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pseudowho · 4 months

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Reader Comes Home Drunk

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Nanami Kento manages his drunk fiancée, you, like an absolute champ.

A sequel to Kento Comes Home Drunk (link here).

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, bondage, mutual masturbation, throat fucking, thigh fucking, m!receiving oral, f!use of toys, stripteasing, BDSM

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"And one more twirl for luck..." Kento sang to you, pinching your pointed fingers above your head as you laughed, twirling obediently, feeling dolled up in your little black dress, building up for your evening with Shoko. Winding down, and drinking you in with lovesick eyes, Kento leaned down to press a long, slow kiss to your hairline, fingers grazing your jaw longingly, careful not to smudge your make-up.

"I love you," you said in unison, laughing with light apologies tumbling over one another. You held your finger to Kento's lips, biting your lip as he took your finger between his teeth, licking and teasing. You crooned at him to stop, I'm going to miss my taxi, and he sighed, stepping back with glinting eyes, still pinching your fingers between his.

"Be safe," he implored, "and call me when you're ready for pick-up."

"You don't have to pick me up--"

"I want to pick you up--"

"But Shoko can't go home alo--"

"Gosh, I wonder if someone will drop her home too--"

"Kento, I really mean i--" A curt finger pressed to your lips. Your heart fluttered as Kento leaned down, his amber eyes narrow and flicking between your eyes and lips, hungry and determined.

"I really mean it," he pressed, leaving no room for argument, "I'll get you both home safely." Rolling your eyes affectionately, you blew Kento a kiss, and he felt a pang of disappointment for being denied your cherry-red lips. Winking at you as you skipped through the doorway, he settled in for a night in his own company.

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Kento had spent a slow night, preoccupied by the anticipation of your call. His mind had wandered to your little black dress, the soft curves of your legs and arse, the barely-there underwear he knew you had paired with it. At points, he was distractingly half-hard at the thought of your painted lips on his skin, trailing down his belly, wrapped around hi--

Kento's screen lit up, a glimmer of gold in his vision as your name and face popped up. Unlocking it, Kento snorted at the blurry selfie of you accepting a sloppy-lipped kiss on the cheek from Shoko, accompanied by a message; "Readyyy!"

Grabbing his keys, and kicking into some slippers, Kento locked up as he stepped into the crisp night air, heading down to the car.

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"Christ, what have you been drinking?" Kento huffed, hauling a warm and floppy Shoko onto his back as you teetered along behind them, laughing, waving goodbye to your new best friends (two women whose names you didn't know that you had met in the club bathroom that night).

Delicately bending down to open the car doors, he placed Shoko onto the back seat, tutting at her as she moved to slump sideways, sitting her up and buckling her in instead. You had flopped, chatting about your night, into the front seat and Kento smirked as you and Shoko laughed uncontrollably at a joke he didn't understand. Dutifully, Kento had been a graceful designated driver, and carried Shoko to her door, not leaving until she was safely inside.

In the car again, Kento stared determinedly ahead as he felt your gaze across his body, wanton and sultry. He was used to you, drunk, and horny beyond belief. He would manage you with the same sexless affection he always did--

Kento felt your toes, suddenly un-shoed, glide across his lap; you were sideways in your seat now, your legs bent with the supple flexibility afforded to drunk women. Kento smiled indulgently, otherwise outwardly unaffected, as your toes glided up and down his crotch, catching occasionally at his zipper.

Your head was warm and fizzling with the unbridled confidence of intoxication. You were not so drunk that you didn't feel Kento's cock twitch under your toes. Your eyes glimmered, arousal thudding and deepening at Kento's feigned disinterest-- a challenge. Kento grasped your foot, moving it firmly off his lap as he stopped at traffic lights.

"Sit forwards," he commanded, "and behave yourself."

"I am behaving," you whined, sweet and breathless and completely ignoring his instructions.

A twang of annoyance glanced across Kento's vision as he grabbed your foot again, hardened to your drunken advances and stubbornly not participating in them. Kento frowned, tense, irritated by how his own body betrayed him; there you were, draped in his car like a silk chemise, liquid and malleable, your legs parted just enough for Kento to see your translucent underwear, flush and damp against your pussy, your thighs plush and full and--

Kento coughed once as his cock swelled, twitching in its uncomfortably tight confines. You knew, your drunken arousal like a heat-seeking missile. You smirked, goading and taunting Kento, your foot squirming out of his hand and rubbing softly against his hardening length pressed to his thigh. Kento gritted his teeth, focusing stubbornly on driving.

With a flash of alarm, Kento could barely keep his eyes on the road as you sighed, biting your lip, coy and seductive as you let your dress slip down just enough for your pebbled nipples to peek over. Kento didn't realise his jaw had dropped until you leaned to him, slipping two fingers into his mouth, and bringing your newly wet fingers to your nipples, rolling them, lubricating them with Kento's saliva as you keened, mewling at him, another hand slipping between your legs.

"You-- you are unbelievable," Kento rumbled, disbelieving and furious with himself for being so mesmerised by your performance. He gulped, spit thickening as you rubbed your pussy with two fingers, still coating your nipples with his spit. You moaned, high-pitched and airy as you masturbated in the seat beside him, shamelessly provocative.

"My fingers aren't as good as yours...Kento...they're not-- want you inside me, please," you begged, fingers slipping under your sheer panties to find your clit, shuddering as the alcohol turned every touch into a buzzing pleasure.

"Fuck, you're-- don't do that, how the fuck am I supposed to-- to--, " he breathed, white-knuckled on the steering wheel as you rocked your hips into your own hand, eyes half-open as you viewed him like pornography; cock twitching beneath your toes, Adams apple bobbing, veins pulsing in his neck and temples as he scowled at the road, angry with you for forcing him into this moral quandary.

His anger thrilled you, your orgasm building as Kento denied you and himself, feeling his thread snap fibre by fibre as the slick wet sounds of you pleasuring yourself filled his car.

As your moans increased in urgency, with your fingers quickening, Kento somehow managed to park smoothly in the driveway. Pulling up the handbrake and clicking out of his seatbelt, Kento shunted over to you, caging you in. His anger hit you like a sandstorm as he glowered down at you, jaw clenched and twitching.

Slowly, maintaining eye contact, he removed your hands from your breasts and pussy, raising your fingers to your lips. He pressed them into your mouth, pre-cum dampening his boxers as you licked your fingers clean, giggling.

"Clean yourself up," he forced through gritted teeth, "before bed." You hummed, nose rubbing against his neck, sinking your teeth into the taut skin of his throat.

"Bed?" You asked, sweet, suggestive. Kento's scowl deepened, reaching down to unclip your belt, reaching past you to throw open your door.

"Bed." Your lips puckered in disappointment, chastised and mulish. Trailing down Kento's shirt buttons until you reached his groin, you squeezed Kento's cock through the thin trouser fabric, and he groaned in anguish and shock, his elbows almost buckling beneath him. Kento snatched your hand away and left the car, stalking round to your door, hauling you out.

You teetered barefoot, and Kento sneered, throwing you briskly over his shoulder.

"You make it fucking hard to be moral, young lady," Kento fumed, kicking the car door shut and landing a bruising slap to your arse, and you squirmed against his jaw as you squealed at the sharp tang of pain.

You giggled again, still wiggling as he carried you through the front door, slamming it shut. You moaned theatrically and felt his forearms tense around you, the aphrodisiac smell of your arousal on your underwear and dress making Kento feel faint with want.

"Harder, Daddy--" Kento slapped your arse again, much harder this time, and tears stung in your eyes as you cried out, snapped out of your teasing. You pouted, nose pricking as you whined at Kento; "You promised."

Kento tensed, rendered immobile. There was a brief pause as he dropped you into a dining chair--

"I promised you nothing. Go and get ready for bed." You glared up at him, both of you knowing he was lying, both of you remembering the night you had given in to his drunk begging until he came in your hand in the shower, shaking and moaning your name. Kento turned to walk away, corded shoulders bunched with unfulfilled need.

"Make me." Kento stopped, silent. You gulped, arousal still thumping through you, and as Kento turned back, leaning down slowly, he trapped you with his massive hands squeezing the arms of your chair.

"Is that what you want?" He asked, low and dangerous, nose-to-nose. You gulped, your mouth suddenly dry as Kento smirked, humourless and wolfish.

"Any lesser man would fuck you, drunk and sloppy like this," he mocked, mean and sharp, fingering the edges of your dress, "but I doubt he'd be able to fuck the entitlement out of you like I could."

You trembled, feeling a trickle of arousal seep through your panties and onto your dress. As Kento brought his mouth to yours, your breath mingling, you parted your lips to kiss him-- and he pulled away, jaw clenched, denying you again as he walked to your bedroom. You felt bitter disappointment and humiliation trickle down the back of your throat.

"Coward."

You heard Kento go rigid with fury. Drawers snapped shut. His shadow edged in the doorway.

"What was that?"

You couldn't stop yourself, stupid with inebriation; "Perhaps you are that lesser man who couldn't fuck the entitlement out of me," you taunted, terror rushing through you as you heard heavy footsteps slamming towards you, "and you're too much of a coward to find o--"

Your words caught in your throat as one thick hand clenched around your neck, your taunting reduced to a squeak.

"I'm a coward, am I?" Kento clicked his tongue, words deceptively light, "I suppose anyone would look like a coward compared to how fucking brave you're being right now." Kento let go of your neck and lifted the whole chair, frighteningly effortlessly, and began to move you towards your bedroom.

"'Make me'," he mocked, dropping your chair and you to the bedroom floor, slamming the door shut behind him, "As you wish. I'll make you go to bed, and fuck the attitude out of you along the way."

Kento caged you into the chair again, his lips hot and dominating as they crashed into yours, his tongue plunging into your mouth as you whimpered into him. Your hands grabbed his tie to hold him to you, and you heard him rummaging blindly in the drawers beside you.

As they snapped shut, Kento dropped to his knees in front of you, placing his hands under your thighs as he yanked you forwards to the edge of your seat.

