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gremlingottoosilly · 4 months

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Eat your Young (viking!Konig x fem!Reader)

You weren't afraid when the Vikings came. Your ruler pays them well, and they protect you from enemies far worse - there is nothing to worry about as you, an unmarried maiden, wander into the embrace of one of them. They are on your side. Right? Tags and CWs: Age gap, size difference, Konig is a bit obsessive and a huge perv, mentions of violence, Vikings Are Actually Kinda Nice No For Real, hand jobs, oral sex, naked man/clothed woman, slightly historically inaccurate, jokes about inbreeding Thanks to @angelbabysblog for the idea. I changed quite a lot because I was reading articled about how many of the Slavic cities were actually cool with Vikings and worked with them AO3

The Vikings are here. Your Father never allowed you to meet them before – as an unmarried girl, even if you’re already of age, it would be…scandalous. Not smart. Dumb, really – everyone knows that girls that are messing with the warrior from overseas often end up being taken away. And you couldn’t survive sea travel. The Vikings are here, but it’s not really a problem – you know that there are other countries over the sea, the countries that die and burn every time a ship is sailed in their harbors. You also know that you do not live in a country like that. That sound of Vikings approaching is a good one – that you’ll be protected from the other enemies your country has. You always stole glances, despite what your father has told you – you were a curious thing, always searching for trouble, always interested in everyone outside of your small village. You’re on the border – stuck between sea and great plains, open for any enemy if it weren’t for mercenaries who deemed this place as worthy of their camp. They live here, occupying the territory outside – even build themselves houses, despite every rumor calling them nothing more but overseas barbarians who would tear you down for a flick of a coin.

Well, you always thought you’d have nothing to worry about – you are not made of coins, after all. The Vikings had a leader, the one that stayed in the long house just outskirts of the village – the one that would always visit the elders, discussing the payments and the spoils of war. Father always punished you if any nosy neighbor would see you sneaking out to look at the warriors – but you couldn’t care less. If you are going to end up in a marriage with a fool, you could at least steal a few looks at the real men. Not the ones from your village – they felt more like brothers than anything else. Some of them were – second, third, fourth, just diluted enough to make the babies a bit less disfigured.

But, oh, nothing compared to the vikings. You see them when you run for the lake, far from the shore. They are clean – cleaner than sailors from Byzantine who sometimes stumbled upon the small village by the sea. You think you heard them talking about how cleanliness is a sin – and just how silly it sounded. You think you didn’t like people from this place very much – sailors were often drunk, always handsy and never spared a kind word without an insult…not that you knew their language – but you are smart enough to know that if a man is attempting to grasp your breasts while sneering something through his teeth, it won’t be a love poem.

— What are you doing here?

Ah.

You were spotted. Like a fox in a hunter’s trap – you are standing in the tall water grass, looking at the man through the weeping willow branches. Maybe, if you are lucky enough, he’d think you were a mavka, trying to drown him – some men were foolish enough to fall for the act, sparing you the consequences of your curiosity. You aren’t sure if the Vikings have legends of mavkas – if they even have lakes back where they are from. All travelers are mixed in your head – desserts, great plains, barbarians who would steal your sisters if you’d been blessed with some. Sea beasts who will take you on your ship, away from your father and…ah, it doesn’t sound too bad.

— Can’t you talk?

His voice is rough, and accented. Younger than you thought he would be with a body like this – a seasoned warrior, ginger hair covering his muscular chest and a small trail falling down his…

Viking knows your language. Shouldn’t be surprising – they are working for the elders and your ruler, after all. They get gold from your village, they get food from your village. They get sons – you heard about at least some of the women falling pregnant to the guests overseas. No one dares to say anything against it – but the rumors are still falling. You wonder if it’s as bad as it sounds. — I can talk.

This sounds dumb, but there is no use in hiding. Your intentions weren’t innocent – you are curious and curiosity is what leads to the devil. Or god of death. Or goddess – you are not well-versed in matters of spirit and while half of your village is still worshipping old gods while the other preaches about new, stronger ones, you wonder what kind of beliefs Vikings have. You heard their women can wield magic – and can count. And read. You would love to read, you think. — Gut. Thought I spotted a Margygr.

The word is weird. Rough. You don’t know what that is, but you certainly aren’t one. You take a step forward, not caring that your linen dress is getting drenched in water – not caring about what your father might say after. You would just tell him you wanted to go and drown since he was so adamant on marrying you off to some one-eyed half-wit quarter brother of yours. He wouldn’t be surprised – and you probably wouldn’t be missed. A whore to be, as some older women from your village would say.

— What is that?

He tilts his head to the side, his blue eyes looking at you. You notice a piece of cloth in his hands – something that must have been covering his face, you think. He is covered in scars and dirt, blood from some battle is getting washed away into the water of the lake. Gods, you say to yourself – you won’t even be drinking from it again. Although you promised it to yourself a few years ago already, when you spotted a dead deer lying in the water – and it’s not like you held to your promise. Better than seawater, after all. — A…drowned creature. Drowning creature. Your people are calling them… — Oh. Mavka. — Others call it mermaid. Selkie. Mermaid sounds harsh too. Rude. Other languages are rude – still, you would like to know more. Still, you would like to do anything to get out of your village. Learn to read. To write. Maybe hold a baby goat close to your chest and not have it ripped away for the nearest dinner.

— I’m not…that.

— I can see.

He laughs and you steal a peak at his manhood. You should be ashamed, really – if your dear mother was alive, she’d beat you up for being so immodest. If your dear mother was alive, you wouldn’t be allowed to sneak out like that – but she isn’t, so you stare at the man who can crush your skull in one hand. You stare at the trail of ginger hair going down his waist. The muscles flexing and the scars on his hips, glossy from cold lake water.

Hm.

Is it supposed to be this big?

He coughs and you peek to look at him again. Coughing isn’t good – he can be sick. Contangenous. There is a sickness coming around from sailor to sailor – you wonder if vikings have it too. You don’t want to get sick – but it would surely keep you out of marriage for a long while. Maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you could be buried like a pretty maiden. White dress and mourning relatives. That would teach them how to send you off to marry some dumb cousin you never knew before. Or knew too well. — You shouldn’t come here, Schatzen.

— Why?

— My men won’t be as nice as I am when they see a maiden in the lake.

You smile, tilting your head to the side. There are rumors – you can’t invite foreign mercenaries into your country without them taking their toll on the locals. Some people like them, some people are scared of them. Some are going out of the ordeal pregnant and some are not returning at all. But, you can run. But, this is your lake. You like it here – the quiet, the tranquility. You think that if your father proceed with calling you an old bride who should be married as soon as possible, you could just run away and live here. Fish is nice and there are berries when it’s not too cold. — Where are your men?

You never saw Vikings in battle. Never saw a group of them up close – you’d like to, of course. There are warriors in your village, but their best shot is wolves and deer. Not other men – you think you’d like to see war sometimes. Maybe, all the boys of age would die and you won’t have to worry about anything anymore. You would be nice as a local witch – or a local healer. Old hag sounds nice too. — Around. Waiting for the order. — What order?

You ask so many questions, König thinks. Pretty thing – smart, too. You aren’t afraid of him, even though you have to be. Most women would be screaming and crying if they saw someone like him in the lake next to them. Not Viking women of course – but people from around here are soft. Cherished. Coddled. You also seem soft, too soft, too gentle – a woman living in a small village on the shore without a husband shouldn’t be this careless. König knows you’re just lucky that the ruler of your country is kind enough to pay the overseas mercenaries instead of suffering the pillaging. Not all of people are this lucky.

If he won’t get a promised weight in gold this village won’t be lucky either.

König looks at your sweet face, at the way your eyes constantly dart to his crotch. Curious little thing you are – he isn’t sure if he is that happy that the payments have been consistent up to this point. That he can’t just screw this all over and demand a payment in other ways. That pillaging this village and taking all of its women isn’t really an option while they get their gold from here. Your long linen dress clings to your skin - you’re shaking, he notices. From cold, probably, dumb lady who is too curious for her own good. Hm. He has furs not far from here. He can…

— We’re protecting the shore. The border, too. You smile, nodding. And here he thought the locals knew why the foreigners were here – but he can’t expect too much, he guesses. At least it seems like you haven’t heard of most of his accomplishments. The rivers of blood would be enough to fill this whole lake three times. Or, maybe, you heard – and didn’t care, brave and fearless little thing. König likes the sound of that.

— Are you cold?

You ask him, to his surprise. Your gaze is switching from his face – he is open, cheeks flushed from the cold and a maiden right next to him, and he can’t even find it in himself to cover his scarred mug – to his cock. It’s standing proudly, heavy, balls hanging low as if asking to be held in your soft palms. König isn’t embarrassed – but he is surprised that your body, showing only a little bit in that dress of yours, is already enough to make him this bothered. This ready to give up the supposed protection of this village and take what’s his. — You can warm me.

You tilt your head to the side, mimicking his action from earlier. Curious bird – he could keep you at his ship. Tied up to the post, ready for anyone to use you. You’re strong, and resilient. Should survive the long way home – and he is getting quite ready to find someone at last. If the ruler of your little kingdom won’t be as stingy as the previous one, König can walk away with a sack of gold hanging on his shoulder. Enough for him and for him men. Surely enough to sway you. — How?

— Do you have a husband?

He knows, you probably don’t. A husband wouldn’t allow his wife to run around and flirt with other men – and if König was yours, he surely would keep you locked in like the treasure you are. There is too many men ready to take what doesn’t belong to them.

— No. And I won’t.

— Why? — Soon I will be too old to be a bride anyway. Not that I want it. He laughs at that. Surely, little bird, it wouldn’t be your choice. If the luck is on his side, it wouldn’t even be the choice of your father. — Touch me, Schatzen. You want it, ja?

