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azrielsdove · 4 months

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Love and Loss: Ch. 2

Warnings: Angst, Su*cidal Thoughts ?, More Angst

Ch.1 | Ch.3

***

You sunk farther into the bath, allowing the hot water to cover your head. It was quiet under the water, peaceful. Your mind was blank, numb. You wished you felt anger, sadness, heartbreak, anything. Yet there was nothing there. Just a lonely, silent, emptiness.

You pushed back above the water, drinking in deep gulps of air. You liked to stay down until your lungs were burning, the pain breaking up the numbness. You stared across the water of your bath, watching the ripples extending from you. You may stay in here all day, reheating the water as needed. It was better than being out there.

Rhysand wouldn’t talk to you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Mor had taken him away to his room after his world shattering confession. You remained on your knees in the spot he was, your hands still out like they were holding his. Even Amren was shocked into silence, for once not having anything to say. The quiet in that room had felt like it was crushing you, convincing you that you were dying.

Azriel ended up breaking the frozen fear surrounding everyone, kneeling down next to you and grabbing your hands in his. You had looked at him, eyes wide in shock, no words coming to mind. He had simply nodded, pulling you up with him. He took you away from the townhouse that night, flying you up to his room at the House of Wind. He wasn’t sure you wanted to be in the one you shared with Rhys.

He placed you into his bed, carefully wrapping the covers around you. You knew he sat in a chair by the bed the whole night, watching over you. You didn’t sleep a single second, staring off into the darkness instead. When morning came Azriel tried to talk to you, finding you unwilling to move or speak. You were a shell, an empty being of who you once were. Az was patient, helping you out of bed, feeding you, forcing you to bathe. You moved at his will, never arguing. Truthfully, that only made it worse.

It had been weeks since Rhys came back from Under the Mountain, and you hadn’t spoken a word. You knew the cursebreaker he called his mate, Feyre, was engaged to the High Lord of the Spring Court. You also knew how much pain and sorrow that brought him. He was hurting, heart broken for a female he barely knew while his wife wasted away into nothingness beside him.

You pushed your head back under the water, considering the idea of not coming back up this time. How nice it is, floating under the water. Much nicer than watching your husband of 150 years pretend you never existed. You closed your eyes, tilting your head farther back in the water. Your lungs screamed for air, the only reminder that you were still alive. You felt calm, at peace.

You heard a sudden muffled shout from above the water and two strong arms were coming down, ripping your body out of the bubble you had created. You gasped and coughed as your lungs took in the air they so desperately needed, a voice much too loud in your ear.

“What are you thinking?! What are you doing?! Can I not even trust you to bathe alone anymore?!” The voice was frantic, angry. A warm towel was wrapped around your body, hands cupping your face. You were forced to look up at Azriel, panic all over his face. “Talk to me!” He shouted, hands tightening on your face.

You just stared at him.

He sighed in desperation, leaning his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. “Please. You can’t live like this. I need you to come back.” He whispered, the plea you had heard from him so many times recently. You wished you could, you wished you could break out of the nothingness in your heart. You wanted to come back stronger, fight for your husband, show him what he was losing.

But you couldn’t.

Azriel pulled away, picking you up and carrying you to the bed. He grabbed some of your clothes, dressing you as gingerly as he could. He braided your hair back, having taken the time to learn to make sure you would be as comfortable as possible. Always your greatest friend, Az was. He gave you a tea to drink, you dutifully finishing the cup in front of him. You did everything he asked, trying to hold on to some sort of routine. You didn’t notice the signs of exhaustion on Azriel’s face as he tucked you in, setting you up to sleep. You didn’t notice the tears that slid down his face once you closed your eyes, your breathing steadying off as rest overtook you. You especially didn’t hear the whispered “I love you,” as he pressed a kiss to your head.

***

Azriel POV

He couldn’t take it anymore. He understood that the mating bond could destroy someone, and he understood Rhysand was struggling. What he didn’t understand was how he allowed his wife to become this horrible empty shadow of herself. How could he not bring himself to care? Why was Azriel the only one taking care of her, everyone else tending to the poor, sad, High Lord?

He burst into the study, Rhys hunched over the maps on his desk. He looked up to see his friend walking in, giving him a smile. A smile. The bastard could smile, fake or not, and his wife was dying of heartbreak down the hall. Rhys caught on to the rage expelling from Azriel quickly, standing to face him. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Brother?” He quipped, testing if this anger was at him or not.

It was.

Azriel couldn’t help the slight shake to his voice when he spoke. “She is fading, Rhys. I am doing what I can to keep her body alive, but her mind is going.” His shadows were swirling over him and the High Lord, agitated. “Do you know where I just found her?” He shot at the unmoving male in front of him.

Rhys scoffed. “Surely I don’t know.” His no-care attitude about the whole situation pissed Azriel off even further. How can he act like it’s her fault the Cauldron mated him to someone else? Why is he punishing her for something outside of anyone’s control?

“She was under the water in her bath. Rhys, if I had gotten there seconds later I would be here to tell you to plan a funeral.” Azriel saw the flash of pain in Rhysands eyes, a small hope that he hadn’t completely abandoned her. Az latched on to this, stepping closer to the other male. “She hasn’t spoken. She doesn’t fight, she doesn’t argue anything. She takes everything that happens, no reaction.” He sighed, shadows calming down around him. “You need to talk to her.”

“No.” Rhys said, turning back to his desk. The anger rose back up in Azriel, How did he not care?!

“Why not?” He demanded, refusing to leave this study until he found anything that may help her.

“I don’t want to see her.”

“What did she do to you? What did she do wrong? Why are making her suffer?!” Azriel yelled, temper rising higher.

Rhys whipped around, dark power swirling around him. “She did nothing,” he snarled, “she is perfect. That is the problem. How do I look at my wife of 150 years and tell her I can’t be with her anymore?”

Azriel stepped back, stunned. “Feyre is set to marry someone else. You would throw away all those decades of marriage for a female who isn’t even yours?” His words were deathly quiet, bringing the thoughts out that Rhys was trying to hide.

A terrible silence swallowed the room, Rhys sinking back into his office chair. He buried his face in his hands, all the power from a second ago gone. He looked worn down, half of who he used to be. Azriel couldn’t help the pang of regret in his heart from yelling at him.

“I don’t know how to approach her. So much happened Under the Mountain, and I don’t want her to no longer want me due to it.” He looked up to Azriel with shining eyes. “How am I supposed to explain all the terrible things I did?”

Azriel stepped closer to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She never stopped loving you, Rhys. She’s hopelessly devoted to you, willing to be by your side through anything. She can handle it.” He said comfortingly. Rhys nodded and looked back at the ground.

“I will talk to her tomorrow.”

***

Reader POV

You woke up, waiting patiently for whatever breakfast Azriel had for you today. You were a little surprised that he wasn’t already by your side when you woke, but you knew he had a life outside of caring for you. A knock at the door had you looking over, sliding under the covers to walk over and open it.

Your heart stopped as you looked into the eyes of your husband. “Hi,” he said softly. You stood there unmoving, staring at him. For the first time in 50 years he was back in front of you, talking to you. “I, uh, have a lot to apologize for.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Walk with me?” He held his hand out, waiting for you.

You paused for a second before complying and placing your hand in his. He held on tight, like you were his lifeline and he was dying. You walked next to him as he took you through the halls of the house, heading towards your favorite balcony. The two of you had spent many nights out here, gazing at the stars and being in love.

Things were so different now.

He pulled you outside, closing the double glass doors behind you. You looked down at the blanket he had spread on the ground, your favorite meal on top of it. Your eyes found Rhys’ again, a sheepish smile on his face. “I wanted to cheer you up.” The smile fell, regret taking its place. “I never should have allowed you to hurt for so long.” You felt a stir of emotion in your chest at the distraught look on his face. Your hands found his, giving them a gentle squeeze. You pulled him to sit next to you on the blanket, reaching down to taste the meal he prepared.

You gave a soft hum at the delicious taste on your tongue, feeling a little more whole with Rhys at your side. He was watching you, taking in your appearance. It had been so long since he had been able to study you in more than old memories. “I’ve missed you.” He whispered, waiting for a response. You looked at him for a long moment, taking in the male who was your everything.

“I missed you too,” you said back, voice extremely hoarse. Rhys looked caught between a smile and breaking down into tears. You moved closer to him, holding his hands in yours. He looked down at your joined hands before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

And he cried.

He cried and cried, holding you like he would never let you go again. “I am not who I used to be,” he sobbed into your neck, “I did terrible things down there.” He pulled back and looked at you, your hands coming to cup his face. “I did so much bad down there, just to come home and continue doing it to you.” His voice was small, broken.

“It is okay, my love.” You whispered, wiping his tears away. “I am still here.”

“Barely!” Rhys shot out, arms tightening around you. “Az told me how he found you, in the tub. I was letting you suffer, all for someone the cauldron said I was fated to.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what the cauldron says. You are the only one for me.”

Your heart grew, feeling beginning to flood through you. The love you you had so desperately missed brining you back to life. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you always Rhys.” You felt him smile against you, holding you closer and kissing you again.

The two of you stayed out there for hours, kissing and sharing sweet words. You felt the broken pieces of you coming back together, healed by the love pouring from your husband. You knew you could help each other recover from what had happened, that everything would be okay as long as you were together.

***

Here’s chapter 2!! please let me know what you think so far <3

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #rhysand #rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #azriel x y/n #love and loss

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duckymcdoorknob · 2 months

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LATE VALENTINE’S POST BC IM A GOOBER AND GOT MYSELF SICK

I literally love him sm and haven’t even met him in lore yet.

Lyney my beloved I just wanna 😘😘😘😚💋😚😚😘💋😗😙😚😙😙😙💋

I just wanna give him kissies until he’s giggly and smiley and-

Under Lock and Key

Ships: Lyney x Gn!reader

Warnings: FLUFF AND FLUSTERED LYNEY

Prompt: It’s Valentine’s Day, and your lover wants to show you just how much he adores you.

Tags: Genshin taglist .3. @ticklish-n-stuff @chrimsss

You couldn’t help but chuckle when Lyney’s gloved hands covered your eyes. It didn’t take a genius to know that it was him… You almost immediately recognized the cologne he was fond of wearing.

“Hello, Lyney,” you cooed.

“Aww, how’dja know it was me?” the magician pouted.

“I’m a psychic! And my next prediction is that you’re going to show me something.” You heard him chuckling before sighing.

“Do you trust me, Mon Cher?” His voice was hushed, and you felt his fingers twitch a bit over your eyes.

“With my whole life, amour,” you answered.

“Stand up, and let me guide you,” Lyney demanded in that smooth voice that always left you swooning. “Let me be your eyes and close your own… I will lead you to what I wish to show you.”

His protective demand left you dizzy and breathless. Nonetheless, you rose to your feet and closed your eyes. You felt his hands leave their place over your face and take your own. Suddenly, you felt yourself being dragged forward; you gave into the momentum and trudged along.

The magician guided you through the streets by your hands. His acquaintances waved to him and he beamed back at them and you two continued along the sidewalk.

You had only been together for about four months, but you already knew that you were head over heels for him. “Soooo… where are you taking me, amour?” You inquired with a small smile.

Lyney turned around to answer, but his breath caught in his throat. The sunlight was hitting you just the right way, and you were shining in its rays.

“Lyney?”

“I- just- don’t move,” he demanded in a sheepish voice.

“Now you sound like your brother.” You chuckled once more, shaking your head

A few more seconds passed and still no words were spoken. You peeked open your eyes and were met with your lover’s blushing face. It seemed as if Lyney knew that he was already in love with you as well…

“Hey don’t open-“ The magician gaped at you as you stared at him. Your eyes glittered in the soft glow of the sunlight.

“What?”

Silence.

A dopey smile grew on your face as you chuckled. “What?!”

The blonde exhaled breathlessly. “I’ve truly been smiled upon by the archons. Your beauty is unmatched, Mon Ange.”

“Such a smooth talker,” you murmured, grabbing his cheeks and kissing his forehead. You stuck out your hand once more. “Now, didn’t you want to show me something?”

Lyney nodded his head and smiled, taking your hand. “Close your eyes!”

Once again, the two of you were on your way. Suddenly, you began to hear the sound of tranquil waters below. Granted, they were quite far from you, but you could steal hear the peaceful sound of trickling ripples.

“You’re not going to throw me in the lake; are you?” you asked with a chuckle.

Your love snorted and fell into a fit of the beautiful laughter you’ve always so loved to hear. “No, my rosebud, I will not throw you into the lake.” He paused and chuckled again. “But if you wish to jump together, that is a different story. How about it?”

A fond exhale from you in return gave Lyney the answer he wished.

“Okay, now you can open your eyes.”

When you fluttered your eyes open, you saw the gorgeous waters of your homeland, the court, Marcotte Station, and your beloved.

“Oh, Lyney…” you whispered, “It’s beautiful.”

“That isn’t all of it, amour.” The magician fumbled in his pocket, his fingers lacing around the objects within. “Hold out your hand.”

You obliged, feeling a cold, metal object being placed on your palm. When you looked down, your eyes locked onto a small, brown padlock, which had yours and Lyney’s initials carved into it. “A lock?”

Your lover stood closer to you, draping his arm around your waist. “It’s ours for us to lock on the fence here.”

Before you could question, he spoke again.

“I want everyone to see that we belong to one another”

Your face warmed as you gaped at him, your hand completely still, thumb grazing over the small object. “Yeah…?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

Your hand clasped around the object as you threw your arms around Lyney. He giggled as you cradled his face and peppered kisses all over it.

Eventually, the two of you knelt down in front of the chain-link fence that oversaw the water. The magician cupped your hand as you snapped the lock into place. He pulled the key out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Just in case if-“

You didn’t even let him finish the sentence before you threw the key into the water below as hard as you could. “I will never change my mind.”

Without words, Lyney pressed your foreheads together as he smiled. “This was the best thing I could think of. I thought it might have been too early to propose to you.”

You kiss his forehead and turned back to look at the lock. “I wouldn’t have thought it was too early, dummy.”

When you turned back around, Lyney was on one knee and holding a small, velvet box. He snapped it open to reveal a shimmering ring.

“Then let’s make it official.”

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

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yeyinde · 10 months

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WILLOW TREE MARCH

John Price x Reader | Fae!AU

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." "Why?" You asked, blinking at her. "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't."

—WARNINGS: 18+ | SMUT fae shenanigans, mythological nonsense; unsafe sex, smut in random places, slight exhibition kink if you squint; Dom-ish Price, soft Price, pining Price; fae trickery (dubious consent on account of the trickery but not really); unreliable narrator; ahhhhhh, body horror (??????????) —TAGS: Fluff, AU, mythology —WORD COUNT: 8,5k —Based on this ask

There's a thick forest at the edge of your town. It curves along the coastline, breaching the yawning maw of the inlet—the last safe haven before the open ocean—and can be found almost nowhere else in the entire world. A unique ecosystem comprising vaguely familiar flora and fauna. Brown and Black bears. Wolves. Sitka-black-tailed deer. Ravens. The waters that crest through the forest are full of salmon, steelhead, and river otters. On the coast of the inlet, you can find whales, sea lions, seals, orcas, and porpoises swimming offshore.

It's protected, in large part, by its sheer vastitude. Spanning a massive chunk of your home, it stretches far north with curling fingers cutting through the granite of the crumbling coast, and as deep south as its knobby knees can reach.

From above, it looks like a child curled on its side, knees tucked to its chest. It's this pose alone that makes others revere it as some sacred being, slumbering mindlessly until the day it cracks open its eyes, and awakens to the new world. A child god made of conifers, red cedar, spruce, fir, pine, birch, and hemlock. Mossy caves of granite and limestone. Thick colonies of moss, liverworts, plume moss, and common haircap.

The forest is linked to your town only by a small strip of land that juts out from a raging ravine with currents too dangerous, too deadly, to try and traverse. An archipelago all on its own, untouched by greedy, human, hands because of its placement.

It's insulated by the vast ocean on its front, and a series of insidious looking mountains ready to swallow wandering mountaineers whole if they get too close to the sleeping child. Protected and safe by anyone who might try to harm it.