"Why-- what are you going to do to me?" You begged for answers, equal parts thrumming with desire and dread. Kento regarded you coolly, hooking your panties down your legs. You shivered with anticipation, feeling the cool air hit your folds. Kento raised your underwear to his face, ghosting the fabric against his lips and nose, breathing in deeply, and out with a low, shaking moan.

"Only what a woman as beautiful and determined as you deserves." Kento reached behind you, grabbing a bundle of items in his long-fingered hand. Your stomach leapt, face flushing with embarrassment as Kento held your dildo and rabbit vibrator, usually hidden, reserved for when he was away. You stuttered, opening your mouth to explain yourself as he wiggled it at you, thin eyebrows raised in an unimpressed grimace.

"Eventually, anyway," he goaded, "first we'll see if we can teach you a little patience." Spitting on the dildo, licking and coating it with lubrication, Kento forced your thighs apart with his elbows, groaning at the sight before him.

"God, what I wouldn't give to take you right now," he groaned, drinking in your desperate little mewls as he kissed and licked at your sensitive soft inner thigh, his breath fanning over your core, and you involuntarily bucked towards his face. Kento chuckled, smooth and mirthless.

Silently, Kento uncoiled three ties from his other hand, his lovely brown eyes darkening as he tied your arms and legs methodically to the arms and legs of the chair; his own spotted tie, the last to be unravelled, formed the final bond. Your hands clasped and unclasped against the arms of the chair, lips parted and glistening as your chest heaved in the low light.

"Because you really are..." Kento held your trembling thighs open as he slid the dildo into your quivering pussy, tantalisingly slow, thrusting a few times, captivated by your white creamy arousal coating it as it slid deeper and deeper into you, "...spectacular," he breathed, shaky with restraint.

Kento played with you, his neglected cock throbbing in his trousers; he thrust the dildo in and out of you, some long, gentle strokes, some harsh and fast, and his hips bucked upwards into nothing, imagining fucking you to the pace of his ministrations. You trembled and cried out, pleasure building uncontrollably at the irregular pace.

Kento seemed to forget you were even there, mesmerised by the bouncing resistance in his hand as the dildo pumped insistently against your cervix. Kento pushed against the resistance slowly, firmly, licking his lips and releasing a gravelly moan as you tried to chase your hips away up the chair, whimpering with the overwhelming stimulation.

"Kento, please-- please--" Your cries rolled off Kento's back, uninterested unless you used your safe word, grimly determined to give you exactly what you wanted.

"Don't give me that shit," he scoffed, tugging the front of your dress down so that your half-exposed breasts bounced free, pressed up by the tightly stretched cups of your bra.

"Stroking yourself in the car just to the thought of me, trying to make me cum with your foot while I drive..." Kento cupped your breast in one large hand, squeezing with restrained biting indignation, flicking your nipple in his work-roughened fingers while fucking you with your own 'secret' toy. Your head spun, gasping, wrists and legs straining against your restraints.

"All because I had the audacity to be a good man?" His voice was soft and threatening in your ear, his feathered breath sending shivers through you, and he rumbled a humourless laugh, "Well...I tried to be a good man. Sit back and be a good little cock sleeve, darling. I'm still not sure if you even deserve me." He thrust the dildo into you sharply, and you squealed, begging him for release, your orgasm trapped deep in your belly.

You were so distracted by his voice in your ear, that you didn't notice his hand at your pussy slowing...before turning the vibrator on, immediately positioning the base of the dildo so your pussy was full and your clit felt the blessed relief of stimulation so powerfully that you almost sobbed.

Kento stood, stepping back slowly as he watched you twist and pant in the chair. With trembling hands, holding your gaze intently, Kento began to stroke himself, his own hands caressing the thick muscle of his neck and shoulders, down his chest, fingers teasing at his buttons, with a wolfish grin. You bit into your lip with a guttural groan, head swimming with tequila and frustration, so desperate to see more of him, jealous that he could touch himself where your hands usually roamed.

Kento was glorious in his striptease; the peaks and planes of his mountainous body illuminated by sharp light and deep shadow. He panted with self-deprivation as you leaned eagerly forwards in your chair, breathless as one deft hand began to undo his shirt buttons, and the other stroked his V-line, palm flat as his fingers plunged under his belt. His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk as a trickle of your creamy arousal ran out of you and onto the chair, your thighs trembling with need.

"You're such a fucking mess," he spat, laughing at you as you blushed, humiliation pulsing through your cheeks and pussy, "and you're in way over your head."

When Kento's wandering hands reached his zipper, he teased you, stretching the fabric over the outline of his throbbing cock, a patch of pre-cum soaking through and darkening the beige fabric. Walking back to you, one hand running through his hair, the other unzipped himself, and Kento reached through to grasp his cock, wet with pre-cum.

Your mouth watered, lips parting involuntarily as he sunk his fingers into your hair, gripping harshly at the roots to bring your mouth down, pumping himself firmly, holding your mouth not quite close enough to wrap around his red, angry cockhead. Whining, your tongue darted out, and Kento hissed as it swiped against his slit, a spurt of pre-cum dripping out in response.

"Let's put that tight little mouth of yours to good use, hmm?" With one hand tangled in your hair, Kento stood behind you and tilted your chair back onto two legs, as you gasped, your head tipped backwards and neck outstretched, mouth pulled open in shock at the sudden weightlessness.

Kento stroked languidly from your throat to your breasts, and back up, before gripping your hair again.

"I think...I'll make you clean me up, seeing as that mouth is so filthy already." Kento teased his cock against your lips, glossing them with pre-cum, gulping and shuddering as your tongue swiped out to suck him in. Tilting your chair back further so your throat was parallel to the floor, Kento pressed his cock along your tongue and cheeks, holding you still as he hit the back of your throat, fucking it slowly, feeling every ridge and wet suck of your mouth around him, seeing stars.

"Fffuuuuuck," Kento moaned, cock twitching in your throat as you swallowed and gagged. Kento moved slowly as you whimpered around him, taking intermittent wet deep breaths, "More tongue...more-- aaaahhh-- that's it, good girl, behaving so nicely for me now."

Your thighs shook, and Kento stroked your throat tenderly as your hands clasped and unclasped the arms of the chair. A painfully hard orgasm built in you, your muscles aching with the effort of carrying you to completion. Your pussy clenched around the dildo, wet and slippery, the buzz against your clit curling your toes.

As Kento squeezed the sides of your throat, feeling his cock moving smoothly inside it, your breath caught and you bucked, spasming violently as your orgasm surged through you. Your lips gasped open, lights flashing in your eyes, and you cried out silently as Kento pressed into you, squeezing your throat with a raggedy groan, sweat dripping to his collar with the effort of delaying his own orgasm.

Pulling out of you, gripping his cock at the base as pleasure threatened to rip through him, Kento stepped back, panting, to enjoy the show. Now carried into wild overstimulation past your orgasm, you twitched and juddered-- "I can't, s'too much-- Kento please please please--" -- and Kento hissed his restraint, cracking his neck from side to side as he almost came in his hand. He refused to waste his seed like that, never letting on how thrilling he found it to cum inside you, wondering at the glorious image of your belly, swollen with him.

Another orgasm ripped through you and you humped the dildo with fervour, thighs desperate to clamp closed around it, head tossed back and sobbing with overwhelming, uncontrollable ecstasy.

Kento's eyes bored through you, smug and drunk on dominating you. His hand pumped along his wet length, continuing to edge himself to the sight of you. He left you this way for a few more minutes, shaking and desperate, pussy soaking wet and clenching on the chair; he swallowed thickly as you shuddered and mewled, unable to tell where one orgasm ended and another began.

"Have you had enough yet?" Kento sneered, continuing to pump his throbbing length, grasping your chin and jaw harshly in his big hand. He squashed your cheeks together like this, your wet lips plush and cutely pouted; with a surge of cute-aggression, he gave your cheeks a shake and gentle slap, smirking down at your squished, tear-stained face. He planted a hard, nipping kiss to your squashed lips, moaning against you, and laughing heartily as you shook your head urgently in response to his question.

"Is this what you want?" Kento hummed against your jaw, and you continued to nod frantically, sniffling, weeping, mascara streaking down your cheeks, lipstick smeared to the side, your glossy eyes needy and begging.

"Then ask nicely," he growled, cock weeping with anticipation for you to beg for him. You continued shaking your head, sniffling and babbling nonsense, no longer able to string a sentence together as electricity rattled every nerve and fibre of you, mewling again as Kento gripped your hair, tipping your head back to look at him.

"Then you get nothing," Kento snapped, glaring down as you as his pace increased on his cock, his hand squeezing and twisting at the top. He tilted your head thoughtfully from side to side, examining you;

"Where do you want me to cum?" He panted, his impending orgasm threatening ruin after edging himself for so long, "Your tits? Your mouth? Your pussy's already so wet, after all." You cried out in disdain, clenching pussy neglected, desperate to feel Kento inside you. Kento laughed richly again, verging on cruel.

"Come on, my love," he crooned, suddenly soft and loving, giving you whiplash, "beg."

Desperate, you forced the words out, shaking like a leaf; "Please Kento-- you promised you would-- I helped you--" You jumped, as Kento reached down between your legs, pulling the dildo out, the sudden loss of stimulation and exhaustion making you feel heavy and loose, still whirring as alcohol bounded through you.

"You are right, of course," he cooed, stroking tears off your messy cheeks, "I was only playing with you." You sobbed an appalled, indignant sound as Kento grinned down at you again, wicked and hungry. Making quick work with clever fingers, he completely released you from the chair, throwing your ankle ties over his shoulder, but keeping the wrist ties attached to you, he helped you to stand, like a baby deer on wobbling legs, offering you one sincere, brisk smile.

You felt like you were falling through space as Kento lobbed you face down onto the bed, flat on your belly, with Kento kneeling over you and undoing his belt as he chased you up to the headboard. As your hands grasped above the pillows to pull yourself up, Kento's hand pressed the back of your head so you were face down, muffled against the pillows.