He says this with more awkwardness than before. Swaying women by his side isn’t his strong suit – and even with his strength, not many of them would just throw themselves at him. Being a mercenary leader might bring him money but with the whole team consisting of equally strong and handsome men, the broody leader usually isn’t the first choice. He gets his fill eventually – but not the one that would make his heart flutter. With you, however… Your hands are traveling down his abs. Caressing every bit of skin you see – sending goosebumps down his navel and straight to his hard and leaking cock. He wonders if you’ve done this before – but your actions are the one of an explorer, not a professional. YOu grab his cock with both hands almost as if strangling him, and König lets go with a choked moan.

You retrieve your hands, nervous. Good girl. Eager, pretty. Such a shame this village usually pays its tolls. — Are you hurt?

— Nein, it’s…go on. You proceed to touch him, the softness of your touches is making him groan from pleasure. This is something else – you’re something else. Having the power to bring a seasoned warrior to his knees – god, how much he liked the way you looked at him. Eager and curious, always going down to touch his cock some more. You press your palm together, making s steady rhythm – using the pre-cum from his cockhead like a lube.

König relishes in the feeling – he might be one of the strongest soldiers, but it was the first time he felt victorious. With your hand pumping his cock up and down, the pleasure settling in his stomach and threatening to burst, he felt like a king. No, the king. Gods, you were beautiful. Worthy of throwing this village into the fire for. Worthy risking the payment. Your mouth is warm on his manhood – he didn’t expect you to be this active, to wrap your lips around the bulging head and bop your head just a bit. Up and down. Tongue swirling, as if tasting him. Making him sweat that you will decide to take a bite out of it, just to satisfy your curiosity. To his peace, you didn’t. He came shortly after you decided to put your mouth on him – when your tongue started to swirl around and collect the bitter taste of his pre-cum. When your curiosity about foreign warriors bathing in your lake finally made you do something about it – and he would feel bad about pressing a hand in your hair and forcing you to choke on his length, your nails digging small red paths in his pale thighs. You choke and squirm and cry and this is the sweetest sound he ever heard – so when he finally drags you away from his cock, smiling as you wipe your mouth and whimper. Squirm again, some more. The light in your faded a little as he pushed one calloused finger into his mouth and pushed your lips apart. Poor thing, he thinks. — You did good, little bird.

His seed tastes weird on the tongue. You wince, but swallow – it’s what good brides should do, you think. Somehow, looking at this warrior, you don’t feel so bad about being considered a bride. Maybe…no. You stalled here for long enough – you saw the Viking. You touched him. Tasted him. Father is probably looking for you.

You don’t even bother to say goodbye as you come out of the water – but König stops you right on the edge of the lake, firm hand on your shoulder. Squeezing. Touching. Feeling.

— I…I apologize, maiden. I lost control.

His voice is hesitant. You don’t like how unsure he sounds. It made you feel unsure too. Weird. Uncertain and meek.

— Are you going to leave soon?

He stops mumbling, looking into your eyes. This is settled – he is not leaving you here. You must return to your family, say your goodbyes. Maybe enjoy a few weeks of peace before his troupe finally gets a clearing on killing whatever enemies grouped at the border – and he will take you no matter the payment your ruler can give him. Nothing will be worth more than you.

— Yes. Yes, I will. You turn away, almost running. He didn’t stop you this time – you need to get as much freedom in your lungs as you can. He will take you eventually and, well…you best enjoy freedom as much as you could before this.

When your village will burn along with all the cousins, half-triple brothers, and elders, you’ll find out why most countries fear the Vikings. When you will be hauled to the wooden ship over a giant’s shoulder, with his hand sitting firmly on your ass and his other palm preventing you from screaming, you’d know why taking the attention of overseas mercenaries is a bad idea. When your ruler would refuse to pay the warriors for their service and force them to just take everything by force, you’d know why making payments on time is so important.

When König would finally make you his wife, you’d understand why you should have drowned in that lake instead.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #call of duty #cod x you #konig x you #konig cod #cod konig #yandere x you #yandere x reader

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t0rturedangel · 2 months

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How about the Hazbin hotel gang with seraphim child reader who just somehow appeared after ep 8

╭ . . . 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 ੭

𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀��𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⿻ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦??

⌦ 𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 ﹕angel dust - swearing, just him being him. Alastor - ill intent, possible swearing. Mentions of killing, mentions of blood. Nifty - she tries to kill you, dw you dont die. this too me so long im gonna cry

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ okay, firstly just know that the crew goes fucking crazy- I mean they just fought an entire army of exorcist angels and killed Adam, the first man Adam!! So they all think that you're sort of there to try and punish them all for it, so they all get ready to attack (even though you're LITERALLY a child, children are wild though)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ that's until Charlie, bless her heart, recognizes you (and depending on if you tried to defend her in court just like Emily) and rushes up to you, holding her arms out happily- thats until Angel Dust surprisingly tries to stop her

"It's you!" Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in a pleasant surprise, you were the third and youngest seraphim and much like your older sister Emily felt the need to defend Charlie and her idea of redemption- the thought of allowing those who suffered to see the error of their ways and correct them and then given their reward of eternal peace sounded brilliant, much like Emily you were horrified to learn of the exterminations. You were the first one to openly agree to what Charlie had said despite Adam's comments and facial expressions, you also helped Emily in trying to make the court see what was wrong with this method, unfortunately your plans did not work, though Charlie remembered your efforts and clearly she enjoys your presence. At the glee in her tone, you smiled and stepped forward, wanting to give a hug to the princess of hell though paused in confusion when someone looking oddly like a spider stopped her.

"Woah there toots!" the spider called out to his friend, grabbing her arm to halt her movement- Angel dust was staring both you and Charlie down- a look of uncertainty and distrust painted all over his face "Why ya going to rando angels? what if they were sent down here to finish the job for Adam?", Angel did have a point- you appeared put of no where and was just standing outside the hotel? pretty suspicious.. though Charlie is quick to cool things down "Oh no no no! They're alright, they're a friend! They mean no harm at all- in fact [name] was one of the angels who supported my idea!" she turned to you joyfully, smiling from ear to ear "We can trust them!" ... "okay but how did they end up here? in uh hell?" Husk piped up, his voice full of boredom- or annoyance (you can never really tell with husk, what an odd man) "Oh I fell! ... or rather- I threw myself out of heaven" you happily answered the question, giving everyone a quick second to process what the actual fuck you just said.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ thats how you joined the hotel! Pretty nice innit??

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Charlie adores you! you're such a sweet little thing, you're a sweetie and are just so kind to everyone!! (at least that's what she likes to think)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she thinks of you as a little small sibling!, after all you're the youngest of the team and act just like her, plus she always wanted a little sibling so you're perfect!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ any ideas she thinks of or any redemption exorcises she runs them by you- to see if they can be more or less effective to get her friends into heaven

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Since Charlie could only stay in heaven for so long, she loves to ask you about heaven and how it was like- always being so invested in your stories, she honestly cannot get enough of them!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ also, Charlie is... painfully aware that she can never get into heaven, ever. Afterall, she's not only a hell-born but also literally the heir to the throne of hell so yeah there is no chance for her redemption, something she cannot handle- she cries knowing this but now that she has you- someone who ran from heaven, actively choosing to leave and come here gives her comfort. Now she'll never be alone, she has you and you have her!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ At first, Lucifer was startled and untrusting of you- you're a seraphim, someone that was just like him and could possibly actually take him down despite you being an actual child.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ over time, the king of hell did grow warmer to you, after all he sees a bit of himself in you. Both ex-angels, both hate heaven.... it's like you're his second little one!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Sometimes, when lucifer isnt busy with his actual child, he hangout with you- entertaining you with his magic while you return the favor with little stories and things, sometimes you even create little gifts like flowers for him.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Lucifer vows to keep you safe, even though you can easily take down hundreds of sinners and even overlords, it's paternal instincts what can i say?

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ this man totally makes you ducks- he has enough experience in making ducks so you know own a few dozen in your hotel room- how lovely!!

𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ oh this man, this radio demon. He's out for your soul, absolutely hell-driven to get it, and it's all for power (who could have guessed)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He doesnt like kids, in fact he can confirm that he absolutely HATES children though he will act all kind and lovely to you- remember though it's all an act! don't fall for it, he just wants your soul (if he gets your soul, your angelic soul? fuck- he'll be even more powerful than before, having an angel's soul would make him practically invincible!)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ This guy, funny fella really. HE CANNOT BUGGER OFF. Whenever you need help with anything he's the first to appear and offer a helping hand- and then in return as a favor back asks for a deal- is he serious? (yes. he always is)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Alastor though also, much like everyone else becomes a a bit soft for you- occasionally creating those little weird shadow creatures to play with you, since everyone around you are adults and are busy it's a way of keeping you entertained when they're busy

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He, also, understands that you are more powerful than him- and knows that if he gets on your nerves enough he'll probably become dust.

𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ at first, Nifty only had one goal: to kill you (hey don't blame her! Charlie told her to stab and she's still under that impression)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ good for you though!! coz you fly up right as she even tries to stab her dagger through your chest- Charlie and Vaggie immediately grabbing nifty to stop her from moving and killing you.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ after the whole misunderstanding, Nifty actually enjoys begin with you! you're clean, and help kill bugs (well really it's you pointing the bugs out to Nifty and her killing them)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ You're, unsurprisingly, taller than Nif so she likes to climb up on you and sit on your shoulders or stand on your back while holding onto your shoulders. She finds you the most comfortable to climb- plus she can hide in your wings and be used as a secret weapon.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she adores playing with roaches with you- while you are grossed out by it slightly, you still play to entertain Nifty (then after you sanitize your whole body about ten times)

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel tends to avoid you, not out of hate or spite or anything- it's just.... well he is aware of how he is and well he doesnt want to ruin you in the sense of his dirty talk and swearing.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ though occasionally he finds himself stuck looking after you, which is.... fun.... no i mean really its fun as fuck!!! Angel makes all sorts of jokes, offers you alcohol (you did almost take it if it werent for husk and practically everyone else to all collectively pry the bottle of vodka out of your hands)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel dust also teaches you some very creative swear words! so now, whenever you feel like talking you run around screaming weird insults at people, Alastor has heard you shout "EAT ASS AND DIE HORSE FACE FUCK BITCH!!" a few times to random sinners

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ The... star, is actually proud of teaching you those words- hey if you wanna stay in hell you gotta act like it!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ hides you away from Val- though somehow you still find out about him, and when you learnt how he treated your spider-friend.. uhm, the studio was in smithereens and val was close to death- now permanently loosing his right arm (just his right arm for now)

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐊

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ to you, Husk is like the weird- drunk uncle who just got out of prison. Though, he's the cool drunk uncle.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk doesnt really speak to you, which is brilliant coz you dont really speak- so the two of you communicate through looks and gestures, leaving everyone in the hotel watching you two 'talk' very confused.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ never gives you alcohol, no matter how much you ask with 'cherries on top' and if he does catch you with any intoxicating drinks he snatches them off of you- scolds you a bit then drinks the beverage himself.... hypocrite

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk helps you avoid Alastor, he doesnt want to see you being under his clutches, you dont deserve that you're just a kid.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He also teaches you how to do magic tricks just incase you ever want to become a magician... and sometimes he teaches you how to play card games- or how to gamble

𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ In all honestly, Vaggie is very much threatened by you- because like, do i even need to say it?? YOU'RE A SERAPHIM !!!!!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Buttt as long as Charlie is okay with you and you don't pull any stunts to try and sabotage the team you're alright! Just dont try anything.... please

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she accidently treats you like a soldier sometimes- a habit from her exorcist days, speaking of you could immediately tell she was one of those angels and while you did not like her at first you grew to like her- viewing her as a second older sister

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ you and Vaggie sometimes sit and remember old times in heaven- and you'd ask about the exterminations, though quickly stopped after noting her discomfort.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Vaggies also likes to try and swap weapons with you- to see if she and you can handle other weapons (unsurprisingly you both adapt quite quickly)

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lure-of-writing · 25 days

Text

His little sister

Summary: Azriel point of view of the things you do as Rhysands little sister (This should be read only after reading all in a days work and knock before you enter otherwise it probably won't make any sense as you need the know what happened in the other two for this to make sense )

word count: 2.5 k

Note: Hello! For a while I was stumped on how to continue the little sister series so boom! I present to you Azriel's pov. I would love to hear what you guys think about having things from this perspective also! please don't be shy and let me know!

The playful touches and not so subtle glances across the room paired with the seductive bit of your lip as it lifts into a forbidden smile is not lost upon the spymaster of the night court. In fact everything you did never went unnoticed by him. As Rhysands little sister he was more or less forbidden from having any relationship with you that was purely platonic or sibling-like. Much to the high lord's irritation, once you learned of the rules set in place for the general and the shadow singer, you had made it your own personal mission to see just how much you could get away with. Just how far could you bend the rules before your older brother snapped?

Azriel was well aware of the game you played in hopes of causing your brother a small amount of distress. Unfortunately for him, he respected his high lord and his wishes to much to counter your advances with some of his own but that doesn’t mean he can’t help you accomplish your lifes works of making your brother rub his temples with a long sigh and a shot of whiskey or which ever bottle of alcohol appeared before him first.

It had been just a few short weeks after your fifteenth birthday when you had learned about the guidelines Rhys had set for the two other males in your family. Being told what to do never sat well with you, neither did being told who you can and can’t do things with. At first your reaction was to find your brother and argue with him until he couldn’t think straight but when you were on the way to his office you bumped into your favorite member of the bat boys. Azriel was leaning against the wall of Rhysands office waiting for his meeting with Helion when you were stuck with a brilliant idea. “Az?” his hazel eyes shifted from the dark oak doors to where you stood in the middle of the hall. “Yes?” as soon as the word had left his mouth he knew you were up to something. It was the way your eyes lit up in excitement and you shuffled over to him with hurried steps. Huddled close to his body you beaconed him to lean down so you could whisper in his ears. Wordlessly he follows your commands. “Would you like to help me make Rhys question why he was blessed with being my brother?”

The sly smile and trouble that brewed in your eyes was enough to get him to say yes. Not like he could ever say no to you in the first place but that wasn’t important. From that moment on he would allow you to flirt with him and crawl into his lap with no rejection. This drove Rhysand up a wall. He said that they could not try to flirt with you but you never said anything about it being the other way around and you had taken full advantage of that each and every single time the opportunity presented itself.

Family dinners amongst the inner circle were never an uncommon thing but since everything that transpired over the last fifty something years had the family dinners becoming a more common tradition. After dinner talks and catching up had been moved to the living room. Silently Azriel sat by himself, listening to his family talk. Perfectly content with listening rather than speaking. While Cassian went on this third rant about why he was certain that he could fight Bryaxis, if and big if here, they weren’t so scary looking, when you had gotten up from where you were sat next to Mor on the floor. He watched as you left the room and not even a second later his shadows informed him that you were getting another wine.

His attention shifted from his brother onto you when you had reentered the room with a glass full of wine and strutted over to him and made yourself comfortable in his lap. Az would never admit it but the feeling of your arm draped over his shoulder and playing with his hair was one of his favorite feelings in the world. As your body leaned into his, the temperate difference between the two of you became very apparent to the shadowsinger. Without thinking he placed his much warmer hand on your freezing and goosebump covered leg to help warm you back up. The slit in your dress had done nothing to help keep you warm.

Without saying anything he watched as his brother marched his way over to where you had chosen to sit, also known as Azriels lap. He watched as Rhys reached his hand out in hopes of pulling you off of closest friend and he watched as Rhysands face morphed into one of confusion to anger as Azriels wings furled around you to keep your brother from grabbing you from him. If there was one thing that the shadowsinger knew with one hundred percent certainty, it was that you could handle yourself. The context didn’t matter, you could always handle yourself. So while you and your brother went back and front he mindlessly began to rub comforting circles where his hand had found purchase on your leg. And once Rhysand had made his way back to his mate, he had leaned down and pressed his lips against your hairline. “You are a menace” giggling you smile up at him before shrugging and taking a sip of your forgotten wine.

Visiting the court of nightmares was never something that brought Azriel much joy. More often than not he was watching for any threats against his high lord's life, now he had to worry about his high lady also. It wasn’t as if Azriel wasn’t capable of handling such a task but when you had revealed that you would also be in attendance, it brought Azriel another level of stress. He knew that you could handle the court politics and the volleyball of words sent back and forth with hidden messages. Hell you had even been trained by all three males and Morrgian. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself but there has always been a part of Azriel that couldn’t rest when he knew you could be in danger at any moment.

Now the notoriously quiet male, while known for not saying much, always had something to say when it came to you. There was no comment too small that you made that didn’t get an answer from Az in return. As you finally made your way down the staircase to your awaiting family Azriel had just about a thousand thoughts and compliments he could give you at any moment. While your brother had a meltdown in the background all Azriel could focus on was you and as you made your way down the last few steps he reached his hand out helping you the rest of the way down. Shamelessly he looked you up and down not caring that your brother just might beat his ass for looking at you in such an outfit. Once his eyes reached your, you sent him a wink and beaming smile. Az could tell that you had wanted to ask him what he thought of your clothing choices but decided that dealing with your brother would be the best idea before he dragged you back up the stairs himself and forced you to change.

While at the place of nightmares the shadows that sung to Azriel hung close to his body, only leaving to secretly watch over you and make sure you were ok. For most of the night all was well, at least as well as things can get in the court of nightmares. That was until his shadow came back to inform their master of the predicament that had presented itself to you. He watched from afar as you pushed your way out of the crowd and towards himself. Pushing off of the pillar he was once perched against he made his way towards you. Az’s blood began to boil when he watched the random fae male wrap his arms around your waist and pulled your body into his. In two long strides he was in front of the strange male and yourself, demanding he release his grip on you or he would do it for him. There wasn’t a part of Azriel that enjoyed the violence he brings upon those he was tasked with gathering information from but holding truth teller to the male's neck did in fact bring him joy.

Upon your release he guided you back to where he was previously standing to make sure you were ok and that the random male didn’t inflict any harm to you. After his thorough evaluation of your body met his standards he returned his gaze to meet your and suddenly your cold hand was pressed against his warm cheek and the burn of the two temperatures had never felt so nice before. Once again your hand had found its resting place in his hair and your lips on his and Azriel swore hes never felt something as soft as your lips on his. As soon as your lips had met his, Az knew he was in for a whole world of pain when Rhysand got his hands on him but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Az recently pulled away when he felt the anger of his high lord coming at him with the purpose of making him bow to the power radiating off of Rhysand. “We should probably get out of here before he kills you.” looking down he saw the mischief twinkling in your eyes and he positive nobody can pull off that look quite like you can. The wink you sent over your shoulder as you grab his hand pulls him out of the trance you had put him in. Willingly Azriel followed your lead out of the ball room while you bumped into his arm periodically. “Honestly he just might kill us both.” he felt you mumble into his shoulder as you hid your face and laughter in his body. Chuckling he couldn’t help but agree before winnowing you back to the house of wind.

After Rhyand had actually considered beating the shadowsinger to a pulp your usual antics had dwindled in frequency which saddened Azriel more than he was willing to admit. During training you kept clear of him in case your brother didn’t approve of you even looking in his general direction and it had been almost two weeks since he had last talked to you for more then five minutes and honestly it was starting to drive him crazy. After a family dinner consisting of you, Nesta, Cassiand and himself he finally approached you. “You're going to the Summer court tomorrow right?” As the resident know-it-all he already knew your answer but he waited nonetheless “Yes?” Azriel watches as you place your book in your lap to give him your full attention and he swears he could bask in it forever. “I’m not doing anything for the next week, would you like me to go with you?” The beaming smile you sent him was confirmation enough.

That's how he found himself in your room the next morning helping you get ready. You had asked his opinion on basically every piece of your outfit and Azriel had never been so happy to assist someone put together their clothes for the day. After you had pulled all the needed pieces of clothing from your closest you held up the corset you picked for him to see. “I’ll need your help putting this on.” And that's how once again Azriel feared Rhys would consider pummeling him once more.