You used to dream about the forest. A nightmare dredged up about whispers and calls. Lured close to the edge of the river where a man would hand you his heart—sap-stained, and charred; a brittle piece of Bristlecone pine that felt fragile and worn—and told you to come back for him. To wait for him.

You'd wake in a cold sweat each time, heart pounding so fast that it almost felt like you were dying.

(Maybe you were. Maybe you did.)

You don't know if you believe the stories told about people wandering into the gaping chasm of the forest and never coming out. It's not uncommon for people to get lost, after all. But it feels distinct and archaic. Old. Something about the way the wind howls sounds different from the other woodlands scattered around your home.

It sounds like a beckoning call. A mother calling their child home for dinner. Come to me, the Chinook bellows. Come home now, dear.

You never venture too close. You know all too well what happens to children who do.

His name is—was now, you suppose—Kyle, but no one called him that. To everyone in town, he was simply known as Gaz.

Newcomers to the isolated archipelago are a rarity—so much so that news of the new family's arrival sent waves through the community, making Gaz an instant star overnight, all without him even setting foot on the shores.

None of that mattered, though. He fit in with an ease that seems almost preternatural when you think about it, as if he was meant to be there. And maybe he was. Maybe the soft rolling valleys were destined to be his home where flowers bloomed in the spring, and Arctic tern trilled from the branches.

Gaz was unique, different.

He picked dandelions with the same intensity that picked fights with the bullies in the neighbouring town, the ones who tried to pick on the smaller kids in the community.

With his fists always covered in dandelion oil and bruises, face caught between a grimace and a grin, like he was never sure if he wanted to spit at their feet or tell a joke, he stood against the onslaught with an anger that seemed to crackle in the air like fireworks. Ready for battle. Thirsty for blood.

His anger never waned even when he turned back to the group, eyes cresting in satisfaction, and body trembling with adrenaline, and you could scent the rage in his smile, hear it in the soft words he muttered to the kids, telling them everything would be alright.

Gaz was everyone's friend. The person you told your deepest secrets to, the one you planned adventures with. He was a rock—always armed with snappy jokes to make you smile, and advice when you needed it.

He was everyone's friend—yours especially—but you can't remember if anyone was his best friend. He was polite. Distant.

It started in the summer. His hands were always cold, and he kept them shoved deep in his pockets, clenched tight around the latchkey his parents gave him.

He started to seem almost liquid then. Temporal. You'd reach for him, brushing your hands against his arms or shoulders just to assure yourself that he was really there.

You noticed that his eyes would list sideways, head tilted, slanting toward the forest. It looked to you as if he was listening to something. To some unheard noise or call that only he could hear.

When you asked about it, he'd always blink, surprised, as if you'd woken him up from a dream quite suddenly. Then, he'd smile, and shake his head.

"Don't worry about it," he'd say, shrugging. "Just the wind."

He'd bend down and pick a dandelion for you, holding it out between pudgy fingers with a grin that seemed to mimic the cresting moon.

"For you."

He picked them for three springs before he, too, became another victim of the endless forest. Another empty tomb in the overcrowded graveyard.

Missing, they said, but not forgotten.

You think about him often.

(Even more so when you, too, begin to hear your name echoing through the forest.)

Beware the woods, your grandma says. Especially when it calls your name.

(You never understood why something that sounds so comforting, so sweet, could ever be dangerous. It sounds like an old friend calling you over to play.

"Never go," she snaps, her hands lashing out to grip your arms tight. You feel her knobby fingers digging into your bones. "Never listen, and stay away—"

"You're hurting me, gran—"

Her rheumy eyes burn into yours. "Stay away—!"

(You wisely never speak about the whispers in your head, keeping them to yourself. A secret just for you.)

You leave town when you're old enough, when the hisses in your head grow too loud to ignore, and it feels as though they're scratching at your skull.

(Clawing at the walls.)

"Crazy weather, eh?" The first mate mutters nervously, eyes tilted upward as the sky darkens into an angry grey. "Came outta nowhere."

You leave, and you don't look back.

(But oh, how the forest screams.)

She calls you back several years later with a phone call. Your gran has passed.

You think you should mourn, but it's been so long since you thought of home, that you don't remember what she looks like anymore. The sound of her voice is a whisper in your head—the cadence gone, the tone flat.

But you don't cry, and you don't grieve—she's been dead for a long time now, after all. Ever since your mum went missing all those years ago, she's always seemed more of a ghost than a person. Living as if her body hadn't realised her heart was long dead.

You go back only because you think your mum would have wanted you to.

(And pretend it isn't because the silence in your head is suffocating. Without the whispers, it feels as if you're missing something. A part of yourself forever lost in the forest.

You wonder if anyone has found it by now.)

Nothing has changed since you turned your back on the town that raised you, the forest that stole from you.

It's the same buildings. The same market. The same roads. The same houses.

The people, too, seem largely unchanged by the years that have passed.

The friends from your childhood who stayed meet you at the graveyard, eyes filled with sympathy as they ask how you're doing.

She'll be missed, they lie sweetly to you. Everyone loved her.

She was a hermit, you want to scream. A woman driven mad by ghosts and fairytales and terror.

You nod, instead, and let them lead you around the town on a grand tour as if anything about this beautiful, haunting place had changed since you ran away.

It gets easier to force a smile when they ask if you're okay.

"Fine," you murmur and wonder if your voice even carries over the whispers. "Just—yeah. Fine."

North of the town is where the river separating the lonely forest carves a path, not at all dissimilar to an idyllic trough, through bedrock and sand, and flows into the sea.

The estuary is dangerous in high tide when the rapid ascent of water on the sandy shores hides the rip current that is known to form when the two bodies of water meet.

It's a dangerous place to get caught in.

This beach was impressed upon you as deadly from a young age, almost in equal—if not greater—measure than the rapacious forest across the river. You know the dangers of standing on the slippery bedrock.

But as the sun glows a burnt orange in the distance, and the endless ocean before you darkens into an almost unfathomable black, you can't help but find the view from the cliff's edge to be the most mesmerising thing you've ever seen.

It looks like a painting. A brush stroke of tigers eye in the centre of the cresting sun that gradually fades out into xanthous, and rings of hazy peach; the light of diminishing star smears coruscating rings of persimmons into the indigo water. The gradual fade into gradients as the waves lap closer to the shore is reminiscent of liquid sapphire and smelting amethyst.

The picturesque view is more befitting of a pastel postcard, an ethereal pastiche of the Ninth Wave—a moment of life imitating art, or—perhaps—the same view Ivan Aivazovsky stumbled upon when he set out to render the haunting beauty of the ocean in oil.

The cresting waves arch into curled petals of white before setting upon the sloping beach with frenzy. It's the roar of those hungry waves that seem to, if only for a moment, drown out everything in your head.

There are no whispers. No songs. No screams. Vengeful hissing can't climb to a higher decibel than the frothing waters slamming against jagged bedrock.

All is quiet—except the sea.

You lean into it. The closer you get to that precipice, the quieter everything in your head goes. Sounded sucked into the vacuum of the ocean. The endless song of the sea.

Another step. Another.

For a moment, you're free.

The forest doesn't scream for you. Your grandmother doesn't dig her teeth into your gyri, hands clawing at the space behind your eyes. You don't think of her, or your mother, or Gaz, or anyone else unfortunate enough to get consumed by this damnable place where fairy tales split the seams apart, and merge with reality.

It's peaceful.

You take another step—

A hand curls over your shoulder, tugging you back.

Anger pools, thick and acidic, on your tongue, but the flash of your ire, your vexation, is dashed by the sound the waves make when it slams into the spot you were just standing.

It slashes across the concrete as the stranger pulls you into his broad chest, heat nearly liquifying your spine.

He sucks in a breath. You feel his chest expand with it. When he breathes out, you taste gunpowder on your tongue.

"Gotta be more careful n'that, love."

You've had near-misses before. Flirted with the reaper. Ripped yourself from the jowls of death himself.

This isn't anything new.

And yet—

Your eyes drag up, meeting flat black boring down at you. His hood is pulled over his forehead, casting shadows down to his jaw.

"You—"

Your teeth sink into your tongue. Emotions lash through you like the flick of a bullwhip, shredding your skin until it's raw and oozing. The tail pulls away whenever you try to wrap your fingers around one of them—relief: you're not dead; embarrassment: how could you be so stupid; shame: saved by a stranger; and—

Visceral terror. Panic.

It bludgeons its fist down your throat, barbed knuckles clawing at the soft tissue of your esophagus until you taste blood on your tongue.

Panic tastes of ozone and leaks, thick and warm like molasse, down your throat.

"Hey," he murmurs, and the sound of his voice, his low timbre, is porous, calcined. The rough scratch scours through the haze of fear threading through your sternum. "C'mon on, now. Gotta breathe, yeah?"

It's his hands on your shoulder—hotter than grenade fire—and the thick scent of musk, of stale smoke and kerosene sweat, that break through the gossamer of your acrid panic. He spins you around to face him, eyes fixed on your face.

"That's it," he says, soft, soothing. "Keep breathin'. You ain't dead yet."

You come to yourself in pieces. The world bleeds with startling clarity around the blurred edges. Home, you think. Maybe.

Once upon a time.

You blink. Blink again.

The hand still on you—heavier, you find, than an anvil—lifts, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw, swiping over the sweat-stained skin.

You can't see his eyes through the shadows cast over his face. A stranger. You've never seen him before.

They didn't say anyone new moved to town.

"Who are you—?"

"You don't know?"

And then his hand is gone, taking all the heat in your body with him.

It lifts to his vest, thick fingers, gloved in yellow, curling over the butt of his cigar.

You must make a face. A grimace. A whisper of bemusement. Whatever it is, it makes his lips twitch under the shorn burnt umber of his beard.

"I'd share," he mutters, teething sinking into the hilt as he pats himself down for a lighter. "But I ain't got the time."

"Shouldn't be smoking in a provincial park, anyway."

The words are dragged out of you. Numbed, gritty.

It makes him snort. "Maybe—;" he cups his hand around the end, thumb striking the ignition of the lighter. He inhales, and the red circle at the tip illuminates the cerulean blue tucked away into the folds of his hood. The plume of smoke curls over him like a shroud. "But I doubt a cigar is gonna bring the whole forest down, mm? 'sides, we all have our vices, don't we?"

With that, he leaves you standing in the tendrils of smoke that billow out from his caustic mouth. No goodbye. No name. Nothing except the hum of his touch buzzing through your veins.

Your head is numb. Thoughts congealing into hardened clay.

Yeah, you think sluggishly, eyes dropping to the drenched pavement where the ocean narrowly missed you. Swallowed you whole. We do.

(Yours is bad decisions that reek of napalm.

Men who scour your hands raw when you touch their coarse surface.)

You find him again in some desolate pub on the fringes of town a few days later. It looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from blowing down. Dilapidated. Rusted from the harsh salt of the ocean to the north.

He lifts his head when you slide into the empty chair on the left, but says nothing about your unexpected company.

Instead, his lips curl over the cigar sawed between his teeth. A grin, you think.

You wonder if he was expecting you.

(Wonder, then, with a touch of something warm gnarling in your belly, if you surprised him.)

The barkeep wanders past, brows lifting at you in question.

"Um, a vodka soda—"

The man, Price you learned from the locals with a great of digging, snorts.

"Ain't got none of that here, love. Two scotches. Neat." He leans over, thick fingers grasping the middle of the cigar, an inch away from the bristles on his upper lip, and pulls it away, ashing it in the tray in front of him. "And a bottle of spring water."

"Scotch?" You echo, leaning your elbow on the sticky counter. He reeks of smoke. Sweat. Blood. Gunpowder. You veer closer, soaking in the astringent tang of him. Everyone on this island smells of daffodils and cotton; clean and neat and innocent. He reeks of danger. Everything inside of you screams to stay away. "I don't drink scotch."

The cigar burns in the tray. He pulls back, shifting in the chair. His elbow rests on the counter, the other arm is slung over the back of his seat. The picture of appeasement, of a satiated tiger eying a little mouse sniffing past it. There's no immediate danger, and his posture is relaxed. Open. But his eyes—

Price turns to you, then. His legs are spread, knees notched apart, taking up more space than you offer him. A looming presence. Dominating. Confident. He's not doing it on purpose, you don't think, he's just—

Big.

His legs are too long. Thighs are too thick.

Something gnarls behind your ribs when you take in his bare face. It's different, smaller, without the bulky black hood thrown low on his brow. His hands bare, leaving him in only casual clothes that stretch taut around his broad body.

The beanie on his head, pulled low on his forehead, makes him look roguish, rough. The picturesque presentation of a bad boy down to the pelt-brown leather Levi jacket stretched taut around his broad shoulders.

He looks older, somehow, without the tenebrous of night shading him in dark indigo. Aged like a fine whisky. All burnt umber and ivory.

The charcoal colouring brightens the heavy blue of his eyes—crushed bluebonnets and powdered graphite; a black hole centre—and the frame of his brown lashes dusting over his clean cheeks makes something pool in your lower belly.

(You wonder if he'd taste of whisky sour.)

"Well," he murmurs, brow lifting. It makes the skin on his forehead crinkle. He has laugh lines cresting around the corners of his eyes. They stand out to you, now. Void of the shadows you're used to. "You do when I'm paying."

The scotch, the cigar, the dingy pub that reeks of stale cigarettes and is perfumed in a dusting of nicotine that films every surface coalesces into incipient vice.

His hand moves from where it's loosely curled around his glass, and rests, heavy and warm, on your thigh.

When he leans in, you taste calcine on his breath.

The acrid tang is a balm to the blisters in your raw esophagus. You meet him in the middle, smaller hands curling over the wool lapels of his jacket, tugging him into you.

"Never thanked you for saving me," you murmur, his beard grazing your lips. A tickle. A brush.

Price sucks in a deep breath, eyes liquifying into an intense azure. "No need to thank me, love. As much as I love the ocean, you don't belong there, do you? No," he adds, decisively. Sure. "You belong on land. The earth. You're wild, like the forest, aren't you?"

It's an out. An escape. An option to flee from the cosm that folds around you like a nebulous cloud.

You could take it. Back up, away. Walk out of this dingy pub on the wrong side of town, and forget the man who reeks of nicotine, smoke; who leaves ashes behind on your skin when he touches you.

The only one who stares at you from the unfathomable black of his eyes, lashes shrouded in tenebrous, and makes you falter. Makes your heart lurch, jumping to sit at the bottom of your throat.

You should pull away. Stay away from the man who leaks ethanol and nitroglycerine. From the man who smells of acrid smoke. Gunfire.

You should.

But your fingers tighten in the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. Closer.

The bridge of his nose is warm when it presses against your own.

His eyes spark, wildfires. A blazing forest.

"You said something about vices." His chest rumbles in response to your hushed words.

"So I did."

Smoke singes your nose when you brush your lips over his. Warm. Chapped. Dry. You taste ash. Humus. The bitter tang of dandelion oil.

"Got some time tonight?"

"Thought you said I shouldn't be smoking."

"We're not in a park, near flammable trees," your hand falls to his chest. His heart thuds beneath your palm. Thick, full. Your eyes lift to his, lidded and heavy. You gaze at him from under your lashes, coy. Demure. You wonder if he can see how eager you are beneath the sly cut of your lids. "Are we, Price?"

The use of his name makes his lips quirk. A small, secretive thing that you can't read.

"No, we're not." His hand slides down, curling over your knee. "Don't know what you're gettin' into, love."

"Oh, no?" You taunt, breathless. Even through all your layers, you still feel his searing heat on your skin. His eyes drop when your tongue lashes out, wetting your lower lip. "And what's that?"

A frisson shudders over his face. Lashes fluttering. He leans forward, resting the rim of his beanie on your forehead.

When his eyes slide open, all you see is arsenic white pooled around Prussian blue. "More than you could ever dream of."

Your trembling fingers curl into the lapels of his jacket. For leverage, maybe; or to hide the quiver in your joints from his widening eyes.

And so, you kiss him.

A messy punch to the mouth with your sun-blistered lips.

His mouth parts, wry curls flutter when he inhales sharply. And then—

He devours you.