"Stay down," he growled, and you sniffled, obedient as he stretched your arms out, tying them to the headboard, then tied your knees together so your pussy was clamped, tight and wet between the soft fat of your thighs. You lay prone, arched upwards by your outstretched arms, bound.

You quivered as you heard the clinking of Kento's belt, and you felt his throbbing cockhead brush against the arousal-soaked plush of your clamped thighs. Kento was flush to you as he whispered in your ear; "Is this what you wanted? Out of control, fucked, pathetic and wet for me on our bed?" You nodded, dumbly overstimulated, eager for more, to be fucked so hard that you couldn't remember your own name.

Kento hummed, groaning with shaking relief as he slipped between your thighs, gripped by your hot, wet plush. You felt Kento slowly fuck your thighs, jolting as the length of him stroked between your folds, catching your bruisingly overstimulated clit. Kento sighed, biting the back of your shoulder, lost in your wiggles and the press of your curvy arse against his hips. He reached up, gripping his fingers into your bum, placing a single harsh slap there as you cried out, before rubbing the area with soothing hushes.

"Just fuck me already Ken--" You cut off with a strangled gasp; Kento's last fibre of restraint snapped and he rammed his cock into your clenched pussy, bottoming out in an instant, slamming against your spongy deep walls. Leaning on his thick forearms he hammered into you with total abandon, tired of denying you, eyelids heavy and teeth sunk into the back of your neck. Divine ecstasy ravaged through him like wildfire.

Your muffled cries into the pillow spurred Kento on, his shirt soaked with sweat and sticking to his back as he fucked you to delirium and back again. Low, jolting grows rumbled through him in interrupted streams, his heady warm voice alternating with the strength of his thrusts. Kento's cock ached with bittersweet need, finding your wet friction so delicious, and he reached up to your bound hands, squeezing one affectionately to ground himself and you.

Kento's orgasm approached, seeping down his spine towards his cock, hot and urgent.

"My name," he growled into your ear, biting it as you whimpered, pussy fluttering weakly in bliss around him, and you mumbled. Kento punished you, hammering into you as you squealed, "Louder. My name."

"Kento," you sobbed, "Kento Kento Kento-- aaaahhhh!"

Kento came with a bark, legs failing him as he crushed your hips to the bed under his weight, splashes of hot cum spurting through your cervix, leaving Kento as drunk and intoxicated as you, ruinous pleasure tumbling through him.

He shook above you, his vision coming back to him in patches as he released his ties from your hands. Grasping your hips, he rolled you sideways with him, keeping his cock deep inside you, a glint of hope skipping through his mind, picturing you, full and round, his own captive goddess.

Humming, he nuzzled into your neck; "Too much?" He mumbled, droopy-eyed and concerned.

"More than enough, thank you," you reassured him, sated and dropping into a hazy sleep. Kento gave you a little shake.

"I'm not finished with you," he scolded, "We need to have words about your frankly dangerous behaviour in the car--"

"Custard," you cried, "custard, custard, custard--"

"-- don't try to safeword me while I'm telling you off, you absolute terror."

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Phew

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queenpiranhadon · 1 month

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𖤓⎸⎸ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⎸⎸𖤓

A/N: You all voted on this poll, and this poll, and this poll, and after a LOT of voting, I present you this :) BIG thanks to @that-multi-fandom-hijabi for beta reading this go follow her writing acc rn (@novaaaaaa-writes). Here's my masterlist! Divider made by @cafekitsune

Warning(s): Enemies to lovers trope, mentions of burning, stabbing, blood, bad descriptions of both fire of water (ice, snow ?) bending, Zuko is whipped, just a little confused about it, reader is a baddie, water benders unite (not me tho), reader is GN but written with f!reader in mind, reader looks non-threatening, is underestimated a lot, this takes place at the end of season one, I think that's it

Pairing: Prince Zuko x GN!Reader

“You shouldn’t be here” you glare, your gaze sending shivers down his spine.

But that could just be because of all the snow and ice surrounding the both of you.

The fire prince remains unfazed though, his amber eyes sweeping over your form- assessing the threat you posed.

He could take you down in seconds.

Zuko doesn’t respond to your jab though, because he knew you were wrong. He had to be here, it was the only way he could finally receive his father’s favor- as the heir and as the son of Firelord Ozai. It was his duty, his honor.

And he wasn’t going to let a non-threatening waterbender get in the way of that.

Reaching back, he unsheathes his dual swords, the glint of the waning moonlight reflecting the dangerous glint in his eye.

And yet you didn’t back down.

Pooling some water from your waterskin, you assumed the stance you had trained yourself to take whenever you honed your skills. One with the water, one with the ice.

‘Power should flow, not force itself” Master Pakku had told you once.

People had always underestimated your skills, saying you were better suited for healing. But after showing Master Pakku how you could use your bending to control the falling snow around you, he gave you a chance.

He had told you to let the power settle in your body before releasing, instead of forcing it out immediately. Conceal and then control.

You met Zuko’s fiery gaze with an icy one of your own. You were going to protect your home.

With a yell, you form flurries of snow, whipping around your form as you channel your strength to change the form of your flurry, snow turning to water, water turning to sharp daggers of pure ice.

Zuko scowls, setting his hands ablaze and you run at each other, fire meeting ice.

Time slows down, as the intensity of your elements picks up, until all you could hear was the steady thump – thump – thump – of your heart, and the roar of crystalline knives swirling around you.

Flames lick the side of your leg, wincing as the raw burn of the fire sears through your skin in white-hot pain. Razor sharp icy shards cut into Zuko’s skin, finding chinks in his armor, piercing his flesh and drawing blood.

The snow beneath the both of you was dotted red now, both of you staring at each other, panting heavily.

“You really shouldn’t be here.” you repeat again, but this time, it was barely a whisper, swallowing down tears as the cold wind of the Northern Water Tribe stung your gaping wounds.

Zuko growls, grunting in pain as he pulls a shard of ice out of his skin. “I don’t take orders from a little waterbender” he spat, venom dripping from his words.

You reciprocate with a snide comment of your own. “This ‘little waterbender’ just sunk 5 icicles into your skin.”

Zuko was just about ready to tear your head off, hands igniting with vermillion flames before you collapse, the burns along your thigh and calf were much more severe than either of you realized.

You choke out a sob of pain but keep your control of the water left in your waterskin. You couldn’t die, not today, and not at the hands of the prince of the Fire Nation.

Zuko’s heart throbs unexpectedly, the look on your face too familiar for comfort. The face of someone who worked so desperately hard, only for all that effort to go down the drain. But he didn’t care for you. He couldn’t- couldn’t grow attachment to a non-threatening waterbender. Yet you sat there on the snow, dotted with blood, with that raw look in your eyes. His flames extinguished, without him meaning to.

You flinched as he threw his swords down frustrated, impaling themselves into the nearby snow mound, standing straight up.

He stomps over to you, and you frantically move back, but your leg flares up in pain again, and you yelp, hissing in pain.

“Stop moving, you’ll make it worse.” he says, glaring at you, but not as intensely as he had before.

You want to scream, kick him, punch him, anything, but your body betrays you as he sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you to the nearest place he can find, where he can keep you safe. You feel his strong arms hook under your knees and under your back, holding you securely to his firm chest. Even through his armor, he radiates warmth, a gentle heat, unlike the flames he threw at you merely minutes ago.

He hates this, with every fiber in my being, his voice screaming at him to drop you and burn your frail body to a crisp, vengeance for the blood dripping from his own body, but he keeps moving, step after painstaking step.

You try to stay awake, you really do, yet channeling so much energy from your battle, the numb throb in your lower leg, and the comforting heat radiating off the fire prince who refuses to look at you, you slip into unconsciousness.

Zuko feels a weight press against his chest, and he huffs, honey-colored eyes catching onto the details of your face, the curve of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, the slight pout of your lips as you nuzzle into his armor unintentionally, how pretty you were when you were at peace.

He stops himself there, reprimanding himself for thinking such things. He can’t have feelings for the enemy.

And yet, even as he and his troops head home, battle wearing and dejected from the loss of a major battle, Zuko can’t help but think about his little waterbender.

***

When you wake up, the kind woman tending to you tells you all about the mysterious and handsome man who carried your sleeping form across the entire Northern Water Tribe because he didn’t know where the healing center was.

#zuko x reader #zuko x you #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #zuko #avatar of the last airbender #atla #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko x you #prince zuko x y/n #water bender reader #help 'power should flow not force itself'??#I have mixed thoughts about this #zuko x y/n #avatar the last airbender #zuko avatar #zuko avatar the last airbender

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loaksky · 1 year

Text

— 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘴

the deets — in which you, a quiet healer in the tribe, have the biggest crush on the upcoming leader. sometimes you think the feelings could be mutual. until one night in the glowing forest shatters that.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader

the word count — like 7.6k (jesus h. christ)

the tags — idiots-to-lovers (it's teyam, he's the dummy), childhood friends-to-lovers, one-sided pining (reader is a softie).

the warnings — language, a lil kithy kithy, neteyam's emotionally constipated, but he redeems himself! reader's kind of a pushover, but it comes full circle!

the notes — first post for avatar & i'm really excited but a lil nervous bc like ??? i haven't written fanfic in SO long. i imagine neteyam & reader to be a few years older in this fic (eighteen or nineteen), but at the same time the circumstances could fit their current age as well. finally, this is written in a heinous blend of second / third. don't know how to explain, but i think it flows okay? if you like it please leave a request or let's have a chat! (also barely proofread oops).

YOU AND NETEYAM HAVE ALWAYS BEEN IN DISTANT ORBIT. Many would argue the two of you are cut from the same cloth; quiet, noble, mature, but you couldn't feel even more disconnected from the tribe's golden boy even if a chasm would crack the earth between you.

It's why you think it's silly that you'd develop such a yearning, your heart thudding like a war drum every time his amber eyes flit to yours. There's never any weight to his gaze, just fleeting glances among frequent observation, but you can't help but stare.