Not once during Rhysands withering glare did Azriel stop pulling the strings of your corset until they were tight enough and only then did he gently pull the strings into a bow before removing his hands from your body. After finishing his assigned task Az thought it was best to leave the siblings to deal with each other and he would wait for you on the rooftop to begin your journey to the summer court. Only after he could assume was a long lecture from your older brother on being safe did the two of you join him on the roof. “I swear if a single hair on her head is out of place I will kill you.” As much as Azriel wanted to laugh at the worn out sound of his friend he simply nodded his head before acknowledging what he said.

The week in the summer court with you felt more like two days. Any time with you never felt like enough. On the way back Rhysand had talked to him and you that he wanted a debrief before you did anything upon your return. Gently he set you back on the ground once he had landed in front of the river house and he already missed the feeling of your body on his. He really wished and in that moment that he never agreed to those rules Rhysand had set for him and Cassian all those hundred of years ago.

The silence that engulfed the room would make anyone who didn’t know the two males squirm from how uncomfortable it was, but these two males had dealt with much more stressful problems and had sat in more silence than the average people did. Azriel knew that lately your antic had been pushing the line but he had never stopped you nor had he ever thought too. Mainly because he didn’t want you too but also in fear that if he asked you to stop you would never come to him again. “Truly Rhys there is nothing going on between me and your sister. You and I both know she only does this to get under your skin and she does that very well. As long as it bothers you then she will keep doing it. You know this.”

After a long and much needed talk Azriel made his way to the stand outside of the river house collecting a much needed breath of fresh air while he came to terms with his conversation with his oldest friend. A few moments pass before you come waltzing out of the house as if you had accomplished some great mission. “Maybe next time he’ll knock” Azriel knew exactly what you were talking about and couldn’t help but laugh at what you said. He didn’t need to ask you what you did as the one shadow that always kept you company told him all about what you had just done to your brother and his poor unsuspecting mate. Without another word Azriel scooped you into his arm while pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Gods he wished this wouldn’t be the last time he felt your skin against his lips.

Rhysand had asked him to put a stop to your behavior towards him. Not that you made the shadowsinger uncomfortable, gods no, you could never do that. It was just you were your brother's pride and joy and he refused to let the males he considered his brothers to be the reason your heart broke. Rhysand would never be able to forgive or look at Azriel the same and he knew that. Azriel just wished the golden string tying the two of you together didn’t have to be hidden from everyone including you.

Taglist: @kemillyfreitas @gorlillaglue25 @willowpains

#acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel one shot #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #rhysand x sister!reader

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dreamlandcreations · 9 months

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Imagine Daemon being infinitely amused when you make a scandalous comment to Alicent

Imagine Daemon being infinitely amused when you make a scandalous comment to Alicent who was being a cunt during the celebratory dinner that the King ordered for his family in the event of the birth of your sister's third Strong son.

The Queen's prayer was another not-so-sly remark to Rhaenyra but this comment involved you too so your response was deliberately extra shameless.

"May the Mother bless both princesses with many true heirs," she murmured.

Pretending to be in the belief that she finished, you rise from your seat a little, making an intentionally loud noise with the sliding chair and grab the wine from the opposite side of the table, from right in front of her.

Alicent looks at you with dread as you pour yourself a drink and reply to her taunting. "Yes, well, don't you worry about that, dear. Daemon and I are fucking at every chance so it is bound to happen sooner rather than later."

Your husband chuckles openly while Rhaenyra looks down to hide her smile. The Hightowers are looking at you with a mortified expression, even as Daemon pulls you down back to your seat and leans in to kiss you while he is still unable to hold back his laughter.

#daemon #daemon imagine #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #alicent hightower #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen imagine #my stuff #my fics

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wingedblooms · 3 months

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Heart of the Night Court

This meta is a continuation of theories in forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, and bright as the dawn, as it narrows in on Illyria, Ramiel, and their connection to Wyrd. Please avoid if you do not want to read hofas spoilers.

Facing Ramiel

The northern region of the Night Court is where Ramiel, one of the three sacred sister peaks, is located. It is considered the heart of Illyria and the Night Court.

Ramiel. The sacred mountain. The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court. None were permitted on its barren, rocky slopes—save for the Illyrians, and only once a year at that. During the Blood Rite. Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful. (acofas) [...] Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless. (acofas)

Cassian describes Ramiel as alive, awake, and watchful, and so very beautiful as she rises from the earth. Likewise, Feyre emphasizes that Elain is alive and somehow infinitely more beautiful as she rises from the ground after she is Made in the Cauldron. Her legs are even bare, which remind me of the barren terrain, and her sheer nightgown might even be a hint for thin places, as @offtorivendell observed. Elain’s strength has also always been different than her sisters, just like Ramiel among her sacred sister peaks.

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live– Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer. And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me— Nesta began roaring again. Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

As each spring dawns on the world, Ramiel is crowned with three stars, and the Illyrians—who we learned may have been the Asteri’s soldiers and therefore may carry on rituals that would have benefited them—honor bloodshed on her land rather than new life.

No wonder that first ruler of the Night Court had made this his insignia. Along with the three stars that only appeared for a brief window each year, framing the uppermost peak of Ramiel like a crown. It was during that window when the Rite occurred. Which had come first: the insignia or the Rite, Cassian didn’t know. Had never really cared to find out. The conifer forests and ravines that dotted the landscape flowing to Ramiel’s foot gleamed under the fresh snow. Empty and clean. No sign of the bloodshed that would occur come the start of spring. (acofas)

Some even seem to take great pleasure in the killing that is permitted during this rite, and Ramiel, which we know is alive and watching, is forced to witness it every year. Azriel calls it a week of pointless bloodshed, but we know now that is likely untrue. @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell and I believe the Asteri may have created or warped an existing rite to suit their needs. @silverlinedeyes pointed out that this spring rite reminds her of the Great Rite, and that made something click for me: perhaps the Blood Rite is the Night Court's Great Rite. Is the secondlight from slain warriors absorbed by the land? And do those few who reach the stone, which I suspect might be the Maiden in this rite, provide firstlight to the cache hidden in Ramiel’s heart? Is it any wonder the winds around her howl, and her land is often frozen and inhospitable?

The mountain neared, mighty and endless, so wide that he might as well have been a mayfly in the wind. Cassian soared toward Ramiel’s southern face, rising high enough to catch a glimpse of the shining black stone jutting from its top. Who had put that stone atop the peak, he didn’t know, either. Legend said it had existed before the Night Court formed, before the Illyrians migrated from the Myrmidons, before humans even walked the earth. Even with the fresh snow crusting Ramiel, none had touched the pillar of stone. (acofas)

The shining black stone on Ramiel’s face is able to heal and transport those who touch it. In acosf, it knew where Nesta’s friends were needed most and sent them to the River House. It is also on the southern face of the mountain, which in the northern hemisphere, is the part of the mountain that receives the most sunlight. Cassian tells us that he doesn’t know who put it there, but legend says it was before humans even walked the earth. While it is very likely that the Asteri warped it (into a tool to sustain them, like the gates in Lunathion as @merymoonbeam so cleverly pointed out), I believe it may have also originally been linked to the Cauldron.

In hofas, we discover that Ramiel used to bear the Cauldron on her land:

“The Cauldron,” Nesta said hours later, pointing to yet another carving on the wall. It indeed showed a giant cauldron, perched atop what seemed to be a barren mountain peak with three stars above it. Azriel halted, angling his head. “That’s Ramiel.” At Bryce’s questioning look, he explained, “A mountain sacred to the Illyrians.” Bryce nodded to the carving. “What’s the big deal about a cauldron?” [...] “All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas) […] The snows around Ramiel parted, revealing a massive bowl of iron at the foot of the monolith. Even through the vision, its presence leaked into the world, a heavy, ominous thing. “The Cauldron,” Nesta said, dread lacing her voice. […] “The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage.” (hofas)

I wonder if long ago, before the Asteri desecrated them, the stone and Cauldron together resembled this depiction of Wyrd:

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin…they were like tattoos. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

This depiction is interesting because it mirrors, almost exactly, the figurine Nesta assumes is the Mother in the House of Wind:

It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose. (acosf)

For some reason, she needed to set Elain’s rose, half-hidden in shadow, next to this depiction of what appears to be Wyrd. In hosab, the Under-King also described Wyrd as a mother to all, which is why I theorized that she is actually a triple goddess: Mother, Cauldron, Fate. They are three parts, or faces, of the same force. The three sacred sister peaks and three blessed Archeron sisters are intentionally linked to her. Perhaps the moon in the female’s hands isn’t just a moon, but a world too. Immediately after this scene, the House of Wind shows Nesta her heart in the lovely darkness of the mountain, which she calls the heart of the world, of existence. Of self.

Heart racing, Nesta lifted the lantern in one hand and gazed at the darkness, untouched by the light from the library high, high above. The heart of the world, of existence. Of self. The heart of the House. “This…” Her fingers tightened on the lantern. “This darkness is your heart.” [...] Let the darkness sweep in. Embraced it. “I’m not afraid,” she whispered into it. “You are my friend, and my home. Thank you for sharing this with me.” (acosf)

Nesta embraces the heart of the House of Wind, which naturally makes me recall the heart of the Prison asking Bryce to open her heart to it…it might sing again. Awaken. There was a beating, vibrant heart locked away, far beneath them. We’re not sure exactly how Avallen might have affected the Prison island, and I suspect there is more to come with that plot thread. While I had always hoped the Valkyries might re-establish themselves as an intercourt army in the Middle, which does not have ties to any court in particular, I can also appreciate the possibility that they might ultimately settle on the Prison island instead. It would be incredible to see Pegasi return and for the Valkyries to learn how to fly on them.