It's messy. More sealed lips glueing together than it ever could be considered a proper kiss, but it feels more like a homecoming than stepping off the boat, and you tuck that inside your pounding chest.

(The whispers in your head seem to sing when his lips touch yours.)

You taste bark on your tongue when it slips over his. Loam. Moss. Something earthy and rich. His beard scratches your chin, your lips, but you pull him closer, hungry for more—for the taste of wilderness on his tongue, for the respite from the whispers, the screams. Like the ocean, he, too, is a vacuum, swallowing everything whole until just you remain, stripped down to nothing but sensation and want. Bare, raw.

Your teeth ache when you pull away, fingers curling into the coarse hair along his chin. The whips of his wry curls scratch your palm.

You never want to let go.

Price's eyes are noctilucent clouds; a storm over a rainforest. He'll ruin you. Devour. Destroy. Take, and take, and take until there is nothing left.

Your lips tremble when you speak, words tremulous with your desire, your eagerness, when they slip past your bruised mouth.

"I can think of a few that are better than smoking."

Price shudders.

"Where did you go?" Your friend asks, eyes swinging from the cards spread out in front of him—the Idiot, Solitaire—to you. They burn into the side of your face, the same place Price touched with bare knuckles, and said you belong to the forest, don't you? "Missed dinner."

You ate Doro Wat in a small shop after Price fucked you stupid in the dingy bathroom of the pub, face scraping against the waterlogged wallpaper that chipped with each brutal thrust of his hips.

Like that, hmm? Can barely take me, love, but you're so fuckin' greedy for it, ain't you?

You're sure the barkeep heard your moans as they bounced off the jaundiced walls.

(You still hear him hissing in your ear. Still feel him splitting you apart.)

You try not to shiver.

"Ate already," you shrug, bundling your sleep clothes tight in your trembling hands. When you stand, his eyes follow you. "So. Um—"

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, shifting on the balls of your feet. "I've—" You think of his eyes, gyre white, and wonder if this is what it feels like to get swallowed by the sea. "I've never been better."

"Good," he says, smiling. "I worry about you, you know?"

You nod. "Yeah," you say. "Me, too."

You break apart in the shower, falling into pieces as you make yourself finish, thinking about nothing but the phantom stretch of his cock seated deep inside of you, the taste of his come pooling on your tongue.

It balms the residual burn in your esophagus, and you know, then, when you throb, still wanting his touch on your skin, that you've always been terrible at telling yourself no.

It can't happen. It can't.

There's a strange magnetism about him—an uncanny sense of mystery and familiarity sutured together.

It feels a little bit like staring at the looming maw, the event horizon, of a black hole. Unfathomable black. No way out.

There's something that feels a bit like forewarning inside your chest when he brushes against you, and presses his lips on the skin behind your ear—a secret place only he knows, where only his fingerprints have ever been. You feel his touch even when he's gone. Haunted by the memory of his rough hands and rasping tenor.

Running would make sense, you think, watching the ferries come and go. You have enough money for a ticket, and you've yet to even unpack your bag.

You don't know who he is, but you've given him everything. All of it. There's nothing left inside of you to hand over, but he keeps looking at you as if he's waiting for more.

"Waiting for a ride?"

You glance back at the operator with a divot between your brow and cotton inside your ears.

You want to say yes, but you shake your head instead.

"No." I can't leave. "Just enjoying the view."

You find birch branches stripped of leaves, juniper berries, maple leaves, spindles of dogwood, bushels of fir, and bouquets of bog rosemary, northern bluebell, fireweed, and wintergreen on your doorstep each morning, laid gently against the old welcome mat.

You should toss them out, and throw them away. How does he know where you live, anyway? It would make the most sense; be the wisest decision.

Instead, you tuck them inside your notebook, pressing them against the pages where they'll be safe.

(You try not to think too much about why they never die.)

It happens again. And again. Again—

It becomes a ritual for the few months you're back in town. The leaves, twigs, petals, pines, and seeds all show up at your door each morning and come nightfall, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

He finds the nastiest looking pub in the city, and you find him there after dark.

He sits, smokes a cigar. Orders two scotches, and a bottle of spring water. Teaches you how to drink it properly—none of that sugary cocktail shite; just pure whisky, love, as it should be—and lets you puff on the damp end of his cigar, eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light above as he takes in the way your lips curl over the wet tip.

He stares at you like he's indulging you.

Like he knows.

And maybe, he does.

Maybe he sees the way your jaw works, tongue lashing over the tip just to chase his taste. The heat in your cheeks, your eyes, as you gaze at him, open and raw and wanting. The way you list toward him. Eager for it. For him. His touch, his smell.

He must, you think, but he's a right bastard.

He doesn't give it until the end of the evening, when everyone has gone home. When it's just you and him and the barkeep that glowers at you something ugly when you stand on shaky legs, and whisper you're going to the washroom.

Your fingers curl over the chipped porcelain, back arched as you stare at the face in the mirror.

You can't remember if it's you.

Whisky has polluted your synapses. The thick scent of smoke, the tobacco from the cigar, has congealed into resin over that little bundle of axons and nerves that control your impulse, logic.

Stupid.

You stare at the thing in the mirror, and wonder if the basal want on your face was so apparent to him as it is to you. If he saw the dark gleam of hunger, greed, impatience, swimming in your ink-smudged depths.

The door rattles. Clicks.

The squeak of the hinges is the only warning you get before Price is there, liquified in the doorway and clouded in smoke.

His hand curls over the worn, peeling frame. Eyes dance with the same hunger, same want, as the ones that flicker across the surface of the mirror.

"Couldn't wait for me, eh, love?" He breathes, his chest expands with his exhale. Scenting you, you think. You wonder if he can smell the slick pooling in your panties. The desperation brimming in your veins. "Wanted it that bad, huh?"

He moves. A mountain of a man now filling up the entirety of your gaze until all you see is him.

You used to want to climb mountains. In training, they always warned of summit fever. Of that little part of your head that just wanted it to be over, to reach the very top of the precipice. Impatient, it couldn't wait. It made you spring up, and climb higher and higher before you were ready, prepared.

You think of it now when your hands lift, curling over his broad shoulders.

("Summit fever will get you killed," they say.)

"Just shut up and fuck me, Price."

His eyes flash. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?"

You are. Painfully so.

It etches in your ribs like a sickness, festering in your mouldering bones. Rotting you from the inside out.

A crutch in the searing heat of skin, sweat, and sin. The feeling of him taking you apart, breaking you down into atoms and molecules that bubble in the lining of your head becomes so commonplace, so often forget who you are when you're pushed up against a wall, being filled to the brim by him.

He leaves madness behind when he goes, and the world that divides fantasy from reality begins to crack, to splinter.

You hear his voice in your head late at night when the wind blows through the window, carrying the scent of the forest.

"Come home," he rasps in your ear.

The scratch of his beard seems to scrape against the little thread keeping you tied down to reality. It's frayed and worn by his hands. You wonder when he'll sink his teeth in the silk, and snap the line. Untethering you from your binds.

Come home to me. Come back to where you belong—

Price takes you out to dinner three months after this—whatever it is—starts. After your house becomes more of a garden, writ with the wild remnants of the forest, after each passing day. Full of bushes, and branches. Twigs and precious gems. He gives you raw gold, and open geodes full of amethyst, and sapphire. Canopy leaves, and bark from the trees.

He leaves a whittled deer made from the red wood of a giant sequoia, and the likeness of the little fawn makes you believe that one day, it'll come to life in your living room.

(You leave a dish of water near the doorway—just in case—and wonder if you're becoming just as mad as your gran.)

He shows up at your doorstep, the bleached antlers of a great pronghorn in his hands. It's decorated with vines and moss weaved over the ivory in intricate braids and knots that you can't even begin to unravel. You marvel at the gift as he tells you he's taking you out for dinner.

There is no discussion. He doesn't ask, he just—

Does.

"Found a spot," he says, arms crossed over his broad chest. The cable-knit sweater pulls, stretched taut over his bulk. "Think you'd like it."

You don't know what to say. The antlers feel heavier in your hands, and warm to the touch. You try not to shiver when you set it down beside the little fawn.

"Oh," you say, but know you've never turned him down yet. It's all—

So much.

Your home is slowly becoming one with nature, with vines growing on the walls in great blooms of wisteria and lilac; the old floor boards under your feet shudder and creak as little saplings sprout through the cracks. You wake up at night and taste earth in your throat, feel the grass beneath your fingers. The breeze in your hair. The call of an arctic tern.

You dream of running through the forest. Of being chased. You breathe and feel the little seeds inside of your lungs start to take root. Soon you'll bloom with dandelions.

"Okay," you say, and wonder if the madness rummaging around your head will turn into a beautiful sequoia in the end. "Let's go."

The tavern is busy on a weeknight, crowded with a swell of mainlanders who'd ventured out for a camping trip over the long weekend.

You sit with your back straight, and listen to him talk about a hike he wants to take with you in the morning. Through the woods, he says, and you don't ask which one. You know. You know.

(It's time. It's time.)

There are alarm bells ringing in your head, but they're drowned out by the crooning whispers.

But the line is only frayed and worn, and despite the lure in his voice, the itch in your head to say yes, you hesitate. Falter.

The woods are dangerous.

You don't want to go.

He seems to sense it. His brows knot together.

"You want to, don't you?"

You fiddle with your napkin and try not to meet his arsenic stare. "It's… dangerous."

"I'll keep you safe."

"It's probably time for me to leave, anyway."

The air in the room turns frigid all at once. You think you can see white plumes of condensation when you shakily breathe out, teeth chattering.

"Price—"

"Didn't wanna do this, love," he says, voice hushed. Barely a whisper. His eyes are lavascapes. "But you ain't givin' me much of a choice, are you?"

"What—?"

The words die on your tongue when movement flashes in the corner of your eye. A man weaves, liquid, through the mindless crowd, cutting a path like the parting red sea.

His eyes are honeycombs. In his hand, he holds a limp dandelion.

It takes you a moment to make out the strange man who looms in the background. A splash of colour among sfumato.

It's Gaz.

The childish swell of his cheeks has sunken into angled, sharp bone. Slender fingers twirl the flower around, around, around—

It's hypnotic. You stare, horrified and awed—a strange amalgam of emotions that slip down your spine: worry, elation, panic, comfort—as his pink lips part into an easy, familiar grin. The cresting sun breaching the horizon. Eyes slanting in playful derision.

He looks like he's torn between telling a joke and spitting vitriol. Making you laugh, and then making you cry.

It buzzes in the air, electrified fingers dancing down your spine, and then just as quickly as the boy who disappeared reemerges into the land of the living, into this bastardised reality, he gives one last sharp, fanged grin, a mordant wink, and then he's gone.

He slips through the door, and without hesitating, you give chase.

Price says nothing when you go. Or maybe he does, but you can't hear anything except the rustling of leaves in your head.

Gaz, it whispers. Gaz, Gaz, Gaz.

(It's time for the lost little boy to come home.)

The rocks sit in a zigzag pattern through the frothing waters, a deceptive bridge that connects the valley to the coast. You feel the tremulous rattle of the water slicing against the hollow cavern beneath your feet. A ledge chiselled from the blunt erosion of the rapid currents below. One day, they say, the granite shelf will give and a massive hole filled with howling water will fill it.

Try not to be the idiot standing on the ledge.

You feel the power of the currents even on the peat-covered edge.

The water in front of you is deceptive. A calm, rolling surface at the shoreline almost seems to beckon you inside. Come take a dip in the cool waters. Grow fins and gills and chase the river otters through the currents. Feast on the wily salmon, and see if your feet can touch the sandy streambed.

But the river's fatality is nearly assured. No one has survived a dip in these waters that act as a serrated knife, carving chasms and channels through the granite below. The currents will rip into you, pulling you until your body is crushed against the wall, or into an unsearchable cave.

One slip, you think. Just one.

But—

The man in the bar flickers through your mind. His honeycomb eyes, fanged grin. Ethereal in his beauty like a painting of a god in oil and raw canvas. Carved likeness of a Stygian prince.

It was Kyle. It was Gaz. You know it. Know it deep within your bones, your marrow.

Taking the first step to the jutting slate that peaks just a few precious inches from the raging waters is easier, then, when you think of the boy who plucked a dandelion from the earth, and tucked it behind your ear. It makes the risk less daunting when it's for him.

For his parents who sunk into themselves, into the crater his absence left behind. A deep depression into the earth that swallowed them whole.

They moved last year after laying down a bouquet of flowers at the mouth of the forest.

You toe your shoes off, leaving them at the embankment, and then you leap. The perch is slick with waterlogged moss, slimy. It wobbles under you, but you catch yourself, stabilising. Steady. You huff. One down, four more to go.

Up close, they look so far apart. A chasm between each rock. An endless abyss that will rip you into pieces.

Still. Still. You have to find him. Have to.

You step, toes sliding in the algae. The rock beneath is stained green. It wobbles again when you bring your other foot down on top of it. The loud clack of rock scraping against rock is heard, unmuffled by the roaring water that tugs on the stone. You feel the push against your feet.

Two more. Two more.

You take another step, and then—

You fall—

The world drips into focus, a steady trickle of cognisance that paints the world in shades of greens and browns. An eagle soars above the canopy, their shadow swooping through the thick tangle of conifers reaching to the heavens.

The bed of moss beneath you is damp—lush with dew and softer than your mattress at home. You sink into the ground when you breathe, caught in an embrace. The vines curl over your wrists, your ankles, as if refusing to let go.

It should scare you—and maybe it does—but there's something against your head, fingers digging into your temples, and you feel nothing except a warm serenity leaking in. Thought spool into liquid gold, threads that weave together in a knotted clump. Indistinguishable from each other, and unreachable when they slip deeper into the honeyed-thick fog that curls around your mind. A temper from logic, from fear. Anything that isn't pure, artificial comfort is filtered through and cast aside.

You don't know why you're here.

One moment, you felt the coils of the raging currents sinking its claws into your flesh, pulling you under the deep waters, and then—

Heat on your face. The sun's desperate attempt to filter through the corded canopy and touch the forest floor. The shrill call of an eagle on the prowl. The tender caress of the moss below cushions your body.

You should be underwater. Pressed tight against the side of the rocks until you were swept downstream and spat out in the inlet, waterlogged and dead.

You draw humid air into your lungs until it swells against your ribcage. The steady thud of your heart tells you that somehow, somehow, you're alive. An empty brag—thud, thud; thud, thud—that seems to call out to the birds in the emergent layer, the ones nestled in their branches as they watch your feeble attempt to reconcile how you survived.

It's strange, you think, but the soporific warmth coursing through your veins does not let you panic.

You are—

"Foolish."

The warmth turns molten. You try to sit up, but the vines tighten around your limbs. If you weren't so vulnerable, you think it would almost feel like a hug.

The soft crunch of the moss tells you the voice—the man—is moving forward, toward you. You want to scream, but your tongue is thick, and your mouth is numb.

"What you did there was stupid," he says, and the forest around you seems to come alive in his anger. Pulsing. The branches sway and the leaves rattle without any wind. The trees bend down, coming inward. You hear the scream of a fox in the distance. The chuff of an agitated brown bear.

Primordial signs tell you to run.

But you're trapped.

Price steps closer, falling to his knees beside you. You can see him now, and suddenly you wish you'd been swallowed by the waves.

His face is writ with anger, brows tightening together in displeasure.

He seems imbued with the forest. One with the lush green that swells around you. Burnt umber and icy blue. Ethereal, unnatural. Something in your hindbrain tells you to run from that man that looks as if he could swallow you whole.

"Tryin' t'die on me, hmm?"

His hand lifts, and you feel his warm knuckles graze your temple. Soft, gentle, despite the ire in his eyes, and the irritation clenched in his jaw.

"Gonna hav'ta try harder than that, love."

You weren't trying very hard at all, you think, dazed, dizzy. You weren't trying at all.

"You're mine," his eyes flash, and you feel the press of gravity against your skin, pulling you down to the soft earth. Your fingers twitch. The fog inside your head clears.