It doesn't help that his youngest siblings cling to you like a second and third skin, chattering excitedly about whatever piques their immediate interest. You just listen and hum your acknowledgements, a comfort to the two as you move through your studies.

Oftentimes he's sent to fetch his siblings, clearing his throat outside of the tent's flaps to announce himself, then wiggling a few fingers through the opening before peering in.

He's always in a hurry, never biting when you offer him opportunities to linger. You understand, how busy it can be when the whole clan begins to rely on you. So you bask in the short-lived moments in his space, skin scented with salt and the tang of the foliage.

But there are moments when you truly think he sees you. When you cross paths during clan meals, and the smallest of smiles twitches in his lips when you cut fruit and he's the first you offer to. When it's time to train to shoot your bows and he adjusts your form with a brief brush of his fingers on your elbow. When all of the older healers are unavailable and he shyly peeks his head into your tent for a quick patch up.

Nevermind the small tells stored in your short-term, but the little slivers of time when you were both growing into yourselves. When you were seven and he'd carried you to the elders when you hurt yourself. When some of the older kids in the clan would pick on you for keeping to yourself and he'd tell them that it was unbecoming and cowardly to pick on someone weaker than them. When he picked a flower during a group excursion into the deep depths of the forest and stuck the glowing stem in your satchel.

You had fallen so hard for Neteyam and your only hope is that he'd be at the end of the fall to catch you.

“You're not listening, ________!” Tuk whines and you look up from the scrolls you unfurled from the basket moments before she walked in.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I have a lot on my mind.”

There's a small giggle from somewhere else in the tent and you peer from Tuk to Kiri who beads an anklet on her own.

“Yeah, like big brother,” Tuk teases, turning her attention back to her own beadwork.

Kiri's face splits into a grin.

“You've been lost in thought a lot more recently,” she observes. “Could Tuk be correct?”

You don't bother to deny it, the obvious flush in your cheeks a dead giveaway. Kiri's always been perceptive and the more you fight her on it, the longer she'll draw it out.

“I think it's worth a shot,” Kiri says. “Neteyam’s always had a soft spot for you.”

It's a million degrees hotter in the tent.

“You don't have to do that,” you say quietly, slouching in your seat.

“Do what?” Kiri challenges.

“Pretend I have a chance.”

Kiri makes a face.

“You do!” she argues. “Neteyam's just shy.”

You're silent for a moment, fingers twitching over a tear in the scroll. You want to believe her, tell her that you think it could be worth a shot, too. But you scent him before you hear him, and then you hear him before you see him.

Four blue fingers wiggle in the tent's opening before Neteyam is poking his head inside.

“Tuk? Kiri?” his voice rumbles. “Ready?”

Kiri glances at you as she stands to her feet and begins gathering her things. Her eyebrows do a little dance, eyes widening as she tilts her head discreetly to her brother.

“I'll see you,” you say quietly, patting Tuk on the back of her leg as she drops her finished anklet in your lap and giggles at you.

You follow their movements as they exit the tent through where Neteyam holds the flap open for them patiently.

He simply lifts a hand as a silent greeting and you wait until they're out of sight and earshot to expel the breath you'd been holding and slump down on your pillow.

In hindsight, you should have been more careful. Neteyam was a skillful hunter, the tribe's best warrior after his father. It's only normal that he'd be in the dense forest when you were plucking flowers and herbs for your salves, speaking quietly to Eywa about your concerns.

“Please, Great Mother,” you whisper, the woodsprites caressing the skin of your arms. "Please give me a sign, any form of motivation to be brave about my feelings."

The grass below your toes lights up and tickles the pads of your fingers as you pluck the glowing flowers.

There's a trail of them, purple and pink, and you pluck and pluck and pluck until you're led to the mouth of a clearing.

Something salty and tangy circles your figure and like usual, you scent him before you see him. When your gaze latches onto his lithe figure, you grin a little, lips parting to announce yourself. This must be your sign, of how vast and great the forests are surrounding your looming home tree, it must be fate that you stumble upon him at this hour.

But his name dies on your tongue when he shifts and you see the silhouette of another pressed to his side.

It's another Omaticaya girl, pretty and tall. You'd know her anywhere, the waves of her thick hair, the tinkle of her dainty laugh. But she is fierce all the same, far from perfect, but gritty enough that it doesn't matter.

Te'feyra draws a bow and one of Neteyam's hands come up to adjust her front grasp, fingers closing over hers and the arrow.

“Steady hands to make up for the recoil,” he says softly and your heart is in your throat.

He's engulfing her as she takes her aim and sends the arrow flying through the air.

Somewhere unknown to you, the arrow sticks its landing and Te'feyra jumps excitedly, pressing her lips to Neteyam's briefly.

You back away from the clearing, eyes burning as you fist the flowers so hard they wilt in your hands. A twig snaps underneath your weight and from your distance, you see the glow of Neteyam and Te'feyra's eyes through the brush.

You take off running without a single word, and despite your stomach tearing itself to ribbons, you thank Eywa for the clarity.

“Something's wrong,” Kiri says to you days later.

Instead of the tent, you two are sitting on opposing branches of a thick tree, observing the flora and fauna of your corner of the forest. You decide that you need some time away from the bustle of the clan's circle and venture off into the opposite side of the woods.

“Why do you say?” you wonder, scribbling onto one of your scrolls.

“You're naturally quiet, I get that, but the past few days, I feel like I've been in the presence of the dead,” she sighs, staring down at you from the branch above. “And Ewya's given me the feeling that all may not be well with you.”

You lick your teeth, then roll your lips nervously.

“I told you Neteyam didn't like me,” you admit.

Kiri's eyebrows furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw him,” you sigh, fiddling with your pen. “In the forest with Te'feyra. She kissed him.”

Kiri curses under her breath.

“This is stupid,” she huffs. “He's just being stupid. Neteyam likes you and I'm going to prove it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Kiri's already jumping down from the branches of the tree and dragging you with her through the darkening forest.

“Kiri, this isn't necessary,” you finally pipe up. “It's okay if the feeling isn't mutual, I never expected it to be.”

Kiri stops in her tracks and her pinched face softens, braids swinging by the set of her jaw.

“________, we all grew up together,” she says softly. “I know my brother, and I know you. You two belong together, I feel it.”

You swallow around nothing, allowing her to drag you through the forest and back into the clan's main circle.

“Hey, Kiri! ________, where are you two headed off to in such a rush?” one of the elders calls from where they're working on tools.

Kiri smiles politely.

“Very important business,” she replies quickly, fingers tightening around your wrist to pull you across the grass.

You stop in front of their family's hometree and Kiri guides you through vines and steep inclines before pausing in front of their family's tent.

Lo'ak's voice sounds from within, whiny and irritated.

“Bro, are you being serious right now?” he squeaks and Neteyam grunts, obviously bored.

“Frankly, Lo'ak this has nothing to do with you,” he says.

“Dude, yes it does,” Lo'ak argues. “You've inadvertently involved everyone in this affair because you won't get your head out of your ass for three seconds and just admit that you like her.”

“I don't like, ________,” he says simply and Kiri freezes in front of you.

You chew the inside of your cheek, fingers twitching in Kiri's loosened hold.

“Who are you trying to convince?” Lo'ak moans. “You're really going to commit to Te'feyra even though you have no interest in her?”

“Te'feyra is a great huntress,” Neteyam says simply. “She's well-loved, a strong leader. What's there not to like?”

“________ is all of those things,” Lo'ak says. “She's a talented healer, always patches you up when you get yourself in trouble. The clan loves her, Tuk and Kiri love her, Mom and Dad love her.”

“The clan barely knows that ________ exists,” Neteyam says and you wince.

Kiri makes a move to infiltrate the heated conversation, but you put a hand on her shoulder and shake your head.

“Dude, that's low,” Lo'ak scoffs in disbelief.

“________ is a sweet girl, but she's weak. She's hollow and does what she's told. I wouldn't want to spend my life bonded to someone so passive,” Neteyam says plainly and Lo'ak lets out an exasperated hiss.

“You're kidding right? ________ is amazing,” Lo'ak challenges. “She's quiet, but she's caring. She's resilient and intelligent and anyone would be lucky to be bonded to someone like her, your stupid ass included.”

“Maybe you should focus more on training for your rite rather than trying to play matchmaker,” Neteyam says, showing the first signs of annoyance.

“You just won't admit that for the first time you're scared,” Lo'ak finally says.

Everything seems to still and Lo'ak presses on.

“Everyone loves you, you're the clan's golden child and you can do no wrong. You like ________ so much, but you're afraid that you'll let her down,” Lo'ak says fiercely. “But you don't realize that being a pussy about your feelings is the ultimate let down!”

“You'd know a lot about being a let down, wouldn't you,” Neteyam grumbles.

There's a split second of silence before Neteyam lets out a loud grunt of pain. The flap to their tent flies open and Lo'ak freezes before you and Kiri.

His eyes meet yours and his gaze softens before stalking past.

Neteyam stands stunned in the middle of the tent, lip bruised and bleeding. His gaze swings to the arch way, face falling when he finds you standing behind his younger sister.

“Wanna go swimming?” Tuk asks you the next evening, after dinner.

You smile down at her weakly, heart melting when she pets your hand. You can't deny her, nodding gently as you stand from where you're sitting on the outer circle of the scattered clan.

“Carry me?” she asks sweetly.

You heave her up with a grunt and she grins at you, playing with one of the braids in your hair. Her small fingers caress the skin of your cheek and you blink when she ghosts over your eyelid.

“Pretty,” she whispers, head nestling on your shoulder.

“I think you're prettier,” you tell her, readjusting her growing form as you walk through the brush, towards the rush of the waterfall.

You don't realize that there's a set of eyes on you, watching as you disappear through the trees with Tuk.

The cliff that houses the waterfall towers above you two in a semicircle, the water rippling gently as Tuk squirms from your grasp and splashes through the shallow pool.

