressed it against your chest, pulling you into a mating press that had you gasping for breath around the pleasure. You didn’t think you could cum again, but Azriel’s long strokes had you writhing underneath him. Begging for more. 

“Gonna fill you up again.” He growled in your ear. And then his knot caught again. The feeling pulling shudders from your body. A soft cry escaped your mouth as you came again. Not as hard as the first times but enough that it felt you panting underneath him. Clawing at his hair to bring his lips to yours again. 

Once both of you had calmed down a touch, he rolled the two of you over so you were on your side, legs tucked in behind yours perfectly. A part of you preened at the way he fit so well behind you, the way the two of you seemed to fit together. LIke you were made for each other. 

“I think we very well are.” He said into your ear, so close that his breath on your neck made you shudder. You didn’t think you had said the words out loud but all questions left your mind as he starting trailing kisses on the back of your neck, along the angry red skin of your newly marked mating gland. And that little press of his tongue, the way your scents filled the room. Not two scents anymore but one perfectly blended thing. It was that fact that had you drifting off to sleep in his arms. Heat perfectly quelled for the time being.

tag list: @ninthcircleofprythian @nocasdatsgay @sarawritestories @readychilledwine @milswrites @daycourtofficial @tsunami-of-tears

[lady-of-tearshed]

Lost in translation

Cassian x Reader

Cassian Week 2024

Day 4: Lover

@cassianappreciationweek

A/N: Honestly, I think that Cassian, as a lover, is a big fan of physical touch. Massages, hugs, holding hands, cuddling, having sex… That’s exactly how I imagine this male’s love language. So I thought: What would happen if our Lord of Bloodshed's mate had a completely different love language? And here's how this little fic got written. Enjoy! 💕

Summary: Cassian is worried he's being too clingy since you don't seem to show him your love with physical touches... But maybe the two of you just got lost in translation.

Warnings: Mention of nudity, but nothing explicit. Miscommunication angst. Happy ending.

Word count: 1,236k words

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

And they lived happily ever after… The end.

You snap the book close in your hands and groan. You slide the back of the book onto the nightstand, right beside your empty mug of tea, and stretch your arms above your head. You sigh at the feeling of your numb muscles stretching out after a long time stuck in the same position. You look up at the clock to check how long exactly you’ve been reading, and the realization hits you full force.

Seven whole hours. Mother above… More like “Mother’s tits”, as your mate would so graciously say.

Speaking of him, you haven’t heard much of him in a while, which was weird, since he would always be tucked at your side at any given time of the day. He would usually burrow his face in the middle of your breasts, and start kissing them sneakily once he has enough of waiting for you to finish reading. He would become insufferable if you have the misfortune to read a relatively steamy part of your book and become all hot and bothered. Cassian would always manage to make you even more flustered or aroused when this happens. 

But the General hasn't shown up for seven whole hours. Tendrils of guilt swirls around your stomach, squeezing it uncomfortably as you come to the realization that you have failed to notice Cassian’s absence until just now. You softly tug on the golden bond that shone permanently in your chest, connecting your soul with the male of your every desire, but you receive no response, as if he had blocked you out. 

You slide your cold feets into your slippers, and pick up the mug on the nightstand, bringing it with you on your quest to find the General. The house of the wind is silent, save from the fire soothingly dancing in the hearth. Your eyes scan the living room, then the kitchen… No sign of Cassian. You walk toward the sink, washing your mug and placing it down into the drying rack, all while thinking where your mate can possibly be at this time of the night. 

Your eyes move to the front door, and you notice that there still was a thin layer of snow melting under the sole of his boots. He must’ve been training until late, which means…

Just as you start to make a connection of where your mate is most likely to be, the sound of water running from the bathroom confirms your theory. You tiptoe to the bathroom, trying to be sneaky, but Cassian’s gaze is already set on you when you walk in the bathroom. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says, turning his back to you.

The water is pouring down on him, soaking his hair, droplets of water sliding down the waves of his hair, following the uneven black lines tattooed on his shoulders, sliding all the way down his back, finishing their course by caressing his muscled ass… “I wasn’t sleeping.” You admit, starting to undress, not minding at all that your mate can smell the shift in your scent. 

Cassian shoulder’s tense slightly as you walk closer to the foggy glass door, naked. You raise a brow, halting your hand on the doorknob of the shower, about to question him but he’s quicker to speak. “Y/N, don’t come in here just because you pity me.” All hints of arousal leave your body at his words, your brain blurry from trying to understand where Cassian's insecurity comes from.  

“Alright, then,” You say, stepping inside the shower, standing right behind the General's massive shoulders, hands on your hips. “Mind telling me where such thoughts come from?” Your finger taps on the back of his head slightly, insisting that he turns around to face you, to face what’s on his mind and open up to you. 

Cassian’s shoulders drop, his wings so low that they brush the shower tiles on the floor. “Cassie… My love…” You stroke the spot in between his wings in a comforting manner, and you feel his wards crumble, his emotions pouring through the bond. 

Self-loathing, pain, loneliness… 

His feelings make your own heart sting, and your face crumbles at how much pain your mate seems to suffer from. You lift his wing, and carefully slip underneath it to sneak between the wall and his face. He turns his face away from you, facing the wall. You can’t tell if it’s tears, or water that’s rolling down his cheeks. “I need you to be honest with me,” He sighs, as if trying to gather the strength to speak his next words. “Do you…” His eyebrows knit, and your eyes glance to his fists, clenching, unclenching. He was nervous. “Do you find me annoying?”

“No, Cass-”

“Too clingy maybe?”

You frown, and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “No… My love-”

“Then why is it everytime I touch you, you…” His eyes snap to yours, and you hold your breath at how bloodshot they look. From crying. “You…” His voice softens, and he has to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. “Do you like it when I touch you?” He asks in a whisper, his head tilting to the side. Pain was written all over his face.

“Oh, Cassian…” You smile sadly, opening your arms to offer him a hug. He swings you into his arms, both of you now standing under the warm water. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I love it when you touch me. What made you think otherwise?” You comfort him, kissing the side of his head lovingly. 

“It almost looks like you avoid touching me. I just… I don't know. It made me wonder if perhaps I was the one being too touchy.” He confesses, still hiding his face in the safety of your neck. 

“Hey… look at me.” You move back to cup his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “If I didn't like you touching me, I would've told you so. I promise,” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Now, if I made you feel like I was avoiding touching you, I'm sorry. It's just…” You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “I'm just… I just like to express my love differently, I guess. Like, I usually express my love with little acts of services, or words of affirmation…” 

Cassian nods slowly, and scratches the back of his head, chuckling too. “Oh…” 

There's a moment of silence where the both of you just stand naked in the shower, your hands caressing Cassian’s cheeks, the stubbles scratching your digits softly. 

Cassian’s hands wrap delicately around your wrists, and he brings one of them to his lips, pampering the soft skin of it with kisses. “I'm so sorry I didn't notice all of this… I was too focused on my own love language. And since you weren't so… Gods, I'm such an idiot…”

“You're not an idiot,” You reassure him. “You're allowed to be worried about things, Cass. I'm happy we talked about it.” 

His lips leave your wrist, and hover over your mouth, softly brushing against yours. He tucks a strand of wet hair behind your ear, and whispers against your lips. “Yeah… I'm glad we talked about it too…” Then he kisses you, his lips feeling so light against yours. So was his heart, now that you've communicated.

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Cassian Taglist: @ladybookstan @acotar-lover