Blinking up at him, you catch the scattering supernovae echoing in the corners of his eyes; galaxies of pine and cedar, humus and tussock. They bloom from the black hole in the centre, surrounded by sapphire blue. He's not human, you think, but it doesn't surprise you because you already knew. Have known, really—ever since you asked around for his name and watched the same strange fog seep into their eyes as they struggled to remember a man they claimed to know.

Ever since you found bushels of figs on your doorstep.

A crown of pine needles and crow feathers.

Price leans over you, brows knotted together like the gnarled, weaving trunk of a Great Basin Bristlecone Pine.

There's a forest fire in his eyes. "You're mine, aren't you?"

You think about the trinkets left on your doorstep. The whispers, the screams.

"Did you ever give me a choice?"

The tension in his brow snaps taut. Agony frissons through the spaced canyons; whet from ire and slick from sorrow. He bends down, and shakes his head.

"I've always given you a choice," his words are smouldering logs, crackling with his pain. "I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?"

Price takes you on the mossy forest floor, fingers digging into the peat as you sink, down, down, down—

His hand under your head, cradling the back of your skull, keeps you from getting swallowed by the grass knoll that breathes and trill against your spine.

Fire licks in the crevasses of his eyes, molten desperation you can't ignore. He rages above you, quivering in the fading glow of the sunset struggling to slip through the canopy. No longer a man but a myth. He hangs over you with his canines bared, and flashes of anger and sorrow scorch the path his teeth leave behind on your skin.

You're becoming unmoored. Each touch, and brush; each sweep of his tongue soothing the indents of his razor-sharp teeth all seem to loosen the ties that thread through your soul, anchoring you to the world that stands in full bloom before you.

The forest shudders with his frantic pace; each piston of his hips leaks his fervent anguish and makes the trees croon, and creak as they bow their foliage in sorrow. His pain lashes through their roots, and rent the air in two. A fox mourns his loss in the distance. A wolf yowls in agony. His brethren lifting their muzzle to the sleepy moon, and howling out the melody of their despair.

It's too much, too much, and you fall into pieces in his hands, shivering beneath him as the woods around you tremble and quake. It's a mesmerising dance.

He finishes with a grunt that makes the world shudder anew, spending himself as deep inside of you as he can, as if he could overwrite your empty spaces with himself. Fill you to the brim until you are bursting with him, with life. Tulips for your eyes. Furze for veins. Moss for hair. Peat soil for blood.

When he speaks, the world falls silent.

"You don't know it yet, but you will. You've always been mine. Always belonged to the forest, to the earth. To me."

Despite his words, he lets you go.

And you run, run, run—

Your toes dig into the wet soil near the stream. The desperate catapult across the ravine halted at the very last moment, leaving you winded and shaking. Hands clenched into tight balls by your side. Quivering with fear, with the adrenaline rush still roaring in your veins.

You don't know what you're doing.

The whispers in your head go silent.

The absence of sound makes you mourn, and you think about his agony. The pain when he took you, the resignation when he let you go.

You think of him, and you know.

I've always told you to go, but you couldn't stay away, could you?

You scent napalm in the air, cloying despite the acrid burn that scalds your lungs when you breathe in deep, holding it there.

You think of the chest inside your closet. The pieces of yourself you left behind. The way he fits you like a puzzle, like he was made for you. Designed with your rough edges in mind. Softening your hard lines; scouring your gritty surface it was smooth and shiny like fire Opal and precious gems.

Ever since you felt his hand on your shoulder, you haven't been able to let go.

(You don't even think you ever really tried.)

Come to me, the forest says, honey in your ears. It sounds like the rapid beat of a million birds' wings, ready to take flight. Pulsing and alive and full of wonder, childish glee.

The earth blooms in your chest. You feel the soft, tender caress of the leaves against your skin, the moss sinking between your toes. Clinging to your flesh, desperate to get inside, and take refuge in your heart. Come home to us.

Your grandmother warned you to stay out of the forest, that it was dangerous. Deadly. Wrong. But how can it ever harm you when it touches you so sweetly?

The branches curl around your ankles as you walk, leading you, guiding you, to the place where you belong. The forest opens around you, spreads apart and makes room for you to pass, touching you as you go, taking little pieces of you. Strands of your hair, the salt from your tears. Pieces of clothes. Parts of your soul.

You pluck your heart out of your chest, and leave it beneath a gnarled sequoia. She will protect it forever.

Moss grows inside of the empty space. A tern makes a nest inside of it, filling it with a bed of pine needles, and twigs from the junipers. You feel a mouse make a home in your rib cage, burrowing between your bones. You place your hand over your side, and feel her nuzzle against your palm.

"You're safe now," you say. "We're almost home."

It's Gaz who greets you with a crown made of sugi. When he cups your face, you feel raging rivers and streams in his palms, and now that you are home.

"Missed you, dandelion," he breathes, and his voice turns into a Chinook that crests over the mountains. "But there's someone who wants to see you."

His hands slide down to your wrists, and you feel the sun grazing your skin when he spins you around, around, around—

"Now," he leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. You hear the Falcons nesting in his chest, and smell pine in his breath. "He's been an impatient bastard, you know? Just moping about ever since you left—"

A scoff. You lift your head and feel the swell of the earth beneath your feet. Dizzying. Wanting.

He waits for you in the thicket, eyes made of sapphire and stone. When he breathes, the forest swells with his breath, and you taste loam when you swallow.

"A sorry sap, thinkin' you were runnin' away, and all. But you won't, will you?" Gaz pushes you forward, and his laughter rings in your ears. "Not anymore."

Price meets you in the middle, his eyes sparkling embers. A baptism in fire. You feel the heat on your skin, and shiver.

You used to be afraid of forest fires, but you know, now, that sometimes trees need to burn before they can truly grow.

Lodgepole roots bud under his skin, rippling veins across a ravine. He rests his hand against your cheek, thumb brushing the dawn redwood needles that bloom under your skin.

"Welcome home."

"Why?" You asked, blinking at her.

"Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't."

You don't tell her that you already have. You don't mention the sticks and precious stones that always ended up on your windowsill. The whispers of the forest calling your name.

You nod sagely instead, fingers tightening around the sap stained heart chiselled from Bristlecone Pine. The charred ends are warm in your palm. You feel it pulse.

Will you accept this? My heart? Will you keep it safe for me?

"I will."

This was meant to be light and fluffy and smutty but now it's. This. And um. Oops. I hope you enjoyed it!

JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION PART THREE OF COD X MYTHOLOGY ⁞ SOAP ● DRAGON PRICE

#captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #fae price #cod x mythology #bhhhhhhhh #ive been in halifax for the last week and it's been kinda rainy and weird and this was born

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sserpente · 10 months

Text

A/N: Request from anon. Fluffy skinny dipping with Loki. Tell me something better than that, I’ll wait. Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 2568 Warnings: skinny dipping, implied smut, fluff

The air in Asgard smelled different. Fresher. Richer. You took a deep breath, inhaling not only oxygen but also that foreign Asgardian vibe. Summer felt a hundred times more intense around here. The heat was on the verge of unbearable, the glistening water right outside the palace inviting you for a swim to cool down. The whole planet felt like an Instagram filter—like someone had turned up the contrast, the saturation and the brightness all at the same time.

“How do you cope in this heat?” you complained, fanning air to your face with your right hand. You were sat in the lower parts of the palace with Thor’s friends Volstagg, Hogun and Fandral and of course, Lady Sif.

Odin had commanded you remained under supervision at all times. You didn’t quite understand what the fuss was about—it wasn’t like a mere Midgardian could wreak havoc among this realm but then again, he was probably just traumatised from the time Thor brought an Aether-infected Jane to Asgard a few years back.

But the company wasn’t so bad, especially upon learning new things about Asgardian culture. One person was missing though. You’d hardly seen Loki since your arrival even though it had been him to promise to keep you safe.

Boom—it had been like a heartbeat, like an explosion and just like that, you had fallen in love with the God of Mischief. It had started with a crush. A purely physical attraction that made you see beyond the things he had done on Earth all those years ago. Then you had gotten to know him and witnessed his wit and sarcasm day in and out. Soon, you began to see past the cheekiness and mischief until you had discovered a vulnerable god who would die for the ones he loved, an intelligent and kind man who might not have been a superhero and leaned toward a little selfishness every now and then but a good man nonetheless.

Loki had never been evil and you were now determined to convince everyone else of that mind-set as well. Especially now that you had been brought to Asgard for your own safety.

“It’s not so bad down here. I feel sorry for Idunn and her workers. The apple orchard is a sauna at this time of the day but the work won’t do itself.”

“First of all… you have saunas on Asgard? And second of all, if this is a realm of magic, why is there any labour at all?”

Volstagg’s cheeks reddened as he fought to explain it to you. “Well, let’s just say Idunn’s apples are special. They require skilled hands to handle them.”

“Right…” With a court nod, you emptied the rest of your drink and carefully put it back on the table—like hell you would smash it to the ground and scream “Another” like Thor and his friends did.

“Where’s Loki, actually?” you asked, attempting to sound non-chalant.

“Who knows? Causing some mischief somewhere probably. I for my part am glad I don’t have to see his face.”

“He’s been nothing but kind to me so far, Volstagg.”

“Hmm…” Hogun began, “He’s like a flesh-eating plant. He lures you in and then traps you in his claws. Be careful. We have known Loki for a lot longer than you.”

“Maybe you guys should stop giving him reasons to stab you in the back. Think about that.” Checkmate. That shut them up for a good minute.

You sighed. Well, in the end, you’d likely have a lot more work to do for them to accept the cheeky God of Mischief for who he was and why he behaved the way he did, it seemed.

“If you say so… I’m gonna go find him.”

“You can’t wander through the palace alone.”

You chuckled. “Watch me. I know where Loki’s chambers are. And I promise to scream if I’m getting murdered.”

“You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Hogun insisted.

“I’m trapped on a different planet surrounded by gods. If I don’t joke about it, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“I am still going to escort you.”

You rolled your eyes. Always obey Odin. “Fine.” Hogun wasn’t very talkative, at least.

It was a lot cooler in the palace—but then again, sacrificing a wonderful day that you could spend swimming and tanning and exploring to hide within some palace walls wasn’t all that appealing.

“Loki? Are you there?” Hogun was waiting around the corner with his hands clasped behind his back when you knocked.

Silence. You cleared your throat. “Loki, your hearing is a thousand times better than mine, I know you can hear me.”

A pleasant shiver ran down your spine when you heard a dark chuckle behind the door. A sliver of magic tore through the heavy wood of his door and it swung open, revealing him sitting in the shade on his bed with a book on his lap.

You blinked. He was dressed so casually. Bare feet, a green and soft-looking shirt with sleeves ending right below his elbows and wide black trousers reminding you of a comfy pyjama. Summing up, he looked hot.

“What are you doing here?” He was practically purring when he spoke your name, pulling a pleasant shiver from you. Something told you that Loki knew you were absolutely infatuated with him and boy, was he having fun with it. You sighed, letting it go for now. It was too hot to complain.

“I want to go swimming.”

“You want to go swimming?” Loki frowned at his book as if you’d suggested going rollerblading on the Bifrost bridge. Although… that actually sounded like a fun idea as well.

“Yes, Loki. It’s summer, it’s hot and I am melting. You’re a Frost Giant, how on Earth do you cope?”

“By staying inside where it’s cool, reading and most importantly, keeping my mouth shut.”

You grunted, closing the door behind you. “I’m gonna pretend like I was unable to take the hint to leave you alone. What are you reading?”

This time, it was Loki who sighed.

“Why don’t you ask Thor and his foolish friends? Are they giving you trouble?” he asked instead of responding to your question.

“No. Just… Because I want to spend time with you. And because they’re boring, obeying every single word the oh-so-allmighty-Odin says.” You threw your hands to demonstrate how ridiculous you found the whole situation.

Finally, Loki looked up from his book, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “What makes you think that I won’t?”

“Please. You are the God of Mischief. And rules are made to be broken, right? You remember that pretty lagoon west of the Bifrost Bridge that you told me about? The one with the cave? I want to go there. Please, Loki. Pack your book and let’s go. If I’m on a different planet, at least I want to explore it a little.”

Loki considered you for a moment, almost as if he was trying to figure out whether you were just mocking him. Then, finally, he shut his book and elegantly stood from the bed. “Very well. Let’s go.”

His smile was genuine—it had to be. His book vanished into thin air the very moment his door swung open again.

“Quick. Before Hogun realises we are not really headed to the kitchens for a cool drink.”

Loki escorted you through one of the servants’ exits to avoid the guards and more importantly, Thor and his friends. The earthy path was steep as you followed him down further and further away from the palace until you reached the shore and the ground to your feet turned into warm sand.

A small boat was swaying in the water, tied to a rock in the sand with a thick rope. Loki, however, did not make a move toward it. Instead, he offered you his hand. Intrigued, you took it. Next thing you know, he transformed into an eagle, his talons gripping your hand tightly.

You cheered when you took off and he flew across the water towards the lagoon, your naked toes grazing the cool ocean water in the process. The landing, a few minutes later, was smooth and then, just like that, Loki’s eagle aspect disappeared again.

“That was incredible! Can you turn me into an eagle as well?”

“Potentially. It takes years to master transfiguration like this. Your body would have to adjust to the new form and you would have to learn how to fly. If I transformed you now, you would quite possibly drown.”

“Right.” You turned around, taking in your new surroundings. The lagoon was stunning. It looked like the inside of a volcano, a hollowed-out rock with a pond with the clearest sea water you had ever seen in the middle. Vines, trees, and flowers all grew around it, spreading a lovely scent, and the small cave at the opposite end looked like the perfect spot for camping. The waterfall was by far the best part of it all though. It was gushing and loud, drowning out all noise from the outside and reverberating within the lagoon.

“This is beautiful. How come no one ever comes here?”

“Well… Asgardians are not too keen on swimming. Most of them never even learn it unless they’re training to fight battles. It is considered impure and in some cases, disrespectful to swim in open waters.”

Loki waved his hand, letting a dark green picnic blanket appear in the sand that mixed with green grass where you stood. Along with it, he conjured up a golden plate full of grapes, apple slices, strawberries and other fruit you didn’t recognise. He sat down on it with his book in hand.

It was then you realised you didn’t actually have any swimwear.

“What? Why is that?”

“Ah, well, you see, according to our lore, the giant Ymir was slain so the worlds could be built. His brains became the clouds, his bones became the mountains and his blood became the oceans.”

“Are you trying to tell me I’m about to swim in someone’s blood?”

Loki chuckled. “Something like that.”

You suppressed a grin. Should you? It was only the two of you here after all. And what sent a clearer signal for “I like you, I’m attracted to you and I want to have sex with you” than skinny dipping? You shrugged your shoulders. You were on a different planet. Things couldn’t exactly get any crazier from here.

You pulled off your shirt and then peeled yourself out of your shorts. Your bra came off first after that. With your back turned to Loki, you could still practically feel his blue eyes boring into you. By the time you stepped out of your knickers and revealed your arse to him, he sucked in air so loudly you could even hear it over the waterfall.

Unceremoniously and gathering all of your swimming training from your school days, you dived head-first into the clear water as gracefully as you could muster. The water was divine. It was cool and salty enough for you to float without too much effort and the little fish you saw swimming past you didn’t even seem to be scared of you. You’d have to ask Loki for some fish food for them.

“I could have conjured you some swimwear, you know.” His blue eyes were glued to you. You grinned, swimming in his direction. The clear water did very little to conceal you and it was even clearer that the God of Mischief was having a hard time not to look down.

“And where would have been the fun in that? What are you doing, come in! It’s lovely! I dare you,” you added. “Oh no, whatever will all those fancy royals at the palace say if they find out one of their princes is skinny dipping with a peasant?” Dramatically, you brought the back of your hand to your forehead and then disappeared underwater for a moment.

When you emerged, Loki was standing and taking off his clothes. Yes.

“Last time I caused an uproar, I was in the middle of a feeble attempt at taking over Midgard. They’ll be relieved to hear I have resorted to less scandalous activities.”

Seeing Loki shirtless was quite possibly the highlight of your entire day. But he didn’t give you much time to drool over his muscly pale chest and those strong arms. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. When those comfy trousers came off, he was naked and damn, was he glorious even in a flaccid state. You didn’t even bother pretending not to stare.