“Stay close, Tuk,” you coo, toes wiggling through the pebbles washed up on the tiny shore.

“I've been practicing!” Tuk tells you. “Wanna see how long I can hold my breath under water?”

“Stay in shallow waters,” you advise her, wading into the pool until you're waist deep.

Tuk dramatically inhales and then sinks down under the surface. Something cracks in the distance and you glance around, met with the stillness of the forest and the chirp of bugs.

When you turn your attention back to Tuk, you smile fondly as you wait for her to emerge, counting the seconds diligently to report to her chubby cheeks.

Fifteen pass, then thirty. Your smile begins to fade as your arms feel around in the water around you.

“Tuk?” you call out, chest tightening when you're met with the subtle rush of the glittering cascade from the waterfall up above.

You push forward in the water until your chin touches the surface.

“Tuktirey!” you shout, thrashing around the pool, searching for her tiny frame through the illumination. “Tuk!”

Your toes lose purchase as the water deepens and you begin to panic without the youngest Sully in sight. You turn when you hear a splash, Tuk giggling on the shore.

Your stomach churns hard and Tuk's face falls when she sees your panicked expression.

“Tuk, I-I can't swim well!” you cry out, legs flailing as you splash through the water. You try to dig your toes in the earth below, but you're just shy of the mark.

Tuk looks scared on the shore, fidgeting as she looks around desperately.

“You're too deep, ________!” Tuk whines, voice laced with tears.

Your legs ache, head lolling under the water for a moment before you emerge with a splutter.

“Get– Go get help!” you instruct her, feeling your calves begin to burn as you try to keep yourself afloat. You don't know how long you'll be able to tread water. “I'll be okay, little one. Hurry!”

Tuk turns, picking up her satchel as she makes way for the path you took. When she's out of sight, you fall slack, chest heaving as you try to use your skinny arms to paddle at the water.

Meanwhile, Tuktirey runs through the forest, tears spilling down her rounded cheeks as she trips over sprawling roots and nudges low-hanging vines from the pathway.

She skids to a stop when Neteyam, who had finally worked up the nerve to excuse himself from dinner, comes into view.

He turns when he hears her wailing, face scrunching when he registers his youngest sibling's anguish.

“Tuk, wha—”

She grabs at his hands, tugging him towards the path to the waterfall.

“________ needs help!” she cries. “She can't swim!”

Neteyam's ears prick at the mention of your name, scooping up his youngest sibling in his arms before breaking into a sprint through the brush of the brightening forest. The woodsprites begin to emerge and he barrels into the clearing of the waterfall breathlessly.

It's still, like it's been untouched and his heart hammers nervously in his chest, eyes searching the pool for any sign of you.

He's setting Tuk down quickly before splash desperately into the water.

“_______!” he calls.

He ducks underneath the surface, eyes open wide as he searches for you. And there you are, body slack as you sink slowly to the bottom of the rocky pool.

He dives forward, lungs burning as he cuts through the waters with lean arms. His fingers circle one of your wrists, the other hand winding around your waist as he propels you two up above the water. He chokes on a breath, hand coming up to touch your face.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes shut as Neteyam holds you close.

“Neteyam!” Te'feyra calls from the shore, having followed him after being rebuffed during dinner.

Kiri and Lo'ak are close behind, eyes wide when they see their eldest brother wading quickly through the waters with your unconscious form in his arms.

“Neteyam,” Te'feyra repeats, hand coming to grasp his bicep.

“Not now,” he grunts, tugging his arm from her grasp to march through the brush of the forest.

Woodsprites surround you two as he takes you back to the village, a silent plea to the Great Mother not to take you away weighing heavy on his lips.

You awake to a shining sun and a wet towel on your head. You squint against the beaming light and sit up abruptly as the prior night dawns you like a swift strike to the gut.

“Whoa, wait, slow down,” a thick voice rumbles.

You scent him before you see him.

Neteyam's hands are on you, guiding you back to rest on the pile of pillows that had propped you up before.

You shoot up again anyways.

“Where's Tuk?” you ask anxiously.

“Tuk's fine,” Neteyam says. “She's eating breakfast with Kiri and Mom.”

You lean back in relief, eyes squeezing shut as you wheeze out a sigh.

His hands are on you again, gentle, warm as he takes the towel from your forehead and wipes your face to refresh you.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, hesitantly.

You pause a moment, but then nod.

“Yeah,” you affirm hoarsely. “M'fine.”

Neteyam just stares at you, yellow eyes unblinking and you know this isn't like one of those fleeting moments. He sees you and it makes your gut churn hard.

“I'll be okay here,” you say quietly. “You may have...someone, you know, waiting for you.”

Te'feyra's name is a silent implication and Neteyam doesn't look amused.

“I told them I would look after you until you're fully well,” he counters, wringing the towel into a bowl that sits next to the mound of blankets your rest on.

You fiddle with your fingers, fully disheartened because even in times like these, he remains the diligent leader-in-training that he is.

The air in the tent is think and you can't breathe.

“I'd like some air,” you whisper, crawling from the soft mat to climb to your feet shakily.

“You need to rest,” Neteyam says crossly, seemingly annoyed at your persistence to put as much distance as you can between the two of you.

You don't respond and finally he seems to burst.

“You can't swim and yet you still went after Tuk,” he calls after you like an accusation. “Why?”

You pause.

“Tuk is like a sister to me,” you say quietly. “I would never let anything happen to her.”

You make a move to exit the tent, but Neteyam's voice stops you in your tracks.

“You could have died,” he says quietly, and you can't place the emotion in his voice.

“I'd do it again,” you admit, craning your neck to face him. “I'm not that weak.”

Neteyam's face falls and you duck from the tent.

Neteyam becomes restless after that moment. He loses his focus, agility taking a hit as he hunts one on one with his father.

He goes to shoot another arrow, but Jake stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Neteyam, I know I can be hard on you,” he starts. “But I’m always here.”

“Yes sir,” Neteyam nods.

“Something’s bothering you,” Jake observes. “You’re not yourself. You’re losing focus.”

Neteyam swallows.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, head hanging.

His braids form a curtain around his face and Jake gives his shoulder a squeeze.

“Son?”

Neteyam swallows again, head tilting up to look is dad in the face.

“I don’t want to be with Te’feyra,” he admits quietly.

Jake's lips twitch.

“Well I could have told you that,” Jake scoffs, the corner of his lips twitching into a soft smile. “You look about as dead as a washed up fish when she’s around.”

Neteyam recalls the kiss she’d given him nights ago and how he'd internally recoiled, body stiff under her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“Why are you sorry?” Jake prods.

“Because I know Te’feyra is who the clan wants me to be with, who is my most suitable match,” he says. “I just— I don't want to let you down.”

Jake gives him an impish grin.

“Neteyam, let me give you a word of advice. There are things in this world that are suited well for each other; you and Te'feyra are one of those things. But your heart and your mind are the two most powerful things about you,” he says. “You will not be punished for giving into your heart.”

Neteyam thinks of you. He thinks of your face, the lines of your timid smile, the idents that dimple your cheeks. He thinks of your touch when he's wounded, gentle and expert, warm against his skin. He thinks of your voice, airy, soft, a low rasp.

He thinks of when he'd called you weak. Of your face, wounded and hurt. He's stricken in this moment as he realizes that strength doesn't have to be audacious. It can be quiet, small acts that become mighty.

Tuk had told him about the waterfall, how she'd wanted to pull your leg a little. You'd accepted your fate if Ewya deemed it time, you'd even sent the youngest away in the chance you wouldn't surface.

You were far from weak. Your strength ran nearly as deep as the roots of Ewya herself, yet you'd taken the criticism in stride. Let Neteyam paint you as a coward, a pushover with no spine.

“I think there’s someone you need to clear the air with,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “She should be in her tent.”

Neteyam's hands are clammy. It's been nearly a week since he'd last seen you. You'd reserved to spending time inside of your tent to brush up on your studies and refine your work. He'd catch glimpses of you, but you were used to blending in the background and Neteyam's used to overlooking you.

Was he being presumptuous? Maybe you only admired him as a warrior. Or perhaps it was a duty to the clan to revere him. He feels sick to his stomach thinking of confronting you. But Lo'ak wouldn't try to convince him of his own feelings if it wasn't mutual, would he?

And when had the feelings become mutual? He's recently began to think that perhaps he'd always liked you because you were the only one who didn't actively vie for his affection. Who only saw him as Neteyam, an equal, not Neteyam, the Olo’eyktan's son.

Maybe it was whenever he'd see you wandering in the forest during his hunting trips, murmuring to yourself as you picked herbs and flowers for you studies. Or maybe when he'd spot you still high on the branches of the lofty trees with a tablet of paper and ink. Maybe it was when you'd smile at him shyly when he'd adjust your form during archery and it'd melt his insides. Or when you two were little and he'd plucked flowers for everyone and you were the only one who'd smiled at it sticking out of your satchel.

If he recalls correctly, it's pressed to a scroll hanging in your tent and that alone makes his heart race.

Maybe you two are inevitable and he'd only prolonged it because of his own fears.

“Neteyam!”

Te’feyra steps in his line of sight, standing before him and the hometree that houses your tent. He glances away when she stops in front of him.

“Te’feyra,” he greets cordially.

“I haven't seen you since the incident with ________,” she says. “Are you alright?”

Neteyam nods.

“Never better,” he says simply.

“After dinner we should–”

He spots you, satchel thrown over your shoulder. You glance his way momentarily, but scurry in the direction of your tent when you lock eyes with him.

“If you will excuse me, please,” he says politely, extricating himself from Te’feyra to follow after you.

He catches up to you right outside of your tent.

“________!” he calls.

You freeze almost imperceptibly, but continue on your way, climbing the flattened incline spiraling around the center of the hometree.

“________,” he murmurs, fist closing around your skinny bicep.

You jolt to a stop, golden eyes razor sharp as you glance down at him. Your fist is wrapped tight around the strap of the satchel, knuckles stretched taut.