This plot is related to the core thread driving us forward, and it is something that can occur in a book that is centered on Elain and Azriel. Together, they have the vision and gifts needed to map the secrets of the land, starting with the sacred sister peaks, which I believe will ultimately help them restore Wyrd. This would fit all of the seeds Sarah has planted for the third sister’s arc with Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen. It would also be powerful for a character who has been underestimated and ridiculed for gardening to heal the land and the very source that created it.

As I said prior to hofas, this exploration will inevitably bring them to the very heart of Ramiel. As a bearer of Wyrd, the source of life, Ramiel may even be the heart of the world, not just the Night Court. Will they discover that she was once very different? Did she change, as her sisters did, when the Asteri burrowed into her heart? Or was it because the Cauldron, Wyrd’s physical form, was warped into a tool of destruction by the Asteri and later removed from her land? Were the Illyrians created to guard the Cauldron since it was the Asteri’s most precious weapon? And is that why, as @cassianfanclub wondered, the Asteri were so desperate to reach the stone at the top, where the Cauldron was once depicted? Enalius may have prevented it from falling into their hands as he defended the Pass, which would’ve been a critical turning point in a rebellion. Unlike the rite they currently use to honor him, Enalius’s defense was in the service of life, which is what made Nesta’s sacrifice so inspiring. Her sacrifice is now depicted in the heart of the Court of Dreams, which is dedicated to building a better world.

Descending into Ramiel

We learn that Ramiel may be hiding secrets from Eris, of all characters:

Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.” “We don’t know why they exist, but do you not find it strange that two out of the three have underground palaces carved into them?” […] Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.” “I thought Amarantha made the court Under the Mountain herself,” Nesta said. “Oh, she decorated it and made us act like a sorry imitation of your Court of Nightmares, but the tunnels and halls were carved long before. By who, we don’t know.” (acosf)

He tells us that the three sacred peaks are sisters. Sacred is another word for blessed. And two out of three of them have been at least somewhat explored, but the third? Still mysterious. No one was curious enough to see what lied beneath her beautiful face, at her heart. This is such a lovely parallel for the three blessed sisters, and seems like a clear hint for the third one in particular.

In hofas, we receive confirmation that these secrets might be connected to the Asteri, who are known as Daglan in Prythian lore:

“They fought the Daglan and won, she went on. Using the Daglan’s own weapons, they destroyed them. Yet my parents did not think to learn the Daglan’s other secrets—they were too weary, too eager to leave the past behind.” (hofas)

Vesperus backed up a half step, hissing at the gleaming weapon. “We hid pockets of our power throughout the lands, in case the vermin should cause … problems. It seems our wisdom did not fail us.” “There are no such places,” Azriel countered coldly. “Are there not?” Vesperus grinned broadly, showing all of her too-white teeth. “Have you looked beneath every sacred mountain? At their very roots? The magic draws all sorts of creatures. I can sense them even now, slithering about, gnawing on the magic. My magic. They’re as much vermin as the rest of you.” (hofas)

Bryce concludes, after Vesperus is able to draw the power from her secret cache below, that there is a firstlight core in the root, or heart, of the mountain. We see what happens in Avallen when the land is forced to contain magic where its ley lines overlap, rather than allowing it to flow as it should: it binds the magic of the land and causes it to wither like a plant with root rot. And that seems to explain why the sacred peaks are so odd: barren yet thrumming with power.

I have theorized that the caches of power may need to be released leading up to the restoration of Wyrd, and I suspect there may be clues—especially within Ramiel—about how the Asteri warped and bound her to the land. If Elain is as tied to the land as we suspect, this could also strengthen whatever magic she possesses.

In the cavern illustrations Bryce views in hofas, we see what might lie beneath Ramiel, maybe even the entire Night Court:

Scenes of a blessed land, a thriving civilization. One relief had been so similar to the frieze of the Fae male forging the sword at the Crescent City Ballet that Bryce had nearly gasped. The last carving before the river had been one of transition: a Fae King and Queen seated on thrones, a mountain—different from the one with the palace atop it—behind them with three stars rising above it. A different kingdom, then. Some ancient High Lord and Lady, Nesta had suggested before approaching the river. She hadn’t commented on the lower half of the carving, which depicted a Helscape beneath their thrones, some kind of underworld. Humanoid figures writhed in pain amid what looked like icicles and snapping, scaly beasts—either past enemies conquered or an indication of what failure to bow to the rulers would bring upon the defiant. The suffering stretched throughout, lingering even underneath that archipelago and its mountaintop palace. Even here, in paradise, death and evil remained. A common motif in Midgardian art, too, usually with the caption: Et in Avallen ego. Even in Avallen, there am I. A whispered promise from Death. Another version of memento mori. A reminder that death was always, always waiting. Even in the blessed Fae isle of Avallen. (hofas)

This might merely be a hint for the Asteri secrets that remain buried in the earth. But I agree with others (including @offtorivendell, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and @silverlinedeyes) who have wondered if this Helscape is in fact a hint that Prythian, and the Night Court in particular, is tied to Hel. We learned that the worlds in the Maasverse are tied together through ley lines, and the veil between worlds is thin where these ley lines overlap—like the lines in a star.

That may be the true meaning of star symbols throughout the Maasverse, and the one specifically found in the Prison that is connected to the Starborn: as I theorized pre-hosab, it is a compass rose, and it seems to be linked to other places in the grander tapestry of the universe. There is power in the space where the lines meet; these lines represent ley lines. Certain people (Asteri, Starborn, etc.) are able to use that power to travel, communicate, or even light up entire worlds. Depending on how those lines are woven in certain areas, they might even be able to draw you to one place more than another. That may explain why the Prison seems more connected to Midgard. So, could Ramiel be more connected to Hel, and the Middle to…Erilea?

I wonder if Elain, Azriel, Nuala, and Cerridwen’s exploration in the heart of Ramiel might lead them to Wyrd’s Temple in Hel, except @silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I think she goes by yet another name there: Chaos. It’s possible they could use black salt or another substance to achieve this, as @offtorivendell and @cassianfanclub have discussed, especially with Elain’s sight. I am personally hoping for a physical trip to Hel and Ramiel might possess a doorway, or rift, as @offtorivendell has theorized.

The black boat that Aidas led Bryce and Hunt into was a cross between the one that had brought them into Avallen and the ones that carried bodies to the Bone Quarter. But in lieu of a stag’s head, it was a stag’s skull at the prow, greenish flame dancing in its eyes as it sailed through the cave. The eerie green light illuminated black rock carved into pillars and buildings, walkways and temples. Ancient. And empty. Bryce had never seen a place so void of life. So … still. Even the Bone Quarter had a sense of being lived in, albeit by the dead. But here, nothing stirred. […] “It’s like a city of the dead,” Hunt murmured, draping a wing around Bryce. Aidas turned from where he stood at the prow, holding in his hands a long pole that he’d used to guide them. “That’s because it is.” He gestured with a pale hand to the buildings and temples and avenues. “This is where our beloved dead come to rest, with all the comforts of life around them.” […] Before Aidas could answer, the boat approached a small quay leading to what appeared to be a temple. A figure emerged from between the pillars of the temple and descended its front steps. Golden-haired, golden-skinned. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again.

This sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It sounds an awful lot like other beliefs in the Maasverse:

Bryce asked, because some small part of her had to know after what she’d seen of the Mask, “When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that. But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.” (hofas)

“We’ll collect the dead tomorrow,” Manon said, her voice low. “And burn them at moonrise.” As both Crochans and Ironteeth did. A full moon tomorrow—the Mother’s Womb. A good moon to be burned. To be returned to the Three-Faced Goddess, and reborn within that womb. (koa)

Wyrd (Chaos) is the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And that is where people rest in joy until they are reborn. Could this be where the spirits are migrating on Starfall?

We know the Princes of Hel are intergalactic helpers, so a trip to Hel or an encounter with a Prince (Bryaxis? Thanatos? Even Balthazar, if he isn’t Elain? 😉 still my favorite crack theory) might give us insight into their role in Prythian. It could also involve Azriel’s peculiar magic that makes him, like Ramiel, so different from even his Illyrian brothers. Let's be honest, he’s always had a Prince of Hel vibe—down to his reverence for Wyrd (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Chaos)—that I would love to see come to fruition.

Beyond Azriel himself, I also think we will learn the origins of the Illyrians in the heart of Ramiel. Were they connected to Hel before the Asteri made them their soldiers, like @silverlinedeyes and @offtorivendell theorized? Or were they an experiment like the blessed sisters? Did the Asteri put humans (hence the ears) into the Cauldron after it was imbued with their void magic and create beings of night and pain who could combat enemies, including demons? This might be another reason why the three most powerful Illyrians are a match in power for the three blessed sisters.

Together, they balance opposing forces as @silverlinedeyes previously theorized. They seem to represent the forces of Void and Chaos, and their power can be combined in the space between to achieve impossible feats (eg, physically healing the Cauldron and the rip in the world). All three sisters seem to be chosen bearers, or conduits, for Wyrd (Chaos), so I wouldn’t be surprised if we see another example of this in a different way for Azriel and Elain, and/or a scene where they are all linked magically.

My lips tugged toward a smile. But Rhys stared at all of us, somehow assembled here in the sun-drenched open grasses without being given the order. Our family—our court. The Court of Dreams. […] He surveyed them all again—and held out his hand to Cassian. Cassian took it, and held out his other hand for Mor. Then Mor extended her other to Azriel. Azriel to Amren. Amren to Nesta. Nesta to Elain. And Elain to me. Until we were all linked, all bound together. (acowar)

Since Ramiel is connected to Wyrd (Chaos), and there may be a doorway to her temple in Hel, this journey will likely also uncover secrets about her. Will her story come from illustrations in stone, members of Hel, or…my personal favorite, Wyrd herself? I believe that is one of the many reasons she gifted Elain with such powers, including sight: so she could tell her story to someone who could see differently. Someone who could see the creator within the darkness, just as Elain saw the dark cottage as a shelter rather than a prison. This gift may provide them the information they need to uncover the Asteri’s secrets and unravel their magic from the sacred peaks and Wyrd, which could lead them to at least two other places: (1) Midgard, where the Book of Breathings is now kept by Bryce, and (2) Cretea, where the Cauldron is currently hidden. Could Azriel even pay back Bryce for stealing his precious dagger? It would only be fitting.