Loki smirked and then, much more gracefully than you, dived into the pond. He looked downright gorgeous with wet hair when he emerged only a few inches away from you, so much so that you almost forgot to keep yourself afloat.

“Cat got your tongue? You aren’t going to back out now, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Loki.” For a split second, playing Marco Polo with him crossed your mind but now that you had him naked in the clear water, you could think of more… adult activities.

“Can I ask you something?” You just needed some confirmation first. He’d promised to keep you safe but did that mean he reciprocated your feelings? Not necessarily, right?

Loki raised his eyebrows at you—in a gentle, teasing manner this time.

“Why did you agree to come here with me? I mean… the others… they’d never let me be alone with you. If they knew, they’d drag me out by the hair. Or you, whoever they manage to grab first. I guess… after everything that happened between you and the entire planet Earth, I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with a human beyond a genuine promise to make up for the past.”

Loki’s face fell.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head. “You did not. Let’s just say I forgot for a moment that you are mortal.”

Oh. “Is that bad?”

“I will have outlived you in a matter of decades. So yes. That is bad, pet.” Pet. You sincerely hoped he wasn’t able to hear the moan that escaped your lips. “I am not a villain. And it took a lot of convincing to make me realise that. So why would I not? I have no reason to meet you with hostility if you don’t either.”

You smiled at him. “That’s what I told them today, you know? That you wouldn’t have betrayed them if they hadn’t given you a reason to do so. And… That just means we’ve gotta make use of the time that we have even more, no?”

With that, you took the leap. You leaned forward, clung to him like a monkey and wrapped your arms around his neck. Your naked skin against his felt heavenly, even more so underwater. You kissed him as if your life depended on it, teeth clashing, tongues battling… your entire being lost itself in Loki, how good he tasted and how skilled of a kisser he was.

When you broke apart, you were both out of breath and a little surprised by what had just happened. Your eyes fell on his swollen lips.

“Admit it,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Admit it. You like me.”

Loki chuckled. “I wouldn’t put up with you if I didn’t, pet.”

A/N: Come say hello on my blog for more Imagines and my novels! ♥

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fleurriee · 9 months

Text

— earth and sea ; neteyam sully

pairing ; neteyam sully x fem!reader

synopsis ; since meeting neteyam, you had found yourself making a new friend you were comfortable around. or maybe he was starting to become more than a friend....?

word count ; 5k

themes ; fluff, tiny bit of angst

warnings ; mentions of anxiety & feeling scared of interactions (me), small dosage of reader not feeling good enough for certain things/neteyam…

author's note ; is this going too fast? a part of me feels like it is, but then the other part of me doesn’t care bc i found these two absolutely adorable & want nothing more than to just shower them in the love they deserve?? they’re soulmates, what else was i supposed to do, hmm?? also, i like to think that whilst na’vi do court their mates, they’re quite quick with it, like they just want to be mated and start a family, is this just me or i’m i thinking too much on this?? anyway, i really hope u enjoy this chapter bc it’s adorable and fluffy and ughggghhh!! apologies it took so long <33

previous part ; next part

day and night series masterlist main masterlist request a fic!

In the short span of time that had passed between that first day when the Sully family arrived in your home, seeking uturu and pleading for the safety of their lives, your life had slowly began to change.

Because, in all that time, Neteyam Sully, the eldest son of the two new outsiders, had been nothing but kind to you.

The conversation you’d had that one time with him, when teaching the other Sully’s how to properly travel within the waters, had clearly sent him some messages you weren’t aware of. Since then, he’d sought you out more, wanting to be a part of your company and slowly chip away the walls you’d built for protection against your own fragile heart all those years ago. You guess you should’ve known this would be happening - he did ask whether or not there was a chance you’d get along with him - and, now, he was doing everything to ensure that you did.

Neteyam picked up on your shy mannerisms, too, during this time, realising that compared to the rest of the clan he’d met, you weren’t exactly the most confident one out there. It was difficult for you to do or say or go through certain things than it was for others, but, he understood that. He understood that because he was never overbearing to you, never putting you under any pressure in anything in particular, never forcing you to do anything you didn’t want to do.

And, slowly but surely, he was right. You were beginning to get along with someone like Neteyam Sully. This boy - someone who you shouldn’t have gotten along with in the first place simply because of your stark differences, someone who you should’ve stayed away from because everywhere he went, danger followed his family - made you feel nervous. But, it wasn’t the normal feeling of nerves that would settle at the bottom of your stomach, festering and rotting themselves whole until you wanted nothing more than to claw them out. No, these nerves felt like beautiful butterflies swarming gracefully within you, ones you were slowly beginning to enjoy and seek out more of.

They made you feel more alive, and so did he.

Of course, you couldn’t have been going through all of this, basking in the territory of the unknown, without Tsireya being there and knowing about it, too. You hadn’t told her too much, not wanting to overshare, but, you’d made sure to tell her enough that you could go to her should you have the sudden need to rant or ask any confusing questions. It also wouldn’t be Tsireya if she didn’t slightly tease you whenever you were alone with Neteyam (which, actually, happened to be more times than you’d come to realise…), loving the idea of her lifelong friend slowly beginning to poke her head out of her safety blanket of a shell and become the person she really was for all to see.

As your best friend, she loved seeing you comfortable in places or circumstances you never thought you would’ve been in. Clearly, Neteyam was a good influence on you, and she was entirely too happy that the two of you had met.

But, even with the time of meeting them having passed by in a sudden blur to you, it clearly wasn’t going as fast to the rest of the world, the Sully’s included. The younger of the lot were still continuing to struggle with fully taming their ilu’s, despite the several times you all had tried teaching them. Some had it better than others (mainly the girl’s, but you weren’t surprised there), but there were still moments where even they couldn’t get it down to perfection, not to the point it needed to be at if they wanted to live within Awa’atlu.

After much deliberation, yourself and the others decided the cause of their struggles was due their breathing techniques and not being able to hold it as good as it needed to be. So, Tsireya exclaimed that it would be better to attempt to tackle that problem first. That way, they might improve in other aspects, too, arranging a day for the group of you to focus on that particular area.

Sat in a circle, legs crossed over as each of you faced one another, you showed them the correct way they should be controlling themselves within the depths of the waters. Tuk was situated in front of you, allowing you to help instruct her like you’d requested - she was a delight to teach, and you wished to continue to do so throughout her entire Metkayina training - and you were in between both Tsireya and Neteyam, a situation that fell into place subconsciously without either of you fully realising it.

Tsireya’s calming words spoke comfort over those learning, guiding them in the right direction as they each watched on in earnest, wanting to best at something they weren’t expected to all those years ago in their home. You watched with tender eyes as Tuk’s own never left the girl, doing her best to replicate her movements. Leaning forwards, you held your palm against the youngest girl’s stomach, delicately pushing it further and allowing her to even herself out as she held her breath. Even when doing so, wavering on, she sent you a small, slightly giddy smile of appreciation. It was clear she was getting the hang of it.

However, someone who wasn’t getting the hang of it like his youngest sister was the eldest one to your right. You noticed in your peripheral vision that he wasn’t doing it correctly, the way you’d been showing him, as he stuttered on his breathing and struggled to calm himself down when he felt it leave his lungs.

There was a moment of hesitation that filtered through your veins as you thought your options over, knowing what you needed to do - not only to help aid Neteyam in his exercises, but to also push yourself that little bit further. You were doing so well, especially with Neteyam, and you didn’t want things to end with him.

So, with one last lingering look around the rest of the group and taking note that each of them were focusing on their own breathing or guiding someone else, you turned a little in Neteyam’s direction, patting gently atop his arm. In an instant, he’s stopping, looking over and down at you expectantly, and you immediately feel the butterflies make their home within your stomach once more - how could they not, when his eyes only filter in your own, so intense and eager?

You watch as he leans subconsciously closer down to you, making sure that he would be able to hear every quiet word you uttered to him. This was a move that had happened recently, but one that made you feel seen. Because, Neteyam knew that you struggled with words sometimes, and when you finally gained the courage to say something, it wasn’t always the loudest. But, still, he wanted to hear every word you had to offer, and he wasn’t going to miss anything you said to him.

This time, however, you struggled to say anything, staying silent, instead. You found that the words you wished to speak, the question you wanted to ask him, was getting stuck in the back of your throat, something that happens more times than you’d like to admit. And, you hated it when this happened, because it made you look so stupid. How could someone struggle asking a simple question, when it was the easiest thing in the world?

In an instant, it’s as though your mood suddenly deflated, and you feel terrible about yourself. Your eyes gaze upon the floor, too scared to look the boy in front of you in the eyes and show him your vulnerability, despite knowing he’d understand - after all, he’d seen you go through this before.

And, when you feel one of the most gentlest taps against the top of your knee, knowing already that it had come from him, you slowly realise that you don’t need to hide from him, because in some way, he’s like Tsireya. He’s someone you can trust wholeheartedly without any worry of being judged or belittled… the only difference is there are other feelings lingering there with the Omatikaya boy, ones you’re still too scared to admit.

When you make eye contact with him again, there’s already such a soft look upon his features, the sunlight painting him in an ethereal light as he smiles reassuringly down at you. Those butterflies are back again, almost like they’d never left, and just one looked shared between the two of you had your spirits lifted once more.

You don’t think about the words you couldn’t speak anymore, simply refusing to acknowledge them and let your mood decrease again, instead pointing downwards, motioning to his stomach and looking back up at him in waiting.

It was obvious he was confused, just by the look of him - from the way his brows furrowed, questions lingering behind his gaze, and his mouth turned, trying to think of all the things you could’ve meant. So, you push your palm flat against your own stomach to help line your breathing, before motioning back over to him.

There’s a small oh that escapes his lips upon the realisation, a blush forming on his cheeks as with a giddy smile and sheepishly nodding. He gives you the space to move, watching as you hesitantly bring your hand close to him, before pushing your palm against his stomach. This is the closest the two of you have been to one another, accepting the boundaries between the two of you and never touching the other in such an intimate way.

It’s obvious the move has its affects towards the both of you, as you feel Neteyam’s breathing begin to stutter upon the contact, shaky exhales falling from his lips. There’s no doubt a darkness to your cheeks, too, as you feel everything within you begin to heat up, and you’re not quite sure how you’re supposed to react to all of this, ensuring to keep your gaze locked on your hand to further any embarrassment that might occur. Neteyam, however, simply cannot take his gaze away from your face, basking in each of your features and willing them to imprint themselves within his mind, not wanting to forget a single detail about you. You’re so ethereal to him, so beautiful and enchanting that the thought alone causes his ears to flutter and his tail to smack gently against the ground in a small burst of excitement.

His trance within your presence helps calm his breathing, and when you feel that, along with the soft patter of his tail against the sand, you bring your hand back to your person. There’s a proud smile already lingering upon your lips, happy that you had managed to help teach him something, but also happy for him having gotten better at something, too, that when you look up, only to find him already intensely gaze at you, everything falters within you. It feels as though your heart had just skipped a beat, as though your smile faltered and became a little shaky, and all that was on your mind was him.

He has gazing at you in such an intimate way even when you weren’t concentrating, when you were paying any attention… imagine how he’d look if the two of you ever had something more.

You’re only broken from your thoughts, the staring contest between the two of you not faltering, when you’re brought back to reality when he speaks up. “Thank you,” he says, breathlessly, almost as though he’s in some type of trance, words strangely quiet.

Collecting yourself to the best of your ability, you smile up at him slightly shakily, nodding, struggling to form any words due to a mixture of being out of your comfort zone and basking in the way this boy was looking at you, hoping your actions conveyed the words you wished you could say.

In that moment, too, you realised how close the two of you had gotten, your faces so close to one another, like any moment now, something else could’ve happened.

And, something might’ve done, but you would never know when suddenly, everything filters back into the front of your mind as to where you are and who you’re with. The sound of chuckles made their way to your ears, the once Neteyam-filled trance dissipating and focusing instead on those around you. Your head snaps in the direction of the laughter only to find Rotxo and Lo’ak giggling to themselves as they looked on at you two; Kiri and Ao’nung were rolling their eyes and grumbling under their breaths; Tsireya was trying to keep her ever-growing smile hidden behind her hand, and Tuk was none-the-wiser, too busy concentrating still on her breathing exercises.

“Oh, shut up,” Neteyam groans, speaking up before you can even attempt to hide away. He shoves the top of his younger brother’s head, before Lo’ak pushes him back. Before you know it, they’re shoving one another teasingly, in a way you know brothers do after, having seen ‘fights’ like this beforehand.

You find yourself laughing softly at their antics, watching as they push and shove at one another before they’re both on the ground, and your eyes subconsciously travel over to Tsireya like they always do, like they always wish to seek her out, just for one small moment of comfort. She throws a knowing look your way, one that has your cheeks heating up again, but then her smile turns gentle and tender, reassuring - after all, at the beginning of all of this, Tsireya was the one who had said that this could be good for you, and now look at where you were. Sure, things were still going to be difficult for you - you had no doubt they always would be - but, already, you were doing things you never thought you’d be able to do just months ago.

Looking back over at Neteyam as he had his little brother pinned against the ground, demanding jokingly that he apologise to him for whatever reason you didn’t know, you realised that you were slowly starting to believe that Tsireya was right.

Only a few days had passed since that moment shared between yourself and Neteyam, but somehow, it had felt like longer. In that time, you hadn’t had the opportunity to see him again - your clan were planning a small celebration together (although, they were never small when it came to the Metkayina, so you knew exactly what to expect), and your time had been taken up by helping them prepare.

A small part of you was just slightly grateful that you hadn’t been able to see him yet, mainly because you needed to get yourself together, and truly understand what you were feeling. You had an inkling, but it wasn’t like you’d felt something like this before, and you didn’t really know what to do with it.

Tsireya had obviously been a huge help, and she’d told the truth, one you knew was inevitable. You’d been thinking the same thing, and maybe you were just too scared to admit it. But, when Tsireya said what even she knew to be true, it was like everything fell into place and some things began to make sense.

Neteyam began to make sense.

So, begrudgingly, that’s why you find yourself willingly turning up to the clan get-together, secretly telling yourself that it wasn’t really because you wanted to just catch a simple glimpse of him, but because you helped set this up. Even you couldn’t convince yourself that well.

The entire front was alive the moment eclipse had fallen towards the ground, setting the atmosphere alight with so many different spirits. There were several tables aligned along the edge, a variety of foods you swore you couldn’t even name they were so exotic, the hunters having gone out extra early to collect so much; a group of Na’vi were at the front, swaying to the music they were creating and lighting everything up with their melodic voices, creating an aroma of peace and tranquillity.

Everyone you had ever come to see in your short life was present, either dancing along with the music or chatting away their day with a friend or their families. So much noise was filtering in through your ears, you could barely hear yourself think.

Things like this were never your thing, simply because of the amount of people in one area and how loud it could get - when you enjoyed listening to the soft sounds of nature on your own, you were never going to get along with an environment like this. But, like you’d told yourself, you had helped put this together, and it only felt right to watch as others enjoyed themselves in their element, basking in the feeling of the family of Metkayina coming together as one… definitely not for Neteyam…

Arms crossed over your chest like a protective mechanism, shielding yourself away from anything that made you feel even slightly uncomfortable, you stayed towards the edge, not wanting to get mixed up in the thick of the crowd, knowing that would only be your worst nightmare. Your eyes flickered from one set of people to another, searching for your best friend, only to quickly find her close to Lo’ak, the two of them sitting side by side, smiles bright and achingly adorable. Hoping to talk to Tsireya, you let this one time go, knowing she was enjoying herself with someone she really cared for, especially after the talk the two of you had no too long ago where she admitted to finding him attractive.

So, you left the two of them to it, staying in your hidden place at the back, too scared to venture any further. Allowing the sounds of wonder, awe, and bliss reach your ears and satiate a part of you inside that warms at the idea of happiness, you’re too focused somewhere else to realise there’s someone coming up behind you. “Not a party person?” they question, their voice unintentionally startling you.

Your head turns around quickly, wanting to get to the source of the scare as soon as possible, only to find the other person you’d been hoping to find - Neteyam. He hadn’t changed much for the get-together - some people like to go extra and all the way, dressing up in their most fanciest clothing just to show themselves off, but, Neteyam stuck to his roots, his usual clothes adorning his muscled skin, the same ones he ritually kept from his home in the forest.