“Neteyam,” you reply softly. “Yes?”

He opens his mouth to say something, but finds that his tongue weighs heavy behind his lips.

“If you seek help, there are elders available for healing,” you inform him, making a move to remove your arm from his grasp.

He instinctively tightens his grasp and you shift uncomfortably.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quietly, pulling away. “I just want to speak with you.”

A few beats pass as you blink at him.

“Well?”

“Oh,” he swallows. “Can I come in?”

You turn to face the flap of your tent before craning your long neck over your shoulder to nod.

“Sure,” you agree, holding the hide open to let him in.

You step in after him, table scattered with mixtures of finely-pounded dust, scrolls of research and bundles of materials.

You set your satchel down and begin unloading your finds from you excursion.

Meanwhile, Neteyam paces nervously, trailing the circumference of your tent, eyes flitting every which way to take in every piece of you.

A thick silence envelops you and you clear your throat when the satchel is empty.

“You wanted to talk?” you ask, watching as he stops in front of a scrolled tacked to one of the beams.

It's the pressed flower he'd given to you all that time ago as children. It's central in the room, catching the sun so beautifully and Neteyam uses this as the last bit of courage he needs to continue.

“You kept it,” he says, voice shaky.

“Of course,” you say simply, picking through your different finds. “You gave it to me.”

Neteyam turns, looks you head on and he feels his resolve crumbling.

“You like me,” he says bluntly, afraid that if he beats around the bush, he'll cop out.

“Everyone does,” you deflect.

Neteyam's jaw locks.

“No, ________, you like me,” he repeats.

You feel small, sorting the petals by color, fingers nimble against the soft grain of the wooden tabletop.

“Presumptuous,” you hum, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

“________,” he presses.

You bite your lip, tears clouding your vision as your fingers begin to trembling through the sorting. He's being so unfair and he doesn't even know it.

“Why?” you ask shakily.

“What do you mean why?” Neteyam counters, voice taking on the same edge he did with his brother days prior and he'd interrogated him about you.

“Why are you doing this?” you croak, and he hears the tears in your voice.

He's across the floor before you can blink.

“Are you crying?” he asks, shocked.

“Why do you want me to say it so badly?” you choke, poor petals strangled in your vibrating fist. “Is it not enough? To know that I yearn for you silently? That everyone pities me because my heart belongs to someone who's already spoken for?”

Neteyam is stunned.

“I like you, Neteyam. I always have,” you say, voice raw with emotion. “It's my biggest defeat to say I always will. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your eyes are tinged red and his throat feels stuffed with cotton.

“I've always admired you,” you say quietly, between hiccuping breaths. “But I didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

Neteyam winces, every word he’d practiced earlier, completely obliterated from his short term. He knows he should just tell you, tell you that his heart yearns for yours, too. That he'd been too blinded by his impending duty to feel the full effects of what a first love could be like.

“You should go,” you say when he's silent.

You brush your tears away and pat your cheeks dry with the back of your hands as you carefully set the wilted flowers the the edge of the table.

“I–”

“Neteyam, spare me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” he finally says.

Your eyebrows furrow, eyes swollen as you gaze at him unjaded. Who he believed to be so stoic and passive now baring every possible inch to him.

“You're–”

“I don't want to be with Te'feyra,” he finally spits, fists clenched. “I won't be with her.”

Your gaze softens, lips parting to ask what's gotten into him, but he cuts you off.

“You,” he answers firmly, before the question clings in the air. “It’s you. I want to be with you.”

"Stop," you whisper, shaking your head furiously. You take a step away from where he's quickly closing in on you. “Don't–”

He pauses mid-stride and the expression on his handsome face is absolutely devastating. His chest rises and falls shakily and you take a moment to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before,” he says desperately, “I was scared and didn't fully realize it, but I do now.”

“That’s unfair,” you hiccup. “This isn't just on your terms. You can’t— you can’t just tell me you like me and expect me to be with you.”

These passing moments are the most he’s ever heard you speak, and he’s afraid that he's severely underestimated you. It doesn’t taste so sweet now that he’s faced with the reality of things.

“You will be the future leader of this clan,” you continue. “That is a great responsibility that you've prepared for your entire life. Who you decide to be with is a permanent fixture that cannot be undone.”

“I know, I know,” he assures you.

“You find it in your heart pity me, Neteyam,” you breathe quietly. “But do you really want to be bonded to someone passive and weak?”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you've squared your shoulders, stomach caving and expanding with a deep breath. You turn to your prior task.

“You should go,” you repeat. “Duty calls.”

“What do you mean you need help?” Kiri asks incredulously, eyes widened at her older brother.

“________,” Neteyam says. “She's icing me out.”

Kiri's face melts in relief and she scoffs a laugh.

“Do you blame her?”

“Kiri!” he pleads.

Kiri stops her movements, falling back on her haunches to meet Neteyam's desperate gaze. It's so unlike him, being uncertain, nervous. He's picked up the habit of fiddling his fingers and Kiri snorts to herself.

“Actions,” she says simply.

“Huh?” he vocalizes.

“Words mean nothing to ________ if your actions don't support them,” she says. “This entire time you've acted so lukewarm towards her. Of course she won't believe you when you decide to acknowledge that you love her.”

Neteyam's throat bobs as he stares down at his sister.

“And how will I do that?” he presses.

Kiri shrugs.

“Not so mighty warrior now, are we?”

As the days progress, you begin to grasp at finally coming to terms with the tattered remains of what's left of you and Neteyam's frayed relationship. Your heart hasn't stonewalled him completely, but the yearning for him has dulled to a slight ache.

His eyes are piercing every moment you share the same vicinity. Kiri would even try to argue you that it's longing, but Neteyam's a slave to his honor and you aren't convinced.

“You should pity the poor boy,” an elder tells you as you cut up ingredients for the evening's dinner.

You pause, fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. You roll your lips together before briefly meeting her gaze, warm under firelight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you deflect, clearing your throat.

She laughs, peeling a purple fruit.

“Neteyam,” she says forwardly. “Hasn’t taken his eyes off you in who knows how long. Will you continue to let him suffer?”

You want to argue that it's you who's suffering. That the heart that beats inside the hollow of your ribcage feels like it'll tear in two every time you recall the venom in Neteyam's voice when he'd called you weak.

“I doubt his suffering has anything to do with me,” you say instead. “We are only acquaintances.”

The elder laughs again.

“Is that why he's been pestering the elders for input on how to sway your heart?”

Your head shoots up from where you've focused on the fine cuts of vegetables.

“What?”

“He’s been slacking on his duties, instead poking around the elders and villagers trying to pry information about you,” she says. “Heard him muttering about what kind of flowers you like.”

“It will take more than flowers to sway my heart,” you mumble.

“So you admit that there's something there, hmm?”

Your cheeks heat, caught like a fish in warm waters.

“I–”

“I'd argue that Neteyam’s liked you longer than you've liked him,” the elder says simply.

You bite.

“Why do you say that?”

“He's always asked Eywa for courage, and it seems like she gave you as an answer.”

The elder climbs to her feet, leaving you near the open flame. You open your mouth to call out to her, but the scent of salt and leaves envelops you before you can say anything.

You crane your neck and find Neteyam a few paces from you.

“Do you have a few moments?” he asks politely.

You want to say no, tell him that you'd offered him an infinite amount of moments that he'd spent building bridges between the two of you, but if he's a slave to his honor, you're bound by heart.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, abandoning your task.

He holds his hand out for you to take and your fingers slide across his warm palm as he pulls you to your feet. Once he secures your hold in his, he tugs you along.

You don't know where he's taking you, or what he could possibly want with your time, but you feel a thousand times more nervous than ever now that the tangled web of your feelings drapes the both of you.

After a few moments of rugged silence, climbing through bushes and brush, he punctures the quiet.

“Are you well?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer after a moment. “You?”

“Truthfully?” he responds, pausing to face you. You realize his hand still engulfs yours. “No.”

“No?” you parrot shakily.

“No,” he affirms. “I've been hurting actually.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“You should seek help if you have an ongoing–”

“Here,” he says, the hand still caught in his being guided to lay flat against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage. “It hurts here.”

You swallow, pulling away from his grasp when you realize his insinuation.

“Don’t,” you warn.

He breathes a shaky sigh before taking a step towards you. He's corded muscle and warmth as his palm comes to cradle your jaw. Your bottom lip twitches as you stare up at him.

“It’s always been you,” he says quietly, thumb brushing your chin as his eyes map every curve of your face. “I think I’ve always known it deep down, but...”

Your hand comes up to meet his, gently prying his touch away.

“Neteyam,” you sigh. “Had the last few days unfolded differently, I don't think you'd been saying this now.”

“Maybe not now,” he agrees. “But one day, I would. I know I would. Because when I recall every fond moment, you’re there. No matter how close to the background you get, you’re always there.”

You look skeptical, and Neteyam knows he's losing you. So he digs in the small knapsack he has slung over his broad shoulders and pulls out something thin.

When he holds it up with shaky fingers, your breath catches in your throat. Strung through the taut brown of tree vine is a line of beads identical to the one that he wears on a braid tucked behind his ear. Upon closer inspection, you notice the blue and purple beads formed to create your favorite flowers.

“Wha—”

“Until you decide you want to be mine,” he says, voice trembling nervously as he takes your arm and gently slides the band up until it fits snuggly around your bicep. “So that you remember I'm always yours.”

Your voice is caught in your throat as he brings your fingers up to his lips.

“I won’t push you,” he says when he realizes your words have evaded you. “But I’ll wait for you.”

“Neteyam–”

He simply smiles at you, golden eyes shy as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. He seems satisfied, triumphant, when you eye the band but make no moves to remove it.

“I’ll wait for you,” he repeats, giving your fingers a squeeze before running off.

“He did what?” Lo’ak shrills a week later.

The younger three Sully's had hunted you down and brought you to the clearing dedicated to archery training.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and elbow to turn your arm to examine the band with wide eyes.