Ramiel Springs Eternal

I was so cold I might never be warm again. Even during winter in the mortal realm, I’d managed to find some kernel of heat, but after nearly emptying my cache of magic that afternoon, even roaring heart fire couldn’t thaw the chill around my bones. Did spring ever come to this blasted place? (acomaf)

Illyria is known for being bitterly cold, to the point where Feyre wonders if spring would ever arrive there. Sarah has consistently described Elain as blooming life amid death and winter, and this imagery starts to become really apparent in Illyria:

Mor let out a snort that made the Illyrians stiffen. But she shifted, revealing Elain behind her. Elain was just blinking, wide-eyed, at the camp. The army. Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all those towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon…She was a rose bloom in a mud field. Filled with galloping horses. (acowar)

Compared to Nesta, a newly forged sword, Elain is a blooming flower even in an Illyrian army camp, which is essentially saying she is a bloom of life and color in the middle of winter. This imagery is so fitting because she commits her time to creating and restoring gardens wherever she goes. She brings life and joy and beauty into the world. Even her scent is a promise of spring:

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

We also know she is also capable of hearing sound, specifically hearts, through stone. In their conversation about heartbeats, Lucien even wonders if she is speaking to him:

She looked away—toward the windows. “I can hear your heart,” she said quietly. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth. “When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.” Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. (acowar)

Was Elain actually speaking to one of the sister peaks, or even Wyrd, during some of this conversation? Her response to Lucien even seems to echo the song of the land: no one had ever truly looked, not really. No one knew what secrets they carried in their heart. This is such a lonely existence. As Elain and Azriel heal the land, I believe they will also heal their own wounds. Feel seen and heard. Understood.

Elain was also wearing a blue cloak in the Illyrian camp. Could that be a hint of her future work with others who wear something similar, like the priestesses who worship Wyrd? She answered her sister’s prayer during the war rather than Wyrd and has led her own sister in prayer before. Is she more priestess—more healer—than warrior, and is that the different sort of strength needed to garden on a larger scale? @willowmeres and I were discussing this the other night: perhaps like Gwydion and TT (which I theorized singing to each other across space), Elain’s rose necklace was called to the library when the priestesses were singing about Wyrd. And because like calls to like, the necklace answered and drew Azriel to the library instead of the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Like her sisters before her, Elain might receive help from priestesses as she hones her vision and gifts. I would scream if this turns out to be true because that necklace is pure Chaos (pun definitely intended).

It’s also possible the priestesses could be helpful in unbinding Void from the Book of Breathings, a book of spells. I doubt this will be a simple matter, however. It might rival the unraveling of Erawan, which required massive raw healing magic. Will the Asteri’s void magic manifest on another plane as Elain battles it with raw healing magic, shining bright as the dawn? Could a dawn ritual help ground her during this battle? And will Azriel, the sisters, the brothers, even priestesses with their healing stones, need to create a living chain to defeat Void and fully restore Wyrd (Chaos) in the end? Will we finally get a glimpse of her, unbound?

Maybe with the help of Azriel and others, Elain will even restore Wyrd—blossoming life—to Ramiel’s sunniest face, the heart of the world, of existence. Of self. And true spring will finally come to her sacred land.

#ramiel #the third sacred sister peak #mysterious as the third blessed sister #healing the land and Wyrd #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #wyrd #mother cauldron fate #a temple in Hel #nuala and cerridwen #archeron sisters #illyrian brothers #court of dreams #priestesses

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in-class-daydreams · 5 months

Text

Just Between Us (Satoru Gojo x Reader)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Utahime!Reader Synopsis: You possess a coveted ability, the Blessed Womb, meaning your offspring will bear any and all cursed techniques in their father's bloodline. As such, you've lived a life isolated from society, to protect your rare capability. But what about you? Is that all you are? A womb? You refuse to be reduced to what your body can do. You and Satoru Gojo were born on the same cold day in December 1989. The Universe seems to have designed you to be twin flames, but by now you happen to resent the Universe making all your decisions for you. Set around the beginning of the school year of Gojo's second year of high school. Notes/TW: Toxic patriarchy & arranged marriage culture. Reader is sheltered to an abusive degree. Some mentions of blood. Gojo and reader argue a whole bunch and yes, that's a warning. Fem pronouns used and the reader has a uterus for plot reasons.

“The hell do you mean you kissed Geto?” you shout at Gojo.

You sat at your vanity, painstakingly plucking pins from the elaborate updo that the maids put your hair into. Your personal attendant, Miwako, would have a heart attack with how harsh you were being with her labor of love, but she had enough survival instincts to leave you and Gojo be. This wasn’t the first fight of yours she’d been in proximity to, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The boy in question leans against your dresser. He’s still wearing his school uniform, not even having the decency to change clothes for your birthday ceremony while you’d been getting trussed up like a Christmas ham since 6 am.

“Technically, he kissed me. And it was just the one time,” he drawls. Your oldest friend stares off into space, likely reminiscing the feeling of kissing one Suguru Geto. You’d never seen the man, since he never had a reason to visit the Utahime Estate and you weren’t allowed to leave. Gojo would have shown you pictures, if your clan elders allowed any blue light on the premises.

You pointedly avoid his gaze - he wasn’t paying attention to you anyhow, probably too busy thinking about Geto - and busy yourself with dismantling the amalgamation of clips and pins that was your hairstyle.

“You’re mad,” Gojo says.

“What would I be mad for, Satoru?” you reply simply.

He counts on his fingers. “First, you’re not looking at me. Second, you called me ‘Satoru,’ and third, I know everything about you, I know when you’re mad.”

You resent that. Gojo was always under the assumption that he knew, as he said, “everything about you,” and you were always positive that he was full of it. He might have been your oldest friend, and he was a significant part of your life, but in light of all the “fate this” and “destiny that” talk from just about everyone you’ve ever met, you were adamant that your thoughts were your own.

You and Satoru Gojo were born on the same cold day in December 1989. The heir to the Gojo Clan first opened his eyes around 6 am, just as the sun broke the horizon and turned the sea of indigo night to golden morning. You, who would be imbued with the Blessed Womb and therefore responsible for the fate of the Utahime Clan, filled your mother’s bedroom with your newborn wails just before 5 pm, when the orange and periwinkle and blue and blush were being covered in a blanket of night. The sight of you brought tears to your big sister’s eyes.

The two of you were introduced to each other as soon as possible, swaddled in your respective blankets and placed beside each other. What your clans envisioned, you’d never know, but baby Satoru wailed in his mother’s arms until his swaddle made contact with yours. All froze in stunned silence when you both immediately fell into a peaceful slumber. It was as if the stars made you to be two parts of a whole.

Within that year, when you were having trouble learning to roll over, you finally did so to come face to face with him. Months later, his first steps were towards you. His mother liked to say that you were a cosmic match, and she guessed that your mother would have said the same thing, had she survived your birth.

The two of you were a fairytale straight out of a storybook.

You would come to resent that.

Where was your own agency? Were you to inevitably fall for a man whom destiny chose for you? What about what you wanted? Why did you not have a say in the universe’s great plan for you?

But none of that mattered, for as you grew older and the true nature of your Blessed Womb came to light, each scrap of autonomy you possessed was stripped away. For much of your childhood, you shared a joint birthday party, alternating between estates each year. As soon as it was up to him, Satoru decided that any celebrations would be just about you. Maybe he believed he was doing you a favor, but all that did was concentrate all the public scrutiny onto you.

You click your tongue. “Yeah, well, you’re free to do whatever you want. I’m happy for you and your new boyfriend.”

“It’s not like that,” he says.

A bobby pin slips from your grip and flings into the mirror, bouncing to the ground. You grunt in frustration and spin around to face him.

“What’s it like, then?” you demand.

He raises his hands up in defense. “It felt weird! We’re good where we’re at, and– Look, I’m not a mind reader, okay? You say with your mouth that you’re happy for me, and then you act pissed off. Which is it and what do you want from me?”

When you try to look away again, he leans the same way, forcing himself into your field of view every time you turn your head.

“Are you mad you’re not my first kiss? Is that it?” You pause at his question and stare at him blankly. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he adds, “You’re my first everything else, princess, you can’t let someone else have this one?”

You grab the first thing within reach - a pretty metal claw clip - and fling it at him. He catches it easily.

“Shut up! You’re so–!” you shout, unable to find an insult suitable for the ire you feel. “You’re so!”

“Full of myself?” he helpfully supplies.

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” you snap. “You’re so damn full of yourself, it’s a wonder you have room for anyone else!” You turn your back to him. “Maybe you don’t.”

The house servants, and probably your sister if she was in her room, were plenty used to yours and Gojo’s spats by now. You heard from a particularly loose-lipped new maid that there’s a running tally in the staff quarters keeping score of who wins your arguments. She wouldn’t say more, but you like to believe that you’re winning. “Don’t think I care who you put your thin, crusty lips–”

“My lips are soft and supple!”

“Thin–” you emphasize. “--crusty lips on! You can kiss my grandmother for all I care, if she lets you anywhere near her.”

“Grandma Utahime wishes she could get herself a taste of this!”

“Whatever!” You rubbed your temples and tried to will away what you called your “Gojo Headache.” All the headaches caused by him stretched all the way across your forehead and somehow made your jaw ache. They were unmistakable and exclusive.

“See, that’s what pisses me off,” Gojo says, gesturing with one hand. “We argue and when you don’t want to argue any more, you just say ‘whatever’ and nothing gets solved.”

“What part of me not wanting to argue any more do you not understand? You’re so stubborn, it’s not worth it!” you reply.

There’s a light knock at the door. Through it, you hear Miwako’s muffled voice bid you goodnight.