You liked him that way.

With a calming sigh, one to rest your suddenly beating heart, you turn your attention back to the rest of the clan in front of you. “Not really,” you reply, shrugging.

“Yeah, me neither.” Neteyam laughs nonchalantly, slowly taking steps to walk up beside you. You can’t resist the small smile that begins to curve up your lips at his attempt to start a conversation with you.

Silence envelops the two of you, something that seems to happen more often than not, but you can’t find yourself dreading it. No, you’re basking in it - in everything around you. There’s such a loving atmosphere filtering in around you, from the clan, the people, from Neteyam. Just being in his presence alone seems to make you the happiest you’ve been, and you realise there’s nothing you won’t do to continue chasing that feeling.

But, whilst you soak up in the silence, the Na’vi next to you can’t seem to take it anymore. “Look,” he started, moving forwards so he’s standing directly in front of you, capturing your whole attention. Now your eyes are on him, you notice he’s looking a little nervous - his hands are fidgeting, fingers wringing and his eyes are flickering between each of your own, like they’re not sure what they should really be doing. He takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself, and you find yourself leeching onto that nervousness of his and taking some of it as your own. “I know that this might be a bit out-of-nowhere - or maybe it isn’t… I kind of hope it isn’t - but I… like you, like… really like you. And, I was hoping maybe we could try…” he gestures between the two of you, his words so unbelievably soft and scared, “…this?” Your eyes have widened automatically, in complete disbelief at what he’s just admitted and asked you. “But, only if you want to,” he quickly adds on, not wanting you to feel any type of pressure. “You know, I don't want to make you uncomfortable in anyway." There’s a small laugh at the end of his rambling, one that’s hesitant and hopefully understanding.

His words course and filter their way inside your mind as it begins to cloud over with so many different, lingering thoughts. You’re not quite sure what to focus on first, because you’ve never done this before, and you’ve never really prepared for it. Sure, you knew one day there would come a time where you’d have to choose a mate and go through the whole process of courting, but you’d never spoken about it in much detail with your mother. So, now that something similar was happening before your very eyes - with Neteyam, nonetheless, someone you had come to treasure hardheartedly within you - you didn’t know where to start.

The butterflies swarming in your stomach had come back, crediting to this entire situation. Thinking on it, you knew since the moment you’d first laid eyes on him, you had found Neteyam Sully attractive - how could you not? - but, not once did you ever believe he could think of you in the same way, and especially not enough to tell you that he wanted to try the two of you out together. None of this made sense - you weren’t good enough for Toruk Makto’s eldest son; you weren’t good enough for someone who was supposed to be an Olo’eyktan back in his home.

But, despite thinking these things, that didn’t mean you didn’t want him in the same way. Your negative thoughts were trying to put you down, attempting to steer you in the opposite direction and away from a beautiful opportunity presented in front of your very eyes, one that could blossom into something ethereal and unique if you didn’t give it a try. In your fight against yourself, you look down at the ground, swallowing deeply as you think over your next words. You need this time to truly understand what could happen next with whatever words come out of your mouth, you calm your racing nerves and steady your rapid heart - because, you wanted to this, too. You just had to learn to counter yourself against those pessimistic thoughts.

Looking back up at him, you smile warmly - it’s shaky and scared, but, it’s warm, nonetheless, something he picks up on. “You do not make me uncomfortable, Neteyam.”

A breathy, hesitant laugh escapes his lips, like he’d been scared of overwhelming you and somehow managing to push your further away than he ever wanted you to be. “Good, good.”

There’s more silence that surrounds you, except this time, neither one of you are feeling anything else other than one another. Your eyes pierce into each other’s, your intense gazes never straying away. You will yourself to hold this contact with him, wanting to feel even just a smidge of confidence when you admit your next words. “I would… like to try it, too.”

A small, shy smile accompanied your words, and when he saw that, along with his mind processing your wonderful words, the tension once residing in his taut shoulders dissipates, and a smile radiates upon his features, becoming wider and showing his fangs on display within his excitement. Just at the sight of his happiness from your words somehow quickens your heart from within its cage, continuing to wonder how someone as beautiful as Neteyam could hold such feelings towards you.

Almost like he knew where your mind was spiralling towards, he takes it away from you, licking his lips in concentration and taking a step that continues to scare him, despite knowing you were beginning to feel the same way. Wiping his hands together out of nerves, he brings one of them up towards you, palm facing up as he gestures for you to take it. “Would you like to dance?”

It’s only when he’s asked you that particular question that you realise the women’s singing have slowed down, a much softer, gentler tone emanating from their voices. You look in the near distance behind Neteyam, watching as couples dance sensually to the melodic sound with their partners, pressed up against one another as they show off their love to everyone else.

Neteyam notices your change in expression immediately, watching it fall as the prospect of dancing in front of others - to such an intimate-sounding song, too - has your nerves beginning to spike. Wanting to reassure you as quickly as possible, hating the sight of you so worried and distressed as it pierces his heart painfully, he moves himself directly into your line of sight again, not allowing you to look at the others anymore. Still, he hand continues to wait for you. “We don’t have to go over there,” he shook his head, wanting you to feel reassured by him alone, “we can dance here, or somewhere a little more private.”

With your heart evident in your gaze, watching him and only him, appreciation fills within your system to him. Since first meeting him, Neteyam has understood your boundaries on the same wave length as Tsireya always has, allowing you to put up walls and tending to your needs to willingly, so lovingly. This was all even before he slowly started to fall in love with you, and now that he had you, he was only going to be the perfect gentleman for you that he always has been.

A sheepish smile plasters upon your lips, and you nod up at him, your shaky hand taking his and holding on tightly, his life force aiding to calm you down. He turns his head to look at the clan, just checking up on something quickly, before gesturing the two of you in the opposite direction and leading you further into the trees.

It’s even more secluded now that you’re blanketed from the trees, darker and much more hidden away, but not an inkling of you feels scared that you’re here with only one other person, because it was Neteyam, and you know you never have to feel scared around him.

Your hand is still tight within his grasp, and you were close to letting go of him, expecting to start engaging in a dance you’re used to having watched growing up - one that was original to your clan, or maybe even his, one slightly less intimate and more fun - but, he doesn’t let you pull away. Instead, he keeps your hands clasped together, placing his other one gently against the back of your waist and slowly pulling you closer, repeatedly watching every expression you make to ensure that you’re always comfortable.

Now that he’s in position, he chuckles softly at the confusion warping your features. “This is how they dance on the star where my father is from,” he explains, watching as you slowly nod in understanding. Still, it doesn’t feel right to you, mainly because whilst Neteyam’s hands are where they should be, you still have one of your own hanging limply at your side, unsure what to do with it. Thankfully, upon noticing this, Neteyam unwraps his one from around your waist and guides yours up and around his shoulders, before returning once more to its place. “Is this okay?” he asks you softly. “Are you comfortable?

His questions that you can tell are truthful and sincere have the awkwardness you were previously feeling disappear, feeling as he gradually starts to sway the two of you side to side, the Metkayina music faintly beating in the background, quiet in an atmosphere such as this one. You find that you can no longer shy your gaze away from him. “Yes,” you reply, so soft and delicate that it has his heart fluttering, “this is perfect.”

Somehow, his smile grows wider at your words, elation coursing through your veins, feeling one of the happiest times he’s ever had the pleasure of being in. His feet continue to gentle guide the two of you in this sky-person dance, the warmth emanating from his presence alone slowly calming your once racing heart and allowing you to succumb to him entirely. Subconsciously, your head falls to lay against his chest, his rhythmic heartbeat echoing within your ears like a mantra, wishing it was all you could hear for the rest of your life.

As he lays his chin atop your head, pulling you in impossibly closer and thanking the Great Mother for allowing him to feel something so special - let alone, allowing him to take this in the palm of both his hands and call it his own now that he knew you felt for him the same - Neteyam thinks back on the moment he’d been told they were moving to a different clan for their safety, back to the moment he’d first arrived at such a startlingly different place. He remembers wishing he could go home, wanting to feel the presence of familiarity through his person again. But, he also remembers that his father had once told him that home isn’t always necessarily a place… it can be a person, too.

And, for the first time since arriving in your home, in Awa’atlu, wrapped up in your embrace, Neteyam found himself not missing the forest as much as he used to.

taglist ;

@monahiiii @bakugouswaif @teyamsatan @sulieykte @teyums @neteyamslovrr @tinkerbelle05 @netesanrr @lanasblood @camilo-uwu @queen190 @adrianarose7 @ttkttt @ayoungforeveruniverse-blog @lucialobelia @littlepisceanpixie @gyuventure @afro-hispwriter @thexplosivegirl @bellstwd @tahni-04 @eclipseatsea @6422btw @badbussylol @ellabellabus07

#𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐑’s work ── ✎#day and night series <3 #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar #avatar 2 #neteyam fluff #neteyam smut #neteyam sully fluff #neteyam sully smut #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x fem reader #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x pregnant reader #dad!neteyam #dad neteyam

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dontcallmemiki · 1 year

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Steve wearing panties for a few months already - being very normal about it, Eddie finding out - being very not normal about it

It all started when Steve found panties under his bed. He knew who they belonged to - haven't really scored that much since working at scoops ahoy - so he washed them with the intention to return them.

But then he held them in his hands, clean and dry and so smooth and he got curious. Thought 'trying them on wouldn't hurt anyone, right?'

The thing was Steve loved pretty things. Liked vibrant colours, floral prints, laces, and smooth fabrics.

So it wasn't really a suprise that it was so easy for him to slip them on smooth fabric caressing his tights. The panties were small on him, the black silk stretching over his hips, the lace cutting into the meat of his ass.

But he liked how he looked in it. Loved the contrast of his muscular body and the pretty lace.Loved the contrast between the silk and his rough hair covering his body. He felt pretty

But then he turns too quickly and feels the lace on the hips rip. And he thinks,'Well, it can't be helped ' and shoves the panties to the bottom of his drawer.He forgets about them for a few weeks until he sees a similar pair in a shop at the Star Court.

He stands in front of the shop for a few minutes. Almost feels the silk on his hips. Thinks how it would feel to wear them the whole day.He ends up buying them. Buys another two before the Star Court burns down. Buys another three - with Robins assistance (her face beet red the whole time)- before Vecna strikes.

The thing is, Steve doesn't think it's weird at all. For him, it's just underwear.Which is something Eddie couldn't disagree with more. He doesn't think it's weird. He just doesn't think it's just underwear.

The first time he catches a glimpse of it is on the boat above the water gate. He thinks that he just sees things. That the small line of lace above the waistband of steve's pants is just a trick of light.

But then he sees it properly. Nancy is patching Steve up, and there it is - black silk and lace peeking out of Steves trousers.Eddie gasps, and when everyone turns towards him he quickly takes off his vest.

'For your modesty dude' he says as if it wasn't him who was staring.

He can't get the sight out of his head, but then he almost dies, almost ends up in prison, has to sign shit ton of papers so there is no time to think about soft silk and golden skin. How would both things feel under his fingers.

It's a few months after they defeat Vecna, him and Steve are in the new government funded trailer. They are sprawled on Eddies bed, with second blunt in Eddies hand.

Steve is drinking beer when the bottle slips from his fingers, spilling the beer into his lap.

He curses, quickly getting up.

'Shit, dude, could I borrow some trousers?'Eddie gets up trying to find some clean ones in the pile of clothes on the floor. He finds some and turns back to Steve.

And there he is. In his stupid polo shirt and red lace panties. Eddie can almost see everything underneath them.He feels heat spreading on his face.

'You good?' Steve asks with innocent look on his face.

Eddie was definitely not good. He threw the pants at Steve, his face red as the panties.

'I-ehm-I need to-' he points towards the door 'bathroom'.

He gets back after a /really/ long time.And if Steves starts to take his pants off around Eddie more often who's going to stop him?

(Definitely not Eddie)

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie au #men in lingerie #steve is a baby girl #robin is useless lesbian

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cowyolks · 1 year

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TAVISH’S FIC RECS

A collection of works that read like literature that I recommend to readers.

SERIES

He Who Comes from under the Water @itsagrimm

A stunningly diverse read that is simply unique and undeniably breathtaking. The series dives into Eastern European and Slavic culture and folklore, illustrating König to be a Vodyanoy. Along with the easy to read material, Grimm adds interesting research and citations at the end of every chapter. (König x AFAB! Reader)

Bleeding Blue @nsharks

A beautiful realistic series that takes place in a “zombie” apocalypse. The reader is found by Ghost and his daughter, Blue. Blue is such a well written original character, sometimes I catch myself reading other fics and I’m like “where’s Blue?” All the relationships and scenarios are so well thought out. Twix, as the reader is nicknamed, finds herself bonding with the two of them. This is such an excellent slow burn and a must read. (Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB! Reader)

Hold your Face Away from the Light @fr0ntier

My god how can this get steamier? Fr0ntier is such a talented gremlin. This two part series is a Cowboy/Western Au that illustrates Ghost as the embodiment of revenge. It’s so unique it’s hard to describe, but be prepared to cry, from tears to between your legs. (Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB! Reader)

The Little Things @halfmoth-halfman

This series is so unique because it is written in Soap’s point of view. I love this series so much because it’s little signs of affection that just make me swoon. I love how Mothie portrayed Ghost and how he subtly loves on the Reader. Excellent! (Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB! Reader)

ONE-SHOTS

Laughing Poets @halcyone-of-the-sea

God, anything that @halcyone-of-the-sea writes is pure gold. So make sure you check out their masterlist! But this fic captivated me because it’s so well written. Even the battle scenes make it feel like you’re there. The reader goes through so much pain and torture and you can really feel Keegan’s silent pain and anguish to save the reader. It’s absolutely amazing and full of little tweaks that make you squeal in fluffiness. (Keegan Russ x AFAB! Reader)

Everything that Lives is Gone to Waste @day0walker

Is there ever a bad time to talk to Elliot about stinky men? GOD, this fic is so hot it’ll make you evaporate, you can’t just put König in a ghillie suit and expect me not to simp. The way he’s described in this fic is just so fuckin’ hot. A superb read that gets you hot and bothered. (König x AFAB!Reader)

Foolish Antics and Antique Evenings @fr0ntier

Ring, Ring, Ring! This is by far the most beautiful written Soap fic in this entire app (in my humble opinion). It’s so lightheartedly steamy. The Spit Wizard once again nailed Soap’s personality to a T. He’s hilariously hot in this fic, stupidly so. I recommend to anyone in need of a hot pick-me-up. (John “Soap” MacTavish x AFAB! Reader)

Her Whole Entire John Price Masterlist @yeyinde

I knew I had to include Lev’s fics in my recommendations, but it was too hard to choose only one fic. She’s essentially the queen of all things Captain John Price. All of her works are steamy and read like poetry. I recommend Past and Pending and Underdressed. (Captain John Price x AFAB! Reader)

Woe to the Deer who is Courted by the Wolf @toshidou

One of the hottest things I ever read. I’m extremely inclined to reading vampire AUs. The fact that it is so predator/prey like is so gorgeous. I love the way König is written in this, details are superior and have you holding your breath the whole time. (Vampire! König x AFAB! Reader)

Truth or Dare @soapyghost

Talking about steamy hold-your-breath smut? This is it folks. An excellent one-shot that describes the readers horrible sex life, until Price comes along and fixes that. It’s refreshing to read him as such a mature partner, and as always gets me hot and bothered. (John Price x AFAB! Reader)

ART

No one ever recommends art blogs so I want to be one of the first.

@egg-ball stunning! Everything that they create is steamy and makes me go “wow!”

@timhex Gorgeous Art!

@appleciderp Always go to Apple’s blog for a good laugh at their many GhostSoap panels.

@bluegiragi all of their art is amazingly hot. I like how they illustrate König. And their recent works of all the boys as monsters…. Whew!

More to be added!