You can’t help but smile gently to yourself, watching the way the sun catches the reflection of the pearlescent beads and reflects them brightly.

“I knew that dummy was planning something,” Kiri grumbles. You bite your lip when she meets your gaze. “Well?”

“Well what?” you ask, arm still in Lo’ak’s grasp.

He twists playfully and your laugh glitters in the air.

"Are you going to put my knucklehead brother out of his misery or what?" Kiri hisses, arm drawing to shoot a arrow that stabs the target about a centimeter too left.

Tuk giggles as she runs up to the target to examine the damage.

“Yeah, please do, he's in love and it's disgusting,” Lo'ak grumbles, still eyeing the cuff.

Your heart skips at the mention of love, cheeks going warm when both Kiri and Lo'ak notice how you've gone quiet. They begin laughing, dealing you playful punches.

“Stop that,” you scold, swatting their hands away. “I haven’t given him an answer yet.”

“Oh, get real!” Kiri huffs. “You are so in love, you know you'll say yes.”

“Please put me out of my misery,” Lo'ak moans. “I'm tired of being his therapist because he's a little bitch.”

“Lo'ak,” you warn, eyes narrowing.

He giggles and Kiri stifles a laugh as you flounder, cheeks blooming under the siblings' teasing.

“You are both so awful,” you say petulantly, arms crossing one over the other. “How are you so sure I’ll return his feelings?”

It's Kiri's turn to groan, eyes rolling.

“Sure enough that I know if I let you in on a little secret, it'll light a fire under your ass,” she says seriously.

Your spine goes rigid, arms loosening as you wait with bated breath.

“Neteyam may choose you, but if you don’t choose him back quickly enough, someone could swoop in and claw that chance from you,” she shrugs.

Te'feyra's name is an ugly insinuation and something green coils its way into the pit of your stomach as you recall the chaste kiss she'd pressed to Neteyam's lips all those nights ago in the forest.

“Gears turning?” Lo'ak lilts.

They definitely are and suddenly you feel small, digging your big toe into the dirt to drag lines through the forest floor. You nod hesitantly, band suddenly tight around your bicep.

In your ruminating, Lo'ak and Kiri pass a knowing glance.

“Well?” Lo'ak prods.

You fidget, rattling with nerves.

“I suppose...”

Lo'ak sighs and his hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the clearing.

“Where are we going?” you squeak.

“To put everyone out of their misery,” Lo'ak huffs.

The forest seems way more alive than usual, glowing so bright it almost overpowers the sun. Woodsprites gather around as Lo'ak nudges you through the thick foliage and you can't help but think about the sweet smile that curled on Neteyam's lips as he assured you that he was yours. All yours.

The fire crackles in the distance and you know that the morning meal is in the works when voices roar quietly meters away.

Neteyam sits near the center, surrounded by elders and the dreaded girl.

Te'feyra's obliterated every single centimeter of space available, nearly melded to his side as the elders talk animatedly over the two.

You want to turn back, uncertainty vice-like, but Lo'ak squeezes your shoulders as a silent plea. Not even a moment passes before Neteyam peels himself away and begins putting distance between them.

When Te'feyra gives him a curious glance, he gives her an uneasy smile.

“Be courageous, ________,” Lo'ak encourages. “You're one of the strongest people I know.”

With a final pat on the back, he pushes you towards the circle and the sudden movement catches everyone's gaze.

“________,” one of the elders calls fondly.

You smile and bow your head, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Hello,” you greet quietly, eyes swooping hesitantly to Neteyam who rises to his feet, already watching you intently.

That's when you notice it, the choker fastened around his throat. The vine is identical to yours, but it's strung with a line of beads that mirror the ones woven into a singular braid at the nape of your neck.

You hadn't realized that he'd noticed it all this time, but it's the ultimate confirmation that Neteyam sees you. And when he notices that you notice, he smiles softly.

The elders notice as well, drawing the link between your arm band and the necklace that Neteyam wears, now that you two stand opposite each other.

“May I borrow Neteyam for a moment?” you ask politely.

The same elder you prepared with the evening prior gleams a wide smile when Neteyam takes a step towards you, fingers brushing delicately with yours.

Te'feyra remains seated, lips twitching as her gaze flits between the two of you.

“By all means,” one of them says. “Take your time.”

You bow your head again, heart thudding when Neteyam's fingers twine with yours and he lets you drag him out of the circle and deeper into the forest.

When you deem that no prying eyes or ears surround you, you stop, Neteyam bumping softly into your back. The hair on the back of your neck bristle when he makes no moves to extricate himself from you, simply moving your braids from your face to reveal the string of beads tucked near the nape of your neck.

“You needed me?” he whispers, fingers still ghosting the skin of shoulder.

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut as you relish the moment. Your fingers are still locked and for a fleeting second, you pretend that it's always been like this, the two of you.

“I am nothing extraordinary,” you start, and Neteyam's fingertips pause at your elbow.

“I'd argue differently,” he responds.

“I value time alone and I get overwhelmed often,” you continue.

“We all have our moments,” is his rebuttal as the hand covering yours squeezes gently.

You sigh.

“I could—”

Neteyam turns you and you're met with the the choker, beads glinting under the light. Your eyes drag up the column of his strong neck, flit past his soft lips and finally lock with his searing gaze.

“You can try all you want to run me off,” Neteyam laughs quietly, cupping your jaw. “But I'm not scared anymore.”

Your expression is skeptical and Neteyam decides to bite the bullet. He's closing in on you and your heart pounds violently in your chest.

“Neteyam,” you whisper weakly, hand coming up to his chest.

He traps your fingers against his heart, lips slotting between yours before you can protest some more.

It's like the forest comes alive around you, grass tickling between your toes as you melt under his touch and lean up into his mouth.

His hands are everywhere at once, branding your cerulean skin as he kisses you like it's your last moments. There's no hesitation, no feeling it out, just his warm breath and his soft lips as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“I'll take you as you are at any moment,” he says breathlessly between kisses. “You just have to say you want me back, ________. Please.”

You nod, nose brushing against his as one of his palms splay at the small of your back and the other grabs your chin, pulling you back to plant another burning kiss on your lips.

“Say it,” he begs.

Your eyes begin to mist as you nod again eagerly, parting for a moment to whisper the words.

“I'm yours,” you hoarse, hands on either side of his neck. “I'm yours if you'll be with me.”

Neteyam simply kisses you again, a satisfied hum rumbling from his built chest.

“Fucking finally,” a whisper sounds from the brush.

A LIL' BONUS

“You think they would have figured it out on their own?” Lo'ak asks, wolfing down his food.

Kiri shrugs, feeding Tuk a piece of fruit from her wooden plate.

“Maybe,” she says, unable to suppress her proud grin. “Maybe not. They're both stupid."

“I think so,” Te'feyra laughs watching you and Neteyam fondly from across the fire. “They were a long time coming.”

an – thank you SO much if you've made it this far! again, leave a request or let's chat hehehe. up next is lo'ak so stay tuned! :)

#neteyam x reader #avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar the way of water

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steddiealltheway · 5 months

Text

Eddie’s eyes are brown.

At least, that’s what Steve would’ve said before staring into his eyes for…ten seconds? Thirty seconds? Five minutes? … he’s lost track of time.

But the time is certainly not wasted.

Steve’s not sure how he’s never noticed that brown eyes aren’t just brown. It’s a silly thought, and he knows that he should probably know this considering he also has brown eyes, but maybe he’s been too focused on his hair. And maybe he’s been a little too focused on Eddie’s lips…

He fights to glance down at them as Eddie stares back at him, his pupils blown wide, but every now and then when he leans a little to the side, the sunlight from the windows hits his eyes just right and his pupils contract, showing off all the color in his eyes. And Steve loves when this happens.

The brown turns into an almost amber color, deep brown highlighted by hints of warm red and orange. And at the bottom of his eyes, there’s small patches of gold standing out against the deep brown ring that circles the whole iris.

Steve thinks he could get lost in it all and stare for hours.

He leans in a little closer, trying to see more of that gold, and nearly groaning when Eddie shifts away from the light again, eyes becoming such a deep brown that Steve can easily see his reflection.

But he doesn’t want to see himself, he wants to see how that dark chocolate turns into that gold and red in the sunlight.

Then, something Steve didn’t fathom happens.

Eddie closes his eyes.

“Steve won!” Dustin shouts, as the other kids carry on loudly, and Steve is harshly startled back into reality.

A staring contest. That’s what this was supposed to be. A staring contest, not a Steve gets lost in his friend’s eyes for so long that he forgets to blink contest. Christ.

He glances sheepishly at Eddie and takes in all his features, the furrowed brow and the slight frown to his lips as Eddie tugs at a stand of hair.

As the kids file out of the room, moving onto whatever activity is going to keep them entertained next, Steve asks, “Are you that upset about losing?”

Eddie shakes his head and leans forward, staring into Steve’s eyes again. Steve fights not to look too deeply, afraid he’ll get lost in the depths forever if he gives himself the chance.

“I saw something I hadn’t seen before,” Eddie comments, looking back and forth between his two eyes.

“I did too,” Steve admits, allowing himself to stare a bit. He reaches out and pulls Eddie closer to him, getting both his eyes directly in the sunlight. “I see a whiskey my dad used to always keep on his desk, with hints of gold that reminds me of the jewelry my dad got for my mom, back when they still loved each other.”

His heart pounds at the memories, back to a time when things almost seemed normal. When he thought he would always be happy.

Steve shakes his head and glances away, unsure of how the colors he saw before could bring up the deep memories he spewed to Eddie. He changes the subject and asks, “What did you see in mine?”

He expects maybe an analysis of green and brown, or hazel as many girls tell him after staring at him for long enough to make him feel uncomfortable. He wonders why Eddie doesn’t make him feel that way.

A finger lifts Steve’s chin, turning his gaze back to Eddie whose stare sends chills down his spines. “I saw longing,” Eddie states and continues, “Was it for those things? Those memories?”