She can’t see you, but you lower your head and speak as soft and sweet as possible. “Thank you, Miwako. Sleep well, and thank you for attending me today.” Then you turn back to Satoru. “But if you’re going to be a pain in the ass about it–”

“I’m the pain in the ass?”

“-- I’ll tell you why I’m mad! I woke up this morning, drank that nasty red ginseng tea, got in the tub, got every inch of me scrubbed down and then lotioned. The attendants brought me into the main hall where I sat and did tea ceremony while the jujutsu clans paraded their men around in front of me, insisting that my grandmother - not me - agrees to a marriage alliance to unite the clans.” Gojo opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not done. “Iori refused to make eye contact with me all day - just like she does every year on my birthday - so the last person I was counting on was you! So excuse me if I’m upset that you showed up late, made me face the Kamo Clan, Naoya Zenin, and the Inumaki Clan’s ten year old successor on my own, then had the audacity to come in and act like it’s fine to talk about your love life like everything is fine and dandy for us both, because it isn’t! It’s just great for you!”

You take a deep breath, panting by now. It’s been a while since you ripped Gojo a genuine new one. Usually, the two of you have minor spats over things you can’t remember and call it a day. The two of you don’t even apologize, you just move on.

The problem was, things would always be harder on you than him. While you sympathized with the insurmountable pressure he must be feeling as the heir of both of his clan’s techniques, he was a man. In the archaic values of the jujutsu upper nobility, he would be free to make more of his own decisions in one day than you would in your entire life. That, and he wasn’t cursed with a Blessed Womb.

You’re still shaking with rage when you glance at Gojo. Even behind his blackout shades, you can see that his eyes are blown wide. But when he finally formulates a reply, you decide that there’s nothing he can say right now that won’t piss you off, so you go over to the window and check outside to see if the coast is clear.

Over your shoulder, you tell him, “Go home, Satoru, every time you open your mouth, you piss me off.”

You throw a leg over the sill and heave yourself up. Gojo follows close behind.

“As if I ever let you boss me around,” he scoffs. He holds a hand out for you to stabilize yourself and you swat it away.

Bringing the other leg over, you land in the grass with a quiet thump. “Point proven,” you deadpan.

Gojo doesn’t even need to use his hands to help him. They remain in his pockets as he takes a high step through the window and easily slips out behind you. It’s an awkward fit for him with limbs as unwieldy as his.

You stalk off through the darkness to the edge of the estate. You quietly slip through and make your way down the path towards gardens. Not many flowers are in bloom this time of year, but the hedges stand tall and obscure you from view of the house.

Gojo ambled along beside you, leaned far back with his questionable posture. You don’t hate him, despite how vicious your fights could be. He was the only person who didn’t treat you differently from everyone else. Funny, considering he was more tied to your existence than anyone else. Even if he liked to push your buttons, he saw you for you, not what you were cursed with.

You were only four years old when extensive genetic testing revealed that you were imbued with an exceedingly rare, ancient power your clan took to calling the Blessed Womb. After studying the signs of its manifestation, the direction of the entire clan became geared towards finding you an auspicious match.

The major jujutsu clans, and many of the minor ones, possessed more than one cursed technique per clan. However, it was rare for any one sorcerer to be born with talents in more than one technique, Satoru being the first in generations to possess both the Six Eyes and Limitless. Precedence and sparse written records dictated that if you coupled with a jujutsu sorcerer, your offspring was not only guaranteed to possess whatever your own abilities were, but they’d manifest any and all of their father’s techniques as well.

Needless to say, the sharks frenzied once word got out.

You flop down in the grass and lay on your back to look up at the night sky. The estate was more isolated from the city and had no electric lights. The stars twinkled above, and you almost felt sorry for cursing them so. Emphasis on almost, seeing as they had no qualms about doing the same to you.

“Who cares about the yearly marriage exhibition?” Gojo asked. He joined you in the grass, leaning back on his hands. “When the time comes, you’re just gonna marry me, right?” When you don’t reply, he continues, “We were born on the same day, these superstitious old crones wouldn’t go back on that.”

“Shut up, Satoru,” you think to yourself. Not that he would have, had you said it aloud.

“We marry, you don’t have to deal with them ever again, and you’re free,” he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You can even get a boyfriend, if you want, I don’t mind.”

“And then what, Satoru?” You can’t keep the irritation out of your voice. “We live complacently in our loveless marriage and I help you rebuild your clan, give you an heir even stronger than you, and we all live happily ever after? You, me, and our respective side pieces?”

Satoru goes quiet. For all the times you’ve told him to shut his mouth, his silence puts a pit in your stomach. The air doesn’t feel quite right without his voice.

“Hey, I–”

“I thought we knew each other better than that,” he says quietly.

Something ugly wells inside you. A warped monster born of feelings you locked away years ago. It lived in the dark, starving, uncared for until it morphed into a malicious caricature of what it used to be.

No matter what you feared you felt, you couldn’t love Satoru Gojo. Period.

One day, you’d be free. You would withhold the usage of your Blessed Womb from the world. You would go childless to maintain scraps of your autonomy, and you’d learn to live your own life. Study jujutsu sorcery, rent an apartment you could decorate. Anything to stop feeling like you were being jerked around by fate.

As for Gojo, he wanted a family. Something to call his own, where he didn’t have to be the strongest. He could just be Satoru. And to accept that life with him would mean compromising your own desires. Besides, was your love for him a choice you made or was it yet another thing fate wanted to force upon you?

“I’m sorry,” you say, because you are. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

He lies down on his side facing you. You respond in kind, rolling over to face him just like the first time when you were children.

Your clan would be scandalized by your proximity. His warm breath tickles your face. He smells of crushed spearmint and clean linen.

Funny how if your lives weren’t so intertwined, you might’ve let yourself love him fully.

Gojo leans forward slowly enough for you to pull back if you want. Against your better judgment, you don’t. He stops and it becomes quickly apparent that he won’t move any further. If you want this, you have to close the gap.

All you want is to close your eyes and surge forward, pressing your lips to his. You imagine they’re soft as he claimed and you’d know you’re in trouble when the butterflies aren’t just in your stomach. They’d be splashed across your nose, collecting in your fingertips, and fluttering down your legs, and just like that, you’d be his.

You can’t have that, now, can you?

Gojo’s eyes snap open when your warmth disappears. You sit up and he follows suit, looking more uncertain than you’d ever seen him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks and you shake your head furiously, both as a response and to clear your head.

Avoiding his gaze, you reply, “No?”

“Is that a question or?”

“Look, Satoru, we’ve had a lot of firsts together and today was the first time we didn’t, right?” You rip up the grass beneath you in your fingers.

Gojo jumps to his feet, furious. “No way you’re punishing me for what happened with Suguru!”

“I’m not punishing you for shit!” You throw your hands up in the air. “Can’t I say two sentences without you interrupting me?”

“Then talk!” Gojo shouts back, uncaring that the two of you could be heard. “Explain to me what your problem is!”

“I’m surprised you wanna hear it, at this point!” you retort, getting to your feet.

“Of course I do! I always do when it’s you!”

“All I’m saying is maybe we don’t have to be each other’s firsts for everything! You got to have your first kiss with your first love, so I want to save mine for the same!” you finish.

Gojo freezes, and you take that to mean you’re right on the money.

“I–” you run a hand through your hair. “I know you like you know me. And I’ve never heard you talk about anyone or anything the way you talk about him, so. Yeah. I’m not mad, Toru. I promise. I am happy for you.”

His face is unreadable, which is saying something coming from you. Your oldest friend looks a mix of incredulous, confused, and something else you can’t place.

He shakes his head. More. And he keeps shaking it until you think his eyes are going to fall out.

“You know what, I–” He groans in frustration. “You’re impossible, you know that? I’m not mad you don’t want to kiss me, that’s fine, that’s up to you, I would never hold that against you in this lifetime or the next or the dozen after that, but my problem is with everything else you just said!”

“Who said I don’t want to kiss you, Toru? Don’t put words in my mouth!” you reply.

“Is that the only thing you listened to?”

Something inhuman screeches near the front gate, effectively cutting off the conversation at hand. You pale. With someone as valuable as you on the premises, the Utahime Estate had state-of-the-art protections in place. Nothing unauthorized should have been able to make it anywhere near.

Gojo puts his glasses back on. “Stay here.”

“What? No, I’m coming with you!” you insist, but he’s not having it.

“Just because I taught you to fight doesn’t mean I want you doing it! Stay here!” And with that, Gojo runs off into the night.

You watch him take a few steps then disappear and not for the first time, you wish you could teleport, too. Reaching into your sleeve, you pull a spool of red thread from a small pocket inside.

Seconds later, their hair on your arms stand on end and a sense of foreboding overtakes you. You hear a low growl behind you and smile. Time to put Gojo’s teachings to the test.

Your clanmates find you right where Gojo left you, panting and covered with curse blood and unidentifiable chunks. Red threads hang tangled and limp from both your hands.

The clan’s matriarch, your grandmother, shuffles up to you and grabs your chin, tilting it from side to side searching for blemishes of any sort. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan fussed over how a curse could have made it past the protections.

“Where’s Toru?” you ask tiredly. The cursed spirit that attempted to ambush you was relatively easy to beat, large, but awkward and slow-moving, but it still took some movement on your part to dispatch it. You could only hope that Gojo didn’t meet anything too menacing.

Right on cue, because he loved to make an entrance, Gojo strolled across the yard, hands in his pockets like it was a warm, sunny day in the park and not nearly midnight. But what really caught your clan’s attention was the tall, wide older man marching at his side. You’d never seen him before and you couldn’t recall Gojo mentioning him in any of his stories from school.

Gojo walks right through the small crowd and stopped in front of you and your grandmother.

“Everyone, I’d like you all to meet my teacher, Mr. Masamichi Yaga,” he says.

The older man bows to the matriarch. “As Gojo said, I’m a second-year instructor at Tokyo Jujutsu High.”