#tavish fic recs #call of duty modern warfare #cod #simon ghost riley #könig #soap mactavish #captain price #modern warfare #keegan p russ

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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Eris x Reader | I See Red

type: smut warning(s): explicit descriptions, oral male receiving, slight display of dominance, very little plot word count: 2.4k words summary: Reader and Eris are from two different courts (Spring and Autumn), you are enemies with benefits. I think the initial idea for this I got from @moonlightazriel and @bubbles-for-all-of-us, so yes, dedicating this to you <3

Missed me, darling?”

You lean against the door behind you, one leg crossed behind the ankle of the other, your hands clasped behind your back when you cock a brow. “Dream on, Vanserra. Missing you would be the last thing on my agenda.”

Eris finally deigns you a look, sitting atop his throne, pure arrogance and confidence lacing his features.

“I’ll remind you of that when you scream my name, telling me I have the best—“

“I am here for business,” you quickly snap, not wanting him to continue. Well, technically you do want him to continue but you can't let him. You already feel yourself getting wet by the sheer thought of what he has been referring to. Those tender nights, full of heat and passion, love making and fucking, till the early morning hours, after High Lord’s meeting. Once your High Lord has found out about your business with the High Lord of Autumn, he told you to stop. The High Lord of Spring wasn't too keen on inter-courtal…connections.

“Oh and I thought if you didn’t come here because you missed me, you might have come here to apologise.” You shoot him an incredulous look. Eris sits in a sprawl, leaning backwards, spreading his legs wider. He cocks his head and smirks, giving you a one over. The High Lord brings one hand up to his chin, rubbing over it. “I might consider this dress apology enough.” “What would I have to apologise for?” you snap and push of the door, strolling forward.

The throne room is empty – Eris has ushered everyone out the moment he saw you arrive because he knew this meeting with you would go one way or the other.

The rather unpleasant option would be you acting up, the two of you fighting like fire dragons, and you most likely humiliating him in front of his people and he was not going to have that, so his staff had to leave first.

Option number two would go into a whole different direction but audience was still not needed. Eris thinks about having you on his lap, on his cock, riding him, fucking as this was often how small disputes between the two of you ended – your sweaty bodies, moving against each other.

And he really does not need his staff if the quarreling between the two of you ends in that way.

“For not letting anything know from you after the last meeting?” Eris suggests and cocks his brow, pure arrogance lacing his features. You release air through your nose, glowering at him because he knows exactly why you haven’t reached out to him. Bloody idiot, you think.

Anger blooms in your chest, making your blood heat up. You were here for business, not to talk with him about anything else.

“You know exactly why!” Eris releases a mockery noise and purses his lips at you. “Seems like Tamlin has you on a tight leash, huh?”

You groan under your breath, clenching your jaw. Your hands form fists at your sides and you have to call upon all restraints inside of you to hold back from lunging at him. Also because you have an inkling of what that would lead too. The desire, the tension, the passion, between the two of you is just too strong, too poignant. There is nothing that feels like being with him – nothing can compare to him. One taste of the Autumn fire and you crave it forever, nothing can sat your hunger until you gets a taste of him again.

Your mouth waters when you have memories flooding your mind, your vision clouding with desire. But you try to channel your anger, making it reach the surface so you can focus on why you are really here.

“Speaking of Tamlin. He has sent me—“ “Is he not afraid that you will climb into my bed again?” You hold up a hand, making him shut up. “Tamlin wonders why you want to close part of the border to our court.”

Eris taps his foot on the ground, his thumb rubbing over his jaw while he ponders.

“Border through the Maple Forest,” you press, helping him to think faster.

“I have no intentions to close my border there,” Eris finally says and smiles – his stupid cocky High Lord smile.

You feel fury blaze through your veins because he is obviously mocking. “Why are the warriors then? Lining the border?”

“Because we have noticed unnatural movement from the sea, we are making sure neither Autumn,” — Eris leans forward, putting stress on the next words he speaks— “nor Spring will be affected by it.”

Oh. You swallow thickly, suddenly embarrassed about having accused him of planning something that could harm Spring or that was strange. He is actually trying to protect Prythian – he is trying to protect the Spring court.

“Oh,” you breathe, suddenly feeling so small in front of the High Lord, looming over you from his throne. “Sorry.” “You think a simple sorry will do? Did you—“ Eris halts, lifts a slender finger and narrows his eyes on you. “Hold up. Did you and your oh so amazing High Lord accuse me of something illegal? Like me being up to something that could harm you.” You bit down on your lip and give your head a shake. You know he can see right through your lie, but you stand your ground, holding his gaze. “I already said sorry.” “And you think that will suffice?”

“Yes.” “It doesn’t.”

You roll your eyes, internally planning to pierce a dagger right through his heart because he makes your blood boil and every spoken word just fuels this fire more. You wonder how it is possible how hate and desire for one and the same person can be so closely tied together. There is this heat, almost burning you to ashes whenever you just look at him, but then there is the other side of you that just wants to…punch him. In his gut, or his balls, really hard.

You cock a brow, smirking when you lace your voice in the breathiest whisper possible, knowing it will drive him crazy. And if you have to suffer, he can too. “And what will I have to do to earn your forgiveness, my lord?" Eris grows hard in that moment. He regrets having put on those tight pants that morning, now creating an awful ache in his crotch where his erection presses agains the seam.

Eris moves one hand over his groin, leaning forward. Oh, he knows your games and he is more than willing to play. Just not your game. His game, where you will do just as he tells you, because he knows you secretly love to be his good girl, love to get praised for doing so well for him.

“Get on your knees. Crawl to me.” You shoot him an incredulous look to which Eris only cocks his head and arches a brow.

“You want my forgiveness? Then beg for it.”

You draw in a deep breath, holding his heated a gaze. Feral delight spreads over his features.

“Maybe I actually don’t need your forgiveness?”

His eyes narrow in on you when his lips part. “To bad then that my cock is the only one to keep you satisfied, would be a shame if you never find that sort of pleasure again.”

And damn him, but he truly has a point and that only fuels the burning fire of fury more. You bare your teeth at him, letting the fury reach the surface which only makes him want you more. Oh, having you angered, riding his cock, bouncing on him, telling him how much you hate him when he knows it is your sweetest lie.

“Darling, we both know how much you want me. How much you want me to forgive you. How much you want to beg for my cock.”

The Cauldron have mercy on you and the Mother, oh please, may she look away from your sins. Holding his gaze, you slowly lower yourself to the ground, letting one hand slide forward on the cool marble, your lower lip sucked between your teeth, your back arched, giving him the perfect view down your cleavage and of your ass. Almost in a feline way, you make your way over the ground, loving how his chests heaves with heavy inhales, his eyes darken with desire, and his tongue pokes out, licking one slow, and long stroke over his lower lip. Gods, this tongue and the things it was capable of doing. You turn molten, feeling how your undergarments soak with your arousal. You know he can scent it, can scent how turned on you get by his words, his actions.

A purr slips through Eris’ lips, his eyes glazed when you come to a stop. Eris’ eyes darken when watches, eyes darkening, as you kneel in front of him, parting his thighs and fitting yourself between his legs. “I hope you will grant me forgiveness after this.”

Eris swallows thickly, chest heaving, shoulders heaving, his mind clouded with desire.

Trying to keep the excitement from his voice, Eris speaks lowly and says, “We shall see, kitten.”

A sigh parts your lips and you use the chance to trace your tongue over them, wetting them, preparing them for Eris. Freeing his proud and rigid sex you clasp him in both hands, stroking. A bead of liquid has already built up at the tip and you flick your tongue over it, loving how he shudders, how his right leg jerks up.

Eris groans lowly, an almost primal sound leaving him, when you fully wrap your lips around him, suckling lightly.

His head lolls back, eyes rolling back in his head. “Fuck!”

You take him deeper, loving how much control your actions give you. He thinks he is in control, oh Mother, you have him fully at your mercy in that moment.

The High Lord's hands twist into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp, pulling on some strands. You bring a hand up, playing with his sensitive balls and it is the last push he needs. Everything that is on his mind is your hand on me, your lips fastening around his length, you swallowing around him, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deeper – it is all a blur of passion, of desire, hunger and need.

Your name is a hiss on his lips, his sex twitching and he comes with a shout, hitting the bottom of your mouth, the back of your throat, until his hot release fills your mouth. Eris growls your name when you remove your mouth, swallow, lick over your lips and wipe your hand over your jaw.

Face glistening with him you grin up at him and it is beyond you how fast he moves. Pinned beneath him on the throne room floor, he makes quick work, shoving your dress up, exposing your sex to the cool air and releasing a delighted growl when he finds you already bare for him. He catches your lip between his teeth before his mouth closer over yours, kissing you in an almost ravishing way.

Your bodies come together on the floor of the throne room, his body caging yours, him moving inside you, on top of you, loving you tenderly and raw and hungry.

“Nothing feels like that,” Eris groans, his face dropping to the crook of your shoulder. He sucks on your skin when you wrap your legs around his waist, him filling you so perfectly.

“Nothing can compare to this. To how you feel. How we feel together.” “Yes.” It is the only thing you can say, every rational thought having left your mind long ago. You feel him all over your, on you, in you, and you hold onto him, knowing it is one of those fleeting moments. One moment that ends way too soon and there might not be another one following. You claw at his skin, nails biting into his hard back, letting him take you on the floor.

You move your lips over his, kissing him deeply, showing him all the emotions and feelings you cannot convey otherwise. Because saying the words….you could never.

It takes a glorious time, as it always does with Eris, until you both are fully spent, collapsing on the cool marble floor next to each other, his arm around you.

“I meant what I said earlier in the heat of the moment,” Eris pants. “Nothing feels like you. It is you and will only ever be you. No female will ever compare to you.”

You turn over, cradling his cheek in one hand, kissing his jaw tenderly. “Nothing feels like you, Eris. It is you and will always be you and nothing compares to that.”

The High Lord hums in delight, the words, his love declaration burning on his tongue, but he does not say anything, enjoys the comfortable silence. On the floor in his throne room. But with you in his arm. No it doesn’t matter where, it is perfection.

“So am I forgiven then?” you ask in a calm, teasing voice.

Eris chuckles, his chest rumbling. You love this…post sex lightness. It is always easiest between the two of you after some heated rounds in the sheets or…on the floor. And it makes you wonder if you would give it a try…would it always be like that?

“I might another round of convincing,” Eris drawls, kissing your temple. You swat at his chest, laughing loudly. He loves this, loves to see you laugh, freely, with your head tipped back, mouth wide open, eyes squeezed close.

“Alright, for now you are forgiven. Only until you decide again to show up at my court without fucking underwear on.” “Just for you.”