Steve finds himself shaking his head as his eyes glance down to Eddie’s lips which twitch as he swallows. “Was it longing?” Eddie asks, nervousness seeping into his tone.

Steve glances back at his eyes and nods. It’s not like he’s unaware of his deeper feelings for Eddie, but he didn’t expect to fall so hard in just a few moments as he stared into his eyes. And he definitely didn’t expect to have those emotions read so clearly in his own eyes.

Eddie’s hand slowly moves to cup Steve’s face as he says, “Steve, read my own eyes for a moment. Please see the-”

“Can you guys give us a ride to the arcade?!” Dustin yells from the other room.

Steve sees Eddie’s eyes flash with annoyance which is much different from the loving expression from before.

Loving.

Steve takes a deep breath and steps back as he hears multiple footsteps hurriedly making their way back to the kitchen.

“Did you hear us?” Mike asks, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, “Get to the car.”

He lingers back with Eddie as he watches all the kids run to his car, and when Steve gets to the door with Eddie behind him, he yells, “Give me a minute, I need to grab my wallet!”

He closes the door quickly and rushes into Eddie’s space, cupping his face, and asking, “Am I reading this wrong?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says, hope and deep longing shining in his eyes.

“Good,” Steve says, leaning forward and meeting Eddie in the middle as they hurriedly kiss, pouring in all the longing they’ve both experienced for months now but were too oblivious to see before.

(Robin laughs for minutes on end when she hears that a staring contest is what got them together when they’ve been having multiple for months without the label. Steve just rolls his eyes, but as soon as Eddie asks, “Want to have another staring contest?” He can’t resist.)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

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littlejuicebox · 2 months

Text

Do you miss it, little love?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for Astarion redemption arc. This is timed a few months after the elf turns mortal. For more info, see “The wish spell worked.” But never fear, you can read it as a one shot if you’re new around these parts.

Rating/Warnings: M, 18+ only, soft smut, fluff, PiV, light breeding kink vibes, light overstim, CW kinda?, soft Astarion

Word Count: —

A/N: They’re so in love guys. Crying in the club.

Warm, slender fingers trace a line across the fang marks on your neck. A single reverent kiss is placed upon the two tiny dots, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

Ten years of memory is a long time. Even though fangs will never be inserted into those small notches again, the mere suggestion of the act is enough to cause your sex to clench. It’s practically an instinct by now; biting and lovemaking had been so intertwined for years.

The sensation of your walls quivering causes your lover to buck his hips forward, burying himself entirely within you. A soft moan escapes his lips as he watches you through thick eyelashes. His face is illuminated in an amber glow by the candles flickering around your bedchamber; his hands are pressed into the silken bedsheets.

He’d just bathed not long ago. His hair is still partly damp and he smells so strongly of his signature scent.

He smells like comfort. He smells like safety.

“Do you miss it, little love?” Astarion asks, voice husky, dripping with lust. He lowers his mouth to your neck again and trails tender kisses to the spot just behind your ear that always makes you purr in delight. The sound causes a satisfied smirk to cross the elf’s face as his breath dances upon your skin.

“Sometimes,” You admit before lifting your hand up to rest it upon your husband’s chest, right by his heart. It beats a steady, stable, mortal thrum nowadays. You gasp when you feel blunted teeth graze against your earlobe before murmuring, “But the trade off is much better.”

Another roll of Astarion’s hips compels you to raise your own, desperate to meet him. Your husband retracts his teeth from your earlobe and moves to tenderly press his lips against yours. It’s a soft, slow, gentle kiss where his tongue barely dips to the entrance of your mouth.

In the warmth of your bed, in the glow of a dozen candles, there’s no need to be eager nor frantic here.

You feel the elf’s heartbeat kick up a few notches as he repeats his slow, deep thrusts, plunging himself into you a few more times. The sensation of his thick length languidly dragging against your walls makes you whine for him.

Astarion lets out an appreciative moan as he buries himself to the hilt within you. Then he ceases his movements entirely, simply reveling in the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He breaks the kiss and brings a hand to the side of your face before pressing his forehead against yours.

Another snap of his hips, this one a bit harder. Another breathy moan from you.

“And what, little love, is the best part of the trade off?” He asks in a purr as the hand held to your cheek trails back down to your neck. His nimble fingers lightly, lovingly graze against those pinprick marks again, causing you to shiver once more.

“Besides the most obvious things, like you being able to stand in the sun?” You ask, bringing your other hand to trace along the point of your husband’s ear, causing his breath to catch.

The pinna instantly flushes, as do his cheeks.

“Too many things to name, really. For one, I love watching your ears turn so deliciously pink every time I do this.” You whisper, repeating the motion again and ripping a moan from Astarion in the process.

“I— they’ve gotten more sensitive since the change.” Astarion admits as his eyes roll back into his head when you gently grasp the shell of his ear between your thumb and forefinger.

You hum in acknowledgment as you continue your ministrations. You add a bit more pressure, causing the elf to gasp in delight. A euphoric grin spreads across his face as his eyes shut, focused on the feeling of your hand. It isn’t long before Astarion is rolling his hips again in time with your fingers.

You feel your pleasure building now as his cock begins to pump in and out of you at a steady pace.

“B-but what I’m most excited about is the potential to start a family,” You admit breathlessly, causing Astarion to growl and briskly snap his hips forward, sinking himself so deeply the tip of his cock brushes against your cervix. You keen in a mixture of surprise and delight.

His cheeks are stained pink from his arousal. Gorgeous.

His eyes snap open and he peers down at you through half drooped lids, pupils blown wide with lust. He’s beginning to lose his breath as he changes the angle of his hips just slightly, aiming to hit that perfect little spot inside your sex.

“You want me to put a baby in you, is that it, darling?” Astarion asks, trying desperately to cling to his control. He knows the answer. He just loves to hear it.

“Yes, my love,” You whimper, your eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock presses insistently into your walls.

He’s rutting harder into you now, setting an almost punishing pace. One of his hands comes up to protect your skull from slamming into the headboard from the sheer force of his efforts.

He’s close. The beautiful noises you’re making are almost enough to make him lose it. But he wants you to get there first, wants to push you over the edge so that he can follow.

Before, in instances like this, he would sink his fangs into your flesh and coax a release from you that way. But in the past few months, he’d had to adapt his tactics and find other ways to pleasure you.

He knows you need more.

Your husband presses himself flush against your body and smoothly rolls you both so that you are now astride.

At one point, he never would’ve willingly allowed this loss of control. But the two of you are far past that now.

You are gazing down at your lover, face flushed as you lay your hands on his chest. He angles his hips just so, knowing that when you rock your hips back, the tip of his cock will press right where you want it and when you rock forward, his pelvis will provide perfect stimulation to your clit.

You were made for him.

Or he was made for you.

You two were made for each other.

He smiles softly as he looks up at you, “You are so beautiful.”

You smile at him through hooded lids and then begin to rock your hips, sheathing and unsheathing his length with your sex. Before long you two have found a rhythm that makes both of your mouths drop open in pleasure.

Both of Astarion’s hands come to your hips, and he presses down, adding more pressure, forcing you to grind further into him. He’s guiding your movements now, using the sheer strength of his arms to rock you back and forth atop him.

You gasp and lower your body so that every movement of your pelvis causes your breasts to drag along the elf’s chest. The sensation sends a line of goosebumps trailing up Astarion’s torso.

You bring your hand back to your husband’s ear, gripping onto the lobe. A shocked moan escapes Astarion’s lips and he suddenly bucks, stuttering the rhythm you two have created before finding it again.

“Little love,” He gasps, his eyes rolling back once more, “If you keep doing that I won’t last much longer.”

You don’t respond because you’re so close it’s all you can focus on. A few more rolls of your hips, the sensation of Astarion’s thick cock stretching you wide, and you’re sent over the edge into ecstasy.

You cry out when you reach your peak and your walls begin greedily clenching around your lover. As your orgasm ripples through your body, you grasp harder onto your husband’s ear and pull down slightly.

“Fucking hells—“ He chokes out and then he’s slamming himself into you, pressing his pelvis as close to yours as he can manage with the force of his hands on your hips. You continue to throb around him as he spills his warm seed inside with a loud groan.

You manage to open your eyes and catch the final moments of your husband’s orgasm. His eyes have slammed shut and his mouth is agape. Both his ears are positively red with arousal. He’s still gripping onto you, fingers pressed firmly into flesh as the final ropes of his spend bury themselves in your walls.

Beautiful.

And then suddenly Astarion’s cock becomes over sensitive and he gasps, his thighs are trembling as he uses the last of his energy to continue shakily thrusting into you.

It always feels divine. Perhaps more divine as a mortal than it ever felt as a vampire.

He doesn’t want to stop, despite having already reached his peak.

Your lips press against his and Astarion’s focus is pulled back to you. His hips still as you bring both your hands behind his head, threading your fingers between his damp curls. A contented hum escapes him as he focuses on the tender kiss; you sigh and practically melt into your husband.

After a few moments, you break the kiss and rest your head on his chest, listening to the stable thrum of his heart. One of the elf’s hands comes up to your back while the other rests on your bottom, simply holding you against him. He’s still inside of you, albeit soft. Your mutual arousals begin to drip between the two of you, but it’s no matter.

“Do you miss it, Astarion?” You ask, lifting your head up to peer curiously into your husband’s eyes. They’re green now, not red. But still just as gorgeous.

Astarion hums as he considers, staring back adoringly at you while you bring your hands to card through his curls.

“Sometimes,” He admits, mirroring your confession from earlier, “But like you said, darling, the trade off is much better.”

You positively glow when you beam at him and then he brings a hand to your chin, pulling you back for another soft kiss.

Astarion knew mortal life would certainly be far better than undeath. It already had been these few short months. And creating a new life between the two of you? He knew that would be incomparable.

In this moment, neither of you were aware you already had.

#astarion fanfic #baulders gate astarion #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion smut #astarion x reader smut #smut #astarion reader insert #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #soft astarion #romantic smut #astarion

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