Your grandmother gives a withering stare of disapproval. “And I assume Satoru has a very good reason for bringing an unauthorized adult man onto my estate, especially with my granddaughter present.”

With an appearance as painstakingly maintained as yours, you and your clan quickly learned that the men that got to be in your presence required strict curating, lest the wrong man get the wrong idea.

“Actually, I’m here because of your granddaughter,” Yaga says.

“What would a jujutsu instructor possibly want with her?” When your grandmother asked questions, it wasn’t because she needed an answer. More often than not, she’d already put two and two together and was seeing if they had the balls to say it aloud for her.

“I mean, she just slayed a Grade 2 cursed spirit, so,” Gojo shrugs.

Everyone who knew of Satoru Gojo had an opinion of him, and people could say what they wanted, but if nothing else, he was a gifted instructor. Every movement during your fight felt comfortable, confident, controlled.

“Lady Utahime, it is as good as law that those who possess a cursed technique must attend formal schooling in jujutsu sorcery,” Yaga explains something she knows full well.

Your grandmother gives him a long look, then glares at you.

“It seems as though she’s picked up a thing or two on her own.” Her gaze pierces through Gojo and it was unclear who truly possessed the Six-Eyes. To his credit, though, he just smiled at her guilelessly. She clicked her tongue. “Well played, Satoru.” To you, she says, “You will perform your full duty to the clan. We did not spend generations building our life only for you to squander it with your selfishness.”

You blink. “Yes, grandmother.” You’re honestly lost at this point.

“Pack your things, get out of my sight. Yaga, come with me to discuss terms.” She turns to head back towards the house with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Let us pray that Satoru Gojo truly is the strongest.”

The rest of the entourage follows close behind her. You watch them go until Gojo slings an arm over your shoulders, nonplussed by the blood and entrails still covering you.

“Yay! Let’s go pack your stuff!” He drags you towards your room. “You can live right next to me, and whatever you don’t have, we can buy in the city, my treat!” He cheers.

“Hold on!” You pull back and easily slip out of his grasp. Clearly he only meant to guide you and you were always free to escape his hold. “What am I missing here?”

Gojo grins boyishly and takes you by the hands.

“Starting right now, you’re going to be a student at Jujustu High!” he announces.

Your jaw goes slack. “What? I can’t! I’ve never even left the estate! My grandmother would never agree to this!”

Taking one hand and dropping the other, Gojo pulls you - more gently - towards your room.

“She just did. Now, come on! Before she changes her mind!”

As you struggle to keep up with his long strides, the pieces begin to come together in your mind. Your grandmother was always very strict, to say the least, and she insisted that you complete your duty to the clan. Since birth, it had been drilled into your head that your bride price, along with other gifts of good will and an alliance with another clan, would single handedly revive your dying clan. To be fair, you could see the logic. You only wished you didn’t have to sacrifice every aspect of your life.

But maintaining your beauty was a show of wealth. Your Blessed Womb would be plenty to secure everything the clan needed. With it, even if you had one eye and three noses, you’d have a barrage of suitors.

What’s more, doctors concluded that your unnaturally high output of cursed energy was the key component in your mother’s death during your birth. Grandmother hadn’t done anything about it yet, but it was the general consensus that if you had a strong control of your own technique, your chances of surviving childbirth were much higher. There was just that one final push to force your grandmother to relinquish control of you.

“Those curses didn’t break through our defenses,” you say in realization. “You let it in. That’s how Mr. Yaga was here.”

Gojo doesn’t turn back, but you can see his cheeks shift with his smile.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he says.

“That’s why you were late today,” you say quietly. A pit grows in your stomach. “You were setting all this up.”

He squeezes your hand and guides you into your bedroom. He lets you go and flops onto your bed, arms and legs spread like a starfish.

“I promised I’d help you be free of this estate one day. Remember what you said to me a couple years ago?” he asks.

Forcing yourself to move, you pull out the necessities and throw them on the bed. “Not really, no.”

“You said, and I quote,” he took on a high-pitched falsetto, “”If I spent all my time waiting for a man to rescue me, I’d never get anything done.” Do you remember that?”

Vividly, but you decide he doesn’t need to know that. You already gave him a free pass for that piss poor imitation of you. You grab a few select pieces of your favorite hair accessories.

“Sort of,” you reply.

“All I did today was give you an opportunity.” His eyes, the color of the heavenly sky, focus on you. “Congratulations, my twin flame. You rescued yourself tonight.”

(A/N: Will this get more parts? Probably. Lmk what you think and thanks for reading <;3)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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marvelobsessed134 · 2 months

Text

Best friend’s sister

(Literally couldn’t find a third image to go with the visuals sorry)

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: somnophilia, dub con, dom!Wanda, sub!reader, fingering (r receiving)

Being friends with Pietro Maximoff is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he’s been with you since the beginning. And a curse because he’s so crazy sometimes. Ok maybe the curse is also because his sister Wanda is like totally gorgeous.

But you and Wanda aren’t really close at all despite how close you are with her brother. She’s always in her room when you come over and she never really pays attention to you. Or so you thought.

Of course Wanda paid attention to you. You are just so cute and oblivious. So cute she wants to ruin you. And she got the perfect opportunity for that when she found out you’d be staying the night.

You were too tired to go home after hanging out at the annual cookout so you decided to crash in the guest room. The Maximoff parents were more than happy to let you stay the night knowing how tired you were.

So, you got dressed in one of Pietro’s oversized shirts which made Wanda incredibly jealous. It should be her shirt you’re wearing not her stupid brothers.

You got snuggled into the warm comfy bed before turning the lights out. It was pitch black so you couldn’t see anything, normally you’d have to tv going but you’re just too tired to turn it on.

Only a few minutes later did the bedroom door open and close. You didn’t know it, of course since you were sound asleep.

Wanda creeped in the room and turned one of the lamps on, making sure it’s not too bright to wake you up. she slipped in bed beside you and moved her hand up inside your shirt, groaning when she felt your soft breast in her hand.

She tweaked and played with your nipple, as her other hand greedily made its way towards your lace panties. You shifted in your sleep, and she cupped your clothed core feeling how wet you were. “So wet for me even in your sleep? I knew all along you were a slut for me.” She chuckled softly before pulling your underwear down, sliding them into her jeans pocket for later and played with your soaked folds.

The brunette softly rubbed them back and forth, toying with your clit, before sinking two of her fingers inside of you. This is when you wake up. Your eyes shot open and before you could open your mouth to say anything, a moan came out instead as the witch fucked you with her fingers.

“Shhh, pretty girl. Go back to sleep.” She hushed you in your ear.

“Ah- W-Wanda what are you doing?” You stuttered.

“Been waiting so long to take you just like this. Make you mine.” She hissed as she felt your tight walls around her.

“Mmm Wanda we shouldn’t be doing this- Pietro will be so mad-“

“I really don’t give a fuck what my brother thinks.” She growled as she started to fuck you roughly.

“Oh Wanda!” You moaned quietly, a silent scream coming out of your throat as you came.

#wanda maximoff x reader #Wanda x reader #top wanda #sub reader #dom Wanda #Wanda Maximoff smut #mommy Wanda #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel smut

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theblueflower05 · 1 year

Text

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.

Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)

Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.

The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.

His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.

Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.

They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.

They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.

The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.

The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.

His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.

Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”

Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.

Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.

Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”

Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.

“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.

Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-

“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.

Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.

Only one person.

The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.

You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.

Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.

He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.

He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.

He just has to find you first.

Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.

He’s greeted by his family-

And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.

It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.

“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”

Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.

“I don't have time for this-”

“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.

He doesn't like her tone.

Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.

Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.

He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.

“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”

“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-

“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.

He doesn’t feel that way now.

He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-

And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-

He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.

You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-

“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.

Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-

“Kiri, what do I do?”

She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down

She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.

You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.

This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.

The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.

Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.

After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.

Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.

Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.

“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”

Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.

The last obstacle is the hardest.

You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.

At every turn you evade him.

Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.

Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-

“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.

“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.

Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.

“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”

“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.

His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.

“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”

Jake pulls his son close.

His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.

“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”

Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.

After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.

You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-

“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”

Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.

Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.

He wishes he could let you be,

But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.

“I don’t think-”

“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”

You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.

You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.

“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.

The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.

It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.

Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.

He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.

Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.

All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.

You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.

At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.

“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.

It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”

You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.

So he presses on.

“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”

Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.

“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”

He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.

“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”

You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”

“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”

He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.

It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.

He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.

You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.

“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”

His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.

But you need this. And he thinks he might too.

“Neteyam-”

“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”

Have mercy on him.

“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”

Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-

But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.

You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.

He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.

“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”

He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.

He needs.

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.

When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.

You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.

You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.

When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.

You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?

“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.

“Are you ok-”

You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.

Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.

Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.

You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.

The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.

The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.

Nothing is close enough.

With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.

“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”

“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”

Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-

You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.

Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-

“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.

Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.

“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.

You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-

There’s only one way to ensure that.

“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”

He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”

“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.

“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”

It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.

“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”

You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”

He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-

“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.

You can't take it. All of his hesitating.

You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.

Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.

You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.

Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.

“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.

“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”

“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.

“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.

“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .

“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.

“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”

Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.

A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.

It’s not just how you sound its how you look.

Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.

It’s how you smell.

Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.

Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.

“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.

There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.

Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,

But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.

Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.

You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.

Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.

“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”

He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.

This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.

There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.

This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.

He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.

This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.

You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.

It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.

It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.

The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.

Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.

“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.

“I should be asking you that”

“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”

You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”

It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.

“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”

“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”

You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.

When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.

Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.

It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.

“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”

The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”

Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.

“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.

You are a vision.

Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.

It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.

You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-

“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.

Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.

It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.

The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.

After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.

Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.

“Wait-”

The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.

The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.

The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.

Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.

Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.

Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;

But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.

That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.

Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.

Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.

It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.

“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.

Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.

She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.

The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.

You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.

Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.

As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.

“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.

You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.

1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.

2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.

3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol

4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)

5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!

#neteyam smut #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam x reader #aged up neteyam #SMUT!#neteyam x metkayina!reader #neteyam x you #atwow neteyam

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