He smiles to himself, feeling you snuggle closer to him and decides that spending the whole night on the hard, cold floor would totally be worth it as long as it is with you in his arms.

~~~~~~~~

tags: @sunshinebingo @tarataraaaa @brekkershadowsinger @azriels-mate123 @mandziaaa @cosmic-whispers @mali22 @elsie-bells @imma-too-many-fandoms @kuraikei @ginnyweasley06 @bubnix @powerfulpantera

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #acosf

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danikamariewrites · 8 months

Note

hello! I absolutely love your writing so I thought I'll drop a request of my own. What if Azriel's mate, the reader is going through a depressive episode and needs Azriel to help her through it, but Az has a super important mission that he HAS to go on?

Hopefully with a fluffy happy ending though 🥺

Please Don’t Go

Azriel x reader

A/n: thank you anon! Fluffy ending for sure on this one

Warnings: mental health struggles, depression, anxiety, fluffy ending I swear

You cling to Azriel as he tries to pick up his over night bag. He rubbed your back as you cried into his chest begging him not to go. An awful depressive episode hit you this week. You thought you’d have Azriel with you the whole time but something came up and Rhys was now sending him to the Winter Court.

As he made to let go you gripped him tighter begging harder. “Azriel please, please I need you with me.” Azriel took in a shaky breath, swallowing back his own tears. “Y/n I need you to look at me, baby.” You shake your head against him.

Azriel drops his head on top of yours. “Baby I have to go. But I’m going to try and be as quick as I can ok. Just one night? Can you do that for me?”

You step back from him, wiping your eyes. Cupping your cheek he asks, “Do you want to stay at the House with Nesta?” You nod. If you can’t be with Az Nesta is always good company. Not many see it, but she cares about the people close to her.

Azriel shoulders his bag then scoops you up in his arms to fly you to the house. Landing on the balcony you see Nesta waiting for you. Azriel sets you down and she opens her arms to you. You run and cling to Nesta now that she’s your person.

Nesta hugs you tight, looking to Azriel, “She’ll be ok here.” He nods, a shadow leaving him to sink to the floor next to you. To stay with you, protect you. Azriel kisses the back of your head whispering, “I’ll be back. Hold on y/n, I know you can.”

Then he was off. You broke down in Nesta’s arms. She took you to Azriel’s room, tucking you under the covers that still smell like Azriel. “Do you want to eat something?” “Yeah,” you sniffle out. You hear Nesta ask the house for soup and water.

Truthfully, you hadn’t been listening since Azriel said goodbye. You always get anxious when he went away. It didn’t matter that he was a seasoned warrior and spy, you always worried for his safety. Worried that he wouldn’t come back.

The day passed quickly turning into night and Azriel still was t back. An hour ago Nesta left to ask Rhys for an update on Azriel’s arrival. As tears stream down your face you stare out the glass balcony doors up at the sky. The moon bright but not quite full yet, the star’s twinkling as bright as ever. The night sky is the greatest gift in this court. It’s beauty distracting you from your current thoughts.

The door opens and shuts and Nesta strides over to the bed. She sits by your legs, laying a gentle hand on your calf. You look at her with hope in your eyes. Nesta shook her head, “He’s not coming back tonight. I’m so sorry honey.”

You drop your head letting out a wail. You hug his pillow to your body continuing to sob. Nesta held you as you started hyperventilating. “I can’t do this anymore Nesta.” She shushes you rubbing your back. “Yes you can, y/n. You’re one of the strongest Valkyries I’ve trained.”

You continue to breathe sporadically until Nesta pulled you to her chest. “Y/n you’re scaring me. You need to breathe.” She brings your hand to her chest to feel her calm heartbeat. Nesta smoothes out your hair and you feel yourself calm down a little. After what feels like hours you start to calm down.

Your eyes start to get heavy with sleep. You relax against Nesta and let your eyes close, hoping Azriel will be with you in the morning.

Through your morning grogginess you heard Azriel’s sweet voice, felt his hand rub your back in calming circles. “Morning baby. I’m so sorry I’m late, can you forgive me.” With all your remaining strength you launch yourself at Azriel, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank the Mother! I was so worried about you.”

Azriel hugged you back squeezing you to his chest and kissing the side of your head. “I’m here baby. I’m going to take care of you, I promise. I’m not leaving again for a long time.” You breathe out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you Az.”

tags: @rigelus @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel imagine #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel angst

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manjiroscum · 2 years

Text

BELLADONNA

Character/s: merman!Manjiro Sano

Warnings: f!reader, explicit sex, mature language, dark content, dub-con kissing, set in regency era, monsterfucking, amnesia, manipulation/brainwashing, mentions of multiple murders, death/murder, mystery, pregnancy, oviposition, mikey has a weird 🍆 + has sharp teeth and nails, infidelity (not towards reader), yandere mikey, hints of cannibalism (bc mikey is feral and darn possessive), and breeding. Minors do not interact.

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIKEY MY LOVE 🥺💕 also this is for bby vivi's @festive Things that go bump in the night collab

Synopsis: No matter how hard you try, the waters always lure you into their depths.

WC: 3.8k

Dark cumulonimbus clouds littered the whole sky that they almost formed a dome with their menacing size, promising heavy rain and strong winds in the area they deemed victims. The dreary day has somehow turned interesting with how the whole tiny village is buzzing with life due to preparations because the last time one hit the place was a year ago. It was a truly devastating time that caused deaths and many homes that had to be rebuilt. You were no exception to this—waking up by the shore with many cuts and strange marks on your flesh along with a hazy memory. Your family and friends said it was a miracle that you survived. Even your husband, who was still courting you at that time, was far too relieved to question how you ended up that way.

“I’m almost done, dear. You can eat first if you want to.”

Your gaze never left your husband’s figure shutting the windows and boarding them up to prevent the harsh winds and raindrops from entering. The ocean was as angry as the sky, waves rocky enough to drown an inexperienced person. Ships had to be docked while those who dared to go through a storm had already left by then. You were supposed to do your laundry by the stream that led to the ocean, however, it had to be postponed due to the nasty weather. The waters would be rising, enough to be seen as risky. Your whole form shuddered at the thought of swallowing those waters, nightmares of it continued to haunt you when you least expected it.

But there was always a person who saved you—a face you couldn’t make out because the nightmare always ended just as you were about to.

“Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you to finish.”

In such bad weather and the threat of flood, you normally would have gone to your friend’s house a few miles north to take shelter there. Yet, your husband was far more insistent today for you to remain here—indoors and never leave until the storm was gone no matter what happens. And unfortunately, even to this day, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that your friend died last year due to a mysterious illness that caused an uproar in the village after that storm. There was nowhere to go but to stay here. But for him to go this far by locking all the windows and doors, muttering under his breath the entire time. It was an odd sight, and frankly, you were worried by his actions.

Why on earth would he be placing barriers that prevented you from leaving easily when a flood may occur? Has he lost his mind?

Biting back your tongue from spilling your fears all over the floor, you tried to sit back and watch. Your hands on your lap were tightly gripping the white cloth of your dress in hopes that patience will not leave you as you waited for your husband to finish. Tonight’s dinner is already set and waiting for you both by the table. But, you lost your appetite when he finished and called for you to join him.

“Listen to me carefully, dear,” your husband spoke up suddenly in time as the thunder roared across the sky that almost frightened you. The flash of lightning was a bit disorienting. His usually gentle eyes were hard and left no room for any discussion. “You’re not to leave this house until the stream’s flow is back to its original state. You don't have to worry about food or anything you might need—I’ll get them. Just stay here until I deem it safe, alright?” His hand reached out to touch yours, squeezing it in a reassuring way. “I… I’ll protect you. You don’t have to feel confused or scared anymore. I promise you that.”

A good wife never talks back to her husband so you merely nodded. Afraid of what may occur if you tried to press on with your plaguing questions. You have heard of many tales of troublesome wives and crossing your husband was the last thing you wanted. But what he said, instead of silencing the doubts in your mind, merely caused them to be in a state of panic. Ever since marrying you, your beloved husband has been quite protective, to the point he was close to being overbearing. At first, you thought it was just because he cared for you. There were times it seemed sweet. However, whenever it started to rain heavily or there was a chance a storm would come, he always had an odd look on his face. You haven't even been to the beach nor got close to it ever since. What was even more infuriating was his silence or the half-hearted reasons that never made any sense.

What does he mean by protecting me? Surely what happened last time was merely an effect of my own negligence… Mother nature is a daunting force to battle with human hands. But what occurred then won't repeat again, especially with all the planning made to prevent it.

So what is he so scared of?

That night while lying in bed next to your unconscious husband, the mere companion you had was the candlelight flickering with every howl of the wind that tried to penetrate through the barriers, rattling the wooden planks. The sound of heavy raindrops pattering on the brick roof was neither relaxing nor annoying. You couldn’t sleep. Getting out of bed slowly, you glanced at your husband a few times to see if he would stir awake, to which he didn’t. Nights of trying to leave bed to either grab a cup of water or just sit in the sitting room that ended up only him grabbing your arm to stop you flashed before your eyes the second your toes touched the cold floor. Exhaustion from running around and barricading the house has chained him to a night of deep sleep.

“When is this damn storm going to go away?” you mumbled to yourself, hugging your torso as you walked up to the window where a gap is visible. Peeking through the space, you sighed at how the outdoors resembled a dark void you’ve seen countless times in your dreams. If it weren’t a stormy night, the endless void would seem straight out of a nightmare. “He can’t keep me cooped up here forever…”

A deep exhale escaped your lips as you sauntered to the kitchen to drink a cup of water. Perhaps you could blame it on the darkness of the house or the lack of sleep, but you were quite sure you heard the back door creak open. A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck all stood. It was a miracle you didn’t drop your cup and alert your husband to a conscious state.

“What the…”

The door was definitely open, and the wooden planks and other things your husband used to block it lay on the side. Since when did it become like this? You don’t recall hearing anything other than the loud thunder that follows after lightning splits through the sky. Swallowing your fright, you were just about to close the door again when suddenly, the rain stopped. You blinked twice at the strange phenomenon, fear doubling at the unexplainable until you heard it—someone humming.

Anyone out in this weather would be crazy, especially at night. Whether it was carried off by the wind or the person was just close by, the tune being hummed was enchanting and yet, deceptively alluring. Curiosity fuelled your steps as you made your way out, promising to just take a peek if it was someone and not something. But every step you took led you further closer to the beach where the waves were serene. Even the moon was out, its faint light illuminating the murky waters. The whole scenery was as if it came out of a painting that almost appeared like there wasn't any downpour earlier. But what had you continuing down your path until the ocean licked the soles of your feet was that ethereal humming that you couldn't help but feel like you’d heard before yet unable to pinpoint where.

Saltwater caressed up to your breasts the moment you snapped out of the entrancing song. Mind bewildered on why you let yourself get enraptured until something grabbed your arm, causing you to almost let out a shriek when your gaze landed on two onyx opals that belonged to a blond man, staring at you in great interest. Unable to see his whole face for the other half was submerged in water. He was handsome and pretty at the same time—a beautiful mysterious being that you had the chance to encounter. His whole aura was captivating. And yet, something felt wrong.

Heart pounding, you were unsure of what to do. What would anyone do when some stranger is now swimming next to you in the middle of the night? Lips about to move and question him on why he was here and all which ended up on the back of your tongue at the feeling of something brushing against your legs—a fishtail belonging to the man. Crimson was the color of its scales, giving off an illusion of him bleeding in the water. A sign of danger. The alarm bells started ringing in your head, your body froze at what that meant.

Breath caught up in your throat, you couldn’t move a single muscle. Frankly, you didn’t know what else to do but trudge back to shore if the merman allowed you to leave. Horror stories of sailors drowning and women being lured into the waters by such creatures to feast on ran through your mind while standing there. The icy breeze that brushed past you snapped you out of your dread, legs starting to turn back. But the merman had other ideas, clinging to your arm in earnest. Your cry for help turned into a gasp when his wet hands reached up to grab your face, those irises resembling the endless void of the night. His sharp nails slightly dug into your cheeks, but not enough to harm your flesh.

“Pretty pearl, do you remember me?”

“W-what…” There was no way this creature was speaking! His mouth never budged but you definitely heard his voice in your head. Was this the power of a merman? And is he the one humming earlier that lured you here? Foolish, you were absolutely foolish to fall for such tricks. You should have stayed at home as your husband told you. Teeth chattering, you shook your head. “L-let me go… Please, I need to—”

“It’s me, Manjiro. You remember me right, my pretty pearl?”

“M-Manjiro?” you echoed his name which caused the merman to show his full face where a smile was stretching his lips. “I’m sorry, b-but I don’t recall knowing you—”

His lips were on yours instantaneously, keeping you locked there while you struggled to free yourself. Tears started to form in your eyes, scared to death at what may happen next. To drown and eat you would be quite easy for such a powerful being. Your hands continued to push him back, albeit pathetically before they fell limp to your side.

Images of you and this merman flowed through your mind during the duration of the kiss, his tongue swiping and tasting your lower lip, begging to be let in. Memories of you prior to that storm hitting the village a year ago flooded your mind like honey, slowly unlocking more that led to you recognizing the merman to be the one who saved you when you fell off a crumbling cliff on your way back home to grab your things and evacuate. Those nightmares of drowning all made sense now for it has happened before and he—Manjiro—saved you the moment your body fell into the water, breathing oxygen back into your lungs. The very merman who caressed you in places you’ve never dared to touch in that tiny cave in curiosity. Those few moments spent on an undiscovered island a few miles from here were rare and interesting that it didn’t make sense how you’d easily forgotten about it. But such a meeting had to end when you both were confronted by another merman as he was returning you back to shore. Torn from each other so early that ended up you fleeing from such danger and almost drowning in the process as he fended off his own kind from touching a strand of your hair.

You couldn’t quite believe your savior and the merman you were enchanted with was out here, wanting to see you again after all these months. The one you fell in love with during that first meeting. And to meet here again, it was fate all along.

The tears of terror that collected on the rim of your eyes rolled down out of happiness instead. Arms wrapping themselves around the merman, holding onto him tightly. A smile on your face as you sobbed while he continued to kiss you. “Manjiro? Yes, it is you! Oh, how could I ever forget you?” Apologies poured out of your mouth like a gentle drizzle that had the merman humming out of glee. Finally, you two were reunited and Manjiro could never be happier. His hands lowered to hold you by your hips, intent to mark you again with his nails.

Unfortunately, just as he was celebrating having your memories return, Manjiro was instantly troubled at the fact you were now mated to someone other than him. Your husband wasn’t a stupid one and nothing could be more convenient for the merman to have him out of the picture. Months of waiting for you to go back to the beach and see you left Manjiro frustrated. There was no way you could easily forget him. So, who was taking up your attention that you wouldn’t try and see him again?

Of course, your bastard of a human lover.

Ill ideas that spelled death and evil tainted his thoughts every time he came to land, draining much of his magic to walk on two legs for minutes just to check up on you and see that bastard breathing in your proximity. He was quite sure that the bastard did something for you to forget him just like that. Dedication to see you was his only driving force so to see you next to a disgusting human made him want to tear his head off. This often led to him going back to the ocean with his blood boiling.

A merman would never be accepted into human society, that he knew. Those who did ended up dead trying. Manjiro refuses to die and be separated from you—his precious pearl in a vast ocean of nothing or anything meaningful to offer. However, he won’t easily back down again—he can’t turn back now just because your stupid human lover was wary of him. Manjiro swore he won’t make the same mistake again of getting caught by your husband, especially since said human has seen his true form upon escaping his suspicious glare.

To kill the vile human may be his ultimate goal, but to become close to being human shall solve his other problems.

Yes, he has to finish what he had started.

“Where are you going?” your husband’s inquiry was almost missed by you, excited to meet up with your non-human lover. If there were days you wished you didn’t marry so early, they merely multiplied now. Yet, you weren’t cruel to crush your husband’s heart. You did enjoy his company, through the ups and downs. He can’t compete with Manjiro’s enthralling aura, though. There was also the chance he might go and kill Manjiro if you did reveal your secret affair that has been going on for a month now since meeting the merman again. Just keeping the marks Manjiro has given you whenever you two meet was already a difficult thing to keep, what more about the true nature of your lover? Secrecy can sometimes be a far better choice than honesty. “It’s going to be late in a few hours.”

“I’m… just going to be quick, dear. I’ll be back quickly,” you reasoned, feet itching to leave the house. The look on your husband's face was doubtful but in the end, he dismissed you with a wave.

“Just be back before it gets dark, alright? Perhaps you didn't hear the news but there's been another murder in the area. Whoever the sick person is for killing people, I hope they get caught soon or we’ll have to move.”

Head too high up in the clouds to listen to the rest of his sentence, you left home with a giddy disposition. Manjiro was the only thing that revolved around your head and being able to kiss and touch him again. These past few days have been uneventful. If it weren't for your lover’s constant presence who also served as a sweet escape from mundane life, you would have died of boredom under the same roof as your husband.

“My pretty pearl, do you want me?”

Gasping against his shoulder, you fought back a moan. Futile and pointless it was for Manjiro intends to hear you sing beautifully as you bounced on his weirdly shaped cock. The rushing of the stream drowned out your whines and the lewd noise of your wet pussy folds meeting the base of his length that oddly hits and rubs the right places inside your cunt. Such a cock definitely does not belong to a human being. The first time taking it was a struggle for you swore you almost came that second the tip pushed past your cervix. Manjiro would always make it a habit to return you to your husband in an almost delirious state, one where all you could think of is his cock. From the very second you leave the stream with his thick cum trailing down your damp thighs to when you sleep at night, fantasizing of having the merman’s offspring.

Today was no different. Manjiro’s tail was slightly thrashing once you sped up, angling your hips and then resuming to bouncing on his throbbing cock that was leaking pre-cum—if you could call it that. Countless times has he stuffed you full of his thick warm fertile semen that came after he spurted two or three eggs into your womb. His whispers of you becoming a great mother never failed to heighten the experience of having sex with him in the great outdoors. A factor of this being an illicit affair could also be thrown into the mix and the idea of your husband being unaware has you scandalously creaming and squeezing Manjiro. The merman’s jaw slackened at how tight and hot your pussy is, revealing rows of sharp teeth that sunk into your nape, just wishing to mark you forever right then and there.

But Manjiro has to be patient. He has to be cunning and decisive. Your husband wasn’t the only person he has to eliminate to tip things in his favor. Killing your friend in this village last year was just the first step and consuming more human flesh was only the beginning of fulfilling his dream to stay by your side. If he had to kill more of his own kind to protect you, so be it. Manjiro isn’t scared to feed on human and merman flesh to obtain his goal. It wouldn’t be long. He has killed enough people to be able to turn his fish tail into human legs without the consequences of tiring easily or feeling like he was walking on a bed of sea urchins.

“Ah! M-Manji… N-need more. Want to feel you… burn. Want to hear you!” you sobbed with your warm gummy walls squeezing him dry. Manjiro knew if you came one more time, your husband would catch a whiff of your infidelity. But really, could this even be classified as one when it was he whom you truly love and not your sack shit of a husband? “M-more! Please! Wanna… have your babies.”

Ah, Manjiro truly loves you.

There was no one else on this earth that could please him so easily as you do. And that alone was enough for him to do everything in his power for you to stay by his side, even if you want to be free of his spell or grow tired of him. Manjiro will never let you go.

Gently pushing you to lay down on one of the smoother rocks, the merman crawled his way up to you. Not even prompted, you spread your legs to accommodate him. Your raw cunt was still oozing with his semen was perfectly in view. Manjiro grunted as he eased himself into your pussy once more, intent on breeding you and fertilizing those eggs. Because what was more laughable than for your husband to realize you were pregnant and carrying a merman’s brood? Delighted at the image of you round and practically ready to give birth, Manjiro leaned down to kiss you. His blood was singing songs in praise to you, eagerly rushing down to his erect and painful cock that was about to insert more eggs into you.

“M-Manjiro!” you practically screamed as your climax crashed down on you, back arching and nails drawing up half-moons and what resembled shooting stars across his back. Your legs quivered around his torso, satisfied as your merman chased after his own release once he safely inserted the eggs. You could barely see your husband glaring down at you through your hazed vision due to the rush of euphoria brought by Manjiro. Too far gone at the amount of ecstasy that you barely flinched at your husband yelling. His demands to know what was going on entered one ear and out the other.

Your husband was far too kind sometimes. During the duration of your peaceful marriage with him, he was better than those who hurt their partners. This was evident in how he was concerned about you, enough to follow you here. Yet, somehow, you didn’t feel any remorse in loving someone else behind his back nor felt dread when Manjiro got behind him, his legs smooth and muscled. Everything about the merman was as deadly as the sharp nails that sliced your husband’s throat, causing him to bleed and fall. The stream carried off his lifeline to the shores where it would attract more merfolk to the island, enticing them. But screw them for Manjiro would eliminate anything that gets in his way.

The death of your husband did not cause an uproar much to your surprise. Manjiro was already quite known in the village by the time you returned home, a widow but at the same time, a woman who was about to spend the rest of her life with the man she truly loved.

Correction, merman.

The day you got your first morning sickness was the very same day everyone in the village recognized Manjiro as your one and only husband. Your first husband—wait, did you even have another husband other than Manjiro? All you ever remembered is Manjiro. There was no way a human could love you as much as he could.

Manjiro, Manjiro, Manjiro—everything has gone smoothly according to his plan, all for his pretty human. Perhaps you were a deadlier obsession that the merman himself.

🎐taglist: @ranilingus @cryptred @wakaslut @marism @wakasa-wifey @zuuki @stffychn @keijisprettygirl @bunnyjiros @tobidabio @leavemealonebutinpink @eroscastle @kamisoria @httphaitani @chloee0x0 @sanzucide @tokyometronetwork @riszu

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